CHAPTER XII
THE POISON OAKERS RIDE
A red-headed, red-breasted male linnet sat on the topmost branch of theold, gnarled liveoak near Oliver's window and tried to burst his throatto the accompaniment of Oliver's typewriter. When the keys ceased theirclicking the singer finished a bar and waited, till once more thedicelike rattle encouraged him to another ecstatic burst of melody.
"Well, I like to be accommodating," remarked Oliver, leaning back fromhis machine, "but I can't accompany you all day; and it happens that I'mthrough right now."
He surveyed the last typewritten sheet of his manuscript on the cleaningof springs for the enlarging of their flow; but, the article completed,his mind was no longer engrossed by it.
Other and bigger matters claimed his thoughts, and he sat in the softspring air wondering about old Chupurosa Hatchinguish and his strangebehaviour on seeing the gem-mounted _conchas_ stamped with the letter B.
When Oliver had stripped off his shirt in the hut that day the scar thata German bayonet had left in his side had carefully been examined by theancient chief. Oliver fancied there had been a strange new look in hisinscrutable eyes as he silently motioned for him to put on his shirtagain. He had made no comment whatever, though, and said nothing at alluntil the young man had finished dressing. Then he had stepped to thedoor and opened it, rather impolitely suggesting that his guest'spresence in the hut was no longer necessary. As Oliver passed out he hadspoken:
"When next the moon is full," he said, "the Showut Poche-dakas willobserve the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio, as taught them years agoby the padres who came from Spain. Then will the Showut Poche-dakasdance the fire dance, which is according to the laws laid down by thewise men of their ancestors. Ride here to the Fiesta de Santa Maria deRefugio on the first night that the moon is full. _Adios, amigo!_"
That was all; and Oliver had passed out into the bright sunlight andfound Jessamy Selden.
The two had talked over the circumstances often since that day, butneither could throw any light on the matter. But the first night of thefull moon was not far distant now, and Oliver and the girl were awaitingit impatiently. Oliver felt that at the fiesta he would in some way gainan inkling of the mysterious question that had puzzled his father forthirty years, and which eventually had brought his son into this countryto find out whether its answer was Yes or No.
Oliver tilted back his chair and lighted his briar pipe. Out in theliveoak tree the linnet waited, head on one side, chirping plaintivelyoccasionally, for the renewed clicking of the typewriter keys. ButOliver's thoughts were far from his work.
That burning, colourless liquor that had so fiercely fired his brain wasundoubtedly moonshine--and redistilled at that, no doubt. Jessamy hadtold him further that she had not so much as unscrewed the cap since oldAdam had given her the flask, at her request, and had had no idea thatthe flask had not contained amber-coloured whisky. Was this in realitythe reason why the Poison Oakers wished him to be gone? Had they beendistilling moonshine whisky down at Sulphur Spring to supply the blindpigs controlled by the prosecuting attorney at the county seat? And hadhis inadvertent shutting off of Sulphur Spring's supply of water stoppedtheir illicit activities? They had known, perhaps, that eventually hewould discover that his own spring had been choked by some one and wouldrectify the condition. Whereupon Sulphur Spring would cease to flow andautomatically cut off one of their sources of revenue. Oliver decided tolook for Sulphur Spring at his earliest opportunity.
His brows came together as he recalled the episode on the hill, wheneither the fiery raw liquor or the poison from the diamond-back'sfangs--or both--had deprived him of his senses.
He remembered perfectly what he had said--what he had done. He had heardsometime that a man always tells the truth when he is drunk. But had hebeen drunk, or rabid from the hypodermic injections of ShowutPoche-daka? Or, again--both? One thing he knew--that he thrilled yet atremembrance of those satin lips which he had pressed again and again.
Had he told the truth? Had he said that day what he would not haverevealed for anything--at that time?
His brows contracted more and more, and a grim smile twitched his lips.His teeth gripped the amber stem of his pipe. Had he told the truth?
He rose suddenly and went through a boyish practice that had clung tohim to the years of his young manhood. He stalked to the cheaprectangular mirror on the wall and gazed at his wavy reflection in theflawed glass. Blue eye into blue eye he gazed, and once more asked thequestion:
"Did I tell the truth when I said I loved her?"
His eyes answered him. He knew that he had told the truth.
Then if this was true--and he knew it to be true--what of the halfbreed,Digger Foss? He remembered a gaunt man, stricken to his death, reelingagainst the legs of a snorting white mare and clutching at them blindlyfor support--remembered the gloating grin of the mounted man, the muzzleof whose gun followed the movements of his wounded enemy as a cobra'shead sways back and forth to the charmer's music--remembered the cruelinsolence of the Mongolic eyes, mere slits.
He swung about suddenly from the mirror and caught sight of a knotholein the cabin wall, which so far he had neglected to patch with tin. Henoted it as he swung about and dived at the pillow on his bed. He hurledthe pillow one side, swept up the ivory-handled '45 that lay there,wheeled, and fired at the knothole. There had been no appreciable pausebetween his grasping of the weapon and the trigger pull, yet he saw nobullet hole in the cabin boards when the smoke had cleared away.
He chuckled grimly. "I might get out my army medals for marksmanship andpin 'em on my breast for a target," he said.
Then to his vast confusion there came a voice from the front of thehouse.
"Ain't committed soothin' syrup, have ye?" it boomed.
There was no mistaking the deep-lunged tones. It was Old Man Selden whohad called to him.
Oliver tossed the gun on the bed and walked through to the front door,which always stood open these days, inviting the countless littlelizards that his invasion of the place had not disturbed to enter andmake themselves at home.
The gaunt old boss of the Clinker Creek Country stood, withchap-protected legs wide apart, on Oliver's little porch. Hisbroad-brimmed black hat was set at an angle on his iron-grey hair, andhis cold blue eyes were piercing and direct, as always. In his hands heheld the reins of his horse's bridle. Back of the grey seven men loungedin their saddles, grinning at the old man's sally. Digger Foss was notamong the number.
"How d'ye do, Mr. Selden," said Oliver in cordial tones, thrusting fortha strong brown hand.
Selden did not accept the hand, and made no effort to pretend that hehad not noticed it. Oliver quickly withdrew it, and two little lumpsshowed over the hinges of his jaws.
He changed his tone immediately. "Well, what can I do for yougentlemen?" he inquired brusquely.
"We was ridin' through an' thought we heard a shot," said Selden. "So Idropped off to see if ye wasn't hurt."
"I beg your pardon," Oliver returned, "but you must have been dismountedwhen I fired. This being the case, you already had decided to call onme. So, once more, how can I be of service to you?"
The grins of the men who rode with Adam Selden disappeared. There was nomistaking the businesslike hostility of Oliver's attitude.
"Peeved about somethin' this mornin'," one of them drawled to the riderwhose knee pressed his.
Oliver looked straight at Old Man Selden, and to him he spoke.
"I am not peeved about anything," he said. "But when a man comes to mydoor, and I come and offer him my hand, and he ignores it, my inferenceis that the call isn't a friendly one. So if you have any business totransact with me, let's get it off our chests."
Oliver noted with a certain amount of satisfaction the quick, surprisedlooks that were flashed among the Poison Oakers. Apparently they had meta tougher customer than they had expected.
All this time the cold blue eyes of Adam Selden had been looking overthe pitted Bourbon nose a
t Oliver. Selden's tones were unruffled as hesaid:
"Thought maybe the poison oak had got too many for ye, an' ye'd shotyerself."
"I don't care to listen to subtle threats," Oliver returned promptly."Poison oak does not trouble me at all--neither the vegetable varietynor the other variety. I'm never in favour of bandying words. If I haveanything to say I try to say it in the best American-English at mycommand. So I'll make no pretence, Mr. Selden, that I have not heard youdon't want me here in the canyon. And I'll add that I am here, on my ownland, and intend to do my best to remain till I see fit to leave."
Selden's craggy brows came down, and the scrutiny that he gave the youngman was not without an element of admiration. No anger showed in hisvoice as he said:
"Just so! Just so! I wanted to tell ye that I been down to therecorder's office and up to see Nancy Fleet, my wife's sister. Seemsthat you're right about this prop'ty standin' in your name an' all; butI thought, so long's we was ridin' along this way, I'd drop off an' havea word with ye."
"I'm waiting to hear it."
"No use gettin' riled, now, because--"
"If you had accepted my hand you'd not find me adopting the tone that Ihave."
"Just so!" Selden drawled. "Well, then, I'll accept her now--if I ain'ttoo bold."
"You will not," clicked Oliver. "Will you please state your business andride on?"
"Friendly cuss, ain't he, Dad?" remarked one of the Selden boys--whichone Oliver did not know.
"You close yer face!" admonished Selden smoothly, in his deep bass."Well, Mr. Drew, if ye want to stay here an' starve to death, that'snone o' my concern. And if ye got money to live on comin' fromsomewheres else, that's none o' my concern either. But when ye stop therun o' water from a spring that I'm dependin' on to water my critters indry months, it _is_ my concern--an' that's why I dropped off for a wordwith ye."
"How do you know I have done that?" Oliver asked.
"Well, 'tain't likely that a spring like Sulphur Spring would go dry thelast o' May. Most o' these springs along here are fed from the samevein. You move in, and Sulphur Spring goes dry. So that's what I droppedoff to talk to ye about. Just so!"
"I suppose," said Oliver, "that the work I did on my spring has inreality stopped the flow of Sulphur Spring. But--"
"Ye do? What _makes_ ye suppose so?--if I ain't too bold in askin'."
Oliver's lips straightened. Plainly Selden suspected that Jessamy hadtold him of the peculiarity of the canyon springs, and was trying to makehim implicate her. But the old man was not the crafty intriguer heseemed to fancy himself to be. He already had said too much if he wishedto make Oliver drag the girl's name into the quarrel.
"Why, what you have just told me, added to my knowledge of what I did toclean out my spring, leads to that supposition," he replied. "But, as Iwas about to remark when you interrupted me, I can't see that that isany concern of mine. That's putting it rather bluntly, perhaps; but I amentirely within my rights in developing all the water that I can on myland, regardless of how it may affect land that lies below me."
"Right there's the point," retorted Selden. "I'm a pretty good friend o'the prosecutin' attorney down at the county seat. He tells me ye can'ttake my water away from me like that."
"Then I should say that your legal friend is not very well posted on thelaws governing the development and disposition of water in this state,"Oliver promptly told him.
"I wrote him," said Selden, "an' I'll show ye the letter if ye'll inviteme in."
For the first time Oliver hesitated. Why did Selden wish to enter thecabin? Could not the letter be produced and read on the porch? Itflashed through his mind that the old fox wished to get him inside sothat some of his gang might investigate the spring and find out thevolume of the water that was flowing, and what had been done to increaseit. This only added to his belief that the Poison Oakers wereresponsible for the wall of stones that had choked the stream. Well, whynot let them find out all that they wished to know in this regard?
"Certainly," he invited. "Come in." And he stood back from the door.
Selden clanked his spur rowels across the threshold. At the same time hewas reaching into his shirtfront for the letter.
Then an odd thing occurred. He was about to take the chair that Oliverhad pushed forward when his blue eyes fell upon the saddle and bridlewhich had come to stand for so much in Oliver's life, hanging from athong in one corner of the room.
The old Poison Oaker's eyes grew wide, and, as was their way when he wasmoved out of his customary brooding mood, his thick nostrils begandilating. But almost instantly he was his cold, insolent self again.
"I heard some of 'em gassin' about that rig o' yours," he remarked."Said she was a hummer all 'round. That it there? Mind if I look herover?"
"Not at all." Oliver was quick to grasp at any chance that might lead tothe big question and its answer.
Old Man Selden's leather chaps whistled his legs to the corner, where hestood, long arms at his sides, gazing at the saddle, the bridle, and themartingales. His deep breathing was the only sound in the room. Outside,Oliver heard foot-steps, and suspected that the investigation of hisspring was on.
At last Adam Selden made a move. He changed his position so that hisspacious back was turned toward Oliver. Quietly Oliver leaned to oneside in his chair, and he saw the cowman's big hand outstretched towardthe gem-mounted _concha_ on the left-hand side of the bridle--saw thumband fingers turn that part of the bridle inside-out.
Again the room was soundless. Then Selden turned from the exhibit, andOliver grew tense as he noted the strange pallor that had come on theold man's face.
"That's a han'some rig," was all he said, as he sank to his chair andlaid a letter on the oilcloth-covered table.
The letter contained the information that its recipient had claimed, andwas signed Elmer Standard. Oliver quickly passed it back, remarking:
"He's entirely wrong, and ought to know it. I have had occasion to lookinto the legal aspect of water rights in California quite thoroughly,and fortunately am better posted than most laymen are on the subject."
But the chief of the Poison Oakers was scarce listening. In his blueeyes was a faraway look, and that weird grey pallor had not left hisface.
Suddenly he jerked himself from reverie, and, to Oliver's surprise, asmile crossed his bearded lips.
"Just so! Just so! I judge ye're right, Mr. Drew--I judge ye're right,"he said almost genially. "Anyway you an' me'd be out-an'-out fools tofuss over a matter like that. There's plenty water fer the cows, an' Ioughtn't to butted in. But us ol'-timers, ye know, we--Well, I guess weoughta be shot an' drug out fer the cy-otes to gnaw on. I won't troubleye again, Mr. Drew. An' I'll be ridin' now with the boys, I reckon. Yemight ride up and get acquainted with my wife an' step-daughter--but Iguess ye've already met Jess'my. I've heard her mention ye. Ride up someday--they'll be glad to see ye."
And Oliver Drew was more at a loss how to act in showing him out thanwhen he had first faced him on the porch.
The Poison Oakers, with Old Man Selden at their head, rode away up thecanyon. Oliver Drew was throwing the saddle on Poche's back two minutesafter they had vanished in the trees. He mounted and galloped in theopposite direction, opening the wire "Indian" gate when he reached thesouth line of his property.
An hour later he was searching the obscure hills and canyons for SulphurSpring, but two hours had elapsed before he found it.
It was hidden away in a little wooded canyon, with high hills all about,and wild grapevines, buckeyes, and bays almost completely screened it.While cattle might drink from the overflow that ran down beyond theheavy growth, they could not have reached the basin which had beendesigned to hold the water as it flowed directly from the spring.Moreover, it was doubtful if, during the hot summer months, the rapidevaporating would leave any water for cattle in the tiny course belowthe bushes.
Oliver parted the foliage and crawled in to the clay basin. Cold waterremained in the bottom of it, but the inflow had c
eased entirely.
He bent down and submerged his hand, feeling along the sides of thebasin. Almost at once his fingers closed over the end of a piece ofthree-quarter-inch iron pipe.
Then in the pool before his face there came a sudden _chug_, and alittle geyser of water spurted up into his eyes. Oliver drew backinstinctively. His face blanched, and his muscles tightened.
Then from somewhere up in the timbered hills came the crash of aheavy-calibre rifle.
The Heritage of the Hills Page 12