CHAPTER XVII
A FALSE TRAIL
"Sure he's dead!" reiterated Cotton. "Didn't I see them two holesplumb through him and the blood soakin' his shirt when I turned himover? If I'd 'a' had my gun on me that Young Pete would be right sideof Steve, right now! But I couldn't do nothin' without a gun. PeteAnnersley was plumb scared. That's why he killed Steve. Jest yougimme a gun and watch me ride him down! I aim to settle with that Jay."
Cotton was talking to Houck of the T-Bar-T, blending fact and fictionin a blustering attempt to make himself believe he had played the man.During his long, foot-weary journey to the ranch he had roughlyinvented this speech and tried to memorize it. Through repetition hecame to believe that he was telling the truth. Incidentally he had notpaused to catch up his horse, which was a slight oversight, consideringthe trail from the Blue to his home ranch.
"What's the matter with the gun you're packin'?" asked Houck.
Cotton had forgotten his own gun.
"I--it was like this, Bill. After Young Pete killed Gary, I went backto the shack and got my gun. At first, Andy White wasn't goin' toleave me have it--but I tells him to fan it. I reckon he's pretty nighhome by now."
"Thought you said you didn't see White after the shooting--that heforked his horse and rode for the Concho? Cotton, you're lyin' so fastyou're like to choke."
"Honest, Bill! If I'd 'a' had my gun . . ."
"Oh, hell! Don't try to swing that bluff. Where's your horse?"
"I couldn't ketch him, honest."
"Thought you said you caught him in the brush and tied him to a treeand Young Annersley threatened to kill you if you went for your saddle."
"That's right--honest, Bill, that's what he said."
"Then how is it that Bobby Lent caught your horse strayin' in more 'n ahour ago? Dam' if I believe a word you say. You're plumb crazy."
"Honest, Bill. I hope to die if Steve Gary ain't layin' over therewith two holes in him. He's sure dead. Do you think I footed it allthe way jest because I like walkin'?"
Houck frowned and shook his head. "You say him and Young Pete had cometo words?"
"Yep; about ole man Annersley. Steve was tellin' me about the raidwhen Pete steps up and tells him to say it over ag'in. Steve startedto talk when Pete cuts down on him--twict. My God, he was quick! Inever even seen him draw."
"Did Gary say _he_ was the one that plugged Annersley?"
"Yep. Said he did it--and asked Pete what he was goin' to do about it."
"Then Steve was drunk or crazy. You go git a horse and burn the trailto Concho. Tell Sutton that Young Pete Annersley killed Gary, up tothe Blue Mesa. Tell him we're out after Young Pete. Can you git thatstraight?"
"What if the sheriff was to pinch me for bein' in that scrap?"
"You! In a gun-fight? No. He wouldn't believe that if you told himso. You jest tell Sutton what I said, and git goin'! Don't lie tohim--or he'll spot it and pinch you dam' quick."
With Cotton gone, Houck saddled up and rode out to where one of his menwas mending fence. "Take your horse and git all the boys you can reachbefore night. Young Pete Annersley shot Steve over to the Blue thismornin'."
The cowboy, unlike Cotton, whistled his surprise, dropped his tools,mounted, and was off before Houck had reined back toward theranch-house.
It was near twelve that night when a quiet band of riders dismounted atthe Annersley cabin, separated, and trailed off in the darkness to lookfor Gary. One of them found him where he had fallen and signaled withhis gun. They carried Gary to the cabin. In the flickering light ofthe open stove they saw that he was still alive. There was one chancein a thousand that he could recover. They washed his wounds and one ofthe men set out toward Concho, to telephone to Enright for a doctor.The rest grouped around the stove and talked in low tones, waiting fordaylight. "Chances are the kid went south," said Houck, half tohimself.
"How about young White?" queried a cowboy.
"I dunno. Either he rode with Pete Annersley or he's back at theConcho. Daylight'll tell."
"If Steve could talk--" said the cowboy.
"I guess Steve is done for," said Houck. "I knew Young Pete was atough kid--but I didn't figure he'd try to down Steve."
"Supposin' they both had a hand in it--White and Young Pete?"
Houck shook his head. "Anybody got any whiskey?" he asked.
Some one produced a flask. Houck knelt and raised Gary's head, tiltingthe flask carefully. Presently Gary's lips moved and his chest heaved.
"Who was it? White?" questioned Houck.
Gary moved his head in the negative.
"Young Pete?" Gary's white lips shaped to a faint whisper--"Yes."
One of the men folded a slicker and put it under Gary's head.
Houck stood up. "I guess it's up to us to get Pete Annersley."
"You can count me out," said a cowboy immediately. "Steve was allushuntin' trouble and it looks like he found it this trip. They's plentywithout me to ride down the kid. Young Pete may be bad--but I figurehe had a dam' good excuse when he plugged Steve, here. You can countme out."
"And me," said another. "If young Pete was a growed man--"
"Same here," interrupted the third. "Any kid that's got nerve enoughto down Steve has got a right to git away with it. If you corner himhe's goin' to fight--and git bumped off by a bunch of growed men--mebbyfour to one. That ain't my style."
Houck turned to several cowboys who had not spoken. They were Gary'sfriends, of his kind--in a measure. "How is it, boys?" asked Houck.
"We stick," said one, and the others nodded.
"Then you boys"--and Houck indicated the first group--"can ride back tothe ranch. Or, here, Larkin, you can stay with Steve till the docshows up. The rest of you can drift."
Without waiting for dawn the men who had refused to go out after Peterode back along the hill-trail to the ranch. But before they left,Houck took what hastily packed food they had and distributed it amongthe posse, who packed it in their saddle-pockets. The remainingcowboys lay down for a brief sleep. They were up at dawn, and after ahasty breakfast set out looking for tracks. Houck himself discoveredAndy White's tracks leading from the spot where Gary had been found,and calling the others together, set off across the eastern mesa.
Meanwhile Andy White was sleeping soundly in a coulee many miles fromthe homestead, and just within sight of a desert ranch, to which he hadplanned to ride at daybreak, ask for food and depart, leaving theimpression that he was Pete Annersley in haste to get beyond the reachof the law. He had stopped at the coulee because he had found grassand water for his horse and because he did not want to risk being foundat the ranch-house. A posse would naturally head for the ranch tosearch and ask questions. Fed and housed he might oversleep and becaught. Then his service to Pete would amount to little. But if herode in at daybreak, ahead of the posse, ate and departed, leaving ahint as to his assumed identity, he could mislead them a day longer atleast. He built all his reasoning on the hope that the posse wouldfind and follow his tracks.
Under the silent stars he slept, his head on his saddle, and near himlay Pete's black sombrero.
In the disillusioning light of morning, that which Andy had taken to bea ranch-house dwindled to a goat-herder's shack fronted by abrush-roofed lean-to. Near it was a diminutive corral and a sun-fadedtent. The old Indian herder seemed in no way surprised to see a youngrider dismount and approach cautiously--for Andy had entered into thespirit of the thing. He paused to glance apprehensively back andsurvey the western horizon. Andy greeted the Indian, who grunted hisacknowledgment in the patois of the plains.
"Any vaqueros ride by here this morning?" queried Andy.
The herder shook his head.
"Well, I guess I got time to eat," said Andy.
A faint twinkle touched the old Indian's eyes, but his face was asexpressionless as a dried apple.
"Si," he said.
"But not a whole lot of time," asserted An
dy.
The Indian rose and fetched a pail of goat's milk and some tortillasfrom the shack. He shuffled back to his hermitage and reappeared witha tin cup. Andy, who meanwhile had consumed one leathery tortilla,shook his head. "Never mind the cup, amigo." He tilted the pail anddrank--paused for breath, and drank again. He set the pail down empty."I was some dry," he said, smiling. "Got any more of these rawhideflapjacks?"
The herder nodded, stooped to enter the shack, and came out with ahalf-dozen of the tortillas, which Andy rolled and stuffed in hissaddle-pocket. "Mighty good trail bread!" he said enthusiastically."You can't wear 'em out."
Again the herder nodded, covertly studying this young rider who did notlook like an outlaw, whose eye was clear and untroubled. Well, whatdid it matter?--a man must eat.
The old Indian had given unquestioningly from his poverty, with thesimple dignity of true hospitality. As for who this stranger was, ofwhat he had done--that was none of his affair. A man must eat.
"I'm payin' for this,"--and Andy proffered a silver dollar.
The other turned the piece round in his fingers as though hesitating toaccept it.
"Si. But has not the senor some little money?"
"That's all right, amigo. Keep it."
The herder shook his head, and held up two fingers. Andy smiled. "Iget you! You don't aim to bank all your wealth in one lump. Lemmesee? All I got left is a couple of two-bit pieces. Want 'em?" Theherder nodded and took the two coins and handed back the dollar. Thenhe padded stolidly to the shack and reappeared, bearing a purple velvetjacket which was ornamented with buttons made from silver quarters. Heheld it up, indicating that two of the buttons were missing."Muchacha," he grunted, pointing toward the south.
"I get you. Your girl is out looking after the goats, and you aim tokind of surprise her with a full set of buttons when she gets back.She'll ask you right quick where you got 'em, eh?"
A faint grin touched the old Indian's mouth. The young vaquero was ofthe country. He understood.
"Well, it beats me," said Andy. "Now, a white man is all for the bigmoney. He'd take the dollar, get it changed, and be two-bits ahead,every time. But I got to drift along. Say, amigo, if any of myfriends come a-boilin down this way, jest tell 'em that Pete--that'sme--was in a hurry, and headed east. Sabe?"
"Si."
"Pete--with the black sombrero." Andy touched his hat.
"Si. 'Pete.'"
"Adios. Wisht I could take a goat along. That milk was surecomfortin'."
The herder watched Andy mount and ride away. Then he plodded back tothe shack and busied himself patiently soldering tiny rings on thesilver pieces, that the set of buttons for his daughter's jacket mightbe complete. He knew that the young stranger must be a fugitive,otherwise he would not have ridden into the desert so hurriedly. Hehad not inquired about water, nor as to feed for his horse. Truly hewas in great haste!
Life meant but three things to the old Indian. Food, sleep, andphysical freedom. He had once been in jail and had suffered as onlythose used to the open sky suffer when imprisoned. The young vaquerohad eaten, and had food with him. His eyes had shown that he was notin need of sleep. Yet he had all but said there would be men lookingfor him.
The old Indian rose and picked up a blanket. In the doorway he paused,surveying the western horizon. Satisfied that no one was in sight, hepadded out to where Andy had tied his horse and swept the blanketacross the tracks in the loose sand. Walking backwards he drew theblanket after him, obliterating the hoof-prints until he came to a risewhere the ground was rocky. Without haste he returned and squatted inthe shack. He was patiently working on a silver piece when some onecalled out peremptorily.
The old Indian's face was expressionless as he nodded to the posse ofcowboys.
"Seen anything of a young fella ridin' a blue roan and sportin' a blackhat?" asked Houck.
The Indian shook his head.
"He's lyin'," asserted a cowboy. "Comes as natural as breathin' tohim. We trailed a hoss to this here wickiup"--the hot lust of theman-hunt was in the cowboy's eyes as he swung down--"and we aim to seewho was ridin' him!"
Houck and his three companions sat their horses as the fourth member ofthe posse shouldered the old Indian aside and entered the shack."Nothin' in there," he said, as he reappeared, "but somebody's beenhere this mornin'." And he pointed to the imprint of a high-heeledboot in the sand of the yard.
"Which way did he ride?" asked Houck, indicating the footprint.
The old herder shook his head. "Quien sabe?" he grunted, shrugging hisshoulders.
"Who knows, eh? Well, you know--for one. And you're goin' to say--orthere'll be a heap big bonfire right here where your shack is."
Meanwhile one of the men, who had pushed out into the desert and wasriding in a circle, hallooed and waved his arm.
"He headed this way," he called. "Some one dragged a blanket over histrail."
The cowboy who was afoot strode up to the herder. "We'll learn you toplay hoss with this outfit!" He swung his quirt and struck the Indianacross the face. The old Indian stepped back and stiffened. Hissunken eyes blazed with hatred, but he made no sound or sign. He knewthat if he as much as lifted his hand the men would kill him. To himthey were the law, searching for a fugitive. The welt across his faceburned like the sear of fire--the cowardly brand of hatred on theimpassive face of primitive fortitude! This because he had fed ahungry man and delayed his pursuers.
Long after the posse had disappeared down the far reaches of thedesert, the old Indian stood gazing toward the east, vaguely wonderingwhat would have happened to him had he struck a white man across theface with a quirt. He would have been shot down--and his slayer wouldhave gone unpunished. He shook his head, unable to understand thewhite man's law. His primitive soul knew a better law, "an eye for aneye and a tooth for a tooth," a law that knew no caste and was as oldas the sun-swept spaces of his native land. He was glad that hisdaughter had not been there. The white men might have threatened andinsulted her. If they had . . . The old herder padded to his shackand squatted down, to finish soldering the tiny rings on the buttonsfor his daughter's jacket.
The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Page 17