by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER IX
THE CROSS BAR-8 LOSES SLEEP
Sneed was angry, which could be seen by the way he talked, ate, moved andswore. He had many cattle to care for and they were strewn over sixhundred square miles of territory. The work was hard enough when he hadhis full dozen punchers, but now it forced groans from the tired bodiesof his men, who fell asleep while removing their saddles at night, andwho worked in a way almost mechanical. The extra work was not conducive tosweetness of temper, and he was continually quelling fights among themembers of the outfit. Where only argument formerly would have arisenover differences of opinion, guns now leaped forth; and the differenceswere multiplied greatly, and getting worse every day. Things whichordinarily would have provoked no notice, or a laugh at most, now causedhot words and surliness. And the reason for the extra work was thecontinued absence of five cow punchers.
Sneed, tired of cursing the missing men and of offering himselfexplanations as to why they had not returned, fell, instead, toplanning an appropriate reception for them on their return to the ranch.He needed no rehearsing, for while he did not know in just what mannerhe would reveal his ideas concerning them, he knew what his ideas wereand he had always been good at extemporizing when under pressure, and hewas under pressure now if he had ever been.
The extra work was hard enough in itself to cause his anger to riseand to create sensitiveness and surliness on the part of his men, butit was only one factor of his discontent. Busy all day at driving thescattered cattle away from the Backbone and closer to the ranch properwhere they would be less likely to fall prey to Apache raiders; workingall day from the first sign of dawn to the prohibitive blackness of thenight, they could have stood up under the strain, for these were men ofiron, inured to hardships and constant riding. But hardy as they werethere was one thing which they must have, and that was sleep. If theycould have only four hours of unbroken sleep when they threw themselves,fully dressed with the exception of their boots, in their bunks, theycould have endured the labor for weeks. But this was denied them, andconstantly on their minds were thoughts of fire, slaughtered cattleand death.
For a week night had been a terror on the Cross Bar-8. No sooner had theexhausted outfit fallen asleep than bits of window glass would fly aboutthem, cutting and stinging. There was not a whole window pane in the houseand the door was so full of lead that it sagged on its half-shatteredhinges. Cooking utensils were fast deserving premiums, for hardly anunperforated tin could be found on the premises. And their cook, aMexican, who most devoutly believed in a personal devil and a brimstonehell, and who feared that he was living in uncomfortable proximity toboth, stood the strain for just two nights and then, panic-stricken, hadfled from the accursed place and left them to get their own meals asbest they could. The protection of the saints was all very well and goodunder ordinary circumstances, but when they failed to stop the bulletswhich passed through his cook shack and which more than once had grazedhim, it was time for him to find some place far removed from the CrossBar-8, and where the devil was less strong. When the saints allowed adevil-sped bullet to completely shatter a crucifix it was time to migrate,which he did, but in broad daylight when the outfit had departed and whenthe devil was not in evidence.
The interiors of both the ranch house and the bunk house were wrecked.The clock, the pride of the foreman, stood with half its wheels buried inthe wall behind it by a .50 caliber slug, its hands pointing to half-pastone. Lead filled the interior walls, where opposite windows, and theholes and splinters were a disgrace. Sombreros, equipment and the fewpictures the walls boasted were like tops of pepper shakers. No sooner wasa light shown than it became the target for a shot, and more than onewound gave proof as to the accuracy of the perpetrator. So tired thatthey fell asleep at supper, the men were constantly awakened by the noiseof devastation and the whining hum of the bullets. Pursuit was a failure,and was also hazardous, as proven by Bert Hodge's arm, broken by a .50caliber slug from somewhere.
The two houses, wrecked as they were, were fortunate when compared tothe condition of the other appurtenances of the ranch. Horses werefound dead at all points, and always with a bullet hole in the centerof the forehead. The carcasses of cows dotted the plain, and fire hadhalf-destroyed the three corrals. The three new cook wagons, unsheltered,were denuded of bolts and nuts, and their tarpaulins were hopelesslyruined. A wheel was missing from each of them and their poles had beencut through in the middle, the severed ends being found on the roof ofthe ranch house three minutes after their crashing descent hadawakened the foreman, who heard the hum and thud of a bullet as he openedthe door. The best grass had been burned off and the outfit had foughtfire on several nights when it should have slept. And the small waterhole near the cook shack, which furnished water for the bunk house,had been cleared of a dead calf on two mornings. Scouting was of noavail, for the few remaining horses (which now spent the night in thebunk house) were as exhausted as their riders. Keeping guard was afarce, for it had been tried twice, and the guards had fallen asleep;and, awakened by their foreman at dawn, found that their rifles,sombreros and even their spurs were missing. With all his hatred for TheOrphan, Sneed was fair-minded enough to give his enemy credit for beingthe better man. When the harassing outrages had first begun and theforeman and his men were comparatively fresh, he had given the matterhis whole attention; and he was no fool. But he had gained nothing but asense of defeat, which fact did not improve his peace of mind orcause him to lose a whit of his anger. Do what he could, plan as hemight, he was beaten, and beaten at every turn. He had to deal with aman whose cunning and ingenuity were far above the average; a man who,combining a rare courage and a wonderful accuracy in shooting withdevilish strategy, towered far above the ordinary rustler and outlaw.Sneed knew that he was absolutely at the mercy of his persistent enemyand wondered why it was that he did not steal up in the night and killthe outfit as it slept, which was entirely feasible. Finally, when thestrain had grown too much for even his iron nerves the sheriff wasimplored to take command on the ranch and give it his personalprotection. The relations between the sheriff and the ranch were notas cordial as they might have been, and the asking of this favor wasgall and wormwood to the foreman and his outfit.
When Shields arrived to take charge of the trouble, accompanied by Charleyand two others, he sought the foreman, for Charley had news of a gravenature for the Cross Bar-8.
The foreman ran out of the bunk house and met them near the corral, wherethe disagreement had taken place.
"By the living God, Sheriff!" he cried, white with anger. "This thinghas got to stop if we have to call out the cavalry! We can't get adecent breakfast--not a whole plate or pan in the house! Our cayusesand cows are being slaughtered by the score! And as for the rest of ourpossessions, they are so full of holes that they whistle when the windblows!"
"So I heard," replied the sheriff. "I'll do my best."
"We've been doing our best, but what good is it?" cried the foreman. "Weare so plumb sleepy we go to sleep moving about! We dassent show our facesafter dark without being made a target of! Our new wagons are wrecks, thecorrals destroyed and the best grass made us fight for our lives while itburned! That cursed outlaw has got to be killed, d----n him!"
"We'll do our best, Sneed," responded Shields. "I reckon we can stop it;at least we can give you a good night's rest."
"Where are my five punchers?" Sneed asked; his words bellowed until hisvoice broke. "And Bucknell! D----n near dead before you found him abovethe canyon, tied up like a package of flour!"
"Well, Charley can tell you about your men," Shields responded, viewingthe devastation on all sides of him.
"Well, what about them?" cried the foreman turning to the sheriff'sdeputy, anger flashing anew in his eyes.
"Well," Charley slowly began, "I was taking a short cut this morning,and when I got to a place about a dozen miles southeast of the mouthof Bill's canyon, I saw five bodies on the desert. They were yourcow-punchers, and they was so full of arrows that they lo
oked like bigbrooms. Apaches, I reckon," he added sententiously.
Sneed tore his hair and swore when he was not choking.
"And after I told them to let up on that blasted outlaw's trail!" heyelled. "Where will it end, between war-whoops and murders? What sort ofa God-forsaken layout is this, anyhow? A man can't stick his nose out ofhis own house after dark without having it skinned by a slug! He's ah--l of a hefty orphant, he is! Poor thing, ain't got no paw or maw tolook after his dear little hide! He needs a regiment of cavalry for apapa, that's what he needs, and a good strong lariat for a mamma! Orphant!He's a h--l of a sumptious orphant!"
"Have you trailed him?" asked the sheriff, having to smile in spite ofhimself at the execution on all sides of him, and at the foreman's words.
"Trailed him!" yelled Sneed, raising on his toes in his vehemence."Trailed him! Good God, yes! But what good is it, what can we do whenour cayuses are so dod-gasted tired that they can't catch a tumble bug?Trailed him! Yes, we trailed him, all right! We trailed him until we fellasleep in the saddles on our sleeping cayuses! And while we were gone,d----d if he didn't blow in and smash up our furniture! We trailed him,all right; just like a lot of cross-eyed, locoed drunken ants! We had towake each other up, and he could-a killed the whole crowd of us with aclub! And my punchers who were so cock-sure they'd get him! How inh--l did they go and mess up with Apaches? They wasn't no fool kids!"
"The last time we saw them they were leaving the stage to go south afterhim," Charley said. "They hadn't got more than ten miles south when theymust have met the Apaches. I have a suspicion that The Orphan had a handin that meeting, but how he did it I don't know. But I know that the spotwas lovely for a head-on collision. Punchers riding south would turn thecorner of the chaparral and run into the war party before they knowedit. And I didn't see The Orphant's body laying around all full of arrows,neither."
Sneed's rage was pathetic. He almost frothed, and tears stood in hisblood-shot eyes. His neck and his face were red as fire and the veinsof his neck and forehead stood out like whip-cords, while his faceworked convulsively. He was incapable of coherent speech, his words beingunintelligible growls, a series of snarls, and he could only pace backand forth, waving his arms and cursing wildly.
Shields glanced about the ranch and gave a few orders, his men executingthem without delay. One man was to keep guard in the bunk house whileSneed and his woe-begone men slept. The sheriff and Charley rode awaytoward the north to begin the search for the outlaw; and there was tobe no quarter asked or given if his deputies had anything to do with it.
The remaining deputy busied himself about the ranch in executing aplan the sheriff had thought out, and his actions were peculiar. Firstselecting a position from which a man could command an extensive view ofthe premises, he began to pace off distances in all directions. Theplace was about eight hundred yards west of the ranch house and bunkhouse, and formed one angle of a triangle with them; and from it it waspossible to look in through the windows of both of them. Anyone passingwithin good rifle range of either house would show up against the lightsin the windows; and if a man had been covered over with sand on thatparticular outlying angle, he could pick off the intruder without beingseen. The Orphan was due to meet with a surprise if he paid his regularvisit the coming night.
The deputy, after completing his work to his satisfaction found three morepositions where they respectively commanded the corrals, the wagons andthe rear of the bunk house. Then he paced more distances and was carefulthat bulky objects interposed in the direct lines between the positions,this latter precaution being to make it impossible for the deputies toshoot each other. This done, he went into the house and consulted withhis companion in arms, laughing immoderately about the joke they wouldplay on the marauder.
While Shields and Charley vainly searched the plain and while thedeputy paced and thought and paced, and while Sneed and his exhaustedcow-punchers slept as if in death, safely under guard, two men wereriding along the Ford's Station Sagetown Trail well to the east of theBackbone, chatting amicably and smoking the same brand of tobacco. One ofthem sat high up in the air on the seat of a stage coach, from where heoverlooked his six-horse team. His face was wreathed in grins and hisexpression was one of beatific contentment. The other cantered alongsideon a dirty brown horse which had a white stocking on the near frontfoot, keeping close watch of the surrounding plain, his mind active andalert.
Bill Howland laughed suddenly and slapped his thigh with enthusiasm:"Say, Orphant," he cried, "you are shore raising h--l with that CrossBar-8 gang! You has got them so tangled up and miserable that they don'tknow where they are! If their brains was money they'd have to chalk uptheir drinks. They're about as dangerous as ossified prairie dogs.They remind me of the feller who kicked a rattlesnake to see if it wasalive, and found out that it was. No, sir, they shore won't die of brainfever. Why, they ain't had any sleep for a week, have to work doublehard, eat what they can cook in sieve tins, and can't say their soul'stheir own after dark. They could get rest if they quit working oneday and all but one get plenty of sleep. Then the other feller could gethis at night. But they don't know enough. Oh, it's rich: the wholeblamed town is laughing at 'em fit to bust. It's the funniest thingever happened in these parts since I've been out here."
Then he suddenly paused: "Say, Sneed sent a puncher to town this morning.It was that brass-headed, flat-faced Bucknell, what you tied up by thecanyon. He begged the sheriff to swear in a dozen bad men and come out andprotect his foreman and the rest of the outfit. And the pin-headed wartwent and blabbed the whole thing right in front of the Taggert's salooncrowd, and he shore had to blow, all right. He shore did, and that gang'salways thirsty."
The horseman flecked the ashes from his cigarette and smiled: "Well?" heasked, looking up.
"So Shields took Charley Winter and the two Larkin boys and went outto the ranch right after the puncher went back. So you want to go easyto-night or you'll touch off some unexpected fireworks and such. Shieldsand his men will stay out there for several days and nights. That'llgive the crazy hens a chance to rest up a bit nights. But you be blamedcareful about them pinwheels and skyrockets or you'll get burned some.Now, don't you even remember that _I_ told you about it. I wouldn't-asaid nothing at all, seeing as it ain't none of my business, only youwent and got me out of a tight place, and Bill Howland don't forget afavor, no siree! You gave me a square deal and a ace full on kings withthem animated paint shops, and I'll give you a lift every time I can.It wouldn't be a bad scheme to watch for me once in a while--I might havesome news for you."
Bill's offer, plain as it was that he wished to help, not only becausehe was in debt to the outlaw, but also because he wished to have safetrips, touched the horseman deeply. Never in his life had The Orphanbeen offered a helping hand from a stranger; all he could hope for wasto get the drop first. He rode on silently, buried in thought, and then,suddenly flipping his cigarette at a cactus, raised his head and lookedfull at the man above him.
"You play square with me, Bill, and I'll take care of you," he replied."The less you say, the less apt you are to put your foot in it. I'llhold my mouth about your information, for if Shields knew what you'vejust said he'd play a tune for you to dance to. The Cross Bar-8 wouldshoot you before a day passed. Any time you have news for me, tie yourkerchief to that cactus," pointing to an exceptionally tall plant closeat hand. "Do it on your outward trip. If I see it in time I'll meet yousomewhere on the Sagetown end of the trail on your return. I'm goingback now, so by-by."
"So long, and good luck," replied Bill heartily. "I'll do the handkerchiefgame, all right. Be some cautious about the way you buzz around thatstacked deck of a Cross Bar-8 for the next few days."
The Orphan wheeled and cantered back, making a detour to the south, forhe had a plan to develop and did not wish to be interrupted by meetingany more hunting parties. Bill lashed his team and rolled on his way toSagetown, a happy smile illuminating his countenance.
"They can't beat us, bronchs," he crie
d to his team. "Me and The Orphantcan lick the whole blasted territory, you bet we can!"