CHAPTER XINTRODUCING A PARASITEIn the northeast corner of the Cyclone ranch, not far from the Little Jill, and in a hollow, well screened by hills and timber, One-Eye sat on his horse, smoking a brown cigarette and keeping a satisfied watch over a dozen mangy-looking cattle as they grazed intermittently in a restless, nervous way. They were a pitiful-looking handful, weak, emaciated, their skins showing bald patches and scabs, and they continually licked themselves and rubbed against the trees. While they were restless, it was without snap or vim; they were spiritless and drooping, enduring patiently until death should end their misery.One-Eye beamed upon them, his good optic glowing with satisfaction. He had gone to some trouble and risk to cut these miserable animals cut of the herd collected by the hasty round-up, and now that he was about to have them taken off his hands he sighed with deep content. To run infected cattle onto the Cyclone's non-infected northern range was very dangerous, for his foreman was direct and unhesitating in his methods. Discovery might easily mean a bullet above One-Eye's blue-red nose—and this accounts for that puncher's satisfaction. Some men will do a great deal for ten dollars."D—n if they ain't beauts," he chuckled. "When it comes to pickin' out th' real, high-toned wrecks, th' constant scratchers, why I reckon I 'm some strong. He says to me 'Get th' very wust, One-Eye,'—an' I shore has obeyed orders. That two-year-old tryin' to saw through that cottonwood is a prize-winner when it comes to scabs—his tail looks like a dead tree in a waste of sand, th' way th' hair 's gone. Wait till he gets rubbin' hisself through th' brush across th' river, where Peters' cows like to hang out. He 'll hang mites on every twig; an' this kind o' weather will boom things. I heard tell that Peters examined that new herd extra cautious afore he bought it—well, boxcars an' pens can hand out itch a-plenty, so he can't prove they got it from us." He pulled out a battered brass watch and gauged where the broken hands would be if they were all there to point. "He 's due in ten minutes an' he 's usually on time. Yep: here he comes now. I 'll get my ten afore I do any more work—wish I could get ten dollars as easy every day."Dave cantered up, his eyes fastened intently on the cattle, and he laughed cynically as he turned and regarded the puncher. "Well," he grinned, "I reckon you got th' wust that could stand bein' drove. Come on; we 'll get 'em off our hands as quick as we can—I don't want to answer no questions right now. It 'll be like puttin' a match to dry grass, th' way this dozen will cut down Peters' cows.""It shore will," replied One-Eye. "Got that ten handy?" he inquired, carelessly."Why, they ain't across th' river yet," replied Dave, frowning."They 'll get across when I gets my ten," smiled One-Eye."Here 's th' money!" snapped Dave, angrily, as he almost threw the gold piece at his companion. "Fust time I was ever told I could n't be trusted for ten dollars.""Oh, I trust you, all right—on'y I worked plumb hard for that coin, an' I want to feel it, like. Come on—take th' south side—I 'll handle th' rest."The herd moved slowly forward into a dry ravine and finally came to the river bank. They hadn't life enough to give trouble until they understood what they were expected to do. Then the everlasting, thick-headed obstinacy, the perverse whims which all cows have to an outrageous extent, asserted itself in a manner wholly unexpected in such tottering hulks of diseased flesh. They did everything but get wet, even showing a returning flash of spirit in the way they swung their heads and kicked up their heels. Time and time again they broke and ran along the bank, and always in Dave's direction, who, until now, had nursed the belief that he was something of a cow-puncher. When half-dead cows unhesitatingly picked him out, time after time, for an easy mark, and simply walked through his defence, it was time to exchange ideas on some things.At first One-Eye was greatly amused. He liked Dave well enough but he hated Dave's conceit—and to be present at his companion's discomfiture was very gratifying. But gradually One-Eye grew restless unto peevishness and a vast contempt settled upon him, edging his temper with a keenness rare to him. He had been trying to get one dozen imitation cows to cross an ordinarily wide river, and neither coldness nor unusual depth had any bearing on the matter. As he wondered how long he had been engaged in watching Dave's blunders and jerked out the brass watch to see, his voice rumbled and boomed with a jarring timbre and suddenness that make Dave jump."What th' h—l d' you think yo're doin'?" demanded One-Eye. "'Allamanleft' an' 'Ladies chain' is all right for a dance, but it 's some foolish out here. An' somebody 's goin' to lope along this way an' see us, if you don't quit makin' a jackass out er yo'rself."Stung to the quick, Dave wheeled to face his critic, his pent-up rage almost hysterical. He had held it in, choked it back, and forced himself to be calm, but now—his purpose was never disclosed, for at the instant he wheeled, the watchful cattle leaped through the opening he had made and headed for the hills, their heads down and tails up. Dave hesitated, glancing from One-Eye to the cattle and back again, his face white and pinched. One-Eye's anger melted under his impelling sense of the ridiculous and, slapping his thigh a resounding smack, he burst into roars of laughter, until he was bent in his saddle like a man drunk or sorely wounded."This yer 's a circus," he finally managed to cry. "Don't get mad, Dave: we 'll make 'em cross this time or they 'll float down like logs. Come on."When they rounded up the bunch and started it toward the river again the cows were surprisingly docile and the two drivers exchanged wondering glances. At the river edge the dozen hesitated for a moment while they nosed the water and at One-Eye's wondering command, pushed into the stream, scrambled out on the farther bank, and walked slowly into the brush. Dave's hypnotized senses were all in his eyes and he barely heard his companion speak.One-Eye prefaced his remarks with a fluent burst of profanity, and cogitated aloud: "Cows is worse than wimmin! Theyis! Of all th' crazy hens what ever a man drove, them dozen mangy critters has got 'em all roped an' tied! What in h—l do youthinkof 'em?""I ain't thinkin', One-Eye," softly replied Dave. "I 'm prayin' for strength an' fortitude. I figgers I can drop th' last six from where I 'm sittin', an' it's some temptation!"One-Eye ironed out his grin. "I'm some tempted myself, Dave. There 's things in a cowman's life to drive him plumb loco. I 've been part loco more 'n once. Mum? You bet I 'll keep mum. You don't reckon I 'm hankerin' for to collect no cold lead, do you?"Dave scarcely heard him. He was looking across the river, a smile on his face. Before him was the Rocking Horse, and south of it, so close as to appear a part of it from that angle, lay the Hog Back. He had planned well, he told himself, when he had decided to turn infected cattle on the Double Y at that point."Now, they ain't goin' fur to be found while they stops near ol' Hog Back, Dave," One-Eye was saying. "Nobody hardly ever rides that way, an' they 'll drift down where th' grass is better, soon as they finds out what they 're up agin. Wonder if it was true about that feller ridin' th' Rockin' Horse all day long?" he asked, curiously.He would have talked all day if given half a chance, but his companion, knowing One-Eye's inability to gracefully terminate a conversation, or effect a parting, mercilessly performed the operation himself. "I 'm goin' south, One-Eye. See you in town, some night," and Schatz'protégécantered away, and became hidden by the brush and hills of the rough country skirting the river.One-Eye looked after him. "Black devil!" he scowled. "If anybody gets plugged for this, you can bet it won't be little Davy. I wonder what th' Dutch Onion knowed that Dave didn't want told? Well, when me an' him is together my gun hand ain't never far from home—but I 'm surprised he did n't pump lead into me when I laughed like I did. I plumb forgot, then. Come on, boss; home for us, an' sudden. I ain't hankerin' none to be seen 'round here,now."CHAPTER XITHE MAN OUTSIDEDave loped through Twin River in no amiable mood. An unreasoning irritability tormented and blinded him to everything but the trail ahead. But if Dave failed to notice his friends, one of them at least bore him no ill-feeling for the oversight; this one was so solicitous for Dave's welfare that he followed all the way to the LaFrance cabin; when Dave went indoors he still lingered, hugging the cabin wall close to a window, while he listened with much interest to the talk that went on inside."Where 's Jean?" asked Dave, briefly, as he entered.Rose glanced at him. The even, metallic tones meant temper and she was painfully anxious to avoid crossing him when in this mood. Her voice was soothing as a summer breeze through tree branches when she answered. "He go to the station," she explained; "something about a harrow. He will be late.""See Peters?""Yes.""What 'd he say about Tex Ewalt?""He have not see him for many months. He ask me if I know him.""Well?""You forget to tell me what to say. I forget to answer.""Hm! Beats th' Dutch how a woman 'll crawl out of a hole. When 's he comin' to see you?""I do not know. He—he is very droll, that M'sieu Peters. Always he look at me strange like he suspect something.""He ain't got nothin' to suspect. Did n't try to kiss you, did he?""He never come near me one time—no; only he look at me, straight, without any smile.""Bah! I knowed you did n't take th' right way with him. You got t' tempt them gray-eyed galoots. They 'll follow you easy enough if you show 'em there's somethin' at the end o' th' trail. You go ag'in. Make him glad to see you. Won't be long afore he 's hangin' round, then.""Quel jour—when I must go?""Oh, whenever you get th' chanst. Soon as you kin. You got Pickles for an excuse, ain't you?"At this point the solicitous caretaker outside risked a look through the window. His glance travelled over the shoulder of Dave, sitting with his back to the window, and rested on the face of Rose. Wrhat he saw there was a revelation: scorn, contempt, loathing, the expression any good woman might bear toward a man with a mind considerably lower than the nobler beasts; it lasted but a moment; placidity swept over the regular features as she replied. "Mais oui," she admitted, "Fritz is excuse.""Well, you won't need any excuse if you play th' game right. You 'll be excuse enough, yourself."Enthralled by the contradiction between the expression and speech of Rose, the watcher prolonged his stare beyond safety. Rose's level gaze lifted from the unnoting eyes of Dave and rested full on the face in the window. The watcher changed instantly to the listener with one hand on his gun, but not so quickly that he failed to see the brilliant smile that flashed across the face of Rose. The alert tenseness of his attitude relaxed as he realized the significance of that smile and his shoulders heaved in strangling a laugh at the way Dave was being fooled.Dave's moodiness persisted. He sat glowering at the point of his boot, switching it venomously with his quirt, a thing he had not carried since his experience with the Cyclone cattle at the Hog Back. It reminded him of his proven lack of ability as a driver of cows; but it was "out of this nettle, Chagrin, that he plucked the flower, Complacence"; a cynical laugh announced recovery from the black mood. "Well, there 's some as help me better 'n you do," he declared. "If I can't get Peters here, I give him somethin' that 'll keep him busy at home.""Bien, but how?" Rose's interest had just the proper amount of congratulatory warmth and a faint wheeze escaped the listener outside as he choked back a laugh of admiration."I give him the itch," replied Dave, with dramatic brevity."Itch?" repeated Rose, in perplexity."Yes—itch, mange, scab! His d—n cows 'll be scratchin' their hides off afore he knows it. Th' Cyclone had it an' I got One-Eye Harris to save me out some. Mangiest lot o' cows everIsaw. We put 'em across th' Jill, up by th' Rocking Horse, a while back.""But the range—is it not bad?" asked Rose, wonderingly."Shore is. What do I care? Makes 'em trouble, don't it? An' it 'll spoil some o' their cows, you bet.""M'sieu Schatz, he tell you do this?""Smiler! The cussed ol' bear! He 's been a-layin' up all winter like a bear in a hole an' he ain't woke up yet. Poetry! an' Philosophy! an' some shiftyItalian named Mac—Mac somethin' or other. Smiler sets a heap by Mac. Jus' sits an' reads an' hol's out his han's an' says: 'Gimme th' Double Y, Dave.' Mus' think I carry it in m' hat.""But you will get it, Dave—yes.""You bet yo' boots I 'll get it. Peters 'll be so sick o' that range afore I 'm done with him he 'll be glad to quit. But if you get him comin' here, it 'll be done quicker.""I will try," murmured Rose.The flush that went with the words was wrongly interpreted by Dave. "That's you!" he exclaimed, admiringly, and was at her side before she realized it, bending over her in a swift movement that almost caught her by surprise. He laughed easily at his defeat, in no wise discomfited. "Ain't come kissin'-time yet, eh, Rose?"She looked up coolly, careful not to give way an inch from the nearness of him. Nothing tempts a man so much as a retreat. "Mais non, m'sieu. When the day, then the hour—you go too far unless," was her calm warning."All right. Time enough," he rejoined carelessly. "Guess I 'll drift back to Twin. Have to see Comin' an' keep him on edge, or he 'll get tired o' waitin' for that good thing I promised him. He ain't a feller as you can ask questions or I 'd cussed quick find out who he is an' where he come from."Rose stood in the doorway until the sound of his horse's feet assured her that he was certainly on his way to Twin River. Then she went in, closed the door behind her, darkened the front windows and going to the window at the back called out clearly: "Enter. I want to talk to you, Tex Ewalt."Tex lounged forward a step, bringing himself into view, his face the picture of mischievous amusement. He rested his arms on the sill and smiled at her. "You are a good guesser," he admitted."Enter," she insisted. "Not the door, no; the window—hurry."He slipped through with the suppleness of a naked Indian and she at once shut out the night at this and the other windows. "We must beware more eaves-droppers," she explained. She motioned to a bench and seated herself near him, looking at him intently."I think you kill Fritz' father that night," she began. "I am sorry."Tex bowed, as if such unjust suspicions were his daily portion, and waited."You are M'sieu Peters' friend?" she questioned.Tex carefully poked two depressions in the crown of his hat and carefully poked them out again, thinking swiftly. "Yes," he replied, meeting her eyes again."You are Tex Ewalt. Dave call you Comin'. M'sieu Peters not know you are here. You spy for M'sieu Peters, yes?""Buck told you, eh? Did you tell him I was in Twin River?"She shook her head. "But no. I guess, when I see you at the window."Tex looked incredulous. "How did you guess?" he asked.Rose reviewed the incidents from which she had drawn her conclusion. Tex was impressed. "That's not guessing. That's pure reason," he declared."You will tell M'sieu Peters about the itch?" she inquired eagerly."Why don't you tell him? I can't risk going out to the ranch.""No! No! Dave must not suspect. You tell him quick so Dave not think it is me.""Why, Dave is in a hole. Harris will squeal the minute I put my fingers on him.""He will suspect. He must not—Oh! you do not understand."Tex indented his hat on the left side; that was Dave: then on the right side; that was Buck: then, with careful precision, in the middle of the crown; that was Rose. He studied the result with thoughtful attention. "Like Dave?" he inquired, casually."I—" she began with passionate intensity but paused. "No," she answered, more calmly."No," repeated Tex. He smoothed out the left-hand depression with an air of satisfaction. "That 's good," he continued, "because I shall have to put a crimp, a very serious crimp, in his anatomy one of these days. I can feel it coming. What do you think of Buck?""M'sieu Peters is a good man—a good man," she repeated, dreamily. Tex glanced at her and back at his hat, which he eyed malevolently. Then he sighed. "Oh, well, every man has to find it out for himself," was his irrelevant comment. "Where does Schatz stand in this?""Dave say he try to get back the range. But Dave he is so much a liar.""Yes, I should say he was a pretty good liar. Well, I 'll be going.""But no!" she exclaimed. "You must eat supper," and she began hastily to make preparations."You did n't offer Dave any," suggested Tex, with a ghost of a grin."No," she admitted, seriously. "Sometimes I must, but to-night it is not necessary. I am glad, always, to see him go.""Well, so am I," agreed Tex. "Here, let me do that."Tex learned much during the meal that went to confirm the suspicions he had already formed. Also his opinions in regard to women-kind in general seemed less plausible than before. But though shaken, they were not routed; and when he took up his hat in leaving, the two dimples in it looked at him mockingly. "Oh, well, what's the use?" he said. "Good-night, Miss LaFrance," and he threw the hat on his head as it was.CHAPTER XIIA HIDDEN ENEMYCock Murray had an engagement to meet Schatz at the point where the Double Y's north line touched the Black Jack, and after he had ridden up to the south line to see how the cows were doing, as Buck had ordered, he swung west to the Black Jack to follow it down to the meeting place. As he rode he neared the Hog Back, a vast upheaval of rock, not high enough to be called a mountain, flat on the top except for hollows and gullies, scantily covered with grass and stunted trees. The Hog Back would have been called a mesa in the South, for want of a better name, though it was no more a mesa than it was a mountain. A mile long and a third of that across at its widest point, it made an effective natural barrier between the Double Y and the river, hiding a pasture of great acreage which lay between it and the precipitous cliff which frowned down upon the rushing, swishing Black Jack eighty feet below. While the round-up would, of course, comb this poor-grass part of the range for outlaws and strays, the outfit never gave it any attention because cattle seldom were found upon it.Cock Murray, knowing that he had an hour to spare, and fond of hard riding where his skill was called into play, suddenly decided to ascend the Hog Back. Antelope were still to be found even on the range itself, along the wildest part of the south line, and he might get a shot at one if he made the climb. It was an easy task to go up the northern end, where the trail arose in a succession of steep grades; but he had no time for that and guided his pony up the rough, rocky east wall. As he gained the top he rested the horse while he looked around. It was a favorite view of his; below him lay the range and the river; he could see, on a clear day, the dot that represented his ranch house; and to the west and south lay the wild, rolling range of the Cyclone. Gradually his gaze sought nearer objects and he thought of antelope. Moving forward cautiously he kept keen watch on all sides, intending if he caught sight of one, to dismount and stalk it on foot. He had ridden nearly to the northern end when he jerked his pony to a stand, and then, gazing earnestly ahead a short distance, went on as rapidly as the broken ground would permit."Dead cows! What 'n h—l killed 'em? Wolves would clean 'em to the bone. G'wan, you fool!" he growled at his mount. "Scared of dead cows, are you! If you are, I 've got the cure for it right here on my heel."The horse went on, picking its footing, and soon Murray whistled in surprise: "Cyclone brand! Bet they 've got the itch, too. Yep! Died from it, by G—d! Now, how the blazes did they get over here! Cows, and sick ones especially, don't hanker to swim the Jack. Well, that will hold over a little—let 's see how many are up here"—and he began the search. Four were all he could find, two alive and two dead. The two that still stumbled weakly in search of food, dropped as if struck by lightning as the acrid gray smoke sifted past Murray's head. "Wonder how many more there was and where they went to? Must have been here some time, judging by the carcasses. Holy smoke! If any cows gone as bad as these are loose on our range may the Lord pityus! Come on, bronc; we 'll see what Schatz thinks about it. Wish I had time to build a fire over these itch farms."He was careful to guide his horse on ground barren of vegetation and not let brush or grass touch the animal when he could avoid it. As he plunged down the steep northern trail, a dried water course, he reined up hard, looking closely at the tracks in the soft alluvial soil washed down by the last rain. "Must have been about a dozen; perhaps a few less—then some did get where we don't want them—holy cats! as if we have n't got enough with our regular calf round-up!"When he galloped up to the north line he found Schatz waiting for him. "Schatz," he shouted, "I just found four itch cows on the Hog Back. Six or eight are loose on th' ranch. They was Cyclone, an' they never crossed th' Jack by themselves.""Mein Gott! Did you drive dem back?""Two was dead; th' other two was so near it I just dropped 'em. They could n't stand a drive even to th' river. Shall I tell Peters?""Shall you tell him?Gewiss! Vat you t'ink—I vant itch on de Double Vy? How dey come?""I don't know. But they must 'a' been driven. Th' Jack is cold as ice an' she runs strong by th' Rocking Horse. That's where th' tracks led to. Cows ain't goin' to swim that for fun. Why, these was all et up with th' itch—wonder they did n't drown.""Dank Gott! Sick cows ain't made vell mit ice vater und schwimmin'. Dey don't lif so long like de vater vas varm. Der shock help kill dem quick."Murray nodded, his hand resting on his gun, and Schatz noticed it. "Gewiss, if dey vas too veak to drive in der river, it vas besser to shoot dem. But ven dey drop dey stay mit all dem parasites. Drivin' dem off de range is besser.Aber, you stopped dem de best vay you could."Murray nodded again. "Yes, yo're right—but I was n't thinkin' of shootin' no cows," he asserted calmly. "I know all about that. But I was just a-wonderin' if I should ketch some skunk of a cow-punch drivin' itch cattle on us, an' shoot him, if he 'd drop any parasites whenhefell.""Ach Gott! Alvays you shoot, like Dave! Shoot, shoot, shoot! Vy inHimmelshould you alvays grab dot gun? Brains are in your head, andbesseras lead in dot Colt. Brains first, and if dey don't do it, den der gun. But alvays der gun should be last.Verstanden?"Murray did not reply and his companion, exchanging a few terse sentences with him, waved him towards the ranch house while he followed the line towards the Little Jill.Buck was washing for supper when Murray arrived and kept right on with his ablutions as the puncher told his tale. Murray quite expected to see some signs of its effect on the owner, but he met with surprise and looked it. Buck Peters almost made an ally when he turned, after Murray's last word. "Murray, that's good work. Prepare forhardwork. Send Ned here right away," he said, quietly, no trace of emotion in his voice.Murray went out, thinking hard. When a man could take such a blow as that one had been taken, then he was clean grit all through. To smile as Buck had done—"By G—d, he 's a man!" swore the puncher. "I can'thelpliking him; wish I did n't have to help throw him. And I wish he did n't trust me like he does—ah, h—l!" he growled, savagely. "He 's a range thief, after all!"When Monroe entered the ranch house he found his employer looking out of the window in the direction of the Hog Back, but he turned at Ned's entry. "Got work ahead, Ned. Murray found some Cyclone cows dead and wobbly on th' Hog Back. Bad case of itch. He killed th' wobblers but says th' tracks show that about a dozen was in th' herd. That means eight of 'em are on our range among the cattle. Tell th' boys we start th' round-up at daylight. If we can, we 'll make this do for the spring round-up, too; if not, then th' calves 'll have to wait till we can go for 'em. Th' north range won't have no itch cows on it yet, so take th' south first. As fast as we can cut out th' cattle that are free from it, we 'll throw 'em over on th' north range. Begin in th' Hog Back country an' clean up. Drive everything out of it.""It's d—d funny Cyclone cows swum th' Jack," commented Monroe, a black look on his face. "By G—d, letmeketch anybody at that game!""That's th' whole thing, Ned," and Buck smiled: "To ketch 'em. I know a man who 'd clean up th' mystery if he was here, an' was told he did n't have nothin' else to do." He smiled again quietly and turned to his supper. "But he ain't here, so what's th' use.""Mebby I—" suggested Ned, nervously."No, yo 're goin' to help me most by curing th' evil on th' table; never mind th' dealer, nor th' game. We 've got as many cards as we 're goin' to get—use 'em, Ned. Help me lick th' itch first—th' hows an' whys can wait.""Yo 're right, Peters; an' wewilllick it! But it makes me fightin' mad, a thing like this. I 'll get everything all ready to-night an' th' round-up starts with th' comin' of th' sun to-morrow. Good-night."Buck ate slowly, his thoughts far more occupied with the problem than with the food. This was the firing of the first cannon in the fight Monroe had predicted. Who was responsible? His suspicions, guided by Monroe's warning, were directed towards Schatz, but in his present absence of knowledge they could advance no farther than suspicions. Dave's half-closed eyes sneered at him as he recalled the ambiguous threat made that first night in the Sweet-Echo: still remained suspicion only. McReady, of the Cyclone, might have designs for the Double Y, but he doubted it. They had yet free grass a-plenty, though the time was not far distant when the private ownership of the Double Y would be an invaluable asset. Still, it might be any other cowman in that part of the country—or none of them. Well, he had met problems as great as this one on the Texan range—but he had fought them with an outfit loyal to the last man, every unit of it willing and eager to face all kinds of odds for him. He now recalled those men to his mind's eye, and he never loved them more than he did now, when he realized how really precious unswerving loyalty is. Hopalong, Red, Johnny and the others of the old Bar-20 outfit, made an honor roll that held his thoughts even to the temporary exclusion of the bitterness of his present situation. If only he had that outfit with him now! Even his neighbors and acquaintances on that southern range were to be trusted and depended upon more than his present outfit. His vision, knocking patiently at first upon the door of his abstraction, at this point kicked its way in and demanded attention. Buck became aware that for some time he had been staring unseeingly at a folded paper, tucked partly under his bunk blanket. With a smothered oath he sprang from his seat, strode to the bunk and snatched up the paper. The warning it contained was better founded than the first. It read:"Buck Peters: Itch on the YY. Crossed the Jack at the Rocking Horse. A Friend.""If you told me who sent it across, you 'd be more of a friend," muttered Buck—in which he was less wise than Tex, who did not see the sense in having the servant removed while the master remained.Hoofbeats rolled up in the darkness and stopped at the door of the house and a moment later Whitby entered the room, his pink, English complexion aglow with the exercise and wind-beating of his ride.Buck was glad to see him; he needed a little of the other's cheerful optimism and after a few minutes of random conversation, Buck told him of the latest developments. Whitby's surprise was genuine, and the practicability of his nature asserted itself. This was ground upon which he was thoroughly at home."I say, Buck, we can show these swine a thing or two they don't know," he began. "They don't know it in the States, I 'll lay, nor north of the line either, for that matter. My Governor is a cattle man, you might say; on the other side of the pond, of course. And I 've knocked about farm land a good bit, you know. Now a chap in the same county had a lot of sheep with this what-d'you-call it—scab, they said. He used a preparation of arsenic but a lot of the beggars died, poisoned, you know. He had tried a number of other things and he got jolly well tired of the game; so he wrote to a cousin, chemist or something, and told him about it; and this chap sent him a recipe, after a bit, that killed off the parasites like winking, without injuring a single sheep.""That ain't goin' to help us none, Whit. You ain't got th' receipt an' you don't know how to make th' stuff.""Ah! But I do though. I gave him a hand with the silly beggars and bally good fun it was, too. We passed them through a long trough and ducked their heads under as fast as they came along. But it was work, no end, mixing the solution. There was nothing funny about that part of it.""See here, Whit, are you really in earnest? Do you think you can make the stuff and show us how to use it?""Absolutely certain, dear boy. Cattle are n't sheep, but I 'll be bound it 'll do the trick.""How fast can you run 'em though?"Whitby reflected. "We could do a thousand a day, perhaps more. It depends on how many you do at once, you know." And Whitby went into a detailed description to which Buck gave close attention. At the end he shook his head. "Reckon we 'll have to stick to th' old way," he adjudged, regretfully. "There ain't that quantity of lime and sulphur in all Montana.""Ah, yes; your point is good," drawled Whitby, smiling. "But your partner lives in Chicago where there is any quantity of it. If we wired him to-morrow to get the stuff and ship it at once he would do it, don't you know.""Take it too long to get here," replied Buck, gloomily."Don't you think the railroad will see that such an important consignment gets off and comes through quickly, especially if the consignor is willing to pay the damage? I 'll bet you a good cigar it will be here within a week after we wire. Letmesend the wire and I 'll bet you a box. I 'm bally good at wires. I used to get money out of the Governor by wire when I could get it no other way.""Let her go," said Buck. "If it's all you say we 'll show them coyotes we know a few tricks ourselves.""Yes, I fancy we shall," replied Whitby. "But isn't this a rummy game? They act like savages, you know. It is all very refreshing to a sated mind—and their justice is so deuced direct, right or wrong. Fancy Blackstone in the discard, as you Americans say, and a Colt's revolver sovereign lord of the realm!""King Colt is all right, Whitby, when youknowwho to loose him at," declared Buck, turning toward the door to the kitchen. "Jake! Jake!" he called.The sharp, incisive tones told their story and brought buoyancy to the cook, for he was on his feet, across the kitchen, and into the dining-room in apparently one movement, which astounded the soul of that culinary devotee when leisure gave time for reflection."Why, Jake, I believe yo 're gettin' to be almost a human, livin' creature," remarked Buck. "I never saw you move so fast before. It ain't pay day now, you know.""Shore I know, but nextweek is," grinned Jake, not quite catching the meaning."Oh, I 'm glad you do," sighed Buck with relief. "Now as long as you ain't sufferin' no hallucernations, suppose you tell Ned to come in here. You need n't tellhim—he knows it ain't, too.""Knows what ain't?" demanded Jake, his fingers slowly ploughing through his mass of hair. "If I need n't tell him, what do you want me to tell him for?""Be calm, Jake, be calm," replied Buck, raising a warning finger. "There aretwotells in this; one you must, th' other you need n't.""Ah, go to h—l an' tell him yourself," retorted Jake, backing toward a handy chair so as not to be without a weapon."You tell Ned I want to see him—I 'll explain th' second tell later. Now—Willy'u tell?"Jake backed into the kitchen, slammed shut the door behind him, and lost no time in getting to the bunkhouse."Hey, Ned," he blurted out, "th' boss says to tell you he wants to see you. Th' second tell can wait till later. William Tell?""What t'ell!" snorted Bow-Wow, arising."You another?" demanded the cook; then he fled, Ned following more leisurely.Bow-Wow looked at Murray inquiringly: "What did he mean by William Tell?"Murray put down his mended riding gear. "Why, don't you know?""Shore; what is it?" sarcastically responded Bow-Wow. "If I knew, do you think I 'd tell?""Well I know, all right. It's what he was brought up on, Bow-Wow.""Huh! Did you know him when he was a kid?""Shore! He used to live in th' next street in th' same town, or was it in some other town?" he mused, thoughtfully. "H—l, that don't make no difference, 'cause he lived in th' next street. See?""No; I don't; not a d—d bit!""Bow-Wow, if I was as thick as you get sometimes, I 'd drink lots of water an' thin down a bit. This is th' story of William Tell, an' I 'll tell it to you if you won't tell: When he was a kid he had a awful yearnin' for apples, like you has for cheap whiskey, Bow-Wow. Nothin' else suited him an' th' bigger he got th' more apples he had to eat. All th' farmers was a-layin' for him with guns, so what did li'l Willie do? Why, he shot 'em down with a bow an' arrer. An' that's why he can throw a stone so straight to-day.Nowdo you see?"Bow-Wow threw a shoe after Murray's departing figure and suggested a place to go to. Then he scowled and muttered: "If I was shore of what I suspects I 'd give you a sample ofmyshootin',sixsamples so you 'd appreciate the real thing." He grinned at the memory of Jake's message."You 'll say somethin' with sense in it some day if you gropes long enough, Jake. Yo 're gettin' warmer all th' time."When Monroe reached the ranch house Buck met him with some sharp orders: "Send Bow-Wow to Twin River and Wayback first thing to-morrow. Tell him to leave word we want two dozen more punchers for our round-up—fifty dollars a month an' a full month's work guaranteed. Jake 's goin' to dig some big holes in th' ground in th' next few days—he ain't fit for nothin' else, not even cookin'."A crash in the kitchen interrupted him. "Jake!" he called. There was a scramble and the cook appeared, much excited. "What's th' fuss about?""Fell off my chair," replied Jake. "An' it hurts, too.""Yo 're gettin' too soft, Jake. A little exercise 'll toughen you so a chair would n't dare to tackle you. I 'm goin' to let you dig some holes first thing to-morrow."Jake had visions of extensive excavations, dug by him, into which thousands of dead cows were being piled for burial. "Would n't it be better to burn 'em, or push 'em into th' river an' shoot 'em there?""I never saw holes you could handle that way, Jake," gravely replied Buck."Why, no," supplemented the foreman. "Most holes would ruther be slit up th' middle an' salted. That's th' way we allus used to get rid of 'em.""I don't mean holes—I meancows!" explained Jake."Oh, then it 's all right," responded Buck. "I ain't goin' to askyouto dig no cows, Jake. But yo 're goin' to dig some nice ditches to-morrow; long, deep ones, an' good an' wide.""I ain't never dug a ditch in my life," hastily objected Jake."Why, did n't you tell me how you dug that railroad cut down there in Iowa, an' got a hundred dollars extra 'cause you saved th' company so much money?" inquired Buck."Oh, but that was a steam shovel!""All right; you 'll steam afore yo 're at it very long."Jake backed out again, slipped out of his kitchen, and stood reflective under the stars. He would quit and flee to Twin River if it was n't such a long walk. "D—n it!" he growled, and forthwith threw two stones into the darkness by way of getting rid of some of his anger."Sa-a-y!" floated a voice out of the night. "You jerk any more rocks inthisdirection an' I 'll beat you up so you 'll wipe your feet on yoreself, thinkin' yo 're a doormat! What 'n h—l you mean, anyhow?""Mebby they 'sapples!" jeered Bow-Wow from the bunk-house. "Hello, William Tell!"The cook softly closed the door and propped a chair against it. "Gee whiskers! I ain't goin' to stayheremuch longer!Everybody 's gettin' crazy!""'If a body meets a body, comin' through th' rye,'" quavered a voice from the corral and a voice in the darkness profaned the song: "Ever meet yoreself goin' t'other way, after surroundin' th' rye?""Never had that pleasure after you 'd been at th' booze."Chesty Sutton entered the bunk-house and stared at Bow-Wow. "What's eatin' you?" he demanded, curiously."I dunno; I 've been itchin' ever since Murray told us. Wonder if I 've got it?"Chesty considered: "Well, now I remember that chickens, cats, and dogs don't get cattle itch. You ain't got it, Bow-Wow. It 's yore imagination that's got it. But if you 're bound to scratch, do it somewhere else—you make me nervous, keepin' on one spot so long. Wait till I asks th' boys about it.""Stop!" snapped Bow-Wow, his hand on a bottle of harness oil: "You never mind about askin' anybody! I 'll take yore word for it—remember, I 'll bust yore gizzard if you gets that pack o' coyotes barkin' at my heels!""Holy Smoke! We 'll have our hands full a while," growled Chesty, dropping onto a box. "Let any o' this crowd ketch anybody throwin' mangy cows over on us! An' right after it comes th' Spring combin'—this is shore a weary world.""Jake 's got to dig some ditches," remarked the foreman, entering the house, and immediately the misery of future hours was forgotten in the merriment and satisfaction found in this news. Jake would have a lot of advisers.In the ranch house Whitby was laughing gently and finally he voiced a wish: "I say, Peters, what a wealth of character there is out here. I wish Johnnie Beauchamp were here—what a rattling good play he could make. You know, Johnnie's last play was almost a success—and I 'm very much interested in him. I backed him to the tune of two thousand pounds."Invited to spend the night in the ranch house, Whitby accepted with alacrity. In carrying out McAllister's wishes he could not be too near headquarters, he concluded; but added to this, he entertained a sincere admiration for Buck Peters which increased as the days went by.Some few minutes after the lights were out, Buck was brought back from the shadowy realm of sleep by Whitby's voice coming from the other room. "I say, Peters, did you keep those calculations?""Yes," answered Buck. "Why?""There 's the lumber, you know. It might be a good idea to have McAllister send it on.""Shore would. You tell him.""I will," promised Whitby. A few seconds later he broke out again: "Do you know, Buck, the railroad companies of America are cheerful beggars. They take your luggage and then play ducks and drakes with it, in a very idiotic way. Why, mine was lost for two weeks and I was in a very devil of a fix. So it would not be a bad idea, you know, if I tell your partner to send a man with the consignment. He can sit on the barrels and see that they are n't placed on a siding to prove the theory that loss of movement results in inertia. Am I right?"Buck laughed from his heart. "If there 's anything you don't think of make a note of it an' let me see it," he commended."What a rummy remark. I say, how—ha! ha!" and Whitby's bunk creaked to his mirth. "That's rather a neat one, you know! I did n't know you were Irish, Peters, blessed if I did! I must tell that to your man Friday—it will keep the bally ass combing his frowsy locks for a week."Buck had one foot on the Slumberland boundary when he heard the voice again, seeming to have travelled a long distance: "And I believe I should be rewarded for my brilliancy. I 'll ask your partner to send some brandy and a box ofgoodcigars with the rest of it as my fee. I 'll have to learn to smoke all over again," he complained drowsily. A raucous snore bounced off the partition and Whitby opened his eyes for a moment: "My word, if Friday could only cook as well as he snores!"
CHAPTER X
INTRODUCING A PARASITE
In the northeast corner of the Cyclone ranch, not far from the Little Jill, and in a hollow, well screened by hills and timber, One-Eye sat on his horse, smoking a brown cigarette and keeping a satisfied watch over a dozen mangy-looking cattle as they grazed intermittently in a restless, nervous way. They were a pitiful-looking handful, weak, emaciated, their skins showing bald patches and scabs, and they continually licked themselves and rubbed against the trees. While they were restless, it was without snap or vim; they were spiritless and drooping, enduring patiently until death should end their misery.
One-Eye beamed upon them, his good optic glowing with satisfaction. He had gone to some trouble and risk to cut these miserable animals cut of the herd collected by the hasty round-up, and now that he was about to have them taken off his hands he sighed with deep content. To run infected cattle onto the Cyclone's non-infected northern range was very dangerous, for his foreman was direct and unhesitating in his methods. Discovery might easily mean a bullet above One-Eye's blue-red nose—and this accounts for that puncher's satisfaction. Some men will do a great deal for ten dollars.
"D—n if they ain't beauts," he chuckled. "When it comes to pickin' out th' real, high-toned wrecks, th' constant scratchers, why I reckon I 'm some strong. He says to me 'Get th' very wust, One-Eye,'—an' I shore has obeyed orders. That two-year-old tryin' to saw through that cottonwood is a prize-winner when it comes to scabs—his tail looks like a dead tree in a waste of sand, th' way th' hair 's gone. Wait till he gets rubbin' hisself through th' brush across th' river, where Peters' cows like to hang out. He 'll hang mites on every twig; an' this kind o' weather will boom things. I heard tell that Peters examined that new herd extra cautious afore he bought it—well, boxcars an' pens can hand out itch a-plenty, so he can't prove they got it from us." He pulled out a battered brass watch and gauged where the broken hands would be if they were all there to point. "He 's due in ten minutes an' he 's usually on time. Yep: here he comes now. I 'll get my ten afore I do any more work—wish I could get ten dollars as easy every day."
Dave cantered up, his eyes fastened intently on the cattle, and he laughed cynically as he turned and regarded the puncher. "Well," he grinned, "I reckon you got th' wust that could stand bein' drove. Come on; we 'll get 'em off our hands as quick as we can—I don't want to answer no questions right now. It 'll be like puttin' a match to dry grass, th' way this dozen will cut down Peters' cows."
"It shore will," replied One-Eye. "Got that ten handy?" he inquired, carelessly.
"Why, they ain't across th' river yet," replied Dave, frowning.
"They 'll get across when I gets my ten," smiled One-Eye.
"Here 's th' money!" snapped Dave, angrily, as he almost threw the gold piece at his companion. "Fust time I was ever told I could n't be trusted for ten dollars."
"Oh, I trust you, all right—on'y I worked plumb hard for that coin, an' I want to feel it, like. Come on—take th' south side—I 'll handle th' rest."
The herd moved slowly forward into a dry ravine and finally came to the river bank. They hadn't life enough to give trouble until they understood what they were expected to do. Then the everlasting, thick-headed obstinacy, the perverse whims which all cows have to an outrageous extent, asserted itself in a manner wholly unexpected in such tottering hulks of diseased flesh. They did everything but get wet, even showing a returning flash of spirit in the way they swung their heads and kicked up their heels. Time and time again they broke and ran along the bank, and always in Dave's direction, who, until now, had nursed the belief that he was something of a cow-puncher. When half-dead cows unhesitatingly picked him out, time after time, for an easy mark, and simply walked through his defence, it was time to exchange ideas on some things.
At first One-Eye was greatly amused. He liked Dave well enough but he hated Dave's conceit—and to be present at his companion's discomfiture was very gratifying. But gradually One-Eye grew restless unto peevishness and a vast contempt settled upon him, edging his temper with a keenness rare to him. He had been trying to get one dozen imitation cows to cross an ordinarily wide river, and neither coldness nor unusual depth had any bearing on the matter. As he wondered how long he had been engaged in watching Dave's blunders and jerked out the brass watch to see, his voice rumbled and boomed with a jarring timbre and suddenness that make Dave jump.
"What th' h—l d' you think yo're doin'?" demanded One-Eye. "'Allamanleft' an' 'Ladies chain' is all right for a dance, but it 's some foolish out here. An' somebody 's goin' to lope along this way an' see us, if you don't quit makin' a jackass out er yo'rself."
Stung to the quick, Dave wheeled to face his critic, his pent-up rage almost hysterical. He had held it in, choked it back, and forced himself to be calm, but now—his purpose was never disclosed, for at the instant he wheeled, the watchful cattle leaped through the opening he had made and headed for the hills, their heads down and tails up. Dave hesitated, glancing from One-Eye to the cattle and back again, his face white and pinched. One-Eye's anger melted under his impelling sense of the ridiculous and, slapping his thigh a resounding smack, he burst into roars of laughter, until he was bent in his saddle like a man drunk or sorely wounded.
"This yer 's a circus," he finally managed to cry. "Don't get mad, Dave: we 'll make 'em cross this time or they 'll float down like logs. Come on."
When they rounded up the bunch and started it toward the river again the cows were surprisingly docile and the two drivers exchanged wondering glances. At the river edge the dozen hesitated for a moment while they nosed the water and at One-Eye's wondering command, pushed into the stream, scrambled out on the farther bank, and walked slowly into the brush. Dave's hypnotized senses were all in his eyes and he barely heard his companion speak.
One-Eye prefaced his remarks with a fluent burst of profanity, and cogitated aloud: "Cows is worse than wimmin! Theyis! Of all th' crazy hens what ever a man drove, them dozen mangy critters has got 'em all roped an' tied! What in h—l do youthinkof 'em?"
"I ain't thinkin', One-Eye," softly replied Dave. "I 'm prayin' for strength an' fortitude. I figgers I can drop th' last six from where I 'm sittin', an' it's some temptation!"
One-Eye ironed out his grin. "I'm some tempted myself, Dave. There 's things in a cowman's life to drive him plumb loco. I 've been part loco more 'n once. Mum? You bet I 'll keep mum. You don't reckon I 'm hankerin' for to collect no cold lead, do you?"
Dave scarcely heard him. He was looking across the river, a smile on his face. Before him was the Rocking Horse, and south of it, so close as to appear a part of it from that angle, lay the Hog Back. He had planned well, he told himself, when he had decided to turn infected cattle on the Double Y at that point.
"Now, they ain't goin' fur to be found while they stops near ol' Hog Back, Dave," One-Eye was saying. "Nobody hardly ever rides that way, an' they 'll drift down where th' grass is better, soon as they finds out what they 're up agin. Wonder if it was true about that feller ridin' th' Rockin' Horse all day long?" he asked, curiously.
He would have talked all day if given half a chance, but his companion, knowing One-Eye's inability to gracefully terminate a conversation, or effect a parting, mercilessly performed the operation himself. "I 'm goin' south, One-Eye. See you in town, some night," and Schatz'protégécantered away, and became hidden by the brush and hills of the rough country skirting the river.
One-Eye looked after him. "Black devil!" he scowled. "If anybody gets plugged for this, you can bet it won't be little Davy. I wonder what th' Dutch Onion knowed that Dave didn't want told? Well, when me an' him is together my gun hand ain't never far from home—but I 'm surprised he did n't pump lead into me when I laughed like I did. I plumb forgot, then. Come on, boss; home for us, an' sudden. I ain't hankerin' none to be seen 'round here,now."
CHAPTER XI
THE MAN OUTSIDE
Dave loped through Twin River in no amiable mood. An unreasoning irritability tormented and blinded him to everything but the trail ahead. But if Dave failed to notice his friends, one of them at least bore him no ill-feeling for the oversight; this one was so solicitous for Dave's welfare that he followed all the way to the LaFrance cabin; when Dave went indoors he still lingered, hugging the cabin wall close to a window, while he listened with much interest to the talk that went on inside.
"Where 's Jean?" asked Dave, briefly, as he entered.
Rose glanced at him. The even, metallic tones meant temper and she was painfully anxious to avoid crossing him when in this mood. Her voice was soothing as a summer breeze through tree branches when she answered. "He go to the station," she explained; "something about a harrow. He will be late."
"See Peters?"
"Yes."
"What 'd he say about Tex Ewalt?"
"He have not see him for many months. He ask me if I know him."
"Well?"
"You forget to tell me what to say. I forget to answer."
"Hm! Beats th' Dutch how a woman 'll crawl out of a hole. When 's he comin' to see you?"
"I do not know. He—he is very droll, that M'sieu Peters. Always he look at me strange like he suspect something."
"He ain't got nothin' to suspect. Did n't try to kiss you, did he?"
"He never come near me one time—no; only he look at me, straight, without any smile."
"Bah! I knowed you did n't take th' right way with him. You got t' tempt them gray-eyed galoots. They 'll follow you easy enough if you show 'em there's somethin' at the end o' th' trail. You go ag'in. Make him glad to see you. Won't be long afore he 's hangin' round, then."
"Quel jour—when I must go?"
"Oh, whenever you get th' chanst. Soon as you kin. You got Pickles for an excuse, ain't you?"
At this point the solicitous caretaker outside risked a look through the window. His glance travelled over the shoulder of Dave, sitting with his back to the window, and rested on the face of Rose. Wrhat he saw there was a revelation: scorn, contempt, loathing, the expression any good woman might bear toward a man with a mind considerably lower than the nobler beasts; it lasted but a moment; placidity swept over the regular features as she replied. "Mais oui," she admitted, "Fritz is excuse."
"Well, you won't need any excuse if you play th' game right. You 'll be excuse enough, yourself."
Enthralled by the contradiction between the expression and speech of Rose, the watcher prolonged his stare beyond safety. Rose's level gaze lifted from the unnoting eyes of Dave and rested full on the face in the window. The watcher changed instantly to the listener with one hand on his gun, but not so quickly that he failed to see the brilliant smile that flashed across the face of Rose. The alert tenseness of his attitude relaxed as he realized the significance of that smile and his shoulders heaved in strangling a laugh at the way Dave was being fooled.
Dave's moodiness persisted. He sat glowering at the point of his boot, switching it venomously with his quirt, a thing he had not carried since his experience with the Cyclone cattle at the Hog Back. It reminded him of his proven lack of ability as a driver of cows; but it was "out of this nettle, Chagrin, that he plucked the flower, Complacence"; a cynical laugh announced recovery from the black mood. "Well, there 's some as help me better 'n you do," he declared. "If I can't get Peters here, I give him somethin' that 'll keep him busy at home."
"Bien, but how?" Rose's interest had just the proper amount of congratulatory warmth and a faint wheeze escaped the listener outside as he choked back a laugh of admiration.
"I give him the itch," replied Dave, with dramatic brevity.
"Itch?" repeated Rose, in perplexity.
"Yes—itch, mange, scab! His d—n cows 'll be scratchin' their hides off afore he knows it. Th' Cyclone had it an' I got One-Eye Harris to save me out some. Mangiest lot o' cows everIsaw. We put 'em across th' Jill, up by th' Rocking Horse, a while back."
"But the range—is it not bad?" asked Rose, wonderingly.
"Shore is. What do I care? Makes 'em trouble, don't it? An' it 'll spoil some o' their cows, you bet."
"M'sieu Schatz, he tell you do this?"
"Smiler! The cussed ol' bear! He 's been a-layin' up all winter like a bear in a hole an' he ain't woke up yet. Poetry! an' Philosophy! an' some shiftyItalian named Mac—Mac somethin' or other. Smiler sets a heap by Mac. Jus' sits an' reads an' hol's out his han's an' says: 'Gimme th' Double Y, Dave.' Mus' think I carry it in m' hat."
"But you will get it, Dave—yes."
"You bet yo' boots I 'll get it. Peters 'll be so sick o' that range afore I 'm done with him he 'll be glad to quit. But if you get him comin' here, it 'll be done quicker."
"I will try," murmured Rose.
The flush that went with the words was wrongly interpreted by Dave. "That's you!" he exclaimed, admiringly, and was at her side before she realized it, bending over her in a swift movement that almost caught her by surprise. He laughed easily at his defeat, in no wise discomfited. "Ain't come kissin'-time yet, eh, Rose?"
She looked up coolly, careful not to give way an inch from the nearness of him. Nothing tempts a man so much as a retreat. "Mais non, m'sieu. When the day, then the hour—you go too far unless," was her calm warning.
"All right. Time enough," he rejoined carelessly. "Guess I 'll drift back to Twin. Have to see Comin' an' keep him on edge, or he 'll get tired o' waitin' for that good thing I promised him. He ain't a feller as you can ask questions or I 'd cussed quick find out who he is an' where he come from."
Rose stood in the doorway until the sound of his horse's feet assured her that he was certainly on his way to Twin River. Then she went in, closed the door behind her, darkened the front windows and going to the window at the back called out clearly: "Enter. I want to talk to you, Tex Ewalt."
Tex lounged forward a step, bringing himself into view, his face the picture of mischievous amusement. He rested his arms on the sill and smiled at her. "You are a good guesser," he admitted.
"Enter," she insisted. "Not the door, no; the window—hurry."
He slipped through with the suppleness of a naked Indian and she at once shut out the night at this and the other windows. "We must beware more eaves-droppers," she explained. She motioned to a bench and seated herself near him, looking at him intently.
"I think you kill Fritz' father that night," she began. "I am sorry."
Tex bowed, as if such unjust suspicions were his daily portion, and waited.
"You are M'sieu Peters' friend?" she questioned.
Tex carefully poked two depressions in the crown of his hat and carefully poked them out again, thinking swiftly. "Yes," he replied, meeting her eyes again.
"You are Tex Ewalt. Dave call you Comin'. M'sieu Peters not know you are here. You spy for M'sieu Peters, yes?"
"Buck told you, eh? Did you tell him I was in Twin River?"
She shook her head. "But no. I guess, when I see you at the window."
Tex looked incredulous. "How did you guess?" he asked.
Rose reviewed the incidents from which she had drawn her conclusion. Tex was impressed. "That's not guessing. That's pure reason," he declared.
"You will tell M'sieu Peters about the itch?" she inquired eagerly.
"Why don't you tell him? I can't risk going out to the ranch."
"No! No! Dave must not suspect. You tell him quick so Dave not think it is me."
"Why, Dave is in a hole. Harris will squeal the minute I put my fingers on him."
"He will suspect. He must not—Oh! you do not understand."
Tex indented his hat on the left side; that was Dave: then on the right side; that was Buck: then, with careful precision, in the middle of the crown; that was Rose. He studied the result with thoughtful attention. "Like Dave?" he inquired, casually.
"I—" she began with passionate intensity but paused. "No," she answered, more calmly.
"No," repeated Tex. He smoothed out the left-hand depression with an air of satisfaction. "That 's good," he continued, "because I shall have to put a crimp, a very serious crimp, in his anatomy one of these days. I can feel it coming. What do you think of Buck?"
"M'sieu Peters is a good man—a good man," she repeated, dreamily. Tex glanced at her and back at his hat, which he eyed malevolently. Then he sighed. "Oh, well, every man has to find it out for himself," was his irrelevant comment. "Where does Schatz stand in this?"
"Dave say he try to get back the range. But Dave he is so much a liar."
"Yes, I should say he was a pretty good liar. Well, I 'll be going."
"But no!" she exclaimed. "You must eat supper," and she began hastily to make preparations.
"You did n't offer Dave any," suggested Tex, with a ghost of a grin.
"No," she admitted, seriously. "Sometimes I must, but to-night it is not necessary. I am glad, always, to see him go."
"Well, so am I," agreed Tex. "Here, let me do that."
Tex learned much during the meal that went to confirm the suspicions he had already formed. Also his opinions in regard to women-kind in general seemed less plausible than before. But though shaken, they were not routed; and when he took up his hat in leaving, the two dimples in it looked at him mockingly. "Oh, well, what's the use?" he said. "Good-night, Miss LaFrance," and he threw the hat on his head as it was.
CHAPTER XII
A HIDDEN ENEMY
Cock Murray had an engagement to meet Schatz at the point where the Double Y's north line touched the Black Jack, and after he had ridden up to the south line to see how the cows were doing, as Buck had ordered, he swung west to the Black Jack to follow it down to the meeting place. As he rode he neared the Hog Back, a vast upheaval of rock, not high enough to be called a mountain, flat on the top except for hollows and gullies, scantily covered with grass and stunted trees. The Hog Back would have been called a mesa in the South, for want of a better name, though it was no more a mesa than it was a mountain. A mile long and a third of that across at its widest point, it made an effective natural barrier between the Double Y and the river, hiding a pasture of great acreage which lay between it and the precipitous cliff which frowned down upon the rushing, swishing Black Jack eighty feet below. While the round-up would, of course, comb this poor-grass part of the range for outlaws and strays, the outfit never gave it any attention because cattle seldom were found upon it.
Cock Murray, knowing that he had an hour to spare, and fond of hard riding where his skill was called into play, suddenly decided to ascend the Hog Back. Antelope were still to be found even on the range itself, along the wildest part of the south line, and he might get a shot at one if he made the climb. It was an easy task to go up the northern end, where the trail arose in a succession of steep grades; but he had no time for that and guided his pony up the rough, rocky east wall. As he gained the top he rested the horse while he looked around. It was a favorite view of his; below him lay the range and the river; he could see, on a clear day, the dot that represented his ranch house; and to the west and south lay the wild, rolling range of the Cyclone. Gradually his gaze sought nearer objects and he thought of antelope. Moving forward cautiously he kept keen watch on all sides, intending if he caught sight of one, to dismount and stalk it on foot. He had ridden nearly to the northern end when he jerked his pony to a stand, and then, gazing earnestly ahead a short distance, went on as rapidly as the broken ground would permit.
"Dead cows! What 'n h—l killed 'em? Wolves would clean 'em to the bone. G'wan, you fool!" he growled at his mount. "Scared of dead cows, are you! If you are, I 've got the cure for it right here on my heel."
The horse went on, picking its footing, and soon Murray whistled in surprise: "Cyclone brand! Bet they 've got the itch, too. Yep! Died from it, by G—d! Now, how the blazes did they get over here! Cows, and sick ones especially, don't hanker to swim the Jack. Well, that will hold over a little—let 's see how many are up here"—and he began the search. Four were all he could find, two alive and two dead. The two that still stumbled weakly in search of food, dropped as if struck by lightning as the acrid gray smoke sifted past Murray's head. "Wonder how many more there was and where they went to? Must have been here some time, judging by the carcasses. Holy smoke! If any cows gone as bad as these are loose on our range may the Lord pityus! Come on, bronc; we 'll see what Schatz thinks about it. Wish I had time to build a fire over these itch farms."
He was careful to guide his horse on ground barren of vegetation and not let brush or grass touch the animal when he could avoid it. As he plunged down the steep northern trail, a dried water course, he reined up hard, looking closely at the tracks in the soft alluvial soil washed down by the last rain. "Must have been about a dozen; perhaps a few less—then some did get where we don't want them—holy cats! as if we have n't got enough with our regular calf round-up!"
When he galloped up to the north line he found Schatz waiting for him. "Schatz," he shouted, "I just found four itch cows on the Hog Back. Six or eight are loose on th' ranch. They was Cyclone, an' they never crossed th' Jack by themselves."
"Mein Gott! Did you drive dem back?"
"Two was dead; th' other two was so near it I just dropped 'em. They could n't stand a drive even to th' river. Shall I tell Peters?"
"Shall you tell him?Gewiss! Vat you t'ink—I vant itch on de Double Vy? How dey come?"
"I don't know. But they must 'a' been driven. Th' Jack is cold as ice an' she runs strong by th' Rocking Horse. That's where th' tracks led to. Cows ain't goin' to swim that for fun. Why, these was all et up with th' itch—wonder they did n't drown."
"Dank Gott! Sick cows ain't made vell mit ice vater und schwimmin'. Dey don't lif so long like de vater vas varm. Der shock help kill dem quick."
Murray nodded, his hand resting on his gun, and Schatz noticed it. "Gewiss, if dey vas too veak to drive in der river, it vas besser to shoot dem. But ven dey drop dey stay mit all dem parasites. Drivin' dem off de range is besser.Aber, you stopped dem de best vay you could."
Murray nodded again. "Yes, yo're right—but I was n't thinkin' of shootin' no cows," he asserted calmly. "I know all about that. But I was just a-wonderin' if I should ketch some skunk of a cow-punch drivin' itch cattle on us, an' shoot him, if he 'd drop any parasites whenhefell."
"Ach Gott! Alvays you shoot, like Dave! Shoot, shoot, shoot! Vy inHimmelshould you alvays grab dot gun? Brains are in your head, andbesseras lead in dot Colt. Brains first, and if dey don't do it, den der gun. But alvays der gun should be last.Verstanden?"
Murray did not reply and his companion, exchanging a few terse sentences with him, waved him towards the ranch house while he followed the line towards the Little Jill.
Buck was washing for supper when Murray arrived and kept right on with his ablutions as the puncher told his tale. Murray quite expected to see some signs of its effect on the owner, but he met with surprise and looked it. Buck Peters almost made an ally when he turned, after Murray's last word. "Murray, that's good work. Prepare forhardwork. Send Ned here right away," he said, quietly, no trace of emotion in his voice.
Murray went out, thinking hard. When a man could take such a blow as that one had been taken, then he was clean grit all through. To smile as Buck had done—"By G—d, he 's a man!" swore the puncher. "I can'thelpliking him; wish I did n't have to help throw him. And I wish he did n't trust me like he does—ah, h—l!" he growled, savagely. "He 's a range thief, after all!"
When Monroe entered the ranch house he found his employer looking out of the window in the direction of the Hog Back, but he turned at Ned's entry. "Got work ahead, Ned. Murray found some Cyclone cows dead and wobbly on th' Hog Back. Bad case of itch. He killed th' wobblers but says th' tracks show that about a dozen was in th' herd. That means eight of 'em are on our range among the cattle. Tell th' boys we start th' round-up at daylight. If we can, we 'll make this do for the spring round-up, too; if not, then th' calves 'll have to wait till we can go for 'em. Th' north range won't have no itch cows on it yet, so take th' south first. As fast as we can cut out th' cattle that are free from it, we 'll throw 'em over on th' north range. Begin in th' Hog Back country an' clean up. Drive everything out of it."
"It's d—d funny Cyclone cows swum th' Jack," commented Monroe, a black look on his face. "By G—d, letmeketch anybody at that game!"
"That's th' whole thing, Ned," and Buck smiled: "To ketch 'em. I know a man who 'd clean up th' mystery if he was here, an' was told he did n't have nothin' else to do." He smiled again quietly and turned to his supper. "But he ain't here, so what's th' use."
"Mebby I—" suggested Ned, nervously.
"No, yo 're goin' to help me most by curing th' evil on th' table; never mind th' dealer, nor th' game. We 've got as many cards as we 're goin' to get—use 'em, Ned. Help me lick th' itch first—th' hows an' whys can wait."
"Yo 're right, Peters; an' wewilllick it! But it makes me fightin' mad, a thing like this. I 'll get everything all ready to-night an' th' round-up starts with th' comin' of th' sun to-morrow. Good-night."
Buck ate slowly, his thoughts far more occupied with the problem than with the food. This was the firing of the first cannon in the fight Monroe had predicted. Who was responsible? His suspicions, guided by Monroe's warning, were directed towards Schatz, but in his present absence of knowledge they could advance no farther than suspicions. Dave's half-closed eyes sneered at him as he recalled the ambiguous threat made that first night in the Sweet-Echo: still remained suspicion only. McReady, of the Cyclone, might have designs for the Double Y, but he doubted it. They had yet free grass a-plenty, though the time was not far distant when the private ownership of the Double Y would be an invaluable asset. Still, it might be any other cowman in that part of the country—or none of them. Well, he had met problems as great as this one on the Texan range—but he had fought them with an outfit loyal to the last man, every unit of it willing and eager to face all kinds of odds for him. He now recalled those men to his mind's eye, and he never loved them more than he did now, when he realized how really precious unswerving loyalty is. Hopalong, Red, Johnny and the others of the old Bar-20 outfit, made an honor roll that held his thoughts even to the temporary exclusion of the bitterness of his present situation. If only he had that outfit with him now! Even his neighbors and acquaintances on that southern range were to be trusted and depended upon more than his present outfit. His vision, knocking patiently at first upon the door of his abstraction, at this point kicked its way in and demanded attention. Buck became aware that for some time he had been staring unseeingly at a folded paper, tucked partly under his bunk blanket. With a smothered oath he sprang from his seat, strode to the bunk and snatched up the paper. The warning it contained was better founded than the first. It read:
"Buck Peters: Itch on the YY. Crossed the Jack at the Rocking Horse. A Friend."
"If you told me who sent it across, you 'd be more of a friend," muttered Buck—in which he was less wise than Tex, who did not see the sense in having the servant removed while the master remained.
Hoofbeats rolled up in the darkness and stopped at the door of the house and a moment later Whitby entered the room, his pink, English complexion aglow with the exercise and wind-beating of his ride.
Buck was glad to see him; he needed a little of the other's cheerful optimism and after a few minutes of random conversation, Buck told him of the latest developments. Whitby's surprise was genuine, and the practicability of his nature asserted itself. This was ground upon which he was thoroughly at home.
"I say, Buck, we can show these swine a thing or two they don't know," he began. "They don't know it in the States, I 'll lay, nor north of the line either, for that matter. My Governor is a cattle man, you might say; on the other side of the pond, of course. And I 've knocked about farm land a good bit, you know. Now a chap in the same county had a lot of sheep with this what-d'you-call it—scab, they said. He used a preparation of arsenic but a lot of the beggars died, poisoned, you know. He had tried a number of other things and he got jolly well tired of the game; so he wrote to a cousin, chemist or something, and told him about it; and this chap sent him a recipe, after a bit, that killed off the parasites like winking, without injuring a single sheep."
"That ain't goin' to help us none, Whit. You ain't got th' receipt an' you don't know how to make th' stuff."
"Ah! But I do though. I gave him a hand with the silly beggars and bally good fun it was, too. We passed them through a long trough and ducked their heads under as fast as they came along. But it was work, no end, mixing the solution. There was nothing funny about that part of it."
"See here, Whit, are you really in earnest? Do you think you can make the stuff and show us how to use it?"
"Absolutely certain, dear boy. Cattle are n't sheep, but I 'll be bound it 'll do the trick."
"How fast can you run 'em though?"
Whitby reflected. "We could do a thousand a day, perhaps more. It depends on how many you do at once, you know." And Whitby went into a detailed description to which Buck gave close attention. At the end he shook his head. "Reckon we 'll have to stick to th' old way," he adjudged, regretfully. "There ain't that quantity of lime and sulphur in all Montana."
"Ah, yes; your point is good," drawled Whitby, smiling. "But your partner lives in Chicago where there is any quantity of it. If we wired him to-morrow to get the stuff and ship it at once he would do it, don't you know."
"Take it too long to get here," replied Buck, gloomily.
"Don't you think the railroad will see that such an important consignment gets off and comes through quickly, especially if the consignor is willing to pay the damage? I 'll bet you a good cigar it will be here within a week after we wire. Letmesend the wire and I 'll bet you a box. I 'm bally good at wires. I used to get money out of the Governor by wire when I could get it no other way."
"Let her go," said Buck. "If it's all you say we 'll show them coyotes we know a few tricks ourselves."
"Yes, I fancy we shall," replied Whitby. "But isn't this a rummy game? They act like savages, you know. It is all very refreshing to a sated mind—and their justice is so deuced direct, right or wrong. Fancy Blackstone in the discard, as you Americans say, and a Colt's revolver sovereign lord of the realm!"
"King Colt is all right, Whitby, when youknowwho to loose him at," declared Buck, turning toward the door to the kitchen. "Jake! Jake!" he called.
The sharp, incisive tones told their story and brought buoyancy to the cook, for he was on his feet, across the kitchen, and into the dining-room in apparently one movement, which astounded the soul of that culinary devotee when leisure gave time for reflection.
"Why, Jake, I believe yo 're gettin' to be almost a human, livin' creature," remarked Buck. "I never saw you move so fast before. It ain't pay day now, you know."
"Shore I know, but nextweek is," grinned Jake, not quite catching the meaning.
"Oh, I 'm glad you do," sighed Buck with relief. "Now as long as you ain't sufferin' no hallucernations, suppose you tell Ned to come in here. You need n't tellhim—he knows it ain't, too."
"Knows what ain't?" demanded Jake, his fingers slowly ploughing through his mass of hair. "If I need n't tell him, what do you want me to tell him for?"
"Be calm, Jake, be calm," replied Buck, raising a warning finger. "There aretwotells in this; one you must, th' other you need n't."
"Ah, go to h—l an' tell him yourself," retorted Jake, backing toward a handy chair so as not to be without a weapon.
"You tell Ned I want to see him—I 'll explain th' second tell later. Now—Willy'u tell?"
Jake backed into the kitchen, slammed shut the door behind him, and lost no time in getting to the bunkhouse.
"Hey, Ned," he blurted out, "th' boss says to tell you he wants to see you. Th' second tell can wait till later. William Tell?"
"What t'ell!" snorted Bow-Wow, arising.
"You another?" demanded the cook; then he fled, Ned following more leisurely.
Bow-Wow looked at Murray inquiringly: "What did he mean by William Tell?"
Murray put down his mended riding gear. "Why, don't you know?"
"Shore; what is it?" sarcastically responded Bow-Wow. "If I knew, do you think I 'd tell?"
"Well I know, all right. It's what he was brought up on, Bow-Wow."
"Huh! Did you know him when he was a kid?"
"Shore! He used to live in th' next street in th' same town, or was it in some other town?" he mused, thoughtfully. "H—l, that don't make no difference, 'cause he lived in th' next street. See?"
"No; I don't; not a d—d bit!"
"Bow-Wow, if I was as thick as you get sometimes, I 'd drink lots of water an' thin down a bit. This is th' story of William Tell, an' I 'll tell it to you if you won't tell: When he was a kid he had a awful yearnin' for apples, like you has for cheap whiskey, Bow-Wow. Nothin' else suited him an' th' bigger he got th' more apples he had to eat. All th' farmers was a-layin' for him with guns, so what did li'l Willie do? Why, he shot 'em down with a bow an' arrer. An' that's why he can throw a stone so straight to-day.Nowdo you see?"
Bow-Wow threw a shoe after Murray's departing figure and suggested a place to go to. Then he scowled and muttered: "If I was shore of what I suspects I 'd give you a sample ofmyshootin',sixsamples so you 'd appreciate the real thing." He grinned at the memory of Jake's message.
"You 'll say somethin' with sense in it some day if you gropes long enough, Jake. Yo 're gettin' warmer all th' time."
When Monroe reached the ranch house Buck met him with some sharp orders: "Send Bow-Wow to Twin River and Wayback first thing to-morrow. Tell him to leave word we want two dozen more punchers for our round-up—fifty dollars a month an' a full month's work guaranteed. Jake 's goin' to dig some big holes in th' ground in th' next few days—he ain't fit for nothin' else, not even cookin'."
A crash in the kitchen interrupted him. "Jake!" he called. There was a scramble and the cook appeared, much excited. "What's th' fuss about?"
"Fell off my chair," replied Jake. "An' it hurts, too."
"Yo 're gettin' too soft, Jake. A little exercise 'll toughen you so a chair would n't dare to tackle you. I 'm goin' to let you dig some holes first thing to-morrow."
Jake had visions of extensive excavations, dug by him, into which thousands of dead cows were being piled for burial. "Would n't it be better to burn 'em, or push 'em into th' river an' shoot 'em there?"
"I never saw holes you could handle that way, Jake," gravely replied Buck.
"Why, no," supplemented the foreman. "Most holes would ruther be slit up th' middle an' salted. That's th' way we allus used to get rid of 'em."
"I don't mean holes—I meancows!" explained Jake.
"Oh, then it 's all right," responded Buck. "I ain't goin' to askyouto dig no cows, Jake. But yo 're goin' to dig some nice ditches to-morrow; long, deep ones, an' good an' wide."
"I ain't never dug a ditch in my life," hastily objected Jake.
"Why, did n't you tell me how you dug that railroad cut down there in Iowa, an' got a hundred dollars extra 'cause you saved th' company so much money?" inquired Buck.
"Oh, but that was a steam shovel!"
"All right; you 'll steam afore yo 're at it very long."
Jake backed out again, slipped out of his kitchen, and stood reflective under the stars. He would quit and flee to Twin River if it was n't such a long walk. "D—n it!" he growled, and forthwith threw two stones into the darkness by way of getting rid of some of his anger.
"Sa-a-y!" floated a voice out of the night. "You jerk any more rocks inthisdirection an' I 'll beat you up so you 'll wipe your feet on yoreself, thinkin' yo 're a doormat! What 'n h—l you mean, anyhow?"
"Mebby they 'sapples!" jeered Bow-Wow from the bunk-house. "Hello, William Tell!"
The cook softly closed the door and propped a chair against it. "Gee whiskers! I ain't goin' to stayheremuch longer!Everybody 's gettin' crazy!"
"'If a body meets a body, comin' through th' rye,'" quavered a voice from the corral and a voice in the darkness profaned the song: "Ever meet yoreself goin' t'other way, after surroundin' th' rye?"
"Never had that pleasure after you 'd been at th' booze."
Chesty Sutton entered the bunk-house and stared at Bow-Wow. "What's eatin' you?" he demanded, curiously.
"I dunno; I 've been itchin' ever since Murray told us. Wonder if I 've got it?"
Chesty considered: "Well, now I remember that chickens, cats, and dogs don't get cattle itch. You ain't got it, Bow-Wow. It 's yore imagination that's got it. But if you 're bound to scratch, do it somewhere else—you make me nervous, keepin' on one spot so long. Wait till I asks th' boys about it."
"Stop!" snapped Bow-Wow, his hand on a bottle of harness oil: "You never mind about askin' anybody! I 'll take yore word for it—remember, I 'll bust yore gizzard if you gets that pack o' coyotes barkin' at my heels!"
"Holy Smoke! We 'll have our hands full a while," growled Chesty, dropping onto a box. "Let any o' this crowd ketch anybody throwin' mangy cows over on us! An' right after it comes th' Spring combin'—this is shore a weary world."
"Jake 's got to dig some ditches," remarked the foreman, entering the house, and immediately the misery of future hours was forgotten in the merriment and satisfaction found in this news. Jake would have a lot of advisers.
In the ranch house Whitby was laughing gently and finally he voiced a wish: "I say, Peters, what a wealth of character there is out here. I wish Johnnie Beauchamp were here—what a rattling good play he could make. You know, Johnnie's last play was almost a success—and I 'm very much interested in him. I backed him to the tune of two thousand pounds."
Invited to spend the night in the ranch house, Whitby accepted with alacrity. In carrying out McAllister's wishes he could not be too near headquarters, he concluded; but added to this, he entertained a sincere admiration for Buck Peters which increased as the days went by.
Some few minutes after the lights were out, Buck was brought back from the shadowy realm of sleep by Whitby's voice coming from the other room. "I say, Peters, did you keep those calculations?"
"Yes," answered Buck. "Why?"
"There 's the lumber, you know. It might be a good idea to have McAllister send it on."
"Shore would. You tell him."
"I will," promised Whitby. A few seconds later he broke out again: "Do you know, Buck, the railroad companies of America are cheerful beggars. They take your luggage and then play ducks and drakes with it, in a very idiotic way. Why, mine was lost for two weeks and I was in a very devil of a fix. So it would not be a bad idea, you know, if I tell your partner to send a man with the consignment. He can sit on the barrels and see that they are n't placed on a siding to prove the theory that loss of movement results in inertia. Am I right?"
Buck laughed from his heart. "If there 's anything you don't think of make a note of it an' let me see it," he commended.
"What a rummy remark. I say, how—ha! ha!" and Whitby's bunk creaked to his mirth. "That's rather a neat one, you know! I did n't know you were Irish, Peters, blessed if I did! I must tell that to your man Friday—it will keep the bally ass combing his frowsy locks for a week."
Buck had one foot on the Slumberland boundary when he heard the voice again, seeming to have travelled a long distance: "And I believe I should be rewarded for my brilliancy. I 'll ask your partner to send some brandy and a box ofgoodcigars with the rest of it as my fee. I 'll have to learn to smoke all over again," he complained drowsily. A raucous snore bounced off the partition and Whitby opened his eyes for a moment: "My word, if Friday could only cook as well as he snores!"