by Frank Norris
II
THE WEASEL
The winter that followed the coming of Bill Cassidy to the Bar-20 ranchwas none too mild to suit the little outfit in the cabin on Snake Creek,but it was not severe enough to cause complaint and they weathered itwithout trouble to speak of. Down on the big ranges lying closer to theGulf the winter was so mild as to seem but a brief interruption ofsummer. It was on this warm, southern range that Skinny Thompson, onebright day of early spring, loped along the trail to Scoria, where hehoped to find his friend, Lanky Smith, and where he determined to put anend to certain rumors that had filtered down to him on the range andfilled his days with anger.
He was within sight of the little cow-town when he met Frank Lewis, butrecently returned from a cattle drive. Exchanging gossip of a harmlessnature, Skinny mildly scored his missing friend and complained about hisflea-like ability to get scarce. Lewis, laughing, told him that Lankyhad left town two days before bound north. Skinny gravely explainedthat he always had to look after his missing friend, who was childish,irresponsible and helpless when alone. Lewis laughed heartily as hepictured the absent puncher, and he laughed harder as he pictured thetwo together. Both lean as bean poles, Skinny stood six feet four,while Lanky was fortunate if he topped five feet by many inches. Alsothey were inseparable, which made Lewis ask a question. "But how doesit come you ain't with him?"
"Well, we was punchin' down south an' has a li'l run-in. When I rid inthat night I found he had flitted. What I want to know is what businesshas he got, siftin' out like that an' makin' me chase after him?"
"I dunno," replied Lewis, amused. "You 're sort of gardjean to him,hey?"
"Well, he gets sort of homesick if I ain't with him, anyhow," repliedSkinny, grinning broadly. "An' who 's goin' to look after him when Iain't around?"
"That puts me up a tree," replied Lewis. "I shore can't guess. But youtwo should ought to 'a' been stuck together, like them other twins was.But if he 'd do a thing like that I 'd think you would n't waste no timeon him."
"Well, he _is_ too ornery an' downright cussed for any human bein' toworry about very much, or 'sociate with steady an' reg'lar. Why, lookithim gettin' sore on me, an' for nothin'! But I 'm so used to bein'abused I get sort of lost when he ain't around."
"Well," smiled Lewis, "he's went up north to punch for Buck Peters onhis li'l ranch on Snake Creek. If you want to go after him, this is th'way I told him to go," and he gave instructions hopelessly inadequate toanyone not a plainsman. Skinny nodded, irritated by what he regarded asthe other's painful and unnecessary details and wheeled to ride on. Hehad started for town when Lewis stopped him with a word.
"Hey," he called. Skinny drew rein and looked around.
"Better ride in cautious like," Lewis remarked, casually. "Somebody wasin town when I left--he shore was thirsty. He ain't drinkin' a drop,which has riled him considerable. So-long."
"Huh!" grunted Skinny. "Much obliged. That's one of th' reasons I 'mgoin' to town," and he started forward again, tight-lipped and grim.
He rode slowly into Scoria, alert, watching windows, doors and corners,and dismounted before Quiggs' saloon, which was the really "high-toned"thirst parlor in the town. He noticed that the proprietor had put blackshades to the windows and door and then, glancing quickly around,entered. He made straight for the partition in the rear of thebuilding, but the proprietor's voice checked him. "You needn't bother,Skinny--there ain't nobody in there; an' I locked th' back door an hourago." He glanced around the room and added, with studied carelessness:"You don't want to get any reckless today." He mopped the bar slowlyand coughed apologetically. "Don't get careless."
"I won't--it's me that's doin' th' hunting today," Skinny replied,meaningly. "Him a-hunting for me yesterday, when he shore knowed I wasn't in town, when he knowed he could n't find me! I was getting goodan' tired of him, an' so when Walt rode over to see me last night an'told me what th' coyote was doing yesterday, an' what he was yellingaround, I just natchurly had to straddle leather an' come in. I can'tlet him put that onto me. Nobody can call me a card cheat an' a cowardan' a few other choice things like he did without seeing me, an' seeingme quick. An' I shore hope he 's sober. Are both of 'em in town,Larry?"
"No; only Dick. But he's making noise enough for two. He shore raisedth' devil yesterday."
"Well, I 'm goin' North trailin' Lanky, but before I leave I 'm shoregoin' to sweeten things around here. If I go away without getting himhe 'll say he scared me out, so I 'll have to do it when I come back,anyhow. You see, it might just as well be today. But th' next time Isit in a game with fellers that can't drop fifty dollars without sayingthey was cheated I 'll be a blamed sight bigger fool than I am rightnow. I should n't 'a' taken cards with 'em after what has passed. Whydidn't they say they was cheated, then an' there, an' not wait tillthree days after I left town? All that's bothering me is Sam: if I gethis brother when he ain't around, an' then goes North, he 'll say I hadto jump th' town to get away from him. But I 'll stop that by givinghim his chance at me when I get back."
"Say, why don't you wait a day an' get 'em both before you go?" askedQuigg hopefully.
"Can't: Lanky 's got two days' start on me an' I want to catch him soonas I can."
"I can't get it through my head, nohow," Quigg remarked. "Everybodyknows you play square. I reckon they're hard losers."
Skinny laughed shortly: "Why, can't you see it? Last year I beat DickBradley out with a woman over in Ballard. Then his fool brother triedto cut in an' beat me out. Cards? H--l!" he snorted, walking towardsthe door. "You an' everybody else knows--" he stopped suddenly andjerked his gun loose as a shadow fell across the doorsill. Then helaughed and slapped the newcomer on the shoulder: "Hullo, Ace, my boy!You had a narrow squeak then. You want to make more noise when you turncorners, unless somebody 's looking for you with a gun. How are you,anyhow? An' how's yore dad? I 've been going over to see him regular,right along, but I 've been so busy I kept putting it off."
"Dad's better, Skinny; an' I'm feeling too good to be true. What 'llyou have?"
"Reckon it's my treat; you wet last th' other time. Ain't that right,Quigg? Shore, I knowed it was."
"All right, here's luck," Ace smiled. "Quigg, that's better stock; an'would you look at th' style--real curtains!"
Quigg grinned. "Got to have 'em. I 'm on th' sunny side of th'street."
"I hear yo 're goin' North," Ace remarked.
"Yes, I am; but how 'd you know about it?"
"Why, it ain't no secret, is it?" asked Ace in surprise. "If it is, youmust 'a' told a woman. I heard of it from th' crowd--everybody seems toknow about it. Yo 're going up alone, too, ain't you?"
"Well, no, it ain't no secret; an' I am going alone," slowly repliedSkinny. "Here, have another."
"All right--this is on me. Here's more luck."
"Where is th' crowd?"
"Keeping under cover for a while to give you plenty of elbow room," Acereplied. "He's sober as a judge, Skinny, an' mad as a rattler. Swearshe 'll kill you on sight. An' his brother ain't with him; if he doescome in too soon I 'll see he don't make it two to one. Good luck, an'so-long," he said quickly, shaking hands and walking towards the door.He put one hand out first and waved it, slowly stepping to the streetand then walking rapidly out of sight.
Skinny looked after him and smiled. "Larry, there 's a blamed fineyoungster," he remarked, reflectively. "Well, he ought to be--he hadth' best mother God ever put breath into." He thought for a moment andthen went slowly towards the door. "I 've heard so much about Bradley'sgun-play that I 'm some curious. Reckon I 'll see if it's all true--"and he had leaped through the doorway, gun in hand. There was no shot,no sign of his enemy. A group of men lounged in the door of the "hashhouse" farther down the street, all friends of his, and he nodded tothem. One of them turned quickly and looked down the intersectingstreet, saying something that made his companions turn an
d look withhim. The man who had been standing quietly by the corner saloon haddisappeared. Skinny smiling knowingly, moved closer to Quigg's shack soas to be better able to see around the indicated corner, and half drewthe Colt which he had just replaced in the holster. As he drew evenwith the corner of the building he heard Quigg's warning shout anddropped instantly, a bullet singing over him and into a window of anear-by store. He rolled around the corner, scrambled to his feet anddashed around the rear of the saloon and the corral behind it, crossedthe street in four bounds and began to work up behind the buildings onhis enemy's side of the street, cold with anger.
"Pot shooting, hey!" he gritted, savagely.
"Says I 'm a-scared to face him, an' then tries _that_. _There_, d--nyou!" His Colt exploded and a piece of wood sprang from the cornerboard of Wright's store. "Missed!" he swore. "Anyhow, I 've notifiedyou, you coyote."
He sprang forward, turned the corner of the store and followed it to thestreet. When he came to the street end of the wall he leaped past it,his Colt preceding him. Finding no one to dispute with him he movedcautiously towards the other corner and stopped. Giving a quick glancearound, he smiled suddenly, for the glass in Quigg's half-open door,with the black curtain behind it, made a fair mirror. He could see thereflection of Wright's corral and Ace leaning against it, ready tohandle the brother if he should appear as a belligerent; and he couldsee along the other side of the store, where Dick Bradley, crouched, washalf-way to the street and coming nearer at each slow step.
Skinny, remembering the shot which he had so narrowly escaped, resolvedthat he would n't take chances with a man who would pot-shoot. Hewheeled, slipped back along his side of the building, turned the rearcorner and then, spurting, sprang out beyond the other wall, crying:"Here!"
Bradley, startled, fired under his arm as he leaped aside. Turningwhile in the air, his half-raised Colt described a swift, short arc androared as he alighted. As the bullet sang past his enemy's ear hestaggered and fell,--and Skinny's smoking gun chocked into its holster.
"There, you coyote!" muttered the victor. "Yore brother is next if hewants to take it up."
* * * * *
As night fell Skinny rode into a small grove and prepared to camp there.Picketing his horse, he removed the saddle and dropped it where he wouldsleep, for a saddle makes a fair pillow. He threw his blanket after itand then started a quick, hot fire for his coffee-making. Whilegathering fuel for it he came across a large log and determined to useit for his night fire, and for that purpose carried it back to camp withhim. It was not long before he had reduced the provisions in hissaddle-bags and leaned back against a tree to enjoy a smoke. Suddenly heknocked the ashes from his pipe and grew thoughtful, finally slipping itinto his pocket and getting up.
"That coyote's brother will know I went North an' all about it," hemuttered. "He knows I 've got to camp tonight an' he can foller a trailas good as th' next man. An' he knows I shot his brother. I reckon,mebby, he 'll be some surprised."
An hour later a blanket-covered figure lay with its carefully coveredfeet to the fire, and its head, sheltered from the night air by asombrero, lay on the saddle. A rifle barrel projected above the saddle,the dim flickering light of the green-wood fire and a stray beam or twofrom the moon glinted from its rustless surface. The fire was badlyconstructed, giving almost no light, while the leaves overhead shut outmost of the moonlight.
Thirty yards away, in another clearing, a horse moved about at the endof a lariat and contentedly cropped the rich grass, enjoying a goodnight's rest. An hour passed, another, and a third and fourth, and thenthe horse's ears flicked forward as it turned its head to see whatapproached.
A crouched figure moved stealthily forward to the edge of the clearing,paused to read the brand on the animal's flank and then moved offtowards the fitful light of the smoking fire. Closer and closer it drewuntil it made out the indistinct blanketed figure on the ground. Aglint from the rifle barrel caused it to shrink back deeper into theshadows and raise the weapon it carried. For half a minute it stood thusand then, holding back the trigger of the rifle so there would be nowarning clicks, drew the hammer to a full cock and let the trigger fallinto place, slowly moving forward all the while. A passing breezefanned the fire for an instant and threw the grotesque shadow of a stumpacross the quiet figure in the clearing.
The skulker raised his rifle and waited until he had figured out theexact mark and then a burst of fire and smoke leaped into the brush. Hebent low to look under the smoke cloud and saw that the figure had notmoved. Another flash split the night and then, assured beyond a doubt,he moved forward quickly.
"First shot!" he exclaimed with satisfaction. "I reckons you won't do noboastin' 'bout killin' Dick, d--n you!"
As he was about to drop to his knees to search the body he started andsprang back, glancing fearfully around as he drew his Colt.
"Han's up!" came the command from the edge of the clearing as a manstepped into sight. "I reckon--" Skinny leaped aside as the other'sgun roared out and fired from his hip; and Sam Bradley plunged acrossthe blanket-covered log and leaves.
"There," Skinny soliloquized, moving forward. "I knowed they wascoyotes, _both_ of 'em. Knowed it all th' time."
Two days north of Skinny on the bank of Little Wind River a fire wasburning itself out, while four men lay on the sand or squatted on theirheels and watched it contentedly. "Yes, I got plumb sick of thatcountry," Lanky Smith was saying, "an' when Buck sent for me to go upan' help him out, I pulls up, an' here I am."
"I never heard of th' Bar-20," replied a little, wizened man, whose eyeswere so bright they seemed to be on fire. "Did n't know there was anyranches in that country."
"Buck 's got th' only one," responded Lanky, packing his pipe. "He'slocated on Snake Creek, an' he 's got four thousand head. Reckon thereain't nobody within two hundred mile of him. Lewis said he 's got afine range an' all th' water he can use; but three men can't handle allthem cows in _that_ country, so I 'm goin' up."
The little man's eyes seldom left Lanky's face, and he seemed to bestudying the stranger very closely. When Lanky had ridden upon theirnoon-day camp the little man had not lost a movement that the strangermade and the other two, disappearing quietly, returned a little laterand nodded reassuringly to their leader.
The wizened leader glanced at one of his companions, but spoke to Lanky."George, here, said as how they finally got Butch Lynch. You did n'thear nothin' about it, did you?"
"They was a rumor down on Mesquite range that Butch was got. I heardhis gang was wiped out. Well, it had to come sometime--he was carryin'things with a purty high hand for a long time. But I 've done heardthat before; more 'n once, too. I reckon Butch is a li'l too slick toget hisself killed."
"Ever see him?" asked George carelessly.
"Never; an' don't want to. If them fellers can't clean their own rangean' pertect their own cows, I ain't got no call to edge in."
"He 's only a couple of inches taller 'n Jim," observed the third man,glancing at his leader, "an' about th' same build. But he 's h--l onth' shoot. I saw him twice, but I was mindin' my own business."
Lanky nodded at the leader. "That 'd make him about as tall as me.Size don't make no dif'rence no more--King Colt makes 'em look allalike."
Jim tossed away his cigarette and arose, stretching and grunting. "Ishore ate too much," he complained. "Well, there's one thing about yorefriend's ranch: he ain't got no rustlers to fight, so he ain't as badoff as he might be. I reckon he done named that crick hisself, did n'the? I never heard tell of it."
"Yes; so Lewis says. He says _he 'd_ called it Split Mesa Crick, 'causeit empties into Mesa River plumb acrost from a big mesa what's split intwo as clean as a knife could 'a' done it."
There was a sharp report]
"The Bar-20 expectin' you?" casually asked Jim as he picked up hissaddle.
"Shore; they done sent for me. Me an' Buck is old friends. He was u
pin Montana ranchin' with a pardner, but Slippery Trendley kills hispardner's wife an' drove th' feller loco. Buck an' him hunted Slipperyfor two years an' finally drifted back south again. I dunno whereFrenchy is. If it wasn't for me I reckon Buck 'd still be on th'warpath. You bet he 's expectin' me!" He turned and threw his saddleon the evil-tempered horse he rode and, cinching deftly, slung himselfup by the stirrup. As he struck the saddle there was a sharp report andhe pitched off and sprawled grotesquely on the sand. The little manpeered through the smoke and slid his gun back into the holster. Heturned to his companions, who looked on idly and with but littleinterest. "Yo 're d--d right Butch Lynch is too slick to get killed. Iain't takin' no chances with nobody that rides over my trail these days.An', boys, I got a great scheme! It comes to me like a flash when he 'stalkin'. Come on, pull out; an' don't open yore traps till I says so.I want to figger this thing out to th' last card. George, shoot hiscayuse; an' not another sound."
"But that's a good cayuse; worth easy--"
"Shoot it!" shouted Jim, his eyes snapping. It was unnecessary to addthe alternative, for George and his companion had great respect for thelightning-like, deadly-accurate gun hands. He started to draw, but wastoo late. The crashing report seemed to come from the leader's holster,so quick had been the draw, and the horse sank slowly down, butunobserved. Two pairs of eyes asked a question of the little man and hesneered in reply as he lowered the gun. "It might 'a' been you.Hereafter do what I say. Now, go on ahead, an' keep quiet."
After riding along in silence for a little while the leader looked athis companions and called one of them to him. "George, this job is toobig for the three of us; we can handle the ranch end, but not the drive.You know where Longhorn an' his bunch are holdin' out on th' Tortilla?All right; I 've got a proposition for 'em, an' you are goin' up withit. It won't take you so long if you wake up an' don't loaf like youhave been. Now you listen close, an' don't forget a word": and thelittle man shared the plan he had worked out, much to his companion'sdelight. Having made the messenger repeat it, the little man waved himoff: "Get a-goin'; you bust some records or I 'll bust you, savvy?Charley 'll wait for you at that Split Mesa that fool puncher wasa-talkin' about. An' don't you ride nowheres near it goin' up--keep toth' east of it. So-long!"
He watched the departing horseman swing in and pass Charley and saw theplayful blow and counter. He smiled tolerantly as their words came backto him, George's growing fainter and fainter and Charley's louder andlouder until they rang in his ears. The smile changed subtly andcynicism touched his face and lingered for a moment. "Fine, bigbodies--nothing else," he muttered. "Big children, with children'sheads. A little courage, if steadied; but what a paucity of brains!Good G--d, what a paucity of brains; what a lack of original thought!"
Of some localities it is said their inhabitants do not die, but dry upand blow away; this, so far as appearances went, seemed true of thehorseman who loped along the north bank of Snake Creek, only he had notarrived at the "blow away" period. No one would have guessed his age asforty, for his leathery, wrinkled skin, thin, sun-bleached hair andwizened body justified a guess of sixty. A shrewd observer looking himover would find about the man a subtle air of potential destruction,which might have been caused by the way he wore his guns. A second lookand the observer would turn away oppressed by a disquieting feeling thatevaded analysis by lurking annoyingly just beyond the horizon ofthought. But a man strong in intuition would not have turned away; hewould have backed off, alert and tense. Nearing a corral which loomedup ahead, he pulled rein and went on at a walk, his brilliant eyessearching the surroundings with a thoroughness that missed nothing.
Buck Peters was complaining as he loafed for a precious half hour infront of the corral, but Red Connors and Bill Cassidy, his "outfit,"discussed the low prices cattle were selling for, the over-stockedsouthern ranges and the crash that would come to the more heavilymortgaged ranches when the market broke. This was a golden opportunityto stock the little ranch, and Buck was taking advantage of it. Buttheir foreman persisted in telling his troubles and finally, out ofpoliteness, they listened. The burden of the foreman's plaint was thenon-appearance of one Lanky Smith, an old friend. When the second herdhad been delivered several weeks before, Buck, failing to persuade oneof the drive outfit to remain, had asked the trail boss to send upLanky, and the trail boss had promised.
Red stretched and yawned. "Mebby he's lost th' way."
The foreman snorted. "He can foller a plain trail, can't he? An' if hecan ride past Split Mesa, he's a bigger fool than I ever heard of."
"Well, mebby he got drunk an--"
"He don't get that drunk." Astonishment killed whatever else he mighthave said, for a stranger had ridden around the corral and sat smilingat the surprise depicted on the faces of the three.
Buck and Red, too surprised to speak, smiled foolishly; Bill, alsowordless, went upon his toes and tensed himself for that speed which hadgiven to him hands never beaten on the draw. The stranger glanced athim, but saw nothing more than the level gaze that searched hissquinting eyes for the soul back of them. The squint increased and hemade a mental note concerning Bill Cassidy, which Bill Cassidy alreadyhad done regarding him.
"I'm called Tom Jayne," drawled the stranger. "I 'm lookin' forPeters."
"Yes?" inquired Buck restlessly. "I 'm him."
"Lewis sent me up to punch for you."
"You plumb surprised us," replied Buck. "We don't see nobody up here."
"Reckon not," agreed Jayne smiling. "I ain't been pestered a hull lotby th' inhabitants on my way up. I reckon there 's more _buffalo_ thanmen in this country."
Buck nodded. "An' blamed few buffalo, too. But Lewis did n't saynothin' about Lanky Smith, did he?"
"Yes; Smith, he goes up in th' Panhandle for to be a foreman. Lewismissed him. Th' Panhandle must be purty nigh as crowded as thiscountry, I reckon," he smiled.
"Well," replied Buck, "anybody Lewis sends up is good enough for me. I'm payin' forty a month. Some day I 'll pay more, if I 'm able to an'it's earned."
Jayne nodded. "I 'm aimin' to be here when th' pay is raised; an' I 'llearn it."
"Then shake han's with Red an' Bill, an' come with me," said Buck. Heled the way to the dugout, Bill and Red looking after him and the littlenewcomer. Red shook his head. "I dunno," he soliloquized, his eyes onthe recruit's guns. They were worn low on the thighs, and the lowerends of the holsters were securely tied to the trousers. They were lowenough to have the butts even with the swinging hands, so that no timewould have to be wasted in reaching for them; and the sheaths were tieddown, so they would not cling to the guns and come up with them on thedraw. Bill wore his guns the same way for the same reasons. Redglanced at his friend. "He 's a queer li'l cuss, Bill," he suggested.Receiving no reply, he grinned and tried again. "I said as how he 's aqueer li'l cuss." Bill stirred. "Huh?" he muttered. Red snorted."Why, I says he's a drunk Injun mendin' socks. What in blazes youreckon I 'd say!"
"Oh, somethin' like that; but; you should 'a' said he's a--a weasel. Acold-blooded, ferocious li'l rat that 'd kill for th' joy of it," andBill moved leisurely to rope his horse.
Red looked after him, cogitating deeply. "Cussed if I hadn't, too! An'so he's a two-gun man, like Bill. Wears 'em plumb low an' tied.Yessir, he's a shore 'nuff weasel, all right." He turned and watchedBill riding away and he grinned as two pictures came to his mind. Inthe first he saw a youth enveloped in swirling clouds of acrid smoke astwo Colts flashed and roared with a speed incredible; in the secondthere was no smoke, only the flashing of hands and the cold glitter ofsteel, so quick as to baffle the eye. And even now Bill practiced thedraw, which pleased the foreman; cartridges were hard to get and costmoney. Red roped his horse and threw on the saddle. As he swung offtoward his section of the range he shook his head and scowled.
The Weasel had the eastern section, the wildest part of the ranch. Itwas cut and seared by arroyos, barrancas and draws; covered withmesquit
e and chaparral and broken by hills and mesas. The cattle on itwere lost in the chaotic roughness and heavy vegetation and only showedthemselves when they straggled down to the river or the creek to drink.A thousand head were supposed to be under his charge, but ten times thatnumber would have been but a little more noticeable. He quickly learnedways of riding from one end of the section to the other without showinghimself to anyone who might be a hundred yards from any point of theride; he learned the best grazing portions and the safest trails fromthem to the ford opposite Split Mesa.
He was very careful not to show any interest in Split Hill Canyon andhardly even looked at it for the first week; then George returned fromhis journey and reported favorably. He also, with Longhorn'sassistance, had picked out and learned a good drive route, and it wasdecided then and there to start things moving in earnest.
There were two thousand unbranded cattle on the ranch, the entire seconddrive herd; most of these were on the south section under Bill Cassidy,and the remainder were along the river. The Weasel learned that most ofBill's cows preferred the river to the creek and crossed his section toget there. That few returned was due, perhaps, to their preference forthe eastern pasture. In a week the Weasel found the really good grazingportions of his section feeding more cows than they could keep onfeeding; but suddenly the numbers fell to the pastures' capacity,without adding a head to Bill's herd.
Then came a day when Red had been riding so near the Weasel's sectionthat he decided to go on down and meet him as he rode in for dinner.When Red finally caught sight of him the Weasel was riding slowly towardthe bunkhouse, buried in thought. When his two men had returned fromtheir scouting trip and reported the best way to drive, his and theirwork had begun in earnest. One small herd had been driven north andturned over to friends not far away, who took charge of the herd for therest of the drive while the Weasel's companions returned to Split Hill.
Day after day he had noticed the diminishing number of cows on hissections, which was ideally created by nature to hide such a deficit,but from now on it would require all his cleverness and luck to hide thelosses and he would be so busy shifting cattle that the rustling wouldhave to ease up. One thing bothered him: Bill Cassidy was getting verysuspicious, and he was not altogether satisfied that it was due torivalry in gun-play. He was so deeply engrossed in this phase of thesituation that he did not hear Red approaching over the soft sand andbefore Red could make his presence known something occurred that madehim keep silent.
The Weasel, jarred by his horse, which shied and reared with a vigor andsuddenness its rider believed entirely unwarranted under thecircumstances, grabbed the reins in his left hand and jerked viciously,while his right, a blur of speed, drew and fired the heavy Colt withsuch deadly accuracy that the offending rattler's head dropped under itswrithing, glistening coils, severed clean.
Red backed swiftly behind a chaparral and cogitated, shaking his headslowly. "Funny how bashful these gun-artists are!" he muttered. "Nowhas he been layin' for big bets, or was he--?" the words ceased, but thethoughts ran on and brought a scowl to Red's face as he debated thequestion.
* * * * *
The following day, a little before noon, two men stopped with sighs ofrelief at the corral and looked around. The little man riding the horsesmiled as he glanced at his tall companion. "You won't have to hoof itno more, Skinny," he said gladly. "It's been a' awful experience forboth of us, but you had th' worst end."
"Why, you stubborn li'l fool!" retorted Skinny. "I can walk back an' doit all over again!" He helped his companion down, stripped off thesaddle and turned the animal loose with a resounding slap. "Huh!" hegrunted as it kicked up its heels. "You oughta feel frisky, afterloafin' for two weeks an' walkin' for another. Come on, Lanky," hesaid, turning. "There ain't nobody home, so we 'll get a fire goin' an'rustle chuck for all han's."
They entered the dugout and looked around, Lanky sitting down to rest.His companion glanced at the mussed bunks and started a fire to getdinner for six. "Mebby they don't ride in at noon," suggested theconvalescent. "Then we 'll eat it all," grinned the cook. "It's comin'to us by this time."
The Weasel, riding toward the rear wall of the dugout, increased thepace when he saw the smoke pouring out of the chimney, but as he nearedthe hut he drew suddenly and listened, his expression of incredulityfollowed by one of amazement.
A hearty laugh and some shouted words sent him spinning around and backto the chaparral. As soon as he dared he swung north to the creek andrisked its quicksands to ride down its middle. Reaching the river hestill kept to the water until he had crossed the ford and scrambled upthe further bank to become lost in the windings of the canyon.
Very soon after the Weasel's departure Buck dismounted at the corral andstopped to listen. "Strangers," he muttered. "Glad they got th' firegoin', anyhow." Walking to the hut he entered and a yell met him at theinstant recognition.
"Hullo, Buck!"
"Lanky!" he cried, leaping forward.
"Easy!" cautioned the convalescent, evading the hand. "I 've been allshot up an' I ain't right yet."
"That so! How 'd it happen?"
"Shake han's with Skinny Thompson, my fool nurse," laughed Lanky.
"I 'm a fool, all right, helpin' _him_," grinned Skinny, gripping thehand. "But when I picks him up down in th' Li'l Wind River country Iwas a' angel. Looked after him for two weeks down there, an' put inanother gettin' up here. Served him right, too, for runnin' away fromme."
"Little Wind River country!" exclaimed Buck. "Why, I thought you was aforeman in th' Panhandle."
"Foreman nothin'," replied Lanky. "I was shot up by a li'l runt of arustler an' left to die two hundred mile from nowhere. I was n'texpectin' no gun-play."
"He's ridin' up here," explained Skinny. "Meets three fellers an' getsfriendly. They learns his business, an' drops him sudden when he'smountin'. Butch Lynch did th' shootin'. Butch got his name butcherinth' law. He could n't make a livin' at it. Then he got chased out ofNew Mexico for bein' mixed up in a free-love sect, an' pulls forChicago. He reckoned he owned th' West, so he drifts down here againan' turns rustler. I dunno why he plugs Lanky, less 'n he thinks Lankyknows him an' might try to hand him over. I 'm honin' for to meetButch."
Buck looked from one to the other in amazement, suspicion raging in hismind. "Why, I heard you went to th' Panhandle!" he ejaculated.
Skinny grinned: "A fine foreman he'd make, less 'n for a hawg ranch!"
"Who told you that?" demanded Lanky, with sudden interest.
"Th' feller Lewis sent up in yore place."
"What?" shouted both in one voice, and Lanky gave a terse description ofButch Lynch. "That him?"
"That's him," answered Buck. "But he was alone. He 'll be in soon,'long with Bill an' Red--which way did you come?" he demanded eagerly."Why, that was through his section--bet he saw you an' pulled out!"
Skinny reached for his rifle: "I'm goin' to see," he remarked.
"I 'm with you," replied Buck.
"Me, too," asserted Lanky, but he was pushed back.
"You stay here," ordered Buck. "He might ride in. An' you 've got tosend Bill an' Red after us."
Lanky growled, but obeyed, and trained his rifle on the door. But theonly man he saw was Red, whose exit was prompt when he had learned thefacts.
Down on the south section Bill, unaware of the trend of events, lookedover the little pasture that nestled between the hills and wonderedwhere the small herd was. Up to within the last few days he always hadfound it here, loath to leave the heavy grass and the trickling spring,and watched over by "Old Mosshead," a very pugnacious steer. He scowledas he looked east and shook his head. "Bet they 're crowdin' on th'Weasel's section, too. Reckon I 'll go over and look into it. He 'llbe passin' remarks about th' way I ride sign." But he reached the riverwithout being rewarded by the sight of many of the missing cows and hebecame pugnaciously inquisitive. He had searched in vain for awhilewhen he
paused and glanced up the river, catching sight of a horsemanwho was pushing across at the ford. "Now, what's th' Weasel doin' overthere?" he growled. "An' what's his hurry? I never did put no trust inhim an' I 'm going to see what's up."
Not far behind him a tall, lean man peered over the grass-fringed bankof a draw and watched him cross the river and disappear over the furtherbank. "Huh!" muttered Skinny, riding forward toward the river. "That_might_ be one of Peters' punchers; but I 'll trail him to make shore."
Down the river Red watched Bill cross the stream and then saw a strangerfollow. "What th' h--l!" he growled, pushing on. "That's one of 'emtrailin' Bill!" and he, in turn, forded the river, hot on the trail ofthe stranger.
Bill finally dismounted near the mesa, proceeded on foot to the top ofthe nearest rise, and looked down into the canyon at a point where itwidened into a circular basin half a mile across. Dust was arising inthin clouds as the missing cows, rounded up by three men, constantlyincreased the rustlers' herd. To the northwest lay the mesa, where thecanyon narrowed to wind its tortuous way through; to the southeast laythe narrow gateway, where the towering, perpendicular cliffs began tomelt into the sloping sides of hills and changed the canyon into aswiftly widening valley. The sight sent the puncher running toward thepass, for the herd had begun to move toward that outlet, urged by theWeasel and his nervous companions.
Back in the hills Skinny was disgusted and called himself names. Tolose a man in less than a minute after trailing him for an hour was morethan his sensitive soul could stand without protest. Bill haddisappeared as completely as if he had taken wings and flown away. Thedisgusted trailer, dropping to all-fours because of his great height,went ahead, hoping to blunder upon the man he had lost.
Back of him was Red, whose grin was not so much caused by Skinny'sdilemma, which he had sensed instantly, as it was by the inartisticspectacle Skinny's mode of locomotion presented to the man behind.There was humor a-plenty in Red's make-up and the germ of mischief inhis soul was always alert and willing; his finger itched to pull thetrigger, and the grin spread as he pondered over the probable antics ofthe man ahead if he should be suddenly grazed by a bullet from the rear."Bet he 'd go right up on his head an' kick," Red chuckled--and it tookall his will power to keep from experimenting. Then, suddenly, Skinnydisappeared, and Red's fretful nature clawed at his tropical vocabularywith great success. It was only too true--Skinny had become absolutelylost, and the angry Bar-20 puncher crawled furiously this way and thatwithout success, until Skinny gave him a hot clew that stung his facewith grit and pebbles. He backed, sneezing, around a rock and wrestledwith his dignity. Skinny, holed up not far from the canyon's rim, wasthrowing a mental fit and calling himself outrageous names. "An' he'sbeen trailin' _me_! H--l of a fine fool I am; I 'm awful smart today, Iam! I done gave up my teethin' ring too soon, I did." He paused andscratched his head reflectively. "Huh! _This_ is some populous region,an' th' inhabitants have pe-culiar ways. Now I wonder who's trailin'him? I 'm due to get cross-eyed if I try to stalk 'em both."
A bullet, fired from an unexpected direction, removed the skin from thetip of Skinny's nose and sent a shock jarring clean through him. "Isthat him, th' other feller, or somebody else?" he fretfully pondered,raising his hand to the crimson spot in the center of his face. He didnot rub it--he rubbed the air immediately in front of it, and wascareful to make no mistake in distance. The second bullet struck a rockjust outside the gully and caromed over his head with a scream ofbaffled rage. He shrunk, lengthwise and sidewise, wishing he were notso long; but he kept on wriggling, backward. "Not enough English," hemuttered. "Thank th' Lord he can't masse!"
The firing put a different aspect on things down in the basin. TheWeasel crowded the herd into the gap too suddenly and caused a bad jam,while his companions, slipping away among the bowlders and thickets,worked swiftly but cautiously up the cliff by taking advantage of thecrevices and seams that scored the wall. Climbing like goats, theyslipped over the top and began a game of hide and seek over thebowlder-strewn, chaparral-covered plateau to cover the Weasel, whoworked, without cover of any kind, in the basin.
Red was deep in some fine calculations of angles when his sombrero slidoff his head and displayed a new hole, which ogled at him with Cyclopeanferocity. He ducked, and shattered all existing records for the crawl,stopping finally when he had covered twenty yards and collected manythorns and bruises. He had worked close to the edge of the cliff and ashe turned to circle back of his enemy he chanced to glance over the rim,swore angrily and fired. The Weasel, saving himself from being pinnedunder his stricken horse, leaped for the shelter of the cover near thefoot of the basin's wall. Red was about to fire again when he swayedand slipped down behind a bowlder. The rustler, twenty yards away,began to maneuver for another shot when Skinny's rifle cracked viciouslyand the cattle thief, staggering to the edge of the cliff, stumbled,fought for his balance, and plunged down into the basin. His companion,crawling swiftly toward Skinny's smoke, showed himself long enough forRed to swing his rifle and shoot offhand. At that moment Skinny caughtsight of him and believed he understood the situation. "You Conners orCassidy?" he demanded over the sights. Red's answer made him leapforward and in a few moments the wounded man, bandaged and supported byhis new friend, hobbled to the rim of the basin in time to see the lastact of the tragedy.
The gateway, now free of cattle, lay open and the Weasel dashed for itin an attempt to gain the horses picketed on the other side. He hadseen George plunge off the cliff and knew that the game was up. As heleaped from his cover Skinny's head showed over the rim of the cliff andhis bullet sang shrilly over the rustler's head. The second shot wascloser, but before Skinny could try again Red's warning cry made himlower the rifle and stare at the gateway.
The Weasel saw it at the same time, slowed to a rapid walk, but kept onfor the pass, his eyes riveted malevolently on the youth who hadsuddenly arisen from behind a bowlder and started to meet him.
"It's easy to get him now," growled Skinny, starting to raise the rifle,a picture of Lanky's narrow escape coming to his mind.
"Bill's right in line," whispered Red, leaning forward tensely androbbing his other senses to strengthen sight. "They 're th' best in th'Southwest," he breathed.
Below them Bill and the Weasel calmly advanced, neither hurried nortouching a gun. Sixty yards separated them--fifty--forty--thirty--"G--dA'mighty!" whispered Skinny, his nails cutting into his calloused palms.Red only quivered. Twenty-five--twenty. Then the Weasel slowed down,crouching a little, and his swinging hands kept closer to his thighs.Bill, though moving slowly, stood erect and did not change his pace.Perspiration beaded the faces of the watchers on the cliff and theyalmost stopped breathing. This was worse than they had expected--fortyyards would have been close enough to start shooting. "It's a pure caseof speed now," whispered Red, suddenly understanding. The promisedlesson was due--the lesson the Weasel had promised to give Bill on thedraw. Accuracy deliberately was being eliminated by that cold-bloodedadvance. Fifteen yards--ten--eight--six--five--and a flurry of smoke.There had been no movement to the eyes of the watchers--just smoke, andthe flat reports, that came to them like two beats of a snare drum'sroll. Then they saw Bill step back as the Weasel pitched forward. Heraised his eyes to meet them and nodded. "Come on, get th' cayuses. Wegotta round up th' herd afore it scatters," he shouted.
Red leaned against Skinny and laughed senselessly. "Ain't he a d--dfool?"
Skinny stirred and nodded. "He shore is; but come on. I don't want noargument with _him_."