As Friar Tuck and the woman came out of the mouth of the ravine, Ty Jones came out of the back door of the old cabin. He stopped a moment, lookin’ at ’em, rubbed his eyes an’ looked again. Then he walked towards ’em. He spoke somethin’ to the Friar, and the Friar answered it. The woman didn’t pay any heed at all; but went around the new cabin to the door which was on the other side. Three more Cross-branders rode in, and Ty Jones shook his fist at the Friar.
Ol’ Tank was cussin’ under his breath for comfort, but it didn’t keep him from gettin’ fidgetty. “Isn’t the’ no sort of a tool, Horace,” he blurted out, “that’ll stretch out your hearin’ the way these field glasses stretch out your eyesight? I’d be willin’ to have one of my ears run as wild as my free eye, forever after, if it could just hear, now, what Ty Jones is a-speakin’ to the Friar. I’m beginnin’ to get nervous.”
We all felt about the same way; but it was about two miles down to where they were, so all we could do was to watch.
Olaf had come with us, leavin’ Oscar with Kit, and now Horace turned to him and said: “You and Promotheus know more about Ty Jones ’n the rest of us. I have never tried to pump Promotheus, but now I want you to tell us what you think he’ll do with the Friar.”
They said ’at Ty was generally purty cold blooded, and likely to take enough time in gettin’ rid of a feller to make it purty hard to tell just how it had been done; but that when he once let go of himself, he didn’t care what happened, and if the Friar angered him about the woman, the chances were ’at the Friar would never leave the ranch alive.
The shadows were beginnin’ to fall, down in the valley; but Ty and the Friar kept on talkin’, Ty wavin’ his hands now and again, while the Friar stood straight with his hands hangin’ easy at his side. I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I believe ’at a feller could get almost to ’em without bein’ seen, by goin’ along the edge o’ the ravine,” sez I; “and I’m goin’ to do it. It’ll be dark in a few minutes. If you want me to hustle to the Friar, wave a torch up and down; if you want me to come back here, wave it sideways.”
“I’m goin’, too,” sez Horace.
“So ’m I,” sez Olaf and The.
“Well, that’s full enough,” sez I, “and the rest of ya keep a sharp watch, and also keep the hosses ready, in case we need ’em.”
The four of us started down the side o’ the slope at good speed. There were only two places on the way down where we caught sight o’ the ranch buildin’s; but just before we reached the top o’ the cliff, we heard a sound down below in the ravine. Glancin’ cautious over the side, I saw the Friar comin’ back alone, on foot and leadin’ his hoss.
I drew back and whispered to the others, and we felt purty blame cheap. We hardly knew what to do, as the Friar was likely to see us if we tried to run back to our look-out before he reached the place where the path came up out o’ the ravine, and most of all, we didn’t want him to know ’at we were follerin’ him.
He had passed us by this time, so we looked over the edge o’ the ravine at him. He was walkin’ slow with his head down, and his hands in his pockets. “He’ll ride home slow,” sez I; “and we can easy beat him.”
“Hush,” sez The, draggin’ us back from the edge, “the’s two fellers follerin’ him.”
“Horace,” I said, quick and firm, so as not to have any back-talk, “you go about forty yards up the ravine, and keep your eyes on these fellers. Don’t shoot ’em unless they try to pass you. Hurry, now! I’ve given you the most important post. If you shoot, shoot in earnest.”
Horace stooped over and ran to where a rock jutted out. “Now, then,” sez I, “as soon as these fellers pass us, we’ll try to bowl ’em over with one stone each, and then drop back out o’ sight. We don’t want to shoot unless we have to.”
“They’re wavin’ us to come back,” whispered The, who had took a glance at our look-out.
“Never mind,” sez I, lookin’ down and seein’ the two fellers crouched over and sneakin’ after the Friar. “Now then, throw and drop back.”
We stood on our knees, threw one stone each, and dropped back. They rattled in the ravine below, and we heard a sharp yelp of pain. I had only dodged away from the edge of the ravine and ran to where Horace was.
“One feller was hit in the shoulder and knocked down,” sez he; “but he got up again right away, and both of ’em ran back.”
“What did the Friar do?” I asked, not darin’ to look over, lest he see me.
“He turned around and started back,” sez Horace. “I was afraid he’d see my head again’ the sky, so I pulled it back. I haven’t heard him move since those fellers started to run.”
“Well, I don’t believe ’at even the Friar would be daffy enough to go back,” sez I; “so we’ll just lay here and listen. They signalled us from above a while back, but they’ve stopped again.”
We waited some time without hearin’ any one pass us, and then we sneaked up along the edge of the ravine. Before long we saw the Friar come up the side. He paused on top and looked back, then mounted and started for Olaf’s at a slow shuffle. As soon as he was well under way, we pushed for the look-out, and mounted.
“Slim, you and Tillte wouldn’t be missed as soon as the rest of us; so you trail the Friar, while we try to beat him home,” sez I. “If you need us, shoot. Otherwise come in as unnoticeable as you’re able.”
We reached Olaf’s, had our saddles off and the hosses turned loose before the Friar rode in. His face was white, but this was the only thing ’at showed what he was goin’ through. We made a big fuss about his gettin’ back all right and asked him plenty o’ questions, without overdoin’ it enough to make him suspicious. He answered our questions right enough, but he didn’t open up and talk free. Slim and Tillte joined us at supper without bein’ noticed.
After supper we gathered around the fire in Olaf’s settin’ room, and the Friar gave us a purty complete account of what had happened. He said that it was his old girl all right; but he said that the’ was somethin’ the matter with her, that she didn’t recognize him even after he had made himself known to her. He said she seemed dazed-like and not to take any interest in anything.
He said they had walked down the ravine together, and she had told him that she was comfortable enough but not happy. That she had lost something which she could not find; but that she was getting stronger since havin’ come out to the mountains. He said ’at when Ty Jones saw ’em together, he had carried on somethin’ fierce, and had ordered her into the house. Then he had turned on the Friar and told him that he would give him two weeks to leave the state and after that his life wouldn’t be safe in it. He said he had tried to reason with Ty; but it wasn’t any use; so he had just come away.
“If he had set upon you, would you have shot him?” asked Tank.
“I didn’t have anything to shoot him with,” sez the Friar. “I was careful to leave my weapons behind.”
“Well, you didn’t show much judgment in doin’ it,” sez Tank. “He might have sent a couple o’ fellers after ya, and finished you out in the dark somewhere so ’at we never could ’a’ proved it on him.”
“I did think for a minute that some one was follerin’ me,” sez the Friar. “I heard a rattle of stones and a cry a few hundred feet behind me in the ravine; but I think it was some animal slippin’ down the side.”
“Like as not,” sez Tank. “If it had been any o’ Ty’s gang, they wouldn’t have give it up so easy; but another time we’ll some of us go along with you; so as to get your last words anyhow, if so be ’at you’re bent on suicide. What do you intend to do now?”
“That’s the worst of it,” sez the Friar. “I don’t know what to do. She said she did not think she was married; but she was not sure; and Ty refused to give me any satisfaction about it.”
“Isn’t the’ any law out here, at all?” sez Horace. “Seems to me as though there ought to be some way to get at Ty Jones.”
“What would you charge him with?” asked the Friar. “She is not being abused or kept a prisoner, she says she is comfortable and gettin’ stronger—I can’t think of any way to bring him under the law. If you had not taken the law into your own hands in regard to his two men, we might have made the claim that he was behind them in this; but really, I do not see where we have any just grounds to go to law.”
“That little matter o’ the Greasers don’t hobble us none,” sez ol’ Tank. “Don’t you get the idee that you’re bound in any way by this. The whole country would uphold us; so if you want to use it as a lever, just make your claims again’ Ty to the law officers, and we’ll tell ’em ’at the Greasers confessed ’at Ty put ’em up to it.”
This seemed to us like sage advice; and we all chipped in and urged the Friar to act on it. Laws are all right, I haven’t a word to say again’ laws. Fact is, I believe ’at we’re better off for havin’ a few than not; but after all, laws come under the head of luxuries like diamonds and elevators and steam heat. We all know there is such things, and we haven’t any objections to those usin’ ’em who can afford it; but most of us have to wear cut-glass, pack in our own wood, do our climbin’ on foot or hossback, and settle our troubles in our own way with as little bother as possible. When you figure it down to the foundation, laws depend on public opinion, not public opinion on laws; and all the public opinion worth takin’ into account would have said ’at we had done the right thing with those Greasers. If they’d ’a’ tried to law us for a little thing like this, it would have started an upraisin’ which would have let the law see how small a shadow it really does throw when it comes to a show-down.
The Friar didn’t answer us right away, and when he did, it was in the most discouraged voice I’d ever heard him use. “I’m in the dark, boys,” sez he, “I don’t know what to do. Even if I could find some way to take her away from Ty Jones, I do not know what to do with her. She is not herself, she needs care and protection—and I am not in a position to supply them. I have an income of three hundred and fifty dollars a year, which is much more than enough for my own needs, for I live mostly upon the hospitality of my friends as you well know”—we also knew ’at he spent most of his money in helpin’ those who never saw enough money to get on intimate terms with it; while all they gave him in return was a little meal and bacon for savin’ their souls and doctor-bills. “I don’t know what I could do for her, even if I had the right to take her away from him,” continued the Friar. “My life has been a good deal of a failure; and I—”
“For the love o’ common sense, Friar!” broke in Horace. “You don’t seem to have the smallest degree o’ judgment. You know mighty well ’at I’m bothered to death to know what to do with my money. You get her if you can, send her to any sort of a sanitarium you want to, and I’ll foot the bills. Don’t you ever sit around and whine about money in my presence again. It worries and disgusts and irritates me—and I came out here for rest. You talk about faith and takin’ no heed for the morrow, and such things; but you act as though you were riskin’ a man’s soul when you gave him a chance to be of some little use in the world.”
The Friar was purty well overcome at this; but figure on it the best we were able, we couldn’t see just how to get a man’s wife away from him without provin’ that he had abused her. It was a complication, any way we looked at it; so we all went to bed in the hope that one of us would have a lucky dream.
We didn’t have any more idees next mornin’ than we’d had the night before; so after breakfast, the Friar took a walk and the rest of us sat around in bunches talkin’ it over. About ten o’clock a feller named Joyce who lived about fifteen miles east of Olaf came by on his way for a doctor, his boy havin’ been kicked above the knee and his leg broke. The Friar could patch up a human as good as any doctor; so we went after him, knowin’ that this would be the best way to take his mind off his own troubles, and the’ was a look o’ relief in the Friar’s face when he rode away with Joyce.
I never knew any feller yet who didn’t spend a lot o’ time wishin’ he had a chance to loaf all the laziness out of his system; but the fact of the matter is, that work gives us more satisfaction than anything else. A wild animal’s life is one long stretch after enough to eat; but he’s full o’ health an’ joy an’ beauty. On the other hand, put one in a cage and feed it regular and it turns sick immediate. What we need is plenty o’ the kind o’ work we are fitted for—this is the answer to all our discontented feelin’; and what the Friar was best fitted for, was to help others.
Thinkin’, just plain thinkin’, is about the hardest work the’ is; and for the next several days, we lay around doin’ mighty little else. The trouble was, ’at we couldn’t devise a way to put Ty Jones out o’ business. He wasn’t an outlaw; fact was, he stood high with the big cattle men; and we got light headed tryin’ to scare up a plan which would remove Ty in a decent manner, and leave the Friar free to take the woman without causin’ him any conscience-pains. We were the mournfulest lookin’ bunch o’ healthy men ever I saw; and finally I decided to loaf with Kit and the kid, they not bein’ expected to do any thinkin’ and therefore havin’ smooth an’ pleasant faces.
Sometimes I wonder if women don’t get along just as well without thinkin’ as men do with it. I hadn’t talked seven minutes with Kit before she suggested just what I would have thought up if I’d been able. She didn’t even know she had suggested it; so I didn’t call her attention to it for fear it might up-heave her vanity and give Olaf bother. I had a plan now and it was of such a nature that I was glad the Friar wasn’t there to mess into it.
I found Promotheus an’ Tank lyin’ on the grass along the crick. They were back to back, and their faces were so lined with genuwine thought, that they looked like a pair of overgrown nutmegs. I sat down beside ’em lookin’ worried.
Presently Tank sez: “What ya thinkin’ about?”
I shook my head, and in about half an hour The asked the same question. I waited a minute, hove out a sigh, and sez: “Gee, I wish I was you.”
“Why do you wish you was me?” sez he.
“’Cause,” sez I, “you’ve got a chance to do the biggest deed I know of.”
“What is it?” sez he, examinin’ my face to see if I was sheepin’ him.
“No,” sez I, shakin’ my head; “I ain’t got any right to even think of it, let alone hint at it. You might think I was buttin’ into your affairs, and then again—No, I refuse to suggest it. If it’s your duty, you’ll see it yourself; but I won’t take the responsibility of pointin’ it out.”
“What in thunder did you mention it at all for, then?” sez The, gettin’ curious an’ exasperated.
“And then besides,” sez I to myself, out loud, “there’s Horace. Like as not he wouldn’t allow you to run your head into danger any more.”
“What!” yelled The. “Didn’t we run our heads into danger all over the tropics of the Orient, didn’t we goad up danger an’ search for it and roust it out of its hidin’ places and—Why, confound you—”
In about ten minutes I stopped him, an’ sez in a quiet voice: “Well, then, if I was you, I’d go on down to Ty Jones’s and take on with him again.”
We lay on the grass there, along Pearl Crick for some time without speakin’. Up on the rim, the grass was burned to a crisp; but along the crick it was still green. Promotheus pulled blade after blade of it and chewed ’em up in his mouth, while me an’ Tank watched him.
“What you mean, is for me to take on with Ty Jones—and then to act spy on him. Ain’t that what ya mean?” sez The after a time.
I’d ’a’ sooner he hadn’t put it into words—it did look rather raw when he stood it up before us naked. “I don’t mean nothin’ in particular, The,” sez I. “You and I are different, and what I could do without feelin’—”
“That’s all right,” he broke in. “The’ ain’t any need to treat me like an infant baby. Come right out with it—What you want me to do is to play spy, ain’t it?”
“That’s the only way I can see to help the Friar,” sez I; “but he wouldn’t want you to do anything for him you didn’t feel was right.”
“I know, I know,” he sez, lookin’ down at his hands. “Ty Jones is as mean as a snake, and I don’t deny it; but he’s been square with me, and once he saved my life. Then again, the Friar has been square with every one, and if he hadn’t nursed me night and day, Horace wouldn’t have had a chance to save my life. If Horace had killed me it would have spoiled his life; so that the whole thing is held together in a tangle. I’m willin’ to cash in my life for the Friar—it ain’t that—but I do hate to turn again’ Ty Jones underhanded.”
“Better just forget I mentioned it,” sez I.
“No,” sez Promotheus, “I intend to lay the plan before Horace, and let him settle on it.”
“That’s a good scheme, that’s the best way out of it,” sez ol’ Tank, and I joined in with him.
We sat there on the bank a long time, thinkin’ the thing over, and finally just before supper, Horace hove in sight and started to josh us; but when he saw how sober we were, he settled down, and asked us what was up.
“Horace,” sez The, “what would you think of my takin’ on with Ty Jones, and playin’ the spy on him?”
“That would be madness!” exclaimed Horace. “He’d see through it and kill you first pop. I don’t know though—you might fix up a tale—but then it would be too infernal risky. Nope, don’t you try it.”
“If it could be done,” persisted The, “what would you think of it?”
“Oh, it would be a great thing for the Friar,” sez Horace; “but, Promotheus, I don’t like to have you take the risk.”
“It ain’t the risk I’m fussin’ about,” sez The. “Ty was square to me in his own way. The Friar has been square to me also, and I know ’at his way is the best; but at the same time—don’t you think it would be downright snakish for me to go back to Ty, tell him some excuse for my stayin’ away, and then plot again’ him while I’m eatin’ his vittles?”
It didn’t sound good to us when Promotheus came out with it so everlastin’ unpolluted; but he had worked up a sense of honesty since bein’ with Horace, which wouldn’t let him do any pertendin’. Horace didn’t answer, and he went on after waitin’ a minute: “I haven’t any prejudices again’ fightin’ him in the open; but it does go again’ my grain to wear a dog hide when I’m playin’ wolf, and Ty Jones was square to me.”
“Well,” sez Horace, “I haven’t the heart to advise you to do this, Promotheus. We’ll sure be able to find some other way, and as long as it goes again’ your grain the way it does, I don’t want you to do it.”
“Would you think any the less of me if I did?” asked The, his eyes takin’ on a sad, hungry look, like a dog’s eyes get when he’s worried over what his master’ll say about some trick he’s been up to.
“Course I wouldn’t think any less of ya,” sez Horace without hesitatin’; “but hang it, I’m afraid somethin’ ’ll happen to ya.”
“Would the Friar think any the less of me?” sez The.
“If the Friar heard about it, he wouldn’t let ya go,” sez Horace.
“I’ve puzzled more about the Friar ’n about airy other man I ever saw,” sez The, thoughtful. “I wanted to lynch Olaf that time, guilty or not guilty; but the Friar straightened things out by riskin’ his own soul. He hates lynchin’, it goes square again’ his grain; but he made a bet with us to help stretch Olaf if we could prove him guilty; and this has stuck with me. This was a big thing to do, and I’d like to do somethin’ big for the Friar—But I swear it would hurt me to spy on Ty Jones!”
We didn’t have anything to say on the subject; so we just sat and chewed grass.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about that old Greek feller, ’at you named me after,” sez Promotheus at last. “He didn’t ask no one else to take the responsibility of tellin’ him what to do. He just decided what was right, and then did it. If I go to Ty Jones, and he treats me right, my own thoughts’ll tear at me like vultures; but this here other Promotheus, he stood it, ’cause it was for man’s good; and I’m game to do the same.
“I don’t intend to be any more sneakier ’n I have to be. All I intend to do is to find out what I can about the woman, and, if Ty ain’t treatin’ her right, to help get her away from him; but I want it understood right now that I’m not goin’ to work any tricks on Ty to get him into the law for what he’s done in bygone days. Now then, I take all the blame on my own shoulders; but we’ll have to fix up a tale to fool a wise one, ’cause Ty won’t be took in by chaff.”
We talked things over a long time; but it seemed mighty unreasonable for Promotheus to have pulled out without sayin’ a word, and then to come back without writin’ in the meantime; and we couldn’t quite hit on it. Finally the idee came to me.
“They’re goin’ to graze the grass down to the roots, this summer,” sez I; “but still, the’ won’t be enough to go around. A lot o’ cattle will have to be sold off early, and some will be trailed up into Montana, and cow-punchers are goin’ to be in demand. Ty is long on cattle and short on grass, and he’ll be glad to have extra help he can trust; so he won’t question ya too close. You tell him ’at Horace here was a government agent, and that he arrested you as a deserter, and took you to prison where you was given a life sentence; that you broke out a couple o’ months ago, and have been workin’ your way back as cautious as you could.”
“My Lord, I hate to tell him that!” sez The. “It’s too infernal much like what I told him the first time.”
“You got to make up a good story, or else give up your plan,” sez I.
“Yes, that’s so,” he agreed. “Ty’d believe that, too. What prison had I better say I’ve been in?”
“Which one was you in?” sez I.
“I never was in any government prison,” sez he. “I was in a state prison.”
“Have ya ever seen a government prison?” sez I.
“Yes, I’ve seen two, one in Kansas, and one in Frisco,” sez he.
“Which would be the hardest to get out of?” sez I.
“The one in Frisco; it’s on an island,” sez he.
“Choose that one,” sez I; “and make up your escape just as it might have happened.”
“Ty won’t haggle me with questions,” sez The sadly. “He’ll just believe me, an’ this’ll make it ten times as hard.”
“You ought to be paler an’ more haggard,” sez I; “but I doubt if the’s a way to do it.”
“Keep soakin’ his face in hot towels for a few days,” sez Horace. “That’ll bleach him out.”
“Are ya goin’ foot or hossback?” sez I.
“I stole a hoss down in Texas the last time I came,” sez he, “and traded him off when he got footsore.”
“We got some hosses with a Nevada brand, over at the Dot,” sez I. “I’ll slip over an’ get one while you’re havin’ your complexion bleached off. They broke out an’ got with the herd before we finished brandin’ ’em, and we just let it go. The chances are they haven’t been rebranded yet.”
“All right,” sez The. “If I’m to do it at all, I want it to go through; but I have an idee ’at those vultures pickin’ at my liver are goin’ to be mighty unpleasant company.”
Me an’ Spider Kelley, Tillte Dutch an’ Mexican Slim rode over to the Dot and found two o’ those Nevada hosses, still rangin’ with their old brands untouched; so we roped one, and came back with it, without havin’ word with any of the outfit. The Diamond Dot range was the best of any we rode over, and they had put up a lot o’ hay that summer; but still I felt sure ’at they would have to cut down purty close, though I knew ’at Jabez would hold as many as he could for a high price the followin’ year.
We found The’s complexion purty well stewed out and haggard, Kit havin’ put soda in the hot water; so I told him to play sick, and loaf around the house as long as possible. He agreed to it; but the’ was a settled look o’ regret in his face which was a heap different from the one he had wore when he dismounted from the stage at Bosco.
“Night and day,” sez I, “the’ll be at least two of us at the look-out, and you come up with any news you have. Get into the habit of whistlin’ Horace’s tune; so that if ever you’d want to warn us to vamose rapid, you can whistle it. You might ride that way with some o’ Ty’s outfit, or somethin’.”
“It’s not likely,” sez he. “The’s no range up that way, and no trail leadin’ near it; but you fellers want to scatter your tracks all you can, so as not to make a path.”
We made plans for all the unexpected details we could think up; and then he started forth one night, meanin’ to circle to the southwest, and come in from that direction. He wore a red handkerchief under his nose as if to shut out the dust; but shaved clean, and pale as he was, mighty few would have recognized him either as Badger-face, or as the feller what had come in with us a few weeks before. We all shook hands solemn when he left, and promised to be at the look-out the followin’ night, and to be there steady from that on.
“What makes you fellers trust me?” sez he just as he started. “I came down here to put Olaf out o’ business, and then I turned over to your side. Now I’m goin’ back to Ty’s. What makes you think I won’t turn again’ ya, if I get into a tight place?”
Horace went over and took his hand. “Promotheus,” sez he, “I’ve been with you through hot days and cold nights, I’ve been with you through hunger and thirst and danger; and I’d trust you as long as I’d trust myself. You’re not goin’ to Ty’s because you’re a traitor. You’re goin’ because you’re a changed man, and the new man you’ve become is willin’ to risk his life for what he thinks is right. No matter what happens, I’ll trust ya; so take that along to think over.”
Promotheus winked his eyes purty fast, then he gave a sigh and rode off into the night. The’ wasn’t the hint of a smile about his lips, nor a glint o’ gladness in his eyes; but somethin’ in the straight way ’at he held his back let ya know ’at the inside man of him was finally at peace with what the outside man was doin’—and if ya don’t know what that means, the’s no way to tell ya.
We all felt purty down-hearted after Promotheus had rode away, and we sat before the fire in Olaf’s settin’ room a good deal the same as if we were holdin’ a wake.
“Olaf,” I sez, “you can’t have any finicky notions about treatin’ Ty Jones square, after all the persecutin’ he’s handed you. Do you know anything on him you could have him sent to prison for?”
Olaf shook his head. “He’s too clever to get caught in a trap,” sez he. “He scarcely ever gave any orders to have things done. He’d just say aloud as though talkin’ to himself, that some one or other was in his way; and then his men would begin to take spite on that feller. If the calf tally showed a hundred percent increase, he would think that about right, and no questions; but if ever it fell short o’ what he expected, we had it to make up some way. He’d send us out until we had brought in enough to satisfy; but he’d never give us straight orders to rustle. He is a smart man. When one of his men got into trouble, he got him out, no matter what cost; but he expected his men to do what he wanted, without askin’ questions. He has no fear, none at all. I know, I have seen. He has no fear, and he is very strong. It is bad to be at war with him; but I should like to have my hands at his throat once, and none to interfere.”
“Maybe you will, Olaf,” sez I, “maybe you will; and I don’t mind sayin’ that I hope to be on hand to see it.”
We kept two men allus at the look-out with Horace’s field glasses. It was a queer sort o’ summer, the air wasn’t clear like it usually is, but hazy, as though full o’ dust; and in lots of places they were turnin’ stock on the grass they generally aimed to save for winter. There were only a few punchers around the Cross brand ranch houses; but we saw Promotheus every day. He hobbled about with a stick part o’ the time, holdin’ his hand on his back as though he had the rheumatiz, which was natural enough from bein’ shut up in an island prison. Some days we saw the woman; but she never came up the ravine path any more.
Promotheus didn’t make a report to us for about a week. Then he came out one night about eleven. He said ’at Ty hadn’t doubted a word he’d said; but had done everything possible to make him comfortable, tellin’ him to just loaf until he got in good order. He said ’at Ty and the woman didn’t have much to do with each other and hadn’t had since she’d come out. He said ’at the woman was kind to all the animals, in spite of everything ’at Ty could do, and the dogs was gettin’ to act like regular, ordinary dogs. He said all but a few new pups had remembered him, and one had even wagged his tail, though he couldn’t see any sense in this, he never havin’ as much as spoke a kind word to the dog, so far as he could recollect.
He said he had held several talks with Ty, and Ty had asked him if he thought ’at Olaf was in league with any big outfits. He said ’at he had told Ty that he was sure Olaf had been in league with ’em several years before, but o’ course, he couldn’t know anything o’ what had happened since. Ty said he had come to the conclusion that Olaf was set out for a kind of bait to draw him into trouble, which was why he had let him alone; but that he was short o’ grass this season, and wanted Pearl Crick Spread bad. He also told The about the two Greasers disappearin’, though he wasn’t sure what had happened to ’em. He knew about us bein’ over at Olaf’s off and on, and The warned us to be careful, as Ty expected to have Olaf’s place watched as soon as he got through movin’ several bands o’ cattle.
The said ’at the woman had a soft spot for any dumb brute, or even a human in distress, and that he had touched her by hobblin’ around with the stick. He said she had cooked him some flabby invalid-food with her own hands, and that it was mighty captivatin’. He said she didn’t speak much; but he was tryin’ his best to get on the good side of her. He said ’at all the boys claimed ’at Ty treated her well; but didn’t seem to care much for her. Horace didn’t happen to be with us when The came; but we said we’d move our camp higher up on the slope, to be on the safe side when Olaf’s was watched, and would have Horace on deck sure the next time The came out; and we did this the next day.
The land was all slashed an’ twisted around and broken, up west o’ the Cross brand ranch houses. The ravine leadin’ down to ’em ran east and west, the path leadin’ up out of it to the trees where we had first seen the woman wasn’t near so steep as the one comin’ out of it on the north side toward the clump o’ rocks. After the north path came out, the ravine narrowed down until it wasn’t more than a crack, the south side not risin’ so high as on the north; so that soon the north side stood up like a cliff above the land leadin’ down to the clump of trees, and the only way we could get over to it was to go down the ravine and up again on the other side.
We made our camp consid’able higher than our look-out had been, and it was a well sheltered spot. An easy slopin’ stretch led up to it from the north, and a ledge skirted the face o’ the cliff up back of it, to the south. We examined this some distance; but it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. We found several dips back in the hills where the snow water made grazin’ for our ponies, and we were as comfortable as it’s ever possible to be while waitin’.
I know what my plan would be for makin’ a hell which would be punishment for any mortal sin, and yet not severe enough to make me hate all the peace out o’ my own existence. I’d make the wicked sit in the dark for a hundred years, waitin’ to hear what their sentence was. Then, I’d let ’em into heaven, and I bet they would be in a fair way to appreciate it. I never met up with any one able to out-wait me without showin’ it more ’n I did; but I’ll wager what I got, that the suspense was gorin’ into me worse ’n into them, all the time.
One evenin’, me an’ Tank went up to camp after doin’ our stunt at the look-out, and as we went, we caught sight o’ two riders headin’ our way. We hastened along so as to be ready to move in case this was a pair we didn’t care to draw to; but by the time we reached camp, they were close enough to recognize as the Friar and Olaf. The plan was to keep the Friar in the dark as long as possible, and we waited their comin’ with consid’able interest.
The Friar had squeezed the whole thing out of Olaf, as we might have known he would. You couldn’t trust Olaf with a secret where the Friar was concerned. Tank, now, would have sent the Friar off to Bosco or Laramie as contented as a bug; but just as soon as Olaf was backed into a corner, he told the truth, and spoiled all our arrangements.
The Friar rode into our camp, dismounted, threw his reins to the ground, and sez: “Where is Promotheus?”
We looked at Olaf, and he nodded his head as sheepish as the under dog at a bee-swarmin’. “He’s down at the ranch,” sez Horace.
“Has he brought any news?” asked the Friar. So we told him all ’at The had reported. He took a few steps up and down, ponderin’.
“I can’t permit this,” he said after a minute. “He is riskin’ his life down there, and I can’t allow him to continue.”
The rest all joined in and argued with him; but he was as obstinate as a burro, once he got his back up; so I didn’t say anything. I went off and started to eat my supper. When I was about half through, Horace came over and said the Friar was bent on goin’ down to Ty’s himself. “Well, let him go,” sez I as cool as a snow-slide.
“Yes, but if he goes, Ty will kill both him and Promotheus!” sez Horace raisin’ his voice. I noticed the others headin’ toward us so I only flung my hands into the air, meanin’ that it was none o’ my business.
“Do you mean to say ’at you back the Friar up in this?” demanded Horace.
“Do I look like a fool?” sez I. The Friar’s eyes were on me, and I knew they were cold; but I pertended not to notice him.
“You don’t look like a fool; but you act like one,” sez Horace, gettin’ riled.
“You can’t blame me, Horace,” I sez in my most drawly voice, “because the Friar cares more for havin’ his own way than he does for human life.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded the Friar.
“Oh, nothin’,” sez I, “except that if you go down there, it shows Prometheus up at once, we’d all have to go along to save Promotheus, and this would start a fight, with us to blame; and no one knowin’ what the woman is, or how she stands in the matter. She seems perfectly satisfied with Ty Jones; and no matter how it turned out, all of us who survived would have to leave the country. I don’t intend to argue with you, or to cross you in any way; but I do intend to stand by Promotheus, as it was me who first put the idee into his head.”
I sympathized with the Friar, I knew that he wasn’t himself. To find the woman he loved in the hands of the man who hated him, after all the years he had been in suspense about her was enough to tip any one off his balance; and I also knew the Friar. He had trained himself for eternity so long that some of his earthly idees weren’t sound, and the surest way to bring him to himself was to let him bark his knees a time or two. Some imported hosses carry their gaze so high they can’t see their footin’ but after they’ve stepped into a few prairie-dog holes, they learn to take a little more interest in what they’re treadin’ on.
The Friar came over and looked down at me. “I shall wait until Promotheus comes up here, and then he can stay; and I shall go down,” said the Friar in the voice a man uses when he thinks it’s wrong to show the sarcasm he can’t help but feel. “Have you any objection to this?”
“I have no objection to anything you choose to do, Friar,” I said, finishin’ my supper.
“Do I understand that you approve?” sez he.
“Certainlee not,” sez I. “Ty would see the connection between you and Promotheus at once. He knows ’at The was a deserter, and he would set the law on him in one direction, and try to run him down on his own hook in the other. If you had been on hand while we were discussin’ the plan, you would have had the right to veto it; but now, it looks to me as though Prometheus was the one to consider.”
The Friar sat down and ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t see any way out!” he sez at last; “but I’m forced to admit that since Promotheus has gone down there, it would put him in danger for me to interfere.”
“Well,” sez ol’ Tank, “here is The himself. Now, we’ll know better what to do.”
We looked up, and there was Promotheus with a bruise over his eye, comin’ into our little nook.
We all crowded around him, thinkin’ ’at the bruise betokened some sort of trouble; but he said he’d got afraid they’d begin to suspicion him; so he had tried to ride a hoss that day, and had let it buck him off. He said the’ wasn’t much lettin’ needed, as it had been a mean one; but he had got his forehead grazed, and had lain on the ground, claimin’ his back was hurt. It was only about eight o’clock, and we wondered how he had the nerve to come so early; but he said they were havin’ a drinkin’ bout over havin’ dogged a feller by the name o’ Bryce off his claim on Ice Crick, thus gettin’ a new outlet to grass and water.
He said the woman had been mighty good to him after his fall; but that he couldn’t get her to talk about herself at all. “Have you ever mentioned the name of Carmichael to her?” I asked.
“No,” sez he, “why should I?”
“That’s the Friar’s name,” sez I. “He used to preach in a regular church down east, and she sang in the choir. Next time you get a chance, try to draw her out about this.”
The Friar told him a lot o’ small details to ask her about; and went part way back with him, as he wouldn’t stay long for fear o’ bein’ missed. The Friar insisted on stayin’ along with us, while Olaf went back to the Spread.
Two nights after this Promotheus came up to our camp again. He said he had had several talks with her, and that she remembered the names and places, all right, but insisted that Carmichael was dead. She said he often came to her in her dreams; but that she knew he had died long ago.
“Does she ever sing?” asked the Friar.
“Never,” sez The. “She don’t even talk much. She has some sort of a pain in her head, and sometimes she seems to wander; but at other times she is perfectly clear.”
“Is Ty Jones ever mean to her?” asked the Friar.
“Never,” sez The. “Ty ain’t mean to those about him. He has his own idees—he likes to have his men and dogs and hosses all fierce and nervy—but he’s not mean to ’em. And all the boys treat her respectful, too. Fact is, I don’t see where we got any grounds to take her away.”
“But she does not care for him,” sez the Friar; “she could not care for him! He must have used trick or force to bring her here; and you must find out the truth about it. It all depends on you, now.”
“I’m doin’ all I can, Friar,” sez The; “but it’s a hard tangle to see through.”
When he left to go back, me an’ the Friar and Horace went with him. “Supposin’ they should see you comin’ back?” sez the Friar.
“Well,” sez The, “Ty don’t keep his men in prison, and I’d tell ’em I was up takin’ a little air after bein’ shut away from it so long.”
“Supposin’ they got suspicious an’ follered ya?” asked the Friar.
“I try to be as careful as I can,” sez The; “but I own up I allus feel a bit nervous till I get back to my bunk.”
“The best plan is for one of us to wait where the path leads down into the ravine each night at eleven,” sez the Friar. “We could go at ten and wait until twelve. If we went any closer, the dogs might get scent of us.”
We agreed ’at this would be the best plan; and after this, two of us made it a point to spend a couple of hours waitin’ there, while the rest stayed at the look-out ready to hustle down if the’ was any excitement; but nothin’ happened and we got purty fidgetty.
“Tank,” sez I one afternoon, “let’s ride over to Skelty’s. The’s generally some Cross-branders there, and perhaps we can find a little amusement.”
We reached there about seven, and ordered supper. There were five Cross-branders there already, eatin’ and drinkin’; and one of ’em was the tall feller by the name o’ Dixon. I nodded to him when I sat down and he nodded back. It’s funny the way a man feels when he goes into an unfriendly place to measure an’ be measured. It’s not like fear, that is, not like panicky fear; but still I suppose it’s something like what a jack-rabbit feels when the hounds are strung out after him. He knows well enough what’ll happen if he can’t run fast enough—but then he takes a heap of exhilaration in the thought that he most certainly can run fast enough.
All those fellers knew something o’ me an’ ol’ Tank; while Dixon was the only one we knew, the rest bein’ mostly young chaps who had taken on with Ty durin’ the last few years; but as most o’ Ty’s men were trailed out o’ some other state by a posse, it was a safe bet that they had more or less rattler blood in ’em. They were all on friendly terms with the girls, and the girls called ’em by name, whenever they couldn’t think up some other term ’at suited their taste better. One o’ these young fellers still had a boy’s eyes; but most o’ their eyes were purty hard an’ chilly.
I never did set any store on havin’ a strange woman call me “dear”; and neither did ol’ Tank. With his eye runnin’ wild, and his mussed-up features, the term dear fitted him about as snug as false bangs an’ face-powder would; but one o’ these young hussies came over an’ stood behind his chair, and sez: “Why hello, dearie, where have you been all the time?”
“I’ve been over teachin’ my grandchildren how to play the pianer,” sez Tank. “Have you got any pork an’ beans?”
Most any girl knows ’at most any man’ll stand for most anything; so this one grabbed hold o’ Tank’s hair and gave it a pull; but she savvied ’at he didn’t have any love for her, so she brought in his grub, threw it down in front of him, and went back to soft-soapin’ the feller with a boy’s eyes. He was still young enough to feel flattered by it, and truth to tell, she wasn’t a bad lookin’ girl, except that she drenched a feller so constant with her feminine charms that she washed away any hankerin’s for ’em he might have had to begin with.
Any healthy woman has all the allurement she can possibly need, if she’ll just take care of it. I like to see a hoss full o’ fire, and I like to see a woman full of enticement; but I like to see both the fire an’ the enticement kept under good control, and not made to show out unnecessary.
Once, when I was in Frisco, I saw a parade of the Friendly Order of Hindu Cats, and the Grand Thomas Cat o’ Creation rode in front on an old gray hoss. This hoss had feet like worn-out brooms, and the’ was knots all over his legs. All he asked in the way of entertainment was to pass a peaceful day in a quiet stable, face to face with a bale of hay; but they had clipped his mane an’ tail, hung a beaded belt across his brisket, put a scarlet blanket on him, and jabbed him with spurs until he was irritated to a degree.
The feller ridin’ him had learned to ride in a barber’s chair; but he had a heavy frown, and a lot o’ gold lace, and a big canoe-shaped hat; and I have to admit that if they had tied him fast to the saddle, and put rubber spurs on him, he would have looked the part like a picture. Every time he’d see one of his friends he’d stab the hoss on the off side, then jerk back on the curb, and smile benevolent, as though he intended to save the populace from that fiery steed or sprain every bone in his face.
The old gray was as forgivin’ a hoss as I ever see; but he had his limits as well as the rest of us. For the first ten or fifteen blocks, he’d only swish his tail and prance when his rider jabbed him an order for a little more fire; but finally his flanks got touchy, and his sense o’ justice began to write the declaration of independence on his patience. This would have been the time an intelligent human would have traded off his spurs for an apple or a lump o’ sugar, or some other welcome little peace-offerin’; but just then the parade passed under a window jammed full o’ the Grand Thomas Cat’s closest friends, and o’ course, they had to see a little fire.
He straightened out his legs, and then clamped the spurs into the old gray’s flanks. I had fought my way through the crowd for fifteen squares just to see it happen, and it was well worth it. The gray was stiff and awkward, but in his youth he had taken a few lessons in buckin’, and what he lacked in speed and practice, he made up in earnestness. The Thomas Cat didn’t know any more about balancing than a ball, and the grip of his knees wouldn’t have put a dent in a pullet’s egg; the’ was no horn to the saddle, and the mane had been clipped, so all he had to hang on with was the spurs and the curb bit; and things certainly did happen.
The old gray pitched and kicked and reared and backed and snorted and got mixed up with flags and citizens and umbrellas and red-lemonade stands and policemen; until finally he scraped off the Grand Thomas Cat of Creation on an awning, and tore off home, jumpin’ and kickin’; while the population threw their hats in the air and yelled their palates loose. They threw fruit and popcorn and friendly advice at the Grand Cat as he hung from the awning; but friend or foe, the’ wasn’t a soul in that crowd to help him get down; so as soon as he got calm enough to remember what he was, he dropped the three feet to the sidewalk, and ran into the store and hid.
If ya want to fill a crowd with content and satisfaction and joy and felicity and such-like items, just have some terrible accident happen to a popular hero, and all the joy-wells’ll overflow and gush forth like fountains—But what made me think o’ this little incident was the fact that this girl at Skelty’s put the spurs to her feminine charms a leetle too continuous.
Dixon, the Cross-brander, was one o’ these lean, skinny ones, and as a rule, I don’t crave to make their acquaintance. His Adam’s apple ran up and down in his neck like a dumbwaiter, and the’ was plenty o’ distance for consid’able of a run. If ya looked at just the part of him between his chin and his shoulders, he resembled an ostrich, chokin’ on an orange; but I decided to be as friendly as possible; so as soon as I’d filled a cigarette paper, I offered him my sack o’ tobacco. He took it, and while he was rollin’ himself a cigarette, he sez: “I see you’ve cut loose from your preacher.”
“Nope,” sez I, “he cut loose from me.”
“How come you fellers spend so much time out this way?” sez he.
“Nice country and pleasant folks,” sez I.
“I’ve heard tell ’at you got so familiar over at the Diamond Dot, that the old man turned ya loose,” sez he. “Is the’ anything to it?”
I didn’t reply at once. My first impulse was to see if I couldn’t pull him and his Adam’s apple apart; for this wasn’t no accident. This was a studied insult, and every one there was watchin’ to see what would happen; but the’ was too much at stake; so I gripped myself until I had time to put that remark where it wouldn’t run any risk o’ spoilin’; and then I sez: “Well, I don’t just like to have it put that way; but I will admit that you haven’t missed it so terrible far.”
“Lookin’ for a job?” sez he.
“Oh, I’m not carin’ much,” sez I. “I’m thinkin’ some o’ takin’ a homestead, or buyin’ some other feller out; but I ain’t in any hurry. I may go on down into Texas, or take on again up here. Any chance for a job with your outfit?”
Durin’ the time I had been decidin’ on what I’d say, Dixon had been wonderin’ how I’d take it; and I don’t doubt he was some relieved. Anyway, he thawed out a little. “Nope, I hardly think so,” sez he. “We’ve been hard pushed for grass this season; but Ty bought a water-right on Ice Crick, and things has smoothed out again. Another thing is, that Badger-face has come back.”
I gave a start as natural as life, and I didn’t put it on, neither. I had no idy he’d mention Badger-face without a lot o’ pumpin’. “Badger-face?” sez I. “Good Lord, I thought he was dead!”
“Well, we thought so, too,” sez Dixon. “We hadn’t heard a word from him; but he showed up a while back, and as soon as he gets able, he’ll take to ridin’ again.”
“What’s wrong with him?” sez I.
“He’s purty well played out,” sez Dixon. “He sez ’at that feller, Bradford, is some sort of a government agent. Now, we ain’t got nothin’ again’ the government out this way, so long as it minds its own business; but when it gets to interferin’ with our rights, why it generally has to find a new agent. You were along with this feller, Bradford, when he scooped in Badger-face; and I doubt if that has slipped Badger’s mind yet. Badger’s memory for such things used to be purty reliable.”
“Well, if it comes to that,” sez I, “I’d rather have Badger-face on my trail than Dinky Bradford; though I own up, I don’t just know what government position Dinky holds.”
“Ol’ man Williams there was along with ya, too, wasn’t he?” sez Dixon.
“Sure he was,” sez I. “We got a heap better paid, for that trip ’n we usually get.”
“Yes,” sez he, slow an’ drawly, “but a feller can never tell when he’s all paid out for such a trip as that.”
“A feller has to take chances in everything,” sez I. “I still got a little money left to amuse myself with.”
“It don’t seem to make ya reckless,” sez he. Dixon had been drinkin’ purty freely, and I rather liked the effect liquor had on him.
“Maxwell,” I called, “this is a dry summer. Set up the drinks for the house.” Some saloon-keepers fawn on ya as if they’d melt the money out o’ your clothes while some of ’em are cold and haughty, as though it was an insult to offer ’em money. Maxwell was one o’ this kind. He glared his red eyes at me as if I’d been rude; but he set out the drinks all right.
Tank had been shut away from drink for so long that I had plumb forgot how he had happened to win his title; but as soon as I had give the order, I sensed that he was in the mood to sluice himself out thorough. The very minute we had cooled off from the drinks—Maxwell kept a brand o’ poison which would eat holes in an iron kettle, if you let it set five minutes—Well, the very instant the steam had stopped comin’ out of our mouths, Tank ordered a round; and before that had got on good terms with the first drink, Spider Kelley had arrived.
Mexican Slim had guessed where we were headin’ for, and Tank had owned up to it, and Slim had told Spider, and, o’ course, Spider hadn’t been able to stay behind; so when he stuck his nose in the door, Tank sez ’at the drinks was always on the last-comer, and Spider ordered a round.
I can journey about with a fair amount o’ booze, without lettin’ it splash over into my conversation; but I was there on business, so I drank as short drinks as would seem sociable. Tank, on the other hand, had formerly been as immune to liquor as a glass bottle; but he was out o’ practice without realizin’ it; and he splashed into Maxwell’s forty-rod as though he was a trout hurryin’ back to his native element. Spider was a wise old rat, and he played safe, the same as me. O’ course, the Cross-branders couldn’t stand by and see us purchase Maxwell’s entire stock, without makin’ a few bids themselves; so for a while, we peered at the ceiling purty tol’able frequent.
The young feller with the boy’s eyes was chin-ful to begin with, the other three Cross-branders were purty well calloused to a liberal supply o’ turpentine; while Dixon would load up his dumb-waiter and send it down as unconcerned as though his throat was a lead pipe, connectin’ with an irrigation ditch. He had reached the stage where he was reckless but not thoughtless, and the’ didn’t seem any way to wash him down grade any farther.
“Any more o’ you fellers liable to drop in?” sez he, lookin’ at me. I waved my hand towards Spider, as though he, bein’ the last to arrive, would have the latest news; and Spider sez: “Nope, I reckon not. Leastwise, not so far as I know.”
“Badger-face has come back and taken on with Ty again,” sez I.
“The hell he has!” exclaimed Spider, just as I knew he would.
“Yes,” sez Dixon with an evil chuckle, “he’s come back, and I doubt if he’d feel any sorrow at meetin’ up with some o’ you boys.”
“As far as I remember,” sez ol’ Tank, bulkin’ up as ponderous as a justice o’ the peace, “I don’t recall havin’ asked Badger’s permission to do anything in the past, and I don’t intend to begin now.”
“Well,” sez Dixon, “I don’t mind tellin’ ya that Ty Jones ain’t so sure o’ Badger as he used to be; and nothin’ would suit him so well as to see Badger cut loose and get some o’ you fellers for helpin’ to have him railroaded.”
This surprised me. Dixon didn’t seem a shade worse ’n he’d been when Spider arrived, but he’d sure enough leaked out the news I was after. Ty was suspicious o’ Promotheus, and we’d have to finish our job as soon as possible. I didn’t want to start anything at Skelty’s so I proposed a little friendly poker. The Kid was asleep in the corner; so the seven of us played stud for an hour or so until Tank fell out of his chair, and then we broke up for the night.
Tank was all in; so we had to put him to bed, and the Kid had to be put to bed, also; but Dixon and the other three took a final drink and started back to Ty’s.
Tank weighed like a beef when he got liquor-loose, and it was all me and Spider could do to get him to bed. His legs were like rubber; but he insisted on tellin’ us what he thought about things. He begged us to start back and let him ride, sayin’ that it was only the heat o’ the room, not the drink, which had upset him; but he was in no shape to ride a hay wagon, so we put him to bed.
“I think more o’ the Friar than of airy other man I know,” he sez to us at the head o’ the stairs; “but I own up ’at I don’t take kindly to religion; and I’ll tell ya why. The’s hundreds an’ dozens of hymns to the doggone sheep-herders; but the’ ain’t one single one to the cow-punchers. Now, what I sez is this, if ya want to round me up in a religion, you got to find one ’at has hymns to cattle men.”
We didn’t bother to explain it to him, ’cause he wasn’t in condition to know a parable from a pair o’ boots. We dragged him along the hall and flung him on his bed. By chance we put him on the bed with his boots on the piller; but he went sound asleep the moment he stretched out; so we just hung his hat on his toe, folded the blanket over him, locked the door, put the key in my pocket, and went across the hall to our own room.
I didn’t want to harbor that liquor any longer ’n I had to, so me an’ Spider slipped down, got some salt an’ mustard, soaked it in water, drenched ourselves—and repented of havin’ been such fools. Then we went up to bed. It had been some time since we had stretched out on springs, and we were cordial for sleep; so we mingled with it in short order.
Still, I wasn’t easy in my mind, and twice I woke up and went into the hall; but I couldn’t hear anything, though I had a feelin’ that the’d been some good cause for my wakin’ up. I lay on the bed the last time with my mind made up to watch. Skelty’s had allus had the name o’ bein’ a tough joint, and this red-eyed Maxwell with his Injun hair wasn’t of the kind to purify it to such an extent that the old customers wouldn’t feel at home.
As I lay there, I saw the window rise, slow and careful. The’ wasn’t any moon; but I could see a hand in the starlight. I made up my mind to sneak out o’ bed, grab the hand, pull it in to the shoulder, and then throw all my weight on it, and yell for Spider. I got up as noiseless as cider turnin’ into vinegar—and then upset a confounded chair, which sounded like two houses runnin’ together.
The window dropped with a bang; and at the same moment the’ came a shriek from across the hall, followed by some scufflin’ and the sound o’ broken glass. After this all we heard was Tank’s voice tryin’ to explain his opinion o’ that part o’ the country and all its inhabitants. I had thought that Tank had discarded most of his profanity; but by the time we had got our guns and crossed the hall to him, I changed my mind. When I put the key in the lock, he suggested to us what was likely to happen to any unfriendly individuals who attempted to enter that particular room.
I told him gently to stuff the piller into his mouth, if he couldn’t find any other way to stop his yappin’; and then I unlocked the door, just as Maxwell and his bartender came into the hall. The bartender had one gun and one candle, and Maxwell had two guns.
When we opened the door, there was Tank with the blood runnin’ down his leg, while he stood in a corner of the room holdin’ his weapon up above his shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?” I sez, a little cross.
“I’m homesick, you blame ijiot!” sez Tank. “What else would likely be the matter with me?” Tank was about as far out o’ humor as I ever saw him get.
Maxwell came in and looked at the pool of blood. “Don’t stand there and bleed on the floor,” sez he.
Tank looked at him baleful. “What do ya wish me to do—upset your rotten dive and bleed on the ceilin’?” sez he. “I didn’t come here determined to smear up your place with my life blood; and I want ya to understand that I didn’t punch this hole in myself simply to cool off. I know what you’re afraid of—You’re scared that some o’ your liquor has got into my blood, an’ that it’ll leak out and set your floor on fire.”
“You run get a bucket for him to bleed into,” sez Maxwell to the bartender.
“Yes,” sez Tank, sarcastic; “and be sure to get a big one, as I am minded to draw off all o’ my blood, just to see how much I have in me at this time o’ the year.”
Sayin’ which, Tank walked over an’ sittin’ on the bed, held out his boot for me to pull off. He had been stabbed through the leg, through the thick part o’ the calf, and a jet was spoutin’ out of the top cut, and a steady stream oozin’ from the bottom one. I put my finger knuckle above the top jet, and the palm of my other hand over the lower one, and then sent Maxwell after a small rope and some bandages.
While he was gone, a couple o’ the girls strolled down the hall to see what the excitement was; but Tank began to lecture about morals and manners, and they didn’t bother us long. We patched Tank up in good order, and made him lie down again. He said that he had been woke up when his leg got stabbed, and had grappled with a man; but the man had got out the window again.
Skelty had built his place on a side hill. The bar and dinin’ hall was in front, and a small dance hall and kitchen back of it. Upstairs were bedrooms, and the ground sloped so, that the back rooms were only about five feet from the ground. This made the downstairs easier to heat in winter—and it was also convenient for any one who wanted to get in through a window.
Me and Spider ate breakfast next mornin’; but we wouldn’t let Tank eat, rememberin’ the Friar’s rules for wounds. When we started away, Tank insisted on goin’ along; so we had to ride slow. We went north, instead of in the direction we wanted to go, for fear some one might be spyin’ on us. I was mighty sorry we had come, even though I had found out that Promotheus was under suspicion; and as soon as we had come to a pass where we could see a good distance in all directions, I sent Spider on a circle to tell the boys to bring things to a head as soon as possible.
Tank’s leg ached him consid’able; and we had to ride purty slow; but by noon we had come to the Simpsons’ cabin. We told ’em that Ty Jones was suspicious about the Greasers and intended to get square with all who had took a hand in removin’ ’em; so they agreed to stand with us whenever we were ready to make a raid on Ty.
I made Tank lie down all afternoon, and drink all the water he could swallow, but that night when I started to ride over to the look-out, he insisted on goin’ along. It was a hard ride, and I wanted him to wait until the next night, but he tagged along, so I had to ride slow. We had figured out that the feller who had tried to get him had seen the hat on his foot at the head o’ the bed; and before he had had time to locate him proper, the noise the other one had made slammin’ the window to my room had scared him, so he had taken his stab haphazard.
This must ’a’ been the way, ’cause when drinkin’, Tank was usually a regular long range snorer, and only a hurried man would have mistaken his feet for his head. Tank insisted that he had seen the feller’s outline again’ the window, and that it had been Dixon. I doubted this; but Tank insisted that the feller had had a neck like a beer bottle, and then I had to give in.
We didn’t reach camp until sun-up, and then we found ’at Promotheus had been there the night before, with word that he had had a long talk with the woman, who had been in the most rational mood he had ever seen her in. He had drawn her into tellin’ him all she could remember. She had told him about havin’ her head full o’ pictures; but not bein’ able to tell the real ones from those she had dreamed. She said she had lost the key to them and could not understand ’em, that she remembered havin’ sung on many different platforms, but could not tell where or when, and could not sing any more, though she sometimes tried. She said that whenever he said the name Carmichael, she saw the picture of a young man in white robes, but that he had died. When Promotheus had tried to make her understand that he was still alive, she had become frightened, and told him never to speak the name again.
He asked her about the Winter Garden in Berlin, and she said ’at this called up the picture of a man with curled-up mustaches, and then she had covered her eyes, and told him he must not mention this again, either. Horace was tellin’ me all this; and when he finished, I sez: “Well, if this is the most rational she has ever got, she’d be a nice one to handle in her usual condition. I don’t see what we’re to do; but we have to move fast, as Ty Jones is suspicious.”
The next night the Friar and I were down at the head of the path leadin’ into the ravine when Promotheus came. He said that Dixon had come in with his face cut, and had told about seein’ us over at Skelty’s, and how we had bragged about gettin’ him rail-roaded, and Dixon and the others had told him they were ready to back him up any time he wanted to go an’ get even. He also said ’at Ty had been roastin’ the whole gang of ’em for bein’ afraid of Olaf, and advised us to warn Olaf to be on guard. He said the woman had told him that day that at all times she had a dull pain in the top part of her head. The was beginnin’ to get worried, this was plain to see, and he didn’t stay very long.
When we told the others what he had said, we decided it was our duty to go and tell Olaf that very night, so that he could send over the next day and get a couple o’ the Simpson boys to come over and help watch his place at night, until we were ready to finish with Ty. We wanted to put it off as long as possible, as Ty would soon be in the fall round-up and there wouldn’t be so many men at the home place.
Mexican Slim and Tillte Dutch started to ride to Olaf’s; but I was restless that night, so I rode along with ’em. Just before we reached the Spread, we saw a bright light at the side o’ the cabin. In a minute two other lights shot up, and we knew they were firin’ brush at the side of it. We threw in the spurs and rode, keepin’ close watch. Two men rode towards us, and we drew off to the side of the road. Just as they got opposite, we ordered ’em to halt; but they whirled and fired at us. We fired back, and started after ’em; but it was dark in the cottonwoods, and they gave us the slip and got away.
When we reached the cabin, we saw it was doomed. Piles o’ brush had been heaped on all sides of it and fired one after the other. Everything was so dry that even the dirt on the roof would have burned, and there was nothing to do. Kit with the boy in her arms, and Olaf and Oscar beside her were standin’ close by, watchin’ it burn, and they felt mighty bitter. We told ’em why we had come, and advised ’em to go and leave Kit with the Simpsons, and come to our camp the next night. Then we rode back before daylight and told the others what had happened. We were all purty hosstile. Settin’ fire to a cabin with a sleepin’ woman inside wasn’t no fair way o’ fightin’.
That afternoon as we were watchin’ the ranch through the field glasses, we saw the woman and Promotheus walkin’ together toward a little open space in the cottonwoods where the’ was some grass close to the edge o’ the crick. Thick bushes was all about this place, and it was cool and pleasant in the heat o’ the day. They hadn’t been gone very long when we saw two others sneakin’ after them. I looked through the glasses, and one appeared to be the skinny feller, Dixon, and the other, the Chinese cook. We saw ’em sneak into the bushes and disappear close to where the woman and Promotheus were sittin’. Part o’ the time they talked together, and part of the time she read to him out of a book.
We fair ached to yell to ’em and put ’em on their guard; but all we could do was to sit up above in our look-out, feelin’ weak and useless. I suppose we felt like a mother bird when she sees some inhuman human foolin’ about her nest.
After a time the Chink crept out and scurried along to the old house. He bounced across the porch, all crouched over, and we knew he had some evil tale to cheer up his yellow soul with. In half a minute, Ty came out with him and follered him into the clump o’ bushes. We could see the woman and Promotheus plain, with our naked eyes. It was a good thing, too; for Horace hung on to his glasses as though they were life preservers.
In about ten minutes, the bushes parted, and Ty stepped into the open space in front of ’em. Promotheus got to his feet slow, but the woman sat still, and didn’t seem much interested.
Ty glared at Promotheus durin’ the few minutes he was questionin’ him, and then they all went back towards the ranch house. The woman went on to her own cabin, and Ty blew on the horn which hung at the side of the door, and that sneak of a Dixon came on the run, as though he had no idee what was wanted. Actin’ under orders from Ty, he took The’s gun and then tied his hands behind him and shut him up in an out buildin’ near the stables. There didn’t appear to be any one else about the ranch, and I suggested that we make a rush and take possession right then.
While we were debatin’ it, we saw the punchers comin’ in from the east, across the crick. There were about a dozen of ’em, strung out and ridin’ hard the way they generally rode.
“They’re likely to string him up this very night,” sez I; “and we’ll have to settle this business before sun-up.”
“They are not likely to be in any hurry,” sez the Friar. “If we go to-night it will mean a lot o’ bloodshed. To-morrow they will go out on the range again, and we stand a good chance of rescuing him without even a fight.”
Olaf, of course, sided with the Friar, Horace sided with me, and we had a purty heated discussion. The Friar argued that he had the most at stake and had a right to select the plan with the least risk. I argued that Promotheus had the most at stake, and we had no right to take risk into account. We got purty excited, I usin’ the word coward freely, while the Friar stuck to the word folly and kept cooler ’n I did. He finally won ’em over to a compromise. We were to go down close and keep watch durin’ the night; but not to make a rush until we saw Promotheus actually in instant danger.