CHAPTER V“On the level, Miss Lancaster,” Jess Bledsoe was saying as they jogged along the Buffalo Forks road, “Otis Carr is a mighty fine chap. All the boys hereabouts like him. A little retiring, sometimes, and mighty awkward all the time. But he’s pretty level-headed, except once in a while when he lets his temper get away with him. And he knows the cattle business from hoof to ears, and range to stockyards.”Mariel smiled. “Margaret worships her big brother,” she volunteered. “She used to show me his letters while we were at school together. From what she told me about him, I rather expected to find him a sort of superman. He isn’t at all as I pictured him.”Jess glanced at her curiously. “You aren’t disappointed, are you?” he asked with just a trace of jealousy in his query.“Indeed I’m not,” Mariel replied, looking away. “He isn’t a superman by any means. He’s very human.” And then, as an afterthought, she added: “And modest!”Jess looked at her a trifle suspiciously. “You know,” he said, “there’s grown to be quite a friendly rivalry between Otis and me.” Mariel shot a doubtful and inquiring glance at him. “Each of us wants to be the first to catch the rustlers who have been getting into our stock,” he went on; and Mariel breathed a sigh of relief.“We both believe the Radley boys over in Jackson’s Hole are the ones responsible for all this rustling, but so far, we haven’t been able to prove a thing. If the boys ever catch them at it—well, it’s going to be pretty tough on the Radley brothers.”“But isn’t cattle—er—rustling just plain stealing?”“Some say it’s worse than that, Miss Mariel.”“Well, then, why don’t the police, or whoever enforces the laws, arrest these people and bring them to trial?”Jess laughed good-naturedly.“Well, there’s several reasons for that. The penalty provided by the law isn’t stiff enough to worry the rustlers much. So the cattle men sort of figure that they can attend to the situation without bothering the Sheriff about it. And they can, usually— if they’re smart enough. But it seems that none of us hereabouts is quite smart enough to catch them in the act. They do say that sooner or later they all get caught. But as long as these rustlers don’t overplay their hand, they may continue to get by almost indefinitely.“They say that a good many of the ranches in this country were built up by the—er—foresight of their owners in keeping a keen eye on mavericks, and in not being too particular as to what stock they placed their brands on.“Now, maybe these rustlers are just following their example. Maybe they intend to build up a herd the way the others have done, and then quit rustling and operate—er—legitimately.“In the second place, the Sheriff can’t go out and arrest Soggy Radley or his brother just because Otis Carr or I or anyone else happens to entertain a suspicion that they’re cattle rustlers. Remember, such a charge would have to be tried before a jury, and so the Sheriff would have to have something more than suspicion before he made an arrest. And maybe the jury would include one or two cow-men who hadn’t been so particular themselves in slapping their brands on stray stock. So, even if you’ve got pretty conclusive evidence, that doesn’t necessarily mean a conviction.“No, the boys figure on handling the situation themselves, and I guess it’s just as well. Sooner or later Otis or I or some one else is going to get something on these Radley boys. And then they’ll decide to drift along through the Tetons to Idaho or somewhere where the climate’s more agreeable. If they don’t—well, they’ll get what Ed Gunn the outlaw got, when he shot this finger off. They hanged him afterward.”Mariel, puzzled, shook her head.“I don’t know that I quite get your point of view out here,” she told Jess soberly. “At home when anything like this happens, we go to the proper authorities, and they do something about it. Here you seem to take things into your own hands, without regard for authorities—that is, if you don’t actually oppose the authorities, as in the case of the forest rangers.”Jess turned in his saddle and peered at her searchingly.“Did Otis tell you about our trouble with the ranger here?”“That picturesque old cowboy, Mr. Sample, told me about some bloodthirsty plot which was being concocted to frighten the ranger into leaving this region. I think it’s a cowardly thing to do!”“Old Simp?” Jess laughed. “He shoots off his mouth just to hear himself talk. I wouldn’t believe everything he says, Miss Mariel.”“Then it isn’t true?”“Well—” Jess hesitated. Without answering her question, he asked: “Did old Simp mention—er—anyone in particular?”“I think he spoke of their drawing lots to choose one of their number to deliver the threat to the ranger. But I believe he said the man refused to be a party to the outrageous proceeding.”“Did he mention any names?”“No, I think not. Why? Do you know the man?”Jess grunted. “Now, Miss Mariel, you’re asking me to tell you something I shouldn’t.”Mariel lifted her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Bledsoe. I have no desire to pry into any of your secrets.... Look at those black clouds. Don’t you think we’d better turn back to the far—ranch, I mean?”Jess was worried, and showed it.“You wouldn’t want me to turn talebearer, would you, Miss Mariel?” he asked her.“Not at all,” Mariel replied coolly, reining in her horse. “Don’t you think it’s going to rain?”Jess laid a gloved hand on her bridle.“Now, Miss Mariel, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he pleaded. “Can’t you see the position you put me in?”Mariel turned her back on him—perhaps that he might not see the smile playing about her lips.“But you admit there was such a conspiracy?”“If you want to call it that—yes.”“And Mr. Sample wasn’t stuffing me, then?”“In the main he was right, I suppose. But old Simp does love to paint things in lurid colors.”“And you don’t think it’s going to rain?”Jess scanned the black clouds which now obscured the Tetons.“These mountain showers don’t last very long. We can find shelter under some of these overhanging rocks.”“I think I prefer to start back to the ranch. Isn’t this thing rolled up behind my saddle a raincoat?”“It’s a slicker, Miss Mariel. If you really want to turn back, you’d better put it on before we start.”At a glance from her he leaned over, untied the thongs which held the slicker, and without dismounting, held it while she thrust her arms in the sleeves.Mariel, unaccustomed to the foibles of Western horses, drew the yellow oilskin forward with a widespread flourish. Instantly Dynamite, old but temperamental, leaped forward and bolted. Ears laid back, his body close to the ground, he started down the Buffalo Forks road, bent on outrunning the flapping slicker which had frightened him.His first leap had almost dislodged Mariel from the saddle. She did not scream, but a startled cry of alarm burst from her lips as Dynamite bolted.She had let the reins drop as she had raised her arms to don the slicker. Now she clutched at the pommel, and clung to it with every ounce of her strength.Instantly Jess had dug his spurs into his white-stockinged chestnut. He was but two lengths behind old Dynamite, and the chestnut was a far fleeter animal.Jess might have overtaken Dynamite, and forced him to stop by crowding him into the embankment on the far side of the road. Or he might have grasped the bolting horse’s bridle, causing him to slow down gradually.But Jess was nothing if not dramatic. He spurred the chestnut forward until he was racing neck-and-neck with Dynamite. He leaned over and grasped Mariel about the waist. He threw his weight back and dragged her from the saddle, meanwhile reining in the chestnut, which came jerkily to a halt.Jess lowered the girl to the ground. He leaped from the saddle, and an instant later was supporting her with an arm about her waist.For a moment Mariel clung to him, gasping. Slowly the color returned to her face. Presently she moved away from him uncertainly. He made as if to follow her, but was fended off by an outstretched arm.“Oh!” she panted, speaking for the first time. “That was splendid of you, Mr. Bledsoe! Why, I might have been killed!”“It was nothing,” Jess assured her with every appearance of modesty. “I’m glad I could be of service—Mariel.”It was the first time he had addressed her by her first name. She affected to take no notice of it.“I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” she protested. “If it hadn’t been for—”“Forget it!” Jess interrupted magnanimously. “If you feel faint—” He stepped forward again.“Oh, I’m all right now,” she assured him with a little laugh. “Look at Dynamite. He’s cropping the grass as if he’d never in the world thought of running away.”Jess knew better than to attempt to press his advantage too far. He stalked forward with jingling spurs and grasped the bridle of Dynamite, who had come to a halt a score of yards away.“I—I guess we’d better start back. It’s starting to rain,” she faltered, plainly a bit afraid of her mount, who eyed her innocently when Jess led him back.“Don’t let him see you’re scared of him,” Jess advised, cupping his hands to help her into the saddle. “Just keep that slicker from flapping, and he wont try it again.”The pounding of hoofs became audible down the road. Both turned, and presently a horseman rounded a turn in the road at a full gallop. He drew in as he came abreast them. It was Spider Ponsonby, a lanky member of the Footstool outfit.“Heard the news?” he called. And then, without waiting for a reply: “Ranger Joe Fyffe was murdered last night. And the Sheriff’s got Otis Carr under arrest!”
“On the level, Miss Lancaster,” Jess Bledsoe was saying as they jogged along the Buffalo Forks road, “Otis Carr is a mighty fine chap. All the boys hereabouts like him. A little retiring, sometimes, and mighty awkward all the time. But he’s pretty level-headed, except once in a while when he lets his temper get away with him. And he knows the cattle business from hoof to ears, and range to stockyards.”
Mariel smiled. “Margaret worships her big brother,” she volunteered. “She used to show me his letters while we were at school together. From what she told me about him, I rather expected to find him a sort of superman. He isn’t at all as I pictured him.”
Jess glanced at her curiously. “You aren’t disappointed, are you?” he asked with just a trace of jealousy in his query.
“Indeed I’m not,” Mariel replied, looking away. “He isn’t a superman by any means. He’s very human.” And then, as an afterthought, she added: “And modest!”
Jess looked at her a trifle suspiciously. “You know,” he said, “there’s grown to be quite a friendly rivalry between Otis and me.” Mariel shot a doubtful and inquiring glance at him. “Each of us wants to be the first to catch the rustlers who have been getting into our stock,” he went on; and Mariel breathed a sigh of relief.
“We both believe the Radley boys over in Jackson’s Hole are the ones responsible for all this rustling, but so far, we haven’t been able to prove a thing. If the boys ever catch them at it—well, it’s going to be pretty tough on the Radley brothers.”
“But isn’t cattle—er—rustling just plain stealing?”
“Some say it’s worse than that, Miss Mariel.”
“Well, then, why don’t the police, or whoever enforces the laws, arrest these people and bring them to trial?”
Jess laughed good-naturedly.
“Well, there’s several reasons for that. The penalty provided by the law isn’t stiff enough to worry the rustlers much. So the cattle men sort of figure that they can attend to the situation without bothering the Sheriff about it. And they can, usually— if they’re smart enough. But it seems that none of us hereabouts is quite smart enough to catch them in the act. They do say that sooner or later they all get caught. But as long as these rustlers don’t overplay their hand, they may continue to get by almost indefinitely.
“They say that a good many of the ranches in this country were built up by the—er—foresight of their owners in keeping a keen eye on mavericks, and in not being too particular as to what stock they placed their brands on.
“Now, maybe these rustlers are just following their example. Maybe they intend to build up a herd the way the others have done, and then quit rustling and operate—er—legitimately.
“In the second place, the Sheriff can’t go out and arrest Soggy Radley or his brother just because Otis Carr or I or anyone else happens to entertain a suspicion that they’re cattle rustlers. Remember, such a charge would have to be tried before a jury, and so the Sheriff would have to have something more than suspicion before he made an arrest. And maybe the jury would include one or two cow-men who hadn’t been so particular themselves in slapping their brands on stray stock. So, even if you’ve got pretty conclusive evidence, that doesn’t necessarily mean a conviction.
“No, the boys figure on handling the situation themselves, and I guess it’s just as well. Sooner or later Otis or I or some one else is going to get something on these Radley boys. And then they’ll decide to drift along through the Tetons to Idaho or somewhere where the climate’s more agreeable. If they don’t—well, they’ll get what Ed Gunn the outlaw got, when he shot this finger off. They hanged him afterward.”
Mariel, puzzled, shook her head.
“I don’t know that I quite get your point of view out here,” she told Jess soberly. “At home when anything like this happens, we go to the proper authorities, and they do something about it. Here you seem to take things into your own hands, without regard for authorities—that is, if you don’t actually oppose the authorities, as in the case of the forest rangers.”
Jess turned in his saddle and peered at her searchingly.
“Did Otis tell you about our trouble with the ranger here?”
“That picturesque old cowboy, Mr. Sample, told me about some bloodthirsty plot which was being concocted to frighten the ranger into leaving this region. I think it’s a cowardly thing to do!”
“Old Simp?” Jess laughed. “He shoots off his mouth just to hear himself talk. I wouldn’t believe everything he says, Miss Mariel.”
“Then it isn’t true?”
“Well—” Jess hesitated. Without answering her question, he asked: “Did old Simp mention—er—anyone in particular?”
“I think he spoke of their drawing lots to choose one of their number to deliver the threat to the ranger. But I believe he said the man refused to be a party to the outrageous proceeding.”
“Did he mention any names?”
“No, I think not. Why? Do you know the man?”
Jess grunted. “Now, Miss Mariel, you’re asking me to tell you something I shouldn’t.”
Mariel lifted her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Bledsoe. I have no desire to pry into any of your secrets.... Look at those black clouds. Don’t you think we’d better turn back to the far—ranch, I mean?”
Jess was worried, and showed it.
“You wouldn’t want me to turn talebearer, would you, Miss Mariel?” he asked her.
“Not at all,” Mariel replied coolly, reining in her horse. “Don’t you think it’s going to rain?”
Jess laid a gloved hand on her bridle.
“Now, Miss Mariel, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he pleaded. “Can’t you see the position you put me in?”
Mariel turned her back on him—perhaps that he might not see the smile playing about her lips.
“But you admit there was such a conspiracy?”
“If you want to call it that—yes.”
“And Mr. Sample wasn’t stuffing me, then?”
“In the main he was right, I suppose. But old Simp does love to paint things in lurid colors.”
“And you don’t think it’s going to rain?”
Jess scanned the black clouds which now obscured the Tetons.
“These mountain showers don’t last very long. We can find shelter under some of these overhanging rocks.”
“I think I prefer to start back to the ranch. Isn’t this thing rolled up behind my saddle a raincoat?”
“It’s a slicker, Miss Mariel. If you really want to turn back, you’d better put it on before we start.”
At a glance from her he leaned over, untied the thongs which held the slicker, and without dismounting, held it while she thrust her arms in the sleeves.
Mariel, unaccustomed to the foibles of Western horses, drew the yellow oilskin forward with a widespread flourish. Instantly Dynamite, old but temperamental, leaped forward and bolted. Ears laid back, his body close to the ground, he started down the Buffalo Forks road, bent on outrunning the flapping slicker which had frightened him.
His first leap had almost dislodged Mariel from the saddle. She did not scream, but a startled cry of alarm burst from her lips as Dynamite bolted.
She had let the reins drop as she had raised her arms to don the slicker. Now she clutched at the pommel, and clung to it with every ounce of her strength.
Instantly Jess had dug his spurs into his white-stockinged chestnut. He was but two lengths behind old Dynamite, and the chestnut was a far fleeter animal.
Jess might have overtaken Dynamite, and forced him to stop by crowding him into the embankment on the far side of the road. Or he might have grasped the bolting horse’s bridle, causing him to slow down gradually.
But Jess was nothing if not dramatic. He spurred the chestnut forward until he was racing neck-and-neck with Dynamite. He leaned over and grasped Mariel about the waist. He threw his weight back and dragged her from the saddle, meanwhile reining in the chestnut, which came jerkily to a halt.
Jess lowered the girl to the ground. He leaped from the saddle, and an instant later was supporting her with an arm about her waist.
For a moment Mariel clung to him, gasping. Slowly the color returned to her face. Presently she moved away from him uncertainly. He made as if to follow her, but was fended off by an outstretched arm.
“Oh!” she panted, speaking for the first time. “That was splendid of you, Mr. Bledsoe! Why, I might have been killed!”
“It was nothing,” Jess assured her with every appearance of modesty. “I’m glad I could be of service—Mariel.”
It was the first time he had addressed her by her first name. She affected to take no notice of it.
“I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” she protested. “If it hadn’t been for—”
“Forget it!” Jess interrupted magnanimously. “If you feel faint—” He stepped forward again.
“Oh, I’m all right now,” she assured him with a little laugh. “Look at Dynamite. He’s cropping the grass as if he’d never in the world thought of running away.”
Jess knew better than to attempt to press his advantage too far. He stalked forward with jingling spurs and grasped the bridle of Dynamite, who had come to a halt a score of yards away.
“I—I guess we’d better start back. It’s starting to rain,” she faltered, plainly a bit afraid of her mount, who eyed her innocently when Jess led him back.
“Don’t let him see you’re scared of him,” Jess advised, cupping his hands to help her into the saddle. “Just keep that slicker from flapping, and he wont try it again.”
The pounding of hoofs became audible down the road. Both turned, and presently a horseman rounded a turn in the road at a full gallop. He drew in as he came abreast them. It was Spider Ponsonby, a lanky member of the Footstool outfit.
“Heard the news?” he called. And then, without waiting for a reply: “Ranger Joe Fyffe was murdered last night. And the Sheriff’s got Otis Carr under arrest!”