by Max Brand
CHAPTER 18
As Andrew went down the stairs and through the entrance hall he noticedit was filled with armed men. At the door he paused for the leastfraction of a second, and during that breathing space he had seen everyface in the room. Then he walked carelessly across to the desk and askedfor his bill.
Someone, as he crossed the room, whirled to follow him with a glance.Andy heard, for his ears were sharpened: "I thought for a minute--But itdoes look like him!"
"Aw, Mike, I seen that gent in the barroom the other day. Besides, he'sjust a kid."
"So's this Lanning. I'm going out to look at the poster again. You holdthis gent here."
"All right. I'll talk to him while you're gone. But be quick. I'll beholdin' a laugh for you, Mike."
Andrew paid his bill, but as he reached the door a short man with legsbowed by a life in the saddle waddled out to him and said: "Just aminute, partner. Are you one of us?"
"One of who?" asked Andrew.
"One of the posse Hal is getting together? Well, come to think of it, Iguess you're a stranger around here, ain't you?"
"Me?" asked Andrew. "Why, I've just been talking to Hal."
"About young Lanning?"
"Yes."
"By the way, if you're out of Hal's country, maybe you know Lanning,too?"
"Sure. I've stood as close to him as I am to you."
"You don't say so! What sort of a looking fellow is he?"
"Well, I'll tell you," said Andrew, and he smiled in an embarrassedmanner. "They say he's a ringer for me. Not much of a compliment,is it?"
The other gasped, and then laughed heartily. "No, it ain't, at that," hereplied. "Say, I got a pal that wants to talk to you. Sort of a job onhim, at that."
"I'll tell you what," said Andy calmly. "Take him in to the bar, andI'll come in and have a drink with him and you in about twominutes. S'long."
He was gone through the door while the other half reached a hand towardhim. But that was all.
In the stables he had the saddle on the chestnut in twenty seconds, andbrought him to the watering trough before the barroom.
He found his short, bow-legged friend in the barroom in the midst ofexcited talk with a big, blond man. He looked a German, with his partedbeard and his imposing front and he had the stern blue eye of a fighter."Is this your friend?" asked Andrew, and walked straight up to them. Hewatched the eyes of the big man expand and then narrow; his hand evenfumbled at his hip, but then he shook his head. He was too bewilderedto act.
At that moment there was an uproar from the upper part of the hotel.With a casual wave of his hand, Andy wandered out of the barroom andthen raced for the street. He heard men shouting in the lobby.
A fighting mass jammed its way into the open, and there, in the middleof the square, sat Hal Dozier on his gray stallion. He was giving ordersin a voice that rang above the crowd, and made voices hush in whispersas they heard him. Under his direction the crowd split into groups offour and five and six and rode at full speed in three directions out ofthe town. In the meantime there were two trusted friends of Hal Dozierbusy at telephones in the hotel. They were calling little towns amongthe mountains. The red alarm was spreading like wildfire, and fasterthan the fastest horse could gallop.
But Andrew, with the chestnut running like a red flash beneath him, hadvanished.
Buried away in the mountains, one stiff day's march, was a trapper whomUncle Jasper had once befriended. That was many a day long since, butUncle Jasper had saved the man's life, and he had often told Andrewthat, sooner or later, he must come to that trapper's cabin to talk ofthe old times.
He was bound there now. For, if he could get shelter for three days, thehue and cry would subside. When the mountaineers were certain that hemust have gone past them to other places and slipped through theirgreedy fingers he could ride on in comparative safety. It was anexcellent plan. It gave Andrew such a sense of safety, as he trotted thechestnut up a steep grade, that he did not hear another horse, coming inthe opposite direction, until the latter was almost upon him. Then,coming about a sharp shoulder of the hill, he almost ran upon abare-legged boy, who rode without saddle upon the back of a bay mare.The mare leaped catlike to one side, and her little rider clung like apiece of her hide. "You might holler, comin' around a turn," shrilledthe boy. And he brought the mare to a halt by jerking the rope aroundher neck. He had no other means of guiding her, no sign of a bridle.
But Andrew looked with hungry eyes. He knew something of horses, andthis bay fitted into his dreams of an ideal perfectly. She wasbeautiful, quite heavily built in the body, with a great spread ofbreast that surely told of an honest heart beneath a glorious head, legsthat fairly shouted to Andrew of good blood, and, above all, she hadthat indescribable thing which is to a horse what personality is to aman. She did not win admiration, she commanded it. And she stood alertat the side of the road, looking at Andrew like a queen. Horse stealingis the cardinal sin in the mountain desert, but Andrew felt the momenthe saw her that she must be his. At least he would first try to buy herhonorably.
"Son," he said to the urchin, "how much for that horse?"
"Why," said the boy, "anything you'll give."
"Don't laugh at me," said Andrew sternly. "I like her looks and I'll buyher. I'll trade this chestnut--and he's a fine traveler--with a goodprice to boot. If your father lives up the road and not down, turn backwith me and I'll see if I can't make a trade."
"You don't have to see him," said the boy. "I can tell you that he'llsell her. You throw in the chestnut and you won't have to give anyboot." And he grinned.
"But there's the house." He pointed across the ravine at a littlegreen-roofed shack buried in the rocks. "You can come over if youwant to."
"Is there something wrong with her?"
"Nothin' much. Pop says she's the best hoss that ever run in theseparts. And he knows, I'll tell a man!"
"Son, I've got to have that horse!"
"Mister," said the boy suddenly, "I know how you feel. Lots feel thesame way. You want her bad, but she ain't worth her feed. A skunk put abur under the saddle when she was bein' broke, and since then anybodycan ride her bareback, but nothin' in the mountains can sit a saddleon her."
Andrew cast one more long, sad look at the horse. He had never seen ahorse that went so straight to his heart, and then he straightened thechestnut up the road and went ahead.