by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XXII
TEX WILLIARD'S MISTAKE
During the month which followed the picnic things ran smoothly on theA-Y, and the rejuvenated ranch was the pride of the whole contingent,from the sheriff down to the cook. The Orphan had taken charge with adetermination which grew firmer with each passing day and the newowner was delighted at the outcome of his plans. The foreman, elatedand happy at his sudden shift in fortune, radiated cheerfulness andconsideration. His men knew that he would not ask them to do anythingwhich he himself feared to do, which would not have been much consolationto a timid man, since he feared nothing; but to them it meant thatthey had a foreman who would stick by them through fire and water,and a foreman who commands respect from his outfit is a man whose lifeis made easy for him. He had known too much of unkindness, harshness,to become angry at mistakes; instead, he set diligently at work to undothem, and mistakes were rare. The very men who had once wished for hislife would now fight instantly to save it. They were proud of him, ofthe owner, the ranch and themeselves; and proudest of all was Bill, oncedriver of the stage, but now a cowboy working hard and loyally under theman who had once held him up for a smoke.
Visitors were numerous, and every man who called became enthusiasticabout the ranch, and after he had departed marveled at the completechange in the man who was its foreman, and felt confidence in the goodjudgment of the sheriff. Ford's Station was openly jubilant, for the townexulted in the discomfiture of the Cross Bar-8 and in the proof thattheir sheriff was right. And Ford's Station chuckled at the news itheard, for the foreman of the Cross Bar-8 had called twice at the A-Y andwas fast losing his prejudice against The Orphan. Sneed had found aquiet, optimistic foreman in the place of his former enemy, and thelaughter which lurked in The Orphan's eyes closed the breach. He hadseen the man in a new light, and when he had said his farewell at theclose of his second visit the grip of his hand was strong. As for theStar C, a trail had been worn between the two ranches and hardly a daypassed but one or more of its punchers dropped in to say a few words totheir former bunkmate, and to stir up Bill. The Star C, no less than hisown men, swore by The Orphan.
One bright morning the sheriff left for a trip to Chicago and otherpacking cities to arrange for future cattle shipments, and announcedthat he would be away for a week or two. On the night following hisdeparture trouble began. The ranch and bunk houses of the Cross Bar-8were fired into, and when Sneed and his men had returned after a fruitlesssearch in the dark the foreman stared at the wall and swore. Was it TheOrphan again? In the absence of the sheriff had he renewed the war?First thought cried that he had, but gradually the idea became untenable.Why should The Orphan risk his splendid berth on the A-Y, his prospectsnow rich in promise, to work off any lingering hatred? When Sneed hadshaken hands with him he found apparent sincerity in the warm clasp. Hewould ride over at daylight and have the matter settled once and forall. And if satisfied that The Orphan was guiltless of the outrage hewould turn his whole attention to the imitator of the former outlaw.
The Orphan was mending his saddle girth when he saw Sneed cantering pastthe farthest corral. The latter's horse bore all the signs of hard ridingand he looked up inquiringly at the visitor.
"Good morning, Sneed," he said pleasantly, arising and laying aside thesaddle. "What's up, anything?"
"Yes, and I came over to find out about it," Sneed answered. "I hardlyknow how to begin--but here, I'll tell it from the beginning," and herelated what had occurred, much to the wonder of The Orphan.
"Now," finished the visitor, "I want to ask you a question, although Imay be a d----n fool for doing it. But I want to get this thing thrashedout. Do you know who did it?"
The foreman of the A-Y straightened up, his eyes flashing, and then herealized that Sneed had some right to question him after what had occurredin the past.
"No, Sneed, I do not," he answered, "but in two guesses I can name theman!"
"Good!" cried Sneed. "Go ahead!"
"Bucknell?"
"No, he was with me in the bunk-house," replied the foreman of the CrossBar-8. "It wasn't him--go on."
"Tex Williard," said The Orphan with decision.
"Tex?" cried Sneed. "Why?"
"It's plain as day, Sneed," The Orphan answered. "He's sore at me, butlacks nerve."
"But, thunderation, how would he hurt you by shooting at us?" Sneeddemanded, impatiently.
"Oh, he would scare up a war during the sheriff's absence by throwing yoursuspicions on me. He reckoned you would think that I did it, get goodand mad, fly off the handle and raise h--l generally. He figured thatI, according to the past, would meet you half way and that you or someof your men might kill me. If you didn't, he reckoned that the sheriffwould kick me out of this berth, and that one or both of us might getkilled in the argument. He could sit back and laugh to himself at how easyit was to square up old scores from a distance. It's Tex as sure as I amhere, and unless Tex changes his plans and gets out of this country d----nsoon he won't be long in getting what he seems to ache for."
Sneed pushed back his sombrero and smiled grimly: "I reckon that you'reright," he replied. "But you ain't sore at the way I asked, are you? Ihad to begin somewhere, you know."
"Sore?" rejoined his companion, angrily. "Sore? I'm so sore that I'm goingout after Tex right now. And I'll get him or know the reason why, too.You go back and post your men about this--and tell them on no accountto ride over my range for a few days, for they might get hurt before theyare known. Put a couple of them to bed as soon as you get back--you needthem to keep watch nights."
He turned toward the corral and called to a man who was busy near it:"Charley, you take anybody that you want and get in a good sleep beforenightfall. I will want both of you to work to-night."
"All right, after dinner will be time enough," Charley replied. "I'll takeLefty Lukins."
The Orphan went into the ranch house and returned at once with his rifle,a canteen of water and a package of food. As he threw a saddle on hishorse Bill galloped up, waving his arms and very much excited.
"Hey, Orphant!" he shouted. "Somebody's shore enough plugged some of ourcows near the creek! I lost his trail at the Cottonwoods!"
"All right, Bill," replied the foreman, "I'll go out and look them over.You take another horse and ride to the Star C. Tell Blake to keep watchfor Tex Williard, and tell him to hold Tex for me if he sees him. Lively,Bill!"
Bill stared, leaped from his horse, took the saddle from its back and wassoon lost to sight in the corral. In a few minutes he galloped past hisforeman and Sneed swearing heartily. His quirt arose and fell and soonhe was lost to sight over a rise near the ranch-house.
The foreman of the A-Y rode over to Charley: "Charley, in case I don't getback to-night, you and Lefty keep guard somewhere out here, and shootany man who don't halt at your hail. If I return in the dark I'll whistleDixie as soon as I see the lights in the bunk house, and I'll keep itup so you won't mistake me. So long."
Sneed and he cantered away together and soon they parted, the former toride toward his ranch, the latter toward the Cottonwoods near the LimpingWater and along the trail left by Bill.
When near the grove The Orphan saw five dead cows and he quicklydismounted to examine them.
"Not dead for long," he muttered as he examined the blood on them. Heleaped into his saddle and galloped through the grove. "Now, by God,somebody pays for them!" he muttered.
Here was a sudden change in things, positions had been reversed, andnow he could appreciate the feelings which he had, more than once, arousedin the hearts of numerous foremen. He emerged from the grove and roderapidly along the trail left by the perpetrator, alert, grim and angry.Soon the trail dipped beneath the waters of the creek and he stoppedand thought for a few seconds. If it was Tex, he would not have riddentoward the Cross Bar-8 and the town, and neither would he have riddensouth toward the Star C, nor north in the direction of the A-Y. He wouldseek cover for the day if he was still determined to carry on his game,and would not emerge un
til night covered his movements. That left himonly the west along the creek, and more than that, the creek turned to thesouth again about five miles farther on and flowed far too close to theranch-houses of the Star C for safety. He must have left the water at theturn, and toward the turn rode The Orphan, watching intently for the trailto emerge on either bank. His deductions were sound, for when he hadrounded the bend of the stream he picked up the trail where it leftthe water and followed it westward.
The country around the bend was very wild and rough, for ravines betweenthe hills cut seams and gashes in the plain. The underbrush was shoulderhigh, and he did not know how soon he might become a target. The trailwas very fresh in the soft loam of the ravines and the broken branchesand trampled leaves were still wet with sap. Soon he hobbled his horseand proceeded on foot, but to one side of and parallel with the trail.He had spent an hour in his advance and had begun to regret having lefthis horse so early, when he heard the report of a gun near at hand anda bullet hissed viciously over his head as he stooped to go under a lowbranch.
He threw up his arms, the rifle falling from his hands, pitched forwardand rolled down the side of the hill and behind a fallen tree trunkwhich lay against a thicket. As soon as he had gained this position heglanced in the direction from whence the shot had come and, findinghimself screened from sight on that side, quickly jerked off his boots andplanted them among the bushes, where they looked as if he had crawled inalmost out of sight. That done, he crawled along the ground under theprotection of the tree trunk and then squirmed under it, when he pushedhimself, feet first, deep into a tangled thicket and waited, Colt inhand, for a sign of his enemy's approach.
A quarter of an hour had passed in silence when a shot, followed byanother, sounded from the hillside. After the lapse of a like intervalanother shot was fired, this time from the opposite direction. He saw atwig fall by the boots and heard the spat! of the bullet as it hit astone. Two more shots sounded in rapid succession, and then another longinterval of silence. Half an hour passed, but he was not impatient. Hemost firmly believed that his man would, sooner or later, come out toexamine the boots, and time was of no consequence: he wanted the man.
Whoever he was, he was certainly cautious, he did not believe in takingany chances. It was almost certain that he would not leave until he hadbeen assured that he had accomplished his purpose, for it would be mostdisconcerting at some future time to unexpectedly meet the man he thoughthe had murdered. Another shot whizzed into the place where the bodyshould have been, according to the silent testimony of the boots. Itsounded much closer to the thicket, but in the same direction of thelast few shots. Then, after ten minutes of silence, a twig snapped,and directly behind the thicket in which The Orphan was hidden! Theforeman's nerves were tense now, his every sense was alert, for hiswas a most dangerous position. He quickly glanced over his shoulder intothe thicket and found that he could not penetrate the mass of leaves andbranches, which reassured him. He was very glad that he had forced himselfwell into the cover, for soon the leaves rustled and a pebble rolled notmore than four feet off, and in front of him, slightly at his right.More rustling and then a head and shoulder slowly pushed past him intoview. The man moved very slowly and cautiously and was crouched, hishead far in advance of his waist. The Orphan could see only one sideof the face, the angle of the man's jaw and an ear, but that was enough,for he knew the owner. Slowly and without a sound the foreman's righthand turned at the wrist until the Colt gleamed on a line with theother's heart. The searcher leaned forward and to one side, that hemight better see the boots, when a sound met his ears.
"Don't move," whispered the foreman.
The prowler stiffened in his tracks, frozen to rigidity by the command.Then he slowly turned his head and looked squarely into the gun of theman he thought he had killed.
"Christ!" he cried hoarsely, starting back.
"I don't reckon you'll ever know Him," said The Orphan, his voice verylow and monotonous. "Stand just as you are--don't move--I want to talkwith you."
Tex simply stared at him in pitiful helplessness and could not speak,beads of perspiration standing out on his face, testifying to the agonyof fear he was in.
"You're on the wrong side of the game again, Tex," The Orphan said slowly,watching the puncher narrowly, his gun steady as a rock. "You stillwant to kill me, it seems. I've given you your life twice, once to yourknowledge, and I told you with the sheriff that I would shoot you if youever returned; and still you have come back to have me do it. You werenot satisfied to let things rest as they were."
Tex did not reply, and The Orphan continued, a flicker of contempt abouthis lips.
"You were never cast for an outlaw, Tex. If I do say it myself, ittakes a clever man to live at that game, and I know, for I've been allthrough it. As you see, Sneed and I didn't shoot each other, for theplay was too plain, too transparent. You should have ambushed one ofhis men, burned his corrals and slaughtered his cattle, for then hemight have shot and talked later. And he might have gotten me, too,for I was unsuspecting. I don't say that I would kill an innocent man toarouse his anger if I had been in your place, I'm only showing youwhere you made the mistake, where you blundered. Had you killed one ofhis men it is very probable that his rage would have known no bounds,but as it was the provocation was not great enough."
Tex remained silent and unconsciously toyed at his ear. The Orphan lookedkeenly at the movement and wondered where he had seen it before, for itwas familiar. His face darkened as memory urged something forward tohim out of the dark catacombs of the past, and he stilled his breathingto catch a clue to it. He saw the little ranch his father had worked sohard over to improve, and had fought hard to save, and then the picture ofhis dying mother came vividly before him; but still something avoidedhis searching thoughts, something barely eluded him, trembling on theedge of the Then and Now. He saw his father's body slowly swinging andturning in the light breeze of a perfect day, and he quivered at thenearness of what he was seeking, its proximity was tantalizing. Therope!--the rope about his father's neck had been of manila fiber; hecould never forget the soiled, bleached-yellow streak which had ledupward to Eternity. And manila ropes were, at that time, a rarity inthat part of the country, for rawhide and braided-hair lariats had beenthe rule. And on the day when he had given Tex his life in the defile hehad noticed the faded yellow rope which had swung at the puncher's saddlehorn. As he strained with renewed hope to catch the elusive impressionanother scene came before him. It was of three men bent over a cow,engaged in blotting out his father's brand, and instantly the face ofone of them sprang into sharp definition on his mental canvas.
"D----n you!" he cried, his finger tightening on the trigger of theColt which for so many years had been his best friend. "I know you now,changed as you are! Now I know why you have been so determined for mydeath. On the day that I cut my father down I swore that I would killthe man who had lynched him if kind fate let me find him, and I havefound him. You have just five minutes to live, so make the most of it, youcowardly murderer!"
Tex's face went suddenly white again and his nerve deserted him. His Coltwas in his hand, but oh, so useless! Should he fight to the end? A shudderran through him at the thought, for life was so good, so precious; fartoo precious to waste a minute of it by dying before his time was up.Perhaps the foreman would relent, perhaps he would become so wrappedup in the memories of the years gone by as to forget, just for half asecond, where he was. The watch in The Orphan's hand gave him hope,for he would wait until the other glanced at it--that would be his onlyhope of life.
The foreman's watch ticked loudly in the palm of his left hand and theColt in his right never quivered. The first minute passed in terrifyingsilence, then the second, then the third, but all the time The Orphan'seyes stared steadily at the man before him, gray, cruel, unblinking.
"They told me to do it! They told me to do it!" shrieked the pitiful,unnerved wreck of a man as he convulsively opened and shut his hand."I didn't want to do it! I swear I didn't
want to do it! As God is above,I didn't want to! They made me, they made me!" he cried, his words swiftlybecoming an unintelligible jumble of meaningless sounds. He stared at theblack muzzle of the Colt, frozen by terror, fascinated by horror anddeadened by despair. The watch ticked on in maddening noise, for his everysense was now most acute, beating in upon his brain like the strokes of ahammer. Then the foreman glanced quickly at it. The gun in Tex's handleaped up, but not quickly enough, and a spurt of smoke enveloped his faceas he fell. The Orphan stepped back, dropping the Colt into its holster.
"The Orphan stepped back a pace and dropped the Colt intoits holster." (_See page_ 390.)]
"The courage of despair!" he whispered. "But I'm glad he died game," heslowly added. Then he suddenly buried his face in his hands: "Helen!" hecried. "Helen--forgive me!"