CHAPTER XLI
"A LAND FAMILIAR"
The following day Pete had a long talk with Sheriff Owen, a talk whichresulted in the sheriff's accompanying Andover and Pete on their desertjourney to Sanborn.
Incidentally Pete gave his word that he would not try to escape. Itwas significant, however, that the little sheriff expressed apreference for the back seat, even before Andover, who had invited himto make the journey, asked him if he cared to ride in front. Thesheriff's choice was more a matter of habit than preference, for, aloneupon the ample seat of the touring-car, he was shuttled ignominiouslyfrom side to side and bounced and jolted until, during a stop forwater, he informed Andover that "he sure would have to pull leather tostay with the car."
The surgeon, a bit inclined to show off, did not hesitate to "step onher," when the going was at all good. And any one familiar with theroad from El Paso to Sanborn is aware of just how good even the bestgoing is. Any one unfamiliar with that road is to be congratulated.
Pete enjoyed the ride, as it brought him once more into the opencountry. The car whirred on and on. It seemed to him as though hewere speeding from a nightmare of brick and stone and clamor into thewide and sun-swept spaces of a land familiar and yet strange.
They reached Sanborn about noon, having made about one hundred andfifty miles in something like four hours.
After a wash and a meal at the hotel, they strolled over to thelivery-stable to inspect the horse that Andover thought of buying. Asmall crowd had collected at the stables, as the auction was advertisedto take place that afternoon. The sheriff himself started the biddingon the thoroughbred, followed by the liveryman, who knew about what hecould get for the horse in El Paso. Andover raised his bid, which wasquickly raised in turn by the sheriff. Pete realized that Andoverreally wanted the horse and told him quietly to drop out when thebidding reached two hundred, shrewdly estimating that neither theliveryman nor the sheriff would go beyond that figure, as neither ofthem really wanted the horse save as a speculation. "Then, if you wanthim, raise twenty-five, and you get a mighty good horse for a hundredless than he's worth. I know him. He's no good workin' cattle--buthe's one fine trail horse for straight goin'. And he's as gentle asyour gran'-mother."
The bidding ran to one hundred and seventy-five, when there was apause. The sheriff had dropped out. The liveryman, conferring withhis partner, was about to bid when Andover jumped the price to twohundred and fifty.
"I'm through," said the liveryman.
"Sold to--name, please--sold to Doctor John Andover for two hundred andfifty dollars," said the auctioneer. Then, after a facetiousdissertation on thoroughbreds as against cow-ponies, Blue Smoke was ledout. Pete's face went red. Then he paled. He had not forgotten thatBlue Smoke was to be sold, but he had taken it for granted that hewould be allowed to reclaim him. Pete stepped over to the sheriff andwas about to enter a protest--offer to pay the board-bill against BlueSmoke, when the bidding began with an offer of twenty-five dollars.This was quickly run up to seventy-five when Pete promptly bid onehundred, which was a fair auction price, although every man there knewthat Blue Smoke was worth more.
"I'm bid one hundred twenty-five," cried the auctioneer, as a young,bow-legged cowboy raised Pete's bid.
"One-fifty," said Pete without hesitation.
The sheriff glanced at Pete, wondering if he would borrow the moneyfrom Andover to make good his bid. But Pete was watching theauctioneer's gavel--which happened to be a short piece of rubbergarden-hose. "Third and last chance!" said the auctioneer. "Nobodywant that pony as a present? All right--goin', I say! Goin', I say_ag'in_! Gone! B' Gosh! at one hundred an' fifty dollars, to thatyoung gent over there that looks like he could ride him. What's thename?"
"Pete Annersley."
Several in the crowd turned and gazed curiously at Pete. But Pete'seyes were upon Blue Smoke--his horse--the horse that had carried himfaithfully so many desert miles--a cow-pony that could "follow amountain trail all day and finish, a-steppin' high."
"Much obliged for your advice about the thoroughbred," said Andover ashe stepped close to Pete. "Is that the pony you used to ride?"
"He sure is. Say, Doc, I got the money to pay for him, but would youmind writin' out a check. I ain't wise to this bankin' business yet."
"Why--no. I'll do that. I--er--of course--I'm a little short myself.New car--and this horse for my daughter. But I think I can manage.You want to borrow a hundred and fifty?"
"Say, Doc, you got me wrong! I got the makin's all right, but I don'tjest sabe rollin' 'em." Pete dug into his coat-pocket and fetched up acheck-book. "Same as you paid for your hoss with."
"This is Stockmen's Security. You have an account there?"
"That's what the president was callin' it. I call it dough. I got thebook." And Pete dug into his pocket again, watching Andover's face asthat astonished individual glanced at the deposit to Pete's credit.
"Well, you're the limit!"--and the doctor whistled. "What will youspring next?"
"Oh, it's _mine_, all right. A friend was leavin' it to me. He'scrossed over."
"I s-e-e. Twenty-four thousand dollars! Young man, that's more moneythan I ever had at one time in my life."
"Same here,"--and Pete grinned. "But it don't worry me none."
"I'll make out the check for you." And Andover pulled out his fountainpen and stepped over to the auctioneer's stand. Pete signed the checkand handed it to the auctioneer.
"Don't know this man," said the auctioneer, as he glanced at thesignature.
"I'll endorse it," volunteered Andover quickly.
"All right, Doc."
And Andover, whose account was as close to being overdrawn as it couldbe and still remain an account, endorsed the check of a man worthtwenty-four thousand-odd dollars, and his endorsement was satisfactoryto the auctioneer. So much for professional egoism and six-cylinderprestige.
Sheriff Owen, who had kept a mild eye on Pete, had noted thistransaction. After Blue Smoke had been returned to the stables, hetook occasion to ask Pete if he were still a partner to theunderstanding that he was on his honor not to attempt to escape.
"I figured that deal was good till I got here," said Pete bluntly.
"Just so, son. That's where my figuring stopped, likewise. Too muchopen country. If you once threw a leg over that blue roan, I can seewhere some of us would do some riding."
"If I'd been thinkin' of leavin' you, it would 'a' been afore we gothere, sheriff."
"So it's 'sheriff' now, and not Jim, eh?"
"It sure is--if you're thinkin' o' lockin' me up. You treated me whiteback there in El Paso--so I'm tellin' you that if you lock me up--and Igit a chanct, I'll sure vamose."
Pete's assertion did not seem to displease the sheriff in the least.To the contrary, he smiled affably.
"That's fair enough. And if I _don't_ lock you up, but let you stayover to the hotel, you'll hang around town till this thing is settled,eh?"
"I sure will."
"Will you shake on that?"
Pete thrust out his hand. "That goes, Jim."
"Now you're talking sense, Pete. Reckon you better run along and seewhat the Doc wants. He's waving to you."
Andover sat in his car, drawing on his gloves. "I've arranged to havethe horse shipped to me by express. If you don't mind, I wish youwould see that he is loaded properly and that he has food and waterbefore the car leaves--that is"--and Andover cleared his throat--"ifyou're around town tomorrow. The sheriff seems to allow you a prettyfree hand--possibly because I assured him that you were not physicallyfit to--er--ride a horse. Since I saw that bank-book of yours, I'vebeen thinking more about your case. If I were you I would hire thebest legal talent in El Paso, and fight that case to a finish. You canpay for it."
"You mean for me to hire a lawyer to tell 'em I didn't kill Sam Brent?"
"Not exactly that--but hire a lawyer to _prove_ to the judge and jurythat you didn't kill him."
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p; "Then a fella's got to pay to prove he didn't do somethin' that he'sarrested for, and never done?"
"Often enough. And he's lucky if he has the money to do it. Think itover--and let me know how you are getting along. Miss Gray will beinterested also."
"All right. Thanks, Doc. I ain't forgittin' you folks."
Andover waved his hand as he swung the car round and swept out of town.Pete watched him as he sped out across the mesa.
Sheriff Owen was standing in the livery-stable door across the streetas Pete turned and started toward him. Midway across the street Petefelt a sharp pain shoot through his chest. It seemed as though the airhad been suddenly shut from his lungs and that he could neither speaknor breathe. He heard an exclamation and saw Owen coming toward him.Owen, who had seen him stop and sway, was asking a question. A dimblur of faces--an endless journey along a street and up a narrowstairway--and Pete lay staring at yellow wall-paper heavily sprinkledwith impossible blue roses. Owen was giving him whiskey--a sip at atime.
"How do you feel now?" queried the sheriff.
"I'm all right. Somethin' caught me quick--out there."
"Your lungs have been working overtime. Too much fresh air all atonce. You'll feel better tomorrow."
"I reckon you won't have to set up and watch the front door," saidPete, smiling faintly.
"Or the back door. You're in the Sanborn House--room 11, second floor,and there's only one other floor and that's downstairs. If you wantany thing--just pound on the floor. They'll understand."
"About payin' for my board--"
"That's all right. I got your money--and your other stuff that I mightneed for evidence. Take it easy."
"Reckon I'll git up," said Pete. "I'm all right now."
"Better wait till I come back from the office. Be back about six. Gotto write some letters. Your case--called next Thursday." And SheriffOwen departed, leaving Pete staring at yellow wallpaper sprinkled withblue roses.
The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Page 41