CHAPTER XII
Quick on the Draw
Sandy rode up to the house, threw himself from the saddle and went intothat room of the ranch that served as Mr. Melton's library and businessoffice combined.
His employer looked up from some accounts he was going over and motionedthe foreman to a seat.
"Well, Sandy," he said, as he noted the worried look in the latter'seyes, "what seems to be the matter? Out with it and get it off yourchest."
"It's about them derned rustlers," said Sandy, with his usual directnesscoming straight to the point. "I'm afraid they're gettin' away with agood many of our beeves."
Mr. Melton's brows met in a puzzled frown.
"What makes you think so?" he asked.
"A heap of things," was the reply. "In the first place, the boys havefound a lot of motherless calves galloping around and bleating for theirmas. Of course, we always look for a few of those, but lately thenumber's been beyond all reason. Then, too, there's been quite a bunch ofornery fellers that the boys has caught sight of hangin' round where theydidn't seem to have no business to be. Of course, that doesn't proveanything against them, and aside from givin' them a pretty sharp lookin'over, we couldn't do nothin' just on suspicion."
He took another bite from his plug of tobacco and hitched his chair alittle closer.
"But yesterday," he went on, "Buck was riding herd up in the northsection, and he saw a place leadin' up a gully where the ground wastrampled down in a way that made it look almost as if there had been astampede. He could see that a big drove had passed through there and thatit must have been goin' in an almighty hurry. He thought at first theymight have got scared of a grizzly or somethin', but if that had 'a' beenso, some one of them would 'a' been caught and pulled down and therewasn't any sign of anything like that. Then he looked a little closer atthe trail and he could see the track of hosses. Somebody was drivin' thatherd.
"He come in a flyin' with the report, but it was after midnight and Ididn't want to wake you up.
"But there's one thing more," he added, "that makes me dead sure. Chipmeandered in from town last night, a little the worse for wear. He'dbeen celebratin' some and lookin' upon the likker when it was red, and hewas so far gone that I guess he'd have slept somewhere on the road if hisbroncho hadn't had more sense than him and brought him home. He was toosoused to know his name, and he didn't need no urgin' to tumble into hisbunk and sleep it off. He's got an awful head this mornin', too, but whenhe heard Buck talkin' at breakfast about what he seen, he called to mindsomethin' that one of his pals that works on the Bar Y Ranch off towardthe east told him about, when he was a boozin' with him last night.
"It seems that this feller was comin' back from a round-up to his ranchthe other day, and he saw the body of a steer, a little off to the right.He rode over to look at it, and, lookin' close, saw that the first brandhad been burned over by another one. Of course, he knows most of thebrands in this section of the country, and after he studied it over aspell, he knew for sure that the first brand was ours. Knew it by thelittle curlicue in the top corner of the O. The second brand had been puton kinder careless, in a hurry, as if the fellers that did it wanted tomosey along right quick. Then, too, he could see that the steer had diedfrom bein' overdriven."
Mr. Melton rose and paced the floor in growing anger as he pondered thesituation.
Like all Westerners, he hated cattle rustlers only less than he hated ahorse thief. In years past he had had frequent battles with them whenthey had tried to raid his stock, and the dire punishment that heinflicted had made them willing of late to leave his ranch alone. Forseveral years he had had immunity and had been inclined to think that hewould be henceforth free of that particular pest. When Sandy had firstbegun to speak, he had thought there might be some mistake, and thatthe depletion of his stock might be traced to other causes. The lastincident, however, had furnished positive proof and it was evident thatthe miscreants were due for another lesson at his hands.
"Was there any clue on that steer, outside of the changing of the brand?"he demanded.
"No," replied Sandy, "except just this. Chip's pal said that he thoughtthe feller that did the branding was left-handed. The edge that wasdeepest burned was on the other side from what it usually is when aright-hander does it. Course, on account of the brands bein' mixed uplike, he couldn't say for sure, but that's the way it looked to him."
"Do you know of anybody round these parts that is left-handed?" asked hisemployer.
"Can't say as I do," replied Sandy after a little meditation, "leastways,on any of the ranches around here. I know some of the boys that is almostas good with their left hand as the right, but not what you could callp'intedly left-handed. And anyway them fellers is as straight as astring, and I know they wouldn't mix up with any dirty work like that."
"Who had been riding herd on that north range before Buck saw the trailof the drove?" asked Mr. Melton abruptly.
"Let me see," answered Sandy, cudgeling his memory. "Why," he said aftera moment, "it was Pedro. He had been up there three days before Buckrelieved him."
"Ah, Pedro," echoed Mr. Melton.
There was a significance in his voice that caused Sandy to look upquickly, and, as he caught the look in his employer's eyes, a suddensuspicion leaped into his own.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean that Pedro was in cahoots with thegang?"
"I don't mean anything--yet," replied Mr. Melton slowly. "I don't want todo any one an injustice, and I haven't a particle of evidence that Pedroisn't as innocent as a new-born babe. He's a good rider and a goodherder, and we've never had any fault to find with the way he does hiswork. But you know as well as I do that we didn't know a thing about himwhen he came riding along looking for a job. We were short-handed thenand needed men desperately, and so we hired him, but I made up my mindthat as soon as things got slack, and we had to lay some of the men off,he'd be the first to go. There may be good Indians and good Mexicans,and it may be my misfortune that I never met them. But Pedro is ahalf-breed--half Mexican and half Indian--and I've always noticed thatthat kind is apt to have the worst qualities of both. I've never likedhim, but I've set that down to prejudice, and always tried to treat himexactly like the rest of the men. Now, as I said, I may be entirelywrong, but somehow I've got the notion in my head that those rustlersknew just who was to be riding herd on that section when they made theirraid. But don't breathe a word of this to any one till we've gotsomething more to go on. Keep your eyes wide open and see too if you canpump anything more out of Chip about that steer. I'll think it all over,and after dinner we'll get together and fix on some plan to get afterthose infernal scoundrels."
Sandy took his departure, and Mr. Melton was left alone with his problem.That it was a perplexing one was evident from his knitted brows and airof intense concentration.
With the exception of Mrs. Melton and Bert, he was alone in the house.The other boys were absent, having started out soon after breakfast.Dick and Tom had gone off with Buck to have a little experience in"riding herd." Bert, who had intended to go with them, had found itnecessary to go to town to make some purchases. He had just finished hispreparations and brought his horse to the door, in order to say good-byto his host before starting. At the first glance he saw that somethinghad disturbed Mr. Melton's usual composure.
To his anxious inquiry as to whether anything was wrong, the latterresponded by telling him the news Sandy had brought, carefullyrefraining, however, from mentioning his suspicions about the half-breed.
"Of course, it's nothing very important in one way of looking at it," hesaid. "The mere fact that I've lost a few head of cattle doesn't worryme at all. They might take a thousand and I wouldn't miss them. But thoserustlers are the rattlesnakes of the West, and no man steals from me andgets away with it until I'm weaker and older than I am now. I suppose thefact is that my pride is hurt more than anything else," he smiled grimly."I'd rather flattered myself that I'd built up a reputation in theseparts that would keep those
vermin at a distance. It galls me horriblythat they should have the nerve to come up and rustle my stock rightunder my very nose. But if they think that they are going to get bywith it, they have another guess coming," and into the eyes of the oldwarhorse came the look that Bert had learned to know in Mexico.
"Are you going to organize a force and go after them?" asked Berteagerly.
Mr. Melton's eyes twinkled.
"Hit it right the first time," he said. "I suppose I ain't far out inguessing that you'd like to go along."
"You bet I would," replied Bert emphatically.
"Well, we'll see about it," answered his host. "But you'd better getalong now if you expect to be home before dark. You've got a long way togo, and you'll have to give your horse a good breathing space before youstart back. I promise that we won't start out for the rustlers withoutyou, if you're really bent on going."
Bert thanked him, touched his horse with the spur, and, with a last waveof his hand was off on his journey.
In due time he reached the town, hitched his horse to the rail in frontof the general store, and went in to make his purchases. This consumedsome time, and when he was through, his vigorous appetite reminded himthat it was time for dinner. There was only one place in that primitivetown where it could be obtained and that was in a little annex to theleading saloon. Drinks of course were the things chiefly dealt in, but ameal also could be obtained at any time desired, and Bert went in, seatedhimself at a table in the corner, and ordered steak and eggs and coffee.
While this was being prepared he had ample time to look about him. Thebuilding was a mere shack of the roughest kind. The bar took up one wholeside of the room, and the bartender was kept busy most of the time inserving drinks to the crowd lined up before it. At a number of smalltables, miners, prospectors and cowboys were seated, with piles of pokerchips heaped up before them. Some of the men were already drunk andinclined to be ugly, but most of them at that early hour were soberenough, though drinking freely. All without exception were armed, andthe weapons peeped from their holsters within easy reach. Among thesereckless and, in many cases lawless, dwellers on the borderland ofcivilization, the difference of a fraction of a second in offense ordefense might mean the difference between life and death.
Still, matters were proceeding peaceably enough at the moment, and therewas no indication of impending trouble. Bert's food was brought to himafter a considerable wait, and he "waded" into it with characteristicvigor. The cooking was none too good nor was the food itself ofsuperlative quality. But "hunger is the best sauce," and he was notinclined to be critical. He had, moreover, been too much of a travelernot to be able to adapt himself philosophically to any condition inwhich he found himself.
He was about to pick up his hat and go to the bar to pay for his meal,when he was struck by the tones of a familiar voice. He looked aboutquickly and saw Pedro, the cowboy employed at the ranch. He was surprisedat this, as he was sure Pedro was supposed at the time to be on herdduty. Had Mr. Melton intended that he should be in town, he would havesuggested to Bert that the half-breed might do his commissions for himand save him the long journey.
Bert's first thought, therefore, was that Pedro was "lying down on hisjob" and shirking duty for the sake of a day's debauch in town. It rousedhis indignation, as he always hated anything that savored of sneaking ordisloyalty. Still, it was not his affair and Pedro was safe as far as hewas concerned. He would not act as talebearer.
He had never liked the half-breed from the moment that he had met him.There was a sullen reticence that checked advances, and although he hadalways tried to be friendly, Pedro had held him at a distance. He wastall and swarthy, and, for one of his mixed race, not bad looking. Butthere was a furtive shiftiness in his eyes that were set too closetogether, that awakened distrust, and although Bert reproached himselffor it and never revealed it by word or look, he could not help aninstinctive aversion.
His first impulse was to approach and speak to the man, who had not seenhim as he came in and was now standing with his back partly toward him,tossing down a drink that he had poured out generously from the bottlethe bartender placed before him.
Bert checked himself, however, as he saw that Pedro had just greeted aman who had risen from a table where he had been sitting apart from theothers, as though waiting for some one. An almost imperceptible signpassed between them that aroused Bert's curiosity. Nor was this lessenedwhen the newcomer took from his pocket a pouch, such as gold dust isusually carried in, and slipped it over to Pedro, who placed it carefullyin the breast of his buckskin shirt.
Here was the beginning of a mystery. Why should this man be giving moneyto the half-breed? To be sure, it might be in payment of a loan or agambling debt. But, if so, why the air of secrecy?
The conversation with Mr. Melton that morning recurred to him. He pulledhis hat over his eyes, half turned in his seat, and, picking up a greasypack of cards that lay on the table began to lay them out before him asin solitaire. But under the brim of his sombrero, his keen eyes stolefrequent glances at the two, who had now adjourned to a table in thefarther corner and were engaged in a low and earnest conversation.
The stranger had before him what seemed to be a diagram, drawn on theback of an old envelope, and both studied it with care, Pedro especially,as though seeking to engrave it on his memory. Then he nodded assent towhat the other had been saying, and they shook hands, evidently inconfirmation of a bargain. Once more they adjourned to the bar, gulpeddown several glasses of the fiery liquor that masqueraded as whiskey,and then Pedro, with a gesture of farewell, went outside. A moment laterBert heard the clatter of hoofs as he rode away.
There was no further need of concealment, and with exceeding care Bertstudied the features of the man who he felt sure was involved in someplan that boded no good to Pedro's employer.
The fellow was tall and heavily built, and dressed in a more gaudy stylethan that usually affected by the cowboys. Bert could not remember havingseen him among the employees of the neighboring ranches. His face boretraces of drink and dissipation and was seamed with evil passions. Therewas a lurid glow in his eyes that brought back to Bert the memory of themen who had tried to hold up the train. He seemed naturally to fall intothat class. Instinctively Bert felt that in some way he was to be rankedwith the outcasts that war upon society. A cruel mouth showed beneath ahawk-like nose that gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. To Bert heseemed a living embodiment of all that he had ever heard or read of the"bad man" of the Western frontier.
The stranger stood a little while longer at the bar. Then he strolledover to a table where four men were playing, and watched the game withthe critical eye of an expert.
Soon one of the men kicked his chair back and rose with an oath.
"Busted," he growled. "Not a dinero left. That last hand cleaned me out."
"Aw, don't go yet, Jim," protested one of his companions. "Your credit'sgood and you can play on your I. O. U.'s."
"Yes," agreed another. "Or you can put up that Spanish saddle of yourn.I've allers had a kind of hankerin' fur that. It's good fur eighty plunksin chips."
"Nuthin' doin'," announced the first emphatically. "Any time I hold fourkings and still can't rake in the pot, it shore is my unlucky day. ButI'll be here with bells on next pay day. So long," and he strode out ofthe room, slamming the door behind him.
The others were preparing to go on three-handed, when the strangerintervened.
"If it's an open game, gents, and you've no objections, I'll take ahand," he said.
As no one demurred, he slid into the vacant chair, bought a hundreddollars worth of chips and the game proceeded.
For a time Fortune seemed to divide her favors impartially, and the chipsbefore each player remained about the same. Then the luck changed and thestranger began to win heavily. He raked in one pot after another, losingonly occasionally, and then, generally, when the stakes were small. Theatmosphere about the table became tense and feverish, and gradually mostof the others in th
e room gathered about the players and watched theprogress of the game.
It was the newcomer's deal. The pack had been cut, and he was dealing outthe cards, when suddenly one of the players leaped to his feet.
"Foul play," he shouted. "You dealt that last card from the bottom of thepack." And at the same instant he threw over the table and reached forhis gun.
But quick as he was, the stranger was quicker. Like a flash his revolverspoke, and his opponent fell to the floor. But the others now had startedshooting and there was a fusillade. The spectators dropped behindanything that promised shelter and the bartender went out of sight underthe counter. Only after the revolvers had been emptied did the firingcease.
When the smoke lifted, three were lying on the littered floor, one deadand two desperately wounded. The stranger was not to be seen, but thepounding of hoofs outside told of his escape. He had gone, but not tillBert had seen one thing that registered itself indelibly on his mind.
The stranger had drawn and shot _with his left hand_.
Bert Wilson in the Rockies Page 12