by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XV
"YOU WON'T GET ME AGAIN"
One day late in the fall, Ward was riding the hills off to the northand west of his claim, looking at the condition of the range there andkeeping an eye out for Y6 cattle. He had bought another dozen head ofmixed stock, over toward Hardup, and they were not yet past the pointof straying off their new range. So, having keen eyes and theincentive to use them, he paid attention to stock tracks in the softplaces, and he saw everything within the sweep of his vision; and,since the day was clear and fine, his range of vision, when he reacheda high point, extended to the Three Buttes away out in the desert.
By sheer accident he rode up to the canyon where the little corral layhidden at the end, and looked down. And since he rode up at an angledifferent from the one Billy Louise had taken, the corral was directlybeneath him--so directly, in fact, that half of it was hidden fromsight. He saw that there were cattle within it, however, and two menat work there. And by chance he lifted his eyes and saw the nose of ahorse beyond a jutting ledge sixty yards or so away, and the crown of ahat showing just above the ledge; a lookout, he judged instantly, andpulled Rattler behind the rock he had been at some pains to ride around.
Ward was a cowpuncher. He knew the tricks of the trade so well that hedid not wonder what was going on down there. He knew. He was temptedto do as Billy Louise had done--ride on and pass up knowledge whichmight be disagreeable; for Ward was not one to spy upon his fellows,and the man whom he would betray into the hands of a sheriff must beguilty of a most heinous crime. That was his code: To let every fellowhave a chance to work out his own salvation or damnation as he mightchoose. I don't suppose there was anything he hated worse than aninformer.
He got behind the rock, since he had no great desire to be shot, and hediscovered that his view of the corral was much plainer than from wherehe had first seen it. He looked behind him for an easy retreat to theskyline, and then before he turned to ride away, he glanced down againcuriously.
A man walked out into the center of the corral and stood there in therevealing sunlight. Ward's eyes bored like gimlets through the spacethat divided them. Instinctively his hand went to the gun on his hip.It was a long pistol shot, and he was afraid he might miss; for Wardwas not a wizard with a gun, much as I should like to misrepresent himas a dead shot. He was human, just like yourself. He could shootpretty well, a great deal better than lots of men who do more boastingthan he ever did, but he frequently missed. He measured the distancewith his mind while the man stood there talking to someone unseen. Tolook at Ward's face, you would have sworn that the man was doomed; butsomething held Ward's finger from crooking on the trigger; the man hadhis back turned squarely toward the gun. Ward waited. The man did notmove. He waited another minute, and then he opened his lips to shout.And when his lips parted for the call that would bring the fellowfacing him, Ward's tricky brain snapped before his eyes the face ofBilly Louise.
He lowered the gun. He could not shoot when he knew that the bulletwould split a gulf between himself and the girl--a gulf that wouldseparate him forever from that future where stood his air castles.Billy Louise had talked to him very seriously one day about this verypossibility. She had made him see that shooting this man would be theworst thing he could possibly do.
He let down the hammer with his thumb, slid the gun back into hisholster, and dismounted, with a glance toward the place where thelookout was stationed. He was sure he had not been seen, and so hecrouched behind a splinter of rock and watched. He had no plan, buthis instinct impelled him to closely watch Buck Olney.
Another man came into view, down there in the corral. He also stoodplainly revealed, and Ward gave a little snort of contemptuous surprisewhen he recognized him. After that he studied the situation withscowling brows. This other man either upset his conclusions orcomplicated his manner of dealing with Buck Olney. Ward would not havehesitated one second about putting the sheriff on the trail of Buck,but if the second man were implicated, he could not betray one withoutbetraying the other. And if the business down there in the corral werelawful, then he must think of some other means. At any rate, the thingto do now was to make sure.
The two in the corral came out and closed the gate behind them, and thefirst man kicked apart the embers of a small fire and afterward busiedhimself with the ground--either looking for tracks or covering them Up.They came a little way along the side of the bluff, mounted, and rodeup toward where the lookout waited. And one of them rode a dark bay,and was slim and tall, and wore a gray hat.
Ward glanced at Rattler standing half asleep with reins dropped to theground. He reached out, took the reins, and led the horse farther downunder the shelter of the ledge. Rattler pricked up his ears at thesound of those other riders, but he did not show enough interest tonicker a greeting; he was always a self-centered beast and was contentto go his way alone, like his master.
Ward stood up, where he could see the rim of the bluff over the ledgeof lava rock. He might get a closer view and see who was the look out,and he might be seen; for that contingency he kept his fingers close tohis gun. He heard their scrambling progress. Now and then one of thehorses sent a little rock bounding down into the canyon, whereat thecattle on the corral moved restlessly around the small inclosure.
They came closer, after they had gained the top. Ward, leaning againstthe dull-gray rock before him, heard the murmur of their voices. Oncehe caught the unmistakable tones of the man he would like to kill."I'll keep cases and git him." Plotting against some poor devil, asusual, Ward thought, and wondered if the man knew he lived in this partof the country; if he did, it might easily be--
"I'll keep cases some myself, you damned reptile," he muttered underhis breath. "You won't get me again, if that's what you've got inmind."
They went on, and presently Ward was looking at their backs as theyrode over the ridge. He stood for some time staring after them withwhat Billy Louise called his gimlet look. He was breathing shortlyfrom the pressure he had put upon his self-control, and he wasthinking--thinking.
The silence came creeping in on the heels of the faint, interruptedsound of their voices. Ward took a long breath, discovered that he wasgripping his gun as though his life depended on hanging to it, andrubbed his numbed fingers absently. After a minute or so, he mountedand rode down to the corral.
Five dry cows and two steers snorted at his approach and crowdedagainst the farther rails. Ward gave Rattler a touch of the spurs,rode close to the fence, and stood in his stirrups while he studied thebunch.
"Hell!" he said, when the inspection was over, and dropped back intothe saddle while he gazed unseeingly at the canyon wall. It was a veryreal hell that his mind saw; a hell made by men, wherein other men mustdwell in torment because of their sins or the sins of their fellows.
Seabeck's brand was a big V, a bad brand to own, since it favorsrevision at the hands of the unscrupulous. These cattle were Seabeckcattle, and their brand had been altered. For the right slant of the Vhad been extended a little and curled into a 6, so that in time thebrand would stand casual inspection as a Y6 monogram--Ward's own brand.The work was crude--purposefully crude. The V bad not been reburnedenough to make it look fresh, and the newly seared 6 had been addedwith a malevolent pressure that would make it stand out a fresh brandfor a long time--in case of a delay in the proceedings, as Ward knewperfectly well.
So he sat there and looked over the fence and saw himself a convicted"rustler." There was the evidence, all ready to damn him utterlybefore a jury. They would be turned loose on the range near his claim,and they would be found before the scabs had haired over. It was agood time for rustling; round-ups were over for the winter, and theweather would confine range-riding to absolute necessity.
Of course, the work was coarse--so coarse as to reflect against hisintelligence; but when brands are worked over and the culprit has beencaught, the law is not too careful to give the prisoner credit forbrains.
Ward stared
at the altered brands and wondered what he had best do. Hebethought him that perhaps it would be as well to put a little scenerybetween himself and that particular locality, and he started back upthe hill. Once he pulled up as if he would go back, but he thoughtbetter of it. It was out of the question to turn those cattle loose.He could not kill them and dispose of the bodies--not when there wereseven of them. He might go down and blotch the brands so that theywould not read anything at all. He had thought of that before anddecided against it. That would put those three on their guard andwould probably not benefit him in the long run. They could work thebrands on other cattle.
He hunched forward in the saddle and let Rattler choose his own trailup the hill. Though he did not know it, trouble had caught BillyLouise in that same place, and had sent her forward with droopingshoulders and a mind so absorbed that she gave no attention to herhorse; but that is merely a trifling coincidence. The thing he had todecide was far more complicated than Billy Louise's problem.
Should he go straight to Seabeck and tell him what he had found out?He did not know Seabeck, except as he had met him once or twice on thetrail and exchanged trivial greetings and a few words about theweather. Besides, Seabeck would very soon find out--
There it stood at his shoulder, grinning at him malevolently--his past.It tied his hands. Buck Olney he could deal with single-handed; forOlney had the fear of him that is born of a guilty conscience. Hecould send Buck "over the road" whenever he chose to tell some thingshe knew; he could do it without any compunctions, too. Buck Olney, thestock inspector, deserved no mercy at Ward's hands; and would get none,if ever they met where Ward would have a chance at him.
Olney he could deal with, alone. But with the evidence of thoserebranded cattle, and the testimony of two men, together with thedamning testimony of his past! Ward lifted his head and stared heavilyat the pine slope before him. He could not go to Seabeck and tell himanything. In the black hour of that ride, he could not think ofanything that he could do that would save him.
And then quite suddenly, in his desperation, he decided upon something.He laughed hardly, turned Rattler back from the homeward trail, andreturned to the corral in the canyon. "They started this game, andthey've put it up to me," he told himself grimly, "and they needn'tsqueal if they burn their own fingers."
He hurried, for he had some work ahead of him, and the sun was slidingpast the noon mark already. He reached the corral and went about whathe had to do as if he were working for wages and wanted to give goodmeasure.
First, he rebuilt the little fire just outside the corral where thecattle could not trample it, but where one might thrust a branding ironinto its midst from between the rails. When it was going properly, hesearched certain likely hiding-places and found an iron still warm fromprevious service. He thrust it in to heat, led Rattler into thecorral, and closed the gate securely behind him. Then he mounted, tookdown his rope and widened the loop, while his angry eyes singled outthe animal he wanted first.
Ward was not an adept with a "running iron"; he was honest, whatevermen might say of him. But he knew how to tie down an animal, and hesacrificed part of his lariat to get the short rope he needed to tietheir feet together. He worked fast--no telling what minute someonemight come and catch him--and he did his work well, far better andneater than had his predecessors.
When he left that corral, he smiled. Before he had ridden very far upthe bluff, he stopped, looked down at the long-suffering cattle, andsmiled again sardonically. One could read their brands easily fromwhere he sat on his horse. They were not blotched; they were verydistinct. But they were not Y6s within that corral. There were otherbrands which might be made of a Y6 monogram, by the judicious additionof a mark here and a mark there.
"There, damn yuh: chew on that awhile!" he apostrophized the absentthree. He turned away and rode back once more toward home.
Rattler turned naturally into the trail which ran up the creek to theranch, but Ward immediately turned him out of it. "We aren't going tooverlook any bets, old-timer," he said grimly and crossed the creek ata point where it was too rocky to leave any hoof-prints behind them.He rode up the lower point of the ridge beyond and followed the crestof it on the side away from the valley. When he reached a point nearlyopposite his cabin, he dismounted, unbuckled his spurs, and slippedtheir chains over the saddle-horn. Then he went forward afoot toreconnoitre. He was careful to avoid rock or gravelly patches and towalk always on the soft grass which muffled his steps.
In this wise he made his way to the top of the ridge, where he couldlook down upon the cabin and stable and corrals and see also the creektrail for a good quarter of a mile. The little valley lay quiet. Histeam fed undisturbed by the creek not far from the corral, whichreassured Ward more than anything. Still, he waited until he had madereasonably sure that the bluff held no watcher concealed before he wentback to where Rattler waited patiently.
"I guess they didn't plan to stir things up till they got thosecritters planted where they wanted them," he mused, while he rode downthe bluff to his cabin. "But when they visit that bunch of stockagain, I reckon things will begin to tighten!"
He was wary of exposing himself too much to view from the bluff whilehe did his chores that night, and he kept Rattler in the stable. Also,he slept very little, and before daybreak he was up and away. He had arolled army blanket tied behind the saddle, a sack of grub and afrying-pan and a bucket for coffee. But he did not go any farther thanthe wolf-den, and he spent a couple of hours removing as well as hecould any suspicious traces of having dug anything more than wolf pupsfrom the bank on the ledge.