Laramie Holds the Range

by Frank H. Spearman

  CHAPTER XIX

  LEFEVER RECEIVES THE RAIDERS

  Laramie knew Lefever to be quite equal to the highly particular job hehad assigned to him and that John would give his best to it. Hardlythirty minutes later, the raiders rode out of the timber along thecreek. Van Horn stopped his pack for a word of warning:

  "Look to your guns," he said harshly. "You can guess most o' you whatyou'll be up against, if there's trouble at this joint." Leaving thecreek, the party rode out on a rarely used trail that, Stone told them,led to Laramie's cabin. They followed this for some distance, keepingtwo men ahead as they had done in the early morning. These two men,reaching the bench, which at that point had been cut sharply away by aflood, halted. The main party riding up the hill debouched on levelground at the crest and joined their scouts. Half a mile to theirright stood Laramie's cabin. The bench land lying in front of it wasas smooth as a table and covered with mountain blue stem. Out of thelevel ground, a hundred yards from the edge of the bench whereDoubleday's party had halted, rose a huge and solitary fragment of rock.

  Beside this rock stood a large man facing the intruders; slung over hisleft forearm he carried a rifle and his right hand he held well outtoward them with its open palm raised in the air. The raidersunderstood the signal; it warned them to advance no farther.

  "What's that fat buck doing up in this country?" asked Van Horn,angrily.

  "Who is it?" demanded Doubleday.

  "John Lefever," returned Van Horn, greatly nettled. "What are youdoing here?" he bellowed at the unwelcome sentinel.

  John pointed a stubby forefinger at Van Horn and returned a perfectlyintelligible retort: "That's not the first question, Harry; that's thesecond question," he yelled. "What are you doing here?"

  This was not in all respects a question easy to answer. But Van Hornwas resourceful: "We're on our way down the creek, John. Rode up fromthe bottom to see Jim Laramie a minute."

  "Just a friendly call," assented John. "Well, how about sidearms," heshouted, "and how many of you are there?"

  Van Horn looked around him: "Why, maybe a dozen, I reckon, John. Youknow most everybody here."

  "How many of you are there want to see Jim a minute, Harry?" askedLefever, calm but conveniently close to the rock and quite conscious ofthe delicacy of his position should shooting begin.

  There was some exchange of talk before the question was answered: "Lookhere, Lefever," roared Doubleday huskily; "what the hell's all thisfuss about?"

  "Why, it's like this, Barb," returned Lefever, nothing abashed. "WhenI seen you crossing down there at the forks I thought maybe you'd lostyour Bibles in the creek. That's the way you acted. But when I seenyou and Harry Van Horn and Tom Stone loading your rifles in the timber,I reckoned you must be comin' up to ask Jim to run for sheriff on thecattle ticket."

  Sarcasm could hardly convey more defiance and contempt. The ridersrealized they had been watched and that deception was useless; Van Hornwas furiously angry. "Look here, Lefever," he called out, short andsharp.

  "I'm looking right there, Harry," yelled Lefever irreverently. "With abunch of mugs like that on the horizon I sure wouldn't dare lookanywhere else!"

  "These boys won't stand any more fooling," roared Doubleday.

  "I wouldn't either, Barb, if you'd got me into this scrape as deep asyou've got them," was the retort.

  Nothing less than violent outbursts of profanity served now. And theseproceeding to a climax of strength and rapidity, gradually subsided assuch outbursts do and the two sides started to argue all over again.

  After much parley and protestations of peaceful intent, provided theywere treated fair, Doubleday and Van Horn were allowed to ride up tothe rock, but not to dismount. "Now," suggested Lefever to the two,"talk just plain business."

  "Right you have it, John," returned Van Horn briskly. "The rustlershave got to go. We're looking for Abe Hawk. Gorman and Dutch Henryare lifting cattle now in the Happy Hunting Grounds. We're going toclean out the rest of 'em. We've tracked Abe here. Without any hardwords, we want him."

  "Then, boys, you want to ride right on; keep on riding, for he's nothere. I don't know anything, but that much I do know," asserted thebig fellow positively.

  "How do you know?" demanded Doubleday grimly.

  "I just walked down here from the cabin; there's no one there. I rodein here this morning from the Reservation, Barb. A buck looking forhorses over on the North Fork yesterday saw the fight atGorman's--everybody knows about it."

  Van Horn showed his teeth: "You're a pretty good artist, John, withyour buck looking for horses."

  Lefever deprecated the compliment: "You must remember, Harry, I workedseven year for you. Seven year--and then didn't get all was coming tome."

  "If you had," returned Van Horn candidly, "your headstone would becovered with moss by this time, John. Where's Laramie?"

  Lefever stood with his left hand eagerly extended and appeared as ifsensitive at Van Horn's incredulity:

  "All the same, Harry," he exclaimed, "I can take you to that buckinside two hours' ride and get his story. I've got five twenty-dollargold pieces in my pocket that says so. I'll put 'em up in BarbDoubleday's hands right now against your five."

  "A man couldn't pry you loose from five twenty-dollar gold pieces ifyou had five thousand in your pocket, John. What are you stallingaround for?" demanded Van Horn suspiciously. "Where's Laramie?"

  Lefever was frankness itself; almost over-frank in his genuinesimplicity. Had it not been for his big, blunt eyes and round, smoothface he might have been suspected of duplicity--but not by the two mennow talking to him; they knew beyond a doubt that John was "stringing"them. Unfortunately they could not prevent it. He answered Van Horn'ssharp question as innocently as a child.

  "That's more than I can say this minute, Harry, where Jim Laramie is;but he's not far, I can tell you that, for the coffee pot was on thestove when I got to the shack a while ago."

  "Then what are you holding us up here for?" barked Doubleday with roughwords.

  "I'm a peace officer, Barb, a deputy marshal." The bursting expressionof disgust on his questioners' faces did not ruffle John's candor. "Iknow what you fellows are up to. I won't have any bloodshed here thismorning--that's flat. Laramie gets hot sometimes and this is one ofthe times for folks to go slow. If you want to talk to Laramie comealong up to the shack. But send them longhorns over there down to thecreek," he added, as an afterthought and in the bluntly candid tone ofappeal that distinguished his persuasiveness.

  "Long hell!" spluttered Doubleday.

  "Longhorns," persisted Lefever.

  Barb growled at the proposal to send the boys down to the creek, andVan Horn objected, but there was no escape from Lefever's stubbornness,except a fight and this was not wanted. Lefever passed his word thatHawk was not in the cabin, but he was adamant on sending the men to thebottoms and his demand was grudgingly acceded to. In point of fact,John reckoned himself on foot with a rifle equal to two men onhorseback, even if Van Horn were one. But not being able to take careof a dozen horsemen he was resolved to have no volleying applause fromother guns, if the unexpected should happen on the open bench land.

  After Doubleday and Van Horn's following had at length filed down tothe creek bottom, Lefever walked beside the two horsemen toward thecabin, and, since he would not walk fast and the two refused to rideahead of him, the pace was deliberate all the way. Nor could Lefeverbe persuaded even to walk between the two horsemen; he kept them bothreligiously on his left, his rifle lying carelessly across his forearmas he entertained them with a moderately timed and unfailing flow ofReservation small talk.

  But he could not control Van Horn's quick, flashing eyes, and thesewere busy every moment and every foot of the way with reconnaissanceand inference. It did not escape either him or Doubleday that a bunchof horses had been but lately driven over the ground they werecrossing, and every trail leading to and from the cabin obliterated;this, however, only ass
ured both that their man was close at hand andstrengthened their determination to get him in their own way when theywere ready. So intent were they on reading the ground as well as onkeeping a sharp eye on the cabin itself, that they had almost reachedit before Van Horn, halting, fixed his eyes on the hills to theleft--that is, down the creek--and exclaimed sharply: "Who's that?"

  Riding in a leisurely fashion down and out of the rough country to theSouth, a mile away, a man emerging from a rift between two hills couldbe seen following one of the cattle trails toward the creek.

  Lefever, after a minute's study, answered the question blandly: "I'mthinkin' that's Jim Laramie, right now."

  He waved his hat at the distant horseman, who, also rode with a rifleslung across his pommel and carried his lines high in his right hand.The horseman continued for some moments toward the creek, then looking,seemingly by accident, toward the house he saw the signaling, stoppedhis pony, paused, and reigning him around, headed at an easy pace forthe group before the cabin. It was, as Lefever had said, Laramie.

  A few minutes later he trotted his horse across the field and slowedhim up in front of Van Horn and Doubleday. His greeting to hisvisitors was dry; their own was somewhat strained, but Lefever at oncetook the initiative: "Jim," he said, identifying himself in his bluntlyhonest way with the interests of the raiders, "we're looking for AbeHawk."

  Laramie's response was merely to the point: "He's not here."

  "Has he been here?" demanded Van Horn.

  "Yes," answered Laramie. Lefever at intervals looked virtuously fromquestioner to questioned.

  "How long ago, Jim?" continued Van Horn.

  Laramie regarded him steadily: "Several times in the last few weeks."

  "Was he here yesterday?" asked Van Horn suddenly.

  "I was on the Reservation yesterday."

  "Has he been here this morning?"

  "Yes."

  If Lefever jumped inwardly at this most unexpected admission hesuppressed all outward sign of surprise; his wide open eyes did notblink and his close-cut mustache preserved its honesty undefiled. Buthe wondered what might be coming.

  "How long ago?" continued Van Horn.

  "Early. What's all this questioning about?" Laramie demanded in turn,looking from Van Horn to Doubleday and to Lefever. "Who wants Hawk?"

  "Jim, we're cleaning up the rustlers," said Van Horn. "Things have gotso bad it had to be done. We want Hawk. We've got Gorman and Henry.Now, if it's a fair question, is Abe here?"

  "He's not."

  "Not in your shack?"

  "No."

  "Are you willing we should search it?"

  "Search hell! What do you mean?" asked Laramie curtly. "Isn't my wordgood as to who's in my shack?"

  "Jim!" Lefever held up a peacemaker's hand. "We thought maybe hemight have come in since you rode away."

  "Well----" Laramie cooled somewhat, "if it'll do you any good, I'lllook inside and see."

  Van Horn sarcastically demurred: "Don't take the trouble, don't takethe trouble, Jim."

  "Still he might be there," urged Lefever, "in the way I say--hemight've walked in since you went into the hills--what? No objectionto my looking in there, is there, Jim?"

  "No man can search my cabin," snapped Laramie. "Have you got a warrantfor Abe Hawk?" He threw the question sharply at Lefever.

  With Lefever's disclaimer, Doubleday interposed a savage rejoinder: "Arope'll fit Abe's neck better than a warrant."

  Laramie eyed the old cattleman unmoved: "And you're here to get me tohelp you slip the noose, are you?"

  "We're here to clean out these cattle thieves," stormed Doubleday.

  "There are no cattle thieves here," retorted Laramie undisturbed."You're wasting the time you'll need on your job. Move on!"

  Even Van Horn was taken aback by the rude command; he pulled his horsearound: "Look here, Jim; let me talk to you a minute alone."

  Laramie, guiding his horse with his heels, followed Van Horn twentyfeet away and listened: "Jim, I'm leading this bunch, and whatevertroubles you've had with Barb and his friends, now's the time to fix'em up. They'll give you the best of it. If you've got any line onwhere Hawk is, say so and it puts you with us; say nothing, and you'reagainst us."

  Laramie eyed him without a quiver: "I'm against you, Harry."

  Van Horn did not give up. He talked again, and talked hard. It wasuseless. Doubleday rode over to where Van Horn held Laramie in deadlyearnest conference. Van Horn, ready to quit, gladly let the older mantake over the case. But Doubleday made no better success. Laramiecould not be moved. If coaxed, he was obstinate; if threatened,impatient--contemptuous. Doubleday, when Laramie coldly refused evento answer his questions concerning Hawk, boiled over.

  He moved his horse a step and opened his vials of wrath: "Laramie,you've turned down the last chance decent folks on the range'll evertry to hand you--the last chance you'll ever see to pull away fromthese Falling Wall thieves. Now," he exclaimed, raising his right handand arm with a bitter imprecation, "we'll show you who's going to runthe Sleepy Cat range. I'll drive you out of this country if it takesevery cowboy I can hire and every dollar I've got. This country won'thold you and me after today. D'ye hear?" he shouted, almost bendingwith his huge frame over Laramie and beside himself with rage. Thenspurring his horse, he wheeled it around to rejoin Van Horn.

  Even then Laramie was too quick for him. Almost in the very instant,he jumped his own pony after the angry man and gaining the head ofDoubleday's horse, caught the bridle and jerked the beast almost to itshaunches.

  It was a ticklish instant. Van Horn, with his hand on his revolver,attempted to spur to Doubleday's assistance. Lefever interposed with asharp move that put him plumply in front of Van Horn: "Not till themtwo are through, Harry. We stay right here till them two's done."

  The very impudence of Laramie's move had taken Doubleday by surpriseand Laramie was hurling angry words at him before Lefever hadintervened: "Hold on, Doubleday," Laramie said bluntly, "you can't putyour abuse all over me first and then run away with it. You'll hearwhat I've got to say. I rode this range before you ever saw it; I'llride this range when you're gone. I was born here, Doubleday; myfather lived here before me. The air I breathe, this sky over my head,this ground under my feet, are mine, and I stick here in spite of youand your cattle crooks. If men run off your cattle it's your sheriff'sbusiness--you own him. And it's your business to run 'em down--notmine. You come here without a warrant, without a definite complaint,and ask me to turn an old man over to a bunch of lynchers! Not on yourlife. Not today or any other day."

  Doubleday interrupted, but he was forced to listen: "You talk aboutthieves," Laramie spoke fast and remorselessly, "and you belong to thebunch that's tried to steal every foot of land I own in the FallingWall. After you and your lawyers and land office tools have stolenthousands of acres from the government, you talk as if you were anangel out of heaven about the men that brand your mavericks. Hell!"The scorn of the expletive drew from the very depths of furiouscontempt. "I'd rather stand by a thief that calls himself a thief,than a thief that steals under a lawyer. Send your hired men after me;give 'em plenty of ammunition. They'll find me right here, Barb--righthere where I live."