“That’s tough. Luby wouldn’t turn loose of them. We’ll see, though, for it’s sure an idea.” He scowled. “You can’t forge a deed, can you? This one’s got a big seal on it. I gave up when I saw that.”
“Well,” Rice said, “that might be the very reason it’s on there. Did you have a good lawyer look at it?”
“Lawyer?” Horn exclaimed. “Man, there’s no lawyer in Aragon but old Hemingway, and he’s drunk most of the time. I don’t think he knows much law, anyway.”
The following day, Rowdy worked hard, roping and tying calves, roping horses, and attempting to improve his own speed and skill, though the steeldust wasn’t nearly the horse Cub was. Neil Rice had taken right hold, had cleaned out the house and organized the cooking situation. Then he had handed Horn a list of supplies. Rowdy had grinned at it.
“All right, Rice,” he had said, “I reckon we might as well eat and leave this place on full stomachs anyway. I’ll head into Aragon and pick up this stuff.”
With a packhorse Rowdy Horn headed for Aragon. All the way to town he was studying ways and means of getting the documents into his hands once more. There must be some way. During their talk at breakfast Rice had told him that it was often possible to move a seal from one document to another, that such a thing had been done in more than one place.
Aragon was crowded when Rowdy rode down the main one of the town’s three streets. Banners were hanging across the street, and the town was bright with posters heralding the coming Stockman’s Show and Rodeo. News had got around about the injury to Cub’s leg, however, and everywhere he went he found the odds of his winning first money had dropped. He was no longer given an even chance to win, for everyone had known how much trust he placed in Cub, and all had seen the horse perform at one time or another.
He called at the house for Jenny, but she was out. Her mother smiled at him, but her eyes looked as if she were disturbed.
“I’m sorry, Rowdy,” Mrs. Welman told him, “Jenny’s gone out. You may see her downtown.”
He walked back down the street, telling himself that he was foolish to feel irritated. Jenny had had no idea he would be coming in, and there was no reason why she should be at home. He laughed at himself, then strode back downtown and went to the Emporium, where he began buying groceries. He was packing them on his lead horse when he heard a familiar voice and, glancing up, saw Bart Luby. Clinging to his arm was Jenny Welman!
Rowdy’s face flushed, and he looked away, but not before Luby had seen him.
“How are you, Horn?” Bart said, making no effort to conceal his triumph. “Sorry to hear about Cub! I was looking forward to the chance of beating him.”
JENNY LOOKED AT ROWDY, paling slightly. His eyes met hers for an instant and then he looked away.
“Think nothing of it, Luby,” he said, “but don’t count me out. I’ll be there yet.”
“A man can’t do much good on just a fair horse,” Luby said, “but come along in. Be glad to have you.”
Jenny hesitated. “I didn’t know you were coming to town,” she said.
“I see you didn’t,” he said, a little wryly.
Her chin lifted and her eyes blazed. “Well, what do you expect me to do? Stay home all the time? Anyway,” she added suddenly, “I’d been planning to ride out and see you. I don’t think—well, we’d better call this off. Our engagement, I mean.”
He had a queer sinking feeling, but when he lifted his eyes, they revealed nothing. “All right,” was all he said, calmly.
Her blue eyes hardened slightly. “You certainly don’t seem much upset!” she flared.
“Should I be?” he asked. “When a girl tosses a man over the first time he gets in a tight spot, she’s small loss.”
“Well!” she flared. “I—!”
“Come on, Jenny,” Bart said. “You told me you were comin’ out to my place to look at the sorrel mare.” He grinned at Horn. “Out to the Bar O.”
Stung, Rowdy glared at Luby.
“Better enjoy the Bar O while you can, Bart,” he said.
Bart Luby froze in midstride and for a second stood stock-still. Then slowly he turned, his face livid. “What do you mean by that?” he barked.
“Nothing”—Rowdy grinned—“nothing at all! Only—” He hesitated, then shrugged. “You’ll know all about it soon.”
“Oh”—Jenny tugged at Bart’s arm—“don’t pay any attention to him. He’s always fussing about that ranch.”
The remark was intended to appease Bart and get him away. It had the effect of adding fuel to the man’s uncertainty after Rowdy’s veiled comment. Bart Luby stared down at Rowdy as he stood in the street, and watched him finish his diamond hitch.
“If you’re smart, you’ll leave well enough alone!” Bart said then, carefully and coldly.
Rowdy smiled, but he felt warm with triumph. Luby was worried, and if that deal had been straight, why should he worry? His sudden remark had brought a greater reaction than he had expected, yet suddenly he was aware of something else. That had been a dangerous thing for him to say, for now Luby knew that the loss of the ranch was not a closed matter to Rowdy Horn.
In the saddle on the way back to the Slash Bar, Horn began to feel the letdown. Despite his immediate reaction to Jenny’s sudden breaking off of their engagement, and despite the fact that he realized she was small loss, he felt sick and empty inside. He felt so low that he took no notice of the ride he had always loved. The great wall of the Rim did not draw his eyes, nor did the towering mass of cumulus that lifted above it, nor the darkening fringe of the pines against the distant sky.
When he got back home none of his problems were any nearer a solution either. Cub’s leg was but little better, and there was absolutely no chance of his recovering before the rodeo date. And more than ever now, Rowdy wanted to win that first place.
Again and again he studied the situation, comparing his own ability with that of Luby, who would be the main competitor. Each time, it all came down to the roping event. A lot would depend, of course, on the kind of mounts each of them drew in the bucking events, but there was little to choose between the two men. To give the devil his due, Bart Luby was a hand.
CHAPTER III
GIRL OF THE WILDS
At daylight Rowdy Horn was out looking at Cub’s leg. When he had done that, he saddled a powerful black for a ride out to the Point of Rocks. Today he must try to find out what was wrong with his water supply. He could delay no longer. He was just cinching the saddle tight when he heard a rattle of hoofs and looked up to see Vaho Rainey sweep into the yard.
His face broke into a smile. This morning the girl was riding a blood bay, a splendid horse. She reined in, swung down, and walked over to him with a free-swinging stride that he liked.
“Rowdy,” she asked excitedly, “did you ever hear of Silverside?”
“Silverside?” He looked at her curiously. “Who hasn’t? The greatest roping horse this country ever saw, I reckon. Buck Gordon rode him and trained him, and Buck was a roper. There will never be a greater horse.”
“Could you win that rodeo on him?”
He laughed. “Could I? On that horse? Vaho, I could win anything on that horse. He had the speed of a deer and was smarter than most men. I saw him once, several years ago, before he was killed. He was the finest roping horse I ever saw, and Buck the greatest hand.”
“He’s not dead, Rowdy. He’s alive, and I know where he is.”
Rowdy Horn’s heart missed a beat. “You aren’t foolin’? This isn’t a joke?” He shook his head. “It couldn’t be Silverside,” he protested, “and if you’ve heard it is, somebody is mistaken. Buck Gordon was riding Silverside when the Apaches got him down near Animas—in one of their last raids over the border. They killed Silverside at the same time. A long time after that somebody found his skeleton, some of the hide, and Buck’s saddle.”
“He’s alive, Rowdy!” Vaho repeated earnestly. “I know where he is, I tell you! Some Mexican picked up Buck’s
saddle, and when he was killed later, riding a paint, it was that horse that was found, or it must have been. Silverside was taken by the Apaches and they have him now.”
Horn shook his head. “It couldn’t be, Vaho. The Apaches are at least pretendin’ to be friendly now, and have been for a long time. If they had that horse, somebody would have seen him.” His eyes sparkled. “Man, I wish they had! With that horse I could sure make Luby back up! There never was a great roper without a great horse, and don’t you forget it!”
“You said the Apaches were friendly,” said Vaho. “All of them are not.”
“Oh? You mean old Cochino? No, he sure isn’t. But if that horse was alive and old Cochino had him, I’d still be out of luck. In the first place, nobody knows where he and his renegades hang out, and in the second place, it would be like committing suicide to look for him—if you found him.”
“You wouldn’t try it?” she persisted. “Not even for Silverside?”
“You bet I would!” Rowdy stated emphatically. “I’d ride through perdition in a celluloid collar for that horse!”
Vaho laughed, and her eyes were bright. “All right, put on your celluloid collar! I know where Cochino is, and I know he has Silverside!”
“If you mean that—”
Rowdy hesitated, thinking rapidly. She was positive, and after all, there had long been rumors of a friendship between old Cochino and Cleetus. The Navahos and the Apaches had never been too friendly, but the two old chiefs had found something in common. In fact, it had long been rumored that if Cleetus wanted to, he could tell where Cochino was at any time. But that was just cow-country gossip, and nobody was really looking for the tough and wily old Apache any longer.
“Yes,” Rowdy said finally, “if you’re positive, Vaho, I’ll take a chance. Tell me where he is.”
“I can’t,” Vaho said quietly, “but I’ll take you there. But let me warn you—it’s an awful ride.”
“You’ll take me there?” He was incredulous. “Nothing doing! I’d take a chance on Cochino myself, but not you!”
“Without me you wouldn’t have a chance, Rowdy. With me, you may have. It’s a big gamble, for old Cochino is peculiar and uncertain. He still believes the soldiers are after him, and he and the twenty or so renegade Apaches he has with him are dangerous. But he knows me, and he likes old Cleetus. Will you chance it?”
“You’re sure you’ll be safe?” he protested.
She grew suddenly serious. “I think so, Rowdy. Nobody knows about Cochino. He’s like a tiger out of the jungle, one that has been partly trained. He may be all right, and he might turn ugly. But I’m willing to chance it. I want to see you win this rodeo, and I want to see you keep your ranch!”
He looked at her strangely, and as he looked into the soft depths of those lovely dark eyes, he remembered the momentary hardness of Jenny’s blue eyes. Suddenly he knew that Jenny would never have ridden with him in that weird, sun-stricken desert where the Apache lived. Aside from the danger, she would have shied at the discomfort.
SCARCELY WERE ROWDY and Vaho on the trail when doubts began to assail him. The horse Cochino had simply couldn’t be Silverside—and it had probably been years since he had been used for roping. Besides, the horse would be ten or eleven years old! Perhaps older. He scowled and mopped his brow, then glanced at the girl riding at his side, her eyes on the horizon.
The devil with it! If he found no horse, if he lost the ranch, if he couldn’t beat Luby, the ride with this girl would be worth any chance he took….
BACK ON THE RANCH, alone in the cabin, Neil Rice finished cleaning up and put away the dishes. There was work to do outside, but he felt in no mood for it. Idly, he began to rummage around the house, hunting for something to read. The few books failed to strike his interest, but when he was about to give up he remembered having seen several books in an old desk and bookcase in the inner room.
He found them and studied them thoughtfully, one by one. He was about to replace the last one, when he noticed what appeared to be a thin crack in the walnut of the old desk. Curious, he ran his hand back into the space from which he had taken the book. It was then that he noticed, on closer inspection, that there seemed to be some waste space in the desk, or some unaccounted-for space.
Remembering that many such old secretaries or cabinets had secret compartments, he felt around with his fingers, finally dug his nails into the crack, and pulled. The wood moved under his hand, and a small panel slid back!
In the small space beyond, he felt several pieces of paper. One had the feel of parchment. Slowly, he got his fingers on them and drew them out, then took them to the window for better light.
The first was an old legal paper, a corporate charter of some long-defunct mining company. What caught his eye at once was the missing seal. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Then he opened the next paper. Glancing at the heading, he read:
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF
THOMAS B. SLATER
His eyes sharpening, he read on:
I, Thomas B. Slater, being of sound mind, make this my last will and testament. After payment of my just debts and funeral expenses, I devise and bequeath all my worldly goods and properties to Rowell D. Horn, who has been as a son to me through many months and whose friendship and interest in the future and well-being of the Bar O have shown him a fit person to possess this property.
There was more, and it was followed by the signature of the old rancher and that of two witnesses. Rice had never heard of either of them. He studied the document for a long time, then closed the compartment and replaced the book. He retained the charter with the missing seal and the will.
“Now wouldn’t Bart Luby like to know about this!” he muttered thoughtfully.
He scowled. Possibly Luby did know about it. Hadn’t Rowdy said that this place had been for a long time a line cabin for the Bar O? And after that for a while it had been headquarters for Bart Luby’s cattle buying. No doubt Luby had taken the seal from this document, and then had concealed it and the will, believing that he might have some further use for it, at least for the signature; so he had hidden the will until he could make up his mind. He might have expected the place to be in his possession longer than it had been, but when Rowdy Horn had made his down payment without Luby’s knowledge and had appeared suddenly and unexpectedly to take over, it may have left no chance for Luby to get into the old cabinet—until he could slip back secretly. And he had probably believed it safely hidden.
That the will was in existence at all was a serious oversight on Luby’s part. Once in his hands, he should have destroyed it. Here, Rice thought, was the key to the whole situation in the South Rim. With this, Rowdy could get the Bar O and prove that Luby was the crook Rowdy believed him to be. But suppose Luby got it? There might be a lot of money in these papers if handled discreetly.
Neil Rice was painfully conscious of the emptiness of his own pockets. He came to a decision suddenly. He would ride into Aragon….
OUT ON THE RANGE with Rowdy Horn, Vaho Rainey led the way, and the route she took led across the wide sagebrush flats toward the vague purple of distant mountains. Before they had ridden a mile they seemed lost in a limitless sea of distance where they moved at the hub of an enormous wheel of mountains. They talked but little, riding steadily onward into the morning sunlight, but Rowdy Horn kept his mind on the slim, erect girl who rode sometimes before him and sometimes behind.
As they drew nearer the mountains beyond the wide disk of the desert, Rowdy could see that what had appeared to be a wall of purple was actually broken into weird figures and towers, strange, grotesque monsters sculptured from the sandstone by sun, wind, and rain. The trail led along the valley floor between these rows of columns or battlemented walls, the sagebrush fell behind, and there was mesquite, a sure sign of undersurface water.
The afternoon was spent among the columns of sandstone and granite, then Vaho guided Rowdy into what was scarcely more than a crease between rolling hills. A mile of th
is and it widened, and they went down through a forest of saguaro. Then the trail wound steeply up among towering crags, and the saguaro was left behind, traded by the trail for borders of piñon and juniper. Some of their squat, gnarled trunks seemed gray with age and wind, but the bright green of their foliage was a vivid, living streak across the reds and pinks of the Kaibab sandstone.
Yellow tamarisks, smoke trees, and orange-hued rabbit brush brightened the way, but the mountains became more lonely. As dusk drew on they rounded into a small basin, grass-floored and cool, and here Vaho swung down. For all the heat and the length of the ride, she appeared fresh. “We’ll camp here,” she said, indicating the water hole.
“All night?” he asked.
She looked at him and smiled lightly. “Of course. The devil himself couldn’t travel by night where we’re going.”
“You aren’t afraid?” he asked curiously. “I mean, well—you don’t know me very well, do you?”
“No, I’m not afraid. Should I be?”
He shrugged, not knowing whether to be pleased or deflated.
“No, of course not,” he said.
There was plenty of dry wood, bone-dry and dusty, most of it. In a few minutes he had wood gathered and a fire going. He picketed the horses while Vaho began to prepare food. He watched her thoughtfully.
“You’re quite a girl, you know,” he said suddenly.
She laughed. “Why did you think I started this if it wasn’t to show you that?” she asked. “I’m not a town girl, Rowdy. I could never be. Not all the time I was away at school, nor in all my traveling to New Orleans or New York or Boston did I ever forget the desert.”
“I’m glad,” he said, although he knew as he spoke that he was not quite sure why he should be glad. So he added lamely, “Some man is going to get a fine girl. He’ll be lucky!”
The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Five Page 19