Chapter VIII
_Lorry_
In the low hills west of Stacey, Lorry was looking for strays. He workedalone, whistling as he rode, swinging his glasses on this and thatarroyo and singling out the infrequent clumps of greasewood for a touchof brighter color in their shadows. He urged his pony from crest tocrest, carelessly easy in the saddle, alive to his work, and quietlyhappy in the lone freedom of thought and action.
He felt a bit proud of himself that morning. Only last night he hadlearned that he was the son of Waring of Sonora; a name to live up to,if Western standards meant anything, and he thought they did.
The fact that he was the son of James Waring overcame for the time beingthe vague disquietude of mind attending his knowledge that his motherand father had become estranged. He thought he understood now why hismother had made him promise to go unarmed upon the range. Hiscompanions, to the last man, "packed a gun."
Heretofore their joshing had not bothered him. In fact, he had ratherenjoyed the distinction of going unarmed, and he had added to thisdistinction by acquiring a skill with the rope that occasioned muchnatural jealousy among his fellows. To be top-hand with a rope amongsuch men as Blaze Andrews, Slim Trivet, Red Bender, and High-Chin Bob,the foreman, was worth all the patient hours he had given to persistentpractice with the reata.
But to-day he questioned himself. His mother had made him promise to gounarmed because she feared he would become like his father. Why hadn'tshe told him more about it all? He felt that she had taken a kind ofmean advantage of his unwavering affection for her. He was a man, so faras earning his wage was concerned. And she was the best woman in theworld--but then women didn't understand the unwritten customs of therange.
On a sandy ridge he reined up and gazed at the desert below. The bleakflats wavered in the white light of noon. The farthest hills to thesouth seemed but a few miles away.
For some time he focused his gaze at the Notch, from which the roadsprang and flowed in slow undulations to a vanishing point in the blankspaces of the west. His pony, Gray Leg, head up and nostrils working,twitched back one ear as Lorry spoke: "You see it, too?"
Gray Leg continued to gaze into the distance, occasionally stamping animpatient forefoot, as though anxious to be off. Lorry lowered his glassand raised it again. In the circle of the binoculars he saw a tiny,distant figure dismount from a black horse and walk back and forthacross the road directly below the Notch. Lorry wiped his glasses andcentered them on the Notch again. The horseman had led his horse to aclump of brush. Presently the twinkling front of an automobileappeared--a miniature machine that wormed slowly through the Notch anddescended the short pitch beyond. Suddenly the car swerved and stopped.Lorry saw a flutter of white near the machine. Then the concealedhorseman appeared on foot. Lorry slipped the glass in his shirt.
"We'll just mosey over and get a closer look," he told his pony. "Thingsdon't look just right over there."
Gray Leg, scenting a new interest, tucked himself together. The sandsprayed to little puffs of dust as he swung to a lope.
Lorry was curious--and a bit elated at the promise of a break in themonotony of hunting stray cattle. Probably some Eastern tourist hadtaken the grade below the Notch too fast and ditched his machine. Lorrywould ride over and help him to right the car and set the pilgrim on hisway rejoicing. He had helped to right cars before. Last month, forinstance; that big car with the uniformed driver and the wonderfullygowned women. He recalled the fact that one of them had been absolutelybeautiful, despite her strange mufflings. She had offered to pay him forhis trouble. When he refused she had thanked him eloquently with herfine eyes and thrown him a kiss as he turned to go. She had thrown thatkiss with two hands! There was nothing stingy about that lady!
But possibly the machine toward which he rode carried nothing moreinteresting than men; fat, well-dressed men who smoked fat cigars andhad much to say about "high" and "low," but didn't seem to know a greatdeal about "Jack" and "The Game." If _they_ offered to pay him forhelping them--well, that was a different matter.
The pony loped toward the Notch, quite as eager as his rider to attend aperformance that promised action. Within a half-mile of the Notch, Lorrypulled the pony to a walk. Just beyond the car he had seen the head andears of a horse. The rider was afoot, talking to the folks in the car.This didn't look quite right.
He worked his pony through the shoulder-high brush until within a fewyards of the other man, who was evidently unwelcome. One of the twowomen stood in front of the other as though to shield her.
Lorry took down his rope just as the younger of the two women saw hishead above the brush. The strange horseman, noting her expression,turned quickly. Lorry's pony jumped at the thrust of the spurs. The ropecircled like a swallow and settled lightly on the man's shoulders. Thepony wheeled. The blunt report of a gun punctured the silence, followedby the long-drawn ripping of brush and the snorting of the pony.
The man was dragging and clutching at the brush. He had dropped his gun.Lorry dug the spurs into Gray Leg. The rope came taut with a jerk. Theman rolled over, his hands snatching at the noose about his neck. Lorrydismounted and ran to him. He eased the loop, and swiftly slipped itover the man's feet.
Gray Leg, who knew how to keep a rope taut better than anything else,slowly circled the fallen man. Lorry picked up the gun and strode overto the car. One of the women was crouching on the running-board. Infront of her, pale, straight, stiffly indignant, stood a young womanwhose eyes challenged Lorry's approach.
"It's all right, miss. He won't bother you now."
"Is he dead?" queried the girl.
"I reckon not."
"I heard a shot. I thought you killed him."
"No, ma'am. He took a crack at me. I don't pack a gun."
"You're a cowboy?" And the girl laughed nervously, despite her effort tohold herself together.
"I aim to be," said Lorry, a trifle brusquely.
The elder woman peered through her fingers. "Another one!" she moaned.
"No, mother. This one is a cowboy. It's all right."
"It sure is. What was his game?"
"He told us to give him our money."
"Uh-uh. This is the second holdup here at the Notch this summer."
"He's trying to get up!" exclaimed the girl.
"My hoss'll take care of him."
"But your horse might drag him to death."
"Well, it's his own funeral, ain't it?"
The girl's eyes grew big. She stepped back. If she had only saidsomething Lorry would have felt better. As it was he felt decidedlyuncomfortable.
"If you'll say what is right, ma'am, I'll do it. You want me to turn himloose?"
"I--No. But can't you do something for him?"
Lorry laughed. "I reckon you don't sabe them kind, miss. And mebby youwant to get that car on the road again."
"Yes," said the girl's mother. "I think this young man knows what he isabout."
Lorry stepped to the car to examine it.
The girl followed him. "I think there is nothing broken. We just turnedto come down that hill. We were coasting when I saw a rope stretchedacross the road. I didn't know what to do. I tried to stop. We slid offthe edge."
"Uh-uh. He had it all ribbed up to stop you. Now if you had kept ongoin'--"
"But I didn't know what the rope meant. I was frightened. And before Iknew what had happened he stepped right on the running-board and toldus to give him our money."
"Yes, ma'am. If you can start her up, I'll get my rope on the axle andhelp."
"But the man might get up!" said the girl.
Lorry grinned. A minute or two ago she had been afraid that the manwouldn't get up. Lorry slipped the rope from the man's ankles and tiedit to the front axle. The girl got in the car. The pony buckled to hiswork. The machine stuttered and purred. With a lurch it swung back intothe road. The girl's mother rose, brushed her skirt, and stepped to thecar. Lorry unfastened the rope and reined to one side.
The car steered badly. The
girl stopped it and beckoned to Lorry.
"There's something wrong with the steering-gear. Are the roads good fromhere to the next town?"
"Not too good. There's some heavy sand about a mile west."
She bit her lip. "Well, I suppose we'll have to turn back."
"You could get to Stacey, ma'am. You could get your car fixed, and mymother runs the hotel there. It's a good place to stop."
"How far?"
"About eight miles. Three miles back the road forks and the left-handroad goes to town. The regular automobile road don't go to Stacey."
"Well, I suppose there is nothing else to do. I'll try and turnaround." And the girl backed the car and swung round in a wavering arc.When the car faced the east she stopped it.
Lorry rode alongside. She thanked him for his services. "And pleasedon't do anything to that man," she pleaded. "He has been punishedenough. You almost killed him. He looked so wretched. Can't you give hima good talking to and let him go?"
"I could, ma'am. But it ain't right. He'll try this here stunt again.There's a reward out for him."
"But won't you--please!"
Lorry flushed. "You got a good heart all right, but you ain't been longin the West. Such as him steals hosses and holds up folks and robstrains--"
"But you're not an officer," she said, somewhat unkindly.
"I reckon any man is an officer when wimmin-folk is gettin' robbed. AndI aim to put him where he belongs."
"Thank you for helping us," said the girl's mother.
"You're right welcome, ma'am." And, raising his hat, Lorry turned androde to where the man lay.
The car crept up the slope. Lorry watched it until it had topped theridge. Then he dismounted and turned the man over.
"What you got to say about my turnin' you loose?" he queried as theother sat up.
"Nothin'."
"All right. Get a movin'--and don't try to run. I got my rope handy."
Jim Waring of Sonora-Town; Or, Tang of Life Page 8