The Collected Westerns of William MacLeod Raine: 21 Novels in One Volume

by Unknown

  "He's helping Jim with his assessment work," she answered in the same low tone. "It's too bad you lost the rustler. He must have broken for the hills."

  Healy's eyes had narrowed to slits. Now he murmured a question: "What about this man Keller? Was he here when you came, Phyl?"

  The girl turned to Yeager, who had sauntered up. "Didn't you say he came this morning, Jim?"

  Yeager's eyes were like a stone wall. "Yep. This mo'ning. I needed some husky guy to help me, so I got him."

  "Funny you had to get a fellow from Bear Creek to help you, Jim."

  "Are you looking for a job, Brill?"

  "No. Why?"

  "Because I ain't noticed any stampede this way among the boys to preempt this job. I take a man where I can find him, Brill, and I don't ask you to O.K. him."

  "I see you don't, Jim. The boys aren't going to like it very well, though."

  "Then they know what they can do about it," Yeager answered evenly, level eyes steadily on those of his critic.

  "What time did this nester get here, Jim?" broke in Phil.

  Yeager's opaque eyes passed from Healy to Sanderson. "It might have been about eight."

  "Then he couldn't be the man," the boy said to Healy, almost in a whisper.

  "What man?" Jim asked.

  "We ran on a rustler branding a C.O. calf. We got close enough to take a shot at him. Then he slid into some arroyo, and we lost him," Phil exclaimed.

  "How long ago was this?" asked Yeager.

  "About an hour since we first saw him. Beats all how he ever made his getaway. We were right after him when he gave us the slip."

  "Oh, he gave you the slip, did he?"

  "Dropped into some hole and pulled it in after him. These hills are built for hide and seek, looks like."

  "Notice the color of his horse?"

  "It was a roan, Jim. Something like that nester's." Phil nodded toward the animal Keller had ridden.

  All eyes focused hard on the horse with the white stockings.

  "What brand was he putting on the calf? That'll tell you who the man was."

  Phil and Healy looked at each other, and the latter laughed. "That's one on us. We didn't stay to look, but got right out for Mr. Rustler."

  "Did he kill the cow?"

  Phil nodded.

  "Then you'll find the calf still hanging around there unless he had a pal to drive it away."

  "That's right. We'll go back now and look. Ready, Phyl?"

  "Yes." She stepped to her horse, and swung to the saddle.

  Meanwhile Healy rode forward to the cabin. Through narrowed lids he looked down at the man standing in the doorway. "Give that message to your friends?" he demanded insolently.

  There are men who have to look at each other only once to know that there is born between them a perpetual hostility. Each of these men had felt it at the first shock of meeting eyes. They would feel it again as often as they looked at each other.

  "No," the nester answered.

  "Why not?"

  "I didn't care to. You may carry your own messages."

  "When I do I'll carry them with a gun."

  "Interesting if true." Keller's gaze passed derisively over him and dismissed the man.

  "And I hope when I come I'll meet Mr. Keller first."

  The nester's attention was focused indolently upon the hills. He seemed to have forgotten that the cattleman was in Arizona.

  Healy ripped out a sudden oath, drove the spurs in, and went down the trail with his broncho on the buck.

  Keller looked at Yeager and laughed, but that young man met him with a frosty eye.

  "I've got some questions to ask you, Mr. Keller," he said.

  "Unload 'em."

  Yeager led the way inside, offered his guest the chair, and sat down on the bed with his arms on the table which had been drawn close to it.

  "In the first place, I'll announce myself. I don't hold with rustlers or waddies. I'm a white man. That being understood, I want to know where we're at."

  "Meaning?"

  "Miss Phyllis unloads a story on me about you shooting yourself up accidental. Soon as I looked at you that looked fishy to me. You ain't that kind of a durn fool. Would you mind handing me a dipper of water? Thanks." Yeager tossed the water out of the window, and the dipper back into the pail. "I noticed you handed me that water with your right hand. Your gun is on your right side. Then how in Mexico, you being right-handed, did you manage to shoot yourself _in the right arm below the elbow?_"

  Keller laughed dryly, and offered no information. "Quite a Sherlock Holmes, ain't you?"

  "Hell, no! I got eyes in my head, though. Moreover, that bullet went in at right angles to your arm. How did you make out to do that?"

  "Sleight of hand," suggested the other.

  "No powder marks, either. And, lastly, it was, a rifle did it, not a revolver."

  "Anything more?"

  "Some. That side talk between you and Miss Phyllis wasn't over and above clear to me then. I savez it now. She hates you like p'ison, but she's too tender-hearted to give you up. Ain't that it?"

  "That's it."

  "She lied for you to me. She lied again to Phil. So did I. Oh, we didn't lie in words, but it's the same thing. Now, I wouldn't lie to save my own skin. Why then should I for yours, and you a rustler and a thief?"

  "I'm a rustler and a thief, am I?"

  "Ain't you?"

  "Would you believe me if I said I wasn't?"

  Yeager debated an instant before he answered flatly, "No."

  "Then I won't say it."

  The wounded man tossed his answer off so flippantly that Yeager scowled at him. "Mr. Keller, you're a newcomer here. I wonder if you know what the Malpais country would be liable to do to a man caught rustling now."

  "I can guess."

  "Let me tell what I know and your life wouldn't be worth a plugged quarter."

  "Why didn't you tell?"

  Yeager brought his big fist down heavily on the table. "Because of Phyl Sanderson. That's why. She put it up to me, and I played her game. But I ain't sure I'm going to keep on playing it. I'm a Malpais man. My father has a ranch down there, and I've rode the range all my life. Why should I throw down my friends to save a rustler caught in the act?"

  "You've already tried and convicted me, I see."

  "The facts convict you, seh."

  "Your understanding of the facts, I reckon you mean."

  "I haven't noticed that you're giving me any chance to understand them different," Yeager cut back dryly.

  The nester took from his pocket a little pearl-handled knife, picked up a potato from a basket beside him, and began to whittle on it absently. He looked across the table at the man sitting on the bed, and debated a question in his mind. Was it best to confess the whole truth? Or should he keep his own counsel?

  "I see you've got Miss Sanderson's knife. Did you forget to return it?" Yeager made comment.

  For just an instant Keller's eye confessed amazement. "Miss Sanderson's knife! Why--how did you know it was hers?" he asked, gathering himself together lamely.

  "I ought to know, seeing as I gave it to her for a Christmas present. Sent to Denver for that knife, I did. Best lady's knife in the market, I'm told. Made in Sheffield, England."

  "Ye-es. It's sure a good knife. I'll ce'tainly return it next time I see her."

  "Funny she ever let you get away with it. She's some particular who she lends that knife to," Jim said proudly.

  Keller wiped the blade carefully, shut it, and put the knife back in his pocket. Nevertheless, he was worried in his mind. For what Yeager had told him changed wholly the problem before him. It suggested a possibility, even a probability, very distasteful to him. He was in trouble himself, and before he was through he expected to get others into deep water, too. But not Phyllis Sanderson--surely not this impulsive girl with the blue-black hair and dark, scornful eyes. Wherefore he decided to keep silent now and let Yeager do what he would.

  "I reck
on, seh, you'll have to do your own guessing at the facts," he said gently.

  "Just as you say, Mr. Keller. I reckon if you had anything to say for yourself you would say it. Now, I'll do what talking I've got to do. You may stay here twenty-four hours. After that you may hit the trail for Bear Creek. I'm going down to Seven Mile to tell what I know."

  "That's all right. I'll go along and return the pocketknife."

  Yeager viewed him with stern disgust. "Don't make any mistake, seh. If you go down it's an even chance you'll never go back."

  "Sure. Life's full of chances. There's even a chance I'm not a rustler."

  "Then I'd advise you not to go down to Seven Mile with me. I'd hate to find out too late I'd helped hang the wrong man," Yeager dryly answered.

  CHAPTER V

  AN AIDER AND ABETTOR

  Having come to an understanding, Yeager and Keller wasted no time or temper in acrimony. Both of them belonged to that big outdoors West which plays the game to the limit without littleness. They were in hostile camps, but that did not prevent them from holding amiable conversation on the common topics of Cattleland. Only one of these they avoided by mutual consent. Neither of them had anything to say about rustling.

  Together they ate and smoked and slept, and in the morning after breakfast they saddled and set out for Seven Mile. A man might have traveled far without seeing finer specimens of the frontier, any more competent, self-restrained, or fitter for emergency. They rode with straight back and loose seat, breaking long silences with occasional drawling comment. For in the cow country strong men talk only when they have something to say.

  The stage had just left when they reached Seven Mile, and Public Opinion was seated on the porch as per custom. It regarded Keller with a stony, expressionless hostility. Yeager with frank disapprobation.

  Just before swinging from the saddle, Jim turned to the nester. "I'm giving you an hour, seh. After that, I'm going to speak my little piece to the boys."

  "Thank you. An hour will be plenty," Keller answered, and passed into the store, apparently oblivious of the silent observation focused upon him.

  Phyllis, busy unwrapping a package of papers, glanced up to see his curly head in the stamp window.

  "Anything for L. Keller?" he wanted to know, after he had unburdened himself of a friendly "Mornin', Miss Sanderson."

  Her impulse was to ask him how his wound was, but she repressed it sternly. She took the letters from the K pigeonhole and found two for him.

  "Thank you, I'm feeling fine," he laughed, gathering up his mail.

  "I didn't ask you how you were feeling," she answered, turning coldly to her newspapers.

  "I thought mebbe you'd want to know about my punctured tire."

  "It's very good of you to relieve my anxiety."

  "Let me relieve it some more, Miss Sanderson. Here's the knife you lost."

  She glanced up carelessly at the pearl-handled knife he pushed through the window. "I didn't know it was lost."

  "Well, now you know it's found. When do you remember seeing it last, ma'am?"

  "I lent it to a friend two days ago."

  "Oh, to a friend--two days ago."

  His eyes were on her so steadily that the girl was aware of some significance he gave to the fact, some hidden meaning that escaped her.

  "What friend did you say, Miss Sanderson?"

  He asked it casually, but his question irritated her.

  "I didn't say, sir."

  "That's so. You didn't."

  "Where did you get it?" she demanded.

  He grinned. "I'll tell you that if you'll tell me who you lent it to."

  Her curt answer reminded him that he was in her eyes a convicted criminal. "It's of no importance, sir."

  "That's what you think, Miss Sanderson."

  She sorted the newspapers in the bundle, and began to slip them into the private boxes where they belonged. Presently, however, her curiosity demanded satisfaction. Without looking at him, she volunteered information.

  "But there's no mystery about it. Phil borrowed the knife to fix a stirrup leather, and forgot to give it back to me."

  "Your brother?"

  "Yes."

  He was taken aback. There was nothing for it but a white lie. "I found it near Yeager's mine yesterday. I reckon he must have dropped it on his way there."

  "I don't see anything very mysterious about that," she said frostily.

  She looked so definitely unaware of him as she worked that he fell back from the window and passed out to the porch. He had found out more than he wanted to know.

  Jim Yeager's drawling voice came to him, gentle and low as usual, but with an edge to it. "I been discoverin' I'm some unpopular to-day, Brill. Malpais has been expressin' its opinion right plain. You've arrived in time to chirp in with a 'Me, too.'"

  Healy had evidently just ridden up, for he was still in the saddle. He relaxed into one of the easy attitudes used by men of the plains to rest themselves without dismounting.

  "You know my sentiments, Jim," he replied, not unamiably.

  "Sure I know them. Plumb dissatisfied with me, ain't you? Makes me feel awful bad." Jim was sailing into the full tide of his sarcasm when Keller touched him on the shoulder.

  "I'd like to see you for a moment, Mr. Yeager, if you can give me the time," he said.

  Healy took in the nester with an eye of jade. "Your twin brother wants you, Jim. Run along with him. Don't mind us."

  "I won't, Brill."

  The young man rose, and sauntered off with the Bear Creek settler. At the corral fence, some fifty yards from the house, he stopped under the shade of a live oak, and put his arms on the top rail. He had allowed himself to show no sign of it, but he resented this claim upon him that seemed to ally him further with the enemy.

  "Here I am, Mr. Keller. What can I do for you?"

  "You're a friend of Miss Sanderson. You would stand between her and trouble?" the other demanded abruptly.

  "I expect."

  "Then find out for me what Phil Sanderson did with the knife his sister lent him two days ago. Find out whether he lent it to anybody, and, if so, who."

  "What for?"

  It had come to a show-down, and the other tabled his cards.

  "I found that knife yesterday mo'ning. It was lying beside the dead cow in the park where your friends happened on me. I reckon the rustlers must have heard me coming and drove the calf away just before I arrived. In his hurry one of them forgot that knife. If you'll tell me the man who had it in his pocket yesterday when he left-home, I'll tell you who one of the Malpais rustlers is."

  Jim considered this, his gaze upon the far-away range. When he brought it back to Keller, he was smiling incredulously.

  "I hear you say so, seh. But what a man with, a halter round his neck says don't go far before a court."

  "I expected you to say about that."

  "Then I haven't disappointed you." He continued presently, with cold hostility: "That story you cooked up is about the only one you could spring. What surprises me is that a man with as good a head as yours took twenty-four hours to figure out your explanation. I want to tell you, too, that it don't make any hit with me that you're trying to throw the blame on a boy I've known all my life."

  "Who happens to be a brother of Miss Sanderson," Keller let himself suggest.

  Yeager flushed. "That ain't the point."

  "The point is that I'm trying to clear this boy, and I want your help."

  "Looks to me like you want to clear yourself."

  "If I prove to you that I'm not a rustler, will you padlock your tongue and help me clear young Sanderson?"

  "I sure will--if you prove it to my satisfaction."

  Keller drew from his pocket the two letters he had just received. "Read these."

  When he had read, Yeager handed them back, and offered his hand. "That clears you, seh. Truth is, I never was satisfied you was a rustler. My mind was satisfied; but, durn it, you didn't look like a waddy. It's lucky
I hadn't spoke to the boys yet."

  "I want to keep this quiet," the Bear Creek settler explained.

  "Sure. I'm a clam, and at your service, seh."

  "Then find out the truth about the knife."