At about the time that the storm had overtaken Hollis, Potter was unsaddling his pony at the Circle Bar corral gate. A little later he was on the wide lower gallery of the ranchhouse washing the stains of travel from his face and hands. At supper he was taciturn, his face deeply thoughtful. Had Ten Spot come? What had been the outcome of the meeting? These questions preyed on his mind and brought furrows into his face.
At supper he caught Norton watching him furtively and he flushed guiltily, for he felt that in spite of Hollis’s order to say nothing to Norton he should have told. He had already informed Norton that Hollis intended remaining in Dry Bottom until a later hour than usual, but he had said nothing about the intended visit of Ten Spot to theKickeroffice. Loyalty to Hollis kept him from communicating to Norton his fears for Hollis’s safety. It was now too late to do anything if he did tell Norton; whatever hadbeen done had been done already and there was nothing for him to do but to wait until nine o’clock.
After he finished his meal he drew a chair out upon the gallery and placing it in a corner from where he could see the Dry Bottom trail he seated himself in it and tried to combat the disquieting fears that oppressed him. When Norton came out and took a chair near him he tried to talk to the range boss upon those small subjects with which we fill our leisure, but he could not hold his thoughts to these trivialities. He fell into long silences; his thoughts kept going back to Dry Bottom.
When the rain came he felt a little easier, for he had a hope that Hollis might have noticed the approach of the storm and decided to remain in town until it had passed. But after the rain had ceased his fears again returned. He looked many times at his watch and when Mrs. Norton came to the door and announced her intention of retiring he scarcely noticed her. Norton had repeatedly referred to Hollis’s absence, and each time Potter had assured him that Hollis would come soon. Shortly before nine o’clock, when the clouds lifted and the stars began to appear, Potter rose and paced the gallery floor. At nine, when it had become light enough to seequite a little distance down the Dry Bottom trail and there were still no signs of Hollis, he blurted out the story of the day’s occurrences.
The information acted upon Norton like an electric shock. He was on his feet before Potter had finished speaking, grasping him by the shoulders and shaking him roughly.
“Why didn’t you say something before?” he demanded. “Why did you leave him? Wasn’t there somebody in Dry Bottom that you could have sent out here to tell me?” He cursed harshly. “Ten Spot’s got him!” he declared sharply, his eyes glittering savagely. “He’d have been here by this time!” He was taking a hitch in his cartridge belt while talking, and before concluding he was down off the gallery floor and striding toward the corral.
“Tell my wife that I’ve gone to Dry Bottom,” he called back to Potter. “Important business! I’ll be back shortly after midnight!”
Leaving Potter on the porch staring after him he ran to the corral, roped his pony, threw on a saddle and bridle and mounted with the animal on a run.
The stars were shining brilliantly now and from the porch Potter could see Norton racing down the Dry Bottom trail with his pony in a furious gallop. For a time Potter watched him,then he disappeared and Potter went into the house to communicate his message to his wife.
The rain had been heavy while it lasted, but by the time Norton had begun his race to Dry Bottom very little evidence of it remained and the pony’s flying hoofs found the sand of the trail almost as dry and hard as before the storm. Indeed, there was now little evidence that there had been a storm at all.
Norton spared the pony only on the rises and in something over an hour after the time he had left the Circle Bar he drew up in front of theKickeroffice in Dry Bottom, dismounted, and bounded to the door. It was locked. He placed a shoulder against it and crashed it in, springing inside and lighting a match. He smiled grimly when he saw no signs of Hollis; when he saw that the interior was in an orderly condition and that there were no signs of a conflict. If Ten Spot had killed Hollis he had done the deed outside theKickeroffice.
Norton came out again, pulling the wreck of the door after him and closing it as well as he could. Then, leaving his pony, he strode toward the Fashion saloon. As he came near he heard sounds of revelry issuing from the open door and he smiled coldly. A flashing glance through the window showed him that Ten Spotwas there, standing at the bar. In the next instant Norton was inside, confronting Ten Spot, his big six-shooter out and shoved viciously against Ten Spot’s stomach.
“What have you done with Hollis, you mangy son-of-a-gun?” he demanded.
Several men who had been standing at the bar talking and laughing fell silent and looked at the two men, the barkeeper sidled closer, crouching warily, for he knew Norton.
Ten Spot had spread his arms out on the bar and was leaning against it, looking at Norton in unfeigned bewilderment. He did not speak at once. Then suddenly aware of the foreboding, savage gleam in Norton’s eyes, a glint of grim humor came into his own and his lips opened a little, curling sarcastically.
“Why,” he said, looking at Norton, “I don’t reckon to be anyone’s keeper.” He smiled widely, with a suddenly ludicrous expression. “If you’re talkin’ about that tenderfoot noospaper guy, he don’t need no keeper. What have I done to him?” he repeated, his smile growing. “Why, I reckon I didn’t do a heap; I went down to call on him. He was right sociable. I was goin’ to be mean to him, but I just couldn’t. When he left he was sayin’ that he’d be right glad to see me again–he’d been rightplayful durin’ my talk with him. I reckon by now he’s over at the Circle Bar laffin’ hisself to sleep over the mean way I treated him. You just ast him when you see him.”
A flicker of doubt came into Norton’s eyes–Ten Spot’s words had the ring of truth.
“You went down there to shoot him!” he said coldly, still unconvinced.
“Mebbe I did,” returned Ten Spot. “Howsomever, I didn’t. I ain’t tellin’ how I come to change my mind–that’s my business, an’ you can’t shoot it out of me. But I’m tellin’ you this: me an’ that guy has agreed to call it quits, an’ if I hear any man talkin’ extravagant about him, me an’ that man’s goin’ to have a run in mighty sudden!” He laughed. “Someone’s been funnin’ you,” he said. “When he handed me back my gun after sluggin’—”
But he was now talking to Norton’s back, for the range boss was at the door, striding rapidly toward his pony. He mounted again and rode out on the trail, proceeding slowly, convinced that something had happened to Hollis after he had left Dry Bottom. It was more than likely that he had lost his way in the storm, and in that case he would probably arrive at the Circle Bar over some round-about trail. He was now certain that he had not been molested in town; ifhe had been some of the men in the Fashion would have told him about it. Hollis would probably be at the ranch by the time he arrived, to laugh at his fears. Nevertheless he rode slowly, watching the trail carefully, searching the little gullies and peering into every shadow for fear that Hollis had been injured in some accident and might be lying near unable to make his presence known.
The dawn was just showing above the horizon when he rode up to the ranchhouse to find Potter standing on the porch–apparently not having left there during his absence. Beside Potter stood Ed Hazelton, and near the latter a drooping pony, showing signs of hard riding.
Norton passed the corral gate and rode up to the two men. A glance at their faces told him that something had gone wrong. But before he could speak the question that had formed on his lips Hazelton spoke.
“They got him, Norton,” he said slowly.
“Dead?” queried Norton sharply, his lips straightening.
“No,” returned Hazelton gloomily; “he ain’t dead. But when I found him he wasn’t far from it. Herd-rode him, the damned sneaks! Beat him up so’s his own mother wouldn’t know him!”
“Wait!” commanded Norton. “I’m going with you. I suppose you’ve got him over to your shack?” He caught Hazelton’s nod and issued an order to Potter. “Go down to the bunkhouse and get Weary out. Tell him to hit the breeze to Cimarron for the doctor. If the doc’ don’t want to come drag him by the ears!”
He spurred his pony furiously to the corral gate and in a short time had saddled another horse and was back where Hazelton was awaiting him. Without speaking a word to each other the two men rode rapidly down the Coyote trail, while Potter, following directions, his face haggard and drawn from loss of sleep and worry, hurried to the bunkhouse to arouse Weary and send him on his long journey to Cimarron.
Hollis’s tall figure lay pitifully slack on a bed in the Hazelton cabin. Nellie Hazelton had given him what care she could out of her limited knowledge and now nothing more could be done until the arrival of the Cimarron doctor. Swathed in bandages, his clothing torn and soiled–as though after beating him his assailants had dragged him through the mud–one hand queerly twisted, his face swollen, his whole great body looking as though it had received the maximum of injury, Hollis moved restlessly on the bed, his head rolling oddly from side to side, incoherent words issuing from between his bruised and swollen lips.
Norton stood beside the bed, looking down at the injured man with a grim, savage pity.
“The damned cowards!” he said, his voice quivering. “There must have been a dozen of them–to do him up like that!”
“Seven,” returned Ed Hazelton grimly. “They left their trail there; I counted the hoofprints, an’ they led down the slope toward Big Elk crossin’.” He looked at Norton with a frown. “We can’t do anything here,” he said shortly, “until the doctor comes. I’ll take you down where I found him.”
They went out and mounted their ponies. Down the trail a mile or so they came to a level that led away toward Rabbit-Ear Creek. From the level they could see the Circle Cross buildings, scattered over a small stretch of plain on the opposite side of the river. There was no life around them, no movement. Norton grimaced toward them.
Hazelton halted his pony in some tall grass near a bare, sandy spot on the plains. The grass here grew only in patches and Norton could plainly see a number of hoof prints in the sand. One single set led away across the plains toward the Dry Bottom trail. Seeing the knowing expression in Norton’s eyes, Hazelton spoke quietly.
“That’s Hollis’s trail. He must have took the Dry Bottom trail an’ lost it in the storm. Potter says he would probably take it because it’s shorter. Anyways, it’s his trail; I followed it back into the hills until I was sure. I saw that he had been comin’ from Dry Bottom. He lost his way an’ rode over here. I rememberthere was an awful darkness, for I was out scoutin’ around to see if my stock was all right. Well, he got this far–rode right up to the edge of the butte over there an’ then come back this way. Then he met–well, the men that did it.”
“They all stood there for a little while; you can see where their horses pawed. Then mebbe they started somethin’, for you can see where Hollis’s pony throwed up a lot of sand, tryin’ to break out. The others were in a circle–you can see that. I’ve figured it out that Hollis saw there wasn’t any chance for him against so many an’ he tried to hit the breeze away from here. I’ll show you.”
They followed the hoof prints down the slope and saw that all the riders must have been traveling fast at this point, for the earth was cut and the hoof prints bunched fore and aft. They ran only a little way, however. About a hundred yards down the slope, in a stretch of bare, sandy soil, the horses had evidently come to a halt again, for they were bunched well together and there were many of them, showing that there had been some movement after the halt.
Norton dismounted and examined the surrounding soil.
“They all got off here,” he said shortly, after the examination; “there’s the prints of theirboots. They caught him here and handed it to him.”
Hazelton silently pointed to a queer track in the sand–a shallow groove running about fifty feet, looking as though some heavy object had been drawn over it. Norton’s face whitened.
“Drug him!” he said grimly, his lips in two straight lines. “It’s likely they roped him!” He remounted his pony and sat in the saddle, watching Hazelton as the latter continued his examination. “They’re a fine, nervy bunch!” he sneered as Hazelton also climbed into his saddle. “They must have piled onto him like a pack of wolves. If they’d have come one at a time he’d have cleaned them up proper!”
They rode away down the trail toward the cabin. Norton went in and looked again at Hollis, and then, telling Hazelton that he would return in the afternoon, he departed for the Circle Bar. He stopped at the ranchhouse and communicated the news to his wife and Potter and then rode on up the river to a point about ten miles from the ranchhouse–where the outfit was working.
The men received his news with expressions of rage and vengeance. They had come to admire Hollis for his courage in electing to continue the fight against Dunlavey; they had seen that inspite of his ignorance of the customs of their world he possessed a goodly store of common sense and an indomitable spirit. Yet none of them expressed sympathy, though their faces showed that they felt it. Expressions of sympathy in a case such as this would have been unnecessary and futile. But their expressions of rage showed how the news had affected them. Though they knew that Dunlavey’s forces outnumbered their own they were for striking back immediately. But Norton discouraged this.
“We’re layin’ low for a while,” he said. “Mebbe the boss will get well. If he does he’ll make things mighty interestin’ for Dunlavey–likely he’ll remember who was in the crowd which beat him up. If he dies—” His eyes flashed savagely. “Well, if he dies you boys can go as far as you like an’ I’ll go with you without doin’ any kickin’.”
“What’s goin’ to be done with that noospaper of his’n?” inquired Ace. “You reckon she’ll miss fire till he’s well again?”
Norton’s brows wrinkled; he had not thought of the newspaper. But he realized now that if the paper failed to appear on scheduled time the people in Union County would think that Hollis had surrendered; they would refuse to believe that he had been so badly injured that hecould not issue the paper, and Dunlavey would be careful to circulate some sort of a story to encourage this view. Now that Ace had brought the matter to his attention he began to suspect that this had been the reason of the attack on Hollis. That they had not killed him when they had the opportunity, showed that they must have had some purpose other than that of merely desiring to get him out of the way. That they had merely beaten him showed that their wish was only to incapacitate him temporarily. Norton’s eyes flashed with a sudden determination.
“I don’t reckon that theKickerwill miss fire,” he declared; “not if I have to go to Dry Bottom an’ get her out myself!”
Ace eyed him furtively and now spoke with an embarrassed self-consciousness.
“I’ve been considerin’ this here situation ever since you told us about the boss,” he said diffidently, “an’ if you’re goin’ to get that paper out, a little poem or two might help out considerable.”
“Meanin’?” interrogated Norton, his eyelashes flickering.
Ace’s face reddened painfully. “Meanin’ that I’ve got several little pieces which I’ve wrote when I didn’t have anything else to do an’ that I’d be right willin’ to have them put into theKickerto help fill her up. Some of the boys think they’re right classy.”
Norton looked around at the other men for confirmation of the truth of this modest statement. He caught Lanky’s glance.
“I reckon that’s about right,” said that sober-faced puncher; “Ace is the pote lariat of this here outfit, an’ he sure has got a lot of right clever lines in his pomes. I’ve read them which wasn’t one-two-three with his’n.”
Norton smiled, a little cynically. He wasn’t quite sure about it, he said, but if Ace could write poetry he hadn’t any doubt that during the next few weeks there would be plenty of opportunity to print some of it in theKicker. He smiled when he saw Ace’s face brighten. But he told him he would have to see Hollis–if the latter got well enough to endure an interview. If the boss recovered enough to be able to look at Ace’s poetry before it was printed, why of course it would have to be shown him. He didn’t want anything to go into theKickerwhich the boss wouldn’t like. But if he wasn’t able to look at it, why he would leave the decision to Potter, and if it suited the latter he would be satisfied. He would keep the boys posted on the boss’s condition. Then he rode away toward the ranchhouse.
Late in the afternoon he again visited the Hazelton cabin. He found the Cimarron doctor already there. Hollis was still unconscious, though resting easier. The doctor declared that he would remain with him throughout the night. He followed Norton out on to the porch and told him that at present he could not tell just how serious Hollis’s injuries were. There was a great wound in his head which he feared might turn out seriously, but if not, Hollis would recover quickly and be as good as ever within a few weeks–except for his left wrist–which was broken. He praised Nellie Hazelton for the care she was giving the injured man. Convinced that there was nothing more to be done, Norton returned to the Circle Bar to give his attention to his work.
The Cimarron doctor’s fears for the wound on Hollis’s head had proved unfounded and on the tenth day after his experience on the night of the storm, Hollis was sitting on the Hazelton porch, his head still swathed in bandages, his left wrist in a splint, but his spirit still untouched. The marks on his face had all disappeared, except an ugly gash under his right eye–which still showed a slight discoloration–and a smaller cut on the chin. The Cimarron doctor had told him that the wound under his eye would leave a permanent scar–the wound had been deep and in spite of the doctor’s care, had drawn together queerly, affecting the eye itself and giving it an odd expression. Many times since becoming able to move about had Hollis looked at his face in his mirror, and each time there had come into his eyes an expression that boded ill for the men who had been concerned in the attack on him.
It was mid-afternoon and the sun was coming slant-wise over the roof of the cabin, creating a welcome shade on the porch. Ed Hazelton had been gone since morning, looking after his cattle, and Nellie was in the house, busily at work in the kitchen–Hollis could hear her as she stepped about the room.
Norton had left the cabin an hour before and a little later Potter had stopped in on his way over to Dry Bottom to set up an article that he had written at Hollis’s dictation. Hollis had told Norton of his experiences on the night of the storm.
After the flash of lightning had revealed Dunlavey and his men, Hollis had attempted to escape, knowing that Dunlavey’s intentions could not be peaceable, and that he would have no chance in a fight with several men. He had urged his pony toward the two buttes that he had seen during the lightning flash, making a circuit in order to evade his enemies. He might have succeeded, but unfortunately the darkness had lifted and they had been able to intercept him. He could give no clear account of what had happened after they had surrounded him. There had been no words spoken. He had tried to break out of the circle; had almost succeeded when a loop settled over his shoulders and hewas dragged from his pony–dragged quite a distance.
The fall had hurt him, but when the rope had slackened he had regained his feet–to see that all the men had surrounded him. One man struck at him and he had immediately struck back, knocking the man down. After that the blows came thick and fast. He hit several more faces that were close to him and at one time was certain he had put three of his assailants out of the fight. But the others had crowded him close. He fought them as well as he could with the great odds against him, and once was inspired with a hope that he might escape. Then had come a heavy blow on the head–he thought that one of the men had used the butt of a revolver. He could dimly remember receiving a number of other blows and then he knew nothing more until he had awakened in the Hazelton cabin.
Hollis’s opinion of Dunlavey’s motive in thus attacking him coincided with Norton’s. They might easily have killed him. That they did not showed that they must have some peculiar motive. Aside from a perfectly natural desire on Dunlavey’s part to deal to Hollis the same sort of punishment that Hollis had inflicted on Dunlavey on the occasion of their first meeting, thelatter could have no motive other than that of preventing the appearance of theKickeron its regular publication day.
Hollis was convinced that Dunlavey had been inspired by both motives. But though Dunlavey had secured his revenge for the blow that Hollis had struck him in Dry Bottom, Hollis did not purpose to allow him to prevent the appearance of theKicker. It had been impossible for him to make the trip to Dry Bottom, but he had summoned Potter and had dictated considerable copy, Potter had written some, and in this manner they had managed to get theKickerout twice.
Ace had not been able to get any of his poems into theKicker. He had submitted some of them to Potter, but the printer had assured him that he did not care to assume the responsibility of publishing them. Thereupon Ace had importuned Norton to intercede with Hollis on his behalf. On his visit this morning Norton had brought the matter to Hollis’s attention. The latter had assured the range boss that he appreciated the puncher’s interest and would be glad to go over some of his poems. Therefore Hollis was not surprised when in the afternoon he saw Ace loping his pony down the Coyote trail toward the Hazelton cabin.
Ace’s approach was diffident, though ambition urged him on. He rode up to the edge of the porch, dismounted, and greeted his boss with an earnestness that contrasted oddly with his embarrassment. He took the chair that Hollis motioned him to, sitting on the edge of it and shifting nervously under Hollis’s direct gaze.
“I reckon Norton told you about my poems,” he began. He caught Hollis’s nod and continued: “Well, I got a bunch of ’em here which I brung over to show you. Folks back home used to say that I was a genyus. But I reckon mebbe they was hittin’ her up a little bit strong,” he admitted, modestly; “folks is that way–they like to spread it on a bit. But”–and the eyes of the genius flashed proudly–“I reckon I’ve got a little talyunt, the evidence of which is right here!” With rather more composure than had marked his approach he now drew out a prodigious number of sheets of paper, which he proceeded to spread out on his knee, smoothing them lovingly.
“Mebbe I ain’t much on spellin’ an’ grammar an’ all that sort of thing,” he offered, “but there’s a heap of sense to be got out of the stuff I’ve wrote. Take this one, for instance. She’s a little oday to ‘Night,’ which I composed while the boys was poundin’ their ears one night–notbein’ affected in their feelin’s like I was. If you ain’t got no objections I’ll read her.” And then, not waiting to hear any objections, he began:
The stars are bright to-night;They surely are a sight,Sendin’ their flickerin’ lightFrom an awful, unknown height.Why do they shine so bright?I’m most o’ercome with fright—
The stars are bright to-night;They surely are a sight,Sendin’ their flickerin’ lightFrom an awful, unknown height.Why do they shine so bright?I’m most o’ercome with fright—
“Of course I reely wasn’t scared,” he offered with a deprecatory smile, “but there wasn’t any other word that I could think of just then an’ so I shoved her in. It rhymes anyhow an’ just about says what I wanted.”
He resumed:
When I look up into the night,An’ see their flickerin’ light.
When I look up into the night,An’ see their flickerin’ light.
He ceased and looked at Hollis with an abashed smile. “It don’t seem to sound so good when I’m readin’ her out loud,” he apologized. “An’ I’ve thought that mebbe I’ve worked that ‘night’ an’ ‘light’ rhyme over-time. But of course I’ve got ‘fright’ an’ ‘sight’ an’ ‘height’ in there to kind of off-set that.” He squirmedin his chair. “You take her an’ read her.” He passed the papers over to Hollis and rose from his chair. “I’ll be goin’ back to the outfit; Norton was sayin’ that he wanted me to look up some strays an’ I don’t want him to be waitin’ for me. But I’d like to have one of them pomes printed in theKicker–just to show the folks in this here country that there’s a real pote in their midst.”
“Why—” began Hollis, about to express his surprise over his guest’s sudden determination to depart. But he saw Nellie Hazelton standing just outside the door, and the cause of Ace’s projected departure was no longer a mystery. He had gone before Hollis could have finished his remonstrance, and was fast disappearing in a cloud of dust down the trail when Hollis turned slowly to see Nellie Hazelton smiling broadly.
“I just couldn’t resist coming out,” she said. “It rather startled me to discover that there was a real poet in the country.”
“There seems to be no doubt of it,” returned Hollis with a smile. But he immediately became serious. “Ace means well,” he added. “I imagine that it wasn’t entirely an ambition to rush into print that moved him to submit his poems; he wants to help fill up the paper.”
Miss Hazelton laughed. “I really think,” she said, looking after the departing poet, “that he might have been fibbing a little when he said that the ‘night’ had not ‘scared’ him. He ran from me,” she added, amusement shining in her eyes, “and I should not like to think that any woman could appear so forbidding and mysterious as the darkness.”
Hollis had been scanning one of the poems in his hand. He smiled whimsically at Miss Hazelton as she concluded.
“Here is Ace’s opinion on that subject,” he said. “Since you have doubted him I think it only fair that you should give him a hearing. Won’t you read it?”
She came forward and seated herself in the chair that the poet had vacated, taking the mass of paper that Hollis passed over to her.
“Shall I read it aloud?” she asked with a smile at him.
“I think you had better not,” he returned; “it might prove embarrassing.”
She blushed and gave her attention to the poem. It was entitled: “Woman,” and ran;
“Woman she dont need no tooter,be she skule mam or biscut shooter.she has most curyus ways about her,which leads a man to kinda dout her.Though lookin at her is shure a pleasurthere aint no way to get her measurei reckon she had man on the runa long while before the world begun.I met a biscut shooter in the chance saloonwhen i was blowin my coin in ratoonwhile the coin lasted i owned her an the townbut when it was gone she throwed me down.An so i say she dont need no tooterbe she skule mam or biscut shootershe fooled me an my hart she stolewhich has opened my eyes an hurt my sole.”
“Woman she dont need no tooter,be she skule mam or biscut shooter.she has most curyus ways about her,which leads a man to kinda dout her.Though lookin at her is shure a pleasurthere aint no way to get her measurei reckon she had man on the runa long while before the world begun.I met a biscut shooter in the chance saloonwhen i was blowin my coin in ratoonwhile the coin lasted i owned her an the townbut when it was gone she throwed me down.An so i say she dont need no tooterbe she skule mam or biscut shootershe fooled me an my hart she stolewhich has opened my eyes an hurt my sole.”
Miss Hazelton laid the manuscript in her lap and laughed heartily.
“What a harrowing experience!” she declared. Hollis was grinning at her.
“That was a bad thing to have happen to a man,” he observed; “I suppose it rather shattered Ace’s faith in woman. At least you could observe by his actions just a moment ago that he isn’t taking any more chances.”
She fixed him with a defiant eye. “But he still admits that he takes pleasure in looking at a woman!” she told him triumphantly.
“So he does. Still, that isn’t remarkable. You see, a man couldn’t help that–no matter how badly he had been treated.”
She had no reply to make to this, though shegave him a look that he could not mistake. But he laughed. “I think Ace’s effort ought to go into theKicker” he said. “I have no doubt that many who read the poem will find in it a great deal of truth–perhaps a reflection of their own personal experiences.”
Her face clouded and she regarded him a little soberly. “Of your own, perhaps?” she suggested.
“Not guilty,” he returned laughing. “You see, I have never had any time to devote to the study of women, let alone time to allow them to fool me. Perhaps when I do have time to study them I may find some truth in Ace’s effort.”
“Then women do not interest you?” She was looking down the Coyote trail.
“Well, no,” he said, thinking of the busy days of his past, and not being aware of the furtive, significant glance she threw toward him. “You see, there have always been so many important things to engage my attention.”
“How fortunate!” she said mockingly, after a pause during which he had time to realize that he had been very ungracious. He saw Ace’s manuscript flutter toward him, saw her rise and heard the screen door slam after her. During the remainder of the afternoon he was left alone on the porch to meditate upon the evils that arise from thoughtless speech.
Perhaps there were some persons in Union County who, acquainted with the details of the attack on Hollis, expected to read an account of it in theKicker. If there were any such they were disappointed. There was nothing about the attack printed in theKicker–nor did Hollis talk to any stranger concerning it.
Ace’s poem entitled “Woman” had gone into the paper, causing the poet–for many days following the appearance of his composition–to look upon his fellow punchers with a sort of condescending pity. On the second day after his discussion with Miss Hazelton over Ace’s poem Hollis returned to the Circle Bar. He had succeeded in convincing Nellie that he had answered thoughtlessly when he had informed her that he took no interest in women, and though she had defiantly assured him that she had not taken offense, there had been a light in her eyes upon his departure which revealed gratification over hisrepentance. She stood long on the porch after he had taken leave of her, watching him as he rode slowly down the trail and disappeared around a turn. Then she smiled regretfully, sighed, and went into the house.
Hollis’s return to the Circle Bar was unostentatious and quite in keeping with his method of doing things. Within the next few days he met several of the Circle Bar men and there were mutterings against Dunlavey, but Hollis discouraged action, assuring the mutterers that his differences with Dunlavey were entirely personal and that he intended carrying on the fight alone.
His wounds mended rapidly, and within two weeks–except for the broken wrist–he was well as ever. Meanwhile Potter had succeeded in getting theKickerout on time, though there had been a noticeable lack of aggressiveness in the articles. Especially was this true of the articles bearing upon the situation in Union County. Hollis had dictated some of these, but even those which he had dictated had seemed to lack something.
Nothing had been heard of Dunlavey–it seemed that after the attack upon Hollis he had withdrawn from the scene to await the latter’s next move.
But Hollis was in no hurry; he had lost some of the enthusiasm that had marked his attitude in the beginning, but this enthusiasm had been replaced by determination. He was beginning to realize that in Dunlavey he had met a foe worthy of his most serious efforts. He had determined that there would be no repetition of the attack upon him, and therefore during his convalescence he had sent to Las Vegas for a repeating rifle, and this he carried with him on his trips to and from Dry Bottom.
Meanwhile the drought continued. The sky was cloudless, the desultory breezes that swept the plains blighted growing things, raising little whirlwinds of fine, flinty alkali dust and spreading it over the face of the world. The storm that had caught Hollis on the Dry Bottom trail had covered only a comparatively small area; it had lasted only a brief time and after its passage the country was dry as before.
Rabbit-Ear Creek of all the streams in the vicinity of Dry Bottom held water. From all points of the compass cattle drifted to the Rabbit-Ear, slaking their thirst and refusing to leave. Bronzed riders on drooping ponies trailed them, cutting them out, trying to keep their herds intact, but not succeeding. Confusion reigned. For miles in both directions Rabbit-EarCreek became one huge, long watering trough. Temporary camps were made; chuck wagons rattled up to them, loaded with supplies for the cowboys, and rattled back to distant ranches for more. There had been other droughts, but this one was unexpected–unprecedented. There had always been a little water everywhere. Now Rabbit-Ear Creek held all there was.
Only the small cattle owners suffered because of the drought. Riders told of the presence of plenty of water in the Canadian, the Cimarron, and the Ute. Carrizo held some. In fact, nearly all the streams held by the large ranchers seemed to contain plenty. The smaller owners, whose herds were smaller and whose complement of punchers was necessarily limited, had apparently been selected by Providence for ruin.
There were mutterings against the large owners, against Providence. Particularly were there mutterings against Dunlavey when word came to the owners of the herds that if the drought was not broken within the next ten days the Circle Cross manager would drive all foreign cattle from the Rabbit-Ear. He would not allow his own herds to suffer to save theirs, he said.
On the night following the day upon which the small owners had received this word fromDunlavey a number of the former waited upon Hollis. They found him seated on the lower gallery of the ranchhouse talking to Norton and Potter. Lemuel Train, of the Pig-pen outfit, had been selected as their spokesman. He stood before Hollis, a big man, diffident in manner and rough in appearance, surrounded by his fellow ranchers, bronzed, bearded, serious of face. Though the sun had been down three hours the heat was frightful and the visitors shuffled their feet and uncomfortably wiped the perspiration from their brows.
“Sit down,” invited Hollis. He rose and stood while the men draped themselves on the edge of the gallery floor–all except the spokesman, Lemuel Train. The latter faced Hollis. His face was grim in the dusk.
“We’ve come to see what you’ve got to say about water,” he said.
Days before Norton had told Hollis that these men who were now herding at the Rabbit-Ear were the small ranchers who had refused to aid the elder Hollis in his fight against Dunlavey some years before. Therefore Hollis did not answer at once. When he did his voice was dry and cold. He too had heard of Dunlavey’s ultimatum concerning the water.
“Before I say anything on that subject Ishould like to know to whom I am talking,” he said.
Train swept a ponderous hand toward his fellow visitors, pointing them out in turn. “There’s Truxton, of the Diamond Dot; Holcomb, of the Star; Henningson, of the Three Bar; Yeager, of the Three Diamond; an’ Clark, of the Circle Y.”
“Correct,” affirmed Norton, behind Hollis.
Hollis smiled grimly; he had caught a belligerent note in Norton’s voice. Plainly, if the range boss were allowed a voice in the matter, these visitors would have now received as little encouragement as they had received from Dunlavey. But Hollis’s smile showed that he held different views.
“I am Kent Hollis,” he said to the men; “I suppose you know that.”
“I reckon we know you,” said Train; “you’re Jim Hollis’s boy.”
“Then you know that Dunlavey and my father were not exactly bosom friends,” returned Hollis.
Several heads bobbed affirmatively; others sat grimly silent. Hollis smiled.
“How many of you offered to help my father when he came to you asking for assistance in his fight against Dunlavey?”
Train fidgeted. “I reckon they wasn’t much chance—” he began, and then hesitated, looking around at his fellows.
“Of course,” returned Hollis quietly, after an embarrassed pause, “there wasn’t much chance for you to win then. And you had to take a big risk to help my father. But he had to take a bigger risk to fight alone. Still he fought. And he fought alone. He was almost ruined. And now you men are facing ruin. And you have come to Jim Hollis’s son to help you. Do you think he ought?”
The men sat silent; the spokesman was without words.
“How many men can the six of you muster–in case Dunlavey should try to carry out his decision to drive your cattle from the Rabbit-Ear–or shoot them?”
“Eighteen, I reckon,” returned Train, looking at the others, who nodded affirmatively to his question.
Hollis turned to Norton. “How many men does Dunlavey employ?” he questioned.
“Thirty,” snapped Norton. “But in case he needed them he c’n get a hundred.”
“Big odds,” smiled Hollis. “Why should I volunteer to help you fight Dunlavey? My cattle are certain of getting enough water. Whyshould I not be selfish, as you men were when my father went to you for assistance?”
There was no answer. The faces that surrounded Hollis in the semi-darkness showed plainly that their owners had given up thoughts of assistance. Grim, hard lines came into them; two or three sneered. Of course they would fight Dunlavey; there was no alternative, for they could not stand idly by and see their cattle slain–Dunlavey could not drive them from water, they would have to be shot. They had reckoned on securing help from Hollis; he held one side of the Rabbit-Ear and with his support they were in a position to make things very unpleasant for any of Dunlavey’s men who might, from the opposite side of the river, attempt to shoot their cattle. But with Hollis against them they would be powerless; with Hollis against them Dunlavey’s men could swarm both sides of the river and the destruction of their cattle would be certain.
All of the men knew this. Yet they did not answer Hollis’s question. They had not come to plead with him; they knew that the situation had narrowed down to a point where they could depend only on their own resources. They would not plead, yet as they silently started to file off the gallery there were bitter smiles onseveral of their faces. There were no threats; perhaps Hollis had succeeded in showing them the similarity between his conduct and their own in the long ago, when his father had gone to them for assistance. At least this was what he had tried to show them.
Lemuel Train was the last man down the gallery. He turned as he reached the ground and looked back over his shoulder at Hollis.
“So-long,” he said shortly. “I reckon you’re even now.”
Hollis had not moved. “Wait, Train!” he said. The visitors halted and faced him.
“Men,” he said quietly, “you have not answered my question. I am going to repeat it: Why should I not be selfish, as you men were when my father went to you for assistance?”
Lemuel Train smiled ironically. “Why, I reckon it’s your trick, mister man,” he said; “you’ve got all the cards.”
“Come back here, men,” said Hollis. “Since none of you care to answer my question I will answer it myself.” He stood silent while the men filed back and resumed seats on the gallery edge. Darkness had come on while he had been talking to the men and inside the ranchhouse Mrs. Norton had lighted the kerosene lamp and its weak, flickering rays straggled out into thedarkness and upon Hollis’s face and the faces of several of the men who sat on the edge of the gallery.
Hollis knew that he might readily become melodramatic in the few words that he purposed to say to the men, and so when he began talking he adopted a low, even tone, confidential, serious. He told them that the things he had written in his salutatory in theKicker, months before, had been an honest declaration of the principles in which he believed. This was America, he repeated; they were all Americans; they were all entitled to that freedom of thought, speech, and movement for which their forefathers had fought. For one, he purposed to fight, if necessary, to retain his rights.
He told them that he held no ill-feeling against them on account of their refusal to assist his father. That was past history. But now they were to look into the future; they were all facing ruin if they did not combine in a common cause. So far as he was concerned their cattle might remain at the Rabbit-Ear until the drought ended, or until the stream went dry. And if Dunlavey fought them–well, he would be with them to the finish.
When he had concluded Lemuel Train stepped forward and shook his hand. The others followed.There was no word spoken. The men filed down from the gallery, sought their horses, mounted, and rode slowly away into the darkness. When they had gone Hollis turned to resume his chair, but found Norton standing near him, looking at him with a curious smile.
“Shake!” said the latter. “I knowed you’d do it that way!”
Hollis alone, of all the men whose cattle grazed on the Circle Bar side of the Rabbit-Ear, really doubted that Dunlavey would have the courage to inaugurate a war against the small owners. Lemuel Train was particularly strong in his belief that Dunlavey would not hesitate to shoot whatever cattle infringed on what he considered were his rights. “I know the skunk!” he declared heatedly to Hollis a day or two after the conversation on the porch at the Circle Bar. “He’ll do it. I’m only scared that he won’t wait till the tenth day before beginnin’. Why in hell don’t it rain?”
This remained the great, universal interrogation. But at the end of a week it was unanswered. The sun swam in its endless circles, a great ball of molten silver at which no man could look with the naked eye, traveling its slow way through a blurred, white sky, sinking to the horizon in the evening and leaving a scorched, blasted,gasping country behind. The nights brought no relief. Clark, of the Circle Y, sarcastically declared it to be his belief that some meddler in things firmamental was paying the owner of the sun to work it overtime.
Hollis’s daily twenty mile ride from the Circle Bar to Dry Bottom and return became a trial to him. At night, when he returned from the trip, hot, dry, dusty, he would draw a chair out on the gallery floor and scan the sky for signs of rain. To his recollection since his adventure on the night of the storm there had not been a cloud in the sky. On the trails the dust was inches deep and light as a feather. It rose in stifling whirlwinds, filling the nostrils and the lungs, parching the tongues of man and beast and accentuating the suffering caused by lack of water.
All the pleasure had been drawn from Hollis’s rides because of the dryness and heat. On a morning a week following the day upon which Dunlavey had issued his warning to the cattle owners, Hollis made his usual trip to Dry Bottom. Norton accompanied him, intending to make some purchases in town. They rode the ten miles without incident and Hollis left Norton at the door of theKickeroffice, after telling the range boss to come back to the office when he hadmade his purchases as he intended returning to the Circle Bar before noon. Hollis found Potter inside. The latter had remained in Dry Bottom over night and was busy at a type case when his chief entered. Hollis did not remain long in the office. He looked over some letters that Potter had placed on his desk, placed one in a pocket and rose, telling Potter that he would be back and instructing him to tell Norton to await his coming should the latter return before him. Then he went down to the court house.
He found the door of Judge Graney’s court room slightly ajar and without knocking he pushed it open and entered. On the threshold he halted and drew a deep breath. Judge Graney was seated at the big table, and directly opposite him, leaning heavily on his elbows, his face inflamed with anger, sat Dunlavey. Near a window at the side of the room stood a grave faced man of medium height, slender and muscular, who was watching the Judge and Dunlavey soberly.
At Hollis’s sudden appearance the Judge looked up and smiled, while Dunlavey faced around, a derisive, mocking grin on his face. Hollis bore no marks of the recent attack beyond the left wrist, still in splints.
“Come in,” invited Judge Graney, his smilegrowing, his eyes glinting oddly. “I think, since you are responsible for the startling innovation which we have been discussing, that you are entitled to a word.”
He gravely waved Hollis to a chair and stood silent while the latter sank into it. Then he smiled, glancing furtively at Dunlavey and addressing Hollis.
“Perhaps you will remember that some time ago you printed an article in theKickerurging upon the Government the necessity of bringing the law into Union County?”
Hollis nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly; “I remember.”
“Well,” resumed the Judge, “the article has borne fruit. But perhaps not in the manner you expected.” He laughed around at the three, deliberately closing an eye at Hollis. “You know,” he resumed, addressing them all, his eyes twinkling as his gaze met Dunlavey’s, “that the law is an expensive institution. It is a fundamental principle–at least of some governments,” he smiled–“that a community that desires the law must pay, and pay dearly–for it. In short, if it wants the law it must pay taxes. I do not say that that is a principle which our government is applying, but I do say that it is an eminently fair proposition.
“At all events I have received word from the Interior Department that if we want the law to come out here we must pay for it. That is not said in so many words, but that is the inference, if we are to consider the instructions of the Secretary of the Interior–which are: ‘I am informed that several large ranch owners in Union County are inclined to evade taxation. Especially is this true–I am told–of a man named Dunlavey, who, if the report is correct, paid, during the last half year, taxes on five hundred head of cattle, whereas it is claimed that his holdings will amount to about five thousand, yearly average. In view of this ridiculously low return it seems incumbent upon me to appoint an inquisitor, whose duty—”
Dunlavey laughed harshly, interrupting the Judge. Then he turned suddenly to Hollis, his face inflamed with passion.
“I reckon this is some of your work?” he snarled.
Hollis met his gaze steadily. “I imagine it is,” he said quietly. He could not keep a flash of triumph from his eyes. “Nothing could please me better than to discover that I had a hand in bringing the law to this country. It needs plenty of law.”
Judge Graney cleared his throat. “Thisdoes not apply to you alone, Dunlavey,” he said, facing the latter. “Letters have been sent to every cattleman in Union County, demanding their appearance before me. The government is determined to re-adjust conditions out here–to enforce this new law to the letter. Beginning on the first of next month,–September–which will be the day after to-morrow, every cattle owner in the county will be required to register his brand and return a list of his cattle, for taxation. Any owner refusing to make a fair return on his stock will make a grave mistake. Upon his failure to make such return the government will seize his stock and dispose of it to the highest bidder, deducting such an amount as will cover taxes, court costs, and fines, and returning the remainder, if any, to the owner.” Judge Graney faced Hollis. “I suppose you have received your notification to that effect?” he inquired.
“I haven’t paid much attention to my mail since–since I met Mr. Dunlavey and several of his friends one night–some weeks ago.” He smiled grimly at Dunlavey, who met his gaze with a derisive grin. “I haven’t been very much interested in anything except getting well,” continued Hollis. “But whether I have been notified or not I shall take pleasure in complyingwith the law. I shall have my list ready on time–likewise I shall register my brand.”
Dunlavey sneered. “That won’t be such an almighty big job–counting your steers,” he said.
Hollis laughed shortly. “Perhaps not as big a job as it would have been had conditions been different,” he observed dryly.
“Meaning?” snapped Dunlavey, stiffening in his chair.
“You may draw your own inference,” drawled Hollis.
For an instant it seemed that Dunlavey contemplated attacking Hollis; he placed both hands on the table before him, preparatory to rising, evidently thought better of the idea and sank into the chair again, his eyes flashing venomously as they met Hollis’s.
“This country’s going plum to hell!” he sneered; “when tenderfeet and half-baked lawyers get to running things it will be time for the cattlemen to pull up stakes and hit the breeze! But I’m telling you one thing!” He banged his fist heavily down upon the table in front of him and scowled at the Judge, his voice vibrating with passion: “You let your damned tenderfoot owners bring in their lists. Mebbe they don’t know any better. But I ain’t bringin’ in no list.It’s one thing to pass a law and another thing to enforce it!” He sat silent for an instant, glaring at the Judge, who smiled quietly at him, then he turned to Hollis.
“You’ve been carrying on like you was intending to own this here country some day,” he sneered; “with your damned newspaper and your lawyer friend here. What we handed you the other night was just a sample of what you’ll get if you don’t hit the breeze out of this country!” He got to his feet and stood beside the table, glaring around at the three men.
For a moment neither of the three spoke. There was a saturnine, almost mocking, smile on the face of the man who stood at the window. In his expression one could discover much appreciation of the character of the man at whom he was looking–it revealed the fact that he had met such men before–and admired them little. There was no fear in the expression, yet had one of the other men taken the trouble to look at him they would have seen that his right hand was now lingering very close to the butt of the revolver at his hip.
Judge Graney cleared his throat. The smile was still on his face, but a sudden brightness of the eyes and a flush in each cheek showed that Dunlavey’s defiance had affected him. Both heand the man at the window watched closely as Hollis got to his feet and approached Dunlavey.
Hollis’s face was slightly pale, but there was a steady, unwavering gleam in his eyes as he walked to within five feet of Dunlavey and stood quietly beside the table looking at him.
“Dunlavey,” he began slowly, in a soft, even voice, in which there was not a hint of excitement, “I haven’t anything to do with enforcing the law that seems to have come to Union County. You can defy the law if you please. But I have something to say in reply to what you have said to me. It is this: I haven’t any ambition to own the entire country–such talk from a grown man is childish. But I do intend to own the little I’ve got in spite of you or anyone else. I am not in the least afraid of you. I owe you something on account of the other night and some day I am going to thrash you within an inch of your life!”
Dunlavey’s hand fell suggestively to his side. “There’s no time like the present,” he sneered.
“Of course I know that you carry a gun,” said Hollis still evenly, without excitement; “most of you folks out here don’t seem to be able to get along without one–it seems to be the fashion. Also, I might add, every man that carries one seems to yearn to use it. But it hasalways seemed to me that a man who will use a gun without great provocation is a coward!” He smiled grimly into Dunlavey’s face.
For an instant Dunlavey did not move. His eyes glittered malevolently as they bored into Hollis’s. Then his expression changed until it was a mingling of contempt, incredulity, and mockery.
“So you’re thinking of thrashing me?” he sniffed, backing away a little and eyeing Hollis critically. “You slugged me once and you’re thinking to do it again. And you think that any man who uses a gun on another is a coward?” He laughed sardonically. “Well, all I’ve got to say to you is that you ain’t got your eye-teeth cut yet.” He deliberately turned his back on Hollis and the others and walked to the door. On the threshold he halted, looking back at them all with a sneering smile.
“You know where I live,” he said to Judge Graney. “I ain’t bringing in no list nor I ain’t registering my brand. I don’t allow no man to come monkeying around on my range and if you come out there, thinking to run off any of my stock, you’re doing it at your own risk!” His gaze went from the Judge to Hollis and his smile grew malignant.
“I’m saying this to you,” he said, “no manain’t ever thrashed Bill Dunlavey yet and I ain’t allowing that any man is ever going to. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!”
He slammed the door and was gone. Hollis turned from the door to see a dry smile on the face of the man at the window.
“Fire eater, ain’t he?” observed the latter, as he caught Hollis’s glance.
Hollis smiled. The Judge got to his feet and approached the two men.
“Hollis,” he said, “shake hands with Mr. Allen, of Lazette.”
Allen’s hand came out quickly and was grasped by Hollis’s, both grips being hearty and warm.
“My name’s Ben Allen,” explained the stranger with a smile. “Tacking on a handle like ‘Mister’ would sure make me feel like a stranger to myself.”
“We’ll not quarrel about that,” remarked the Judge with a smile; “we’ll call you Ben.” He looked soberly at Hollis, continuing:
“Allen has been sent over here from Lazette to assist us in establishing the law. He was formerly sheriff of Colfax County, having been defeated by the Cattlemen’s Association because he refused to become a party to its schemes. On several occasions since severing his official connection with Colfax County he has acted in aspecial capacity for the government. He is an old acquaintance of the new Secretary of the Interior and much trusted by him. He is to be the inquisitor mentioned in the letter which I read in the presence of Dunlavey.”
Hollis looked at Allen with a new interest. After noting again the steady, serene eyes, narrowed always with a slight squint; the firm straight lips, the well set jaws, Hollis mentally decided that the Secretary of the Interior could not have made a better choice. Certainly, if he had served as sheriff of Colfax County, he had had some excellent experiences, for from reading theLazette Eagle, Hollis had acquired considerable knowledge of the character of the inhabitants of Colfax. The editor of theEaglehad many times felicitated himself upon the fact that his town (Lazette) had not been built ten miles farther east–in which case he would have been a resident of Union–and ashamed of it.
“I think we need you,” said Hollis simply. “But I imagine you will have to concentrate your efforts upon one ranch only–the Circle Cross. If you make Dunlavey bow to the law you may consider your work finished.”
“I think Dunlavey will change his views of things shortly,” remarked Allen, quietly, but significantly. He smiled at Hollis. “I have readyour paper regularly,” he said. “You’ve got the editor of our paper hopping mad–with your claims about Dry Bottom being superior to Lazette. Also, you’ve stirred up the Secretary of the Interior some. I was called to Washington three weeks ago and invited to tell what I knew of conditions out here. I didn’t exaggerate when I told the Secretary that hell was a more peaceful place for a law loving man to live in. Though,” he added with a smile, “I wasn’t ever in hell and couldn’t be positive. I was just accepting what I’ve heard preachers say about it. The Secretary asked me if I knowed you and I told him that though I didn’t I would be right glad to if you was doing anything in my line. He laughed and said he’d miss his guess if you wasn’t making things interesting. Told me to get you to one side and tell you to go to it.” He smiled dryly. “According to what I’ve read in theKickeryou don’t need to be told that and so I’m keeping my mouth shut.”
He dropped his humor and spoke seriously, questioning Hollis about the location of his ranch, listening quietly and attentively to the latter’s answers. Half an hour later after having arranged with Judge Graney for the registering of his brand and the listing of his cattle, Hollis left the court house and went to his office. In runningthrough his mail he came upon Judge Graney’s notification and also another letter, postmarked “Chicago,” which drew a pleased smile to his face. A few minutes later Norton came in, and though Hollis had done very little on the paper he rose and smilingly announced his intention of returning to the Circle Bar.
“We’ll take the Coyote trail,” he informed Norton, after they had mounted and were riding away from theKickeroffice; “I’m stopping for a moment at the Hazelton cabin. Of course,” he added, seeing a knowing grin on Norton’s face, “I expected you would be suspicious–married folks have a habit of adopting a supercilious and all-wise attitude toward those of us who have been unfortunate enough to remain in a state of single blessedness.”
“Meanin’ that you’re some sore because you ain’t got hooked up yet?” grinned Norton.
“Perhaps,” laughed Hollis. “But I have been thinking seriously of trying to reach your altitude.”
“Girl willin’?” queried Norton, as they rode down through a little gully, then up to a stretch of plain that brought them to the Coyote trail.
“That’s where I am all at sea,” returned Hollis. He laughed. “I suppose you’ve read Ace’s poem in the Kicker?” He caught Norton’snod and continued. “Well, Ace succeeded in crowding a whole lot of truth into that effort. Of course you remember the first couplet: