CHAPTER XIII
GAME
They got their buck--a big six-point--just before the sun dipped belowthe flaming sky-line. In order to pack the meat in, one or the otherwould have to walk. Pete volunteered, but Bailey generously offered totoss up for the privilege of riding. He flipped a coin and won."Suits me," said Pete, grinning. "It's worth walkin' from here to theranch jest to see you rope that deer on my hoss. I reckon you'llsweat."
It took about all of the foreman's skill and strength, assisted byPete, to rope the deer on the pony, who had never packed game and whonever intended to if he could help it. And it was a nervous horse thatPete led down the long woodland trail as the shadows grew distorted andgrim in the swiftly fading light Long before they reached the mesalevel it was dark. The trail was carpeted with needles of the pine andtheir going was silent save for the creak of the saddles and theoccasional click of a hoof against an uncovered rock. Pete's horseseemed even more nervous as they made the last descent before strikingthe mesa. "Somethin' besides deer is bother'n' him," said Pete as theyworked cautiously down a steep switchback. The horse had stopped andwas trembling. Bailey glanced back. "Up there!" he whispered,gesturing to the trail above them. Pete had also been looking round,and before Bailey could speak again, a sliver of flame split thedarkness and the roar of Pete's six-gun shattered the eerie silence ofthe hillside. Bailey's horse plunged off the trail and rocketedstraight down the mountain. Pete's horse, rearing from the hurtlingshape that lunged from the trail above, tore the rope from his hand andcrashed down the hillside, snorting. Something was threshing about thetrail and coughing horribly. Pete would have run if he had known whichway to run. He had seen two lambent green dots glowing above him andhad fired with that quick instinct of placing his shot--the result oflong practice. The flopping and coughing ceased. Pete, with cockedgun poked ahead of him, struck a match. In its pale flare he saw thelong gray shape of a mountain lien stretched across the trail.Evidently the lion had smelled the blood of the deer, or the odor ofthe sweating horses--a mountain lion likes horse-flesh better thananything else--and had padded down the trail in the darkness, followingas close as he dared. The match flamed and spluttered out. Petewisely backed away a few paces and listened. A little wind whisperedin the pines and a branch creaked, but there came no sound of movementfrom the lion. "I reckon I plugged him right!" muttered Pete. "Wonderwhat made Jim light out in sech a hurry?" And, "Hey, Jim!" he called.
From far below came a faint _Whoo_! _Halloo_! Then the words separateand distinct: "I--got--your--horse."
"I--got--a--lion," called Pete shrilly.
"Who--is lyin'--?" came from the depths below.
Pete grinned despite his agitation. "Come--on--back!" shouted Pete.He thought he heard Bailey say something like "damn," but it may havebeen, "I am." Pete struck another match and stepped nearer the lionthis time. The great, lithe beast was dead. The blunt-nose forty-fiveat close range had torn away a part of its skull. "I done spiled thehead," complained Pete. In the succeeding darkness he heard the fainttinkle of shod feet on the trail.
Presently he could distinctly hear the heavy breathing of the horse andthe gentle creak of the saddle. Within speaking distance he told theforeman that he had shot a whopper of a lion and it looked as thoughthey would need another pack-horse. Bailey said nothing until he hadarrived at the angle of the switchback, when he lighted a match andgazed at the great gray cat of the rocks.
"You get twenty dollars bounty," he told Pete. "And you sure stampededme into the worst piece of down timber I've rode for a long time.Gosh! but you're quick with that smoke-wagon of yours! Lost my hat andliked to broke my leg ag'in' a tree, but I run plumb onto your horsedraggin' a rope. I tied him down there on the flat. I figure you'vesaved a dozen calves by killin' that kitty-cat. Did you know it was alion when you shot?"
"Nope, or I'd 'a' sure beat the hosses down the grade. I jest cutloose at them two green eyes a-burnin' in the brush and _whump_! downcomes Mr. Kitty-cat almost plumb atop me. Mebby I wasn't scared! Iwas wonderin' why you set off in sech a hurry. You sure burned theground down the mountain."
"Just stayin' with my saddle," laughed Bailey. "Old Frisco here ain'tlost any lions recent."
"Will he pack?"
"I dunno. Wish it was daylight."
"Wish we had another rope," said Pete. "My rope is on my hoss andyours is cinchin' the deer on him. And that there lion sure won'tlead. _He's_ dead."
"'Way high up in the Mokiones,'" chanted Bailey.
"'A-trippin' down the slope'!" laughed Pete. "And we ain't got norope. But say, Jim, can't we kind of hang him acrost your saddle andsteady him down to the flats?"
"I'll see what I can do with the tie-strings. I'll hold Frisco. Yougo ahead and heave him up."
Pete approached the lion and tried to lift it, but it weaved andslipped from his arms. "Limper 'n wet rawhide!" asserted Pete.
"Are you that scared? Shucks, now, I'd 'a' thought--"
"The doggone lion, I mean. Every time I heave at him he jest folds upand lays ag'in' me like he was powerful glad to see me. You try him."
The horse snorted and shied as the foreman slung the huge carcassacross the saddle and tied the lion's fore feet and hind feet with thesaddle-strings. They made slow progress to the flats below, where theyhad another lively session with Pete's horse, who had smelled the lion.Finally with their game roped securely they set out on foot for theranch.
The hunting, and especially Pete's kill, had drawn them close together.They laughed and talked, making light of high-heeled boots that pinchedand blistered as they plodded across the starlit mesa.
"Let's put one over on the boys!" suggested Pete. "We'll drift inquiet, hang the buck in the slaughter-house, and then pack thekitty-cat into the bunk-house and leave him layin' like he was asleep,by Bill Haskins's bunk. Ole Bill allus gits his feet on the floorafore he gits his eyes open. Mebby he won't step high and lively whenhe sees what he's got his feet on!"
Bailey, plodding ahead and leading Frisco, chuckled. "I'll go you,Pete, but I want you to promise me somethin'."
"Shoot!"
Bailey waited for Pete to come alongside. "It's this way, Pete--andthis here is plain outdoor talk, which you sabe. Mrs. Bailey and meain't exactly hatin' you, as you know. But we would hate to see youget into trouble on account of Gary or any of the T-Bar-T boys. Andbecause you can shoot is a mighty good reason for you to go slow withthat gun. 'T ain't that I give two whoops and a holler what happens toGary. It's what might happen to you. I was raised right here in thiscountry and I know jest how those things go. You're workin' for theConcho. What you do, the Concho's got to back up. I couldn't hold theboys if Gary got you, or if you got Gary. They'd be hell a-poppin' allover the range. Speakin' personal, I'm with you to the finish, for Iknow how you feel about Pop Annersley. But you ain't growed up yet.You got plenty time to think. If you are a-hankerin' for Gary's scalp,when you git to be twenty-one, why, go to it. But you're a kid yet,and a whole lot can happen in five or six years. Mebby somebody'll gitGary afore then. I sure hope they do. But while you're worldly forme--jest forget Gary. I ain't tellin' you you _got_ to. I'm talkin'as your friend."
"I'll go you," said Pete slowly. "But if Steve Gary comes at me--"
"That's different. Let him talk--and you keep still. Keepin' still atthe right time has saved many a man's hide. Most folks talk too much."
The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Page 13