CHAPTER III
SHOTS ON PACK-SADDLE
"I woke up one mornin' on the old Chisolm trail, Rope in my hand an' a cow by the tail. Crippled my hoss, I don't know how, Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow."
Thus sang Loudon, carrying saddle and bridle to the corral in the bluelight of dawn. Chuck Morgan was before him at the corral, andwrestling with a fractious gray pony.
"Whoa! yuh son of sin!" yelled Morgan, wrenching the pony's ear."Stand still, or I'll cave in yore slats!"
"Kick him again," advised Loudon, flicking the end of his rope acrossthe back of a yellow beast with a black mane and tail.
The yellow horse stopped trotting instantly. He was rope-broke. Itwas unnecessary to "fasten," thanks to Loudon's training.
"They say yuh oughtn't to exercise right after eatin'," continuedLoudon, genially. "An' yo're mussin' up this nice corral, too, Chuck."
"I'll muss up this nice little gray devil!" gasped Chuck. "When I giton him I'll plow the hide offen him. ---- his soul! He's half mule."
"He takes yuh for a relative!" called Jimmy, who had come upunobserved. "Relatives never do git along nohow!"
Jimmy fled, pursued by pebbles. The panting and outraged Chuckreturned to his task of passing the rear cinch. Still swearing, hejoined Loudon at the gate. The two rode away together.
"That sorrel o' Blakely's," observed Chuck, his fingers busy with paperand tobacco, "is shore as pretty as a little red wagon."
"Yeah," mumbled Loudon.
"I was noticin' him this mornin'," continued Chuck Morgan. "He's gotthe cleanest set o' legs I ever seen."
"This mornin'," said Loudon, slowly, "Where'd yuh see Blakely's sorrelthis mornin'?"
"In the little corral. He's in there with the Old Man's string."
Loudon pulled his hat forward and started methodically to roll acigarette. So Blakely had spent the night at the ranch. This was thefirst time he had ever stayed overnight.
What did it mean? Calling on Kate was one thing, but spending thenight was quite another.
With the fatuous reasoning of a man deeply in love, Loudon refused tobelieve that Blakely could be sailing closer to the wind of Kate'saffections than he himself. Yet there remained the fact of Blakely'sextended visit.
"We've been losin' right smart o' cows lately," remarked Chuck Morgan.
"What's the use o' talkin'?" exclaimed Loudon, bitterly. "The Old Mansays we ain't, an' he's the boss."
"He won't say so after the round-up. He'll sweat blood then. If Icould only catch one of 'em at it. Just one. But them thievin' 88boys are plumb wise. An' the Old Man thinks they're little he-angelswith four wings apiece."
"Yuh can't tell _him_ nothin'. He knows."
"An' Blakely comes an' sets around, an' the Old Man laps up all he sayslike a cat, an' Blakely grins behind his teeth. I'd shore like to knowhis opinion o' the Old Man."
"An' us."
"An' us. Shore. The Old Man can't be expected to know as much as us.You can gamble an' go the limit Blakely has us sized up forsheep-woolly baa-lambs."
Morgan made a gesture of exasperation.
"We will be sheep," exclaimed Loudon, "if we don't pick up somethin'against the 88 before the round-up! We're full-sized, two-legged men,ain't we? Got eyes, ain't we? There ain't nothin' the matter with ourhands, is there? Yet them 88 boys put it all over our shirt.Blakely's right. We're related plumb close to sheep, an' blind sheepat that."
"Them 88 boys have all the luck," grunted Chuck Morgan. "But theirluck will shore break if I see any of 'em a-foolin' with our cows. Solong."
Chuck Morgan rode off eastward. His business was with the cattle nearCow Creek, which stream was one of the two dividing the Bar S rangefrom that of the Cross-in-a-box. Loudon, his eyes continually slidingfrom side to side, loped onward. An hour later he forded the LazyRiver, and rode along the bank to the mouth of Pack-saddle Creek.
The course he was following was not the shortest route to the twomud-holes between Box Hill and Fishtail Coulee. But south of the Lazythe western line of the Bar S was marked by Pack-saddle Creek, andLoudon's intention was to ride along the creek from mouth to source.
There had been no rain for a month. If any cows had been driven acrossthe stream he would know it. Twice before he had ridden the line ofthe creek, but his labours had not been rewarded. Yet Loudon did notdespair. His was a hopeful soul.
Occasionally, as he rode, he saw cows. Here and there on the bank werecloven hoofprints, showing where cattle had come down to drink. Butnone of them had crossed since the rain. And there were no marks ofponies' feet.
At the mud-hole near Box Hill a lone cow stood belly-deep, stolidlyawaiting death.
"Yuh poor idjit," commented Loudon, and loosed his rope from thesaddle-horn.
The loop settled around the cow's horns. The yellow pony, cunninglyholding his body sidewise that the saddle might not be pulled over histail, strained with all four legs.
"C'mon, Lemons!" encouraged Loudon. "C'mon, boy! Yuh old yellow lumpo' bones! Heave! Head or cow, she's got to come!"
Thus adjured the pony strove mightily. The cow also exerted itself.Slowly the tenacious grip of the mud was broken. With a suck and aplop the cow surged free. It stood, shaking its head.
Swiftly Loudon disengaged his rope, slapped the cow with the end of it,and urged the brute inland.
Having chased the cow a full half-mile he returned to the mud-hole anddismounted. For he had observed that upon a rock ledge above themud-hole which he wished to inspect more closely. What he had notedwas a long scratch across the face of the broad flat ledge of rock.But for his having been drawn in close to the ledge by the presence ofthe cow in the mud-hole, this single scratch would undoubtedly haveescaped his attention.
Loudon leaned over and scrutinized the scratch. It was about a footlong, a quarter of an inch broad at one end, tapering roughly to apoint. Ordinarily such a mark would have interested Loudon not at all,but under the circumstances it might mean much. The side-slip of ahorse's iron-shod hoof had made it. This was plain enough. It wasevident, too, that the horse had been ridden. A riderless horse doesnot slip on gently sloping rocks.
Other barely visible abrasions showed that the horse had entered thewater. Why had someone elected to cross at this point? Pack-saddleCreek was fordable in many places. Below the mud-hole four feet andless was the depth. But opposite the rock ledge was a scour-hole fullyten feet deep shallowing to eight in the middle of the stream. Herewas no crossing for an honest man in his senses. But for one ofquestionable purpose, anxious to conceal his trail as much as possible,no better could be chosen.
"Good thing his hoss slipped," said Loudon, and returned to the waitingLemons.
Mounting his horse he forded the creek and rode slowly along the bank.Opposite the lower end of the ledge he found that which he sought. Inthe narrow belt of bare ground between the water's edge and the grasswere the tracks of several cows and one pony. Straight up from thewater the trail led, and vanished abruptly when it reached the grass.
"Five cows," said Loudon. "Nothin' mean about that jigger."
He bent down to examine the tracks more closely, and as he stooped arifle cracked faintly, and a bullet whisped over his bowed back.
Loudon jammed home both spurs, and jumped Lemons forward. Plying hisquirt, he looked over his shoulder.
A puff of smoke suddenly appeared above a rock a quarter of a miledownstream and on the other side of the creek. The bullet tucked intothe ground close beside the pony's drumming hoofs.
Loudon jerked his Winchester from its scabbard under his leg, turned inthe saddle, and fired five shots as rapidly as he could work the lever.He did not expect to score a hit, but earnestly hoped to shake thehidden marksman's aim. He succeeded but lamely.
The enemy's third shot cut through his shirt under the left armpit,missing the flesh by a hair's-breadth. Loudon raced over the lip of aswell just as a fourth shot ripped throug
h his hat.
Hot and angry, Loudon jerked Lemons to a halt half-way down the reverseslope. Leaving his horse tied to the ground he ran back and lay downbelow the crest. He removed his hat and wriggled forward to the top.
Cautiously lifting his head he surveyed the position of his unknownopponent. A half-mile distant, on the Bar S side of the Pack-saddle,was the rock which sheltered the marksman. A small dark dot appearedabove it.
Taking a long aim Loudon fired at the dot. As he jerked down the leverto reload, a gray smoke-puff mushroomed out at the lower right-handcorner of the rock, and a violent shock at the elbow numbed his righthand.
Loudon rolled swiftly backward, sat up, and stared wonderingly at histwo hands. One held his Winchester, but gripped in the cramped fingersof the right hand was the bent and broken lever of the rifle. Thebullet of the sharp-shooting citizen had struck the lever squarely onthe upper end, snapped the pin, torn loose the lever, and hopelesslydamaged the loading mechanism.
"That jigger can shore handle a gun," remarked Loudon. "If this ain'tone lovely fix for a Christian! Winchester no good, only asix-shooter, an' a fully-organized miracle-worker a-layin' for my hide.I'm a-goin' somewhere, an' I'm goin' right now."
He dropped the broken lever and rubbed his numbed fingers tillsensation returned. Then he put on his hat and hurried down to hishorse.
He jammed the rifle into the scabbard, mounted, and rode swiftlysouthward, taking great pains to keep to the low ground.
A mile farther on he forded the creek and gained the shelter of anoutflung shoulder of Box Hill.
Near the top Loudon tied Lemons to a tree and went forward on foot.Cautiously as an Indian, Loudon traversed the flat top of the hill andsquatted down in a bunch of tall grass between two pines. From thisvantage-point his field of view was wide. The rock ledge and themud-hole were in plain sight. So was the rock from which he had beenfired upon. It was a long mile distant, and it lay near the crest of alow hog's-back close to the creek.
"He's got his hoss down behind the swell," muttered Loudon. "Wish thishill was higher."
Loudon pondered the advisability of climbing a tree. He wished verymuch to obtain a view of the depression behind the hog's-back. Hefinally decided to remain where he was. It was just possible that thehostile stranger might be provided with field glasses. In which casetree-climbing would invite more bullets, and the shooting of the enemywas too nearly accurate for comfort.
Loudon settled himself comfortably in his bunch of grass and watchedintently. Fifteen or twenty minutes later what was apparently a partof the rock detached itself and disappeared behind the crest of thehog's-back.
Soon the tiny figure of a mounted man came into view on the flatbeyond. Horse and rider moved rapidly across the level ground andvanished behind a knoll. When the rider reappeared he was not morethan nine hundred yards distant and galloping hard on a courseparalleling the base of the hill.
"Good eye," chuckled Loudon. "Goin' to surround me. I'd admire tohear what he says when he finds out I ain't behind that swell."
The stranger splashed across the creek and raced toward some highground in the rear of Loudon's old position.
Now that the enemy had headed westward there was nothing to be gainedby further delay.
Loudon had plenty of courage, but one requires more than bravery and asix-shooter with which to pursue and successfully combat a gentlemanarmed with a Winchester.
Hastily retreating to his horse, Loudon scrambled into the saddle,galloped across the hilltop and rode down the eastern slope at a speedexceedingly perilous to his horse's legs. But the yellow horse somehowcontrived to keep his footing and reached the bottom with no damageother than skinned hocks.
Once on level ground Loudon headed southward, and Lemons, that yellowbundle of nerves and steel wire, stretched out his neck and gallopedwith all the heart that was in him.
Loudon's destination was a line-camp twelve miles down the creek. Thiscamp was the temporary abode of two Bar S punchers, who were riding thecountry south of Fishtail Coulee. Loudon knew that both men had takentheir Winchesters with them when they left the ranch, and he hoped tofind one of the rifles in the dugout.
With a rifle under his leg Loudon felt that the odds would be even, inspite of the fact that the enemy had an uncanny mastery of the longfirearm. Loudon's favourite weapon was the six-shooter, and he was athis best with it. A rifle in his hands was not the arm of precision itbecame when Johnny Ramsay squinted along the sights. For Johnny was anexpert.
"Keep a-travellin', little hoss, keep a-travellin'," encouraged Loudon."Split the breeze. That's the boy!"
Loudon had more than one reason for being anxious to join issue withthe man who had attacked him. At nine hundred yards one cannotrecognize faces or figures, but one can distinguish the colour of ahorse, and Loudon's antagonist rode a sorrel. Chuck Morgan had saidthat Blakely's horse was a sorrel.
Loudon sighted the dugout that was Pack-saddle line-camp in a trifleless than an hour. He saw with elation that two hobbled ponies weregrazing near by. A fresh mount would quicken the return trip.Loudon's elation collapsed like a pricked bubble when he entered thedugout and found neither of the rifles.
He swore a little, and smoked a sullen cigarette. Then he unsaddledthe weary Lemons and saddled the more vicious of the two hobbledponies. Subjugating this animal, a most excellent pitcher, worked offa deal of Loudon's ill-temper. Even so, it was in no cheerful frame ofmind that he rode away to inspect the two mud-holes between FishtailCoulee and Box Hill.
To be beaten is not a pleasant state of affairs. Not only had he beenbeaten, but he had been caught by the old Indian fighter's trick of theempty hat. That was what galled Loudon. To be lured into betrayinghis position by such an ancient snare! And he had prided himself onbeing an adroit fighting man! The fact that he had come within afinger's breadth of paying with his life for his mistake did not lessonthe smart, rather it aggravated it.
Late in the afternoon he returned to the line-camp. Hockling and RedKane, the two punchers, had not yet ridden in. So Loudon sliced baconand set the coffee on to boil. Half an hour after sunset Hockling andKane galloped up and fell upon Loudon with joy. Neither relished thelabour, insignificant as it was, of cooking.
"Company," remarked Red Kane, a forkful of bacon poised in the air.
The far-away patter of hoofs swelled to a drumming crescendo. Theninside the circle of firelight a pony slid to a halt, and the voice ofcheerful Johnny Ramsay bawled a greeting.
"That's right, Tom!" shouted the irrepressible Johnny. "Always havechuck ready for yore uncle. He likes his meals hot. This is shorereal gayful. I wasn't expectin' to find any folks here."
"I s'pose not," said Red Kane. "You was figurin' on romancin' in whilewe was away an' stockin' up on _our_ grub. I know you. Hock, youbetter cache the extry bacon an' dobies. Don't let Johnny see 'em."
"Well, o' course," observed Ramsay, superciliously, "I've got theappetite of youth an' a feller with teeth. I don't have to get mynourishment out of soup."
"He must mean you, Hock," said Red Kane, calmly. "You've done losteight."
"The rest of 'em all hit," asserted Hockling, grinning. "But whatJohnny wants with teeth, I dunno. By rights he'd ought to stick tomilk. Meat ain't healthy for young ones. Ain't we got anursin'-bottle kickin' round some'ers, Red?"
"Shore, Red owns one," drawled Loudon. "I seen him buyin' one onceover to Farewell at Mike Flynn's."
"O' course," said Johnny, heaping his plate with bacon and beans. "Iremember now I seen him, too. Said he was buyin' it for a friend. Whynot admit yo're married, Red?"
"Yuh know I bought it for Mis' Shaner o' the Three Bars!" shouted theindignant Kane. "She done asked me to get it for her. It was for herbaby to drink out of."
"Yuh don't mean it," said Johnny, seriously. "For a baby, yuh say.Well now, if that ain't surprisin'. I always thought nursin'-bottleswas to drive nails with."
In this wis
e the meal progressed pleasantly enough. After supper, whenthe four were sprawled comfortably on their saddle-blankets, Loudonlaunched his bombshell.
"Had a small brush this mornin'," remarked Loudon, "with a gent over bythe mud-hole north o' Box Hill."
The three others sat up, gaping expectantly.
"Djuh get him?" demanded Johnny Ramsay, his blue eyes glittering in thefirelight.
Loudon shook his head. He raised his left arm, revealing the rent inhis shirt. Then he removed his hat and stuck his finger through thehole in the crown.
"Souvenirs," said Loudon. "He busted the lever off my Winchester an'gormed up the action."
"An' he got away?" queried Red Kane.
"The last I seen of him he was workin' in behind where he thought Iwas."
"Where was you?"
"I was watchin' him from the top o' Box Hill. What did yuh think I'dbe doin'? Waitin' for him to surround me an' plug me full o' holes? Icome here some hurried after he crossed the creek. I was hopin' you'dhave left a rifle behind."
"Wish't we had," lamented Hockling. "Say, you was lucky to pull out ofit without reapin' no lead."
"I'll gamble you started the fraycas, Tommy," said Johnny Ramsay.
"Not this trip. I was lookin' at some mighty interestin' cow an' ponytracks opposite the rock ledge when this gent cuts down on me an'misses by two inches."
"Tracks?"
"Yep. Some sport drove five cows on to the ledge an' chased 'em overthe creek. That's how they work the trick. They throw the cows acrosswhere there's hard ground or rocks on our side. 'Course the rustlersdidn't count none on us nosyin' along the opposite bank."
"Ain't they the pups!" ejaculated Hockling.
"They're wise owls," commented Johnny Ramsay. "Say, Tom, did thisshootin' party look anyways familiar?"
"The colour of his hoss was--some," replied Loudon. "Blakely was atthe ranch last night, an' his hoss was a sorrel."
"What did I tell yuh?" exclaimed Johnny Ramsay. "What did I tell yuh?That Blakely tinhorn is one bad actor."
"I ain't none shore it was him. There's herds o' sorrel cayuses."
"Shore there are, but there's only one Blakely. Oh, it was him allright."
"Whoever it was, I'm goin' to wander over onto the 88 range to-morrow,if Red or Hock'll lend me a Winchester."
"Take mine," said Hockling. "Red's throws off a little."
"She does," admitted Red Kane, "but my cartridges don't. I'll give yuha hull box."
Followed then much profane comment relative to the 88 ranch and thecrass stupidity of Mr. Saltoun.
"I see yo're packin' a Winchester," said Loudon to Johnny Ramsay, whenHockling and Red had turned in.
"Hunter's trip," explained Johnny, his eyes twinkling. "Jack Richie'sgot his own ideas about this rustlin', so he sent me over to scamperround the 88 range an' see what I could see. I guess I'll travel withyou a spell."
"Fine!" said Loudon. "Fine. I was wishin' for company. If we'rejumped we'd ought to be able to give 'em a right pleasant littlesurprise."
Johnny Ramsay rolled a cigarette and gazed in silence at the dying firefor some minutes. Loudon, his hands clasped behind his head, staredupward at the star-dusted heavens. But he saw neither the stars northe soft blackness. He saw Kate and Blakely, and thick-headed Mr.Saltoun bending over his desk, and he was wondering how it all wouldend.
"Say," said Johnny Ramsay, suddenly, "this here hold-up cut down on yuhfrom behind a rock, didn't he?"
"Shore did," replied Loudon.
"Which side did he fire from?"
"Why, the hind side."
"I ain't tryin' to be funny. Was it the left side or the right side?"
"The right side," Loudon replied, after a moment's thought.
"Yore right side?"
"Yep."
"That would make it his left side. Did yuh ever stop to think, Tom,that Blakely shoots a Colt right-handed an' a Winchester left-handed?"
Loudon swore sharply.
"Now, how did I come to forget that!" he exclaimed. "O' course hedoes."
"Guess Mr. Blakely's elected," said Johnny Ramsay. "Seems likely."
Early next morning Loudon and Ramsay rode northward along the bank ofthe Pack-saddle. They visited first the boulder a quarter of a milebelow the mud-hole. Here they found empty cartridge shells, and themarks of boot-heels.
They forded the creek at the ledge above the mud-hole, where the cowshad been driven across, and started westward. They were careful toride the low ground at first, but early in the afternoon they climbedthe rocky slope of Little Bear Mountain. From the top they surveyedthe surrounding country. They saw the splendid stretches of the rangespecked here and there with dots that were cows, but they saw no riders.
They rode down the mountainside and turned into a wide draw, wherepines and tamaracks grew slimly. At the head of the draw, where itsloped abruptly upward, was a brushless wood of tall cedars, and here,as they rode in among the trees, a calf bawled suddenly.
They rode toward the sound and came upon a dead cow. At the cow's sidestood a lonely calf. At sight of the men the calf fled lumberingly.Ramsay unstrapped his rope and gave his horse the spur. Loudondismounted and examined the dead cow. When Ramsay returned with thecalf, Loudon was squatting on his heels, rolling a cigarette.
"There y'are," observed Loudon, waving his free hand toward the cow."There's evidence for yuh. Ears slit with the 88 mark, an' the 88brand over the old Bar S. Leg broke, an' a hole in her head. Sheain't been dead more'n a day. What do you reckon?"
"That the 88 are damn fools. Why didn't they skin her?"
"Too lazy, I guess. That calf's branded an' earmarked all complete.Never was branded before, neither."
"Shore. An' the brand's about two days old. Just look at it. Rawyet."
"Same date as its ma's. They done some slick work with a wet blanketon that cow, but the Bar S is plain underneath. Give the cow a month,if she'd lived, an' yuh'd never know but what she was born 88."
"Oh, they're slick, the pups!" exclaimed Johnny Ramsay.
"The Old Man ought to see this. When Old Salt throws his eyes on thatbrandin' I'll gamble he'll change his views some."
"You bet he will. Better start now."
"All right. Let's get a-goin'."
"One's enough. You go, Tommy. I'll stay an' caper around. I mightrun onto somethin'. Yuh can't tell."
"I'd kind o' like to have yuh here when I get back."
"Don't worry none. From what I know o' Old Salt you an' him won't behere before to-morrow mornin'! I'll be here then."
"All right. I'll slide instanter. So long, Johnny."
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