CHAPTER IX
GUNSIGHT PASS
The pursuit took the riders across a wide, undulating plain above whichdanced the dry heat of the desert. Lizards sunned themselves on flatrocks. A rattlesnake slid toward the cover of a prickly pear. Thebleached bones of a cow shone white beside the trail.
The throats of the cowpunchers filled with alkali dust and their eyesgrew red and sore from it. Magnificent mirages unfolded themselves: lakescool and limpid, stretching to the horizon, with inviting forests in thedistance; an oasis of lush green fields that covered miles; mesquitedistorted to the size of giant trees and cattle transformed intodinosaurs. The great gray desert took on freakish shapes of erosion.Always, hour after hour beneath a copper sky, they rode in palpitatingheat through sand drifts, among the salt bushes and the creosote, intocowbacked hills beyond which the stark mountains rose.
Out of the fiery furnace of the plain they came in late afternoon tothe uplands, plunging into a land of deep gorges and great chasms. Heremanzanita grew and liveoaks flourished. They sent a whitetail buckcrashing through the brush into a canon.
When night fell they built a fire of niggerheads and after they had eatenfound its glow grateful. For they were well up in the hills now and thenight air was sharp.
In the sandy desert they had followed easily the trail of the thieves,but as they had got into the hills the tracks had become fainter andfewer. The young men discussed this while they lay in their blankets ina water-gutted gulch not too near the fire they had built.
"Like huntin' for a needle in a haystack," said Bob. "Their trail's donepetered out. They might be in any one of a hundred pockets right close,or they may have bore 'way off to the right. All they got to do is holeup and not build any fires."
"Fat chance we got," admitted Dave. "Unless they build a fire like wedone. Say, I'd a heap rather be sleepin' here than by that niggerheadblaze to-night. They might creep up and try to gun us."
Before they had been in the saddle an hour next day the trail of thethieves was lost. The pursuers spent till sunset trying to pick it upagain. The third day was wasted in aimless drifting among the defilesof the mountains.
"No use, Bob," said his friend while they were cooking supper. "They'vemade their getaway. Might as well drift back to Malapi, don't youreckon?"
"Looks like. We're only wastin' our time here."
Long before day broke they started.
The canons below were filled with mist as they rode down out of themountains toward the crystal dawn that already flooded the plain. Thecourt-house clock at Malapi said the time was midnight when thedust-covered men and horses drew into the town.
The tired men slept till noon. At the Delmonico Restaurant they foundBuck Byington and Steve Russell. The trail herd had been driven in anhour before.
"How's old Alkali?" asked Dave of his friend Buck, thumping him on theback.
"Jes' tolable," answered the old-timer equably, making great play withknife and fork. "A man or a hawss don't either one amount to much afterthey onct been stove up. Since that bronc piled me at Willow Creek Ibeen mighty stiff, you might say."
"Dug's payin' off to-day, boys," Russell told them. "You'll find himround to the Boston Emporium."
The foreman settled first with Hart, after which he, turned to the pagein his pocket notebook that held the account of Sanders.
"You've drew one month's pay. That leaves you three months, less the weekyou've fooled away after the pinto."
"C'rect," admitted Dave.
"I'll dock you seven and a half for that. Three times thirty's ninety.Take seven and a half from that leaves eighty-two fifty."
"Hold on!" objected Dave. "My pay's thirty-five a month."
"First I knew of it," said the foreman, eyes bleak and harsh. "Thirty'swhat you're gettin'."
"I came in as top hand at thirty-five."
"You did not," denied Doble flatly.
The young man flushed. "You can't run that on me, Dug. I'll not stand forit."
"Eighty-two fifty is what you get," answered the other dogmatically. "Youcan take it or go to hell."
He began to sort out a number of small checks with which to pay thepuncher. At that time the currency of the country consisted largely ofcattlemen's checks which passed from hand to hand till they were grimywith dirt. Often these were not cashed for months later.
"We'll see what the old man says about that," retorted Dave hotly. It wasin his mind to say that he did not intend to be robbed by both the Doblebrothers, but he wisely repressed the impulse. Dug would as soon fight aseat, and the young rider knew he would not have a chance in the worldagainst him.
"All right," sneered the foreman. "Run with yore tale of grief toCrawford. Tell him I been pickin' on you. I hear you've got to be quitea pet of his."
This brought Dave up with a short turn. He could not take advantage ofthe service he had done the owner of the D Bar Lazy R to ask him tointerfere in his behalf with the foreman. Doble might be cynicallydefrauding him of part of what was due him in wages. Dave would have tofight that out with him for himself. The worst of it was that he had noredress. Unless he appealed to the cattleman he would have to acceptwhat the foreman offered.
Moreover, his pride was touched. He was young enough to be sensitive onthe subject of his ability to look out for himself.
"I'm no pet of anybody," he flung out. "Gimme that money. It ain't asquare deal, but I reckon I can stand it."
"I reckon you'll have to. It's neck meat or nothin'," grunted theforeman.
Doble counted him out eighty dollars in cattlemen's checks and paid himtwo-fifty in cash. While Dave signed a receipt the hook-nosed foreman,broad shoulders thrown back and thumbs hitched in the arm-holes of hisvest, sat at ease in a tilted chair and grinned maliciously at hisvictim. He was "puttin' somethin' over on him," and he wanted Dave toknow it. Dug had no affection for his half-brother, but he resentedthe fact that Sanders publicly and openly despised him as a crook. Hetook it as a personal reflection on himself.
Still smouldering with anger at this high-handed proceeding, Dave wentdown to the Longhorn Corral and saddled his horse. He had promisedByington to help water the herd.
This done, he rode back to town, hitched the horse back of a barber shop,and went in for a shave. Presently he was stretched in a chair, his bootsthrown across the foot rest in front of him.
The barber lathered his face and murmured gossip in his ear. "GeorgeDoble and Miller claim they're goin' to Denver to run some skin game ata street fair. They're sure slick guys."
Dave offered no comment.
"You notice they didn't steal any of Em Crawford's stock. No, sirree!They knew better. Hopped away with broncs belongin' to you boys becausethey knew it'd be safe."
"Picked easy marks, did they?" asked the puncher sardonically.
The man with the razor tilted the chin of his customer and began toscrape. "Well, o'course you're only boys. They took advantage of thatand done you a meanness."
Dug Doble came into the shop, very grim about the mouth. He stopped tolook down sarcastically at the new boots Sanders was wearing.
"I see you've bought you a new pair of boots," he said in a heavy,domineering voice.
Dave waited without answering, his eyes meeting steadily those of theforeman.
The big fellow laid a paper on the breast of the cowpuncher. "Here's abill for a pair of boots you charged to the old man's account--eighteendollars. I got it just now at the store. You'll dig up."
It was the custom for riders who came to town to have the supplies theyneeded charged to their employers against wages due them. Doble took itfor granted that Sanders had done this, which was contrary to the ordershe had given his outfit. He did not know the young man had lost his bootswhile rescuing Crawford and had been authorized by him to get anotherpair in place of them.
Nor did Dave intend to tell him. Here was a chance to even the scoreagainst the foreman. Already he had a plan simmering in his mind thatwould take him out of this part of the c
ountry for a time. He could nolonger work for Doble without friction, and he had business of his own toattend to. The way to solve the immediate difficulty flashed through hisbrain instantly, every detail clear.
It was scarcely a moment before he drawled an answer. "I'll 'tend to itsoon as I'm out of the chair."
"I gave orders for none of you fellows to charge goods to the old man,"said Doble harshly.
"Did you?" Dave's voice was light and careless.
"You can go hunt a job somewheres else. You're through with me."
"I'll hate to part with you."
"Don't get heavy, young fellow."
"No," answered Dave with mock meekness.
Doble sat down in a chair to wait. He had no intention of leaving untilDave had settled.
After the barber had finished with him the puncher stepped across to alooking-glass and adjusted carefully the silk handkerchief worn knottedloosely round the throat.
"Get a move on you!" urged the foreman. His patience, of which he neverhad a large supply to draw from, was nearly exhausted. "I'm not goin' tospend all day on this."
"I'm ready."
Dave followed Doble out of the shop. Apparently he did not hear thegentle reminder of the barber, who was forced to come to the door andrepeat his question.
"Want that shave charged?"
"Oh! Clean forgot." Sanders turned back, feeling in his pocket forchange.
He pushed past the barber into the shop, slapped a quarter down on thecigar-case, and ran out through the back door. A moment later he pulledthe slip-knot of his bridle from the hitching-bar, swung to the saddleand spurred his horse to a gallop. In a cloud of dust he swept round thebuilding to the road and waved a hand derisively toward Doble.
"See you later!" he shouted.
The foreman wasted no breath in futile rage. He strode to the nearesthitching-post and flung himself astride leather. The horse's hoofspounded down the road in pursuit.
Sanders was riding the same bronco he had used to follow thehorsethieves. It had been under a saddle most of the time for a week andwas far from fresh. Before he had gone a mile he knew that the foremanwould catch up with him.
He was riding for Gunsight Pass. It was necessary to get there beforeDoble reached him. Otherwise he would have to surrender or fight, andneither of these fitted in with his plans.
Once he had heard Emerson Crawford give a piece of advice to a hotheadedand unwise puncher. "Never call for a gun-play on a bluff, son. There'sno easier way to commit suicide than to pull a six-shooter you ain'twillin' to use." Dug Doble was what Byington called "bull-haided." He hadforced a situation which could not be met without a showdown. This meantthat the young range-rider would either have to take a thrashing or drawhis forty-five and use it. Neither of these alternatives seemed worthwhile in view of the small stakes at issue. Because he was not ready tokill or be killed, Dave was flying for the hills.
The fugitive had to use his quirt to get there in time. The steepness ofthe road made heavy going. As he neared the summit the grade grew worse.The bronco labored heavily in its stride as its feet reached for theroad ahead.
But here Dave had the advantage. Doble was a much heavier man than he,and his mount took the shoulder of the ridge slower. By the time theforeman showed in silhouette against the skyline at the entrance to thepass the younger man had disappeared.
The D Bar Lazy R foreman found out at once what had become of him. Acrisp voice gave clear directions.
"That'll be far enough. Stop right where you're at or you'll noticetrouble pop. And don't reach for yore gun unless you want to hear theband begin to play a funeral piece."
The words came, it seemed to Doble, out of the air. He looked up. Twogreat boulders lay edge to edge beside the path. Through a narrow riftthe blue nose of a forty-five protruded. Back of it glittered a pairof steady, steely eyes.
The foreman did not at all like the look of things. Sanders was a goodshot. From where he lay, almost entirely protected, all he had to do wasto pick his opponent off at his leisure. If his hand were forced he woulddo it. And the law would let him go scot free, since Doble was a fightingman and had been seen to start in pursuit of the boy.
"Come outa there and shell out that eighteen dollars," demanded Doble.
"Nothin' doin', Dug."
"Don't run on the rope with me, young fellow. You'll sure be huntin'trouble."
"What's the use o' beefin'? I've got the deadwood on you. Better hit thedust back to town and explain to the boys how yore bronc went lame,"advised Dave.
"Come down and I'll wallop the tar outa you."
"Much obliged. I'm right comfortable here."
"I've a mind to come up and dig you out."
"Please yoreself, Dug. We'll find out then which one of us goes to hell."
The foreman cursed, fluently, expertly, passionately. Not in a long timehad he had the turn called on him so adroitly. He promised Dave suddendeath in various forms whenever he could lay hands upon him.
"You're sure doin' yoreself proud, Dug," the young man told him evenly."I'll write the boys how you spilled language so thorough."
"If I could only lay my hands on you!" the raw-boned cattleman stormed.
"I'll bet you'd massacree me proper," admitted Dave quite cheerfully.
Suddenly Doble gave up. He wheeled his horse and began to descend thesteep slope. Steadily he jogged on to town, not once turning to lookback. His soul was filled with chagrin and fury at the defeat thisstripling had given him. He was ready to pick a quarrel with the firstman who asked him a question about what had taken place at the pass.
Nobody asked a question. Men looked at him, read the menace of hissullen, angry face, and side-stepped his rage. They did not need to betold that his ride had been a failure. His manner advertised it. Whateverhad taken place had not redounded to the glory of Dug Doble.
Later in the day the foreman met the owner of the D Bar Lazy R brandto make a detailed statement of the cost of the drive. He took peculiarpleasure in mentioning one item.
"That young scalawag Sanders beat you outa eighteen dollars," he saidwith a sneer of triumph.
Doble had heard the story of what Dave and Bob had done for Crawford andof how the wounded boy had been taken to the cattleman's home and nursedthere. It pleased him now to score off what he chose to think was thesoft-headedness of his chief.
The cattleman showed interest. "That so, Dug? Sorry. I took a fancy tothat boy. What did he do?"
"You know how vaqueros are always comin' in and chargin' goods againstthe boss. I give out the word they was to quit it. Sanders he gets a pairof eighteen-dollar boots, then jumps the town before I find out aboutit."
Crawford started to speak, but Doble finished his story.
"I took out after him, but my bronc went lame from a stone in its hoof.You'll never see that eighteen plunks, Em. It don't do to pet cowhands."
"Too bad you took all that trouble, Dug," the old cattleman began mildly."The fact is--"
"Trouble. Say, I'd ride to Tombstone to get a crack at that young smartAleck. I told him what I'd do to him if I ever got my fists on him."
"So you _did_ catch up with him."
Dug drew back sulkily within himself. He did not intend to tell all heknew about the Gunsight Pass episode. "I didn't say _when_ I told him."
"Tha's so. You didn't. Well, I'm right sorry you took so blamed muchtrouble to find him. Funny, though, he didn't tell you I gave him theboots."
"You--what?" The foreman snapped the question out with angry incredulity.
The ranchman took the cigar from his mouth and leaned back easily. He wassmiling now frankly.
"Why, yes. I told him to buy the boots and have 'em charged to myaccount. And the blamed little rooster never told you, eh?"
Doble choked for words with which to express himself. He glared at hisemployer as though Crawford had actually insulted him.
In an easy, conversational tone the cattleman continued, but now therewas a touch of frost in his eye
s.
"It was thisaway, Dug. When he and Bob knocked Steelman's plans hell westand crooked after that yellow skunk George Doble betrayed me to Brad, theboy lost his boots in the brush. 'Course I said to get another pair atthe store and charge 'em to me. I reckon he was havin' some fun joshin'you."
The foreman was furious. He sputtered with the rage that boiled insidehim. But some instinct warned him that unless he wanted to break withCrawford completely he must restrain his impulse to rip loose.
"All right," he mumbled. "If you told him to get 'em, 'nough said."
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