by Grey, Zane
"Aw, I'm sick eatin' his dust," shouted Blinky, savagely.
Whereupon both Pan and Gus, inspired by Blinky, cut loose in dead earnest. They drove him, they relayed him, they cornered him, and then as he bolted to get between Gus and Pan, Blinky wheeled his horse and by a mighty effort headed him with a lasso. That time both wild stallion and lassoer bit the dust. Gus was on the spot in a twinkling, and as the animal heaved to his feet, it was only to fall into another loop. Then the relentless cowboys stretched him out and hobbled him.
"Heah, now, you fire-eyed—air-pawin' hoss—go an' get gentle," panted Blinky.
By the time the hunters had caught three others, which achievement was more a matter of patience than violence, the herd had become pretty well wearied and tamed. They crowded into a mass and moved in a mass. It took some clever riding at considerable risk to spread them. Fine horses were few and far between.
"Let's call it off," shouted Pan. "I'm satisfied if you are."
"Aw, just one more, pard," implored Blinky. "I've had my eye on a little bay mare with four white feet. She's got a V bar brand, and she's not so wild."
They had to break up the bunch a dozen times before they could locate the horse Blinky desired. And when Pan espied the bay he did not blame Blinky, and from that moment, as the chase went on, he grew more and more covetous. What a horse for Lucy! Pan had been satisfied with the blue roan for her but after he saw the little bay he changed his mind.
The little animal was cunning. She relied more on crowding in among the other horses than in running free, and therefore she was hard to get out into the open. Blinky's mount went lame; Gus's grew so weary that he could not keep up; but Pan's Sorrel showed wonderful powers of endurance. In fact he got better all the time. It began to dawn upon Pan what a treasure he had in Sorrel.
"Aw, let the darn little smart filly go," exclaimed Blinky, giving up in disgust. "I never wanted her nohow."
"Cowboy, she's been my horse ever since you showed her to me," replied Pan. "But you didn't know it."
"Wal, you hoss-stealin' son-of-a-gun!" ejaculated Blinky with pleasure. "If you want her, we shore will run her legs off."
In the end they got Little Bay—as Pan had already named her—into the roping corral, along with two other horses that ran in with her. And there Pan chased her into a corner and threw a noose round her neck. She reared and snorted, but did not bolt.
"Hey, pard," called Blinky, who was close behind. "Shore as you're born she knows what a rope is. See! She ain't fightin' it. I'll bet you my shirt she's not been loose long. Thet bar V brand now. New outfit on me. Get off an' haul up to her."
Pan did not need a second suggestion. He was enraptured with the beauty of the little bay. She was glossy in spite of long hair and dust and sweat. Her nostrils were distended, her eyes wild, but she did not impress Pan as being ready to kill him. He took time. He talked to her. With infinite patience he closed up on her, inch by inch. And at last he got a hand on her neck. She flinched, she appeared about to plunge, but Pan's gentle hand, his soothing voice kept her still. The brand on her flank was old. Pan had no way to guess how long she had been free, but he concluded not a great while, because she was not wild. He loosened the noose of his lasso on her neck. It required more patience and dexterity to hobble her.
"Pard, this little bay is fer your gurl, huh?" queried Blinky, leaning in his saddle.
"You guessed right, Blink," answered Pan. "Little Bay! that's her name."
"Wal, now you got thet off your chest s'pose you climb on your hoss an' look heah," added Blinky.
The tone of his voice, the way he pointed over the cedar fence to the slope, caused Pan to leap into his saddle. In a moment his sweeping gaze caught horsemen and pack animals zigzagging down the trail.
"If it's Hardman's outfit, by Gawd, they're comin' back with nerve," said Blinky. "But I never figgered they'd come."
Pan cursed under his breath. How maddening to have his happy thoughts so rudely broken! In a flash he was hard and stern.
"Ride, Blink," he replied briefly.
They called the others and hurriedly got out of the corral into the open.
"Reckon camp's the best place to meet thet outfit, if they're goin' to meet us," declared Blinky.
Pan's father exploded in amazed fury.
"Cool off, Dad," advised Pan. "No good to cuss. We're in for something. And whatever it is, let's be ready."
They made their way back to camp with eyes ever on the zigzag trail where in openings among the cedars the horsemen could occasionally be seen.
"Looks like a long string," muttered Pan.
"Shore, but they're stretched out," added Gus. "'Pears to me if they meant bad for us they wouldn't come pilin' right down thet way."
"Depends on how many in the outfit and what they know," said Pan. "Hardman's men sure knew we weren't well heeled for a shooting scrape."
"Pard, are you goin' to let them ride right into camp?" queried Blinky, hard faced and keen.
"I guess not," replied Pan bluntly. "Rifle shot is near enough. They might pretend to be friendly till they got to us. But we'll sure fool them."
Not much more was spoken until the approaching horsemen emerged from the cedars at the foot of the slope. They rode straight toward the camp.
"How many?" asked Pan. "I count six riders."
"Seven fer me, an' aboot as many pack horses.... Wal, I'll be damned! Thet's all of them."
"Mebbe there's a bunch up on the slope," suggested Charley Brown.
After a long interval fraught with anxiety and suspense, during which the horsemen approached steadily, growing more distinct, Blinky suddenly burst out: "Fellars, shore as you're born it's Wiggate."
"The horse dealer from St. Louis!" ejaculated Pan in tremendous relief. "Blink, I believe you're right. I never saw one of those men before, or the horses either."
"It's Wiggate, son," corroborated Pan's father. "I met him once. He's a broad heavy man with a thin gray chin beard. That's him."
"Aw, hell!" exclaimed Blinky, regretfully. "There won't be any fight after all."
The approaching horsemen halted within earshot.
"Hi, there, camp," called the leader, whose appearance tallied with Smith's description.
"Hello," replied Pan, striding out.
"Who's boss here?"
"Reckon I am."
"My name's Wiggate," replied the other loudly.
"All right, Mr. Wiggate," returned Pan just as loud voiced. "What's your business?"
"Friendly. Give my word. I want to talk horses."
"Come on up, then."
Whereupon the group of horsemen advanced, and presently rode in under the trees into camp. The foremost was a large man, rather florid, with deep-set eyes and scant gray beard. His skin, sunburned red instead of brown, did not suggest the westerner.
"Are you the younger Smith?" he asked, rather nervously eyeing Pan.
"Yes, sir."
"And you're in charge here?"
Pan nodded shortly. He sensed antagonism at least, in this man's bluff front, but it might not have been animosity.
"Word come to me this morning that you'd trapped a large number of horses," went on Wiggate. "I see that's a fact. It's a wonderful sight. Of course you expect to make a deal for them?"
"Yes. No trading. No percentage. I want cash. They're a shade better stock than you've been buying around Marco. Better grass here, and they've not been chased lean."
"How many?"
"I don't know. We disagree as to numbers. But I say close to fifteen hundred head."
"Good Lord!" boomed the big man. "It's a haul indeed.... I'll give you our regular price, twelve fifty, delivered in Marco."
"No, thanks," replied Pan.
"Thirteen."
Pan shook his head.
"Well, young man, that's the best offer made so far. What do you want?"
"I'll sell for ten dollars a head, cash, and count and deliver them here tomorrow."
"Sold!" snapped out Wiggate. "I can pay you tomorrow, but it'll take another day to get my men out here."
"Thank you—Mr. Wiggate," replied Pan, suddenly rather halting in speech. "That'll suit us."
"May we pitch camp here?"
"Sure. Get down and come in. Plenty of water and wood. Turn your horses loose. They can't get out."
Pan had to get away then for a while from his father and the exuberant Blinky. How could they forget the dead men over there still unburied? Pan had read in Wiggate's look and speech and in the faces of his men, that they had been told of the killing, and surely to the discredit of Pan and his followers. Pan vowed he would put Wiggate in possession of the facts. He gave himself some tasks, all the while trying to realize the truth. Fortune had smiled upon him and Blinky. Rich in one drive—at one fell swoop! It was unbelievable. The retrieving of his father's losses, the new ranches in sunny Arizona, comfort and happiness for his mother, for Bobby and Alice—and for Lucy all that any reasonable woman could desire—these beautiful and sweet dreams had become possibilities. All the loneliness and privation of his hard life on the ranges had been made up for in a few short days. Pan's eyes dimmed, and for a moment he was not quite sure of himself.
Later he mingled again with the men round the campfire. Some of the restraint had disappeared, at least in regard to Wiggate and his men toward everybody except Pan. That nettled him and at an opportune moment he confronted the horse buyer.
"How'd you learn about this drive of ours?" he asked, briefly.
"Hardman's men rode in to Marco this morning," replied Wiggate, coldly.
"Ah-uh! And they told a cock-and-bull story about what happened out here!" flashed Pan hotly.
"It placed you in a bad light, young man."
"I reckon. Well, if you or any of your outfit or anybody else calls me a horse thief he wants to go for his gun. Do you understand that?"
"It's pretty plain English," replied Wiggate, manifestly concerned.
"And here's some more. Jard Hardman was a horse thief," went on Pan in rising passion. "He was a low-down yellow horse thief. He hired men to steal for him. And by God, he wasn't half as white as the outlaw who killed him!"
"Outlaw? I declare—we—I—Do you mean you're an—" floundered Wiggate. "We understood you killed Hardman."
"Hell, no!" shouted Blinky, aflame with fury, bursting into the argument. "We was all there. We saw—"
"Blink, you keep out of this till I ask you to talk," ordered Pan.
"Smith, I'd like to hear what he has to say."
"Wiggate, you listen to me first," rejoined Pan, with no lessening his intensity. "There are three dead men across the field, not yet buried. Hardman, his man Purcell, and the outlaw Mac New. He called himself Hurd. He was one of Hardman's jailers there in Marco. But I knew Hurd as Mac New, back in Montana. I saved him from being hanged."
Pan moistened lips too dry and too hot for his swift utterance, and then he told in stern brevity the true details of that triple killing. After concluding, with white face and sharp gesture, he indicated to his men that they were to corroborate his statement.
"Mr. Wiggate, it's God's truth," spoke up Pan's father, earnestly. "It was just retribution. Hardman robbed me years ago."
"Wal, Mr. Wiggate, my say is thet it'll be damned onhealthy fer anybody who doesn't believe my pard," added Blinky, in slow dark menace.
Gus stepped forward without any show of the excitement that characterized the others.
"If you need evidence other than our word, it's easy to find," he said. "Mac New's gun was not the same caliber as Pan's. An' as the bullet thet killed Hardman is still in his body it can be found."
"Gentlemen, that isn't necessary," replied Wiggate, hastily, with a shudder. "Not for me. But my men can substantiate it. That might sound well in Marco. For I believe that your young leader—Panhandle Smith, they call him—is not so black as he has been painted."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The following morning, while Pan was away for a few hours deer hunting, Wiggate's men, accompanied by Blinky, attended to the gruesome detail of burying the dead men.
Upon Pan's return he learned of this and experienced relief that Wiggate had taken the responsibility. Wiggate had addressed him several times, civilly enough, but there was a restraint that Pan sensed often in his encounter with men. They were usually men who did not understand westerners like himself.
Wiggate had all his men, except the one he had sent back to Marco, with several of Pan's engaged in counting the captured wild horses. It was a difficult task and could hardly be accurate in short time.
"Anxious to get back to Marco?" queried Wiggate, not unkindly as he saw Pan's restlessness.
"Yes, I am, now the job's done," replied Pan heartily.
"Well, I wouldn't be in any hurry, if I were you," said the horse dealer, bluntly.
"What do you mean?" queried Pan.
"Young Hardman is to be reckoned with."
"Bah!" burst out Pan in a scorn that was rude, though he meant it for Hardman. "That pop-eyed skunk! What do I care for him?"
"Excuse me, I would not presume to advise you," returned Wiggate stiffly.
"Aw, I beg your pardon, Mr. Wiggate," apologized Pan. "I know you mean well. And I sure thank you."
Wiggate did not answer, but he took something from his vest pocket, It was a lead bullet, slightly flattened.
"Let me see your gun?" he asked.
Pan handed the weapon to him, butt first. Wiggate took it gingerly, and tried to fit the bullet in a chamber of the cylinder, and then in the barrel. It was too large to go in.
"This is the bullet that killed Hardman," said Wiggate gravely. "It was never fired from your gun. I shall take pains to make this evident in Marco."
"I don't know that it matters but I'm sure much obliged," returned Pan with warmth.
"Well, I'll do it anyhow. I've been fooled by Hardman and, if you want to know it, cheated too. That's why I broke with him."
"Hope you didn't have any other association with him—besides horse buying."
"No, but I'm lucky I didn't."
"Hardman had his finger in a lot of things in Marco. I wonder who'll take them up. Say, for instance some of the gold claims he jumped."
"Well! I knew Hardman had mining interests, but I thought they were legitimate. It's such a queer mixed-up business, this locating, working, and selling claims. I want none of it."
"Hardman's men, either at his instigation or Dick's, deliberately ran two of my men out of their claims. They'll tell you so."
"I'm astonished. I certainly am astonished," replied Wiggate, and he looked it.
"Marco is the hardest town I ever rode into," declared Pan. "And I thought some of the prairie towns were bad. But I see now that a few wild cowboys, going on a spree, and shooting up a saloon, or shooting each other occasionally, was tame beside Marco."
"You're right. Marco is a hard place, and getting worse. There's considerable gold. The new Eldorado idea, you know. It draws lawless men and women from places that are beginning to wake up. And they prey upon honest men."
"Did the Yellow Mine belong to Hardman?" asked Pan curiously.
"Him and Matthews. Young Hardman claims it. He's already clashed with Matthews, so I heard."
"He'll do more than clash with Matthews, if he isn't careful. He'll cash!" declared Pan grimly. "Matthews is a four-flush sheriff. He wouldn't face a dangerous man. But he'd make short work of Dick Hardman."
"If I'm not inquisitive in asking—would you mind telling me, do you mean to meet Matthews and young Hardman?" inquired Wiggate, hesitatingly.
"I'll avoid them if possible," rejoined Pan. "Dad and I will get out of Marco pretty pronto. We're going to Arizona and homestead."
"That's sensible. You'll have money enough to start ranching. I wish you luck. I shall make this my last horse deal out here. It's profitable, but Marco is a little too—too raw for my blood."
According to figures that the counters agree
d upon there were fourteen hundred and eighty-six wild horses in the trap.
Wiggate paid cash upon the spot. He had some bills of large denomination, but most of the money was in rather small bills. Pan made haste to get rid of all except his share. He doubled the wages of those who had been hired. Then he divided what was left with Blinky.
"My—Gawd!" gasped that worthy, gazing with distended eyes at the enormous roll of bills. "My Gawd! ... How much heah?"
"Count it, you wild-eyed cowpuncher," replied Pan happily. "It's your half."
"But, pard, it's too much," appealed Blinky. "Shore I'm robbin' you. This was your drive."
"Yes, and it was your outfit," returned Pan. "You furnished the packs, horses, location, and I furnished the execution. Looks like a square deal, share and share alike."
"All right, pard," replied Blinky, swallowing hard. "If you reckon thet way.... But will you keep this heah roll fer me?"
"Keep it yourself, you Indian."
"But, pard, I'll get drunk an' go on a tear. An' you know how bad I am when I get lickered up."
"Blink, you're not going to drink, unless in that one deal I hinted about," said Pan meaningly. "Hope we can avoid it."
"Aw, we're turnin' over a new leaf, huh?" queried the cowboy in strangest voice.
"You are, Blink," replied Pan with a frank, serious smile. "I've been a respectable sober cowboy for some time. You've been terrible bad.'
"Who said so?" retorted Blinky, aggressively.
"I heard it at the Yellow Mine."
That name, and the implication conveyed by Pan made Blinky drop his head. But his somber shame quickly fled.
"Wal, pard, I'll stay sober as long as you. Shake on it."
Pan made his plans to leave next morning as early as the wild horses they had hobbled could be gotten into shape to travel. Wiggate expected the riders he had sent for to arrive before noon the next day; and it was his opinion that he would have all the horses he had purchased out of there in a week. Pan and Blinky did not share this opinion.