by B. M. Bower
THE REVELER
Happy Jack, coming from Dry Lake where he had been sent for the mail,rode up to the Flying U camp just at dinner time and dismountedgloomily and in silence. His horse looked fagged--which was unusual inHappy's mounts unless there was urgent need of haste or he was out withthe rest of the Family and constrained to adopt their pace, which wasrapid. Happy, when riding alone, loved best to hump forward over thehorn and jog along slowly, half asleep.
"Something's hurting Happy," was Cal Emmett's verdict when he saw thecondition of the horse.
"He's got a burden on his mind as big as a haystack," grinned JackBates. "Watch the way his jaw hangs down, will yuh? Bet yuhsomebody's dead."
"Most likely it's something he thinks is _going_ to happen," said Pink."Happy always makes me think of a play I seen when I was back home; itstarts out with a melancholy cuss coming out and giving a sigh thatnear lifts him off his feet, and he says: 'In _soo-ooth_ I know not_why_ I am so sa-ad.' That's Happy all over."
The Happy Family giggled and went on with their dinner, for Happy Jackwas too close for further comments not intended for his ears. Theywaited demurely, but in secret mirth, for him to unburden his mind.They knew that they would not have long to wait; Happy, bird of illomen that he was, enjoyed much the telling of bad news.
"Weary's in town," he announced heavily, coming over and gettinghimself a plate and cup.
The Happy Family were secretly a bit disappointed; this promised, afterall, to be tame.
"Did he bring the horses?" asked Chip, glancing up over the brim of hiscup.
"I dunno," Happy responded from the stove, where he was trying how muchof everything he could possibly pile upon his plate without spillinganything. "I didn't see no horses--but the one he was ridin'."
Weary had been sent, two weeks ago, to the upper Marias country afterthree saddle horses that had strayed from the home range, and which hadbeen seen near Shelby. It was quite time for him to return, if heexpected to catch the Flying U wagon before it pulled out on the beefroundup. That he should be in town and not ride out with Happy Jackwas a bit strange.
"Why don't yuh throw it out uh yuh, yuh big, long-jawed croaker?"demanded Pink in a voice queerly soft and girlish. It had been a realgrievance to him that he had not been permitted to go with Weary, whowas his particular chum. "What's the matter? Is Weary sick?"
"No," said Happy Jack deliberately, "I guess he ain't what yuh couldcall _sick_."
"Why didn't he come out with you, then?" asked Chip, sharply. Happydid get on one's nerves so.
"Well, I ast him t' come--and he took a shot at me for it."
There was an instant's dead silence. Then Jack Bates laughed uneasily.
"Happy, how many horses did yuh ride out to camp?"
Happy Jack had, upon one occasion, looked too long upon the wine--orwhisky, to be more explicit. Afterward, he had insisted that he wasriding two horses home, instead of one. He was not permitted to forgetthat defection. The Happy Family had an unpleasant habit of recallingthe incident whenever Happy Jack made a statement which they feltdisinclined to credit--as this last statement was.
Happy Jack whirled on the speaker. "Aw, shut up! I never kidnaped nogirl off'n no train, and--"
Jack Bates colored and got belligerently to his feet. That hit him inan exceedingly tender place.
"Happy, look here," Chip cut in authoritatively. "What's wrong withWeary? If he took a shot at you, it's a cinch he had some reason forit."
Weary was even dearer to the heart of Chip than to Pink.
"Ah--he never! He's takin' shots permisc'us, lemme tell yuh. And heain't troublin' about no _reason_ fer what he's doin'. He's plumboary-eyed--that's what. He's on a limb that beats any I ever seen.He's drunk--drunk as a boiled owl, and he don't give a damn. He's losthis hat, and he's swapped cayuses with somebody--a measly oldbench--and he's shootin' up the town t' beat hell!"
The Happy Family looked at one another dazedly. Weary drunk? _Weary_?It was unbelieveable. Such a thing had never been heard of before inthe history of the Happy Family. Even Chip, who had known Weary beforeeither had known the Flying U, could not remember anything of the sort.The Happy Family were often hilarious; they had even, on certainoccasions, shot up the town; but they had done it as a family and theyhad done it sober. It was an unwritten law among the Flying U boys,that all riotous conduct should occur when they were together and whenthe Family could, as a unit, assume the consequences--if consequencesthere were to be.
"I guess Happy must a rode the whole blame saddle-bunch home, thistime," Cal remarked, with stinging sarcasm.
"Ah, yuh can go and see fer yourselves; yuh don't need t' take _my_word fer nothing" cried Happy Jack, much grieved that they should doubthim. "I hain't had but one drink t'day--and that wasn't nothin' butbeer. It's straight goods: Weary's as full as he can git and top ahorse. He's sure enjoyin' himself, too. Dry Lake is all hisn--and theway he's misusin' the rights uh ownership is plumb scand'l'us. Hemakes me think of a cow on the fight in a forty-foot corral; nobodydast show their noses outside; Dry Lake's holed up in their sullers,till he quits camp.
"I seen him cut down on the hotel China-cook jest for tryin' t' make asneak out t' the ice-house after some meat fer dinner. He like t' gothim, too. Chink dodged behind the board-pile in the back yard, an'laid down. He was still there when I left town, and the chances issomebody else 'll have t' cook dinner t'day. Weary was so busyclose-herdin' the Chinaman that I got a chanst t' sneak out the backdoor uh Rusty's place, climb on m' horse and take a shoot up around bythe stockyards and pull fer camp. I couldn't git t' the store, so Ididn't bring out no mail."
The Happy Family drew a long breath. This was getting beyond a joke.
"Looks t 'me like you fellows 'd come alive and do something about it,"hinted Happy, with his mouth full. "Weary'll shoot somebody, er gitshot, if he ain't took care of mighty quick."
"Happy," said Chip bluntly, "I don't grab that yarn. Weary may be intown, and he _may_ be having a little fun with Dry Lake, but he isn'tdrunk. When you try to run a whizzer like that, you can put me down asbeing from Missouri."
"Same here," put in Pink, ominously soft as to voice. "Anybody thattries to make me believe Weary's performing that way has sure got hiswork cut out for him. If it was Happy, now--"
"Gee!" cried Jack Bates, laughing as a possible solution came to him."I'm willing to bet money he was just stringing Happy. I'll bet hedone it deliberate and with malice aforethought, just to _make_ Happysneak out uh town and burn the earth getting here so he could tell itscarey to the rest of us."
"Yeah, that's about the size of it," assented Cal.
The Family felt that they had a new one on Happy Jack, and showed it inthe smiles they sent toward him.
"By golly, yes!" broke out Slim. "Weary's been layin' for Happy for along while to pay off making the tent leak on him, that night; he'ssure played a good one, this time!"
Happy carefully balanced his plate on the wagon-tongue near thedoubletrees, and stood glaring down upon his tormentors.
"Aw, look here!" he began, with his voice very near to tears. Then hegulped and took a more warlike tone. "I don't set m'self up t' be aknow-it-all--but I guess I can tell when a man's full uh booze. And Iain't claimin' t' be no Jiujitsu sharp" (with a meaning glance at Pink)"and I know the chances I'm takin' when I stand up agin the bunch--butI'm ready, here and now, t' fight any damn man that says I'm a liar, erthat Weary was jest throwin' a load into me. Two or three uh yuh havelicked me mor'n once--but that's all right. I'm willing t' back upanything I've said, and yuh can wade right in a soon as you're a mindto.
"I don't back down a darn inch. Weary's in Dry Lake. He _is_ drunk.And he _is_ shootin' up the town. If yuh don't want t' believe it, Iguess they's no law t' make yuh--but if yuh got any sense, and are anyfriends uh Weary's, yuh'll mosey in and fetch him out here if yuh havet' bring him the way he brung ole Dock that time Patsy took cramps. Goon in and see fer you
rselves, darn yuh! But don't go shootin' off yourfaces to me till yuh got a license to."
This, if unassuring, was convincing. The Happy Family stopped smiling,and looked at one another uncertainly.
"I guess two or three of you better ride in and see what there is toit," announced Chip, dryly. "If Happy is romancing--" His look waseloquent.
But Happy Jack, though he stood a good deal in awe of Chip and hissarcasm, never flinched. He looked him straight in the eye andmaintained the calm of conscious innocence.
"I'll go," said Pink, getting up and throwing his plate and cup intothe dishpan. "Mind yuh, I don't believe a word of it; Happy, if thisis just a sell, so help me Josephine, you'll learn some brand newJiujitsu right away quick."
"I'll go along too," Happy boldly retorted, "so if yuh want anything uh_me_, after you've saw Weary, yuh won't need t' wait till yuh strikecamp t' git it. Weary loadin' me, was he? Yuh'll find out, all uhyuh, that it's _him_ that's loaded."
They caught fresh horses and started--Cal, Pink, Jack Bates and HappyJack. And Happy stood their jeers throughout the ten-mile ride with anequanimity that was new to them. For the most part he rode in silence,and grinned knowingly when they laughed too loudly at the joke Wearywas playing.
"All right--maybe he is," he flung back, once. "But he sure looks thepart well enough t' keep all Dry Lake indoors--and I never knowed Wearyt' terrorize a hull town before. And where'd he git that horse? andwhere's Glory at? and why ain't he comin' on t' camp t' help you chumpsgiggle? Ain't he had plenty uh time t' foller me out and enjoy hislittle joke? And another thing, he was hard at it when I struck town.Now, where'd yuh get off at?"
To this argument they offered several explanations--at all of whichHappy grunted in great disdain.
They clattered nonchalantly into Dry Lake, still unconvinced and stilljeering at Happy Jack. The town was very quiet, even for Dry Lake. Asthey rounded the blacksmith shop, from where they could see the wholelength of the one street which the place boasted, a yell, shrill,exultant, familiar, greeted them. A long-legged figure they knew welldashed down the street to them, a waving six-shooter in one hand, thereins held aloft in the other. His horse gave evidence of hard usage,and it was a horse none of them had ever seen before.
"It's him, all right," Jack Bates admitted reluctantly.
"_Yip! Cowboys in town_!" rang the slogan of the range land. "Comeon and--_wake 'em up_! _OO-oop-ee_!" He pulled up so suddenly thathis horse almost sat down in the dust, and reined in beside Pink.
They eyed him in amaze, and avoided meeting one another's eyes. Truly,he was a strange-looking Weary. His head was bare and disheveled, hiseyes bloodshot and glaring, his cheeks flushed hotly. Hisneck-kerchief covered his chest like a bib and he wore no coat; oneshirtsleeve was rent from shoulder to cuff, telling eloquently thatviolent hands had sought to lay hold on him. His long legs, clad inAngora chaps, swung limp to the stirrup. By all these signs andtokens, they knew that he was drunk---joyously, unequivocally,vociferously drunk!
Joe Meeker peered cautiously out of the window of Rusty Brown's placewhen they rode up, and Cal Emmett swore aloud at sight of him. JoeMeeker was the most indefatigable male gossip for fifty miles around,and the story of Weary's spree would spread far and fast. Worse, itwould reach first of all the ears of Weary's School-ma'am, who lived atMeeker's.
Cal started to get down; he wanted to go in and reason with Joe Meeker.At all events, Ruby Satterlee must not hear of Weary's defection. Itwas all right, maybe, for some men to make fools of themselves in thisfashion; some women would look upon it with lenience. But this wasdifferent; Weary was different, and so was Ruby Satterlee. Calmeditated upon just what would the most effectually close the mouth ofJoe Meeker.
But Weary spied him as his foot touched the ground. "Oh, yuh can'tsneak off like that, old-timer. Yuh stay right outside and help wake'em up!" he shouted hoarsely.
Cal turned and looked at him keenly; looked also at the erraticmovements of the gun, and reconsidered his decision. Joe Meeker couldwait.
"Better come on out to camp, Weary," he said persuasively. "We're allof us going, right away. Yuh can ride out with us."
Weary had not yet extracted all the joy there was in the situation. Hedid not want to ride out to camp; more, he had no intention of doingso. He stood up in the stirrups and declaimed loudly his views uponthe subject, and his opinion of any man who proposed such a move, andpunctuated his remarks freely with profanity and bullets.
Under cover of Weary's elocution Pink did a bit of jockeying and gothis horse sidling up against Cal. He leaned carelessly upon thesaddle-horn and fixed his big, innocent eyes upon Weary's flushed face.
"He's pretty cute, if he is full," he murmured discreetly to Cal. "Hewon't let his gun get empty--see? Loads after every third shot,regular. We've got to get him so excited he forgets that littleceremony. Once his gun's empty, he's all to the bad--we can take himinto camp. We'll try and rush him out uh town anyway, and shoot as wego. It's our only show--unless we can get him inside and lay him out."
"Yeah, that's what we'll have to do," Cal assented guardedly. "He'ssure tearing it off in large chunks, ain't he? I never knew--"
"Here! What you two gazabos making medicine about?" cried Wearysuspiciously. "Break away, there. I won't stand for no side-talks--"
"We're just wondering if we hadn't all better adjourn and havesomething to drink," said Pink musically, straightening up in thesaddle. "Come on--I'm almighty dry."
"Same here," said Jack Bates promptly taking the cue, and threw one legover the cantle. He got no further than that.
"You stay right up on your old bench!" Weary commanded threateningly."We're the kings uh the prairie, and we'll drink on our thrones. Thatso-many-kinds-of-bar-slave can pack out the dope to us. It's what he'sthere for."
That settled Pink's little plan to get him inside where, lined up tothe bar, they might--if they were quick enough--get his gun away fromhim; or, failing that, the warm room and another drink or two would"lay him out" and render him harmless.
Weary, shoving three cartridges dexterously into the chambers in placeof those just emptied, shouted to Rusty to bring out the "sheepdip."The four drew together and attempted further consultation, separatedhastily when his eye fell upon them, and waited meekly his furtherpleasure. They knew better than to rouse his anger against them.
Weary, displeased because Rusty did not immediately respond to hiscall, sent a shot or two through the window by way of hurrying him.
Whereupon Rusty cautiously opened the door, shoved a tray with bottleand glasses ostentatiously out into the sunlight for a peace offering,and finding that hostilities ceased, came forth in much fear and servedthem.
They drank solemnly.
"Take another one, darn yuh," commanded Weary.
They drank again, more solemnly.
The sun beat harshly down upon the deserted street, and upon the bare,tousled, brown head of Weary. The four stared at him uneasily; theyhad never seen him like this before, and it gave him an odd, unfamiliarair that worried them more than they would have cared to own.
Only Pink refused to lose heart. "Well, come on--let's wake up thesedead ones," he shouted, drawing his gun and firing into the air. "Getbusy, you sleepers! _Yip_! _Cowboys in town_!" He wheeled and dartedoff down the street, shooting and yelling, and the others, with Wearyin their midst, followed. At the blacksmith shop, Pink, tacitly theleader of the rescuers, would have gone straight on out of town. ButWeary whirled and galloped back, firing merrily into the air. A bitchagrined, Pink wheeled and galloped at his heels, fuming inwardly atthe methodical reloading after every third shot. Cal, on the otherside, glanced across at Pink, shook his head ruefully and shoved moreshells into his smoking gun.
Back and forth from the store at one end of the street to theblacksmith shop at the other they rode, yelling till their throatsached and shooting till their gun-barrels were hot; and Weary kept pacewith them and out-ye
lled and out-shot the most energetic, and neveronce forgot the little ceremony of shoving in fresh shells after thethird shot. Drunk, Weary appeared much more cautious than when sober.Pink grew hot and hoarse, and counted the shots, one, two, three, overand over till his brain grew sick.
On the seventh trip down the street, a sleek, black head appeared foran instant over the top of the board-pile in the hotel yard. A pair offrightened, slant eyes peered out at them. Weary, just about toreload, caught sight of him and gave a whoop of pure joy.
"Lord, how I do hate a Chink!" he cried, and dropped to the ground thethree shells in his hand that he might fire the two in his gun.
Pink yelled also. "Nab him, Cal!" and caught his gun arm the instantWeary's last bullet left the barrel.
Cal leaned and caught Weary round the neck in a close hug. Jack Batesand Happy Jack crowded close, eager to help but finding no place totake hold.
"Now, you blame fool, come along home and quit disgracing the wholecommunity!" cried Cal, half angrily. "Ain't yuh got any sense at all?"
Weary protested; he swore; he threatened. He was not in the least likehis old, sweet-tempered self. He mourned openly because he had nolonger a gun that he might slay and spare not. He insisted that hewould take much pleasure in killing them all off--especially Pink. Hefelt that Pink was the greatest traitor in the lot, and said that itwould be a special joy to him to see Pink expire slowly and in greatpain. He remarked that they would be sorry, before they were throughwith him, and repeated, many times, the hint that he never forgot afriend or forgave an enemy--and looked darkly at Pink.
"You're batty," Pink told him sorrowfully, the while they led him outthrough the lane. "We're the best friends yuh got--only yuh don'tappreciate us."
Weary glared at him through a tangle of brown hair, and remarkedfurther, in tones that one could hear a mile, upon the subject ofPink's treachery and the particular kind of death he deserved to die.
Pink shrugged his shoulder and grew sulky; then, old friendship growingstrong within him, he sought to soothe him.
But Weary absolutely declined to be soothed. Cal, serene in hisfancied favoritism, attempted the impossible, and was greeted withlanguage which no man living had ever before heard from the lips ofWeary the sunny. Jack Bates and Happy Jack, profiting by hisexperience, wisely kept silence.
For this, the homeward ride was not the companionable gallop it usuallywas. They tried to learn from Weary what he had done with Glory, andwhence came the mud-colored cayuse with the dim, blotched brand, thathe bestrode. They asked also where were the horses he had been sent tobring.
In return, Weary began viciously to dissect their pedigree and generalmoral characters.
After that, they gave over trying to question or to reason, and thelast two miles they rode in utter silence. Weary, tiring of venom thatbrought no results, subsided gradually into mutterings, and then intosullen silence, so that, save for his personal appearance, they reachedcamp quite decorously.
Chip met them at the bed wagon, where they slipped dispiritedly offtheir horses and began to unsaddle--all save Weary; he stared aroundhim, got cautiously to the ground and walked, with that painfullycircumspect stride sometimes affected by the intoxicated, over to thecook-tent.
"Well," snapped Chip to the others, "For once in his life, Happy wasright."
Weary, still planting his feet primly upon the trampled grass, wentsmiling up to the stupefied Patsy.
"Lord, how I do love a big, fat, shiny Dutch cook!" he murmured, andflung his long arms around him in a hug that caused Patsy to grunt."How yuh was, already, Dutchy? Got any pie in this man's cow-camp?"
Patsy scowled and drew haughtily away from his embrace; there was onething he would not endure, even from Weary: it was having hisnationality too lightly mentioned. To call him Dutchy was a directinsult, and the Happy Family never did it to his face--unless theprovocation was very great. To call him Dutchy and in the same breathto ask for pie--that, indeed, went far beyond the limits of decency.
"Py cosh, you not ged any pie, Weary Davidson. Py cosh, I learns younot to call names py sober peoples. You not get no grub whiles you isstoo drunk to be decend mit folks."
"Hey? Yuh won't feed a man when he's hungry? Yuh darn Dutch--" Wearywent into details in a way that was surprising.
The Happy Family rushed up and pulled him off Patsy before he had doneany real harm, and held him till the cook had got into the shelter ofhis tent and armed himself with a frying pan. Weary was certainlyoutdoing himself today. The Happy Family resolved into a peacecommittee.
"Aw, dig up some pie for him, Patsy," pleaded Cal. "Yuh don't want tomind anything he says while he's like this; yuh know Weary's a goodfriend to yuh when he's sober. Get some strong coffee--that'llstraighten him out."
"Py cosh, I not feed no drunk fools. I not care if it iss Weary. Hehit mine jaw--"
"Aw, gwan! I guess yuh never get that way yourself," put in HappyJack, ponderously sarcastic. "I guess yuh never tanked up in roundup,one time, and left me cook chuck fer the hull outfit--and I guess Wearynever rode all night, and had the dickens of a time, tryin' t' get yuha doctor--yuh old heathen. Yuh sure are an ungrateful cuss."
"Give him some good, hot coffee, Patsy, and anything he wants to eat,"commanded Chip, more sharply than was his habit. "And don't be all dayabout it, either."
That settled it, of course; Chip, being foreman, was to beobeyed--unless Patsy would rather roll his blankets and hunt a new job.He took to muttering weird German sentences the while he brought outtwo pies and poured black coffee into a cup. The reveler drank thecoffee--three cups of it--ate a whole blueberry pie, and was consoled.He even wanted to embrace Patsy again, but was restrained by theothers. After that he went over and laid down in the shade of thebed-wagon, and straightway began to snore with much energy andenthusiasm.
Chip watched him a minute and then went and sat down on the shady sideof the bed-tent and began gloomily to roll a cigarette. The rest ofthe Happy Family silently followed his example; for a long while no onesaid a word.
It certainly was a shock to see Weary like that. Not because it isunusual for a man of the range to get in that condition--for on thecontrary, it is rather commonplace. And the Happy Family had lived thelife too long to judge a man harshly because of an occasionalindiscreet departure from the path virtuous; they knew that the manmight be a good fellow, after all. In the West grows Charity sturdily,with branches quite broad enough to cover certain defections on thepart of such men as Weary Davidson.
For that, the real shock came in the utter unexpectedness of thething--and from the fact that a man, even though prone to indulge insuch riotous conduct, is supposed to forswear such indulgence when hehas other and more important things to do. Weary had been sent afar ona matter of business; he had ridden Glory, a horse belonging to theFlying U. His arrival without the strays he had been sent after;without even the horse he had ridden away--that was the real disaster.He had broken a trust; he had, apparently, appropriated a horse thatdid not belong to him, which was worse. But the Happy Family wereloyal, to a man. They did not condemn him; they were only waiting forhim to sleep himself into a condition to explain the mystery.
"Somebody's doped him," said Pink with decision, after three hours ofshying around the subject. "You'll see; somebody's doped him andlikely took Glory away when they'd got him batty enough not to know thedifference. Yuh mind the queer look in his eyes? And he acts queer.So help me Josephine! I'd sure like to get next to the man that tradedhorses with him."
The Happy Family breathed deeply; they were all, apparently, thinkingthe same thing.
"By golly, that's what," spoke Slim, with decision. "He does act likea man that had been doped."
"Whisky straight wouldn't make that much difference in a man," averredJack Bates. "Yuh can't _get_ Weary on the fight, hardly, when he'ssober; and look at the way he was in town--hot to slaughter thatChinaman that wasn't doing a thing to him, and saying how he hated
Chinks. Weary don't; he always says, when Patsy don't make enough pieto go round, that if he was running the outfit he'd have a Chink tocook."
"Aw, look at the way he acted t' Rusty--and he thinks a lot uh Rusty,too," put in Happy Jack, who felt the importance of discovery and wasin an unusually complacent mood. "And he was going t' hang Pink up bythe heels and--"
Pink turned round and looked at him fixedly, and Happy Jack becamesuddenly interested in his cigarette.
"Say, he'll sure be sore when he comes to himself, though," observedCal. "I don't know how he's going to square himself with hisschool-ma'am. Joe Meeker was into Rusty's place while the big settingcomes off; I would uh given him a gentle hint about keeping his faceclosed, only Weary wouldn't let me off my horse. Joe'll sure give ahigh-colored picture uh the performance."
"Well, if he does, he'll regret it a lot," prophesied Pink. "Andanyway, something sure got wrong with Weary; do yuh suppose he'd giveup Glory deliberately? Not on your life! Glory comes next to theSchoolma'am in his affections."
"Wonder where he got that dirt-colored cayuse, anyhow," mused Cal.
"I was studying out the brand, a while ago," Pink answered. "It'sblotched pretty bad, but I made it out. It's the Rocking R--they rangedown along Milk River, next to the reservation. I've never hadanything to do with the outfit, but I'd gamble on the brand, all right."
"Well, how the deuce would he come by a Rocking R horse? He never gotit around here, anywheres. He must uh got it up on the Marias."
"Then that must be a good long jag he's had--which I don't believe,"interjected Cal.
"Somebody," said Pink meaningly, "ought to have gone along with him;this thing wouldn't uh happened, then."
"Ye-e-s?" Chip felt that the remark applied to him as a foreman,rather than as one of the Family, and he resented it. "If I'd sentsomebody else with him, the outfit would probably be out two horses,instead of one--and there'd be two men under the bed-wagon with theirhats and coats missing."
Pink's eyes, under their heavy fringe of curled lashes, turnedominously purple. "With all due respect to you, Mr. Bennett, I'd liketo have you explain--"
A horseman rode quietly up to them from behind a thicket ofchoke-cherry bushes. Pink, catching sight of him first, stopped shortoff and stared.
"Hello, boys," greeted the new-comer gaily. "How's everything? Mamma!it's good to get amongst white folks again."
The Happy Family rose up as one man and stared fixedly; not one of themspoke, or moved. Pink was the first to recover.
"Well--I'll be--damned!"
"Yuh sure will, Cadwolloper, if yuh don't let down them pretty lashesand quit gawping. What the dickens ails you fellows, anyhow? Is--ismy hat on crooked, or--or anything?"
"Weary, by all that's good!" murmured Chip, dazedly.
Weary swung a long leg over the back of Glory and came to earth."Say," he began in the sunny, drawly voice that was good to hear,"what's the joke?"
The Happy Family sat down again and looked queerly at one another.
Happy Jack glanced furtively at a long figure in the grass near by, andthen, unhappily, at Weary.
"It's him, all right," he blurted solemnly. "They're both him!"
The Happy Family snickered hysterically.
Weary took a long step and confronted Happy Jack. "I'm both him, amI?" he repeated mockingly. "Mamma, but you're a lucid cuss!" Heturned and regarded the stunned Family judicially.
"If there's any of it left," he hinted sweetly, "I wouldn't mind takinga jolt myself; but from the looks, and the actions, yuh must have gotaway with at least two gallons!"
"Oh, we can give you a jolt, I guess," Chip retorted dryly. "Just stepthis way."
Weary, wondering a bit at the tone of him, followed; at his heels camethe perturbed Happy Family. Chip stooped and turned the sleeping oneover on his back; the sleeper opened his eyes and blinked questioninglyup at the huddle of bent faces.
The astonished, blue eyes of Weary met the quizzical blue eyes of hisother self. He leaned against the wagon wheel.
"Oh, mamma!" he said, weakly.
His other self sat up and looked around, felt for his hat, saw that itwas gone, and reached mechanically for his cigarette material.
"By the Lord! Are punchers so damn scarce in this neck uh the woods,that yuh've got to shanghai a man in order to make a full crew?" hedemanded of the Happy Family, in the voice of Weary--minus the drawl."I've got a string uh cayuses in that darn stockyards, back intown--and a damn poor town it is!--and I've also got a date with theCircle roundup for tomorrow night. What yuh going to do about it?Speak up, for I'm in a hurry to know."
The Happy Family looked at one another and said nothing.
"Say," began Weary, mildly. "Did yuh say your name was Ira Mallory,and do yuh mind how they used to mix us up in school, when we were bothkids? 'Cause I've got a hunch you're the same irrepressible that hasthe honor to be my cousin."
"I didn't say it," retorted his other self, pugnaciously. "But I don'tknow as it's worth while denying it. If you're Will Davidson, shake.What the devil d'yuh want to look so much like me, for? Ain't yuh gotany manners? Yuh always was imitating your betters." He grinned andgot slowly to his feet. "Boys, I don't know yuh, but I've a hazyrecollection that we had one hell of a time shooting up that littletownerine, back there. I don't go on a limb very often, but when I do,folks are apt to find it out right away."
The Happy Family laughed.
"By golly," said Slim slowly, "that cousin story 's all right--but Ibet yuh you two fellows are twins, at the very least!"
"Guess again, Slim," cried Weary, already in the clutch of old times."Run away and play, you kids. Irish and me have got steen things totalk about, and mustn't be bothered."
THE UNHEAVENLY TWINS
There was a dead man's estate to be settled, over beyond the Bear Paws,and several hundred head of cattle and horses had been sold to thehighest bidder, who was Chip Bennett, of the Flying U. Later, therewere the cattle and horses to be gathered and brought to the homerange; and Weary, always Chip's choice when came need of a trusted man,was sent to bring them. He was to hire what men he needed down there,work the range with the Rocking R, and bring home the stock--when hismen could take the train and go back whence they had come.
The Happy Family was disappointed. Pink and Irish, especially, hadhoped to be sent along; for both knew well the range north of the BearPaws, and both would like to have made the trip with Weary. But menwere scarce and the Happy Family worked well together--so well thatChip grudged every man of them that ever had to be sent afar. So Wearywent alone, and Pink and Irish watched him wistfully when he rode awayand were extremely unpleasant companions for the rest of that day, atleast.
Over beyond the Bear Paws men seemed scarcer even than around theFlying U range. Weary scouted fruitlessly for help, wasted two days inthe search, and then rode to Bullhook and sent this wire--collect--toChip, and grinned as he wondered how much it would cost. He, too, hadrather resented being sent off down there alone.
"C. BENNETT, Dry Lake: Can't get a man here for love or money. Have tried both, and held one up with a gun. No use. Couldn't top a saw horse. For the Lord's sake, send somebody I know. I want Irish and Pink and Happy--and I want them bad. Get a move on. W. DAVIDSON."
Chip grinned when he read it, paid the bill, and told the three to getready to hit the trail. And the three grinned answer and immediatelybecame very busy; hitting the trail, in this case, meant catching thenext train out of Dry Lake, for there were horses bought with thecattle, and much time would be saved by making up an outfit down there.
Weary rode dispiritedly into Sleepy Trail (which Irish usually spoke ofas Camas, because it had but lately been rechristened to avoidconflictions with another Camas farther up on Milk River). Wearythought, as he dismounted from Glory, which he had brought with himfrom home, that Sleepy Trail fitted the place exactly, and thatwhenever he heard Irish refer to it as Camas, he would call
him downand make him use this other and more appropriate title.
Sleepy it was, in that hazy sunshine of mid fore-noon, and apparentlydeserted. He tied Glory to the long hitching pole where a mild-eyedgray stood dozing on three legs, and went striding, rowels a-clank,into the saloon. He had not had any answer to his telegram, and theworld did not look so very good to him. He did not know that Pink andIrish and Happy Jack were even then speeding over the prairies on theeastbound train from Dry Lake, to meet him. He had come to SleepyTrail to wait for the next stage, on a mere hope of some message fromthe Flying U.
The bartender looked up, gave a little, welcoming whoop and leaned halfover the bar, hand extended. "Hello, Irish! Lord! When did _you_ getback?"
Weary smiled and shook the hand with much emphasis. Irish had oncecreated a sensation in Dry Lake by being taken for Weary; Wearywondered if, in the guise of Irish, there might not be some diversionfor him here in Sleepy Trail. He remembered the maxim "Turn about isfair play," and immediately acted thereon.
"I just came down from the Flying U the other day," he said.
The bartender half turned, reached a tall, ribbed bottle and twoglasses, and set them on the bar before Weary. "Go to it," he invitedcordially. "I'll gamble yuh brought your thirst right along withyuh--and that's your pet brand. Back to stay?"
Weary poured himself a modest "two fingers," and wondered if he hadbetter claim to have reformed; Irish could--and did--drink long anddeep, where Weary indulged but moderately.
"No," he said, setting the glass down without refilling. "They sent meback on business. How's everything?"
The bartender spoke his wonder at the empty glass, listened while Wearyexplained how he had cut down his liquid refreshments "just to see howit would go, and which was boss," and then told much unmeaning gossipabout men and women Weary had never heard of before.
Weary listened with exaggerated interest, and wondered what the fellowwould do if he told him he was not Irish Mallory at all. He reflected,with some amusement, that he did not even know what to call thebartender, and tried to remember if Irish had ever mentioned him. Hewas about to state quietly that he had never met him before, and watchthe surprise of the other, when the bartender grew more interesting.
"And say! yuh'd best keep your gun strapped on yuh, whilst you're downhere," he told Weary, with some earnestness. "Spikes Weber is in thiscountry--come just after yuh left; fact is, he's got it into his blockthat you left _because_ he come. Brought his wife along--say! I feelsorry for that little woman--and when he ain't bowling up and singinghis war-song about you, and all he'll do when he meets up with yuh,he's dealing her misery and keeping cases that nobody runs off withher. Why, at dances, he won't let her dance with nobody but him! Goesplumb wild, sometimes, when it's 'change partners' in a square dance,and he sees her swingin' with somebody he thinks looks good to her.I've saw him raising hell with her, off in some corner between dances,and her trying not to let on she's cryin'. He's dead sure you're stillcrazy over her, and ready to steal her away from him first chance, onlyyou're afraid uh him. He never gits full but he reads out yourpedigree to the crowd. So I just thought I'd tell you, and let yuh beon your guard."
"Thanks," said Weary, getting out papers and tobacco. "And whereaboutswill I find this lovely specimen uh manhood?"
"They're stopping over to Bill Mason's; but yuh better not go huntingtrouble, Irish. That's the worst about putting yuh next to the lay.You sure do love a fight. But I thought I'd let yuh know, as a friend,so he wouldn't take you unawares. Don't be a fool and go out lookingfor him, though; he ain't worth the trouble."
"I won't," Weary promised generously. "I haven't lost nobody thatlooks like Spikes-er-" he searched his memory frantically for the othername, failed to get it, and busied himself with his cigarette, lookingmean and bloodthirsty to make up. "Still," he added darkly, "if Ishould happen to meet up with him, yuh couldn't blame me--"
"Oh, sure not!" the bartender hastened to cut in. "It'd be a case uhself-defence--the way he's been makin' threats. But--"
"Maybe," hazarded Weary mildly, "you'd kinda like to see--_her_--awidow?"
"From all accounts," the other retorted, flushing a bit nevertheless,"If yuh make her a widow, yuh won't leave her that way long. I'veheard it said you was pretty far gone, there."
Weary considered, the while he struck another match and relighted hiscigarette. He had not expected to lay bare any romance in the somewhattumultuous past of Irish. Irish had not seemed the sort of fellow whohad an unhappy love affair to dream of nights; he had seemed aparticularly whole-hearted young man.
"Well, yuh see," he said vaguely, "Maybe I've got over it."
The bartender regarded him fixedly and unbelievingly. "You'll havequite a contract making Spikes swallow that," he remarked drily.
"Oh, damn Spikes," murmured Weary, with the fine recklessness of Irishin his tone.
At that moment a cowboy jangled in, caught sight of Weary's back andfell upon him joyously, hailing him as Irish. Weary was very glad tosee him, and listened assiduously for something that would give him aclue to the fellow's identity. In the meantime he called him "Say,Old-timer," and "Cully." It had come to be a self-instituted point ofhonor to play the game through without blundering. He waved his handhospitably toward the ribbed bottle, and told the stranger to "Throwinto yuh, Old-timer--it's on me." And when Old-timer straightway begandoing so, Weary leaned against the bar and wiped his forehead, andwondered who the dickens the fellow could be. In Dry Lake, Irish hadbeen--well, hilarious--and not accountable for any littlepeculiarities. In Sleepy Trail Weary was, perhaps he consideredunfortunately, sober and therefore obliged to feel his way carefully.
"Say! yuh want to keep your eyes peeled for Spikes Weber, Irish,"remarked the unknown, after two drinks. "He's pawing up the earthwhenever he hears your name called. He's sure anxious to see the sodpacked down nice on top uh yuh."
"So I heard; his nibs here," indicating the bartender, "has been wisingme up, a lot. When's the stage due, tomorrow, Oldtimer?" Weary wasgetting a bit ashamed of addressing them both impartially in thatmanner, but it was the best he could do, not knowing the names mencalled them. In this instance he spoke to the bartender.
"Why, yuh going to pull out while your hide's whole?" bantered thecowboy, with the freedom which long acquaintance breeds.
"I've got business out uh town, and I want to be back time the stagepulls in."
"Well, Limpy's still holding the ribbons over them buckskins uh his,and he ain't varied five minutes in five years," responded thebartender. "So I guess yuh can look for him same old time."
Weary's eyes opened a bit wider, then drooped humorously. "Oh, allright," he murmured, as though thoroughly enlightened rather than beingrather more in the dark than before. In the name of Irish he found itexpedient to take another modest drink, and then excused himself with a"See yuh later, boys," and went out and mounted Glory.
Ten miles nearer the railroad--which at that was not what even aMontanan would call close--he had that day established headquarters andwas holding a bunch of saddle horses pending the arrival of help. Herode out on the trail thoughtfully, a bit surprised that he had notfound the situation more amusing. To be taken for Irish was a joke,and to learn thereby of Irish's little romance should be funny. But itwasn't.
Weary wondered how Irish got mixed up in a deal like that, whichsomehow did not seem to be in line with his character. And he wished,a bit vindictively, that this Spikes Weber _could_ meet Irish. Herather thought that Spikes needed the chastening effects of such ameeting. Weary, while not in the least quarrelsome on his own account,was ever the staunch defender of a friend.
Just where another brown trail branched off and wandered away over ahill to the east, a woman rode out and met him face to face. Shepulled up and gave a little cry that brought Weary involuntarily to ahalt.
"You!" she exclaimed, in a tone that Weary felt he had no right to hearfrom any but his little sc
hoolma'am. "But I knew you'd come back whenyou heard I--Have--have you seen Spikes, Ira?"
Weary flushed embarrassment; this was no joke. "No," he stammered, insome doubt just how to proceed. "The fact is, you've made a littlemistake. I'm not--"
"Oh, you needn't go on," she interrupted, and her voice, had Wearyknown it better, heralded the pouring out of a woman's heart. "I knowI've made a mistake, all right; you don't need to tell me that. And Isuppose you want to tell me that you've got over--things; that youdon't care, any more. Maybe you don't, but it'll take a lot to make mebelieve it. Because you _did_ care, Ira. You _cared_, all rightenough!" She laughed in the way that makes one very uncomfortable.
"And maybe you'll tell me that I didn't. But I did, and I do yet. Iain't ashamed to say it, if I did marry Spikes Weber just to spite you.That's all it was, and you'd have found it out if you hadn't gone offthe way you did. I _hate_ Spikes Weber; and he knows it, Ira. Heknows I--care--for you, and he's making my life a hell. Oh, maybe Ideserve it--but you won't-- Now you've come back, you can have it outwith him; and I--I almost hope you'll kill him! I do, and I don't careif it is wicked. I--I don't care for anything much, but--you." Shehad big, soft brown eyes, and a sweet, weak mouth, and she stopped andlooked at Weary in a way that he could easily imagine would beirresistible--to a man who cared.
Weary felt that he was quite helpless. She had hurried out sentencesthat sealed his lips. He could not tell her now that she had made amistake; that he was not Ira Mallory, but a perfect stranger. The onlything to do now was to carry the thing through as tactfully aspossible, and get away as soon as he could. Playing he was Irish, hefound, was not without its disadvantages.
"What particular brand of hell has he been making for you?" he askedher sympathetically.
"I wouldn't think, knowing Spikes as you do, you'd need to ask," shesaid impatiently. "The same old brand, I guess. He gets drunk, andthen--I told him, right out, just after we were married, that I likedyou the best, and he don't forget it; and he don't let me. He swearshe'll shoot you on sight--as if that would do any good! He hates you,Ira." She laughed again unpleasantly.
Weary, sitting uneasily in the saddle looking at her, wondered if Irishreally cared; or if, in Weary's place, he would have sat there socalmly and just looked at her. She was rather pretty, in a pink andwhite, weak way. He could easily imagine her marrying Spikes Weber formere spite; what he could not imagine, was Irish in love with her.
It seemed almost as if she caught a glimmer of his thoughts, for shereined closer, and her teeth were digging into her lower lip. "Well,aren't you going to _do_ anything?" she demanded desperately. "You'rehere, and I've told you I--care. Are you going to leave me to bearSpikes' abuse always?"
"You married him," Weary remarked mildly and a bit defensively. Itseemed to him that loyalty to Irish impelled him.
She tossed her head contemptuously. "It's nice to throw that at me. Imight get back at you and say you loved me. You did, you know."
"And you married Spikes; what can _I_ do about it?"
"What--can--you--do--about it? Did you come back to ask me that?"There was a well defined, white line around her mouth, and her eyeswere growing ominously bright.
Weary did not like the look of her, nor her tone. He felt, somehow,glad that it was not Irish, but himself; Irish might have felt thethrall of old times--whatever they were--and have been tempted. Hiseyes, also, grew ominous, but his voice was very smooth. (Irish, too,had that trait of being quietest when he was most roused.)
"I came back on business; I will confess I didn't come to see you," hesaid. "I'm only a bone-headed cowpuncher, but even cowpunchers canplay square. They don't, as a rule step in between a man and his wife.You married Spikes, and according to your own tell, you did it to spiteme. So I say again, what can _I_ do about it?"
She looked at him dazedly.
"Uh course," he went on gently, "I won't stand to see any man abuse hiswife, or bandy her name or mine around the country. If I should happento meet up with Spikes, there'll likely be some dust raised. And if Iwas you, and Spikes abused me, I'd quit him cold."
"Oh, I see," she said sharply, with an exaggeration of scorn. "Youhave got over it, then. There's someone else. I might have known aman can't be trusted to care for the same woman long. You ran after meand acted the fool, and kept on till you made me believe you reallymeant all you said--"
"And you married Spikes," Weary reiterated--ungenerously, perhaps; butit was the only card he felt sure of. There was no gainsaying thatfact, it seemed. She had married Spikes in a fit of pique at Irish.Still, it was not well to remind her of it too often. In the next fiveminutes of tumultuous recrimination, Weary had cause to remember whatShakespeare has to say about a woman scorned, and he wondered, morethan ever, if Irish had really cared. The girl--even now he did notknow what name to call her--was showing a strain of coarse temper; thetemper that must descend to personalities and the calling ofunflattering names. Weary, not being that type of male human who canretort in kind, sat helpless and speechless the while she berated him.When at last he found opportunity for closing the interview and ridingon, her anger-sharpened voice followed him shrewishly afar. Wearybreathed deep relief when the distance swallowed it, and lifted hisgray hat to wipe his beaded forehead.
"Mamma mine!" he said fervently to Glory. "Irish was sure playing bigluck when she _did_ marry Spikes; and I don't wonder at the poor deviltaking to drink. I would, too, if my little schoolma'am--"
At the ranch, he hastened to make it quite plain that he was not IraMallory, but merely his cousin, Will Davidson. He was quite determinedto put a stop to all this annoying mixing up of identities. And as forSpikes Weber, since meeting the woman Spikes claimed from him somethingvery like sympathy; only Weary had no mind to stand calmly and hearIrish maligned by anybody.
The next day he rode again to Sleepy Trail to meet the stage, hopingfervently that he would get some word--and that favorable--from Chip.He was thinking, just then, a great deal about his own affairs and notat all about the affairs of Irish. So that he was inside the saloonbefore he remembered that the bartender knew him for Irish.
The bartender nodded to him in friendly fashion, and jerked his headwarningly toward a far corner where two men sat playing seven-uphalf-heartedly. Weary looked, saw that both were strangers, andpuzzled a minute over the mysterious gesture of the bartender. It didnot occur to him, just then, that one of the men might be Spikes Weber.
The man who was facing him nipped the corners of the cards idlytogether and glanced up; saw Weary standing there with an elbow on thebar looking at him, and pushed back his chair with an oath unmistakablywarlike. Weary resettled his hat and looked mildly surprised. Thebartender moved out of range and watched breathlessly.
"You ---- ---- --------!" swore Spikes Weber, coming truculentlyforward, hand to hip. He was of medium height and stockily built, withthe bull neck and little, deep-set eyes that go often with a naturequarrelsome.
Weary still leaned his elbow on the bar and smiled at him tolerantly."Feel bad anywhere?" he wanted to know, when the other was very close.
Spikes Weber, from very surprise, stopped and regarded Weary for aspace before he began swearing again. His hand was still at his hip,but the gun it touched remained in his pocket. Plainly, he had notexpected just this attitude.
Weary waited, smothering a yawn, until the other finished aparticularly pungent paragraph. "A good jolt uh brandy 'll sometimescure a bad case uh colic," he remarked. "Better have our friend herefix yuh up--but it'll be on you. I ain't paying for drinks just now."
Spikes snorted and began upon the pedigree and general character ofIrish. Weary took his elbow off the bar, and his eyes lost theirsunniness and became a hard blue, darker than was usual. It took agood deal to rouse Weary to the fighting point, and it is saying muchfor the tongue of Spikes that Weary was roused thoroughly.
"That'll be about enough," he said sharply, cutting short
a sentencefrom the other. "I kinda hated to start in and take yuh all topieces--but yuh better saw off right there, or I can't be responsible--"
A gun barrel caught the light menacingly, and Weary sprang like thepounce of a cat, wrested the gun from the hand of Spikes and rapped himsmartly over the head with the barrel. "Yuh would, eh?" he snarled,and tossed the gun upon the bar, where the bartender caught it as itslid along the smooth surface and put it out of reach.
After that, chairs went spinning out of the way, and glasses jingled tothe impact of a body striking the floor with much force. Came theslapping sound of hammering fists and the scuffling of booted feet,together with the hard breathing of fighting men.
Spikes, on his back, looked up into the blazing eyes he thought werethe eyes of Irish and silently acknowledged defeat. But Weary wouldnot let it go at that.
"Are yuh whipped to a finish, so that yuh don't want any more troublewith anybody?" he wanted to know.
Spikes hesitated but the fraction of a second before he growled areluctant yes.
"Are yuh a low-down, lying sneak of a woman-fighter, that ain't gotnerve enough to stand up square to a ten-year-old boy?"
Spikes acknowledged that he was. Before the impromptu catechism wasended, Spikes had acknowledged other and more humiliating things--tothe delectation of the bartender, the stage driver and two or three menof leisure who were listening.
When Spikes had owned to being every mean, unknowable thing that Wearycould call to mind--and his imagination was never of the barrensort--Weary generously permitted him to get upon his feet and skulk outto where his horse was tied. After that, Weary gave his unruffledattention to the stage driver and discovered the unwelcome fact thatthere was no letter and no telegram for one William Davidson, wholooked a bit glum when he heard it.
So he, too, went out and mounted Glory and rode away to the ranch wherewaited the horses; and as he went he thought, for perhaps the firsttime in his life, some hard and unflattering things of Chip Bennett.He had never dreamed Chip would calmly overlook his needs and leave himin the lurch like this.
At the ranch, when he had unsaddled Glory and gone to the bunk-house,he discovered Irish, Pink and Happy Jack wrangling amicably over whom acertain cross-eyed girl on the train had been looking at most of thetime. Since each one claimed all the glances for himself, and sincethere seemed no possible way of settling the dispute, they gave overthe attempt gladly when Weary appeared, and wanted to know, firstthing, who or what had been gouging the hide off his face.
Weary, not aware until the moment that he was wounded, answered that hehad done it shaving; at which the three hooted derision and wanted toknow since when he had taken to shaving his nose. Weary smiledinscrutably and began talking of something else until he had weanedthem from the subject, and learned that they had bribed the stagedriver to let them off at this particular ranch; for the stage driverknew Irish, and knew also that a man he had taken to be Irish wasmaking this place his headquarters. The stage driver was one of thosemale gossips who know everything.
When he could conveniently do so, Weary took Irish out of hearing ofthe others and told him about Spikes Weber. Irish merely swore. Afterthat, Weary told him about Spikes Weber's wife, in secret fear and withmuch tact, but in grim detail. Irish listened with never a word to say.
"I done what looked to me the best thing, under the circumstances,"Weary apologized at the last, "and I hope I haven't mixed yuh up abunch uh trouble. Mamma mine! she's sure on the fight, though, andshe's got a large, black opinion of yuh as a constant lover. If yuhwant to square yourself with her, Irish, you've got a big contract."
"I don't want to square myself," Irish retorted, grinning a bit. "Idid have it bad, I admit; but when she went and got tied up to Spikes,that cured me right off. She's kinda pretty, and girls were scarce,and--oh, hell! you know how it goes with a man. I'd a married her andfound out afterwards that her mind was like a little paper windmillstuck up on the gatepost with a shingle nail--only she saved me thetrouble. Uh course, I was some sore over the deal for awhile; but Imade up my mind long ago that Spikes was the only one in the bunch thathad any sympathy coming. If he's been acting up like you say, I changethe verdict: there ain't anything coming to him but a big bunch uhtrouble. I'm much obliged to yuh, Weary; you done me a good turn andearnt a lot uh gratitude, which is yours for keeps. Wonder if supperain't about due; I've the appetite of a Billy goat, if anybody shouldask yuh."
At supper Irish was uncommonly silent, and did some things withoutthinking; such as pouring a generous stream of condensed cream into hiscoffee. Weary, knowing well that Irish drank his coffee without cream,watched him a bit closer than he would otherwise have done; Irish wasthe sort of man who does not always act by rule.
After supper Weary missed him quite suddenly, and went to the door ofthe bunk-house to see where he had gone. He did not see Irish, but ona hilltop, in the trail that led to Sleepy Trail, he saw a flurry ofdust. Two minutes of watching saw it drift out of sight over the hill,which proved that the maker was traveling rapidly away from the ranch.Weary settled his hat down to his eyebrows and went out to find theforeman.
The foreman, down at the stable, said that Irish had borrowed a horsefrom him, unsacked his saddle as if he were in a hurry about something,and had pulled out on a high lope. No, he had not told the foremanwhere he was headed for, and the foreman knew Irish too well to ask.Yes, now Weary spoke of it, Irish did have his gun buckled on him, andhe headed for Sleepy Trail.
Weary waited for no further information. He threw his saddle on ahorse that he knew could get out and drift, if need came: presently he,too, was chasing a brown dust cloud over the hill toward Sleepy Trail.
That Irish had gone to find Spikes Weber, Weary was positive; thatSpikes was not a man who could be trusted to fight fair, he was evenmore positive. Weary, however, was not afraid for Irish--he was merelya bit uneasy and a bit anxious to be on hand when came the meeting. Hespurred along the trail darkening with the afterglow of a sun departedand night creeping down upon the land, and wondered whether he would beable to come up with Irish before he reached town.
At the place where the trail forked--the place where he had met thewife of Spikes, he saw from a distance another rider gallop out of thedusk and follow in the way that Irish had gone. Without other evidencethan mere instinct, he knew the horseman for Spikes. When, furtheralong, the horseman left the trail and angled away down a narrowcoulee, Weary rode a bit faster. He did not know the country verywell, and was not sure of where that coulee led; but he knew the natureof a man like Spikes Weber, and his uneasiness was not lulled at thesight. He meant to overtake Irish, if he could; after that he had noplan whatever.
When, however, he came to the place where Spikes had turned off. Wearyturned off also and followed down the coulee; and he did not explainwhy, even to himself. He only hurried to overtake the other, or atleast to keep him in sight.
The darkness lightened to bright starlight, with a moon not yet in itsprime to throw shadows black and mysterious against the coulee sides.The coulee itself, Weary observed, was erratic in the matter of height,width and general direction. Places there were where the widthdwindled until there was scant room for the cow trail his horseconscientiously followed; places there were where the walls were easyslopes to climb, and others where the rocks hung, a sheer hundred feet,above him.
One of the easy slopes came near throwing him off the trail of Spikes.He climbed the slope, and Weary would have ridden by, only that hecaught a brief glimpse of something on the hilltop; something thatmoved, and that looked like a horseman. Puzzled but persistent, Wearyturned back where the slope was easiest, and climbed also. He did notknow the country well enough to tell, in that come-and-go light madeuncertain by drifting clouds, just where he was or where he would bringup; he only knew instinctively that where Spikes rode, trouble rodealso.
Quite suddenly at the last came further knowledge. It was when, stillfollowing, he rode along a steeply
sloping ridge that narrowedperceptibly, that he looked down, down, and saw, winding brownly in thestarlight, a trail that must be the trail he had left at the couleehead.
"Mamma!" he ejaculated softly, and strained eyes under his hatbrim toglimpse the figure he knew rode before. Then, looking down again, hesaw a horseman galloping rapidly towards the ridge, and pulled up shortwhen he should have done the opposite--for it was then that secondscounted.
When the second glance showed the horseman to be Irish, Weary drove inhis spurs and galloped forward. Ten leaps perhaps he made, when arifle shot came sharply ahead. He glanced down and saw horse and riderlying, a blotch of indefinable shape, in the trail. Weary drew his owngun and went on, his teeth set tight together. Now, when it was toolate, he understood thoroughly the situation.
He came clattering out of the gloom to the very, point of the bluff,just where it was highest and where it crowded closest the trail a longhundred feet below. A man stood there on the very edge, with a riflein his hands. He may have been crouching, just before, but now he wasstanding erect, looking fixedly down at the dark heap in the trailbelow, and his figure, alert yet unwatchful, was silhouetted sharplyagainst the sky.
When Weary, gun at aim, charged furiously down upon him, he whirled,ready to give battle for his life; saw the man he supposed was lyingdown there dead in the trail, and started backward with a yell of pureterror. "Irish!" He toppled, threw the rifle from him in a singleconvulsive movement and went backward, down and down.--
Weary got off his horse and, gun still gripped firmly, walked to theedge and looked down. In his face, dimly revealed in the fitfulmoonlight, there was no pity but a look of baffled vengeance. Down atthe foot of the bluff the shadows lay deep and hid all they held, butout in the trail something moved, rose up and stood still a moment, hisface turned upward to where stood Weary.
"Are yuh hurt, Irish?" Weary called anxiously down to him.
"Never touched me," came the answer from below. "He got my horse, damnhim! and I just laid still and kept cases on what he'd do next. Comeon down!"
Weary was already climbing recklessly down to where the shadows reachedlong arms up to him. It was not safe, in that uncertain light, butWeary was used to taking chances. Irish, standing still beside thedead horse, watched and listened to the rattle of small stonesslithering down, and the clink of spur chains upon the rocks.
Together the two went into the shadows and stood over a heap ofsomething that had been a man.
"I never did kill a man," Weary remarked, touching the heap lightlywith his foot. "But I sure would have, that time, if he hadn't droppedjust before I cut loose on him."
Irish turned and looked at him. Standing so, one would have puzzledlong to know them apart. "You've done a lot for me, Weary, this trip,"he said gravely. "I'm sure obliged."