by Rex Beach
CHAPTER XII. The Hospitality of Travennes
Mr. Buck Peters rode into Alkaline one bright September morning andsought refreshment at the Emporium. Mr. Peters had just finished somebusiness for his employer and felt the satisfaction that comes withthe knowledge of work well done. He expected to remain in Alkalinefor several days, where he was to be joined by two of his friends andpunchers, Mr. Hopalong Cassidy and Mr. Red Connors, both of whom wereat Cactus Springs, seventy miles to the east. Mr. Cassidy and his friendhad just finished a nocturnal tour of Santa Fe and felt somewhat peevishand dull in consequence, not to mention the sadness occasioned bythe expenditure of the greater part of their combined capital on suchfoolishness as faro, roulette and wet-goods.
Mr. Peters and his friends had sought wealth in the Black Hills, wherethey had enthusiastically disfigured the earth in the fond expectationof uncovering vast stores of virgin gold. Their hopes were of anoptimistic brand and had existed until the last canister of cornmealflour had been emptied by Mr. Cassidy's burro, which waited not uponit's master's pleasure nor upon the ethics of the case. When Mr. Cassidyhad returned from exercising the animal and himself over two miles ofrocky hillside in the vain endeavor to give it his opinion of burros andsundry chastisements, he was requested, as owner of the beast, togive his counsel as to the best way of securing eighteen breakfasts.Remembering that the animal was headed north when he last saw it andthat it was too old to eat, anyway, he suggested a plan which hadworked successfully at other times for other ends, namely, poker.Mr. McAllister, an expert at the great American game, volunteered hisservice in accordance with the spirit of the occasion and, half an hourlater, he and Mr. Cassidy drifted into Pell's poker parlors, whichwere located in the rear of a Chinese laundry, where they gathered untothemselves the wherewithal for the required breakfasts. An hour spentin the card room of the "Hurrah" convinced its proprietor that they hadwasted their talents for the past six weeks in digging for gold.The proof of this permitted the departure of the outfits with theircustomary elan.
At Santa Fe the various individuals had gone their respective ways, toreassemble at the ranch in the near future, and for several days theyhad been drifting south in groups of twos and threes and, like chaffupon a stream, had eddied into Alkaline, where Mr. Peters had foundthem arduously engaged in postponing the final journey. After he hadgladdened their hearts and soothed their throats by making several pithyremarks to the bartender, with whom he established their credit, hecautioned them against letting any one harm them and, smiling at thehumor of his warning, left abruptly.
Cactus Springs was burdened with a zealous and initiative organizationknown as vigilantes, whose duty it was to extend the courtesies of theland to cattle thieves and the like. This organization boasted of thename of Travennes' Terrors and of a muster roll of twenty. There wasalso a boast that no one had ever escaped them which, if true, was inmany cases unfortunate. Mr. Slim Travennes, with whom Mr. Cassidy hadparticipated in an extemporaneous exchange of Colt's courtesies inSanta Fe the year before, was the head of the organization and was alsochairman of the committee on arrivals, and the two gentlemen of theBar-20 had not been in town an hour before he knew of it.
Being anxious to show the strangers every attention and having a keenrecollection of the brand of gun-play commanded by Mr. Cassidy, heplanned a smoother method of procedure and one calculated to permit himto enjoy the pleasures of a good old age. Mr. Travennes knew that horsethieves were regarded as social enemies, that the necessary proof oftheir guilt was the finding of stolen animals in their possession, thatdeath was the penalty and that every man, whether directly concerned ornot, regarded, himself as judge, jury and executioner.
He had several acquaintances who were bound to him by his knowledge ofcrimes they had committed and would could not refuse his slightest wish.Even if they had been free agents they were not above causing the deathof an innocent man. Mr. Travennes, feeling very self-satisfied at hiscleverness, arranged to have the proof placed where it would do the mostharm and intended to take care of the rest by himself.
Mr. Connors, feeling much refreshed and very hungry, arose at daylightthe next morning, and dressing quickly, started off to feed and waterthe horses. After having several tilts with the landlord about thebucket he took his departure toward the corral at the rear. Peeringthrough the gate, he could hardly believe his eyes. He climbed over itand inspected the animals at close range, and found that those which heand his friend had ridden for the last two months were not to beseen, but in their places were two better animals, which concerned himgreatly. Being fair and square himself, he could not understand thechange and sought enlightenment of his more imaginative and suspiciousfriend.
"Hey, Hopalong!" he called, "come out here an' see what th' blazes hashappened!"
Mr. Cassidy stuck his auburn head out of the wounded shutter andcomplacently surveyed his companion. Then he saw the horses and lookedhard.
"Quit yore foolin', yu old cuss," he remarked pleasantly, as he gropedaround behind him with his feet, searching for his boots. "Anybody wouldthink yu was a little boy with yore fool jokes. Ain't yu ever goin' togrow up?"
"They've got our bronch," replied Mr. Connors in an injured tone."Honest, I ain't kiddin' yu," he added for the sake of peace.
"Who has?" Came from the window, followed immediately by, "Yu've got myboots!"
"I ain't--they're under th' bunk," contradicted and explained Mr.Connors. Then, turning to the matter in his mind he replied, "I don'tknow who's got them. If I did do yu think I'd be holdin' hands withmyself?"
"Nobody'd accuse yu of anything like that," came from the window,accompanied by an overdone snicker.
Mr. Connors flushed under his accumulated tan as he remembered thevaried pleasures of Santa Fe, and he regarded the bronchos in anythingbut a pleasant state of mind.
Mr. Cassidy slid through the window and approached his friend, lookingas serious as he could.
"Any tracks?" He inquired, as he glanced quickly over the ground to seefor himself.
"Not after that wind we had last night. They might have growed there forall I can see," growled Mr. Connors.
"I reckon we better hold a pow-wow with th' foreman of this shack an'find out what he knows," suggested Mr. Cassidy. "This looks too good tobe a swap."
Mr. Connors looked his disgust at the idea and then a light broke inupon him. "Mebby they was hard pushed an' wanted fresh cayuses," hesaid. "A whole lot of people get hard pushed in this country. Anyhow,we'll prospect th' boss."
They found the proprietor in his stocking feet, getting the breakfast,and Mr. Cassidy regarded the preparations with open approval. He countedthe tin plates and found only three, and, thinking that there would bemore plates if there were others to feed, glanced into the landlord'sroom. Not finding signs of other guests, on whom to lay the blame forthe loss of his horse, he began to ask questions.
"Much trade?" He inquired solicitously.
"Yep," replied the landlord.
Mr. Cassidy looked at the three tins and wondered if there had ever beenany more with which to supply his trade. "Been out this morning?" hepursued.
"Nope."
"Talks purty nigh as much as Buck," thought Mr. Cassidy, and then saidaloud, "Anybody else here?"
"Nope."
Mr. Cassidy lapsed into a painful and disgusted silence and his friendtried his hand.
"Who owns a mosaic bronch, Chinee flag on th' near side, Skillet brand?"asked Mr. Connors.
"Quien sabe?"
"Gosh, he can nearly keep still in two lingoes," thought Mr. Cassidy.
"Who owns a bob-tailed pinto, saddle-galled, cast in th' near eye, StarDiamond brand, white stockin' on th' off front prop, with a habit ofscratchin' itself every other minute?" went on Mr. Connors.
"Slim Travennes," replied the proprietor, flopping a flapjack. Mr.Cassidy reflectively scratched the back of his hand and looked innocent,but his mind was working overtime.
"Who's Slim Travennes?" Asked Mr. Connors, never
having heard of thatperson, owing to the reticence of his friend.
"Captain of th' vigilantes."
"What does he look like on th' general run?" Blandly inquired Mr.Cassidy, wishing to verify his suspicions. He thought of the troublehe had with Mr. Travennes up in Santa Fe and of the reputation thatgentleman possessed. Then the fact that Mr. Travennes was the leaderof the local vigilantes came to his assistance and he was sure thatthe captain had a hand in the change. All these points existed in mistygroups in his mind, but the next remark of the landlord caused them torush together and reveal the plot.
"Good," said the landlord, flopping another flapjack, "and a warnin' tohoss thieves.
"Ahem," coughed Mr. Cassidy and then continued, "is he a tall, lanky,yaller-headed son-of-a-gun, with a big nose an' lots of ears?"
"Mebby so," answered the host.
"Urn, slopping over into bad Sioux," thought Mr. Cassidy, and then saidaloud, "How long has he hung around this here layout?" At the same timepassing a warning glance at his companion.
The landlord straightened up. "Look here, stranger, if yu hankers afterhis pedigree so all-fired hard yu had best pump him."
"I told yu this here feller wasn't a man what would give away all heknowed," lied Mr. Connors, turning to his friend and indicating thehost. "He ain't got time for that. Anybody can see that he is a powerfulbusy man. An' then he ain't no child."
Mr. Cassidy thought that the landlord could tell all he knew in aboutfive minutes and then not break any speed records for conversation, buthe looked properly awed and impressed. "Well, yu needn't go an' get madabout it! I didn't know, did I?"
"Who's gettin' mad?" Pugnaciously asked Mr. Connors. After his injuredfeelings had been soothed by Mr. Cassidy's sullen silence he againturned to the landlord.
"What did this Travennes look like when yu saw him last?" Coaxed Mr.Connors.
"Th' same as he does now, as yu can see by lookin' out of th' window.That's him down th' street," enlightened the host, thawing to thepleasant Mr. Connors.
Mr. Cassidy adopted the suggestion and frowned. Mr. Travennes and twocompanions were walking toward the corral and Mr. Cassidy once againslid out of the window, his friend going by the door.