Loudon, meanwhile, had galloped down to the corner of Main Street. Rufe Cutting was not in sight. But his horse was standing among the horses in front of the Jacks Up Saloon. Loudon rode across the street and dismounted behind a freighter's wagon near the Chicago Store, where he could not be observed from the windows of the Jacks Up. Then he walked briskly up the street and entered the saloon.
Rufe Cutting, his scratched features cast in sullen lines, was drinking at the bar. So were several other men. A knot of citizens in Cutting's immediate rear were discussing the events of the morning. Two faro tables were crowded. The Jacks Up was in full blast. With the place crowded a gun-play was apt to result in damage to the bystanders.
However, the choice lay with Cutting. Loudon would allow the first move.
With this intention, Loudon edged up to the bar and called for a drink. At the sound of his voice Cutting turned a slow head. There were two men in between, but they were not standing close to the bar.
Loudon, watching Cutting out of his eye-corners, picked up his glass with his left hand. Even as he did so, panic seized Cutting. His fingers closed on his own full glass and he hurled it at Loudon's head.
Involuntarily Loudon dodged. When he recovered himself his gun was out.
The bartender promptly vanished under the bar. Men skipped and dodged and flung themselves over tables and chairs in their anxiety to give Loudon a clear line of fire. But Cutting had disappeared.
Two swearing men sprawling under an open rear window told the story. In his fear-stricken efforts to escape Cutting had knocked them both down.
Loudon and the two men, one of whom was Jim Mace and the other Dan Smith, went through the window almost simultaneously. Both sashes went with them to a brave accompaniment of crackling glass.
Loudon landed on his knees, and was in time for a snapshot at a leg sliding over a windowsill of the house next door. Before Loudon could rise Mace and the marshal tumbled over him. The three fell in a tangle and rolled among tin cans and bottles for a space of time. When at last, red-faced and almost breathless, they rushed the house next door they were stopped by an angry woman brandishing a frying-pan.
"You drunk hunkers can't come through here!" screamed the irate lady. "If you an' yore fool friends want to play tag yuh can play her in the street! What do yuh mean by bustin' into folks' houses an' wakin' my baby up? You idjits! She'll be bawlin' her brains out all day now!"
"We're after a hold-up!" cried Loudon with great presence of mind.
It had the desired effect.
"Why didn't yuh say so at first? Come right in."
Through the house and out of the front door they dashed. Drifting clouds of dust marked Cutting's line of flight. He was a quarter of a mile distant, spurring for the ford of the Dogsoldier and the Farewell trail. The marshal fired a futile shot. Loudon laughed and holstered his six-shooter.
"Look at him go!" he chuckled. "Scared stiff."
"Get yore hosses!" commanded the marshal. "Don't stand here gassin'! We'll go after him right away!"
"Oh, let him go," drawled Loudon. "He ain't worth chasin'."
"But he's a road agent, ain't he?" said Jim Mace.
"No, I just said he was," grinned Loudon. "He ain't nothin' but a right good cook, so far as I know."
"Ain't he done nothin'?" inquired the perplexed marshal.
"Only jerked a glass of whisky at me," replied Loudon. "Yuh see, I ain't right popular with him."
"From the way he's splittin' the breeze," said Jim Mace, "it looks like he don't care for yore society none."
"I'd ought to go after him," grunted the marshal, vengefully, tenderly feeling a skinned elbow. "I don't mind a reg'lar gun-play, but this here chuckin' glasses round promiscuous an' bumpin' folks over ain't right. It's agin' law an' order. He'd ought to be arrested. The calaboose has been empty for a week, too."
Loudon left Jim Mace and Dan Smith explaining matters to the gathering crowd, and walked back to where he had left his horse. Ranger was not behind the freighter's wagon. Loudon ran into the Chicago Store.
"Shore," said the proprietor. "I seen a feller climbin' aboard that hoss a few minutes ago. Seemed in a hurry, too. What? Yore hoss!"
The proprietor ducked under the counter for his spurs and his rifle, and Loudon hurried out. Cutting's mount, the bay he had bought from Doubleday, was of course standing where he had been left among the other horses. Loudon threw the dropped reins over the bay's head and swung up.
"He's a hoss thief!" he shouted to Dan Smith and Jim Mace. "He got away on my hoss!"
Quirting and spurring, Loudon tore down the street. Before the horse's hoofs spattered the water of the ford the proprietor of the Chicago Store and the marshal were galloping in his wake. Jim Mace and a score of others followed at intervals. A horse was not stolen in Paradise Bend every day. The inhabitants were bent on making the most of their opportunity.
The bay was a good horse, but Ranger was the better, and Loudon knew it—knew, too that, unless Ranger fell down, Cutting would escape.
"Ranger's good for all day," groaned Loudon. "All day an' not strain himself a little bit."
As the bay flashed across the top of a rise two miles beyond the Dogsoldier, Loudon glimpsed two specks four miles ahead.
"Block! He's with Block!" exclaimed Loudon, and drove in the spurs.
The bay leaped madly forward and rocketed down the long slope. A high-lipped swell concealed the two specks, and for a long ten minutes Loudon rode between the sides of the draw. The bay charged at the high-lipped swell with undiminished vigour. He was doing his level best, but his gait was tied in. It bore not the remotest resemblance to Ranger's free-swinging stride. When Loudon reached the crest of the swell the specks had vanished.
He put the reins between his teeth and drew the Winchester from the scabbard under his left leg. He threw down the lever a trifle. There was a cartridge in the chamber.
The loading gate resisted the pressure of his thumb. There was at least one cartridge in the magazine, but by the weight of the rifle he judged it to be fully loaded. Loudon returned the Winchester to its scabbard and slowed the willing little bay to a lope.
"Yo're all right, old hoss," he said, "but yuh can't never catch that hoss o' mine. Not in a million years. We just got to wait till he stops."
Rufe Cutting could have devised no better revenge than the stealing of Loudon's horse. Since Loudon had owned Ranger no one save himself and Kate Saltoun had ridden him. Ranger's legs were frequently hand-rubbed. Ranger was curried. With his fingers—no true horseman would dream of using the comb of commerce—Loudon frequently combed Ranger's mane and tail. When a horse in the cow country is curried and combed, that horse is a highly valued horse. Johnny Ramsay accused Loudon of wrapping Ranger in blankets when the air was chilly, and of taking his temperature on all occasions. Undoubtedly Loudon was somewhat of a crank where Ranger was concerned.
And now the inconceivable had come to pass. Ranger had been stolen—stolen almost under the very nose of his master. Loudon did not swear. His feeling was too deeply grim for that. But he promised himself an accounting—a very full accounting.
Loudon rode onward at a steady lope. Before him stretched the dusty ribbon of trail. Blank and bare it led between the low hills and lifted over the ridges. He saw no more specks ahead. The quarry had outdistanced him.
Fifteen miles out of Paradise Bend he heard a faint shout in his rear. He looked over his shoulder. A half mile distant two men were galloping toward him. One of them waved an arm half red, half blue.
"Scotty," muttered Loudon, and checked his horse.
The two clattered up, their horses' out-blown nostrils whistling. One of the men was the owner of the Flying M. The other was the proprietor of the Chicago Store.
"Seen him?" demanded Scotty.
"Once," replied Loudon. "He's ridin' with Block now, but they pulled away from me. I ain't seen 'em for over a hour."
"They're stickin' to the trail," grunted the store proprietor, who rejoiced in the name of Ragsdale, glancing at the hoof-marks in the dust.
"C'mon!" snapped Scotty Mackenzie.
Three miles farther on Ragsdale's mount began to falter.
"He's done," growled Ragsdale. "Give 'em one for me."
Ragsdale halted. Loudon and Scotty Mackenzie rode on.
"Where did yuh get that bay?" queried Scotty, eying the Flying M brand on the bay's hip.
"It was his—Cutting's," replied Loudon.
"Cutting's? Djuh mean Rufe Cutting is the hoss thief?"
"Shore! I clean forgot yuh didn't know about Cutting's quittin' his job."
Loudon explained the manner of the cook's departure and his subsequent actions to Mackenzie.
"An'," said Loudon, in conclusion, "I seen that feller at the 88 that time I bought my hoss from Blakely."
"Yuh did! Are yuh shore?"
"Shore as yo're a day old. I was walkin' past the bunkhouse with Blakely, an' this fellah was out in front with his shirt off a-washin' himself, an' I seen a eagle tattooed on his chest in blue, an' underneath a heart with a R on one side an' a T on the other. Just before yore cook pulled his freight his shirt got tore, an' I seen his chest, an' there was the eagle an' the heart an' the two letters R an T. I knowed when I first laid eyes on him up here at the Flyin' M that I'd seen him some'ers, but I couldn't place him till I seen the tattoo-work. It all come back to me then."
"What was his name at the 88?"
"I never knowed. I never cut his trail again down there. He wasn't one o' the reg'lar outfit. I know all o' them."
"Did Cap'n Burr see him?"
"No, he didn't. I remember now, when the Cap'n come this fellah wasn't in sight, an' he didn't show up again while we was there. Cap'n Burr left when I did."
"Cutting worked for me nigh onto a year. He's always earned his pay. Never done nothin' out of the way."
"I dunno what it means. It's all a heap mysterious—special mysterious when yuh come to think o' what O'Leary asked me when I first hit the Bend. 'Couldn't Sam come?' says O'Leary to me. Busts out into the street to say it, too, right after I'd asked yuh the way to Cap'n Burr's house."
"I remember," said Scotty, thoughtfully. "I seen him talkin' to yuh. I thought yuh knowed him. I wonder who he took yuh for?"
"One o' Blakely's outfit, o' course," replied Loudon. "It was that 88 brand o' Ranger's done the trick for him like it done for you. 'Couldn't Sam come?' says he. Then he says, 'It's all right. I'm Pete O'Leary!' When he seen I didn't understand him none, he got gun-shy immediate an' wandered. An' he didn't forget me a little bit. Telescope told me that he'd been tryin' to find out if you'd hired me. One day he come out to the ranch an' stopped just long enough to say howdy. Wanted to make shore I was there, see? What do yuh make of it?"
"Nothin'—yet. We got to wait an' see what happens."
"Seein' what happens may be expensive. I tell yuh flat, Scotty, Sam Blakely has got somethin' under the table for yuh. He's aimin' to put a crimp in yuh. Yuh can go the limit on that."
"There ain't nothin' certain about it."
"O' course there ain't. Sam ain't goin' to give himself away. I wish you'd let me Injun 'round some an' see what's up. I think, maybe, yuh'll save money if yuh do."
"Well, I dunno——" hesitated Scotty.
"O' course," said Loudon, quickly, "Blakely's got it in for me. But whatever he's cookin' up for you he thought of before I ever rode north. My comin' north has sort of upset his plans. He knows I know all about him, an' he wants to shut my mouth before he turns his bull loose."
"Yo're goin' to meet him in Farewell, ain't yuh? Seems to me Richie said somethin' about it."
"Shore I am, but what's that got to do with it?"
"Why, maybe that's the reason he wants yuh out of the way. He may not hanker after shootin' it out with yuh."
"No, Sam Blakely ain't afraid," denied Loudon. "He wouldn't object any to meetin' me in Farewell if that was all there was to it. No, what's worryin' him is me bein' here at the Flying M. An' it's worryin' him a lot, or he'd never 'a' sent Block two hundred miles."
"Well, I dunno. Yuh may be right, Tom, but I don't just guess Sam Blakely will try to put any crimps in me. He knows it would come kind o' high. Of course it's mighty puzzlin'. I don't understand it none. One thing, Blakely shore tried his best to get yuh down on the Lazy River, an' that's why it looks to me like Block was sent to put in the last licks."
"He was, but not the way yuh think. I could gas my head off about Blakely up here in the Bend, an' it wouldn't matter a —— so long as he was down on the Lazy. But if he left the Lazy an' come projeckin' up to the Bend, then what I'd be sayin' would count a lot. See now?"
"I see," admitted Scotty.
"Well, gimme a chance to find out what he's up to."
"No, Tom, there's too much to do at the ranch. I can't let yuh go. Yo're too good a man. I need yuh right at home. We'll wait an' see what happens. Then we'll know what to do."
"It may be too late then," grumbled Loudon.
"If it is, then blame me. I'm the one to lose, anyway."
"Yuh shore are."
Oh, the denseness of ranch owners! Was Scotty Mackenzie to turn out another Saltoun?
"It's a blind trail," observed Scotty, picking up the tangled thread of their discourse. "Some things kind o' fit when yuh look at 'em one way, an' then again they don't when yuh look at 'em another. Cutting don't fit, none whatever. All the time he worked for me, he only went to town twice, an' the last time was six months ago. O'Leary never come to see him, so if somethin's up like yuh say there is, Rufe's out of it. But that won't help him none now. He'll go out if we ever come up with him."
"If we do," supplemented Loudon.
"My idea exactly. That hoss o' yores can shore wriggle along, an' he had a big start."
"I'm goin' through to Rocket anyhow."
"Me, too."
Till the latter half of the afternoon they kept the ponies loping. Then, slowing to a walk, they risked a short-cut and did not strike the trail again till the sun was setting.
"Still keepin' together," announced Loudon, after one look at the trail.
"An' still hittin' the high places," said Scotty. "Them two cayuses shore have bottom. Cutting knowed a good hoss all right."
The two men reached Rocket before midnight and rode up to the door of the combination saloon and hotel. While Scotty hammered on the planks with his fist, Loudon uttered stentorian yells. Rocket, male and female, awoke, poked their heads out of the windows and shrilly demanded information.
"Hoss thief!" bawled Loudon. "He's ridin' a long-legged chestnut with a white spot on his nose! Fellah with him on a black horse! The sport on the black may or may not be dressed like a bird, accordin' to whether he's washed himself! Have yuh seen 'em?"
Rocket with one voice assured Loudon that he was drunk, and advised the watering-trough.
"I ain't foolin'," expostulated Loudon. "The gent on the black cayuse, which his name is Block, Sheriff o' Fort Creek County, was tarred an' feathered in Paradise Bend this afternoon."
Partisan Rocket cheered, and, in the same breath, grieved that neither of the fugitives had been seen and clamoured to know details of the tarring and feathering. Rocket was in Sunset County, and it was delightful to hear that Fort Creek, in the person of its sheriff, had been insulted.
Loudon, sitting at ease on his weary, drooping-headed pony, told the tale. He carefully refrained, however, from mentioning his own leading part in the affair. Rocket received the story with howls of mirth. Later, the male portion stuffed its nightshirts into trousers, pulled on boots, and gathered three deep around Loudon and Scotty while the two devoured cold beef and beans in the dining room of the hotel.
"Glad to see yo're feelin' better over yore hoss," observed Scotty, when the last Rocketer had departed.
"Oh, I made 'em laugh," said Loudon, dismally. "But it didn't make me feel like laughin' myself a little bit. I feel just as bad as ever—worse if anythin'. Why, Scotty, that hoss could do everythin' but talk."
"Shore," said Scotty, hastily, "but we can't do nothin' now. We've done all we could. They didn't come through Rocket, that's certain. They've done turned off some'ers. We can't trail 'em to-night, an' by to-morrow they'll be forty mile off. There's no use in keepin' it up."
Scotty looked anxiously at Loudon. The latter made no reply. He was staring at the lamp on the table, his expression bitter in the extreme.
"Tell yuh what," hazarded Scotty. "Yuh can have that bay yo're ridin'. He ain't like yore reg'lar hoss, but he's a good pony. Look at the way he went to-day. Got bottom, that hoss has. Go till the Gulf o' Mexico freezes solid."
"That's right good o' yuh, Scotty, but I couldn't take him off yuh thataway. I might buy him some day."
"The offer goes as it lays. Yuh don't have to buy him. He's yores whenever yuh want him. Well, what are yuh figurin' on doin'?"
"It's no use chasin' 'em any more now. I know that. Might as well wander back where we come from. Later, two or three weeks maybe, I'm goin' south."
"Goin' south!" Scotty was aghast. He did not wish to lose his best man.
"Yep. Goin' south. Don't expect to find Cutting first off. But I'll find Block, an' I guess he'll know somethin' about friend Cutting. I'd go instanter, only I want to give Block time to get back an' get settled before I pay him a call. I tell yuh, Scotty, I want that hoss o' mine, an' I'll get him back if it takes me the rest o' my life!"
"You gents want beds?" inquired the landlord, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
"Shore," replied Scotty. "Two of 'em."
"Say, who's the postmaster here?" Loudon asked.
"Me," was the landlord's weary reply.
"A couple o' days ago," said Loudon, "a letter addressed to John Doubleday in Paradise Bend was mailed here. Remember who mailed it?"
"Couldn't say, stranger," yawned the landlord. "Oh, shore," he added, as Loudon looked incredulous, "I could tell yuh everybody else what mailed mail for the last month. But that one letter I couldn't. I didn't see the man, woman, child, or Injun what mailed it. Three days ago when I got up in the mornin' an' went outside to wash my face I done found that letter an' two bits a-layin' on the door-step. That's all. Just a letter an' two bits. I clamps on a stamp an' sends her along when the up-stage pulls in."
"Any parties from the Bend in town that day, or the day before?"
"Nary a party as I knows of—but then I ain't got eyes all over me. Some sport might 'a' slid through an' me not know it."
"I ain't askin' questions just to make talk," said Loudon, sharply. "So if yuh ain't got no real serious objections I'll ask a couple more."
"No need to get het, stranger," soothed the landlord. "No need to get het. Ask away."
"Any strangers been in town lately?"
"Two, to-day. They're the only strangers I've seen for quite a spell, an' they're upstairs now. Lady an' gent they are, travellin' separate. Goin' to the Bend, I reckon. Yest'day the off hind wheel o' the stage dished down at Lew's Gully, an' she come in on three wheels an' half a cottonwood. Passengers had to stay over till Whisky Jim rustled him a new wheel. Whisky'll pull out in the mornin'."
"Who's the gent?"
"Drummer. Dunno his name."
"Didn't Block—you know, Sheriff Block o' Fort Creek—didn't he stop here a day or two ago? He must 'a' come through Rocket."
"Shore he did. But he ain't no stranger. I see him as many as two or three times a year. Shore he come through Rocket. He had a drink here day before yest'day. Goin' to the Bend, he said."
"Well, if he stops on his way back tell him Tom Loudon was askin' for him. Old friend o' mine, the sheriff is. Just tell him yuh know me, an' he'll set 'em up for the whole town."
"I expect," grinned the landlord. "Was you wantin' beds, gents?"
"That's us," grunted Scotty. "Me, I'm asleep from the neck down. Show me that bed, Mister."
Loudon, sitting on the edge of his sway-backed cot, pulled off his boots, dropped them clattering on the floor, and looked across at Scotty Mackenzie.
"Block didn't send that letter—or write it," he said, sliding his long body under the blanket.
"How do yuh know?" came in muffled tones from Scotty.
"He ain't got the brains. No sir, some gent in Paradise Bend sent that letter, an' I think I know his name."
"Who is he?" Scotty was plainly striving to keep awake, and making a poor job of it.
"I'll tell yuh after we get back to the Bend."
Next morning, while the east was yet lemon and gray, the thunderous clamour of a beaten dish-pan reverberated through the hotel. The hideous din ceased abruptly, and the voice of the landlord became audible.
"Yuh half-witted idjit! Don't yuh know better'n to beat that pan when there's a lady in the house? Dish-pans is for common folks, an' don't yuh forget it! Now you hump yoreself upstairs an' bang on her door right gentle an' tell her the stage is due to pull out in a hour."
"Must be a real lady," commented Loudon, when a door at the other end of the corridor had been duly rapped upon.
"Must be," said Scotty in a singularly joyless tone. "Yuh couldn't hear what she said to the feller. Reg'lar female ladies always talk so yuh got to ask 'em to say it again, they carry fancy-coloured umbrellas when the sun shines, an' they pack their gold specs on the end of a stick. They watch yuh eat, too. I know 'em. Yuh bet I do.
"I met a pair of 'em once when they was visitin' at the Seven Lazy Seven. They made me so nervous a-lookin' at me that I cut the roof o' my mouth three times with my knife. Reg'lar ladies don't make me feel to home nohow. I'm goin' down now an' eat before this one scampers in an' spoils my appetite."
So saying, Scotty almost ran from the room, buckling on his cartridge-belt as he went.
The drummer was at the table when the two Flying M men sat down. An impressive person was the drummer. He was known in his own circle as a "perfectly elegant dresser." If the tightest of tight-fitting suits, the gaudiest of shirts, the highest of collars, an explosive cravat, two watch-chains, a bartender's curl, and a perpetual leer made for elegance, that drummer was elegant to a degree.
The three had nearly finished breakfast when there came a tapping of quick heels on the stairs. Scotty Mackenzie groaned. The drummer hastily patted his curl and broadened his leer. Loudon raised his eyes and gasped audibly. His knife and fork rattled on the plate. For the woman entering the room was Kate Saltoun.
"Good morning, Tom," said Kate, brightly, quite as if she and he, the best of friends, had parted the previous evening.
The nonplussed Loudon mumbled unintelligibly, but accomplished a passable greeting by the time Kate had seated herself directly opposite. The drummer glanced contemptuously at Loudon, and, with a flourish and a killing ogle, handed the bread to Kate. Miss Saltoun helped herself, nodded casual thanks, and bestowed a ravishing smile on Loudon.
"I'm awfully glad to see you again, Tom," she declared, buttering her bread. "It's just like old times, isn't it?"
Could this smiling young girl be Kate Saltoun? Was this the Kate that had called him names and broken his heart and driven him from the Lazy River? Loudon furtively pinched himself. The pinch hurt.
It was not all a dream then. Kate Saltoun, in the flesh, and separated from him by not more than four feet of scaly oilcloth, was actually smiling at him. Words failed Loudon. He could do nothing but gaze.
Scotty, fearful of an introduction, oozed from the table. The drummer, unused to being ignored, fidgeted. He cleared his throat raucously. He would show this dumb person in chaps how a gentleman comports himself in the presence of a lady. It was the drummer's first trip West.
"Beautiful day, Miss, beautiful," he smirked, tilting back in his chair, and rattling his watch-chains. "We should have a quick trip to Paradise Bend. Our driver, I understand, has procured another wheel, and——"
The full-voiced utterance died abruptly.
For Kate had looked imploringly at Loudon, and Loudon had swung about to face the drummer. For the first time in his life the drummer realized how cold, how utterly daunting, a pair of human eyes could be.
"You through?" demanded Loudon.
The drummer endured that disconcerting stare while a man might draw three breaths. Then his eyelids quivered, dropped, and a curious mottled pallor overspread his countenance. He glanced up, met again that disconcerting stare, and quickly looked elsewhere.
"You through?" repeated Loudon.
"I—I don't know as that's any of your business," said the drummer, faintly.
"Git out," ordered Loudon.
"Why, look here! By what right——"
"Git out." Loudon had not raised his voice.
The drummer glanced at Miss Saltoun. She was crumbling her bread and looking over his head with an air of intense boredom. So far as she was concerned, he had ceased to exist. And she had been so friendly and companionable on the long ride from Farewell.
"You've done kept me waitin' some time," suggested Loudon, softly.
Awkwardly, for he found his knees strangely weak, the drummer rose. With a lame attempt at jauntiness he pulled down his vest, shot his cuffs, and teetered from the room. He made his way to the bar and called for whisky. His nerves were rather upset.
"Jake's put yore stuff in the stage," announced the landlord, who was also the bartender.
"Then Jake can take my bags out again," said the drummer, disagreeably. "I'm staying over till to-morrow."
"Well, hotel-keepers can't afford to be particular," the landlord said, unsmilingly. "But yuh'll have to unload yore truck yore own self."
The drummer would have enjoyed cursing the landlord. But the latter had the same peculiar look about the eyes that Loudon had. The drummer went out into the street, thinking evil thoughts of these unamiable Westerners.
Kate, when the drummer left the room, smiled sweetly upon Loudon. It was his reward for ridding her of a pest. She did not know that Loudon's prime reason for squelching the drummer was practically the same reason that impels the average man, on receiving an unpleasant surprise, to throw things at the cat.
"How's Johnny Ramsay gettin' along?" inquired Loudon.
"He has completely recovered," Kate replied. "He went back to the Cross-in-a-box four days ago."
"That's good. I'm glad to hear it."
Paying no further attention to Kate, Loudon calmly proceeded to finish his breakfast. Kate began to find the silence painful.
"Why, Tom," said she, "aren't you even a little bit glad to see me?"
"Why should I be glad?" parried Loudon.
"You're not very polite, Tom. You—you make me feel very badly. Why, oh, why do you persist in making it so hard for me?"
Kate's voice was pitched low, and there was a running sob in it. But Loudon was not in the least affected.
"Last time I seen yuh," Loudon stated, deliberately, "yuh told me flat yuh never wanted to see me again. Yuh was engaged to Sam Blakely, too. I don't understand yuh a little bit."
"Perhaps you will when I explain. You see, I am no longer engaged to Mr. Blakely."
"Yo're lucky."
"I think so myself. Under the circumstances, can't we be friends again? I didn't mean what I said, boy. Truly I didn't."
Loudon was looking at Kate, but he did not see her as she sat there in her chair, her black eyes imploring. Instead, he saw her as she appeared that day in the kitchen of the Bar S, when she wiped his kiss from her mouth and ordered him to leave her.
"Yo're too many for me," he said at last. "I dunno what yo're drivin' at. But if yuh want to be friends, why, I'm the last fellah in the world to be yore enemy. Yuh know I never have exactly disliked yuh, Kate. Well, I got to be weavin' along. Glad to have seen yuh, Kate. I'll see yuh later, maybe."
"Of course you will, Tom. I'll be at Lil's—Mrs. Mace, you know, at the Bend. You will come and see me, won't you?"
"Shore I will, an' glad to."
Loudon dropped the lady's hand as if it had been a hot iron, and departed. He had no intention of going near the house of Mrs. Mace. He never wanted to see Kate Saltoun again.
In the street he found Scotty nervously awaiting him.
"Git yore hoss," said Scotty, "an' let's git out o' here."
"What's all the hurry?" queried Loudon.
"That female girl in the hotel. She'll be out in a minute, an' then yuh'll have to introduce me."
"She's Kate Saltoun, Scotty."
"Old Salt's daughter! It don't sound possible. An' him with a face like a grizzly. She's shorely four aces, Tom, an' as pretty as a little red wagon. But I ain't aimin' to make her acquaintance, an' yuh can gamble on that."
Happily for Scotty's peace of mind he and Loudon left Rocket twenty minutes ahead of the stage.
The drummer watched the departure of the stage with brooding eyes. When the dust in the street had settled he had another drink at the bar and ensconced himself in a corner of the barroom where he could glower unobserved at the landlord.
The latter had gone to the corral, but the drummer was still sitting in his chair, when, toward noon, two men entered. They were unprepossessing individuals, both of them, though one, the tall man with the black beard, had obviously just washed himself thoroughly. Even his clothing had been scrubbed.
The drummer sniffed inquiringly. What was that elusive odour—that strange smell or rather mixture of smells? The drummer sniffed again.
"Got a cold?" growled the black-bearded man.
"No," said the drummer, sulkily.
"Then don't snuffle. I don't like snufflin', I don't. It makes me jumpy, snufflin' does. Breathe through yore mouth if yuh got to."
The look which the black-avised individual bent upon the drummer was not reassuring. The wretched drummer shrank into himself and took care to breathe in an inoffensive manner. The black-bearded man was extremely sensitive about that odour, for it emanated from his own person and habiliments. Tobacco smoke had no effect upon it. It clung after the fashion of loving relations. Strong soap, scorched molasses, and singed feathers, had given birth to that odour. No wonder he was sensitive!
His companion, whose face bore numerous scratches, stared round the barroom.
"Where's the barkeep?" he grunted.
"Don't need no barkeep," announced the black-bearded man, and started to walk round the bar.
"Don't yuh?" inquired the voice of the landlord. "Yuh got another guess comin'. Yuh can't run no blazers in this shack, Block, an' that goes."
The eyes of the black-bearded man glowed evilly. He stopped in his tracks, his raised hand halted in the act of reaching for a bottle. He stared at the landlord standing in the doorway. The landlord stared back, his thumbs hooked in his belt.
"Get us a drink then," snarled Block, and he joined his friend in front of the bar.
"That's what I'm here for," rejoined the landlord, cheerfully. "I don't care who I serve. Why, I give that a drink awhile ago." He flicked a contemptuous thumb at the drummer.
"Hurry up!" admonished Block.
"No hurry," chirruped the landlord insultingly. "I never was in a hurry, an' I ain't goin' to begin now. What'll yuh have—milk?"
"Say," exclaimed the man with the scratched face, "are you lookin' for trouble?"
"Stranger," replied the landlord, turning a pair of calm brown eyes on his questioner—"stranger, a gent don't never look for trouble. It comes to him unexpected-like. But none ain't comin' to me to-day. Soon as I seen you two tinhorns in here I told a friend o' mine. He's a-watchin' yuh from the window right now."
Block and his friend involuntarily turned their heads. Framed in the open window were the head and shoulders of a man. In his hands was a sawed-off shotgun. The blunt muzzle gaped ominously at them.
"Well, by Gawd!" began the scratch-faced man.
"Shut up!" said Block. "These folks seem scared of us. No use fussin'. We'll just licker an' git."
"Them's the words I like to hear," observed the landlord, slapping bottle and glasses on the bar. "Yuh can't pull out too quick to suit me, Block. I know about yore goin's-on down in Farewell—rubbin' out harmless strangers. Yuh may be a sheriff an' all that, but yore office don't travel a foot in Sunset County."
"Yuh talk big," growled Block. "Yuh needn't think yuh can bluff me. If I feel like takin' this town apart, I'll do it."
"Shore, just like yuh took the Bend apart. Got the molasses out o' yore system yet?"
Block's eyes were fairly murderous. The landlord grinned.
"That shotgun's double-barrelled," he observed. "Buckshot in each barrel."
Block gulped his whisky. The scratch-faced man had finished his drink and was placidly rolling a cigarette.
"Never did like to quarrel," he remarked, "special not with a shotgun. Mister"—to the landlord—"have any gents from the Bend rode in to-day—or yesterday?"
"Lookin' for friends?" queried the landlord.
"Shore!"
"I thought so. Well, I can't tell yuh. Yuh see, I ain't right well acquainted hereabouts. I dunno everybody. There might somebody 'a' come through, an' then again there mightn't. I seed a Injun yest'day, though. Looked like a Digger. Might he be yore partic'lar friend?" An exquisite solicitude was in the landlord's tone.
The other refused to take offence. He smiled wryly. When he spoke, his words were without rancour.
"I can't claim the Injun. I was thinkin' of a sport named Loudon. Know him?"
"I told yuh I didn't know many people round here."
"I was just a-wonderin'. I was kind o' anxious to see Loudon."
"Well, I dunno nothin' about him."
"There was a man here named Loudon," piped up the drummer, perceiving an opportunity of annoying the landlord. "He stayed here all night. Another man was with him, a very dirty old character named Mackenzie. I think Scotty was his first name."
"Which way did they go?" demanded Block.
"They rode away toward Paradise Bend."
"That drummer can lie faster'n a hoss can trot," drawled the landlord.
"You know they stayed here all night," said the drummer with a flash of spirit. "I had breakfast with them."
The landlord walked swiftly to the drummer, who quailed.
"Yo're lyin'!" announced the landlord. "Say so. Say yo're lyin', yuh pup, or I'll pull yore neck in half."
"I'm lyin'!" cried the drummer, hastily. "I'm lyin'."
"There wasn't nobody here but you, was there?" inquired the landlord.
"N-no."
"I guess that's enough. You see how reliable this sport is, gents. Can't believe a word he says."
Block turned toward the door. The scratch-faced man winked at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar and stuck his tongue in his cheek.
"C'mon," said Block.
The sheriff and his friend went out into the street. The landlord followed, his expression one of pleasurable anticipation. Four citizens of Rocket, grouped on the sidewalk, glumly watched the two men as they swung into their saddles and loped away. The landlord's face fell.
"Say," he demanded, "why didn't yuh arrest him?"
"Couldn't be did," replied the largest of the quartette, who wore a marshal's star on his vest. "Loudon said his hoss was a chestnut, white spot on nose, didn't he? One o' them two cayuses was a black, but the other was a bald-face pinto. Nothin' like a chestnut."
"But Loudon done said the hoss thief was ridin' with Sheriff Block."
"That's all true enough, an' the party a-ridin' off with Block may be a hoss thief, but if he is, he ain't ridin' Loudon's hoss. An' Loudon's hoss is the only one we know about. Got to go by the hoss, Dave."
"Why, looky here, Sim, Loudon described the feller right plain. That's Rufe Cutting a-ridin' away there with Block, or I'm a Dutchman."
"He may be," returned the marshal, equably, "an' if Loudon was here an' could identify him I'd grab him too quick. But unless he's ridin' a chestnut hoss with a white spot on his nose I can't arrest him without a warrant. An' there ain't no warrant. See how it is, Dave?"
"Oh, I see all right," mourned the landlord, "an' it makes me sick. Soon as I seen 'em come in my place I says to myself, 'Here's that hoss thief.' All I thought of was that Loudon said the sport was with Block. It makes me sick. It shore does. After me a-cookin' it all up with you to arrest him! C'mon in an' have somethin', an' watch me give that drummer the prettiest lickin' he ever had in his life."
When Loudon and Scotty reached Paradise Bend, they separated, Scotty going to the Burrs', while Loudon strolled leisurely about the streets. Loudon visited all the saloons and drew into conversation the bartenders and other prominent citizens. In less than an hour he met Scotty behind the Burr corral.
"Five days ago an' early in the mornin'," said Loudon, "a Seven Lazy Seven boy met O'Leary ridin' the trail to the Flyin' M. O'Leary told him, an' it wasn't none necessary, that he was goin' to Sucker Creek. That's away north a good eighty mile.
"Well, that same day in the evenin' a freighter, camped on the trail half-way between the Bend and Rocket, seen O'Leary a-peltin' south. The freighter only got a flash at him by the light of his fire, but he knowed him all right, an' he hollered a howdy. O'Leary never notices. Just leans over his horn an' keeps a-foggin' right along. There yuh have it—the Flyin' M trail in the mornin', an' twenty-five mile south o' the Bend in the evenin'. Now who mailed that letter?"
"It looks like O'Leary," admitted Scotty. "But what yuh goin' to do about it? Yuh can't do nothin', Tom. I tell yuh, yuh got to wait. Now don't yuh go projeckin' round O'Leary an' kick up any fuss. It won't do no good, an' yuh might reap some lead. Yo're needed at the ranch, Tom. Just you keep that in mind."
"Don't fret. I ain't goin' to say nothin' to O'Leary—yet. I'll give him plenty o' rope to hang himself with. But I wish you'd let me Injun round some, Scotty. Gimme two weeks, now. Yuh won't regret it."
"Now, Tom, there yuh go again. I need yuh to home, I tell yuh."
"Oh, all right; have it yore own way. But if yuh won't gimme the two weeks now, I'll take 'em later on my own account. I aim to get my hoss back."
"We'll talk about that later," said Scotty. "You go on in an' see Dorothy. Y'ought to be ashamed o' yoreself—stickin' out here when there's a pretty little girl like that in the house."
"Thought yuh didn't like ladies any."
"Depends on the lady. There's brands an' brands, Tom. But that little girl o' the Cap'n's—well, say, she always makes a gent feel right to home. Wish I was younger. Yes, sir, I shore wish I didn't have so many rings on my horns. I'd have you boys runnin' in circles, I would. Go on in now, Tom, an' if yuh work it right Mis' Burr'll ask yuh to grub."
Loudon went.
"Just in time for supper," was Mrs. Burr's greeting. "Dorothy's out front. Pete O'Leary's here again. He's stayin' to supper, too. Thank Heaven, I'll have a crowd for once. I do enjoy seein' folks eat. Say, Tom," she added, lowering her voice, "is O'Leary a friend o' yores?"
"I know his name, Mis' Burr," said Loudon, "an' that's about all."
"Well, I was just wonderin'. I dunno whether to like that fellah or not. He strikes me as bein' conceited a lot. He always acts to me like he thought every girl he knowed was in love with him. He's good-lookin' an' all that, but I don't cotton to his eyes. They look as if they was holdin' somethin' back all the time. See what I mean? Like he was sayin' one thing an' thinkin' another."
"I see," Loudon nodded. He understood perfectly.
"He ain't never hung round Dorothy till lately. But yuh can't say nothin', I s'pose. Still—oh, well, no use chatterin' about it."
Loudon wondered whether Scotty had known O'Leary was in the house when he urged Loudon to go in and see Dorothy. The presence of O'Leary did not forecast an enjoyable meal.
"I just come in for a drink, Mis' Burr," said Loudon. "I wish I could stay for supper. Thank yuh kindly, all the same, but I got to see a man down street."
"Huh," grunted Mrs. Burr, skeptically. "Yuh don't like O'Leary neither, do yuh?"
"I didn't say nothin' about that, ma'am."
"No, o' course not. Yuh can't fool me, Tom Loudon. There's cool water in that covered pail. Say, it's too bad about that hoss o' yores. Scotty told me yuh didn't have no luck in Rocket. It shore is too bad. He was a right good hoss."
"He is a good hoss, ma'am. He ain't a goner yet, by a jugful. I'll get him back."
"I hope so, an' I hope yuh lynch the thief, or shoot him anyway. He hadn't ought to live a minute. The Flyin' M cook, too. Yuh can't hardly believe it."
Loudon got his drink and departed. As he rode past the house he saw Dorothy and O'Leary sitting on the doorstep. Dorothy waved her hand and smiled. O'Leary positively beamed. Had Loudon been his oldest friend O'Leary's greeting could not have been more cordial.
"Now I'd like to know," thought Loudon, as he rode down the street, "what license he's got to be so cheerful. Is it 'cause I ain't stayin' to supper, or is it 'cause he's got some other card up his sleeve?"
"Why didn't you stay to supper?" chuckled Scotty, when Loudon dropped into the chair next him at the hotel dining-table.
"I couldn't stand it to be away from you so long," retorted Loudon, and helped himself generously to the butter.
"I kind o' thought it might be that way. Try them pickles. They taste like they'd been used for tannin' saddles."
Night had not yet fallen when Loudon and Scotty started for the Flying M. As they passed the house of Big Jim Mace, Scotty groaned.
"Here comes that female girl o' Old Salt's," he whispered, perturbedly. "She's headin' our way. She's a-callin' to yuh, Tom! She's a-callin' to yuh! I'm goin' on. I'll wait for yuh on the trail."
There was no disregarding Kate Saltoun. She had even stepped out into the street in her efforts to attract Loudon's attention. Scotty loped onward, and Loudon twisted his horse toward the sidewalk.
"Well," said Kate, smiling up at him, "you are a nice one! I believe you'd have passed right by without speaking if I hadn't called to you. Come on in and see Mrs. Mace and me. Jim's down street, and we want someone to talk to."
"Just someone?"
Loudon could have bitten his tongue off for uttering this flirty remark. But for the life of him he could not help saying it.
Kate smiled.
"Someone would probably do for Lil," she said, "but I want you. I've an awful lot to tell you, Tom."
"I can't, Kate. Honest, I'd like to come in an' see yuh a lot. I shore would. But I got to ride out to the ranch with Scotty Mackenzie."
"Is that funny old person with the parti-coloured sleeve Scotty Mackenzie? I've heard Dad speak of him. They never liked each other, I believe. Bring him over, I'd like to meet him. Then he can talk to Lil."
"That'd be fine, but yuh see Scotty's in a hurry to get back to the ranch. I'm afraid we couldn't manage it nohow."
Kate's face fell. Loudon glanced up and saw Dorothy Burr and Pete O'Leary approaching. Interest, polite in Dorothy's case, speculative in O'Leary's, was manifest in their expressions. Kate moved closer to Loudon and laid a hand on the neck of his horse.
"Tom," she whispered, "I just heard what Block tried to do. Lil told me. You don't believe I had anything to do with it, do you?"
"Why, no, o' course I don't."
"Are you sure?"
"Why, Kate, I know you couldn't do a thing like that. Don't yuh think any more about it."
"I believe you do, just the same. Tom, no matter how much I disliked a person I wouldn't betray him."
"I believe yuh. Honest, I do."
Dorothy and O'Leary passing at this juncture, Loudon lifted his hat. Kate turned and looked after the pair. When her eyes once more met Loudon's there was a faint trouble in their black depths.
"Who are they?" she queried.
"Cap'n Burr's daughter an' Pete O'Leary."
"Oh." There was deep meaning in that "oh."
"She lives up yonder a ways. Mis' Mace knows her, I guess."
"How nice! Perhaps I shall meet her. I should like to, really. Tell me, do you know her well?"
"Not very well. Yuh see, I ain't in town such a lot. Say, Kate, did Mis' Mace write an' tell yuh I was up here at the Bend?"
"Yes, I believe she did." Kate's tone was ingenuous. But the quick upward fling of her eyes was not.
"Did yuh tell yore father an' the boys?"
"Why, I don't remember, Tom. I might have. Very possibly I did. Why?"
"I was just a-wonderin'."
"You mean——" gasped Kate, her eyes widening with genuine horror.
At first, misinterpreting the trend of his questioning, she had believed him brazenly fishing. Now she understood the significance underlying his words. She wanted to scream. But half the street was watching them. Underlip caught between her teeth, she sucked in her breath. Piteously her eyes searched Loudon's face.
"Tom!" she breathed. "Tom! You do think I betrayed you after all. Oh, Tom, Tom!"
It was Loudon's turn to be distressed.
"Yo're on the wrong trail, Kate," he soothed. "I know yuh didn't tell Block or the 88 outfit. But if the Bar S boys knowed I was up here it could easy get around. Richie o' the Cross-in-a-box an' Cap'n Burr knowed, too. They might 'a' let it out. I'm sorry I asked yuh if it makes yuh feel that way."
"Oh, I see it now. I must have told. And it was my telling that sent Block up here. Tom, if he had taken you south and—and anything had happened, it—it would have killed me. Life just wouldn't have been worth living any longer."
Was ever mortal man in a similar predicament? Here was a beautiful woman baring her heart to him in broad daylight on a public thoroughfare. Cold prickles raced madly up and down Loudon's spine. What could he say? He had a wild impulse to whirl his horse and gallop after Scotty. Obviously this was the safer course to follow. Weakly he temporized.
"Kate, do yuh know what yo're sayin'?"
"Of course. Why shouldn't I say it? I love you, don't you know that? There, it's out! I suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself, but I'm not. I'm glad."
Throughout the latter part of the conversation Kate had barely spoken above a whisper, but to Loudon it seemed that she fairly shouted. He was positive that all the town had heard. His dismayed eyes slid round. He half-expected to see Mrs. Mace and her neighbours craning their necks with their hands cupped round their ears. But Mrs. Mace was not visible, and the score of people in view were not displaying undue interest. Loudon breathed more easily.
"Yuh—yuh——" he stammered, his face beet-red. "Yuh hadn't ought to 'a' said that."
"Why not?" she demanded, coolly. "It's true."
Her self-possession was extraordinary. She was not even blushing. This was a Kate that Loudon did not know. In the face of her bald assertion he could not tell her that matters had completely changed; that he loved her no longer. No, not that. He realized his disadvantage acutely, and squirmed. Kate looked expectant. He must say something, and quickly, too, or she would propose to him on the spot.
"I—I got to be goin'!" he exclaimed, desperately. "Scotty's waitin' for me. Gug-gug-good-bye."
"Good-bye, Tom," said Kate, with a radiant smile. "I'll see you some other time."
"Some other time!" groaned Loudon, as he galloped down the street. "Some other time! She will, too. An' what'll I do? What'll I do? I don't like her any more. I don't like her a little bit. This is shore one helluva of a fix!"
"What did she do to yuh?" inquired Scotty, when Loudon joined him.
"Do to me! What do you mean?"
"Yuh look like yuh'd just missed being hugged to death by a b'ar. No offence, Tom, but yuh sure do look a heap shivery."
"It's them pickles I had for supper, Scotty. I knowed they'd make me sick."
"They was rich, for a fact."
They loped in silence for a half-hour.
"Scotty," said Loudon, suddenly, "if anybody comes out to the ranch a-lookin' for me, tell 'em I've pulled my freight yuh dunno where."
"Anybody?" Scotty quirked an eyebrow.
"Anybody—man, woman, or child."
"Well, say, look here, Tom!" exclaimed Scotty in alarm. "Yuh don't mean to say that Miss Saltoun girl is a-comin' out to the Flyin' M."
"I dunno. I hope not."
"Which I hope not, too. She's so good-lookin' she scares me, she does. I don't want to go nowheres near her, an' I won't, neither. No, sirree. If she ever comes a-traipsin' out to the ranch yuh can do yore own talkin'."
"Aw, keep yore shirt on. I guess now she won't come."
"I'll bet she's a-aimin' to, or yuh wouldn't 'a' said what yuh did. Yuh can't fool me, Tom. She'll come, an' she'll bring Jim Mace's wife along for a chaperon, an' they'll most likely stay for two meals, an' I'll have to grub in the corral. Great note this is! Druv out o' my own home by a couple o' female women!
"Laugh! It's awful funny! I never could abide Mis' Mace, either. She's always talkin', talkin'. Talk the hide off a cow, an' not half try. How Jim stands her I can't see nohow. If she was my woman I'd feed her wolf-pizen, or take it myself."
"I guess now yuh never was married, was yuh, Scotty?"
"Me married! Well, I guess not! Come mighty close to it once. I must 'a' been crazy or drunk, or somethin'—anyway, when I was a young feller over east in Macpherson, Kansas, me an' Sue Shimmers had it all fixed for hitchin' up together. Nice girl, Sue was. Good cook, a heap energetic, an' right pretty in the face. The day before the weddin' Sue cuts stick an' elopes with Tug Wilson, the blacksmith.
"I felt bad for mighty nigh a week, but I've been a heap joyous ever since. Yes, sir, Sue developed a lot after marriage. Why, if Tug took so much as one finger of old Jordan Sue'd wallop him with a axe-handle. Poor old Tug used to chew up so many cloves he got dyspepsy. Between the axe-handle an' the dyspepsy Tug had all he could swing to keep alive. I've never stopped bein' grateful to Tug Wilson. He saved my life. Yes, sir, as a rule, females is bad medicine."
"How about Mis' Burr an' her daughter?"
"I said as a general rule. Like I told yuh once before, Mis' Burr an' Dorothy are real ladies, all silk an' several yards wide. A gent can talk to them just like folks. An' Dorothy can have my ranch an' every cayuse on it, includin' my mules, any time she wants. Nothin's too good for that little girl."
"She's shore a winner."
"She's all o' that. Now there's a girl that'll make a ace-high wife. She wouldn't use no axe-handle. She'd understand a gent's failin's, she would, an' she'd break him off 'em so nice an' easy he wouldn't know nothin' about it. Yes, sir, the party that gets Dorothy Burr needn't worry none 'bout bein' happy."
"I guess now there ain't no party real shore-enough fit to make her a husband."
"There ain't. No, sir, yuh can bet there ain't. But she'll marry some no-account tinhorn—them kind always does. Say, why don't you make up to her?"
"Well, I would," said Loudon, gravely, "only yuh see it wouldn't be proper. I ain't a no-account tinhorn."
"You ain't, but O'Leary is."
"It ain't gone as far as that!"
"Yuh never can tell how far anythin's gone with a woman. Yuh never can tell nothin' about her till it happens. She's a heap unexpected, a female is. Now I don't say as Dorothy'd marry yuh, Tom. Yuh may not be her kind o' feller at all. But yo're a sight better'n Pete O'Leary."
"Thanks," said Loudon, dryly.
"Then again," rushed on Scotty, deeply engrossed in his subject, "it ain't noways necessary for yuh to marry her. All yuh got to do is give O'Leary the run. Chase him off—see? I've been thinkin' some serious o' doin' it myself, but I'd have to beef him, an' that wouldn't suit Dorothy. A lady don't like it none to have her admirers shot up. It only makes her more set to have 'em. But you, Tom, could go about it in a nice, refined way, an' get Dorothy to likin' yuh better'n she does O'Leary, an' there yuh are. No blood's spilt, an' the lady is saved."
"But s'pose she didn't cotton to me for a cent?"
"Yuh got to risk that, o' course. But you can win out over O'Leary, I'll gamble on that."
"But why am I elected? Why me at all?"
"Well, say, yuh'd ought to be ashamed o' yoreself, raisin' objections thisaway. Here I am, tryin' to help out as nice a little girl as ever breathed, an' yuh got to kick. Selfish, I call it. Can't yuh see I'm tryin' to do you a good turn, too? There's gratitude for yuh! Well, it's like I always said: Old folks is never appreciated, no matter what they do. Yes, sir, I might 'a' saved my breath. Dorothy, she talked just like you do, only worse."
"What—why, you ain't been talkin' about this to Dor—Miss Burr, have yuh?" demanded Loudon in horror.
"Why, shore I did," said Scotty, placidly. "I feel like a father to her, so why not? I didn't say much. I just told her O'Leary was a pup an' a sheepman an' not fit for her to wipe her feet on, an' why didn't she take a shine to some other gent for a change? She says, 'Who, for instance?' An' I says, 'Tom Loudon,' an' that's as far as I got. She goes up in the air like a pony, instanter."
"Which I should say she might. You had yore nerve, ringin' me into it! Ain't yuh got no sense at all?"
"Lots. Yo're the witless one. If yuh had any brains yuh'd take my advice."
"I can't now, even if I wanted to."
"Shore yuh can. She spoke to yuh all right this aft'noon, didn't she?"
"Yes, but——"
"Well, I'd given her my opinion o' things just about twenty minutes before yuh met me at the corral. So, yuh see, she wasn't mad at you. She wasn't really mad at me. I seen the twinkle in her eye all the time she was givin' me fits. Why, look here, Tom, when she says, 'Who, for instance?' I couldn't think o' nobody but you. It was impulse, it was, an' impulses are always right. Wouldn't be impulses if they wasn't.
"So there y'are. Yuh don't have to marry each other if yuh don't want to. Shore not. But yuh'd ought to give each other a whirl anyway. Yuh might hit it off amazin'. I'm bettin' yuh will, I don't care what either o' yuh say."
Loudon, divided between anger and horrified amazement, was speechless. Scotty Mackenzie was more than astounding. He was hopelessly impossible.
"Well," remarked Loudon, when he was able to speak, "yuh sure are three kings an' an ace when it comes to other people's business. Some day, Scotty, yuh'll go bulgin' into the affairs o' some party who don't understand yore funny little ways, an' he'll hang yore hide on the fence."
"I s'pose likely," said Scotty, glumly. "It shore is a ungrateful world. But," he added, brightening, "yuh'll do what I say, won't yuh, Tom? I tell yuh I know best. I've sort o' cottoned to yuh ever since I found out who yuh was an' all, an' I always did like Dorothy Burr. Here's you, an' there she is. Why, it's Providence, Tom, Providence; an' nobody has a right to fly in the face o' Providence. Yuh won't never have no luck if yuh do. I ask yuh like a friend, Tom—an' I hadn't ought to have to ask yuh, not with such a good-looker as Dorothy—I ask yuh like a friend to go see this little girl, an'——"
"An' prove yo're right," interrupted Loudon.
"Well, yes. Though I know I'm right, an' I tell yuh plain if you two don't hook up for keeps yuh'll be sorry. Yes, sir, yuh will. Now don't say nothin', Tom. Just think it over, an' if yuh want any help come to me."
"Yuh make me sick. Yuh shore do."
"Think it over. Think it over."
"Think nothin' over! I ain't in love with Miss Burr, an' I ain't a-goin' to be. Yuh can gamble on that, old-timer. As a woman-wrangler I'm a good hoss an' cowman, an' hereafter from now on I'm a-stickin' to what I know best."
Loudon relapsed into sulky silence. Yet for the life of him he could not be wholly angry with Scotty Mackenzie. No one could. Scotty was Scotty, and, where another man would have been shot, Scotty went scatheless.