CHAPTER XXV
With the first streaks of dawn Casey and Simon mounted and rode forTalapus. But before they had ridden five hundred yards Casey discoveredan extraordinary thing. In his ears sounded a sustained, musicalmurmur, nothing less than the happy laugh of running water.
"By the Lord Harry!" he ejaculated. "There's water in the ditches."
Simon nodded. "Ya-as. _Hiyu chuck_ stop, all same _skookum chuck_," heobserved, signifying that there was a full head of it, like a rapid.
The ditches were running to the brim. After the soaking rain of thenight the water was not immediately needed, but it showed that theirrigation company's works no longer controlled the supply. When theyreached the river they found a swirling, yellow torrent runningyeasty-topped, speckled with debris.
"S'pose cloud _kokshut_!" Simon observed.
"Cloudburst, eh!" said Casey. "Looks like it. Then either the company'sdam has gone, or it can't take care of the head."
The former supposition seemed the more likely. Somewhere up in theheart of the hills the black storm cloud had broken, and its contents,collected by nameless creeks and gulches, had swooped down on theColdstream, raising it bank high, booming down to the lower reaches,practically a wall of water, against which only the strongeststructures might stand. Temporary ones would go out before it, washedaway like a child's sand castle in a Fundy tide.
Ignoring trails, they struck straight across country. The land had beenwashed clean. Beneath the brown grasses the earth lay dark and moist. Ahundred fresh, elusive odours struck the nostrils, called forth fromthe soil by the rare moisture, a silent token of its latent fertility.On the way there were no houses, no fences, no cleared fields. The landlay in the dawn as empty as when the keels of restless white men firstsplit the Western ocean; and more lifeless, for the great buffalo herdsthat of old gave the men of the plains and foothills food and raimentwere gone forever.
The sun was up when they reached Talapus. Mrs. McCrae had justdiscovered her daughter's absence; and her husband was cursing the legthat held him helpless. Casey told them the events of the night, andDonald McCrae was proud of his daughter, and but little worried abouthis son.
"Show me another girl would have ridden in that storm!" he exclaimed."She's the old stock--the old frontier stock! And Sandy, locking thedetective in the harness room!" He chuckled. "Go down and let them out,Casey, and give them breakfast. A fine pair of children we've got,mother."
"Sandy can take care of himself," said Mrs. McCrae practically. "Healways did, since he could walk, and he took his own ways, askingnobody. And Sheila, for a girl, is the same. They take after you,Donald, not me. But now, Casey, Mrs. Wade is at Chakchak, isn't she?"
"Mrs. Wade and Miss Burnaby," Casey replied. "It's all right, Mrs.McCrae."
"Sheila needs no chaperon," said her father.
"Not with Casey," said her mother. "But there's the gossip, Donald, andthe dirty tongues. It's not like the old days."
"True enough, maybe," McCrae admitted. And he added, when his wife hadleft the room: "What have they got hold of to arrest the boy, Casey?"
"I don't know," Casey replied. "But we'll face the music, Donald."
When Casey entered the harness room Glass and another man, a stranger,lay in one corner on a heap of sacks. Sandy had done a most workmanlikejob, and he had put a neat finish to it by strapping each man to astanchion with a pair of driving reins.
"Good morning, gentlemen," said Casey.
"Is it?" said Glass, sourly. His old hesitating manner had quitevanished.
"Beautiful," Casey replied. "Sun shining, birds singing, crops growing.'God's in His heaven; all's well with the world.' Like to take a lookat it? Or are you too much attached to your present surroundings?"
"You can cut out the funny stuff," said Glass. "I don't ever laughbefore breakfast."
"Quite right, too," Casey replied. "Just roll over a little till I getat those knots. There you are, Mr. Glass. Now your friend here. Don'tthink I know him."
"Jack Pugh, sheriff's officer," said Glass, rising stiffly, withconsiderable difficulty.
"I'll have him in shape to shake hands in a minute," said Casey, as heworried at the knots. "And so, Mr. Glass, instead of an innocentlandlooker you are a real live, mysterious detective. You don't lookthe part. Or perhaps you are still disguised."
"I can stand a josh better now," said Glass. "Maybe I'm not such a liveproposition as I might be. When two grown men let a kid hogtie them itsort of starts them thinking."
"It sure does," Pugh agreed. He was a saturnine gentleman, with ahumorous eye. "I been wantin' to scratch my nose for eight solidhours," he affirmed irrelevantly, rubbing that organ violently with hisfree hand.
"He's some kid," said Glass. "Where is he?"
"I haven't seen him. He left word where to find you."
"Beat it somewhere, I suppose," Glass commented. "He fooled us up ingreat style, I'll say that much. At first he acted about the way you'dexpect a country kid to act--scared to death. He wanted to change hisoveralls for pants before we took him anywhere. Said they were hangingup in here. We fell for it. We came in, and there was a pair of pantshanging on a nail. He walked over to them, and the next thing we knewhe had a gun on us. I hope I know when a man means business--and hedid. He had half a notion to shoot anyway."
"That's right," Pugh confirmed. "He's one of them kids that makesgunmen. No bluff. I know the kind."
"So when he told me to tie Pugh I did it," Glass continued. "Then hedropped a loop over me, and that's all there is to tell. The joke's onus just now."
"So it is," said Casey. "Whatever made you think that kid had anythingto do with blowing up the dam?"
"Hadn't he?"
Casey smiled genially. "Why, how should I know, Mr. Glass? I was justasking what you were going on."
"I'm not showing my hand. I don't say the kid did it alone."
"And so you thought you'd round him up and sweat some information outof him. That was it, wasn't it?"
"You're quite a guesser and you show a whole lot of interest in theanswer," retorted Glass. "Keep on guessing."
"I don't need to. Come up to the house and have breakfast. And forHeaven's sake don't say anything to frighten the kid's mother."
"What do you take us for?" said Glass. "We'll treat the whole thing asa joke--to her."
Casey breakfasted with them, and after they had gone sought Simon. Theold Indian, full to repletion, was squatting on the kitchen steps,smoking and blinking sleepily.
"No see um Sandy," he observed. "Where him stop?"
"No more Sandy stop this _illahee_," Casey replied. "Sandy _klatawakopa_ stone _illahee_, all same Tom." Meaning that Sandy had gone inthe direction of the hills, as had McHale.
"Why him _klatawa_?" Simon asked.
Casey explained, and Simon listened gravely. His receptiveness wasenormous. Information dropped into him as into a bottomless pit,vanishing without splash.
"Sandy _hyas_ young fool," he commented. "Me tell him _mamook huyhuy_moccasin. S'pose moccasin stop, _ikt_ man findum, then heltopay.Polisman _mamook_ catchum, put um in _skookum_ house, maybeso hang um_kopa_ neck."
"What are you talking about, anyway?" Casey demanded. And Simon toldhim of the track of the patched moccasin and of his warning to Sandy.
Casey immediately fitted things together. He knew that Sandy's rightmoccasin was almost invariably worn through at the toe. Before theyleft he had seen him patching them, and because they wore through atthe same place the patches were of nearly the same shape. So that ifGlass had found a patched moccasin it was not necessarily the one whichhad made the track. But that would make little difference. EitherFarwell or his assistant must have told Glass about this track. If hehad found a pair of Sandy's moccasins to correspond with the footprinthe had come very near getting Sandy with the goods. But Farwell orsomebody must have directed Glass's suspicions to Sandy.
However that was, Sandy had made a clean get-away into a region wherehe would be hard to catch.
He was familiar with the trails, the passes,the little basins and pockets nestling in the hills. He was wellprovisioned and well armed. And the last caused Casey some uneasiness,for having once resisted arrest Sandy would be very apt to do so again.
"Simon," he said, "I want you to take papah letter to Tom."
"Where Tom stop?" Simon asked naturally enough.
"Maybe at Sunk Springs," Casey replied. "Maybe not. You try SunkSprings. S'pose no Tom stop there, you _nanitch_ around till you findhim."
"All right," said Simon. "Me _nanitch_, me find Tom." He considered amoment. "_Halo_ grub stop me?"
"I'll tell them to grubstake you here," Casey reassured him. "I'll payyou, too, of course."
"You my _tillikum_," said Simon, with great dignity. "Tom my _tillikum_.Good! Me like you. How much you pay?"
"Two dollars a day," said Casey promptly.
Simon looked grieved and pained. "You my tillikum," he repeated."S'pose my _tillikum_ work for me, me pay him five dolla'."
But Casey was unmoved by this touching appeal to friendship. "I'llremember that if I ever work for you," he replied. "Two dollars andgrub is plenty. You Siwashes are spoiled by people who don't know anybetter than to pay what you ask. That's all you'll get from me. Yourtime's worth nothing, and your cayuses rustle for themselves."
And Simon accepted this ultimatum with resignation.
"All right," said he. "You my _tillikum_; Tom my _tillikum_. S'pose youcatch _hiyu_ grubstake."
Having arranged for a message to McHale, it occurred to Casey that heshould see whether the sudden rise of the river had swept the company'stemporary dam. Accordingly he rode thither.
The storm had entirely passed, and the sun shone brightly. Great,white, billowy, fair-weather clouds rolled up in open order before thefresh west wind, and the shadows of them trailed across the face of theearth, moving swiftly, sharply defined, sweeping patches of shadeagainst the green and gold of a clean-washed, sunny summer world. Offto the westward, where the ranges thrust gaunt, gray peaks against thesky line, the light shimmered against patches of white, the remnants ofthe last winter's snows. Far away, just to be discerned through a notchin the first range, was a vivid point of emerald or jade, the livinggreen of a glacier.
It was a day when it was good to be alive, and Casey Dunne, hard,clean, in the full power of his manhood, the fresh west wind in hisface, and a strong, willing horse beneath him, rejoiced in it.
As he rode his thoughts reverted to Clyde Burnaby. Indeed, she hadnever, since the preceding night, been entirely absent from them; butbecause his training had been to do one thing at a time, and think ofwhat he was doing to the exclusion of all else, he had unconsciouslypigeonholed her in the back of his mind. Now she emerged.
"Shiner, m'son," he apostrophized his horse, "if things break rightyou're going to have a missus. What d'ye think of that, hey, youyellow-hided old scoundrel? And, by the Great Tyee! you'll eat applesand sugar out of her hand, and if you so much as lay back your ears ather I'll frale your sinful heart out with a neck yoke. D'ye get that,you buzzard-head?"
Shiner in full stride made a swift grab for his rider's left leg, andhis rider with equal swiftness kicked him joyously in the nose.
"You would, hey? Nice congratulations, you old man-eater. I'll make alady's horse of you if you don't behave; I sure will. And we'll build adecent house and break two thousand acres, and keep every foot of it asfine and clean as a seed bed, and have it all under ditch, the showplace of the whole dry belt. You bet we will. We won't sell an acre.Fancy prices won't tempt us. We'll keep the whole shootin' match tillwe cash in." His mood changed.
"Cash in! It's funny to think of that, old horse, isn't it? And yet tenyears from now you'll be no good, and thirty years from now I'll benear the end of the deal. And Clyde! Why, Shiner, we can't think of heras an old lady, can we? With her smooth cheeks a little withered andthe suppleness gone from her body, and her eyes dim and her glorioushair white. Lord, horse, we mustn't think of it! She'll always be thesame dear Clyde to us, won't she? 'Sufficient unto the day,' my equinetrial and friend. Others will come after us, and there will beevil-tempered buckskins loping this foothill country and maybe a CaseyDunne cursing them when you and I are ranging the happy huntinggrounds!"
Out of the sunlit distances a horse and rider appeared, rapidlyapproaching. It was Farwell, and, recognizing Dunne, he pulled up.
"In case you don't know it," he said, without preliminary or greeting,"I'll tell you that our dam went out with the flood. You didn't need touse dynamite this time."
"Providence!" Casey suggested.
Farwell's comment consisted of but one word, which, unless by contrast,is not usually associated with providential happenings.
"Call it that if you like," he growled. "We'll get the men responsiblefor it one of these days."
"You made a beginning with young McCrae," Casey reminded him.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you know that Glass tried to arrest him?"
"What?" cried Farwell.
His surprise was too genuine to be feigned. Thereupon Casey told himwhat had occurred in the last few hours both at Talapus and Chakchak.
Farwell listened, biting his lips and frowning. And his first wordswere an inquiry as to Sheila.
"Miss McCrae rode through that storm last night!" he exclaimed. "GoodLord! Is she badly hurt?"
"Only shaken up, I think."
"Thank God for that," said Farwell, with evident sincerity. Hehesitated for a moment. "See here, Dunne, do you mind if I ask you animpertinent question?"
"Fire away."
"Are you going to marry her?"
"Certainly not. What put that notion in your head?"
"It got there. You were pretty thick. And if she rode there in thatstorm--unless she thought a lot of you----"
"I'm mighty proud of it. We're good friends--like brother and sister.No more. She has the best brand of clean-strain pluck of any girl Iknow."
"So she has," Farwell agreed. "She's a girl in a million. She's----" Hestopped, reddening.
"By George, Farwell," said Casey, "is it that way with you?"
"She doesn't care a tinker's dam for me," said Farwell bluntly. "That'snot saying what I think of her. I'm no ladies' man--don't pretend tobe. Let that go. I suppose I'll be blamed for young McCrae's arrest.Well, I didn't know a thing about it. I've tried to give the family agood deal--better than the rest of you, anyway. I don't like the boy,and he doesn't like me. Pulled a gun on me once--well, never mind that.Here, you've been straight with me, and I'll tell you: When the dam wasblown up we found the track of a patched moccasin in soft earth. Keelertook an impression of it, or made a cast or something--I don't knowjust what, but I do know that he photographed it. Since then I'venoticed young McCrae's foot, and I believe he made the track, though itdidn't strike me at the time. That was about the only clew we found.Mind you, Dunne, I believe you were in it yourself, but I haven't athing to go on. If Glass has found a patched moccasin of McCrae's he'spretty near got him to rights. I don't know what he's got, though.About Cross and McHale, I don't care a curse which shot the other.These men--Cross, Dade, Lewis, and some more--were protecting ourproperty. And that's all."
"Not quite all. They blew up our dams."
"Just as man to man," said Farwell, "let me ask you if you expected torun a dynamite monopoly?"
"I'm not kicking," said Casey. "I'm merely stating facts. I can take mymedicine."
"You're a good deal of a man," Farwell acknowledged grudgingly. "I hatea squealer. Anyway, it was no part of their job to break into yourhouse. See here, Dunne, the last five minutes has got us betteracquainted than the last two months. I'll fire these fellows to-morrowif you'll promise me that our ditches won't be interfered with again."
"As long as we have water there will be no trouble," said Casey. "I'llpromise nothing more."
"That's good for some weeks, anyway," Farwell predicted. "I guess we'llhave to fight it out in the end. Still, I'm gl
ad to have had this talk.I like you better than I did. And I can tell you there was lots of roomfor it--is yet, for that matter. Good-bye."
Without waiting for a reply, he dug a heel into his horse and swept on.Casey watched him go, with a thoughtful smile.
"Odd devil!" he muttered. "Queer combination. I don't like him,but--well, he's a fighter, and I believe he's straight. To think of himbeing fond of Sheila! I wonder if he has a chance there? She nevermentions him now. H'm!" Finding no answer to the question, he wheeledShiner and headed for home.
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