A mile distant, on the slope of a swell, two men were riding toward the ranch house. The horsemen were driving before them a cow and a calf. Loudon climbed down and took position behind the mule corral. From this vantage-point he could observe unseen all that might develop.
The riders, Marvin, the 88 range boss, and Rudd, a puncher, passed within forty feet of the mule corral. The cow and the calf walked heavily, as if they had been driven a long distance, and Loudon perceived that they had been newly branded 8x8. The brand was not one that he recognized.
"Crossed Dumbbell or Eight times Eight." he grinned. "Take yore choice. I wonder if that brand's the proof Blakely was talkin' about. Marvin an' Rudd shore do look serious."
He cautiously edged round the corral and halted behind the corner of the bunkhouse. Marvin and Rudd were holding the cow and calf near the ranch house door. The two men lounged in their saddles. Marvin rolled a cigarette. Then in the doorway appeared Mr. Saltoun.
"Howdy, Mr. Saltoun," said Marvin. "Sam got in yet?"
"He's in there," replied Mr. Saltoun, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "He's shot."
"Who done it?"
"Tom Loudon,"
"Where is he?"
"Throw up yore hands!" rapped out the gentleman in question.
Loudon had approached unobserved and was standing some twenty feet in the rear of Marvin and Rudd. At Loudon's sharp command Rudd's hands shot skyward instantly.
"I'm waitin'," cautioned Loudon.
Marvin's fingers slowly uncoiled from the butt of his six-shooter and draggingly he followed his comrade's example.
"Now we can all be happy," remarked Loudon, nodding amiably to the perturbed Mr. Saltoun. "I won't shoot unless they shove me. They can talk just as comfortable with their hands up, an' it'll be a lot safer all round. Was the state o' Sam's health all yuh wanted to know, Marvin? No, don't either of yuh turn 'round. Just keep yore eyes clamped on the windmill. About Sam, now, Marvin. Richie says he'll pull through. Anythin' else?"
"You bet there is!" exploded the furious range-boss. "You —— rustler, you branded a cow an' a calf o' ours yest'day!"
"Shore," agreed Loudon, politely, "an' I held up the Farewell stage, stole thirty-eight horses, an' robbed the Marysville bank the day before. Yuh don't want to forget all them little details, Marvin. It's a shore sign yo're gettin' aged when yuh do. Well, well, a cow an' a calf yuh say. Only the two, huh? It don't look natural somehow. I never brand less'n twenty-four at a clip."
Over the shoulders of the agitated Mr. Saltoun peered the faces of avidly interested Richie, Chuck Morgan, and Jimmy the cook. None of these three allowed a sign of his true feeling to appear on his face.
The two 88 men were red with shame and anger. Their lips moved with wicked words. Arms stretched heavenward, their gaze religiously fixed on the windmill, they presented a ridiculous appearance, and they knew it. Loudon, the dominant figure in the scene, spread his legs and smiled sardonically.
"Go on, Marvin," he said, after a moment, "yo're cussin' a lot, but yuh ain't sayin' nothin'. Let's hear the rest o' that interestin' story o' the 88 cow an' her little daughter."
"You branded the both of 'em," stubbornly reiterated Marvin. "We seen yuh—Sam, Rudd here, an' me, we seen yuh."
"Yuh seen me!" exclaimed Loudon. "Yuh seen me! You was close enough to see me, an' yuh didn't try to stop me! Well, you shore are the poorest liar in the territory."
"If I had my hands down yuh wouldn't call me that!"
"If yuh had yore hands down yuh'd be dead. I'm tryin' to save yore life. C'mon, speak the rest o' yore little piece. Yuh got as far as the brandin'. When did it all happen?"
"Gents," said Marvin, "this sport is a rustler. There ain't no two ways about it. Day before yest'day, just before sundown, over near the Sink, the three of us seen Loudon workin' round a hog-tied cow an' calf. We was three, maybe four miles away. We seen him through field glasses. We hit the ground for the Sink, but when we got there all we found was the cow an' calf, branded as yuh see 'em now. Loudon had sloped."
"Near the Sink," observed Loudon. "In the middle of it?"
"I've quit talkin'," replied Marvin.
Richie stepped past Mr. Saltoun and stood in front of Marvin and Rudd.
"You've done made a right serious charge agin one o' my men," remarked Richie, addressing Marvin. "If he did brand them cattle, he'll be stretched. But it ain't all clear to me yet. This here Crossed Dumbbell brand now—see it on any other cattle besides these two, Marvin?"
"No," said Marvin, shaking his head.
"Well," continued Richie, "why didn't yuh come here right off instead o' waitin' two days?"
"We was busy."
"Didn't go back to the 88 ranch house before comin' here, did yuh?"
"No."
"Or stop at any o' yore line-camps?"
"No, we didn't. We come here soon as we could make it."
"What part o' the Sink was Loudon workin' in?"
"The north side."
"Near the edge, o' course?"
"No, he was nearer the middle."
"Nearer the middle, was he? An' yuh seen him at a distance o' three or four miles. Yuh must have good eyesight, because if you seen Loudon workin' in the middle o' the Sink an' you was standin' where yuh say yuh was, yuh looked through about two miles an' a half o' solid earth. The middle o' the Sink is two hundred feet below the level o' the surrounding country, an' there ain't no high land anywhere near it. Unless yo're standin' right on the edge yuh can't see nothin' in the bottom, an' the Sink is only about a mile from rim to rim. I guess now yo're mistaken, Marvin."
"I ain't none shore he was plumb in the middle," grudgingly admitted Marvin. "Maybe he was kind o' near the north rim. But what's the difference?" he added, brazenly. "We seen him."
"Where are the field glasses?" astutely questioned Richie.
"Left 'em at our Lazy River line-camp," promptly replied Marvin.
"Now ain't that funny, Marvin. Yuh told me not three minutes ago yuh didn't stop at any o' yore line-camps."
"I mean we—I gave 'em to Shorty Simms. He's at the Lazy River line-camp, an' he took 'em there."
"Why did yuh give 'em to Shorty?" persisted Richie.
"Look here, Richie!" blazed Marvin, "this ain't no court, an' I don't have to answer yore questions."
"Yuh'll have to answer plenty of questions," retorted Richie, "before I'll see Loudon stretched."
"I tell yuh he's a rustler!" shouted the mulish Marvin. "He's startin' a herd o' his own, an' he's usin' the Dumbbell brand. We seen him brandin' that stock! That's enough for you or any one else to know, an' I tell yuh flat the 88 is out to stretch Tom Loudon the first chance it gets!"
"Well, o' course, you know best," said Richie, "but I wouldn't do nothin' rash, Marvin. I just wouldn't go off at half-cock if I was you."
"No," chipped in Loudon, briskly. "I wouldn't set my heart on it, Marvin, old hoss. I ain't countin' none on dyin' yet awhile. I've got a heap o' little matters to attend to before I cash, an' yuh can see how hangin' me would disarrange all my plans. Take yore decorated cow an' calf now an' pull yore freight, an'don'tlook back."
When Marvin and Rudd were gone Richie hooked his thumb in his belt and looked with twinkling eyes at Loudon and the men in the doorway.
"I guess that settles the cat-hop," said Jack Richie.
Before his departure Loudon visited Blakely.
"Found a bullet-hole in yore saddle," said Loudon without preliminary. "Kind o' looks as if Johnny come near bustin' yore mainspring. I ain't told Johnny—yet. Johnny bein' an impulsive sport he might ventilate yuh plenty first time he met yuh. Johnny's square. He ain't shootin' anybody unless he's pretty near certain the other party is a-layin' for him, an' that bullet I dug out o' yore swell-fork shore makes it look bad for yuh.
"Yuh needn't look so sour. I got good news for yuh. Yo're goin' to marry Kate. Well an' good. I wouldn't enjoy downin' her husband unless I'm crowded. I could 'a' killed yuh a while back, an' I shot wide on purpose. Next time—but don't let there be any next time. Just you keep away from me an' Johnny. I'm leavin' the Lazy River country anyway, but I tell yuh, Sam Blakely, if Johnny Ramsay is bushwhacked by the 88 I'll come back an' get yuh first card out o' the box. Kate's husband or not yuh'll go shoutin' home. Understand?"
"So yo're leavin' this country," bristled Blakely. "Yuh'd better. I'll shoot yuh on sight!"
"Shore yuh feel that way about it?" queried Loudon with suspicious gentleness.
"I say what I mean as a rule. I'll shoot yuh on sight you —— rustler."
"All right. Because o' Kate I was willin' to keep paws off, but if yo're a-honin' to play the hand out, I'll give yuh every chance. You've got to get well complete first. Take three months. That ought to be time enough. Three months from to-day I'll ride in to Farewell. If yo're still feelin' fighty be in town when I hit it."
"I'll be there," Blakely assured him.
When Loudon had bidden Johnny Ramsay good-bye, he went out and mounted Ranger and rode away with Jack Richie.
"I'm goin' away from here, Jack," said Loudon, after Richie had discussed in profane detail the 88's endeavour to discredit him.
"I thought yuh was goin' to work for me?" exclaimed Richie in surprise.
"I was, but somethin's happened since then. I'm kind o' sick o' the Lazy River country. I need a change."
"Well, you know best. But——"
"I know what yo're thinkin'. If I go now the 88 will think I've quit cold. Let 'em think it. I don't care. But I'll be back. I made an appointment with Blakely to meet him in Farewell three months from to-day."
"That's good hearin'. But I'm shore sorry you ain't goin' to ride for me."
"So'm I."
"Stay over to-night anyway. Yuh ain't in any howlin' rush to get away, are yuh?"
"No, I ain't so hurried. I dunno where I'll head—north, maybe."
"If yo're goin' north, why don't yuh try Scotty Mackenzie? He owns the Flyin' M horse ranch over beyond Paradise Bend. There's three or four good cow ranches near the Bend—the Seven Lazy Seven, the Wagon-wheel, the Two Bar, an' the T V U."
"Maybe I will hit the Bend."
"If yuh do," pursued Richie, "yuh might stop an' say howdy at Cap'n Burr's. He married my sister, Burr did, an' all yuh got to do is say yuh know me, an' they'll give yuh the house. I guess, though, yuh know Cap'n Burr yoreself."
"Shore I do. It was the Cap'n who put me on to buyin' Ranger here. He kept tellin' me about this amazin' good cayuse over at the 88, an' finally I went over, liked his looks, an' bought him. The Cap'n was at the 88 the day I took the hoss away. He'd just freighted in a bunch o' stuff Blakely'd ordered. Cap'n Burr does a powerful lot o' business."
"Don't he now. Yuh wouldn't think tin-peddlin' would pay so well. Oh, him an' his little old team o' blues shore glom onto the coin."
When Loudon rode into Farewell on the following day he saw half-a-dozen 88 cow-ponies hitched to the rail in front of the Palace Saloon.
"Now that's cheerful," said Loudon. "For a peaceable feller I shore do tie in with trouble a heap."
He turned aside at the hotel and tapped the landlord awake. At sight of Loudon Bill Lainey's eyes opened to their fullest extent and his red face turned purple with excitement.
"Say," huskily whispered Lainey, "Shorty Simms, Rudd, Dakota Riley, an' three more o' the 88 boys are in town. They're tankin' up down in the Palace. Rudd's yowlin' round how he's goin' to drill yuh. He's a heap peevish, Rudd is. I guess now yuh must 'a' riled him somehow, Tom."
"I guess maybe I did, Bill. I'll take a little walk down to the Palace after I eat. Thanks for the warnin'. Feed the little hoss, will yuh, Bill?"
"Shore. Go on in an' holler for Lize."
While Loudon was eating, a wiry, brisk little man with a white beard entered the dining room.
"How are yuh, Cap'n?" grinned Loudon.
Captain Burr, surprise and embarrassment in his steel-blue eyes, advanced and gripped Loudon's hand.
"Loudon! By ——, suh!" he exclaimed. "This is indeed a pleasuh!"
The tin-peddler slid into a chair and cleared his throat several times.
"I feah, suh," he said, shamefacedly, "that I have trespassed on youah prese'ves. Had I known that you were in town I would have stayed my hand."
"Why? What?" queried Loudon.
"Well, suh, I'll tell you the whole story. It's sho't. Twenty minutes ago I ente'ed the Palace Saloon. While drinking at the bah I could not help but overheah the conve'sation of half-a-dozen 88 cowboys. One of them, a man named Rudd, mentioned youah name and called you a rustlah.
"You, Tom, are my friend, and, since I was unaware that you were in town, I felt that I could not stand idly by. I info'med this Rudd person that traducing the absent was not the act of a gentleman. I also called him a —— scoundrel and a liah to boot. He took exception to my wo'ds and, I was fo'ced to shoot him.
"You unde'stand, Tom, that I acted in complete good faith. I believed you to be at the Bah S. Otherwise, I should have repo'ted the mattah to you. Of co'se, I would have stood at youah back while you shot the rascal. His ruffianly friends ah not to be trusted."
"Don't apologize, Cap'n," said Loudon, and he reached across the table and shook hands again.
Captain Burr appeared to be greatly comforted at Loudon's ready acceptance of his explanation, and he attacked his beef and beans with appetite.
The captain was a good deal of a mystery to the folk with whom he came in contact. His mode of speech and his table manners were not those of ordinary men. But he was a man, with all that the name implies, and as such they had learned to accept him. I employ "learned" advisedly. Certain unthinking individuals had, when the captain was a comparative stranger in that region, commented upon his traits and received a prompt and thorough chastening.
Captain Burr gained thereby an enviable reputation. In reality there was no mystery attached to the old tin-peddler. He had simply been born a gentleman.
"Did Rudd die?" inquired Loudon in a tone of studied casualness, when he had finished his meal.
"He did not," replied the Captain. "Unless blood-poisoning sets in he will live to be hung. My bullet broke his ahm. He rode away with his comrades five minutes lateh. No doubt he was in some pain, but the rogue was suffering much less than he dese'ved. I realize that I should have killed him, of co'se, but as I grow oldeh I find myself becoming soft-heahted. Time was—but one must not dwell in the past. These beans ah excellent, Tom."
"They are. Pullin' out soon?"
"At once. I'm bound no'th. I intend to visit all the ranches between heah and Paradise Bend. I hope to be home in two weeks. Ah you travelling my way?"
"Yep. I guess I'm bound for the Bend, too."
"Then I will ask you to deliveh a letteh to my wife. I missed the Bend stage by two houahs to-day, and theah is no otheh fo' three days."
Loudon took the letter and placed it carefully in the inside pocket of his vest.
While Captain Burr was harnessing his team, a job in which the tin-peddler always refused assistance, Loudon rode down the street with the intention of buying tobacco at the Blue Pigeon Store. In front of the Happy Heart Saloon, opposite the Palace Dance Hall, stood Sheriff Block and five citizens.
As Loudon rode past the sheriff made a low-voiced remark and laughed loudly. Instantly the five citizens burst into cackles. For Block, besides being sheriff, owned both the Palace and the Happy Heart. Hence most of Farewell's inhabitants took their cue from him.
The cachination in front of the Happy Heart grated on Loudon's feelings as well as his ear-drums. He knew that the sheriff, kindly soul, was holding him up to ridicule. Kate's refusal of him had made Loudon somewhat reckless. He had intended having it out with Rudd, but Captain Burr had forestalled him there. Here, however, was the sheriff of the county, another enemy. Loudon turned his horse.
Promptly the five friends oozed in various directions. Sheriff Block, a lonely figure, held his ground.
"I hear yo're lookin' for me," announced Loudon, a laughing devil in his gray eyes.
"Who told yuh?" queried the sheriff, puzzled. He had expected something totally different.
"Who told me? Oh, several little birds. So I want to find out about it. I wouldn't like to put yuh to any trouble—such as huntin' me up, for instance."
"That's good o' yuh. But I ain't lookin' for yuh, not yet."
"I'm right glad to hear that. Them little birds must 'a' lied. Powerful lot o' lyin' goin' on in the world, ain't there?"
"I dunno nothin' about it," mumbled the sheriff, who was becoming more and more puzzled at the apparently aimless words of the puncher.
"Don't yuh?" grinned Loudon. "That's shore hard to believe."
The sheriff warily refused to take offence, and mumbled unintelligibly.
"Forget that afternoon in the draw west o' Little Bear Mountain?" relentlessly pursued Loudon. "We had some words—remember? Yuh said somethin' about me havin' the drop. I ain't got the drop now. My hands are on the horn. Yore's are hooked in yore belt. But I'll lay yuh two to one I bust yuh plumb centre before yuh can pull. Take me up?"
Loudon's lips were smiling, but his eyes stared with a disconcerting gray chilliness into the small black eyes of Sheriff Block. The officer's eyelids wavered, winked, and Block shifted his gaze to Loudon's chin.
"I ain't startin' no gun-play for nothin'," said Block with finality.
Loudon held up a ten-dollar gold piece.
"Two to one," he urged.
But the sheriff perceived that the hand holding the gold piece was Loudon's left hand, and he could not quite screw his courage to the sticking-point. Block was ordinarily brave enough, but he was bad, and as a rule there is at least one individual whom the bad man fears. And Block feared Loudon.
The sheriff's mean and vicious spirit writhed within him. He hated Loudon, hated him for his cocksureness, for his easy fearlessness. He would have sold his soul to the devil in return for the ability to reach for his gun. The sheriff licked his lips.
Loudon, still smiling, continued to hold aloft the gold piece. The onlookers—half of Farewell by this time—awaited the outcome in tense silence.
Suddenly the sheriff shook his shoulders, spat on the sidewalk, wheeled, and entered the Happy Heart.
Loudon flipped the gold piece into the air, caught it, and returned it to his vest-pocket. Without a glance at the keenly disappointed populace, he turned Ranger and loped to the Blue Pigeon Store.
When he emerged, followed by the bawled "Good lucks!" of the proprietor, Captain Burr was waiting. The tin-peddler's face was grave but his steel-blue eyes were twinkling with suppressed merriment.
"Well, suh——" chuckled the captain, when they were out of earshot of the Farewell citizens—"well, suh, you ce'tainly talked to that sheriff. Lord, Tom, it made me laugh. I didn't know that Block was so lacking in honah and spo'ting spirit. I fully expected to witness quite a ruction."
"I wasn't lookin' for a fight," disclaimed Loudon. "I knowed Block wouldn't pull. It was safe as takin' pie from a baby."
"I'm not so shuah," doubted Captain Burr. "Any reptile is mighty unce'tain. And this reptile had friends. I was watching them. My Spenceh seven-shooteh was ready fo' action. You Rob'et E. Lee hoss, pick up youah feet! Well, I'm glad it ended peacefully. My wife and daughteh, as I may have mentioned, do not approve of fighting. They cannot realize how necessa'y it becomes at times. It would be well, I think, when you reach the Bend, to refrain from mentioning my little disagreement with Rudd. My family might heah of it, and—but you unde'stand, don't you, Tom?"
"'Course, I do, Cap'n," heartily concurred Loudon. "I won't say a word."
"Thank you."
Captain Burr fell silent. Suddenly he began to laugh.
"Po' Farewell," he chuckled. "Theah will be some powdeh bu'nt befo' the day is out."
"How?"
"Block. His pride has had a fall. Quite a few saw the tumble. An o'dina'y man would tuck his tail between his legs and go elsewheah. But the sheriff is not an o'dina'y man. He's too mean. In order to reinstate himself in the affections of the townspeople he will feel compelled to shoot one of them. Mahk my wo'ds, theah will be trouble in the smoke fo' Farewell."
"It can stand it. Outside o' Mike Flynn, an' Bill Lainey an' his wife, there ain't a decent two-legged party in the whole place."
Captain Burr nodded and turned an appreciative eye on Ranger.
"That chestnut hoss ce'tainly does please me," he said. "I wish I'd bought him myself. I do indeed."
Where the Dogsoldier River doubles on itself between Baldy Mountain and the Government Hills sprawls the little town of Paradise Bend. Larger than Farewell, it boasted of two stores, a Wells Fargo office, two dance halls, and five saloons. The inevitable picket line of empty bottles and tin cans encircled it, and its main street and three cross streets were made unlovely by the familiar false fronts and waveringly misspelt signs.
Loudon stared at the prospect with a pessimistic eye. Solitude—he had parted with Captain Burr the previous day—and the introspection engendered thereby had rendered him gloomy. The sulky devil that had prompted him to seek a quarrel with Sheriff Block abode with him still. Sullenly he checked his horse in front of the Chicago Store.
"Mornin'," said Loudon, addressing a dilapidated ancient sitting on a cracker box. "Can yuh tell me where Cap'n Burr lives?"
"Howdy, stranger?" replied the elderly person, eying with extreme disfavour the 88 brand on Ranger's hip. "I shore can. Ride on down past the Three Card, turn to the left, an' keep a-goin'. It's the last house."
Loudon nodded and continued on his way. The ancient followed him with alert eyes.
When Loudon drew abreast of the Three Card Saloon a man issued from the doorway, glimpsed Ranger's brand, and immediately hastened into the street and greeted Loudon after the fashion of an old friend.
"C'mon an' licker," invited the man, as Loudon checked his horse.
"Now that's what I call meetin' yuh with a brass band," remarked Loudon. "Do yuh always make a stranger to home this-away?"
"Always," grinned the other. "I'm the reception committee."
"I'm trailin' yuh," said Loudon, dismounting.
He flung the reins over Ranger's head and followed the cordial individual into the saloon. While they stood at the bar Loudon took stock of the other man.
He was a good-looking young fellow, strong-chinned, straight-mouthed, with brown hair and eyes. His expression was winning, too winning, and there was a certain knowing look in his eye that did not appeal to Loudon. The latter drank his whisky slowly, his brain busily searching for the key to the other man's conduct.
"Gambler, I guess," he concluded. "I must look like ready money. Here's where one tinhorn gets fooled."
After commenting at some length on the extraordinary dryness of the season, Loudon's bottle-acquaintance, under cover of the loud-voiced conversation of three punchers at the other end of the bar, said in a low tone:
"Couldn't Sam come?"
Loudon stared. The other noted his mystification, and mistook it.
"I'm Pete O'Leary," he continued. "It's all right."
"Shore it is," conceded the puzzled Loudon. "My name's Loudon. Have another."
The knowing look in Pete O'Leary's eyes was displaced by one of distrust. He drank abstractedly, mumbled an excuse about having to see a man, and departed.
Loudon bought half-a-dozen cigars, stuffed five into the pocket of his shirt, lit the sixth, and went out to his horse. Puffing strongly, he mounted and turned into the street designated by the dilapidated ancient. As he loped past the corner he glanced over his shoulder. He noted that not only was Pete O'Leary watching him from the window of a dance hall, but that the tattered old person, leaning against a hitching rail, was observing him also.
"I might be a hoss-thief or somethin'," muttered Loudon with a frown. "This shore is a queer village o' prairie dogs. The cigar's good, anyway." Then, his horse having covered a hundred yards in the interval, he quoted, "'Couldn't Sam come?' an', 'I'm Pete O'Leary.' Sam, Sam, who's Sam? Now if Johnny Ramsay was here he'd have it all figured out in no time."
"Why, Mr. Loudon! Oh, wait! Do wait!"
Loudon turned his head. In the doorway of a house stood a plump young woman waving a frantic dish-cloth. Ranger, hard held, slid to a halt, turned on a nickel, and shot back to the beckoning young woman.
"Well, ma'am," said Loudon, removing his hat.
"Don't you remember me?" coquettishly pouted the plump lady.
Loudon remembered her perfectly. She was Mrs. Mace, wife of Jim Mace, a citizen of Paradise Bend. He had met her the year before when she was visiting Kate Saltoun at the Bar S. He had not once thought of Mrs. Mace since her departure from the ranch, and of course he had completely forgotten that she lived in Paradise Bend. If he had recalled the fact, he would have sought the Burrs' residence by some other route. One of Kate's friends was the last person on earth he cared to meet.
"Shore, I remember yuh, Mrs. Mace," said Loudon, gravely. "I'm right glad to see yuh," he added, heavily polite.
"Are you?" said the lady somewhat sharply. "Try to look happy then. I ain't a grizzly, an' I don't bite folks. I won't stop you more'n a second."
"Why, ma'am, I am glad to see yuh," protested Loudon, "an' I ain't in no hurry, honest."
"That's all right. I ain't offended. Say, how's Kate an' her pa?"
"Fine when I saw 'em last. Kate's as pretty as ever."
"She ought to be. She ain't married. Matrimony shore does rough up a woman's figure an' face. Lord, I'm a good thirty pounds heavier than I was when I saw you last. Say, do you know if Kate got that dress pattern I sent her last month?"
"I dunno, ma'am. I didn't hear her say."
"I s'pose not. I guess you two had more important things to talk about. Say, how are you an' Kate gettin' along, anyway?"
"Why, all right, I guess."
Loudon felt extremely unhappy. Mrs. Mace's keen gaze was embarrassing. So was her next utterance.
"Well, I guess I'll write to Kate," remarked the lady, "an' find out about that dress pattern. She always was a poor writer, but she'd ought to have sent me a thank-you anyway, an' me her best friend. I'll tell her I saw yuh, Mr. Loudon."
"Don't tell her on my account," said Loudon. Then, realizing his mistake, he continued hurriedly, "Shore, tell her. She'd enjoy hearin', o' course."
"Don't tell me you two haven't been quarrellin'," chided Mrs. Mace, shaking a fat forefinger at Loudon. "You'd ought to be ashamed of yourselves, rowin' this way."
"Why, ma'am, yo're mistaken. Me quarrel? I guess not! But I got to be goin'. Good-bye, ma'am. I'll see yuh again."
Loudon, raging, loped away. Meeting one of Kate's friends was bad enough in itself. For the friend wantonly to flick him on the raw was intolerable.
Loudon began to believe that women were put into the world for the purpose of annoying men. But when he had dismounted in front of the best house on the street, and the door had been opened in response to his knock, he changed his mind, for a brown-haired young girl with a very pleasant smile was looking at him inquiringly.
"Is this where Captain Burr lives?" queried Loudon.
"Yes," replied the girl, her smile broadening.
"Then here's a letter for Mis' Burr. The Cap'n asked me to bring it up for him."
"A letter for me?" exclaimed a sharp voice, and the speaker, a tall, angular, harsh-featured woman, appeared at the girl's side with the suddenness of a Jack-in-the-box. "From Benjamin?" continued the harsh-featured woman, uttering her words with the rapidity of a machine-gun's fire. "How is he? When d'you see him last? When's he comin' home?"
"Heavens, Ma!" laughed the girl, before Loudon could make any reply. "Give the poor man a chance to breathe."
"You got to excuse me, stranger," said Mrs. Burr. "But I'm always so worried about Benjamin when he's travellin'. He's so venturesome. But come in, stranger. Come in an' rest yore hat. Dinner's 'most ready."
"Why, thank yuh, ma'am," stuttered the embarrassed Loudon. "But I guess I'll go to the hotel."
"I guess yuh won't!" snapped Mrs. Burr. "I never let one o' my husband's friends 'cept Scotty Mackenzie eat at the hotel yet, an' I ain't goin' to begin now. You'll just come right inside an' tell me all about Benjamin while yo're eatin'. That your hoss? Well, the corral's behind the house. Dorothy, you go with the gentleman an' see that he don't stampede."
Loudon, brick-red beneath his tan, seized Ranger's bridle and followed Miss Burr to the corral. While he was unsaddling he looked up and caught her eying him amusedly. He grinned and she laughed outright.
"I'm glad you didn't stampede," she said, her brown eyes twinkling. "Mother would have been heart-broken if you had. Whenever any of Dad's friends are in town they never think of eating at the hotel—except Scotty Mackenzie. Scotty stubbornly refuses to dine with us. He says mother's cooking takes away his appetite for what he calls ranch grub. Mother is really a wonderful cook. You'll see."
In this manner was the ice broken, and Loudon's sullen gloom had gone from him by the time he entered the Burr kitchen. On the Turkey-red tablecloth a broiled steak, surrounded by roasted potatoes, reposed on a platter. Flanking the platter were a bowl of peas and a large dish of sliced beets adrip with butter sauce. Loudon's eyes opened wide in amazement. Never in all his life had he beheld such an appetizing array of edibles.
"Looks good, don't it?" beamed Mrs. Burr.
It was wonderful how her smile transformed her forbidding features. To Loudon she appeared as a benevolent angel. He could only nod dumbly.
"Set now, an' don't be afraid o' the victuals," continued Mrs. Burr, filling the coffee-cups. "It all has to be et, an' I shore do hate to chuck out good grub. Lord, it makes me feel fine to cook for a man again! What did you say yore name is, Mister? ... Loudon, o' course; I never can catch a name the first time. I always got to hear it twice. Dorothy, you reach over an' dish out them peas an' beets. Take that piece of steak next the bone, Mister Loudon. Like gravy on yore 'taters? Most do. My man does, special. Here's a spoon. Dorothy, pass the bread."
Everything tasted even better than it looked. Loudon ate a second piece of dried-apple pie, and had a fourth cup of coffee to top off with. To the puncher it had been a marvellous dinner. No wonder Scotty Mackenzie demurred at dining with the Burrs. After one such meal sowbelly and Miners Delights would be as bootsole and buckshot.
"You can smoke right here," said Mrs. Burr, after Loudon had refused a fifth cup of coffee. "Shove yore chair back agin' the wall, hook up yore feet, an' be happy while Dorothy an' I wash the dishes. I like to see a man comfortable, I do. So you know my brother. Well, well, ain't the world a small place? How're Jack an' the Cross-in-a-box makin' out? He never thinks to write, Jack Richie don't, the lazy rapscallion. Wait till I set eyes on him. I'll tell him a thing or two."
Loudon, in no haste to find Scotty Mackenzie, was smoking his fifth cigarette when the dilapidated ancient of the cracker box stuck his head in the door.
"Howdy, Mis' Burr?" said the ancient. "Howdy, Dorothy?"
"'Lo, Scotty," chorused the two women. "Let me make yuh acquainted with Mr. Loudon, Scotty," continued Mrs. Burr. "Mr. Loudon, shake hands with Mr. Mackenzie."
Loudon gripped hands with the ragged ancient. In the latter's bright blue eyes was no friendliness.
He acknowledged the introduction with careful politeness, and sat down on a chair in a corner. Having deftly rolled a cigarette, he flipped the match through the doorway, tilted back his chair, remarked that the weather was powerful dry, and relapsed into silence. He took no further part in the conversation.
At the end of the kitchen, between the windows, hung a small mirror. Loudon, idly watching the two women as they moved about resetting the table, happened to glance at the mirror. In it he saw reflected the face of Scotty Mackenzie.
The features were twisted into an almost demoniac expression of hate. Slowly Loudon turned his head. Mackenzie, his eyes on the floor, was smoking, his expression one of serene well-being.
"He don't like me any," decided Loudon, and pondered the advisability of asking Mackenzie for a job.
It was not Mackenzie's lack of friendliness that gave Loudon pause. It was the man's appearance. Even for the West, where attire does not make the man, Mackenzie had not an inspiring presence. His trousers showed several patches and a rip or two. His vest was in a worse state than his trousers. His blue flannel shirt had turned green in spots, and the left sleeve had once belonged to a red flannel undershirt. Two holes yawned in the corner of his floppy-brimmed hat, and his boots, run over at the heels, would have shamed a tramp.
That this economically garbed individual could prove a good employer seemed doubtful. Yet he had been recommended by Jack Richie.
Mackenzie suddenly mumbled that he guessed he'd better be going, and rose to his feet. Loudon followed him into the street. Mackenzie halted and half-turned as Loudon caught up with him. Loudon noted that the ancient's hand was closer to his gun-butt than politeness and the circumstances warranted.
"Hirin' any men?" inquired Loudon.
"I might," replied Mackenzie, the pupils of his blue eyes shrunk to pin-points. "Who, for instance?"
"Me for one."
Mackenzie continued to stare. Loudon, who never lowered his eyes to any man, steadily returned the ancient's gaze.
"Yo're hired," said Mackenzie, suddenly. "Git yore hoss. I'll meet yuh at the corner o' Main Street."
Mackenzie walked rapidly away, and Loudon returned to the house of the Burrs. He took his leave of the two engaging women, the elder of whom pressed him repeatedly to come again, and went out to the corral.
While Loudon awaited his employer's arrival at the corner of Main Street he saw Pete O'Leary emerge from the doorway of the Three Card Saloon and walk toward him. But the young man of the knowing brown eye did not cross the street. He nodded to Loudon and swung round the corner.
The Lazy River man shifted sidewise in the saddle and followed him with his eyes. Pete O'Leary interested Loudon. Folk that are mysterious will bear watching, and O'Leary's manner during his conversation with Loudon had been perplexingly vague.
"Now I wonder where that nice-lookin' young fellah is goin'?" debated Loudon. "Burrs', for a plugged nickel! Yep, there he goes in the door. Well, Mis' Burr ain't a fool, but if I owned a good-lookin' daughter, that Pete O'Leary ain't just the right brand o' party I'd want should come a-skirmishin' round."
Loudon's mental soliloquy was cut short by the arrival of Mackenzie. The ancient's appalling disregard for his personal appearance did not extend to his mount and saddlery. His horse was a handsome bay. The saddle he sat in was a Billings swell-fork tree, with a silver horn, silver conchas, carved leather skirts and cantle, and snowflake leather strings. The bridle was a split-ear, with a nose-band even more marvellously carved than the saddle, and it sported a blue steel bit, silver inlaid, and eighteen-inch rein-chains. The most exacting dandy in cowland could not have obtained better equipment.
Beyond a momentless sentence or two Mackenzie said nothing as he and his new hand rode out into the valley of the Dogsoldier. He maintained his silence till Loudon, muttering that his cinches required tightening, checked Ranger and dismounted.
"Throw up yore hands!" was the harsh order that fell on Loudon's astonished ears.
Hands above his head, Loudon turned slowly and stared into the muzzle of a well-kept six-shooter. Behind the gun gleamed the frosty blue eyes of Scotty Mackenzie.
"Got anythin' to say before I leave yuh?" inquired Mackenzie.
"That depends on how yuh leave me," countered Loudon. "If yo're just aimin' to say, 'So long,' yuh can't go too quick. Yo're a mite too abrupt to suit me. But if yore intention is hostile, then I got a whole lot to say."
"Hostile it is, young feller. Trot out yore speech."
"That's handsome enough for a dog. First, I'd shore admire to know why yo're hostile."
"You know."
"I don't yet," denied Loudon.
Scotty Mackenzie stared woodenly. His features betrayed no hint of his purpose. He might have been gazing at a cow or a calf or the kitchen stove. Nevertheless Loudon realized that the amazing old man was within a whisper of pulling trigger.
"Yuh see," observed Loudon, forcing his lips to smile pleasantly, "it ain't the goin' away I mind so much—it's the not knowin' why. I get off to fix cinches, an' yuh throw down on me. I ain't done nothin' to yuh—I ain't never seen yuh before, an' I don't believe I've ever met up with any o' yore relations, so——"
"Yo're from the 88," interrupted Mackenzie. "That's enough!"
"Bein' from the 88," said Loudon, "is shore a bad recommend for any man. But it just happens I'm from the Bar S. I never have rode for the 88, an' I don't think I ever will."
"What are yuh doin' with a 88 hoss?" pursued the unrelenting Mackenzie.
"88 hoss? Why, that little hoss is my hoss. I bought him from the 88."
"The brand ain't vented."
"I know it ain't. At the time I bought him I didn't expect to have to tell the story o' my life to every old bushwhacker in the territory, or I shore would 'a' had that brand vented."
The six-shooter in Mackenzie's hand remained steady. In his chill blue eyes was no flicker of indecision. Loudon was still smiling, but he felt that his end was near.
"Say," said Loudon, "when you've done left me, I wish yuh'd send my hoss an' saddle to Johnny Ramsay o' the Cross in-a-box. Johnny's at the Bar S now—got a few holes in him. But you send the hoss to Jack Richie an' tell him to keep him for Johnny till he comes back. Don't mind doin' that, do yuh? Ain't aimin' to keep the cayuse, are yuh?"
"Do you know Johnny Ramsay?" queried Mackenzie.
"Ought to. Johnny an' me've been friends for years."
"Know Jack Richie?"
"Know him 'most as well as I do Johnny. An' I know Cap'n Burr, too. Didn't yuh see me there at his house?"
"The Cap'n knows lots o' folks, an' it ain't hard to scrape acquaintance with a couple o' soft-hearted women."
"I brought up a letter from Cap'n Burr to his wife. You ask her."
"Oh, shore. Yuh might 'a' carried a letter an' still be what I take yuh for.'"
"Now we're back where we started. What do yuh take me for?"
Mackenzie made no reply. Again there fell between the two men that spirit-breaking silence. It endured a full five minutes, to be broken finally by Mackenzie.
"Git aboard yore hoss," said the ranch-owner. "An' don't go after no gun."
"I'd rather draw what's comin' to me on the ground," objected Loudon. "It ain't so far to fall."
"Ain't nothin' comin' to yuh yet. Git aboard, go on to the ranch, an' tell my foreman, Doubleday, I sent yuh, an' that I won't be back yet awhile."
"I ain't so shore I want to work for yuh now."
"There ain't no two ways about it. You'll either give me yore word to go on to the ranch an' stay there till I come, or yuh'll stay right here. After I come back yuh can quit if yuh like."
"That's a harp with another tune entirely. I'll go yuh."
Loudon turned to his horse and swung into the saddle.
"Keep a-goin' along this trail," directed Mackenzie, his six-shooter still covering Loudon. "It's about eight mile to the ranch."
Loudon did not look back as he rode away.