The Desert Fiddler
Page 13
CHAPTER XIII
Bob hastened to meet the figure in the road. He knew it was ImogeneChandler, and that her haste meant she was either desperatelyfrightened or in great trouble.
"Is that you, Mr. Rogeen?" She checked up and called to him fiftyyards away.
"Yes. What is the matter?"
"I've been frightened three times in the last week." She caught herbreath. "A man hid in the weeds near the house, and his movements gaveme a scare; but I didn't think so much about it until Saturday night,when I went out after dark to gather sticks for the breakfast cooking,a man slipped from the shadow of the trees and spoke to me and I ranand he followed me nearly to the house. I got my gun and shot at him.
"But to-night," she gasped for breath again, "just as I was going frompapa's tent to my own, a man jumped out and grabbed me. I screamed andhe ran away."
Bob put his hand on her arm. He felt it still quivering under hisfingers.
"I'll walk back with you," he said in a quiet, reassuring tone.
"Can you lend me a blanket?" he asked when they reached the Chandlerranch. "And let me have your gun, I'll sleep out here to one side ofyour tent."
She protested, but without avail.
Next morning when Bob returned to his own ranch he spoke to NoahEzekiel Foster.
"Noah, this afternoon move your tent down to the Chandler ranch. Putit up on the north side of Miss Chandler's so she will be between yoursand her father's. I'm going to town and I'll bring out adouble-barrelled riot shotgun that won't miss even in the dark. Youand that gun are going to sleep side by side."
Noah Ezekiel grinned.
Bob went to the shack, put his own pistol in his pocket, and rode offto Calexico.
Reedy Jenkins sat at his desk in shirt sleeves, his pink face a triflepasty as he sweated over a column of figures. He looked up annoyedlyas someone entered through the open door; and the annoyance changed tosurprise when he saw that it was Bob Rogeen.
"I merely came in to tell you a story," said Bob as he dropped into achair and took a paper from the pocket of his shirt and held it in hisleft hand.
"This," Bob flecked the paper and spoke reminiscently, "is quite acuriosity. I got it up near Blindon, Colorado. A bunch of rascalsjumped me one night when my back was turned.
"Next day my friends hired an undertaker to take charge of my remains,and made up money to pay him. This paper is the undertaker's receiptfor my funeral.
"The rascals did not get either me or the cash they were after; butthey taught me a valuable lesson: never to have my back turned again."
He stopped.
"You see," went on Bob in a tone that did not suggest argument, "thereis a ranch over my way you happen to want--two of them, in fact. Thelast week the lessees have both been much annoyed; the one on the southone especially.
"Now, of course, we can kill Madrigal and any other Mexican that keepsup that annoyance. But instead, I suggest that you call them off. Forthe Chandlers have fully made up their minds not to sell, and so haveI."
Bob rose. "If anything further happens down there, I'm afraid there'llbe an accident on this side of the line. It was merely that you mightbe prepared in advance that I dropped in this morning to make you apresent of this." He tossed the paper on Jenkins' desk and went out.
Reedy picked up the receipt. The undertaker, after Rogeen's recovery,had facetiously written on the back:
This receipt is still good for one first-class funeral--and it isnegotiable.
Reedy felt all the sneer go out of his lips and a sort of coldnesssteal along his sweaty skin. Underneath this writing was another line:
Transferred for value received to Reedy Jenkins. BOB ROGEEN.