"Lost, stole, or strayed on Tuesday night,The finder tries to hide it—A woman's heart—he has no right,For there's a Love inside it."The owner fears 'twas snatched away,But this is a reminder,That she is quite prepared to payOne half, with thanks, to finder."
"Lost, stole, or strayed on Tuesday night,The finder tries to hide it—A woman's heart—he has no right,For there's a Love inside it.
"The owner fears 'twas snatched away,But this is a reminder,That she is quite prepared to payOne half, with thanks, to finder."
Miss Blossom led me to the house. "You come right into the settin'-room," says she, "and keep yo' tearing spurs off my new carpet."
I did my best about the spurs, but it would take an Indian scout to find a safe trail across that parlour floor, the same being cluttered up with little fool tables. These same tables were of different breeds, three-legged, two-legged, one-legged, tumble-over, all-to-pieces, trip-you-up, and smash-the-crockery, so it was a sure treat to watch Miss Pansy curving around without the slightest accident. Her paws were folded in front, her tail came swishing behind, her head came pecking along hen-fashion, and her smile was sweet enough to give me toothache.
"Oh," she bubbled, "I'm so glad you didn't get lynched by those horrid men who never wash themselves, or think of serious things; and it's so nice to see you looking so brown with that beautiful cherry silk kerchief round yo' neck, and the wonderful leather leggings, and that dreadful revolver, so picturesque, so——"
"You're making a fool of yo'self," says Miss Blossom, "and the man wants feeding. Picturesque! Bosh! Shoo!" She chased Miss Pansy out of the room.
As to Curly, she lay on the sofa kicking high with joy. "Chalkeye," she howled, "you ole hoss-thief, keep yo' tearin' spurs off my new cyarpet. You picturesque, beautiful, leather-faced, cock-eyed robber! 'Ware tables, or they'll bite yo' laigs! Oh, gimme yo' paw to shake, and throw me a cigarette. Look out—that chair's goin' to buck!"
I sat on the edge of the chair, and grabbed her hand while she called me all sorts of pet names. Then it seems that Miss Pansy broke loose from Miss Blossom, and came surging back, for she heard the pet names, and shrieked—
"Oh! oh! Stop! What frightful language! Oh, please, if you're a lady—remember! Oh, Misteh Davies, you mustn't let her smoke!"
"Curly," says I, "you're shot, and you got to be good in a small voice, or——"
"Good," says Curly; "I'm a wolf. I come from Bitter Creek. The higher up, the worse the waters, and I'm from the source, and it's my night to how-w-l. Yow-ow-ow!"
"Well," Miss Pansy shrieked, "I call it disgraceful, so there!"
"I don't care," says Curly. "I won't be good in a small voice, and I'll call this dear ole hoss-thief all the names I please. Why, Chalkeye and me punched cows at Holy Cross! Say, Chalkeye, d'you remember when I stuck burrs in under yo' saddle, and you got pitched to glory? Why, that's the very old hat I shot full of holes, and oh, I do enjoy to see you so much, you dear ole villain!"
Then Miss Blossom dragged Miss Pansy away to cook supper, and Curly settled down with her little paw in my fist.
"My habits," says she, "is a sure scandal, and I ain't got no more manners nor a bear. My language ain't becoming to a young gentlewoman, and my eating would disgrace a pinto hawss. They cayn't refawm me a lil' bit, and when I tries to set up on my tail, and look pretty, they tell me rebukes for crossin' my laigs like a cowboy. Oh, take me away, ole Chalkeye, take me away to the range and the camps, to feel the night-frosts agin, to sleep with the stars, to see the sun come up, to ride in the heat. This roof sets down on me at night. I cayn't see for walls; I cayn't get air to breathe. These ladies has roped me, and thrown me, tied down for branding, ears in the dust. Oh, take me away from this!"
"When that bandage is off yo' arm I'll take you, Curly."
"Not till then?"
She had scarcely strength yet to travel, and yet if she fretted like this at being shut up in a house, would she ever get well at all?
When I reflect what Curly looked like then it makes me wonder what sort of raging lunatic I had been to leave her in that house. By way of disguise she had a wig all sideways, and female clothes which she'd never learned to wear. They made her look like a man. Her skin had the desert tan; she moved and talked like a cowboy. But most of all, her eyes gave her dead away—the steel-blue eyes of a scout, more used to gun-fights than to needlework, which bored right through me. Only a frontiersman has eyes like that; only the outlaw has the haunted look which comes with slaying of men, and Curly was branded that way beyond mistake.
This poor child was wanted as McCalmont's son, hunted like a wild beast, with a price on her head for murder and for robbery under arms. And yet she was a woman!
"Say, Curly," I asked, "what has these ladies done to account for yo' being here in theyr home?"
She reached to a table, and gave me cuttings from theWeekly Obituary. I fell to reading these:—
The burial of Buck Hennesy at La Soledad.
Dog-gone Hawkins' report of not finding robbers.
The rescue of McCalmont's prisoners out of the Jim Crow shaft, and the story of the posse which tracked the robbers north until the signs scattered out all over the country and every trace was lost.
The attempt of the Stranglers to lynch a horse-thief at Las Salinas, the same being me.
Then came a paragraph about a young lady staying at the home of the Misses Jameson.
"We are informed that Miss Hilda Jameson, of Norfolk, Va., arrived last week on a visit to her aunts, the Misses Jameson. We regret to hear that on her journey westward this young lady met with an unfortunate accident, being severely bruised on the arm by the fall of a valise out of an upper bunk in the sleeping-car. This bruise has developed a formidable abscess, which the Misses Jameson are treating by the peculiar methods of Christian Science, of which craze they are well-known exponents. For our part we would suggest the calling in of a doctor; but as these ladies are way-up experts at nursing, we trust that their efforts will be successful, and that in a few days more we shall see the young lady around, enjoying all the pleasures of Grave City society. In the meantime Miss Blossom Jameson wishes us to say that the patient needs absolute quiet, and friends are requested not to call at the house until further notice."
"We are informed that Miss Hilda Jameson, of Norfolk, Va., arrived last week on a visit to her aunts, the Misses Jameson. We regret to hear that on her journey westward this young lady met with an unfortunate accident, being severely bruised on the arm by the fall of a valise out of an upper bunk in the sleeping-car. This bruise has developed a formidable abscess, which the Misses Jameson are treating by the peculiar methods of Christian Science, of which craze they are well-known exponents. For our part we would suggest the calling in of a doctor; but as these ladies are way-up experts at nursing, we trust that their efforts will be successful, and that in a few days more we shall see the young lady around, enjoying all the pleasures of Grave City society. In the meantime Miss Blossom Jameson wishes us to say that the patient needs absolute quiet, and friends are requested not to call at the house until further notice."
"As to the pleasures of Grave City sassiety," says Curly, "I'm plumb fed up already. 'Spose they dream that I'll go back to shoveling manure in that stable?"
I asked her if there had been any visitors at the house.
"They came every day to inquire, and Miss Blossom insulted them regular in the front yard. Now they've quit."
"But nobody saw these ladies meeting a guest at the train."
"No, but you should hear Miss Blossom telling lies out thar in the yard! She's surely an artist."
"Curly," says I, "pull that wig straight, and hide up that scar on yo' brow. Cayn't you even pretend to act like a lady?"
"Like a woman, you mean."
"You're not safe—you'll be seen by some gossip through the window. You'd ought to hole up in the bedroom."
"And choke? I'd as lief get choked with a rope."
"Think of the risk!"
"I reckon a little excitement keeps me from feelin' dull. Now don't you look so solemn—with yo' eye like a poached aig, or I'll throw my wig at you-all. Say, Chalkeye, d'you cal'late the Lawd made them two old ladies vicious?"
"Why for?"
"Looks to me 'sif they was bawn broke in, and raised gentle, with lil' lace caps on they'r haids, and mittens on they'r pasterns. I been thinking fearful hard, tryin' to just imagine Miss Pansy bad; spose she was to kick, or strike, or rair up, or buck, or pitch, or sunfish around to kill! And Miss Blossom, she only makes-believe to be dangerous to hide up her soft ole heart. Are real ladies all like that?"
"Well, usual they don't bite."
"I was raised wild"—Curly lay back tired—"my tribe are the young wolves, and I reckon when the Lawd was serving out goodness, He was sort of 'shamed lest we'd claim our share. He must be plumb busy, too, with His own people telling Him they'r prayers. Why, these two ladies requires whole heaps of attention. I allow theyr souls must have got out of order a lot, 'cause they has to put in enough supplications to save a whole cow camp entire. They're so plumb talkative that a-way that I cayn't get a prayer in edgeways."
She was getting tired and sleepy, so I sat quiet, watching. Then somebody came outside, hammering the front door, and I pulled my gun to be ready in case of trouble.
Miss Blossom was at the front door having great arguments with a man.
"If you got baby carriages to sell," says she, "I claim to be a spinster, and if it's lightning-rods, I don't hold with obstructing Providence. If it's insurance, or books, or pianolas, or dress patterns, or mowing machines, you'd better just go home. I'm proof against agents of all sorts, I'm not at home to visitors, and I don't feed tramps. Thar now, you just clear out."
"'Scuse me, ma'am, I——"
"No, you mayn't."
"Allow me to introduce——"
"No you don't. You come to the wrong house for that."
"Wall, I'm blessed if——"
"Yo're much more apt to get bit by my dawg, 'cause yo' breath smells of liquor, and I'm engaged."
"Glad to hear it, ma'am. I congratulate the happy gentleman you've chosen."
"Well, of all the impudence!"
"That's what my wife says—impudence. Will the dawg bite if I inquire for Misteh Curly McCalmont?"
My blood went to ice, and I reckon Miss Blossom collapsed a whole lot to judge by the bang where she lit.
"Wall, since yo're so kind, ma'am, I'll just step in."
I heard him step in.
"This way!" the lady was gasping for breath.
"The dining-room? Wall, now, this is shorely the purtiest room, and I do just admire to see sech flowers!"
Miss Blossom came cat-foot to shut the parlour door, and I heard no more.
Curly was changing the cartridges in her revolver, as she always did every evening.
"Scared?" she inquired, sort of sarcastic about the nose.
"Shut yo' haid. D'you want to be captured?"
"It would be a sort of relief from being so lady-like."
Then a big gust of laughter shook the house, and I knew that Miss Blossom's guest was the whitest man on the stock-range, Sheriff Bryant. Naturally I had to go and see old Dick, so I told Curly to keep good, quit the parlour, crossed the passage, and walked right into the dining-room, one hand on my gun and the other thrown up for peace.
Dick played up in the Indian sign talk: "Long time between drinks."
"Thirsty land," says my hand.
"Now may I inquire?" says Miss Blossom.
"Wall, ma'am"—old Dick cocked his grey eye sideways—"this Chalkeye person remarked that he languished for some whisky, upon which I rebuked him for projecting his drunken ambitions into a lady's presence."
The way he subdued Miss Blossom was plenty wondrous, for she lit out to find him the bottle.
"Sheriff," says I, as we shook hands, "yo' servant, seh."
"I left the sheriff part of me in my own pastures." Dick wrung my hand limp. "I don't aim to ride herd on the local criminals heah, so the hatchet is buried, and the chiefs get nose-paint. Miss Blossom, ma'am, we only aspire to drink to the toast of beauty." He filled up generous. "I look towards you, ma'am."
"I du despise a flatterer," says Miss Blossom, but I saw her blush.
"Wall, to resume," said Dick, "this lady's guest, Miss Hilda Jameson, of Norfolk, in old Virginie, is entitled to her own habits. She is wounded most unfortunate all day, but all night she's entitled to bulge around in a free country studying moonlight effects."
"She's due to be whipped," says Miss Blossom, mighty wrathful.
"On scenes of domestic bliss it is not my purpose, ma'am, to intrude. I only allude to the fact that this young lady was pervading Main Street late last night, happy and innocent, in a gale of wind, which it blew off her hat."
"Good gracious!"
"Yes, ma'am; and naturally the hat being pinned, her hair was blown off too."
"It blew off!"
"Perhaps, ma'am, this ha'r doesn't fit, and the best thing would be to shoot the party who made—the ornament. The young lady, of co'se, was in no way to blame if it flew down the street and she after it. I rise to observe that Deputy-Marshal Pedersen, being a modest man, was shocked most dreadful, and——"
"Oh! Oh!" Miss Blossom went white as the tablecloth.
"Go on," said I, "let's know the worst at once."
"And he couldn't stay to help the young lady, 'cause he was running to catch the midnight train."
"Thank goodness!"
"Yes, ma'am, he was due in Lordsburgh this mawning to collect a hoss-thief."
"And nobody else saw the wig?"
"No, ma'am, only Pedersen. He came whirling down on me this mawning at Lordsburgh with dreams and visions about a robber chasing a wig, and a lady holed up in yo' home, and the same being disguised as a woman, but really a man, and wanting two thousand dollars daid or alive for the wig which its name was Curly. He seemed a heap confused and unreliable."
"This Pedersen man," says Miss Blossom, "is coming here to arresther—I meanhim! Oh, what's the use of talking! Speak, man! Speak!"
"Deputy-Marshal Pedersen, ma'am, is now in prison."
"Arrested!"
"Why, sheriff," says I, "what has he done to get arrested?"
"I dunno." Dick shook his grey head mournful. "I forget. I had to exceed my authority a whole lot, so the first thing I thought of was 'bigamy and confusion of mind.' I reckon I'll have to apologise, and he's a low-flung crawler to beg pardon to."
"You'll have to let him out?"
"I shorely will; meanwhile he's thinking of all his sins, and he certainly looks like a Mormon. He never combs his ha'r. But then, you see, I had to keep his paws off these honourable ladies until I could bring some sort of warning heah. Besides if this pusson with a wig is really pore Curly McCalmont, I feel that I done right."
"What makes you think that, Bryant?"
"Wall, I happen to know that them witnesses in the Ryan inquest here was bribed to swear away the life of old Balshannon's son. The hull blamed business stinks of perjury. I may be wrong, you one-eyed fraud, but when Curly punched cows with you at Holy Crawss I sort of hungered for him. You see, my missus and me couldn't compass a son of our own, and we just wanted Curly. When he quit out from you-all, we tried to catch him, but he broke away. Then came the big shooting-match, six weeks ago, and it broke my ole woman's heart. Thar was the lady gawn daid, and Balshannon quits out in the gun smoke, and you and the two youngsters outlawed for trying to save him. That's how I reads the signs on this big war-trail, and being only a crazy old plainsman, I takes the weaker side."
He reached out his paw.
"Put her thar, you one-eyed hoss-thief, and you'll know that there's one official in this hull corrupt and filthy outfit who cares for justice more'n he cares for law."
With warrants out against me on various charges, and the Grave City Stranglers yearning to make me a corpse, I had come on this visit feeling plenty bashful, so it was good to have a genuine county sheriff acting chaperon. The ladies gave us a great sufficiency of supper, and then we made Curly swear faithfully not to go hunting wigs in the moonlit streets. Afterwards the ladies went to roost, and we two men, having tracked out to tend the horses, made down our beds in the barn loft.
Next morning my natural modesty, and certain remarks from the sheriff, made me hide up out of sight, but Bryant went to town and did my shopping. He bought me an iron-grey gelding, which I'd always longed to steal, because he was much too good for the tenderfoot doctor who owned him. It shocked my frugal mind to pay a hundred dollars cash, but Bryant was liberal with my money, and the horse was worth a hundred and fifty, anyhow. He got me a second-handed saddle, snaffle, rope, blanket, a dandy pair of shaps (leather armour for the legs), spurs, belt, shirt, overalls, boots, sombrero, and all cowboy fixings. If I was to take young Curly back to Robbers' Roost, she needed a proper trousseau, specially being due to meet Jim.
I hate to put up dull particulars, but I ought to mention that Mutiny Robertson had located a good showing of silver, the second east extension of the Contention Mine, on my land at Las Salinas. That is why for he put up six thousand dollars cash for my water-spring, fencing, and adobe house, getting clear title to the land which held his mineral rights. It grieves me to think of Mutiny grabbing all his present wealth because I couldn't hold down that place without being lynched. Such is the fruits of getting unpopular, and I might preach a plenty improving sermon on the uncertainties of business, the immorality of being found out, the depravity of things in general, the cussedness of fate. Mutiny waited sly, while I plunged around conspicuous, so now he's rich, setting a good example, while I'm as poor as a fox.
What with my bank deposit and the sale of my home, Dick brought me back nine thousand dollars in cash. Likewise I had in my warbags the money which McCalmont had trusted to my care for Curly's dowry. I gave Dick charge of all this wealth, taking only a thousand dollars for present expenses, and stuffed the same in the treasure-belt which I carry next my skin. These proceedings were a comfort to me, for I'm here to remark, and ready to back my statements with money, arguments, or guns, that the handling of wealth is more encouraging to the heart than such lonesome games as the pursuit of virtue.
Besides the plunder and Curly's trousseau, Dick brought me chocolate creams, a new breed of rim-fire cigars just strong enough to buck, a quart of pickles, and some medicine for our thirst. The old drunkard knows what is good, and before supper we sat in the barn with these comforts talking business.
It needs such surroundings of luxury to get my thoughts down to any manner of business, for I hold that office work is adapted to town sharps only, and not to men. Bryant and I had the misfortune to be named in Lord Balshannon's will as his executors, to ride herd on his Jim until such time as the colt could run alone. In this business my co-robber had taken action already, annexing the trainload of breeding cattle which had been stolen by Jabez Y. Stone. These cattle were sold by auction, and Dick held the money, swearing that nobody else but Jim should get so much as a smell.
With regard to Holy Cross, Dick, as sheriff, had seized the old hacienda, and the same must be sold to pay Balshannon's debts to the Ryan estate. It seems that Michael Ryan claimed this plunder, and that Jim, the natural heir, had stolen Michael. "Thar it stands," says Dick, who has a legal mind, "until Jim skins his meat."
That set me thinking of Michael. He was not likely to be special fat after his ride with the robbers.
"I doubt," says Bryant, "that so shorely as Jim does the skinning, that Ryan duck ain't got a tail feather left."
With these remarks he slanted away back to town, having agreed to sup with the City Marshal. As for me, I lay in the corn-shucks full of dim wonderings about that Pedersen person cramped in the cooler at Lordsburg on Bryant's charge of "bigamy and confusion of mind." The question was, would he stay put? The arrangement made with Pedersen was only temporary, not permanent like a proper funeral. Moreover, in his place I should have felt mournful and ill used. I should have put up objections and struggles to find my way out. Suppose this person escaped, or got loosed by his lawyer, or sent Curly's address to the Grave City police? I was afflicted with doubts about said Pedersen, and my mind began to gloat on the joys of absence. So I saddled the horses, got ready for the warpath, and watching until it was dark enough, made a break for the back door of the house, carrying Curly's outfit.
To judge by the clatter in the house, something had happened, and when I broke in on the ladies, I found them having hysterics over their copy of theWeekly Obituary. I slung the cowboy gear to Curly, and bade her change herself quick because we must hit the trail. On that the clatter got to a crisis, as it does in a hen-roost in the case of fox. Miss Blossom called me all the names she could think of; Miss Pansy sobbed at having to part with her little private robber; Miss Curly whirled in telling the news in the paper. All of them wanted to talk, so I surely played fox to that hen-roost, chasing Miss Pansy out to pack us a lunch for the trail, grabbing the paper from Curly, and scaring Miss Blossom with bad words until she got tame enough to attend to business. She took Curly into the bedroom, and there was a sort of lull, while I got my ears to work at the back door.
It's a true fact that I have a sort of sense which warns me if danger is coming. It makes my hands tingle as if they were full of prickles, and my heart beats loud, so I can scarcely hear. That minute I stood at the back door felt like whole hours of waiting, so that I wanted to howl. Close by me in the kitchen Miss Pansy was sobbing about the bad words she had heard, and through the mosquito netting I could hear Miss Blossom oppressing Curly while she changed her clothes. I folded the newspaper and jammed it into my pocket, studied the lay of the stable door to see how quick I could get the horses out, and pulled my gun loose for war.
Away towards the town I could hear the rumble of wheels half a mile, coming on rapid.
"Miss Pansy!" I called.
She quit crying.
"This Curly's in danger," says I. "Brace up; act brave, and when this waggon stops at the door, meet the men who try to break in. Tell them you're not to home, and give 'em some Christian Science."
She went quite cool to wait by the front door, and now I could see the dust of a waggon come up against the afterglow in the sky.
"Miss Blossom," I called, "roll Curly out through that window just as she is. Quick!"
"Oh, but——"
"Curly," I shouted, "come out!"
"Coming!"
"Fix that bed, Miss Blossom; lay in it with Curly's wig, and prepare to play daid!"
Curly came tumbling through the mosquito bar in the window, dropped on her feet like a cat. "Horses!" I whispered, and she ran, her spurs clattering outrageous along the gravel-path.
The waggon had pulled up to the front gate, somebody shouted, I heard Miss Pansy screeching like a cougar, and a man came surging past the side of the house, lifting his gun to draw a bead on Curly as she ran. I jumped behind, felled him with my gun-butt, and bolted.
What with Miss Pansy's shrieks, and the shouting of men, the clatter had got to be a whole disturbance, rousing a quiet neighborhood. As I ran I could hear Miss Blossom calling, "Go 'way, you rude men! Scat!"
It seemed to me that time was worth a million dollars a second while I held the back gate by the stable, and Curly rode through with the horses straight on to the open range. As I swung to the saddle, I heard the house door battered in with a crash of breaking glass.
"Hold on," said Curly, reining in her horse, "I was forgettin'."
The searchers were swarming through the house, and for my part I was full content to depart without telling them any good-bye.
"You're scart," says Curly. "You coward! You stay heah!"
Then feeling for blood with her spurs, she sailed at full gallop along the outer side of the garden fence. At the first shot from the yard she ducked, throwing herself until she hung Indian fashion along the off side of her horse. A bullet trimmed my back hair as I followed, gun flames blazed from the back porch and the windows, as we shot past the house. The bullets were singing all round us, our horses were crazy with fright, but then we swung round the end of the garden fence, running full tilt against the standing team of horses which the police had left in the road. The shock stampeded them, but Curly swerved clear of their rush, rolled back into the saddle, raced abreast, and shot both horses down. A minute more, and the firing died away behind us, for we were racing neck-and-neck across the desert. Curly had left the police to follow afoot, but now she began to weaken, for, because she had played the man, she broke down and sobbed—a woman.
We had been running maybe two hours when we pulled up on the top of a hill to rest our horses. Far down to southward the electric lights in the city made a silver haze of small specks glistening as though a scrap of sky had fallen there. High in the south Orion rode guard upon the star herds, and the night was so still that we were scared to speak. I wanted to smoke, but on a night like that the striking of a match may be seen for miles around, so I took a bite at my plug and ate tobacco instead. Then as Curly and I sat on a rock together listening, I heard a bear cough because his nose got dusty, grubbing for ants; a coyote was singing the hunger-song, and miles away to the east a ranche dog answered him. Then Curly's horse scrunched up a tuft of grass, and my beast pawing, startled a rattlesnake. The little woman beside me whispered then—
"Shorely the Lawd makes His big medicine for us, for snakes and robbers, wolves and b'ars. Only the folk down tha cayn't see Him, 'cause they got electric lights instead of stars."
"Which them two pore ladies," says I, "gets gun-flame by way of lamps to cheer them up to-night."
"I hate to think how we-all stirred theyr peace. Still, Bryant has stroked theyr fur by now," she sighed. "Them visitors rumpled me too, and all my brussles is pointing the wrong way still."
"D'you reckon, Curly," I asked, "that the City Marshal is hoping to trail us by starlight?"
"Not to hurt," she yawned, "'cept maybe he's got smell-dogs guidin' his posse. Yes, I remember a while back the Marshal bought a team of blood-hounds."
She didn't seem to take much interest, so I proposed that we roll our tails.
"I see his lantern," said Curly; "thar it is agin. We got a ten-mile start."
I saw the glimmer then. "Come on," said I.
"Poco tiempo," says Curly. "I'm fearful sorry for them pore ladies yondeh."
I dragged her away, and we rode on, throwing the miles astern. Every two hours or so Curly would give the horses a rest and a taste of grass—a trick she had learned from Indians, which kept them fresh for a trail.
The night was cold, with a little "lazy wind," as Curly called it, too tired to go round, so it went right through us. Just before dawn we crossed a clay flat holding a slough of mud, and found it hard with frost.
"When water goes to sleep with cold," says Curly, "a smell-dog's nose ain't goin' to guide his laigs. This frost is due to send the posse home."
"At dawn they'll see our tracks."
Dawn broke, and we were rising a slope of sand-drift, with acres of naked rock ahead of us.
"Haw!" said Curly, leading me to the left until we entered the rock field. "Gee," she called, and we crossed the rocks to the right. "Follow the rocks—shy wide of any sand." I followed for a mile, until a little hill shut off the route we had come by. "Dismount," she said, and I stepped down by the edge of the sands. She made me take the saddle blankets, the oilskin coats, and a serape (Mexican blanket), and make a pathway of them across the sand, on which she rode, leading my horse, while I renewed the track in front of her for a couple of hundred feet. So we left horse sign on the sand which looked a whole fortnight old. Then, gathering the clothes, I mounted, and we curved away among sandhills for half an hour, sailing along at a lope until we came to a patch of gramma grass. "Let the hawsses graze," said Curly, and sat side-saddle, resting while she smoked a cigarette. I did the same, and the tracks we left now were those of grazing horses, not those of travellers. Then I resaddled, and all set, we rode off again to the north. The frost had spoiled our scent; the blanket play and grazing play had sure discouraged trackers.
"Curly," says I, "you heap big Injun!"
"I lil' small robber," she answered, "givin' away trade secrets."
A few miles northward we circled up beyond a ridge of hills, to a good look-out point. From there we could see the Marshal's posse small as ants in the distance, ranging around on the rock flat, from whence they presently crawled off south, looking a lot subdued. Then I unsaddled, while Curly killed out a few centipedes, scorpions, rattlers, and other local vermin, to make our sleep comfy under the rocks.
At noon, when the heat awoke us, we rode on to Texas Bob's big spring, reaching his camp by sundown. There we made up for lost meals by taking in four at once. Mrs. Bob gave us jerked beef, spiced bread and coffee; her wild range kids rubbed down our horses, watered them and fed; the old gentleman himself poured in his best advice until Curly crept off to sleep. As for me, I felt good, sitting there in the hut of cactus sticks watching the gold grass slowly change to grey, and great big stars come out above the hills.
The long hair lay like silver around the old man's shoulders; the white beard, pointed short, wagged over his deerskin shirt; his kind eyes wrinkled with fun, and all his words were wisdom absolute. I reckon he's the wisest man in all the southern desert, and when I told him the things I ought not to have done, he showed me better how to act in future.
"Stealin' a womern," says he, "is different from stealin' hawsses. You can make the hawsses forget theyr home range in a month, but a womern will sure break fences to quit back to the man she wants. This Curly will run to her mate, and whar they graze there ain't room for you in the pasture. The good Book says: 'No man shall put them asunder,' and the rules of Right and Wrong ain't got exceptions. Don't you try to steal Curly."
In all my life I never needed a friend so much as I did that night, but when Curly and I hit the trail the old scout reached me his hand.
"Put her right thar, Chalkeye," says he; "it's mighty hard at times to stick to the rules of the game. It's so easy to go crooked that it takes a man to play straight—and you'll play straight.Adios!"
All night my mind was at ease, and when day broke again we were into the Superstitious Mountains. So I led Curly down towards Echo Spring, and gave the long yell to my boys where they lay in camp.
In giving my own account of this unpleasantness which happened between the Du Chesnay and Ryan families I've just grabbed Truth by the tail and tried to stay right with her. But Truth runs swift, and raises plenty dust of lies around her heels, so, maybe, whirling along I missed good facts. Happens I've been poorly provided with one eye and a lot of prejudice to see the trail ahead; likely I've not been the only party interested. Anyways, outsiders could watch the stampede without getting choked with dust.
Now these conclusions struck me abrupt like a bat in the eye when I sat down to rest in camp at Echo Spring. Before leaving Grave City, while thinking of other worries, I had caught a copy of a local paper, stuffed the same in my rear pocket, and disremembered having such possessions. I never thought of it until my tigers, hungering for news, caught sight of the bulging paper and rushed my camp to grab. Then I unfolded theWeekly Obituaryto these boys, all setting around on their tails and pointing their ears for instruction. I read to them about a certain Chalkeye Davies, who seemed to be a most astonishing outrageous villain, performing simultaneous crimes in several places at once. My tigers purred for more.
Then came a whole page of revelations concerning "the kidnapped Crœsus," otherwise styled "the stolen millionaire" and the "brigands' prey." It was clearly proved that the Chalkeye villain, Jim du Chesnay—described as "a broken-down swell"—and Captain McCalmont had joined together in purloining Michael Ryan and hiding him up in a cave, the place being well known to the authorities. This cave was inaccessible by land and water, guarded with machine-guns, and supplied with all modern conveniences, especially searchlights. "Our special representative" had been there, "but declined to give particulars for fear of driving the bandits to still more desperate measures."
Then came theWeekly Obituarygallery of fine portraits. We knew them all well, because they were served up frequent to represent murderers, politicians, actresses, preachers, scandalous British duchesses, and other notorious persons. Now they represented McCalmont, Curly, Chalkeye, Jim, Michael Ryan, Mrs. Michael, and old Mrs. Ryan. TheWeekly Obituarysaid it was wishful with these identifications to assist the ends of justice.
After this the next page was all quotations from leading papers throughout the Republic, proving how plumb depraved the robbers were, how wicked it was to purloin the rich and good out of their private cars, and how the Federal Government ought to act in this shocking catastrophe. The New York papers just burned themselves with wrath because Michael's present engagements prevented him a whole lot from attending to railroad business. His financial combine was due to collapse complete unless he took hold at once.
Last came "our special supplement," with the very latest news. It seems that Michael had written to his wife in New York; likewise that somebody stole the letter from her and sold it to the New YorkMegaphone. Then all the papers copied Michael's letter and laid the blame on theMegaphone. Here is the letter:—
"September 8th, 1900."Dear Kathleen,"On 28th ult. I was abducted at Grave City out of my car by brigands and carried blindfold, lashed on to the back of a horse, for several hundred miles through frightful country, arriving here 4th instant. When I got here I weighed ninety-eight pounds! Indeed I was nearly dead; but now the robbers are feeding me up, so that I'm gaining flesh, although I'm still kept prisoner in close confinement."I don't know the whereabouts of this house, but it's a large ranche building of logs in the middle of pine woods. At nights I'm almost frozen, so it must be high up in some range of mountains. The country looks flat from the window. A robber told me once that the place is in California."Now, dearest, you will take this as my authority, and raise the sum of one million dollars to pay my ransom, and save me from being murdered. You know who to go to, and offer securities for the loan, getting the best terms you can. This money must be paid one-tenth in U. S. gold currency, and the balance in notes of ($50) fifty dollars and under. Bring it to Flagstaff, in Arizona, and ask for military escort. There you will charter a waggon, and have the treasure delivered at the point where the Tuba trail from Flagstaff crosses the Little Colorado River, right in the middle of the Painted Desert. The waggon must then be abandoned, and the escort to withdraw to Cañon Diablo, leaving no spies behind. The chief of the robbers tells me that the man he sends with a team to get this waggon will be a perfectly innocent farmer, and that any parties attempting to molest, join, or follow him will be killed so quick they'll never know what struck them."I must earnestly warn you, as you value my life, to prevent any attempt whatever to watch or track the waggon; or prior to my release to permit any hostile movement against the robbers; or to deliver any money short of the full ransom; or to mark any coin or note for future identification. If the terms are not absolutely complied with in every detail, within forty days from date—that is, by noon of 18th October, I shall be murdered. If the ransom is delivered as per instructions by 18th October and found correct, the robbers will then disperse, and have no further use for me. They promise then to deliver me at the nearest ranche or farm on or before 1st November."Private.—Now, dearest, of my own free will, and without compulsion from the robbers, I want to ease my mind of a great burden, by confessing to you as I shall to Holy Church if ever I get the chance. Under this dreadful visitation I see things in their true light which before were hid."I guess there's not the slightest doubt that Lord Balshannon was one of the blackest scoundrels that ever disgraced this earth. Apart from his odious crimes in Ireland, his later life was steeped in villainy. For years at Holy Cross ranche he was in open league with this gang of robbers who have captured me. One of them, Chalkeye Davies, the notorious horse-thief, was his foreman, and Captain McCalmont's son went there to get educated in crime. Once Balshannon actually hired the gang to rob my father of $75,000."Under such circumstances I am awed by the sublime courage of my father in this single-handed war against Balshannon and his outlaws. I stood at father's side in the last fight when Balshannon murdered him; I fired first in the fusillade which avenged the old man's death; and untrained as I am to such wild warfare of the Frontier, I tried to be worthy of my blood."But when I think of Balshannon's son, I realize now that he fought for his father as I fought for mine. Afterwards, blinded with passion, I brought a charge against him, and swore that he alone was guilty of my father's death. I had no right to do that; the young chap was innocent, the charge was a put-up job. But the evil one must have possessed me entirely, for when several witnesses thought they could please me by swearing Jim's life away, I was a party to their perjuries. More, I was induced to help them with money to leave the country, and so escape arrest."If I sinned, I am punished, for as the robbers were Balshannon's partners, so they took sides with his son. Because I attacked the lad they abducted me. That is my punishment, Kathleen, and it is just."In one thing I am puzzled, because I expected to find Balshannon's son with the robbers. I have not seen him, and McCalmont swears that Jim du Chesnay took no part in this outrage."Kathleen, we've got to do right in this business. I want the charge against James du Chesnay withdrawn right now. When I am free I shall give him back his home and lands, all that father seized, and ask him to forget that there was ever a quarrel between our families."Dear love, it breaks my heart to think of your anxiety. As for my business interests, I dare not think of what may be involved by my long absence. Mavourneen, you must save me quick, or worse will happen yet."Your distracted lover,"Michael."
"September 8th, 1900.
"Dear Kathleen,
"On 28th ult. I was abducted at Grave City out of my car by brigands and carried blindfold, lashed on to the back of a horse, for several hundred miles through frightful country, arriving here 4th instant. When I got here I weighed ninety-eight pounds! Indeed I was nearly dead; but now the robbers are feeding me up, so that I'm gaining flesh, although I'm still kept prisoner in close confinement.
"I don't know the whereabouts of this house, but it's a large ranche building of logs in the middle of pine woods. At nights I'm almost frozen, so it must be high up in some range of mountains. The country looks flat from the window. A robber told me once that the place is in California.
"Now, dearest, you will take this as my authority, and raise the sum of one million dollars to pay my ransom, and save me from being murdered. You know who to go to, and offer securities for the loan, getting the best terms you can. This money must be paid one-tenth in U. S. gold currency, and the balance in notes of ($50) fifty dollars and under. Bring it to Flagstaff, in Arizona, and ask for military escort. There you will charter a waggon, and have the treasure delivered at the point where the Tuba trail from Flagstaff crosses the Little Colorado River, right in the middle of the Painted Desert. The waggon must then be abandoned, and the escort to withdraw to Cañon Diablo, leaving no spies behind. The chief of the robbers tells me that the man he sends with a team to get this waggon will be a perfectly innocent farmer, and that any parties attempting to molest, join, or follow him will be killed so quick they'll never know what struck them.
"I must earnestly warn you, as you value my life, to prevent any attempt whatever to watch or track the waggon; or prior to my release to permit any hostile movement against the robbers; or to deliver any money short of the full ransom; or to mark any coin or note for future identification. If the terms are not absolutely complied with in every detail, within forty days from date—that is, by noon of 18th October, I shall be murdered. If the ransom is delivered as per instructions by 18th October and found correct, the robbers will then disperse, and have no further use for me. They promise then to deliver me at the nearest ranche or farm on or before 1st November.
"Private.—Now, dearest, of my own free will, and without compulsion from the robbers, I want to ease my mind of a great burden, by confessing to you as I shall to Holy Church if ever I get the chance. Under this dreadful visitation I see things in their true light which before were hid.
"I guess there's not the slightest doubt that Lord Balshannon was one of the blackest scoundrels that ever disgraced this earth. Apart from his odious crimes in Ireland, his later life was steeped in villainy. For years at Holy Cross ranche he was in open league with this gang of robbers who have captured me. One of them, Chalkeye Davies, the notorious horse-thief, was his foreman, and Captain McCalmont's son went there to get educated in crime. Once Balshannon actually hired the gang to rob my father of $75,000.
"Under such circumstances I am awed by the sublime courage of my father in this single-handed war against Balshannon and his outlaws. I stood at father's side in the last fight when Balshannon murdered him; I fired first in the fusillade which avenged the old man's death; and untrained as I am to such wild warfare of the Frontier, I tried to be worthy of my blood.
"But when I think of Balshannon's son, I realize now that he fought for his father as I fought for mine. Afterwards, blinded with passion, I brought a charge against him, and swore that he alone was guilty of my father's death. I had no right to do that; the young chap was innocent, the charge was a put-up job. But the evil one must have possessed me entirely, for when several witnesses thought they could please me by swearing Jim's life away, I was a party to their perjuries. More, I was induced to help them with money to leave the country, and so escape arrest.
"If I sinned, I am punished, for as the robbers were Balshannon's partners, so they took sides with his son. Because I attacked the lad they abducted me. That is my punishment, Kathleen, and it is just.
"In one thing I am puzzled, because I expected to find Balshannon's son with the robbers. I have not seen him, and McCalmont swears that Jim du Chesnay took no part in this outrage.
"Kathleen, we've got to do right in this business. I want the charge against James du Chesnay withdrawn right now. When I am free I shall give him back his home and lands, all that father seized, and ask him to forget that there was ever a quarrel between our families.
"Dear love, it breaks my heart to think of your anxiety. As for my business interests, I dare not think of what may be involved by my long absence. Mavourneen, you must save me quick, or worse will happen yet.
"Your distracted lover,
"Michael."
It made me sorry to think of that poor devil. You see, he tended strict to business first, then strutted awhile to show himself off to his woman, before he unfolded his crooked little soul in the part marked "Private." His letter gave me plenty to think about.
Still, I had my own concerns to worry me, for Monte took me round our herd, which had grown in surprising ways during my absence. The mares, it seemed, had gotten more prolific than usual, giving birth to full-grown horses, ready branded. On the whole I concluded that if any of the neighbours happened around, my boys would find that pasture unhealthy with symptoms of lead poisoning. I advised them to quit, so they agreed to shift the herd along eastward, and sell out in Texas. Meanwhile, I cut out Curly's buckskin mare, and a few of my own pet runners who knew how to show their tails to any pursuers. We took twelve good stayers from the herd, and a little wall-eyed pack mule who had fallen dead in love with Curly's mare. So Curly and I were ready for our march.
As to that young person, from the moment she hit the trail out of Grave City the wound in her arm healed rapid, and she sure forgot to be an invalid. Two days we fed and rested her, but then she began to act warlike, oppressing me for sloth. On the third morning I loaded the pack mule, told the boys good-bye, and trailed off with Curly, pointing for Robbers' Roost.
When water won't cure thirst, but the juice in your mouth turns to slime caking in lumps on your lips, when the skin dries up because there's no more sweat, when your eyes ache and your brain mills round—that's Arizona. The air shakes in waves like a mist of cobwebs, and through that quiver the landscape goes all skeweye, for some of the mountains float up clear of the land, and some turn upside down standing on rows of pillars along the skyline. Then the hollows of the land fill with blue mist—blue lakes and cactus bushes change into waving palm trees by the waterside. How can a man keep his head when the world goes raving crazy all round him? You have just to keep on remembering that your eyes have quit being responsible, that your nose is a liar, that your ears are fooled, then keep a taut rein on yourself for fear your wits stampede, and your legs go chasing visions down the trail to death.
That Valley of Central Arizona got me plumb bewildered; a country of bare earth and mesquite brush like mist, with huge big trees of cactus standing in one grove a hundred miles across. Then came a hillside of black cinders lifting a hundred miles; but the top was a level mesa, surely the first place I ever seen with good grass under pine trees. I had never seen woods before, and this coconino forest is the sort of pasture I'd want to go to after this present life. I hunger none for golden pavements or any desert lay-out, nor am I wishful for a harp—having a taste for guitars—nor for flopping around on wings, nor a crown of glory—the same being ostentatious a whole lot. Pasture like this, a horse, a camp, a spring—such promises as them would lure me to being good.
Right in the heart of this forest there's a bunch of dead volcanoes called the San Francisco peaks, lifting their frosty heads into the sky, and round the skirts of lava at their feet lies broken country. Curly showed good judgment in making camps, but hereabouts I thought she had lost her wits, for she led me over broken lava flows, heart-breaking ground for the horses, where we had to dismount and climb. Then all of a sudden we dropped down, hid from all the world, into a meadow walled around with lava. This tract had escaped when the rest was overflowed; so happened there was grass among the bull pines, and right at the head of the field a little cave with space of floor for camping beside a bubbling spring. We struck the place at noon and camped, my partner concluding to lie over until she could make a night scout in search of news. She slept through the afternoon while I stood guard outside.
Up to that time we had been scared to make a fire at night or show a smoke by day, except for the minutes we needed boiling coffee. Besides that, we could never camp within ten miles of a water-hole, but had to ride on after drinking to win the nearest grass, this country being all ate up around the pools. Here we had grass and water, the cave to hide our fire, and certainty besides of not being caught without warning. It was mighty fine to set around the fire after supper.
"You Chalkeye"—Curly lit up a cigarette and broke into silence which had lasted days—"what does it feel like, being safe?"
"We're safe enough here, lil' partner."
"Till I hit the trail for this scouting. But I mean, to live safe day after day without nobody ever wanting to kill you. Ain't it some monotonous?"
"Not to hurt."
"It must feel sort of—neglected. I read a book onced about folks in England, which I kep' on readin' and readin' to see if anythin' happened 'cept meals and go-to-bed and get-up-in-the-mawning. The girl was a sure enough fool, and as to the boy—well, he wore government socks, and didn't love the Lawd. Then he mar'ied a widow by mistake, which she had a forked tongue, a bad eye, and parted her ha'r on one side lookin' rather cute. That boy just aimed to cut his throat for seventy-three pages, then didn't after all, which was plumb discouraging. 'Stead of that he got a government job inspectin' the clouds and drawin' salary. Then the widdy she talked herself to death, and quit out. Afterwards that boy took sixty-one pages to get a kiss from the heroine. Thar was a deanery in it and a funny parrot—I reckon that's all the story."
"They mar'ied?"
"Sure, and nothin' happened ever afterwards, 'cept kids. Them characters was awful safe from gettin' excited. Will it be that a-way when I get tame enough to mar'y Jim?"
Feeling that said Jim was a lot unworthy of her, I strayed out to study how much our camp was visible. It seemed like we couldn't be attacked without our visitors cussing around first in the lava. They'd bark their shins, and we'd hear gentle protests.
When I came back, Curly was brooding still about her Jim.
"He'll be a dook like the old patrone," says she, "and sure as I'm a lady I'll be tired of life. Robes goes with that job, and a golden crown such as the angels wear."
"I reckon that's only for Sunday best," I told her.
"To go to church? Wall, now, ain't that jest fine? And how my wolves would laugh to see!" She stood up swaggering before the fire, her hand on her revolver, her laugh ringing echoes round the cave. "Jest you think," says she, "of me—a lady! Footman at the church door to announce us 'Lord and Lady Balshannon!' and Jim and me goes buttin' along to our pew. Then the preacher he rears up to talk his sermon. 'My lord, my lady, and you common or'nary brethren.' Cayn't you see Jim spit on his crown and give it a rub with his sleeve, and me snarled up in my robe like a roped hawss? Then we ride off home to the castle, and Jim says, 'Be-shrew thee! go to, thou varlet, and wrastle the grub pile 'fore I shoot the cook!' Then the valet says there's a deputy-marshal come to arrest us both for stealin' cows, so Jim has him hung in the moat. Afterwards we put in the hull afternoon shootin' foxes, and other British sports until it's time for supper, then play stud poker beside the parlour stove. You're to come and stop with us, Chalkeye."
"Sing to me, Curly," says I, because her voice was sweet enough to gentle a grizzly bear, and it always smoothed my fur. It seems to me I can see her now, her eyes green and flame in the firelight, her face—I can't describe her face.