“I don’t reckon that you’re goin’ to have a hand in runnin’ this show a-tall, Bill,” he sneered. “Me an’ my friends come down here special to tend to that.” He grinned the shallow, hard grin that marks the passing of a friendship and the dawn of a bitter hatred. “You see, Bill, me an’ my friends has got sorta tired of the way you’ve been runnin’ things an’ we’re shufflin’ the cards for a new deal. This here tenderfoot which you’ve been a-slanderin’ shameful is man’s size an’ we’re seein’ that he gits a fair shake in this here. I reckon you git me?”
Hollis felt Norton poking him in the ribs, but he did not turn; he was too intent upon watching the two principal actors in the scene. Tragedy had been imminent; comedy was slowly gaining the ascendency. For at the expression that had come over Dunlavey’s face several of the men were grinning broadly. Were the stakes not so great Hollis would have felt like smiling himself. Dunlavey seemed stunned. He stood erect, passing his hand over his forehead as though half convinced that the scene were an illusion and that the movement of the hand would dispel it. Severaltimes his lips moved, but no words came and he turned, looking about at the men who were gathered around him, scanning their faces for signs that would tell him that they were not in sympathy with Ten Spot. But the faces that he looked upon wore mocking grins and sneers.
“An’ I’ve been tellin’ the boys how you set Yuma on Nellie Hazelton, an’ they’ve come to the conclusion that a guy which will play a low down mean game like that on a woman ain’t no fit guy to have no hand in any law makin’.”
Ten Spot’s voice fell coldly and metallically in the silence of the room. Slowly recovering from the shock Dunlavey attempted a sneer, which gradually faded into a mirthless smile as Ten Spot continued:
“An’ you ain’t goin’ to have a hand in any more law-makin’ in this man’s town. Me an’ my friends is goin’ to see to that, an’ my boss, Mr. Hollis. I reckon that’ll be about all. You don’t need to hang around here while we do the rest of the votin’. Watkins an’ Greasy c’n stay to see that everything goes on regular.” He grinned wickedly as Dunlavey stiffened. “I reckon you know me, Bill. I ain’t palaverin’ none. You an’ Ten Spot is quits!”
He stepped back a little, away from the table, his teeth showing in a mocking grin. Then helooked down at the hat which he still held in his hand–Dunlavey’s hat. He laughed. “Why, I’m cert’nly impolite!” he said insinuatingly. “Here you’ve been wantin’ to go an’ I’ve been keepin’ your hat!” He dumped the ballots upon the table and passed the hat to Dunlavey. Without a word Dunlavey took it, jerking it savagely, placed it on his head, and strode to the door, stepping down into the street.
There was a short silence. Then Ten Spot turned and looked at Hollis, his face wreathed in a broad grin.
“I reckon you-all think you know somethin’ about handlin’ the law,” he said, “but your little Ten Spot ain’t exactly the measliest card in the deck! We’ll do our votin’ now.”
A quarter of an hour later, after Ten Spot and his friends had cast their ballots and Watkins had been forced to make out a certificate of nomination,–which reposed safely in Ben Allen’s inside pocket–the kerosene lights were extinguished and the men filed out. Hollis and Ten Spot were the last to leave. As they stood for a moment on the threshold of the doorway Hollis seized Ten Spot’s hand and gripped it heartily.
“I want to thank you, my friend,” he said earnestly.
Ten Spot jerked his hand away. “Aw, hell!” he said as they sought the darkness of the street, “I ain’t mushin’ none. But,” he added, as a concession to his feelings, “I reckon to know a white man when I see one!”
It was Sunday afternoon and a hazy, golden, late September sun was swimming lazily in the blue arc of sky, flooding the lower gallery of the Circle Bar ranchhouse, but not reaching a secluded nook in which sat Hollis and Nellie Hazelton. Mrs. Norton was somewhere in the house and Norton had gone down to the bunkhouse for a talk with the men–Hollis and Nellie could see him, sitting on a bench in the shade of the eaves, the other men gathered about him.
Below the broad level that stretched away from the ranchhouse sank the big basin, sweeping away to the mountains. Miles into the distance the Circle Bar cattle could be seen–moving dots in the center of a great, green bowl. To the right Razor-Back ridge loomed its bald crest upward with no verdure saving the fringe of shrubbery at its base; to the left stretched a vast plain that met the distant horizon that stretched aninterminable distance behind the cottonwood. Except for the moving dots there was a total absence of life and movement in the big basin. It spread in its wide, gradual, downward slope, bathed in the yellow sunshine of the new, mellow season, peacefully slumberous, infinitely beautiful.
Many times had Hollis sat in the gallery watching it, his eyes glistening, his soul stirred to awe. Long since had he ceased regretting the glittering tinsel of the cities of his recollection; they seemed artificial, unreal. When he had first gazed out over the basin he had been oppressed with a sensation of uneasiness. Its vastness had appalled him, its silence had aroused in him that vague disquiet which is akin to fear. But these emotions had passed. He still felt awed–he would always feel it, for it seemed that here he was looking upon a section of the world in its primitive state; that in forming this world the creator had been in his noblest mood–so far did the lofty mountains, the wide, sweeping valleys, the towering buttes, and the mighty canyons dwarf the flat hills and the puny shallows of the land he had known. But he was no longer appalled; disquietude had been superseded by love.
It all seemed to hold some mystery for him–analluring, soul-stirring mystery. The tawny mountains, immutable guardians of the basin, whose peaks rose somberly in the twilight glow–did they hold it? Or was it hidden in the basin, in the great, green sweep that basked in the eternal sunlight?
Perhaps there was no mystery. Perhaps he felt merely the romance that would inevitably come to one who deeply appreciated the beauty of a land into which he had come so unwillingly? For romance was here.
He turned his head slightly and looked at the girl who sat beside him. She also was looking out over the basin, her eyes filled with a light that thrilled him. He studied her face long, noting the regular features, the slight tan, through which shone the dusky bloom of perfect health; the golden brown hair, with the wind-blown wisps straggling over her temples; he felt the unaccountable, indefinable something that told him of her inborn innocence and purity–qualities that he had worshiped ever since he had been old enough to know the difference between right and wrong.
A deep respect moved him, a reverent smile wreathed his lips. Motherly? Yes, that world-thrilling word aptly described her. And as he continued to look at her he realized that thisworld held no mystery for him beyond that which was enthroned in the heart of the girl who sat beside him, unconscious of his thoughts.
He turned again toward the basin. He did not want to uncover the mystery–yet. There were still several things to be done before he would feel free to speak the words that he had meditated upon for some weeks. Meanwhile–if the gods were with him–the solving of the mystery would be the more enjoyable.
Two weeks of inaction had followed the primary incident. Several of Ten Spot’s friends were now in his employ; in spite of the drought the Circle Bar had so far experienced a very prosperous season, and, though the addition of the men represented quite an item of expense, he felt that it was much better to employ them than to allow them to be re-engaged by Dunlavey.
He had been able to save considerable money. This he had transferred to a bank in Santa Fe, for he had determined to stay in the West. He had told his mother of this decision and had asked her to come, but she had written that she preferred to remain East for a time–at least until the following spring.
Hollis was satisfied. Affairs were progressing beyond his anticipations. Dunlavey’s influencein the county had received a mighty blow in the defeat of Watkins at the primary; he had received notice of the enactment of several new laws that would appreciably assist him in his fight; he had succeeded in winning many friends because of his attitude on the water question; the increased number of advertisements appearing in theKickerwould soon necessitate the addition of an extra sheet. It all presaged prosperity. Yes, he was satisfied. And yet–
He turned again and looked at the girl. This time he caught her watching him. Evidently she had been watching him for a long time for her gaze was fixed and meditative, as though she had been studying him. She started and blushed when he turned and caught her, looking down in sudden and complete confusion. But she looked up again instantly, meeting his gaze steadily, her lips in a frank smile.
“You have been thinking of this country,” she said.
“You have guessed it,” he returned gravely and gently; “I have been thinking of this country–and its people.” He smiled at her, his eyes shining with a light that caused hers to waver and droop. “But how did you discover that?” he questioned. “I was not aware that I had been speaking my thoughts.”
“Do you think it is always necessary to speak?” she answered, looking at him with a quiet smile. “Don’t you think there are times when one’s thoughts find expression in one’s eyes? When we can not conceal them–no matter how hard we try? I know that you were thinking of the country,” she went on earnestly, “because a few moments ago I had been thinking of it too and I know that my emotions were exactly the same as those expressed in your eyes. It is magnificent, isn’t it?” she said in an awed, eager voice. “It is so big, so mighty, so soul-stirring. It allures with its vastness, it dazzles with its beauty; it makes one feel closer to the Creator, even while pressing home a disquieting sense of one’s own insignificance.
“For instance,” she went on, her eyes large and luminous, a new, quiet color coming into her face “there are times when our tasks seem stupendous, when we are filled with an overpowering consciousness of the importance of them; when we feel that we are carrying such a burden that the addition of another would make the load too heavy. Then we look upon God’s work and immediately a still, small voice within us cries: ‘What have ye done in comparison to this?’ And what have we done?” she suddenly demanded.
“Nothing,” he returned gravely, awed by this fleeting illuminating glimpse into her soul.
She leaned back into her chair with a smile. “Those were the things I was thinking about. And you, too, were thinking of them,” she added. “Now, don’t deny it!” she warned, “for I saw it in your eyes!”
“No!” he said with a quick smile; “I don’t deny it. But I was thinking of the people also.”
“Oh, the people!” she said with a frown.
“Perhaps I should have said ‘person,’” he modified with a quick glance at her, under which her eyes drooped in swift confusion–as they had drooped on another occasion which he remembered.
“Oh!” she said merely.
“I have been comparing this person to God’s other works,” he said, a light in his eyes which told that the former decision to postpone an attempt to uncover the mystery had been ruthlessly put aside, “and I have come to the conclusion that in spite of the infinite care he took in forming the beautiful world out yonder he did not neglect this person to whom I refer.”
Her eyes met his in a glance of swift comprehension. She drew a slow, deep breath and averted her face, which was now crimson.
“As you have been able to illustrate man’sinsignificance in comparison to God’s mighty creations, so has my own inferiority been forced upon me by my attempting to compare myself to the sweet character of the person of whom I speak,” said Hollis, his voice low and earnest. “It has been a question whether–when I speak to her of a thing which has been on my mind for many days–she could not with justice paraphrase the question asked by the still, small voice and say: What have you done to deserve this? And I should have to reply–nothing.” He had moved closer to her, leaning forward to look into her eyes.
She sat very still, her gaze on the basin. “Perhaps this very estimable person holds other views?” she returned, with a flash of mischief in her eyes. She turned suddenly and looked straight at him, meeting his gaze unwaveringly, a demure smile on her face. “I told you that sometimes a person’s thoughts were expressed in their eyes,” she said–and now her lashes flickered–“perhaps you can tell what my thoughts are?”
It was a challenge, a defiance, and an unconditional surrender. Like a flash one of Hollis’s arms went out–she was drawn, vainly protesting, toward him.
“You haven’t answered,” she laughed, in asmothered voice; “you are not certain—”
She did not finish the sentence. Mrs. Norton, coming to the door for a breath of fresh air, halted on the threshold, looked, smiled, and then quietly–very quietly–slipped back into the house.
Away out over the basin a Mexican eagle circled, winging his slow way through the golden sunshine of the afternoon. Miles away the mountain peaks rose somberly, a mysterious, golden halo rising slowly above them. Perhaps there would always be mystery in the mountains, but a certain mystery that had troubled Hollis mightily had been successfully solved. The gods had favored him.
“This here town,”–read a letter that Hollis received from Weary late in September–“aint fit for no man to live in which thinks anythink of hisself, in the first place theres two many folks here which dont seem to know what to do with themselves they just keep millin around an actin like they was ready to stampead any time. In the 2nd place im runnin shy of dust an id admire for to receave about a months pay which i wont charge two you bein as ive already spent more then i ought two its a good thing i got a return ticket or id be in a hell of a fix when i got ready to come back last nite the doctor at the hospittle said hed operate on ed today which hes already done this mornin an eds restin easy though the doc dont know whether hes goin to git well or not but hes hopin an ile let you know by telegraph if he gits any worse which is all for this time.
P. S. say boss dont forgit to hustel that coinile shure make it right with you i forgot to tell you that i got cleaned out by a card sharper here i would have tore him apart but about a million sheriffs piled onto me an i dident have no chancst what in hell does any town need with so many sheriffs.
“Weary.
“P. S. id like to be home for the round-up but reckon i wont make it.
“Weary.”
Nellie Hazelton did not see this letter, though Hollis told her that Ed had been operated on and that he was doing as well as could be expected. And the telegraph that night flashed Weary’s “coin” to him.
The days passed all too quickly now, for the time for the fall round-up was at hand and Hollis realized with regret that his daily rides–with Nellie Hazelton as a companion–must soon be discontinued.
The nights had already grown cool; snow had appeared on the mountain peaks; the basin was no longer a great green bowl, but resembled a mammoth, concave palette upon which nature had mixed her colors–yellow and gold and brown, with here and there a blotch of red and purple, a dash of green,–lingering over the season–and great, wide stretches of gray. Thebarren spots seemed to grow more barren–mocked by the scarlet blossoms of the cactus that seemed to be everlasting, and the fringing, yellow soap weed, hardy, defying the advancing winter. Razor-Back ridge was a desolate place. Never attractive, it reared aloft barren and somber, frowning down upon its fringe of shrubbery the latter stripped of its leaves, its scant beauty gone and bending its bare branches stubbornly to the early winds.
With the last day of the month came a rain–a cold, bitter, driving storm that raged for three days and started a drift that the cattlemen could not stop. Arrayed in tarpaulins the cowboys went forth, suffering, cursing, laboring heroically to stem the tide. The cattle retreated steadily before the storm–no human agency could halt them. On the second day Norton came into the Circle Bar ranchhouse, wet, disgusted, but fighting mad.
“If this damn rain don’t stop pretty soon,” he told Hollis as he dried himself before the open fireplace, “we’ll have cattle down here from over the Colorado line. An’ then there’ll be hell to pay!”
But on the third day the rain ceased and the sun came out. The country lay smiling in the sunshine, mellow, glistening, inviting. But thedamage had been wrought. From Lemuel Train of the Pig Pen outfit, came word that fifty per cent of his cattle were missing. Truxton of the Diamond Dot, Henningson of the Three Bar, and nearly all of the other small owners, reported losses. Of course the cattle would be recovered during the fall round up, but they were now scattered and fair prey for cattle thieves, and with the round up still two weeks away it seemed that many must be stolen.
Yet there was nothing that could be done; it is folly to attempt to “cut out” cattle on the open range.
From the editorial columns of theKickermight be gleaned the fact that the Law had come into Union County. Many men of Dry Bottom entered theKickeroffice to thank Hollis; others boldly draped their houses with flags and bunting.
Dunlavey had visited Dry Bottom twice since the incident of the primary. He had said nothing concerning the incident to anyone save possibly his intimates, but from the sneer that appeared on his face when approached by those whom he considered friendly to Hollis it was plain that he intended continuing the fight.
Hollis had been compelled to record in theKickerthe unpleasant news that Dunlavey hadrefused to comply with the new law regulating brands and the submitting of lists for taxation, and also that he had threatened to shoot the first officer trespassed on his land. Dunlavey had not complied with the law, but he had failed to carry out his threat to “shoot the first officer that trespassed on his land,” for Allen had trespassed several times, openly and boldly. Moreover, Dunlavey had seen him, had even spoken to him, but had offered no violence.
Perhaps in a calmer mood Dunlavey had decided not to use his weapon; perhaps there was something about the quiet, cool, and deliberate Allen which convinced Dunlavey that the former might be able to give a good account of himself in the event of trouble. At any rate several times Allen had ridden the Circle Cross range unmolested by either Dunlavey or his men. He explored the farthest limits of the Circle Cross property, tallying the cattle, nosing around the corrals, examining brands, and doing sundry other things not calculated to allay Dunlavey’s anger over this new and odd condition of affairs.
Then one day he failed to visit the Circle Cross. Instead, he appeared to Potter in the office of theKickerwith copy for a poster announcing the sale by auction of a thousand of Dunlavey’s best cattle. He ordered Potter to print it so that hemight post copies throughout the county within a week. The night following the issue of theKickercontaining the announcement concerning the coming of the law Potter had informed Hollis that he had that day delivered the notices to Allen.
Hollis had demonstrated the fact that a majority of Dry Bottom’s citizens welcomed the law. Dry Bottom had had a law, to be sure–the law of the six-shooter, with the cleverest man “on the trigger” as its chief advocate. Few men cared to appear before such a court with an argument against its jurisdiction. The law, as the citizens of Dry Bottom had seen it, was an institution which frowned upon such argument. Few men cared to risk an adverse decision of the established court to advocate laws which would come from civilized authority; they had remained silent against the day when it would come in spite of the element that had scoffed at it. And now that day had arrived. The Law had come.
Even the evil element knew it. The atmosphere was vibrant with suppressed excitement; in the stores men and women were congregated; in the saloons rose a buzz of continuous conversation.On the street men greeted one another with subdued voices, or halted one another to discuss the phenomenon. In a dozen conspicuous places were posted flaring, printed notices, informing the reader that a thousand of the Circle Cross cattle–a description of which followed–were, on the following day, to be sold to the highest bidder. Below this announcement, in small, neat print, was quoted the Law.
Dry Bottom gasped. The saloons swarmed. In the Fashion two bartenders and the proprietor labored heroically to supply their customers with the liquid stimulant which would nerve them to look upon Ben Allen’s posters with a certain degree of equanimity. The reckless element–the gun-men who in a former day were wont to swagger forth with reckless disregard for the polite conventions–skulked in the background, sneering at this thing which had come to rob them of their power and which, they felt, presaged their ultimate downfall.
But Dry Bottom ignored the gun-men, or smiled blandly at them, giving its attention to Ben Allen’s posters and discussing a rumor which had gained rapid credence, to the effect that the new governor had telegraphed Allen that he would hold a detail of United States soldiers in readiness for any contingency.
The good citizens smiled. And throughout the day many of them passed and repassed theKickeroffice, anxious to get a glimpse of the man who had been instrumental in bringing about this innovation.
Shortly after noon on the same day Dunlavey rode into Dry Bottom, dismounted, hitched his pony to the rail in front of the Fashion, and entered.
In former days Dunlavey’s appearance within the doors of the Fashion was the signal for boisterous greetings. For here might always be found the law’s chief advocates. To-day, however, there were no greetings. Minds were filled with vague and picturesque conjecture concerning Dunlavey’s probable actions and the outcome of this strange affair. Thus upon Dunlavey’s entrance a silence–strange and awkward–fell in the bar-room. There were short nods and men fell away from Dunlavey as he crossed the room and came to a halt before one of Ben Allen’s posters. He read every line of it–every word. No man interrupted him. Then, finishing his reading, he turned and faced the crowd, his face white with wrath, his lips snarling.
“Why in hell didn’t some of you damned fools tear this down?” he demanded.
No man felt it incumbent upon him to reply tothis and Dunlavey watched them for an instant, sneering, his eyes glittering menacingly. Then he suddenly turned, seized the poster, savagely tore it into pieces, hurled the pieces to the floor, and stamped upon them. Then he turned again to the silent crowd, his face inflamed, his voice snapping with a bitter, venomous sarcasm.
“Scared!” he said. “Scared out clean–like a bunch of coyotes runnin’ from the daylight!” He made a strange sound with his lips, expressing his unutterable contempt for men so weakly constituted.
“Quit!” he grated. “Quit clean because a tenderfoot comes out here and tries to run things! So long as things come your way you’re willing to stick it out, but when things go the other way–Ugh!”
He turned abruptly, strode out through the door, mounted his pony, and rode rapidly down the street. Several of the men, who went to the door after his departure, saw him riding furiously toward the Circle Cross.
Then one of his former friends laughed harshly–sarcastically. “I reckon that there tenderfoot is botherin’ Big Bill a whole lot,” he said as he turned to the bar.
It had been a busy day for Hollis. His handhad been shaken so much that it pained him. The day had been a rather warm one for the season and so when late in the afternoon Norton rode into town, “To see the excitement,” he told Hollis, the latter determined to make the return trip to the Circle Bar in the evening. Therefore, after a short conference with Judge Graney and Allen–and a frugal, though wholesome supper in the Judge’s rooms back of the court house–which Allen cooked–he and Norton rode out upon the Coyote trail and jogged quietly toward the Circle Bar.
There was a good moon; the air was invigorating, though slightly chill, and the trail lay clear and distinct before them, hard after the rain, ideal for riding.
Many times during the first half hour of the ride Norton looked furtively at his chief. Certain things that Mrs. Norton had told him held a prominent place in his thoughts, and mingling with these thoughts was the recollection of a conversation that he had held with Hollis one day when both of them had been riding this same trail and Hollis had stopped off at the Hazelton cabin. Many times Norton smiled. He would have liked to refer to that conversation, but hesitated for fear of seeming to meddle with that which did not concern him. He remembered the daysof his own courtship–how jealously he had guarded his secret.
But the longer his thoughts dwelt upon the incident that had been related to him by Mrs. Norton the harder it became to keep silent. But he managed to repress his feelings for the first half hour and then, moved by an internal mirth that simply would not be held in check longer, he cackled aloud.
He saw Hollis shoot a quick glance at him. He cackled again, his mirth swelling as he caught the surprised and puzzled expression of Hollis’s face.
“I have a very original opinion of people who laugh without any visible cause,” remarked the latter, grinning reluctantly in the semi-darkness.
Norton’s reply was another cackle. They rode in silence for a long time.
Then Norton spoke. “This is a great country,” he said.
Silence from Hollis, though taking a quick glance at him Norton again observed the puzzled grin on his face.
“And original,” he remarked, placing upon the latter word the same peculiar emphasis that Hollis had given it a moment before.
Hollis grinned widely; he began to detect a subtle meaning in the range boss’s speech andactions. But he did not answer; it would not strain his patience to await until such a time as Norton made his meaning clear.
“But there’s some things that ain’t original,” continued Norton in the same tone, after another short silence.
This remark clearly required comment. Hollis grinned mildly. “Meaning what?” he questioned.
Norton met his gaze gravely. “Meanin’ that the ways of makin’ love are pretty much the same in every country.” He laughed. “I know there’s different ways of makin’ it–in books,” he continued; “the folks which write books make their men an’ women go at it all kinds of ways. But did you ever know anyone in real life to make love to a girl any different than anyone else?”
“I have had no experience in love making,” returned Hollis, puzzled again.
Norton cackled. “No,” he said, “an’ that’s the peculiar part of it. Mostly no one has ever had any experience when they start to makin’ love the first time. But they all make it the same way. That’s why it ain’t original. You take a man which has got in love with a girl–any man. He don’t want anyone to know that he’s in love with her–he feels sorta sheepish about it.Goes around hangin’ his head an’ blushin’, an’ mostly not sayin’ anything about it. Once he gets it into his system he ain’t the same man any more. Takes to actin’ reserved like an’ gentle. But them that’s had experience can see the symptoms. There ain’t no way to hide it.”
Had Norton looked at Hollis now he might have observed a touch of red in the young man’s face. But he did not look; he was watching the trail ahead, smiling broadly.
They had been riding through a deep depression, going toward a ridge whose crest was fringed with dense, tangled shrubbery. Hollis was about to reply to Norton’s remark when he saw the latter’s lips suddenly straighten; saw his body stiffen as he drew himself erect in the saddle and pulled his pony abruptly up. Surprised, Hollis also reined in and sat silent, looking at Norton.
The latter’s hand went to one of his ears, the fingers spreading out, fan like. “Listen!” he warned sharply.
Hollis had been listening. A low rumble greeted his ears. He looked suddenly upward at the sky, fearful that another storm, such as he had encountered months before, might be forming. But the sky was cloudless. He looked again at Norton. The latter’s eyes shone brightlyin the moonlight as he leaned toward Hollis. The rumbling had grown more distinct.
“It ain’t a stampede,” said Norton rapidly; “there wouldn’t be anything to stampede cattle on a night like this. An’ them’s cattle!”
It was about a hundred yards to the ridge toward which they had been riding and Hollis saw Norton suddenly plunge the spurs into his pony’s flanks; saw the animal rush forward. He gave his own animal the spurs and in an instant was at Norton’s side, racing toward the ridge. The range boss dismounted at the bottom, swiftly threw the reins over his pony’s head, and running stealthily toward the crest. Hollis followed him. When he reached Norton’s side the latter was flat on a rim rock at the edge of a little cliff, behind some gnarled brush. Below them the country stretched away for miles, level, unbroken, basking in the moonlight. Hollis recognized the section as that through which he had traveled on the night he had been overtaken by the storm–the big level that led to Big Elk crossing, where he had met Dunlavey and his men that night.
Looking out upon the plain he held his breath in amazement. During the time he had been at the Circle Bar he had seen cattle running, but never had he seen them run like this. About aquarter of a mile from the ridge on which he and Norton stood rose a dust cloud–moving swiftly. But ahead of the cloud, heads down, their horns tossing were a number of cattle, perhaps fifty, racing furiously. They were running parallel with the ridge and would probably pass it. Behind and flanking them raced several cowboys, silent, driving with their quirts.
“Rustlers!” came Norton’s voice from beside him. “They’re headin’ for Big Elk!”
Hollis had brought his rifle, which he had carried since the attack on the night of the storm. At Norton’s word he raised it. But Norton’s hand touched his and his voice came again, sharply, commandingly.
“Don’t shoot!” he said. “It wouldn’t do any good; some of them would get away. Mebbe they’ll come close enough so’s we can see who they are!”
Hollis waited breathlessly. It seemed that but an instant had passed from the time he had caught a first glimpse of them until they were thundering by the ridge and he and Norton were blinded by the dust. They had gone before the dust settled, but through it as they passed, Hollis had caught sight of a familiar figure. Before the thunder of hoofs had died away Hollis felt Norton’s hand on his arm and his voice in his ear.
“Dunlavey!”
There could be no doubt of that, for Hollis had recognized him also. He turned, to hear Norton’s dry voice in his ear.
“The new law don’t seem to be botherin’ Dunlavey a heap,” he said.
Hollis stepped boldly out on the ridge, his face grim and pale. But he was pulled back by Norton. “I take it you don’t want to let them see you,” he said. “When a thing like that comes off there’s always somebody sure to be lookin’ back.” He was pulling at Hollis’s arm, directing his steps down the slope toward where they had left the horses. “You an’ me ain’t enough,” he was saying to Hollis; “we’ll hit the breeze to the Circle Bar, get some of the boys, an’ hustle back here an’ take them cattle!”
Hollis accompanied him willingly as far as the horses. Then he halted, his eyes flashing brightly. “We won’t go to the Circle Bar,” he said. “We won’t fight them like that. There is a law in this country now and I am going to see that the law acts!” He seized Norton’s arm in a firm commanding grip. “You follow them,” he directed. “From the edge of the butte where they caught me on the night of the storm you can see the country for miles. Don’t cross the river,” he warned. “Stay there besidethe butte until I come back–I won’t be long. Watch where they take the cattle!”
Before Norton could offer a word of objection he was on his pony and racing over the back trail at terrific speed. For a moment Norton watched him. Then he disappeared and Norton grimly mounted his pony and rode down to the level following the trail taken by the thieves.
The lights in Dry Bottom’s saloons were flickering brightly when Hollis rode down the street and dismounted from his drooping pony in front of the court house. He ran stiffly around the side of the building and knocked loudly on a door. There was a short silence and then a movement inside and Ben Allen stuck his head out of a window. He saw at a glance the upward turned face of the nocturnal visitor and called shortly: “Wait! I’ll be down!”
There was a short wait, during which Hollis impatiently paced back and forth and then Allen appeared in the door, fully dressed. Judge Graney, in a night shirt, stood behind him.
“Something’s up, of course,” drawled Allen as he stepped down from the door, “or you wouldn’t come around disturbing folks this way. What is it?”
Hollis briefly related the events of the night,concluding with the statement that he was determined to force the law to act.
“Correct!” laughed Allen. “She’s got to act now.” He caught Hollis’s arm and turned him toward a small cottonwood grove about half a mile distant. A dozen white objects dotting the grove caught Hollis’s gaze. He started.
“Soldiers!” he exclaimed.
“I might say that was a good guess,” drawled Allen. “I sent for them because I thought I might need them if our friend Dunlavey got to cuttin’ up any. It’s been my experience that a detail of Uncle Sam’s boys is about as good a thing to have around in case of trouble as any man could want.”
“But you can’t use them in this case,” remarked Judge Graney, who had stepped down beside the two men. “The governor’s instructions were that they should be used merely as an instrument in enforcing the court’s order regarding the sale of Dunlavey’s cattle. The theft of the Circle Bar cattle is a matter which comes directly under the jurisdiction of the sheriff. If he refuses to act—”
“Hell!” broke in Allen. “We know he won’t do anything!”
The Judge smiled slightly. “I suspect he won’t,” he said dryly. He winked at Hollis.
“Being a judge in this district I am, of course, averse to advising any infractions of the law. But if I were not a judge I would suggest that two strong, energetic men–such as you appear to be—” He leaned forward and whispered in Allen’s ear, whereat that gentleman let out a joyous whoop and almost dragged Hollis around the corner of the building toward the street, leaving the Judge standing in the doorway.
Once on the street Allen set a pace that brought the two to the door of the sheriff’s office quickly. A light shone through the window and when Allen opened the door Watkins was sitting beside his desk, gravely fumbling a deck of cards. He dropped them when he saw his visitors and made a quick movement with his right hand toward his revolver. But Allen’s weapon was already out.
“Bill,” he said in a soft, even voice, “we’re wantin’ a warrant for the arrest of Bill Dunlavey. The charge is stealin’ cattle. Of course you’ll issue it,” he added insinuatingly.
Watkins’s face slowly paled. “Why—” he began.
“Of course I knowed you wouldn’t do it when I asked you,” said Allen with a dangerously soft smile. “That’s why I come down here. This town’s got a sheriff an’ it ain’t. I wouldn’t carea damn if it didn’t have you. There’s lots of folks wouldn’t care either. So that if you’re one of them which does care you’re settin’ right still an’ not sayin’ anything which can be construed as talk till my friend here goes down to the station.” He whispered to Hollis. “Be middlin’ rapid,” he said aloud afterward, “an’ use my name.” He turned to Watkins with a smile. “While we’re waitin’ I’ll do some talkin’,” he said. “But if you let out one little wee chirp them folks which don’t care about you bein’ sheriff of this man’s town will sure have a heap of cause to rejoice.”
Hollis was already far down the street toward the station. When he got there the station was dark–evidently the agent had gone to bed. Hollis pounded heavily on the door and presently the agent opened it, appearing in his night shirt, a heavy six-shooter in hand, his eyes blinking.
“My name is Hollis,” said the latter from the darkness; “I want you to telegraph the governor.”
“Come in.” The agent disappeared within, Hollis following. “This way,” he directed, as he disappeared through another door leading into the station, his night shirt flapping about his lean legs. “What you wantin’ to telegraph?” he questioned, as he seated himself before the instrumentand looked up at Hollis. And then, before the latter could answer he continued: “You’re the durndest man to stir up a muss I ever, seen in my life!”
Hollis smiled grimly as he seized a blank and wrote his message to the governor:
“Cattle thieves caught red-handed. Sheriff refuses to act. Crisis. Suggest you appoint me temporarily.
“Cattle thieves caught red-handed. Sheriff refuses to act. Crisis. Suggest you appoint me temporarily.
Ben Allen.”
The agent took the message, read it, and then monotonously began to drum on the keys of his instrument.
Hollis found it impossible to sit still and so he nervously paced up and down the room during the sending of the message. The agent finished and, leaned his head sleepily on the table.
“Ought to answer in half an hour–if he’s home,” he informed Hollis. Upon which Hollis slipped out of the door and returned down the street to the sheriff’s office, peering within Watkins still sat at the table and in a chair near him lounged Allen, talking volubly. Hollis watched for a time and then returned to the station to find the agent asleep beside his instrument. Hollis had scarcely awakened him when the sounder began its monotonous ticking.He leaned over the agent’s shoulder and read the governor’s answer as the agent sleepily wrote it down.
“Ben Allen: You are hereby appointed sheriff of Union County in place of W. Watkins, dismissed. Have Judge certify,”
“Ben Allen: You are hereby appointed sheriff of Union County in place of W. Watkins, dismissed. Have Judge certify,”
“I reckon there must be somethin’ goin’ on,” remarked the agent. “What’s the matter with Bill—”
But Hollis had snatched the message from his hand and was out into the street in an instant and running down toward the sheriff’s office. When he arrived there Allen was still talking. He passed the telegram to him and the latter rose to his feet and smiled at Watkins, shoving the message under his nose.
“You can read her,” he said. “Then you can go home an’ quit sheriffin’–after I’ve got through with you. You’ve been called down to the court house. I’m takin’ you, chargin’ you with bein’ an accessory before the fact, or somethin’ like that. It don’t make no difference what it is, you’re goin’ with me.” His voice came sharp and chill: “Jump!”
Judge Graney had dressed himself by the time the three arrived at the court house and Watkins was roughly tumbled into the room which hadbeen set aside as the jail. Then the judge led Hollis and Allen into the court room where he issued Allen’s certificate of appointment.
“Now, I reckon we won’t have no trouble in gettin’ the soldiers,” he grinned. “This sheriff is goin’ to act!”
At three o’clock in the afternoon Hollis closed his desk and announced to Potter that he was going to the Circle Bar. Potter watched him with a fond smile as he went out the door and placed the saddle on his pony, mounted and rode into the sunshine of the afternoon. The presence of the troopers in town had created a sensation and most of the town’s citizens were gathered about the court house, curiously watching Dunlavey and several of his men who had been taken into custody during the early hours of the morning. Neither Hollis or Norton had been allowed to participate in the final scene, the little captain informing them curtly that the presence of civilians at what promised to be a free-for-all fight was strictly forbidden. And so Norton had returned to the Circle Bar, while Hollis had gone to Dry Bottom to finish an article for the next issue of theKicker.
It had been in that bald, gray time between darkness and dawn when Ben Allen and Hollis, riding at the head of the detail of troopers beside the dapper little captain, had arrived at the edge of the butte where Hollis had directed Norton to await his coming.
Norton’s only comment upon seeing the troopers had been: “Where in hell did them come from?”
He told Allen that he had watched where Dunlavey and his men had driven the cattle, and that he would find them concealed in a narrow defile between two hills about a mile on the other side of the Rabbit-Ear. He and Hollis had announced their intention to accompany the troop to the scene, but had been refused permission by the captain.
The capture of the thieves had been quite a simple matter. In single file the troopers had descended the slope of the river, crossed a shallow, and clattered up the other side. A mile dash at a gallop had brought them to one end of the defile mentioned by Norton, and in a grove of fir-balsam the captain had deployed his troopers and swooped suddenly down into the defile, surprising several men, who with Dunlavey, were busily at work altering the brands on the cattle they had stolen. There was a fire near thecenter of the defile, with branding irons scattered about it.
The stolen cattle bore various brands. There were perhaps a dozen belonging to the Circle Bar, several from the Pig Pen; others bore the brands of the Three Bar and the Diamond Dot.
Proof of Dunlavey’s guilt had been absolute. He had made some resistance, but had been quickly overpowered by Allen and the troopers. Then with their prisoners the troops had returned to Dry Bottom.
Hollis rode slowly toward the Circle Bar. He was tired–dead tired. When he arrived at the Hazelton cabin the shade on the porch looked so inviting that he dismounted, tied his pony to one of the slender porch columns, and seated himself, leaning wearily against the column to which he had tied his pony.
He sat there long, staring at a clump of nondescript weed that fringed the edge of the arroyo near the cabin, his thoughts filled with pictures of incidents that had occurred to him during his stay in the West. Nellie Hazelton appeared in every one of these pictures and therefore he smiled often.
He had not liked the country when he had first come here; it had seemed to offer him no field for the pursuit of his ambition. Certainly the raisingof cattle had never entered into his scheme of things. Yet he now realized that there was plenty of room in this country for success in this particular industry; all a man had to do was to keep up his end until the law came. And now the law had come and he had been partly responsible for its coming. The realization of this moved his lips into a grim smile.
He filled and lighted his pipe, smoking placidly as he leaned against the slender column, his gaze shifting to a clump of dense shrubbery that skirted the trail within twenty feet of the cabin. He sat quiet, his long legs stretched out to enjoy the warmth of the sun that struck a corner of the porch floor. His pipe spluttered in depletion and he raised himself and looked around for his pony, observing that the animal was contentedly browsing the tops of some weeds at the edge of the porch. Then, resigning himself to the sensation of languor that oppressed him, he knocked the ash from the pipe, filled it again, lighted it, and resumed his former reclining position.
During the past few days he had given much thought to Dunlavey. He was thinking of the man now, as his gaze went again to the clump of shrubbery that skirted the trail.
Some men’s mental processes were incomprehensible.Dunlavey was one of these men. What did the man hope to gain by defying the law? Would there not be profit enough in the cattle business when conducted honestly?
He felt a certain contempt for the man, but mingled with it was a sort of grim pity. No doubt Dunlavey felt justified in his actions, for he had lived here a good many years, no doubt suffering the privations encountered by all pioneers; living a hard life, dealing heavy blows to his enemies, and receiving some himself. No doubt his philosophy of life had been of the peculiar sort practiced by the feudal barons of the Old World, before civilization had come, carrying its banner of justice, which, summed up epigrammatically, though ironically, had been “Might is Right.” But might could never be right in this country. Dunlavey must learn this lesson; he could not hope to–!
Hollis sat suddenly erect, putting aside his pipe and his ruminations at the same instant, the languor gone from him, his eyes narrowing coldly.
For suddenly, from behind the shrubbery that skirted the edge of the trail, had appeared the man about whom he had been thinking! It was evident that he had not come upon Hollis unexpectedly. He reined in his pony and sat motionlessin the saddle, his face white, his eyes alight with passion.
For an instant neither man spoke. Hollis realized that the great moment for which he had waited many days had arrived. And it had arrived unexpectedly. It had arrived to find him tired after his activities of the night and in no condition for a fight. He drew a deep breath and got to his feet, a grim smile on his face. He stepped off the porch and stood by one of the columns, watching Dunlavey closely. As he watched the grim smile on his face slowly faded, his lips curled bitterly, his eyes chilled.
“I suppose you’ve come to collect that thrashing?” he said.
Dunlavey dismounted quickly, his right hand flew to his holster, drawing his revolver. He came toward Hollis crouching, a cold, merciless glitter in his eyes.
“Yes, you tenderfoot — —.” he snarled.
From the moment of Hollis’s arrival at the court house the night before Ben Allen had been constantly in action. It was late in the morning when he had returned to the court house with his prisoners. The men who had been captured with Dunlavey were still with the troopers, there not being sufficient room at the court house forthem. Watkins had been released and Dunlavey had taken his place in the little room that answered for a jail. Shortly before noon Allen proceeded to the station, where he telegraphed to the governor the story of the capture. He had then deputized a dozen punchers and sent them to the Circle Cross to round up a thousand of Dunlavey’s cattle and hold them until the late afternoon when, according to Allen’s published program, they were to be sold to the highest bidder. Then, tired and hungry, Allen sought the Alhambra and ate a hearty meal.
Dry Bottom was swarming with visitors that had come in for the sale. But by the time Allen had finished eating the exodus had begun. The trail leading to the Circle Cross ranch was dotted with probable bidders, curiosity seekers, idlers, and mere residents of the town. Now that the law had come there were many who discovered that their sympathies had always been with the men who had championed it. Allen found his way to the court house strewn with men who halted him to express their good will. Many people gathered in front of theKickeroffice, eager for a glimpse of Hollis. Those who gathered there before twelve-thirty saw him seated at his desk, tall, angular, serious of face, absolutely unaffected by this thing which had caused a sensation.Passing theKickeroffice on his way to the court house, Allen had paused to look within and shout a greeting to him. Then he had continued on his way.
Arriving at the court house Allen looked in at Dunlavey to find him lying on the floor, apparently asleep. Allen did not disturb him. He went out, threw the saddle on his pony, and rode over to the grove where the soldiers were quartered, talking long with the captain. At two o’clock he returned to the court house to be greeted with the news that Dunlavey had escaped. Allen did not stop to inquire how the escape had been accomplished. He remounted his pony and raced down to theKickeroffice, fearing that Dunlavey had gone there. Potter informed him that his chief had departed for the Circle Bar fully an hour and a half before. He had taken the Coyote trail–Potter had watched him.
Allen wheeled his pony and returned to the court house. He was met at the door by Judge Graney. The latter’s face was white and drawn with fear.
“He’s gone to kill Hollis!” the judge told him through white, set lips. “I heard him threaten Hollis this morning and a moment ago a man told me that he had seen Dunlavey, notover half an hour ago, riding out the Coyote trail at a dead run!”
Allen’s own face whitened. He did not stop to answer but drove the spurs deep into his pony’s flanks and rode furiously down the street toward a point near theKickeroffice where he struck the trail.
The distance to the Circle Bar ranch was ten miles and Dunlavey had a good half hour’s start! He fairly lifted his pony over the first mile, though realizing that he could not hope to arrive at the Circle Bar in time to prevent Dunlavey from carrying out his design to kill Hollis. No, he told himself as he rode, he could not prevent him from killing Hollis, should he catch the latter unprepared, but he promised himself that Dunlavey should not escape punishment for the deed.
He had had some hope that Dunlavey would accept his defeat philosophically. The latter was not the only man he had seen who had been defeated by the law. Over in Colfax County and up in Wyoming he had dealt with many such men, and usually, after they had seen that the law was inevitable, they had resigned themselves to the new condition and had become pretty fair citizens. He had imagined that Dunlavey would prove to be no exception, that after thefirst sting of defeat had been removed he would meet his adversaries half way in an effort to patch up their differences. The danger was in the time immediately following the realization of defeat. A man of the Dunlavey type was then usually desperate.
So Allen communed with himself as he rode at a head-long pace down the Coyote trail, risking his neck a dozen times. Not once since he had left Dry Bottom had he considered his own danger.
He had been riding more than half an hour, and was coming up out of a little gully when he came upon a riderless pony, and close by it, browsing near a clump of shrubbery, another. He recognized one of them instantly as Dunlavey’s, and his teeth came together with a snap. He rode closer to the other pony, examining it. On one of its hips was a brand–the Circle Bar. Allen’s face whitened again. He had arrived too late. But he would not be too late to wreak vengeance upon Dunlavey.
He dismounted and cautiously approached the brush at the side of the trail. Parting it, he saw the roof of a cabin. He recognized it; he had passed it a number of times during his exploration of the country. He drew back and crept crept farther along in the brush, certain that hewould presently see Dunlavey. But he had not gone very far when he heard voices and he cautiously parted the brush again and peered through.
He started back in surprise, an incredulous grin slowly appearing on his face. The incredulity changed to amusement a moment later–when he heard Hollis’s voice!
The young man was seated on the edge of the porch–smoking a pipe! Near him, seated on a flat rock, his face horribly puffed out, with several ugly gashes disfiguring it, his eyes blackened, his clothing in tatters, one hand hanging limply by his side, the fingers crushed and bleeding, was Dunlavey! Near him, almost buried in the sand, was a revolver. Allen’s smile broadened when he saw Dunlavey’s empty holster. Evidently he had met with a surprise!
While taking in these details Allen had not forgotten to listen to Hollis as the latter talked to Dunlavey. Apparently Hollis had about finished his talk, for his voice was singularly soft and even, and Dunlavey’s almost comical air of dejection could not have settled over him in an instant.
“... and so of course I had to thrash you–you had it coming to you. You haven’t been a man–you’ve acted like a sneak and a cur allthrough this business. You made a thrashing inevitable when you set Yuma on Nellie Hazelton. You’ll have plenty of marks to remind you of the one you gave me that night.” He pointed to his cheek. “I’ve got even for that. But I think I wouldn’t have trimmed you quite so bad if you hadn’t tried to shoot me a few minutes ago.”
He puffed silently at his pipe for a short time, during which Dunlavey sat on the rock and squinted pathetically at him. Then he resumed:
“I’ve heard people talk of damned fools, but never, until I met you, have I been unfortunate enough to come into personal contact with one. I should think that when you saw the soldiers had come you would have surrendered decently. Perhaps you know by now that you can’t fight the United States Army–and that you can’t whip me. If you’ve got any sense left at all you’ll quit fighting now and try your best to be a good citizen.”
He smiled grimly as he rose from the porch and walked to where Dunlavey sat, standing over him and looking down at him.
“Dunlavey,” he said, extending his right hand to the beaten man, “let’s call it quits. You’ve been terribly worked up, but you ought to be over it now. You ought to be able to seethat it doesn’t go. I’ve thrashed you pretty badly, but you and your men used me up pretty well that night and so it’s an even thing. Let’s shake and be friends. If you show signs of wanting to be a man again I’ll withdraw the charge of cattle stealing which I have placed against you, and I imagine I won’t have any trouble in inducing Allen to call off that auction sale and accept settlement of the claim against you.”
Until now Dunlavey had avoided looking at the outstretched hand. But now he looked at it, took it and held it for an instant, his bruised and swollen face taking on an expression of lugubrious self-pity.
“I reckon I’ve got it in the neck all around,” he said finally. “But I ain’t no squealer and I’ve got—” His gaze met Hollis’s and his eyes gleamed with a reluctant admiration. “By God, you’re white! I reckon you could have tore the rest of me apart like you did my hand.” He held up the injured member for inspection.
Allen’s grin could grow no broader, and now he showed his increased satisfaction with a subdued cackle. He backed stealthily out of the shrubbery, taking a final glance at the two men. He saw Hollis leading Dunlavey toward a small water hole at the rear of the cabin; saw him bathingDunlavey’s injured hand and binding it with his handkerchief.
Then Allen proceeded to his pony, mounted, and departed for the court house to tell Judge Graney the news that kept his own face continually in a smile.
From Razor-Back ridge the big basin spread away to the Blue Peak mountains. On the opposite side of the ridge began the big plain on which, snuggled behind some cottonwood trees, were the Circle Cross buildings. From where Hollis and Nellie Hazelton sat on the ridge they could look miles down the Coyote trail, into Devil’s Hollow; could see the two big cottonwood trees that stood beside Big Elk crossing, above which, on the night of the storm, Hollis had been attacked by Dunlavey’s men. Back on the stretch of plain above the basin they could make out the Circle Bar buildings, lying close to the banks of the river.
It was in the late afternoon and the sun had gone down behind the Blue Peaks, though its last rays were just touching the crest of the ridge near Hollis and Nellie. He had called her attention to the sinking sun, telling her that it was time they started for the Circle Bar.
“Wait,” she said; “someone is coming up theCoyote trail. I have been watching him for ten minutes.”
Hollis faced the trail and watched also. In a quarter of an hour the horseman came out of Devil’s Hollow. Hollis and Nellie could see him plainly as he guided his pony around the huge boulders that filled the place. Hollis smiled whimsically.
“It’s the poet,” he told Nellie, catching her gaze and grinning widely at her. “I sent him to Dry Bottom this noon for the mail–Potter is going to stay in town over night.”
For an instant it seemed that Ace would not see them, and Hollis rose from the rock on which he had been sitting and halloed to him. He responded with a shout and urged his pony up the steep side of the slope and then along the crest until he came within a few feet of where they sat. He dismounted and came forward, grinning broadly.
“Takin’ the view?” he questioned. His eyes twinkled. “Sometimes there’s a heap of poetry could be got out of this county. But–” and his eyelashes flickered slightly–“a fellow’s got to be in the right frame of mind to get it out. I reckon you two—”
“I suppose you got the mail?” interrupted Hollis, grimacing at him.
“I sure did,” returned the poet, “one letter. I reckon the blacksmith’ll be kickin’ because I’ve been galivantin’ around the country for one letter. Here it is.” He passed an envelope to Hollis, and the latter, with a quick glance at the legend in the upper left hand corner, tore it open and read. It was from Weary.