CHAPTER XXIIIHOPALONG'S MOVEHopalong, nursing Allday with due regard to the miles yet to be travelled, was disagreeably surprised to recognize Cock Murray in the horseman approaching. The explanation offered did not improve his temper. He turned on Murray a hard stare that was less a probe than an exponent of destruction to a liar. There was that about Hopalong which spelled danger; no strong man is without it; and few men, honest or not, fail of the impression when in the presence of it. Cock Murray was no coward. He was distinctly not afraid to meet death at a moment's notice or with no notice at all, if it came that way; yet he was grateful to be able to face that stare with an honest purpose in his heart."Murray, down Texas way h—l-raisin' on a range means sudden death. It's a-goin' to stop on th' Double Y. Which side are you on?""If it depends on my say-so, th' Double Y is as peaceful as a' Eastern dairy from this out.""Let 'er go at that. How 's that cayuse?""Good, an' fresh as paint. I on'y breathed him, comin' from Twin.""Swap. This bay has come along right smart for twenty miles. I ain't goin' to lose you much, either. Th' boys is after us but they won't catch you."Hopalong was well past the Sweet-Echo before the pinto was recognized. Slick let out a yell of surprise. The Cyclone puncher sauntered to the window, where Slick was pointing, glanced up the trail and laughed. "That's a friend o' Buck's," he explained, "an' he 's certainly aimin' to get there, wherever it is, as quick as he can.""Ain't that yore pinto?" queried Slick."Less 'n I 'm blind," agreed the cow-punch."Seems to me there's a lot o' swappin' goin' on som'ers along th' Big Moose," hazarded Slick. "Which they can'tallbe backin' winners," he added, thoughtfully.They were still seeking light in useless discussion when the long-striding Allday went past. Slick shouted to Murray for news but Cock waved his hand without speaking. Twin River was beginning to show a languid interest. Day-and-nighthabituésof the I-Call lounged out into the open and gazed after Cock inquiringly, irritated Pop Snow into a frantic change of base by their apparently earnest belief in his knowledge of these events and their demands for information, and lounged back again; Dutch Fred soothed the peevish old man by talking "like he had some sense"; having sense proved an asset once more as Dirty, no one being near, suddenly discovered a thirst. Ike, wise old wolf, though unable to solve the riddle, smelled a killing. "Stay around," he advised several of his own trustworthy satellites. Little Nell alone, who looked on and read as the others ran, came near to supplying the missing print: "The French Rose has shook Dave," she decided. "Dave has pulled his freight and the Double Y is on the prod after him. Smiler ought to show for place but the minute he looks like a winner the Texan 'll pump him full of lead. The Double Y will win out. Maybe Ned—" Little Nell's wild heart had regretted bluff, kindly Ned, these many days.The passing of the Double Y punchers, strung out half a mile, confirmed Nell's guess. The Cyclone puncher, hurriedly throwing the leather on the Goat, loped along beside Slow Jack, the last in the string, obtaining from him such meagre information as only whetted his curiosity. He returned to the Sweet-Echo and Slick, disdaining to reply to the I-Call loungers. Ike was too wise to risk a rebuff; he already knew enough from what he had seen. "Pickin's, boys," was his laconic comment; and soon a company of five Autolycus-minded gentlemen took the Big Moose trail, openly. The break-up of this chance foray was largely due to the simple matter of direction.Hopalong, knowing nothing of the wagging tongues at Twin River, drove the pinto for every ounce there was in him. A vague uneasiness, risen with the delivery of Buck's message by Cock Murray, rode with Hopalong; he could not shake it off. Ten minutes beyond Two Fork he saw the buckboard and the curse in his throat had its origin in a conviction as accurate as Whitby's had been. He turned and rode beside them. "Well, they got you, Buck," was his quiet comment."Shore did," admitted Buck. "Ambushed at four hundred—first shot—bad medicine. I lit a-runnin' an' caves in just as th' next ball drops th' bronc. I lays most mighty still. He thinks I kicked th' bucket but he 's afraid to find out. I was hopin' he 'd come to see. He gets away quiet an' I lay an' bleed a-waitin' for him. Rose an' Whit here wakes me out of a sweet dream." He smiled up at Rose whose anxiety was evident."Too much talk," she warned him."Dave?" asked Hopalong, looking at Whitby, who nodded."How far?""Two miles; possibly less," answered Whitby."I 'll get him," said Hopalong, with quiet certitude. "So long, Buck.""So long, Hoppy. Go with him, Whit. Can't afford another ambush.""Very well, Buck. You will find a medicine-chest in my kit, Miss McAllister."Whitby turned and rode hard after Hopalong who, nevertheless, arrived at the dead pony considerably in advance, and after a searching look around, rode straight to the ambush. The signs of its recent occupancy were plain to be seen. Hopalong got down and squatted under cover as Dave must have done, from which position his shrewd mind deduced the cause of the poor shot: a swinging limb, which had deflected the bullet at the critical moment. The signs showed Dave had led his horse from the spot, finally mounting and riding off in a direction well to the east of Wayback. Minute after minute Hopalong tracked at a slow canter; suddenly his pony sprang forward with a rush: even to the Englishman's inexperienced eyes there was evidence of Dave having gone faster; very much faster, Whitby thought, as he rode his best to hold the pace, wondering meanwhile, how it was possible to track at such speed. It was n't possible: Dave had set a straight line for Wayback and gone off like a jack rabbit. Hopalong was simply backing his guess.Exhaustive inquiries in Wayback seemed to show that Hoppy had guessed wrong. No one had seen Dave. No one had seen Schatz, either; the bank president had gone to Helena and his single clerk, single in a double sense, was an unknown number of miles distant on a journey in courtship. The station agent declared Dave had neither purchased a ticket nor taken any train from the Wayback station. Whitby became downcast but Hopalong, with each fruitless inquiry, gathered cheerfulness almost to loquacity. It was his way. "Cheer up, Whit," he encouraged: "I'd 'a' been punchin' cows an' dodgin' Injuns in th' Happy Hunting Grounds before I could rope a yearlin' if I 'd allus give up when I was beat."Whitby looked at him gloomily. "I 'm fair stumped," he admitted. "D' you think, now, it would be wisdom to go back and follow his spoor?""Spoor is good. He came to Wayback, Whit, sure as yo 're a bloomin' Britisher. Keep a-lookin' at me, now: There 's a bum over by th' barber's has been watchin' us earnest ever since we hit town; he 's stuck to us like a shadow; see if you know him. Easy, now. Don't scare him off."Whitby won his way into Hopalong's heart by the simplicity of his manoeuvre. Taking from his lips the cigar he was smoking, he waved it in the general direction of the station. "You said a bum near the barber-shop," he repeated. His pony suddenly leaped into the air and manifested an inexplicable and exuberant interest in life. When quieted, Whitby was facing the barber's and carefully examining the bum. Hopalong chuckled through serious lips. Whitby had allowed the hot end of his cigar to come in contact with the pony's hide. "No, can't say I do; but he evidently knows me. Dashed if he does n't want me to follow him," and Whitby looked his astonishment.Hopalong's eyes sparkled. "Get a-goin', Whit. Here's where ye call th' turn. What'd I tell you?" He wheeled and rode back to the station. Whitby followed the shambling figure down the street and around the corner of a saloon, where he discovered him sunning himself on a heap of rubbish, in the rear."Well, my man; what is it?" asked Whitby.The crisp, incisive tones brought him up standing; he saluted and came forward eagerly. "Youse lookin' f'r Dave?" he responded."What of it?""I seen him jump d' train down by d' pens. She wuz goin' hell-bent-f'r-election, too. Wen Dave jumps, I drops. Dave an' me don't pal.""Why not?""Didn't he git me run out o' Twin? Youse was dere. Don'tcher 'member Pickles an' Dutch Onion—Pickles' old man—an' dat Come Seven guy w'at stopped d' row? Don'tcher?""Yes; I do. Are you the man who shied the bottle?""Ke-rect. I 'd done f'r him, too, but dey put d' ki-bosh on me.""And are you sure it was Dave? Did the train stop?""Stop nothin'! 'T was a string o' empties. Dave jumped it, all right. An' I 'd hoof it all d' way to Sante Fe to see him swing.""Deuced good sentiment, by Jove. Here, you need—well, a number of things, don't you know."Boomerang gazed after the departing Englishman and blinked rapidly at the bill in his hand. Did he or did he not see a zero following that two? With a fervent prayer for sanity he carefully tucked it out of sight.Whitby returned to Hopalong as much elated as previously he had been cast down. "We have the bally blackguard," was his glad assurance."Where?" asked Hopalong; "in yore pocket, or yore hat, or only in yore mind." Whitby explained and Hopalong promptly appealed to the station agent.It was a weary wait. Whitby, a patient man himself, found occasion to admire the motionless relaxation of Hopalong, who appeared to be storing energy until such time as he would require it. To Whitby, who was well acquainted with the jungle of India, it was the inertia of the tiger, waiting for the dusk.The station door opened again but this time with a snappier purpose that seemed promising. Whitby turned his head. The railroader nodded as one well satisfied with himself. "Got your man," he announced, with a grin of congratulation. "He dropped off at X——. Don't seem a whole lot scared. Took a room at th' hotel. Goin' to turn him over to the sheriff?""No," answered Hopalong, "an' I don't want nothin' to get out here,sabe? If it does, yo 're th' huckleberry. When 's th' next train East?""It's past due, but it 'll be along in twenty minutes.""I 'll take a ticket," and Hopalong rose to his feet and followed him into the station. He returned shortly, to apologize for leaving Whitby behind. "I know you 'd like to go, Whit, but you ought to find out about that money. Better stay here an' see them bank people in th' mornin'."Whitby acknowledged the wisdom of this and agreed to call on Buck at Jean's on his way back to the ranch. "You tell Buck Dave is at X——," said Hoppy. "An' that's where he stays," he added, grimly. "Here she comes."Long before this, the usual crowd of idlers had gathered; and now the rest of Wayback began to ooze into the road and toward the station. As the train drew in it attracted even a half-shaved man from the barber's, hastily wiping the soap from his face as he ran; after him came the barber, closing the razor and sticking it in his pocket. The first man off the cars was a fox-faced little hunchback, whose deformity in no way detracted from his agile strength; after him, with studied carelessness, came Tex. Hopalong grunted, turned his head as the clatter of hoofs sounded through the turmoil, and signalled Chesty Sutton, first man of the rapidly arriving Double Y punchers."Don't you stray none, screech-owl, or I 'll drop you," he warned the captive, who shot one impish glance at the speaker and froze in his tracks. "Chesty, tell Ned to take this coyote to th' ranch, an' don't let him get away, not if you has to shoot him.""Hold hard, stranger. He looks mighty like Big Saxe to me, an' if he is, I wants him. I got a warrant for him in my clo'es." The deputy sheriff started forward."Wait!" commanded Hopalong. The deputy waited. "Tex, hold that train. You an' me are goin' th' same way. Mr. Sheriff, I got a warrant ahead o' yourn an' I wants him. You 'll find him at th' Double Y ranch when I gets through with him."Slow Jack, the last of the Double Y punchers, loped up to the station, swung from his saddle and joined the interested group surrounding the disputants."If that's Big Saxe I wants him now an' I 'm goin' to take him.""Don't you, son." Kind as Hopalong's tone sounded, the deputy halted again. "Bow-Wow, hit th' trail an' have eyes in th' back of yore head. Straddle, boys." The crowd scattered as the mounted punchers moved their ponies about, to open a clear space. Hopalong met the eye of the hunchback, whose clear, shrewd glance recognized the master of the moment. "Screechy! that pinto 's a-waitin' for you an' if any son-of-a-gun gets there first,youwon't need no bracelets. Git!"Struggling between indecision and duty, the deputy saw the group of punchers, the pinto in advance, turn into the Twin River trail. "Looky here!" he began fiercely to Hopalong, "'pears to me—""Bah! Tell it to Schatz"; and Hopalong sprang up the steps, followed by Tex, to the outspoken regret of Wayback's citizens there assembled.CHAPTER XXIVTHE REBELLION OF COCK MURRAYThe buckboard, wheeling off the trail, was lost to view almost as soon as Murray saw it. Rose and Margaret he had recognized at a glance but whose figure had been the second in the wagon? Suddenly misgiving assailed him. Forgetting Hopalong and his orders, he turned and followed them. Every step of his horse increased his anxiety and urged him forward; and twin-born with it smouldered a growing anger that held him back: he hesitated to have his fears confirmed in the presence of two women, one of whom—well, that was done with but it had left a scar that was beginning to throb again with the old pain. He rode slowly but gaining steadily on the trio ahead. When they reached the cabin, Rose called; receiving no answer she was about to go for help when she saw Murray and pointed to him. Margaret motioned and he hurried to obey the summons.He recognized Buck while still some distance away and the smoulder burst into a blaze. This was the game then? Schatz had emphatically stated it was to be one of freeze-out; when they found it would n't work then the good old way was good enough. The jauntiness of carriage which had earned him his nickname (he was responsible for the surname only) was gone when he joined the others; the gay insolence of his speech was gone also, and some of his good looks. The successful concealment of his feelings had lost him much but it had gained him more: Margaret thrilled to a sense of power she had not expected in him. Rose's gesture of finger to lips was superfluous: Murray never felt less like talking."How'd you get here, Cock?" asked Buck, dully. The strain of the drive was telling even upon his iron frame."Orders," answered Cock, briefly; and Buck was not sufficiently interested to inquire further.The team was effectually secured and they got Buck from the wagon and into the cabin with but little difficulty; Murray, though he did not look it, was a far stronger man than Whitby; and Buck was laid gently in the bunk, his head brushing the spot where Pickles had muffled his breathing a few hours before.The removal of the bandage brought a gasp to the lips of Margaret, who pressed her hand to her heart and stared with horrified eyes. She touched Rose on the shoulder: "Can you—can you dress the wound without me?" she asked, breathlessly."But certainly," answered Rose, mildly surprised."Then I will go—back—and send on the medicine chest. I am sure you will need it.""That is good," commended Rose, looking curiously after Margaret, who swayed as she went out of the room.Murray hurried after her. "It is nothing, Miss McAllister, except for the pain and possible fever. Buck will tell you so himself. Drink this."The cold water made her feel better. "I never realized before—what fighting means," she murmured. "It may be nothing but it looks—terrible.""Nothing dangerous, I assure you, and perfect health will bring him through. Shall you go on out to the ranch?""Why, I must send the medicines.""Then wait for me to join you at Twin River. I shall not be long."He controlled the restive team until she was ready and watched her start. When he returned to Rose she had bared and was bathing the wound from which but little blood came, now. When a fresh bandage had been put in place she turned to him with expressive gesture: "Remove all," she commanded, indicating Buck's clothing. She left the room and Murray heard her moving about in the attic while he busied himself in obedience to her orders."Who was it, Buck?" he asked, sombrely."Did n't see him. Dave, I reckon.""Was it Dave you was after?""That's him. Did n't you know?""No." Murray slit viciously through the waist band of the trousers and raised Buck with one powerful arm while he eased away the severed cloth. He said nothing more until Rose came with a garment such as Buck had not worn for more years than he liked to remember. When it was donned and Buck made comfortable, Murray spoke with decision. In his earnestness he unconsciously reverted from the slip-shod manner of speech to which he had habituated himself."I have a confession to make," he began; "and I want to make it now. I don't think it will harm you to hear it.""Let 'er go," said Buck, with awakened interest."I am a hypocrite. I am indirectly responsible for the loss of your cattle. I have been taking your money and working for another man. I am not at all proud of it. In fact, as things have turned out, I 'm d—d sick of it. All that I can say for myself is that I honestly thought the other man was in the right; now I know better. If it will be any satisfaction to you I would give my life this minute rather than have it known by—by certain people who are bound to know of it if you talk. So it has not been easy to tell you. I have only one thing more to add: I can't be treacherous to the other man although he has been treacherous to me; but if you are not afraid to trust me, I guarantee to make the Double Y sound on the inside, at least—that is, if they don't kill me.""By th' Lord!" breathed Buck. "I 'm right glad I got that pill. Trust you? You bet!" He reached out his hand to Murray and the grip he felt confirmed his belief that the canker was surely healed on the Double Y.Softly as Buck spoke, the sound of his voice brought Rose to the door. She looked sternly at Murray: "You must go," she declared; "So much talk bring fever.""All right, ma'am," assented Murray, carefully keeping from her his tell-tale face, "sure you won't need help?""No, my father come soon." She advanced to the bunk and improved comfort and appearance with a few deft touches."Good-day, then, ma'am. So long, Buck. I 'm ridin' to th' ranch with Miss McAllister.""So long, Cock. Get at it, son. Th' Double Y needs you, you bet," and the smile on the stern face was so winning that Murray left hastily, with long strides.CHAPTER XXVMARY RECEIVES COMPANYMary's heart skipped a beat and then pulsed ninety to the minute as her first suspicion became a certainty: a wagon was coming through the dark to the ranch. With a prayer for her husband on her lips she went slowly to the door. She recognized Murray's voice and Jake's in conversation and stood with her hand on the door until Jake's rough command was followed by the sound of the wagon going to the stable. No one wounded! Her relief was so great that she walked unsteadily in crossing back to her chair. Mary was nervous and easily upset, these days.Surprise acted as a tonic when the two ladies entered, followed by Murray. A glance at Margaret's face stirred memories in Mary. She stammered: "Why—why—I know—who—"Murray supplied the name: "It is Miss McAllister, Mrs. Cassidy.""Why, of co'se," said Mary; "I 'd know Miss McAllister anywhere; she favors Frenchy like she was his own daughter.""Did you know Uncle John?" asked Margaret, breathlessly."Yes, indeedy. I took to him first sight," and Mary smiled at the girl's eagerness."Aunt Jessie! Isn't that just glorious? Mrs. Cassidy, this is my aunt, Mrs. Blake—and I want you to tell me everything you can remember about Uncle John.""Now you have done it," declared Mrs. Blake. "You will get no peace from Margaret while she thinks there is a wag of your tongue left about her Uncle John.""Margaret—that's a right sweet name. But I 'm afraid Billy would insist—" she flushed a dull red as Mrs. Blake sharply addressed Murray: "Ralph, see that some one gets those trunks in, will you? That is, if they did not drop off into the bosom of this blessed wilderness, somewhereen route.""They did n't. But it's all Montana to an incubator Jake took them to the stable," and Murray promptly vanished."Certainly he would insist," agreed Mrs. Blake, resuming the thread of Mary's unconscious soliloquy. "And quite right, too. It would have to be—what did you say your name is, my dear?""Mary "—the shy smile made her seem very unlike the self-reliant H2 girl.Mrs. Blake took her in her arms and mothered her. "Mary is every bit as sweet as Margaret," she declared. "And now you must came over here and sit down. That is six for me and a half dozen for myself.HowI shall rejoice to land in a seat that neither shakes nor bumps!""I shore begs you-all 's pardon; but I ain't got over my surprise yet.""Shall we put you to very much trouble, Mrs. Cassidy?" asked Margaret. "Perhaps if you get that lazy Murray to help—""Why, Murray ain't lazy. There ain't none of the boys lazy, 'cept maybe Jake. An' it's shore a pleasure to have you here.""May heaven forgive my vegatative emotion in the cessation of motion," and Mrs. Blake carefully refrained from moving her foot forward one enticing inch: it was good enough as it was."You ain't use' to travelling, Mrs. Blake," suggested Mary."On the contrary, my dear," that lady assured her. "Mr. Blake hauled me over the entire country from the Mississippi to the Atlantic; but he never subjected me to the churning discomfort of a devil-drawn buckboard driven by a heartless madcap in petticoats." Mrs. Blake shifted the faintest imaginable distance to the left and back again immediately: the first position was the more comfortable, as she might have known.The two younger women exchanged a smile, Margaret's a merry one, Mary's more sober as she thought how easily the buckboard might have carried a load indifferent for all time, to jolts. "Did you see anything o' th' boys?" she asked."I saw them all, I believe," answered Margaret. "They went through Twin River just before we started.""Cock Murray came back with you. Did you see my husband? He started out to find Mr. Peters.""Mr. Cassidy and Mr. Booth went after that Dave brute.""Where was Buck?""He was wounded, Mrs. Cassidy. Not badly, they say. Dave shot him from ambush. We found him lying in the road.""Oh! I ought to go to him," and Mary started from her seat."Certainly not," declared Mrs. Blake. "It is quite evident that you do not appreciate the comforts of inertia. Besides, from what Margaret tells me, he is well taken care of.""Oh! and I forgot the medicine chest," exclaimed Margaret. "Yes, he has an attentive nurse, Mrs. Cassidy. We took him to the LaFrance place. And I must get that medicine chest from Whitby's kit and send it over. Where are Whitby's things, Mrs. Cassidy?""They 're in th' bunk-house. Murray will get them for you. So Buck is there? Did you see the French Rose, Miss McAllister?""Yes, haven't you? She is lovely; so serious and calm and strong. In some way she makes you feel that she is sure to do the right thing at the right time. Oh, I like her, immensely.""Liking goes by contrasts," sleepily reminded Mrs. Blake. Mary smiled no less at Margaret's grimace than at Mrs. Blake's pointed sarcasm."She has n't been to the ranch since we-all came," said Mary. "Buck says she rid over quite often afore that. I 'm glad Rose is 'tendin' him; from what I hear of her he could n't be in better hands.""Mr. Peters seemed glad, too," said Margaret, suggestively; "and Miss LaFrance did not seem at all sorry."Before Mary could respond to Margaret's unspoken question, the door opened with a bang and Pickles rushed in. "Been a-helpin' them sheep with th' trunks," he informed them. "Where's Hopalong? Did he find Buck? That cacklin' Murray has forgot how to crow; he on'y grunts.""Hopalong has gone after Dave. He shot Buck," answered Mary."Not dead!" Pickles was aghast."No, only wounded.""I justgotto kill that Dave. Rose has got to lemme off on that promise. I bet she will now he 's gone an' shot up Buck."Mrs. Blake stirred in her chair and opened one eye. "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings—""Sucker yoreself!" retorted Pickles. "Reckon you think I don't know nothin'. You wait." He slammed the door behind him and stamped off, greatly incensed. His advice to Jake, who told him to open the other door while he carried in a trunk, was impossible to follow, involving a journey from which no one, not even Jake, would ever be likely to return.When Margaret, insisting that Mary direct operations from her chair, was satisfied with domestic arrangements, she asked Murray's advice about sending the medicine chest to Rose. Obeying Whitby's wishes seemed the most important thing in life at present. Cock demurred to her plan of sending him before morning; and he was opposed to leaving the ranch at all before Buck himself took charge again. Margaret was vexed at his stupidity. They had gone together to the bunk-house and argued the matter with the object of dispute on the floor between them. Glancing at them from his own especial bunk was Pickles, trying in vain to make sense from a jumble of sounds unlike any he had ever heard. Pickles' vocabulary was very limited. His snort of disgust as he gave it up and turned his back on the disputants, gave Cock an idea. "Pickles," he said, "Buck's sick and he needs this box. Buck told me to stay at the ranch. Will you take it if I saddle Swallow?""Shore will," and Pickles shoved one entirely nude leg from the bunk; before he could follow it with the other, he was much surprised and more embarrassed to find himself swooped upon, seized and swiftly kissed by Margaret, whose brown-clad form fled through the door like the flirt of a wood-thrush, vanishing into the dim recesses of the forest.* * * * *Ned Monroe and the boys, Big Saxe with them, came straggling up to the bunk-house in the early hours of the morning, Ned having acquired a change of mounts at Twin River. They secured their prisoner by the simple expedient of tying him in a lump—and a cow-punch makes knots that are exceedingly hard to struggle out of. Big Saxe did n't try.Cock Murray was first out and he awoke Ned. In the open, safe from being overheard, they held conference, Monroe nodding his head understandingly as Cock made his points. After breakfast, Monroe delivered a speech, short and to the point, and when they separated to their duties, Cock and Slow Jack rode away together. Big Saxe, very effectually hobbled at the ankles, was put in charge of Chesty Sutton who tersely informed him that the first false move he made he would find himself humpbacked all the way to his feet.Cock bent his powers of persuasion to the converting of Slow Jack. It proved an easy task. Secretly admiring Cock and his ways, Slow Jack also perceived the trend of events to be putting Schatz out of the running. The unbending will of Hopalong was over them all and Slow Jack was not averse to throwing his services to the winning side.It was the middle of the afternoon when Whitby appeared. The women listened to his news with varying degrees of interest. Buck was doing well and had declared it would not be long before he was at the ranch; in the meantime, as he was obliged to be quiet, he seemed well contented where he was. Pickles had arrived safe and had constituted himself body-guard and messenger-at-need for Rose. As for Hopalong he could tell them no more than they had already learned from Monroe. Mary was not worried. She had supreme confidence in Hopalong's ability to take care of himself and would have smiled if any one had suggested danger.The end of Whitby's budget was punctuated with a huge sigh from Jake, whose ear had never been far from the kitchen door. He now entered diffidently and addressed himself to the Englishman: "I wrastled some chuck for you, Whit; reckoned you might want some." His lumbering exit was closely followed by Whitby's, whose strangled appetite slipped the noose at Jake's invitation.In the lively conversation of the three women, Margaret's voice groped about in Whitby's consciousness like a hand searching in the dark for a hidden spring; her sudden ringing laugh awoke him to his purpose and hastily finishing his meal he made his way to the barn. After an hour's delay, spent in selecting a pony for Margaret and taking the edge off the temper of the quietest—a favor that Margaret would have repudiated with scorn—he appeared at the house again with the offer to show her over the range if she cared to go.It was the very thing Margaret most wanted to do and they set out with but little time lost. When she become accustomed to the saddle she suggested a race but Whitby had no intention of running any such risk. He easily held her interest in another way."I say, Miss McAllister, there 's one thing I did n't mention just now," he began."Not bad news?" questioned Margaret."Can't say it's good. That beastly German had the cheek to get away with the money after all. He checked against the blessed lot yesterday forenoon. I was at the bank this morning. It's right enough. They produced the check. Seems a bit odd, you know, they should be carrying that amount and pass it over in cash. I said as much; but the president—rummy chap, by the way—he explained it; something about big shipments of cattle. However, it's gone.""Dear me! it seems very careless of somebody. Papa ought to know. What shall you do?""Oh, I notified the agency at once; they 've taken it in hand. But it won't do any good, you know. That bounder Schatz has it all planned out and if he loses it, why, there you are, you know.""Yes, so it seems; but, to all intents and purposes, he steals it. Do you intend to let him triumph in such brazen robbery?""I rather fancy I shall have very little to say in the matter. That Cassidy chap who is trying to catch Dave, went off without knowing the money was gone. My word! I should n't care to be Schatz when Cassidy hears of it. Deuced odd no one saw him in Wayback but the banking people. However, the German will have to go. I wrote the Governor and Mr. McAllister this morning. Between them they can come to an agreement with Peters and we can buy the German out—or perhaps I should say his heirs. It's a good sporting chance that it will be his heirs. Cassidy has a proper amount of suspicion in his character and no one will ambush him, I 'll lay.""Good gracious! But you can't afford to lose all that money, can you?""It is a bit of a facer. But what of it? The range can stand it. In twenty years it will bring ten times the money for farm land, or I 'm much mistaken. I 'm sure the Governor will chance it and Buck will be glad to have me an active partner. He said as much.""Mr. Booth, did n't you advance the money to Peters in the last partnership agreement?""Oh, I say! Did they tell you that? Then you should know it was my advice that brought on his loss. But Buck is n't obliged to put up any money with us; his experience and services are quite equal to the money I shall put up. I fancy Mr. McAllister will agree with me in that. All Buck wants is fair play, don't you know."Margaret pulled her pony so that she had the advantage of a few feet nearer the house when she spoke. "Whitby," she said, very clearly, "you are a dear."Both ponies swung their noses towards home in the same moment. The burning blush on Margaret's face streamed from it on the air-currents and settled on Whitby's determined countenance, to leave him and float away to the rose clouds in the western sky. Whitby had the faster mount but Margaret rode a far lighter weight and the chase might have been a long one had she been very anxious to keep away. As it was a short half mile found them on even terms. Whitby's arm went about the girl's waist as the ponies ran stride for stride and she felt herself leaving the saddle. With reckless abandonment to the law of might she yielded and lay in his arms; their pace slowed to a walk, Whitby looking solemnly into the brilliant eyes that mockingly regarded him."The good old rule, the simpler plan, that he shall take who hath the power," quoted Margaret."And he shall keep who can," capped Whitby. "I can, Margaret, and I will," he declared, a deep note of earnestness in his voice.Margaret reached up and covered the steady eyes whose searching threatened the unconscious secrets of her heart. But her voice reached him, fainter, fraught with the vibration of sureness: "Whitby, you are a dear."CHAPTER XXVIHUNTERS AND HUNTEDA string of empty cars backed onto the siding at X——, bumping and grinding and squealing as the engine puffed softly; a running rattle and crash told of the shivering line coming to rest and the sibilant sighs of the engine seemed to voice its protest at being side-tracked for the passing of an engine of a higher caste. While it panted and wheezed, its crew taking advantage of the opportunity to look to and oil journals and rods, a man made his way through the brush several hundred yards down the track, swearing mildly as he brushed cinders and dust from his clothes. His only possessions besides his clothes were a revolver swinging in its buttoned holster, and a tightly rolled and securely tied gunny sack, to which he clung in grim determination."H—l of a ride," he growled as he headed in a circuitous course for the town a short distance away. "But it breaks th' trail. They 'll figger I went north to cross th' line, or up to Helena. Lucky they told me Denver Gus's relay was relieved. Brains, says Smiler—huh, devil a lot of good his brains done him. He is out of it, an' so is Peters, d—n 'em. Brains!"He entered the town, looking for a place to put up. The Come-Again looked good and he entered it, securing a room on the second floor, which was under the roof. He was explicit to the proprietor: "It's got to be a back room, an' I want it for a couple of days, an' I don't want no noise,—I'm out here for my cussed nerves an' as soon as I can get a good job we 'll see about terms. Oh, I expect to pay in advance—will two days' pay keep you from layin' awake nights?""Reckon somebody made a mistake," replied the proprietor. "Yore nerves is purty strong.""Have a drink and forget it," Dave smiled. When he had paid for the drinks he asked a question: "Who's got th' best horse in town? I'm a-goin' to buy it if it's good enough."The proprietor looked him over and nodded toward a table in the farther corner: "That's him."Dave sauntered over to the lone drinker: "Just been told you got th' best horse in town. That right?"The other looked up slowly: "I might," he replied."I want to buy him. I don't give a d—n about th' price if he's good. Interested? Thought you'd be."The other also looked the cocky stranger over: "Yes—I 'm interested—a little. I ain't h—l-bent for to sell that horse. He 's th' best ever came to these parts—that's why he 's good—hecamehere."Dave was impatient: "Is he where I can see him?""Shore," drawled the horseman, arising languidly. "Come along an' you can see him if yore eyes is good."The owner of the "best horse in town" studied Dave as they walked along and his mental comment was not flattering to theprotégéof the late Herr Schatz. "Fake cow-puncher," was his summing up. "He don't know ahossfrom a hoss—but he thinks he does."When they came to the corral the owner pointed to a big gray in the corner: "That's him, stranger. He 's part cow-horse an' part Kaintuk, an' too good to be out here in this part of the country.That'sth' hoss Bad Hawkins rid from Juniper Creek to Halfway in ten hours—one hundred an' forty miles, says th' map, an' Hawkins weighed a hundred an' seventy afore they got him. He weighed so much he broke off th' limb of th' best tree they could find. Why,he 'sth' cuss what held up th' Montana Express down at Juniper Creek bridge—reckon youarea stranger to these parts.""He don't look like no miracle tome," asserted Dave, closely scrutinizing the horse."No? Mebby you ain't up on miracles. If you want a purty hoss why did n't you say so? Dolly 's slick as silk an' fat as butter—you can have her if you wants her. Cost you about twenty-five dollars less. But you won't save nothin' on her if you wants a hoss for hard ridin', one that gets there quick, an' gets back quick.""I ain't said nothin' 'bout savin' no money," retorted Dave. "An' it seems to me yo 're purty d—n high in yore prices, anyhow.""Well, I sees you wants a hoss right bad; an' when a man wants a hoss bad he wants agoodhoss—an' good hosses come high. Dolly 's gentle as a kitten," shrewdly explained the owner. "Big Gray, there, he 's some hard to ride, onless you can sit a saddle good as th' next.""How much for Big Gray?" snapped Dave."One hundred dollars.""I ain't buyin' a herd," remonstrated Dave."I ain't sellin' a herd," smiled the owner. "I told you good hosses come high. Mebby Dolly 'd suit you better. She 's my daughter's hoss.""Here 's th' hundred," replied Dave, nettled. "Got a bridle or halter or piece of rope? An' I want to buy a saddle—one that's been broke in.""There's a halter on him—good enough? All right; I got a saddle that's in purty fair shape—don't need it, so you can have it for twenty."When Dave rode from the corral he was headed for the general store and bought a rifle, a rope, and sundry other necessaries, including food. Returning to the hotel he put his horse in the corral, had a drink, and went to his room carrying the saddle, the gunny sack, and his other purchases with him. The gunny sack had not been from under his arm an instant while he had been in town. The erstwhile owner of Big Gray drifted back to his table shortly after Dave's return and settled himself for another drink."Did you sell him one?" asked the proprietor, digging down for change."Yep," was the reply."Fifty, sixty, seventy-five—there 's yore change. I wonder who he is an' where he's goin'?" remarked the proprietor, in lieu of something better."Dunno; but he ain't no cow-punch, an' likewise he ain't no tenderfoot. Looks like a tin-horn to me. His fingers was purty slick gettin' th' bills off his roll. They was so slick I counted 'em to be sure he was n't robbin' hisself. But there was n't no folded bill there. Here, have a drink with me—business is pickin' up."
CHAPTER XXIII
HOPALONG'S MOVE
Hopalong, nursing Allday with due regard to the miles yet to be travelled, was disagreeably surprised to recognize Cock Murray in the horseman approaching. The explanation offered did not improve his temper. He turned on Murray a hard stare that was less a probe than an exponent of destruction to a liar. There was that about Hopalong which spelled danger; no strong man is without it; and few men, honest or not, fail of the impression when in the presence of it. Cock Murray was no coward. He was distinctly not afraid to meet death at a moment's notice or with no notice at all, if it came that way; yet he was grateful to be able to face that stare with an honest purpose in his heart.
"Murray, down Texas way h—l-raisin' on a range means sudden death. It's a-goin' to stop on th' Double Y. Which side are you on?"
"If it depends on my say-so, th' Double Y is as peaceful as a' Eastern dairy from this out."
"Let 'er go at that. How 's that cayuse?"
"Good, an' fresh as paint. I on'y breathed him, comin' from Twin."
"Swap. This bay has come along right smart for twenty miles. I ain't goin' to lose you much, either. Th' boys is after us but they won't catch you."
Hopalong was well past the Sweet-Echo before the pinto was recognized. Slick let out a yell of surprise. The Cyclone puncher sauntered to the window, where Slick was pointing, glanced up the trail and laughed. "That's a friend o' Buck's," he explained, "an' he 's certainly aimin' to get there, wherever it is, as quick as he can."
"Ain't that yore pinto?" queried Slick.
"Less 'n I 'm blind," agreed the cow-punch.
"Seems to me there's a lot o' swappin' goin' on som'ers along th' Big Moose," hazarded Slick. "Which they can'tallbe backin' winners," he added, thoughtfully.
They were still seeking light in useless discussion when the long-striding Allday went past. Slick shouted to Murray for news but Cock waved his hand without speaking. Twin River was beginning to show a languid interest. Day-and-nighthabituésof the I-Call lounged out into the open and gazed after Cock inquiringly, irritated Pop Snow into a frantic change of base by their apparently earnest belief in his knowledge of these events and their demands for information, and lounged back again; Dutch Fred soothed the peevish old man by talking "like he had some sense"; having sense proved an asset once more as Dirty, no one being near, suddenly discovered a thirst. Ike, wise old wolf, though unable to solve the riddle, smelled a killing. "Stay around," he advised several of his own trustworthy satellites. Little Nell alone, who looked on and read as the others ran, came near to supplying the missing print: "The French Rose has shook Dave," she decided. "Dave has pulled his freight and the Double Y is on the prod after him. Smiler ought to show for place but the minute he looks like a winner the Texan 'll pump him full of lead. The Double Y will win out. Maybe Ned—" Little Nell's wild heart had regretted bluff, kindly Ned, these many days.
The passing of the Double Y punchers, strung out half a mile, confirmed Nell's guess. The Cyclone puncher, hurriedly throwing the leather on the Goat, loped along beside Slow Jack, the last in the string, obtaining from him such meagre information as only whetted his curiosity. He returned to the Sweet-Echo and Slick, disdaining to reply to the I-Call loungers. Ike was too wise to risk a rebuff; he already knew enough from what he had seen. "Pickin's, boys," was his laconic comment; and soon a company of five Autolycus-minded gentlemen took the Big Moose trail, openly. The break-up of this chance foray was largely due to the simple matter of direction.
Hopalong, knowing nothing of the wagging tongues at Twin River, drove the pinto for every ounce there was in him. A vague uneasiness, risen with the delivery of Buck's message by Cock Murray, rode with Hopalong; he could not shake it off. Ten minutes beyond Two Fork he saw the buckboard and the curse in his throat had its origin in a conviction as accurate as Whitby's had been. He turned and rode beside them. "Well, they got you, Buck," was his quiet comment.
"Shore did," admitted Buck. "Ambushed at four hundred—first shot—bad medicine. I lit a-runnin' an' caves in just as th' next ball drops th' bronc. I lays most mighty still. He thinks I kicked th' bucket but he 's afraid to find out. I was hopin' he 'd come to see. He gets away quiet an' I lay an' bleed a-waitin' for him. Rose an' Whit here wakes me out of a sweet dream." He smiled up at Rose whose anxiety was evident.
"Too much talk," she warned him.
"Dave?" asked Hopalong, looking at Whitby, who nodded.
"How far?"
"Two miles; possibly less," answered Whitby.
"I 'll get him," said Hopalong, with quiet certitude. "So long, Buck."
"So long, Hoppy. Go with him, Whit. Can't afford another ambush."
"Very well, Buck. You will find a medicine-chest in my kit, Miss McAllister."
Whitby turned and rode hard after Hopalong who, nevertheless, arrived at the dead pony considerably in advance, and after a searching look around, rode straight to the ambush. The signs of its recent occupancy were plain to be seen. Hopalong got down and squatted under cover as Dave must have done, from which position his shrewd mind deduced the cause of the poor shot: a swinging limb, which had deflected the bullet at the critical moment. The signs showed Dave had led his horse from the spot, finally mounting and riding off in a direction well to the east of Wayback. Minute after minute Hopalong tracked at a slow canter; suddenly his pony sprang forward with a rush: even to the Englishman's inexperienced eyes there was evidence of Dave having gone faster; very much faster, Whitby thought, as he rode his best to hold the pace, wondering meanwhile, how it was possible to track at such speed. It was n't possible: Dave had set a straight line for Wayback and gone off like a jack rabbit. Hopalong was simply backing his guess.
Exhaustive inquiries in Wayback seemed to show that Hoppy had guessed wrong. No one had seen Dave. No one had seen Schatz, either; the bank president had gone to Helena and his single clerk, single in a double sense, was an unknown number of miles distant on a journey in courtship. The station agent declared Dave had neither purchased a ticket nor taken any train from the Wayback station. Whitby became downcast but Hopalong, with each fruitless inquiry, gathered cheerfulness almost to loquacity. It was his way. "Cheer up, Whit," he encouraged: "I'd 'a' been punchin' cows an' dodgin' Injuns in th' Happy Hunting Grounds before I could rope a yearlin' if I 'd allus give up when I was beat."
Whitby looked at him gloomily. "I 'm fair stumped," he admitted. "D' you think, now, it would be wisdom to go back and follow his spoor?"
"Spoor is good. He came to Wayback, Whit, sure as yo 're a bloomin' Britisher. Keep a-lookin' at me, now: There 's a bum over by th' barber's has been watchin' us earnest ever since we hit town; he 's stuck to us like a shadow; see if you know him. Easy, now. Don't scare him off."
Whitby won his way into Hopalong's heart by the simplicity of his manoeuvre. Taking from his lips the cigar he was smoking, he waved it in the general direction of the station. "You said a bum near the barber-shop," he repeated. His pony suddenly leaped into the air and manifested an inexplicable and exuberant interest in life. When quieted, Whitby was facing the barber's and carefully examining the bum. Hopalong chuckled through serious lips. Whitby had allowed the hot end of his cigar to come in contact with the pony's hide. "No, can't say I do; but he evidently knows me. Dashed if he does n't want me to follow him," and Whitby looked his astonishment.
Hopalong's eyes sparkled. "Get a-goin', Whit. Here's where ye call th' turn. What'd I tell you?" He wheeled and rode back to the station. Whitby followed the shambling figure down the street and around the corner of a saloon, where he discovered him sunning himself on a heap of rubbish, in the rear.
"Well, my man; what is it?" asked Whitby.
The crisp, incisive tones brought him up standing; he saluted and came forward eagerly. "Youse lookin' f'r Dave?" he responded.
"What of it?"
"I seen him jump d' train down by d' pens. She wuz goin' hell-bent-f'r-election, too. Wen Dave jumps, I drops. Dave an' me don't pal."
"Why not?"
"Didn't he git me run out o' Twin? Youse was dere. Don'tcher 'member Pickles an' Dutch Onion—Pickles' old man—an' dat Come Seven guy w'at stopped d' row? Don'tcher?"
"Yes; I do. Are you the man who shied the bottle?"
"Ke-rect. I 'd done f'r him, too, but dey put d' ki-bosh on me."
"And are you sure it was Dave? Did the train stop?"
"Stop nothin'! 'T was a string o' empties. Dave jumped it, all right. An' I 'd hoof it all d' way to Sante Fe to see him swing."
"Deuced good sentiment, by Jove. Here, you need—well, a number of things, don't you know."
Boomerang gazed after the departing Englishman and blinked rapidly at the bill in his hand. Did he or did he not see a zero following that two? With a fervent prayer for sanity he carefully tucked it out of sight.
Whitby returned to Hopalong as much elated as previously he had been cast down. "We have the bally blackguard," was his glad assurance.
"Where?" asked Hopalong; "in yore pocket, or yore hat, or only in yore mind." Whitby explained and Hopalong promptly appealed to the station agent.
It was a weary wait. Whitby, a patient man himself, found occasion to admire the motionless relaxation of Hopalong, who appeared to be storing energy until such time as he would require it. To Whitby, who was well acquainted with the jungle of India, it was the inertia of the tiger, waiting for the dusk.
The station door opened again but this time with a snappier purpose that seemed promising. Whitby turned his head. The railroader nodded as one well satisfied with himself. "Got your man," he announced, with a grin of congratulation. "He dropped off at X——. Don't seem a whole lot scared. Took a room at th' hotel. Goin' to turn him over to the sheriff?"
"No," answered Hopalong, "an' I don't want nothin' to get out here,sabe? If it does, yo 're th' huckleberry. When 's th' next train East?"
"It's past due, but it 'll be along in twenty minutes."
"I 'll take a ticket," and Hopalong rose to his feet and followed him into the station. He returned shortly, to apologize for leaving Whitby behind. "I know you 'd like to go, Whit, but you ought to find out about that money. Better stay here an' see them bank people in th' mornin'."
Whitby acknowledged the wisdom of this and agreed to call on Buck at Jean's on his way back to the ranch. "You tell Buck Dave is at X——," said Hoppy. "An' that's where he stays," he added, grimly. "Here she comes."
Long before this, the usual crowd of idlers had gathered; and now the rest of Wayback began to ooze into the road and toward the station. As the train drew in it attracted even a half-shaved man from the barber's, hastily wiping the soap from his face as he ran; after him came the barber, closing the razor and sticking it in his pocket. The first man off the cars was a fox-faced little hunchback, whose deformity in no way detracted from his agile strength; after him, with studied carelessness, came Tex. Hopalong grunted, turned his head as the clatter of hoofs sounded through the turmoil, and signalled Chesty Sutton, first man of the rapidly arriving Double Y punchers.
"Don't you stray none, screech-owl, or I 'll drop you," he warned the captive, who shot one impish glance at the speaker and froze in his tracks. "Chesty, tell Ned to take this coyote to th' ranch, an' don't let him get away, not if you has to shoot him."
"Hold hard, stranger. He looks mighty like Big Saxe to me, an' if he is, I wants him. I got a warrant for him in my clo'es." The deputy sheriff started forward.
"Wait!" commanded Hopalong. The deputy waited. "Tex, hold that train. You an' me are goin' th' same way. Mr. Sheriff, I got a warrant ahead o' yourn an' I wants him. You 'll find him at th' Double Y ranch when I gets through with him."
Slow Jack, the last of the Double Y punchers, loped up to the station, swung from his saddle and joined the interested group surrounding the disputants.
"If that's Big Saxe I wants him now an' I 'm goin' to take him."
"Don't you, son." Kind as Hopalong's tone sounded, the deputy halted again. "Bow-Wow, hit th' trail an' have eyes in th' back of yore head. Straddle, boys." The crowd scattered as the mounted punchers moved their ponies about, to open a clear space. Hopalong met the eye of the hunchback, whose clear, shrewd glance recognized the master of the moment. "Screechy! that pinto 's a-waitin' for you an' if any son-of-a-gun gets there first,youwon't need no bracelets. Git!"
Struggling between indecision and duty, the deputy saw the group of punchers, the pinto in advance, turn into the Twin River trail. "Looky here!" he began fiercely to Hopalong, "'pears to me—"
"Bah! Tell it to Schatz"; and Hopalong sprang up the steps, followed by Tex, to the outspoken regret of Wayback's citizens there assembled.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE REBELLION OF COCK MURRAY
The buckboard, wheeling off the trail, was lost to view almost as soon as Murray saw it. Rose and Margaret he had recognized at a glance but whose figure had been the second in the wagon? Suddenly misgiving assailed him. Forgetting Hopalong and his orders, he turned and followed them. Every step of his horse increased his anxiety and urged him forward; and twin-born with it smouldered a growing anger that held him back: he hesitated to have his fears confirmed in the presence of two women, one of whom—well, that was done with but it had left a scar that was beginning to throb again with the old pain. He rode slowly but gaining steadily on the trio ahead. When they reached the cabin, Rose called; receiving no answer she was about to go for help when she saw Murray and pointed to him. Margaret motioned and he hurried to obey the summons.
He recognized Buck while still some distance away and the smoulder burst into a blaze. This was the game then? Schatz had emphatically stated it was to be one of freeze-out; when they found it would n't work then the good old way was good enough. The jauntiness of carriage which had earned him his nickname (he was responsible for the surname only) was gone when he joined the others; the gay insolence of his speech was gone also, and some of his good looks. The successful concealment of his feelings had lost him much but it had gained him more: Margaret thrilled to a sense of power she had not expected in him. Rose's gesture of finger to lips was superfluous: Murray never felt less like talking.
"How'd you get here, Cock?" asked Buck, dully. The strain of the drive was telling even upon his iron frame.
"Orders," answered Cock, briefly; and Buck was not sufficiently interested to inquire further.
The team was effectually secured and they got Buck from the wagon and into the cabin with but little difficulty; Murray, though he did not look it, was a far stronger man than Whitby; and Buck was laid gently in the bunk, his head brushing the spot where Pickles had muffled his breathing a few hours before.
The removal of the bandage brought a gasp to the lips of Margaret, who pressed her hand to her heart and stared with horrified eyes. She touched Rose on the shoulder: "Can you—can you dress the wound without me?" she asked, breathlessly.
"But certainly," answered Rose, mildly surprised.
"Then I will go—back—and send on the medicine chest. I am sure you will need it."
"That is good," commended Rose, looking curiously after Margaret, who swayed as she went out of the room.
Murray hurried after her. "It is nothing, Miss McAllister, except for the pain and possible fever. Buck will tell you so himself. Drink this."
The cold water made her feel better. "I never realized before—what fighting means," she murmured. "It may be nothing but it looks—terrible."
"Nothing dangerous, I assure you, and perfect health will bring him through. Shall you go on out to the ranch?"
"Why, I must send the medicines."
"Then wait for me to join you at Twin River. I shall not be long."
He controlled the restive team until she was ready and watched her start. When he returned to Rose she had bared and was bathing the wound from which but little blood came, now. When a fresh bandage had been put in place she turned to him with expressive gesture: "Remove all," she commanded, indicating Buck's clothing. She left the room and Murray heard her moving about in the attic while he busied himself in obedience to her orders.
"Who was it, Buck?" he asked, sombrely.
"Did n't see him. Dave, I reckon."
"Was it Dave you was after?"
"That's him. Did n't you know?"
"No." Murray slit viciously through the waist band of the trousers and raised Buck with one powerful arm while he eased away the severed cloth. He said nothing more until Rose came with a garment such as Buck had not worn for more years than he liked to remember. When it was donned and Buck made comfortable, Murray spoke with decision. In his earnestness he unconsciously reverted from the slip-shod manner of speech to which he had habituated himself.
"I have a confession to make," he began; "and I want to make it now. I don't think it will harm you to hear it."
"Let 'er go," said Buck, with awakened interest.
"I am a hypocrite. I am indirectly responsible for the loss of your cattle. I have been taking your money and working for another man. I am not at all proud of it. In fact, as things have turned out, I 'm d—d sick of it. All that I can say for myself is that I honestly thought the other man was in the right; now I know better. If it will be any satisfaction to you I would give my life this minute rather than have it known by—by certain people who are bound to know of it if you talk. So it has not been easy to tell you. I have only one thing more to add: I can't be treacherous to the other man although he has been treacherous to me; but if you are not afraid to trust me, I guarantee to make the Double Y sound on the inside, at least—that is, if they don't kill me."
"By th' Lord!" breathed Buck. "I 'm right glad I got that pill. Trust you? You bet!" He reached out his hand to Murray and the grip he felt confirmed his belief that the canker was surely healed on the Double Y.
Softly as Buck spoke, the sound of his voice brought Rose to the door. She looked sternly at Murray: "You must go," she declared; "So much talk bring fever."
"All right, ma'am," assented Murray, carefully keeping from her his tell-tale face, "sure you won't need help?"
"No, my father come soon." She advanced to the bunk and improved comfort and appearance with a few deft touches.
"Good-day, then, ma'am. So long, Buck. I 'm ridin' to th' ranch with Miss McAllister."
"So long, Cock. Get at it, son. Th' Double Y needs you, you bet," and the smile on the stern face was so winning that Murray left hastily, with long strides.
CHAPTER XXV
MARY RECEIVES COMPANY
Mary's heart skipped a beat and then pulsed ninety to the minute as her first suspicion became a certainty: a wagon was coming through the dark to the ranch. With a prayer for her husband on her lips she went slowly to the door. She recognized Murray's voice and Jake's in conversation and stood with her hand on the door until Jake's rough command was followed by the sound of the wagon going to the stable. No one wounded! Her relief was so great that she walked unsteadily in crossing back to her chair. Mary was nervous and easily upset, these days.
Surprise acted as a tonic when the two ladies entered, followed by Murray. A glance at Margaret's face stirred memories in Mary. She stammered: "Why—why—I know—who—"
Murray supplied the name: "It is Miss McAllister, Mrs. Cassidy."
"Why, of co'se," said Mary; "I 'd know Miss McAllister anywhere; she favors Frenchy like she was his own daughter."
"Did you know Uncle John?" asked Margaret, breathlessly.
"Yes, indeedy. I took to him first sight," and Mary smiled at the girl's eagerness.
"Aunt Jessie! Isn't that just glorious? Mrs. Cassidy, this is my aunt, Mrs. Blake—and I want you to tell me everything you can remember about Uncle John."
"Now you have done it," declared Mrs. Blake. "You will get no peace from Margaret while she thinks there is a wag of your tongue left about her Uncle John."
"Margaret—that's a right sweet name. But I 'm afraid Billy would insist—" she flushed a dull red as Mrs. Blake sharply addressed Murray: "Ralph, see that some one gets those trunks in, will you? That is, if they did not drop off into the bosom of this blessed wilderness, somewhereen route."
"They did n't. But it's all Montana to an incubator Jake took them to the stable," and Murray promptly vanished.
"Certainly he would insist," agreed Mrs. Blake, resuming the thread of Mary's unconscious soliloquy. "And quite right, too. It would have to be—what did you say your name is, my dear?"
"Mary "—the shy smile made her seem very unlike the self-reliant H2 girl.
Mrs. Blake took her in her arms and mothered her. "Mary is every bit as sweet as Margaret," she declared. "And now you must came over here and sit down. That is six for me and a half dozen for myself.HowI shall rejoice to land in a seat that neither shakes nor bumps!"
"I shore begs you-all 's pardon; but I ain't got over my surprise yet."
"Shall we put you to very much trouble, Mrs. Cassidy?" asked Margaret. "Perhaps if you get that lazy Murray to help—"
"Why, Murray ain't lazy. There ain't none of the boys lazy, 'cept maybe Jake. An' it's shore a pleasure to have you here."
"May heaven forgive my vegatative emotion in the cessation of motion," and Mrs. Blake carefully refrained from moving her foot forward one enticing inch: it was good enough as it was.
"You ain't use' to travelling, Mrs. Blake," suggested Mary.
"On the contrary, my dear," that lady assured her. "Mr. Blake hauled me over the entire country from the Mississippi to the Atlantic; but he never subjected me to the churning discomfort of a devil-drawn buckboard driven by a heartless madcap in petticoats." Mrs. Blake shifted the faintest imaginable distance to the left and back again immediately: the first position was the more comfortable, as she might have known.
The two younger women exchanged a smile, Margaret's a merry one, Mary's more sober as she thought how easily the buckboard might have carried a load indifferent for all time, to jolts. "Did you see anything o' th' boys?" she asked.
"I saw them all, I believe," answered Margaret. "They went through Twin River just before we started."
"Cock Murray came back with you. Did you see my husband? He started out to find Mr. Peters."
"Mr. Cassidy and Mr. Booth went after that Dave brute."
"Where was Buck?"
"He was wounded, Mrs. Cassidy. Not badly, they say. Dave shot him from ambush. We found him lying in the road."
"Oh! I ought to go to him," and Mary started from her seat.
"Certainly not," declared Mrs. Blake. "It is quite evident that you do not appreciate the comforts of inertia. Besides, from what Margaret tells me, he is well taken care of."
"Oh! and I forgot the medicine chest," exclaimed Margaret. "Yes, he has an attentive nurse, Mrs. Cassidy. We took him to the LaFrance place. And I must get that medicine chest from Whitby's kit and send it over. Where are Whitby's things, Mrs. Cassidy?"
"They 're in th' bunk-house. Murray will get them for you. So Buck is there? Did you see the French Rose, Miss McAllister?"
"Yes, haven't you? She is lovely; so serious and calm and strong. In some way she makes you feel that she is sure to do the right thing at the right time. Oh, I like her, immensely."
"Liking goes by contrasts," sleepily reminded Mrs. Blake. Mary smiled no less at Margaret's grimace than at Mrs. Blake's pointed sarcasm.
"She has n't been to the ranch since we-all came," said Mary. "Buck says she rid over quite often afore that. I 'm glad Rose is 'tendin' him; from what I hear of her he could n't be in better hands."
"Mr. Peters seemed glad, too," said Margaret, suggestively; "and Miss LaFrance did not seem at all sorry."
Before Mary could respond to Margaret's unspoken question, the door opened with a bang and Pickles rushed in. "Been a-helpin' them sheep with th' trunks," he informed them. "Where's Hopalong? Did he find Buck? That cacklin' Murray has forgot how to crow; he on'y grunts."
"Hopalong has gone after Dave. He shot Buck," answered Mary.
"Not dead!" Pickles was aghast.
"No, only wounded."
"I justgotto kill that Dave. Rose has got to lemme off on that promise. I bet she will now he 's gone an' shot up Buck."
Mrs. Blake stirred in her chair and opened one eye. "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings—"
"Sucker yoreself!" retorted Pickles. "Reckon you think I don't know nothin'. You wait." He slammed the door behind him and stamped off, greatly incensed. His advice to Jake, who told him to open the other door while he carried in a trunk, was impossible to follow, involving a journey from which no one, not even Jake, would ever be likely to return.
When Margaret, insisting that Mary direct operations from her chair, was satisfied with domestic arrangements, she asked Murray's advice about sending the medicine chest to Rose. Obeying Whitby's wishes seemed the most important thing in life at present. Cock demurred to her plan of sending him before morning; and he was opposed to leaving the ranch at all before Buck himself took charge again. Margaret was vexed at his stupidity. They had gone together to the bunk-house and argued the matter with the object of dispute on the floor between them. Glancing at them from his own especial bunk was Pickles, trying in vain to make sense from a jumble of sounds unlike any he had ever heard. Pickles' vocabulary was very limited. His snort of disgust as he gave it up and turned his back on the disputants, gave Cock an idea. "Pickles," he said, "Buck's sick and he needs this box. Buck told me to stay at the ranch. Will you take it if I saddle Swallow?"
"Shore will," and Pickles shoved one entirely nude leg from the bunk; before he could follow it with the other, he was much surprised and more embarrassed to find himself swooped upon, seized and swiftly kissed by Margaret, whose brown-clad form fled through the door like the flirt of a wood-thrush, vanishing into the dim recesses of the forest.
* * * * *
Ned Monroe and the boys, Big Saxe with them, came straggling up to the bunk-house in the early hours of the morning, Ned having acquired a change of mounts at Twin River. They secured their prisoner by the simple expedient of tying him in a lump—and a cow-punch makes knots that are exceedingly hard to struggle out of. Big Saxe did n't try.
Cock Murray was first out and he awoke Ned. In the open, safe from being overheard, they held conference, Monroe nodding his head understandingly as Cock made his points. After breakfast, Monroe delivered a speech, short and to the point, and when they separated to their duties, Cock and Slow Jack rode away together. Big Saxe, very effectually hobbled at the ankles, was put in charge of Chesty Sutton who tersely informed him that the first false move he made he would find himself humpbacked all the way to his feet.
Cock bent his powers of persuasion to the converting of Slow Jack. It proved an easy task. Secretly admiring Cock and his ways, Slow Jack also perceived the trend of events to be putting Schatz out of the running. The unbending will of Hopalong was over them all and Slow Jack was not averse to throwing his services to the winning side.
It was the middle of the afternoon when Whitby appeared. The women listened to his news with varying degrees of interest. Buck was doing well and had declared it would not be long before he was at the ranch; in the meantime, as he was obliged to be quiet, he seemed well contented where he was. Pickles had arrived safe and had constituted himself body-guard and messenger-at-need for Rose. As for Hopalong he could tell them no more than they had already learned from Monroe. Mary was not worried. She had supreme confidence in Hopalong's ability to take care of himself and would have smiled if any one had suggested danger.
The end of Whitby's budget was punctuated with a huge sigh from Jake, whose ear had never been far from the kitchen door. He now entered diffidently and addressed himself to the Englishman: "I wrastled some chuck for you, Whit; reckoned you might want some." His lumbering exit was closely followed by Whitby's, whose strangled appetite slipped the noose at Jake's invitation.
In the lively conversation of the three women, Margaret's voice groped about in Whitby's consciousness like a hand searching in the dark for a hidden spring; her sudden ringing laugh awoke him to his purpose and hastily finishing his meal he made his way to the barn. After an hour's delay, spent in selecting a pony for Margaret and taking the edge off the temper of the quietest—a favor that Margaret would have repudiated with scorn—he appeared at the house again with the offer to show her over the range if she cared to go.
It was the very thing Margaret most wanted to do and they set out with but little time lost. When she become accustomed to the saddle she suggested a race but Whitby had no intention of running any such risk. He easily held her interest in another way.
"I say, Miss McAllister, there 's one thing I did n't mention just now," he began.
"Not bad news?" questioned Margaret.
"Can't say it's good. That beastly German had the cheek to get away with the money after all. He checked against the blessed lot yesterday forenoon. I was at the bank this morning. It's right enough. They produced the check. Seems a bit odd, you know, they should be carrying that amount and pass it over in cash. I said as much; but the president—rummy chap, by the way—he explained it; something about big shipments of cattle. However, it's gone."
"Dear me! it seems very careless of somebody. Papa ought to know. What shall you do?"
"Oh, I notified the agency at once; they 've taken it in hand. But it won't do any good, you know. That bounder Schatz has it all planned out and if he loses it, why, there you are, you know."
"Yes, so it seems; but, to all intents and purposes, he steals it. Do you intend to let him triumph in such brazen robbery?"
"I rather fancy I shall have very little to say in the matter. That Cassidy chap who is trying to catch Dave, went off without knowing the money was gone. My word! I should n't care to be Schatz when Cassidy hears of it. Deuced odd no one saw him in Wayback but the banking people. However, the German will have to go. I wrote the Governor and Mr. McAllister this morning. Between them they can come to an agreement with Peters and we can buy the German out—or perhaps I should say his heirs. It's a good sporting chance that it will be his heirs. Cassidy has a proper amount of suspicion in his character and no one will ambush him, I 'll lay."
"Good gracious! But you can't afford to lose all that money, can you?"
"It is a bit of a facer. But what of it? The range can stand it. In twenty years it will bring ten times the money for farm land, or I 'm much mistaken. I 'm sure the Governor will chance it and Buck will be glad to have me an active partner. He said as much."
"Mr. Booth, did n't you advance the money to Peters in the last partnership agreement?"
"Oh, I say! Did they tell you that? Then you should know it was my advice that brought on his loss. But Buck is n't obliged to put up any money with us; his experience and services are quite equal to the money I shall put up. I fancy Mr. McAllister will agree with me in that. All Buck wants is fair play, don't you know."
Margaret pulled her pony so that she had the advantage of a few feet nearer the house when she spoke. "Whitby," she said, very clearly, "you are a dear."
Both ponies swung their noses towards home in the same moment. The burning blush on Margaret's face streamed from it on the air-currents and settled on Whitby's determined countenance, to leave him and float away to the rose clouds in the western sky. Whitby had the faster mount but Margaret rode a far lighter weight and the chase might have been a long one had she been very anxious to keep away. As it was a short half mile found them on even terms. Whitby's arm went about the girl's waist as the ponies ran stride for stride and she felt herself leaving the saddle. With reckless abandonment to the law of might she yielded and lay in his arms; their pace slowed to a walk, Whitby looking solemnly into the brilliant eyes that mockingly regarded him.
"The good old rule, the simpler plan, that he shall take who hath the power," quoted Margaret.
"And he shall keep who can," capped Whitby. "I can, Margaret, and I will," he declared, a deep note of earnestness in his voice.
Margaret reached up and covered the steady eyes whose searching threatened the unconscious secrets of her heart. But her voice reached him, fainter, fraught with the vibration of sureness: "Whitby, you are a dear."
CHAPTER XXVI
HUNTERS AND HUNTED
A string of empty cars backed onto the siding at X——, bumping and grinding and squealing as the engine puffed softly; a running rattle and crash told of the shivering line coming to rest and the sibilant sighs of the engine seemed to voice its protest at being side-tracked for the passing of an engine of a higher caste. While it panted and wheezed, its crew taking advantage of the opportunity to look to and oil journals and rods, a man made his way through the brush several hundred yards down the track, swearing mildly as he brushed cinders and dust from his clothes. His only possessions besides his clothes were a revolver swinging in its buttoned holster, and a tightly rolled and securely tied gunny sack, to which he clung in grim determination.
"H—l of a ride," he growled as he headed in a circuitous course for the town a short distance away. "But it breaks th' trail. They 'll figger I went north to cross th' line, or up to Helena. Lucky they told me Denver Gus's relay was relieved. Brains, says Smiler—huh, devil a lot of good his brains done him. He is out of it, an' so is Peters, d—n 'em. Brains!"
He entered the town, looking for a place to put up. The Come-Again looked good and he entered it, securing a room on the second floor, which was under the roof. He was explicit to the proprietor: "It's got to be a back room, an' I want it for a couple of days, an' I don't want no noise,—I'm out here for my cussed nerves an' as soon as I can get a good job we 'll see about terms. Oh, I expect to pay in advance—will two days' pay keep you from layin' awake nights?"
"Reckon somebody made a mistake," replied the proprietor. "Yore nerves is purty strong."
"Have a drink and forget it," Dave smiled. When he had paid for the drinks he asked a question: "Who's got th' best horse in town? I'm a-goin' to buy it if it's good enough."
The proprietor looked him over and nodded toward a table in the farther corner: "That's him."
Dave sauntered over to the lone drinker: "Just been told you got th' best horse in town. That right?"
The other looked up slowly: "I might," he replied.
"I want to buy him. I don't give a d—n about th' price if he's good. Interested? Thought you'd be."
The other also looked the cocky stranger over: "Yes—I 'm interested—a little. I ain't h—l-bent for to sell that horse. He 's th' best ever came to these parts—that's why he 's good—hecamehere."
Dave was impatient: "Is he where I can see him?"
"Shore," drawled the horseman, arising languidly. "Come along an' you can see him if yore eyes is good."
The owner of the "best horse in town" studied Dave as they walked along and his mental comment was not flattering to theprotégéof the late Herr Schatz. "Fake cow-puncher," was his summing up. "He don't know ahossfrom a hoss—but he thinks he does."
When they came to the corral the owner pointed to a big gray in the corner: "That's him, stranger. He 's part cow-horse an' part Kaintuk, an' too good to be out here in this part of the country.That'sth' hoss Bad Hawkins rid from Juniper Creek to Halfway in ten hours—one hundred an' forty miles, says th' map, an' Hawkins weighed a hundred an' seventy afore they got him. He weighed so much he broke off th' limb of th' best tree they could find. Why,he 'sth' cuss what held up th' Montana Express down at Juniper Creek bridge—reckon youarea stranger to these parts."
"He don't look like no miracle tome," asserted Dave, closely scrutinizing the horse.
"No? Mebby you ain't up on miracles. If you want a purty hoss why did n't you say so? Dolly 's slick as silk an' fat as butter—you can have her if you wants her. Cost you about twenty-five dollars less. But you won't save nothin' on her if you wants a hoss for hard ridin', one that gets there quick, an' gets back quick."
"I ain't said nothin' 'bout savin' no money," retorted Dave. "An' it seems to me yo 're purty d—n high in yore prices, anyhow."
"Well, I sees you wants a hoss right bad; an' when a man wants a hoss bad he wants agoodhoss—an' good hosses come high. Dolly 's gentle as a kitten," shrewdly explained the owner. "Big Gray, there, he 's some hard to ride, onless you can sit a saddle good as th' next."
"How much for Big Gray?" snapped Dave.
"One hundred dollars."
"I ain't buyin' a herd," remonstrated Dave.
"I ain't sellin' a herd," smiled the owner. "I told you good hosses come high. Mebby Dolly 'd suit you better. She 's my daughter's hoss."
"Here 's th' hundred," replied Dave, nettled. "Got a bridle or halter or piece of rope? An' I want to buy a saddle—one that's been broke in."
"There's a halter on him—good enough? All right; I got a saddle that's in purty fair shape—don't need it, so you can have it for twenty."
When Dave rode from the corral he was headed for the general store and bought a rifle, a rope, and sundry other necessaries, including food. Returning to the hotel he put his horse in the corral, had a drink, and went to his room carrying the saddle, the gunny sack, and his other purchases with him. The gunny sack had not been from under his arm an instant while he had been in town. The erstwhile owner of Big Gray drifted back to his table shortly after Dave's return and settled himself for another drink.
"Did you sell him one?" asked the proprietor, digging down for change.
"Yep," was the reply.
"Fifty, sixty, seventy-five—there 's yore change. I wonder who he is an' where he's goin'?" remarked the proprietor, in lieu of something better.
"Dunno; but he ain't no cow-punch, an' likewise he ain't no tenderfoot. Looks like a tin-horn to me. His fingers was purty slick gettin' th' bills off his roll. They was so slick I counted 'em to be sure he was n't robbin' hisself. But there was n't no folded bill there. Here, have a drink with me—business is pickin' up."