by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER 12. "You Can Tell Jessie."
In the days that followed Rowdy was much alone. There was water tohunt, far ahead of the herd, together with the most practicable way ofreaching it. He did not take the shortest way across that arid countryand leave the next day's camping-place to chance--as Wooden Shoes haddone. He felt that there was too much at stake, and the cattle were toothin for any more dry drives; long drives there were, but such was hisgeneralship that there was always water at the end.
He rode miles and miles that he might have shirked, and he never sleptuntil the next day's move, at least, was clearly defined in his mind andhe felt sure that he could do no better by going another route.
These lonely rides gave him over to the clutch of thoughts he had neverbefore harbored in his sunny nature. Grim, ugly thoughts they were, andnot nice to remember afterward. They swung persistently around a centralsubject, as the earth revolves around the sun; and, like the earth, theyturned and turned on the axis of his love for a woman.
In particularly ugly moods he thought that if Harry Conroy were caughtand convicted of horsestealing, Jessie must perforce admit his guilt andgeneral unworthiness--Rowdy called it general cussedness--and Rowdy bevindicated in her eyes. Then she would marry him, and go with him tothe Red Deer country and--air-castles for miles! When he awoke to theargument again, he would tell himself savagely that if he could, by anymeans, bring about Conroy's speedy conviction, he would do so.
This was unlike Rowdy, whose generous charity toward his enemies camenear being a fault. He might feel any amount of resentment for wrongdone, but cold-blooded revenge was not in him; that he had sufferedso much at Conroy's hands was due largely to the fact that Conroy wasastute enough to read Rowdy aright, and unscrupulous enough to takeadvantage. Add to that a smallminded jealousy of Rowdy's popularity andhorsemanship, one can easily imagine him doing some rather nasty things.Perhaps the meanest, and the one which rankled most in Rowdy's memory,was the cutting of Rowdy's latigo just before a riding contest, in whichthe purse and the glory of a championship-belt seemed in danger of goingto Rowdy.
Rowdy had got a fall that crippled him for weeks, and Harry had won thepurse and belt--and the enmity of several men better than he. For thoughmorally sure of his guilt, no one could prove that he had cut the strap,and so he got off unpunished, except that Pink thrashed him--a bitunscientifically, it is true, since he resorted to throwing rocks towardthe last, but with a thoroughness worthy even of Pink.
But in moods less ugly he shrank from the hurt that must be Jessie'sif she should discover the truth. Jessie's brother a convicted thiefserving his sentence in Deer Lodge! The thought was horrible; it wasbrutal cruelty. If he could only know where to look for that lad, he'dhelp him out of the country. It was no good shutting him up in jail;that wouldn't help him any, or make him better. He hoped he would getoff--go somewhere, where they couldn't find him, and stay there.
He wondered where he was, and if he had money enough to see him through.He might be no good--he sure wasn't!--but he was Jessie's brother, andJessie believed in him and thought a lot of him. It would be hard linesfor that little girl if Harry were caught. Bill Brown, the meddlesomeold freak!--he didn't blame Jessie for not wanting to stop there thatnight. She did just the right thing.
With all this going round and round, monotonously persistent in hisbrain, and with the care of four thousand lean kine and more than ahundred saddle-horses--to say nothing of a dozen overworked, fretfulcow-punchers--Rowdy acquired the "corrugated brow" fast enough withoutany cultivation.
The men were as the Silent One had predicted. They made drives thatlasted far into the night, stood guard, and got along with so littlesleep that it was scarce worth mention, and did many things that shavedclose the impossible--just because Rowdy looked at them straightly, withhalf-closed lids, and asked them if they thought they could.
Pink began to speak of their new foreman as "Moses"; and when thecurious asked him why, told them soberly that Rowdy could "hit a rockwith his quirt and start a creek running bank full." When Rowdy heardthat, he thought of the miles of weary searching, and wished that itwere true.
They had left the home ranch a day's drive behind them, and were goingnorth. Rowdy had denied himself the luxury of riding over to see Jessie,and he was repenting the sacrifice in deep gloom and sincerity, when twomen rode into camp and dismounted, as if they had a right. The tallerone--with brawn and brain a-plenty, by the look of him--announced thathe was the sheriff, and would like to stop overnight.
Rowdy gave him welcome half-heartedly, and questioned him craftily.A sheriff is not a detective, and does not mind giving harmlessinformation; so Rowdy learned that they had traced Conroy thus far, andbelieved that he was ahead of them and making for Canada. He had dodgedthem cleverly two or three times, but now they had reason to believethat he was not more than half a day's ride before them. They wanted toknow if the outfit had seen any one that day, or sign of any one havingpassed that way.
Rowdy shook his head.
"I bet it was Harry Conroy driving that little bunch uh horses up thecreek, just as we come over the ridge," spoke Pink eagerly.
Rowdy could have choked him. "He wouldn't be driving a lot of horses,"he interposed quickly.
"Well, he might," argued Pink. "If I was making a quick get-away, andmy horse was about played out--like his was apt t' be--I'd sure roundup the first bunch I seen, and catch me a fresh one--if I was ahorse-thief. I'll bet yuh--"
The sheriff had put down his cup of coffee. "Is there any place where aman could corral a bunch on the quiet?" he asked crisply. It was evidentthat Pink's theory had impressed him.
"Yes, there is. There's an old corral up at the ford--Drowning Ford,they call it--that I'd use, if it was me. It was an old line camp,and there's a cabin. It's down on the flat by the creek, and it's asGod-forsaken a place as a man'd want t' hide in, or t' change mounts."Pink hitched up his chapbelt and looked across at Rowdy. He was achingfor a sight of Harry Conroy in handcuffs, and he was certain that Rowdyfelt the same. "If it was me," he added speculatively, "and I thought Iwas far enough in the lead, I'd stop there till morning."
"How far is it from here?" demanded the sheriff, standing up.
Pink told him he guessed it was five miles. Whereupon the sheriffannounced his intention of going up there at once, and Pink hintedrather strongly that he would like to go with them. The sheriff did notknow Pink; he looked down at his slimness and at the yellow fringe ofcurls showing under his hat brim, at his pink cheeks and dimples andgirlish hands, and threw back his head in a loud ha! ha!
Pink asked him politely, but rather stiffly, what there was funny aboutit. The sheriff laughed louder and longer; then, being the sort of manwho likes a joke now and then, even in the way of business, he solemnlydeputized Pink, and patted him on the shoulder and told him gravely thatthey couldn't possibly do without him.
It looked for a minute as if Pink were going at him with his fists--buthe didn't. He reflected that one must not offer violence to an officerof the law, and that, being made a deputy, he would have to go, anyway;so he gritted his teeth and buckled on his gun, and went along sulkily.
They rode silently, for the most part, and swiftly.
Even in the dusk they could see where a band of horses had been drivenat a gallop along the creek bank. When they neared the place it wasdark. Pink pulled up and spoke for the first time since leaving thetent.
"We better tie up our horses here and walk," he said, quite unconsciousof the fact that he was usurping the leadership, and thinking only oftheir quest.
But the sheriff was old at the business, and not too jealous of hisposition. He signed to his deputy proper, and they dismounted.
When they started on, Pink was ahead. The sheriff observed that Pink'sgun still swung in its scabbard at his hip, and he grinned--but that wasbecause he didn't know Pink. That the gun swung at his hip would havebeen quite enough for any one who did know him; it didn't take Pink allday to get into action.
The sheriff had never before been called a Rube--to his face, at least.The audacity took his breath; and when he opened his mouth for scathingspeech, Pink was not there. He had slipped away, like a slim, elusiveshadow, and the sheriff did not even know the exact direction of hisgoing. There was nothing for it but to wait.
In five minutes Pink appeared with a silent suddenness that startledthem more than they would like to own.
"He's somewheres around," he announced, in a murmur that would not carryten feet. "He's got a horse in the corral, and, from the sound, he's gothim all saddled; and the gate's tied shut with a rope."
"How d'yuh know?" grunted the sheriff crossly.
"Felt of it, yuh chump. He's turned the bunch loose and kept up a freshone, like I said he would. It's blame dark, but I could see the horse--abig white devil. It's him yuh hear makin' all that racket. If he gitsaway now--"
"Well, we didn't come for a chin-whackin' bee," snapped the sheriff. "Icome out here t' git him."
Pink gritted his teeth again, and wished the sheriff was just a man,so he could lick him. He led them forward without a word, thinking thatRowdy wanted Harry Conroy captured.
The sheriff circled warily the corral, peered through the rails at thegreat white horse that ran here and there, whinnying occasionally forthe band, and heard the creak of leather and the rattle of the bit. Pinkwas right; the horse was saddled, ready for immediate flight.
"Maybe he's in the cabin," he whispered, coming up where Pink stoodlistening tensely at all the little night sounds. Pink turned and creptsilently to the right, keeping in the deepest shade, while the othersfollowed willingly. They were beginning to see the great advantage ofhaving Pink along, even if he had called them Rubes.
The cabin door yawned wide open, and creaked weirdly as the light windmoved it; the interior was black and silent--suspiciously silent, inthe opinion of the sheriff. He waited for some time before venturingin, fearing an ambush. Then he caught the flicker of a shielded match,called out to Conroy to surrender, and leveled his gun at the place.
There was no answer but the faint shuffle of stealthy feet on the boardfloor. The sheriff called another warning, cocked his gun--and came nearshooting Pink, who walked composedly out of the door into the sheriff'sastonished face. The sheriff had been sure that Pink was just behindhim.
"What the hell," began the sheriff explosively.
"He ain't here," said Pink simply. "I crawled in the window and huntedthe place over."
The sheriff glared at him dumbly; he could not reconcile Pink'sdaredevil behavior with Pink's innocent, girlish appearance.
"I tell yuh the corral's what we want t' keep cases on," Pink addedinsistently. "He's sure somewheres around--I'd gamble on it. He saddledthat horse t' git away on. That horse is sure the key t' this situation,old-timer. If you fellows'll keep cases on the gate, I'll cover therear."
He made his way quietly to the back of the corral, inwardly much amusedat the tractability of the sheriff, who took his deputy obediently towatch the gate.
Pink squatted comfortably in the shade of a willow and wished he daredindulge in a cigarette, and wondered what scheme Harry was trying toplay.
Fifty feet away the big white horse still circled round and round,rattling his bridle impatiently and shaking the saddle in an occasionalaccess of rage, and whinnying lonesomely out into the gloom.
So they waited and waited, and peered into the shadows, and listened tothe trampling horse fretting for freedom and his mates.
The cook had just called breakfast when Pink dashed up to the tent,flung himself from his horse, and confronted Rowdy--a hollow-eyed,haggard Rowdy who had not slept all night, and whose eyes questionedanxiously.
"Well," Rowdy said, with what passed for composure, "did you get him?"
Pink leaned against his horse, with one hand reaching up and grippingtightly the horn of the saddle. His cheeks held not a trace of color,and his eyes were full of a great horror.
"They're bringin' him t' camp," he answered huskily. "We found ahorse--a big white horse they call the Fern Outlaw"--the Silent Onestarted and came closer, listening intently; evidently he knew thehorse--"saddled in the corral, and the gate tied shut. We dubbed arounda while, but we didn't find--Harry. So we camped down by the corral andwaited. We set there all night--and the horse faunching around insidesomething fierce. When--it come daybreak--I seen something--by thefence, inside. It was--Harry." Pink shivered and moistened his dry lips."That Fern Outlaw--some uh the boys know--is a devil t' mount. He'd gotHarry down--hell, Rowdy! it--it was sure--awful. He'd been there allnight--and that horse stomping."
"Shut up!" Rowdy turned all at once deathly sick. He had once seen a manwho had been trampled by a maddened, man-killing horse. It had not beena pretty sight. He sat down weakly and covered his face with his shakinghands.
The others stood around horrified, muttering disjointed, shockedsentences.
Pink lifted his head from where it had fallen upon his arm. "One thing,Rowdy--I done. You can tell Jessie. I shot that horse."
Rowdy dropped his hands and stood up. Yes, he must tell Jessie.
"You'll have to take the herd on," he told Pink in his masterful way."I'll catch you to-morrow some time. I've got to go back and tellJessie. You know the trail I was going to take--straight across to WildHorse Lake. From there you strike across to North Fork--and if I don'tovertake you on the way, I'll hit camp some time in the night. It's allplain sailing."