CHAPTER II
AT THE BAR S
"That's a good-lookin' goat," observed cheerful JohnnyRamsay, watching Loudon throw the saddle on thelong-legged chestnut. "All he needs is horns an' a_maa-a-a_."
"What particular tune can you play on it?" retortedLoudon, passing the cinch-strap.
"On what?" inquired Ramsay, incautiously.
"On that four-legged accordeon yo're straddlin'."
"I wouldn't say nothin' about no accordeons--not if I wasabusin' a poor billy by cinchin' a hull on his back. Honest,Tommy, don't yuh like ridin' a hoss? 'Fraid he'll throw yuhor somethin'?"
"Don't yuh worry none about this little cayuse. He's allhoss, he is, an' if yuh don't mind, Johnny, I'd be a heapobliged if yuh'd follow behind when we ride out o' town.Somebody might see us together an' take yuh for a friend o'mine, an' that wouldn't do nohow."
"Please, mister," whined Johnny Ramsay, "let me go withyuh. I know where there's a pile o' nice tomatter cans forthe goat's supper. Red Rose tomatter cans, too. There'smore nourishment in them kind than there is in the BlueStar brand. Hey, quit!"
Loudon had suddenly flipped a broken horseshoe atthe hindquarters of Ramsay's pony, that surprised animalgoing into the air immediately. When Ramsay had quietedhis wild-eyed mount, the two friends rode away together.
"I wonder why Blakely didn't go to it," remarkedRamsay, when Farewell lay behind them.
"Dunno," said Loudon. "He wasn't afraid, yuh cangamble on that."
"I ain't none so shore. He's bad plumb through, Blakelyis. An' he's a killer, by his eyes. I guess it was just theextra shade he wanted, an' the extra shade wasn't there.You'd 'a' got him, Tom."
"Shore! But don't yuh make no mistake about Blakelybein' a coward. He ain't. He's seen trouble, an' seen it inthe smoke."
"You mean Skinner Jack. Well, Jack wasn't slow with agun, but the other two was Injuns, an' they only hadWinchesters, an' Blakely he had a Sharp's. So yuh can't tallythe war-whoops. An' I did hear how Skinner Jack was drunkwhen he called Blakely a liar."
"I doubt it. Skinner could always hold his red-eye.More likely his gun caught."
"Anyway, Tommy, you'd better not go cavortin' about onthe skyline too plenteous. It wouldn't bother Blakely noneto bushwhack yuh."
"Oh, he wouldn't do that. He ain't the bushwhackin' kind."
"Oh, ain't he? Now just because he ain't never done nothin'like that, it don't prove he won't. He's got a killer's eyes,I tell yuh, an' drillin' yuh would tickle him to death. Yuhrun a blazer on him, an' he quit cold. Other gents seen theplay. He won't never forget that. He'll down yuh on thesquare, or what looks like an even break, if he can. But ifhe can't he'll down yuh anyway."
"Rustlers ramblin' over yore way any?" inquired Loudonin a meaning tone.
Johnny Ramsay struck his saddle-horn a resoundingthwack with his open palm.
"If we could only get him that way!" he exclaimed. "Buthe's slicker'n axle-grease."
"The 88 will brand one calf too many some day. Hell'sdelight! What do they do with 'em? Yuh ride therange an' yuh ride the range an' yuh don't find no cowswith unhealed brands. I seen twelve, though, with the88 brand that looked like some gent had been addin' toBar S with a runnin'-iron. But the brands was all healedup. Anyway, we've lost forty cows, an' I dunno how manycalves."
"They'll turn up again."
"Shore--carryin' the 88 brand. My idea is that themrustlers brand 'em an' then hold 'em in some blind canyonover near the Fallin' Horse till the burns heal up, an' thenthey throw 'em loose on the range again. If the cows dodrift across to the Bar S, what's the dif? They got the 88brand."
"That sounds good. Why don't yuh take a little wander'round the scenery near the Fallin' Horse?"
"I have; I didn't see nothin'. But they got 'em hidsomewhere all right. One day I runs across Marvin, an' I had ajob losin' him. He stuck to me closer'n tar all day. He wasworried some, I seen that."
"Goin' back?"
"Till I find their cache, I am."
"That's another reason for makin' Blakely so friendly.He knows yuh won't stop lookin'. Ain't it the devil an' all?The measly Sheriff just squats down on his hunkers an' doesnothin' while we lose cows in car-lots. An' when our cows go,we kiss 'em good-bye. They never come back--not evenwith their brand altered. Yuh can't change Cross-in-a-boxto 88."
"With the Bar S it's a cinch. But the boss won't use anotherbrand. Not him. He'll stick to Bar S till he ain't gota cow to run the iron on."
"Oh, it's a great system the 88 outfit are workin'! An'with Sheriff Block an' most all o' Marysville an' Farewell theirfriends it's a hard game to buck. Talk o' law! There ain'tnone in Fort Creek County."
"The only play is Vigilantes, an' it can't come to them tillthere's proof. We all know Blakely an' the 88 bunch areup to their hocks in this rustlin' deal, but we can't prove it."
"There's the worst o' bein' straight," complained JohnnyRamsay. "Yuh know some tinhorn is a-grabbin' all yuhown. Yo're certain shore who the gent is, but yuh can't hopout an' bust him without yuh catch him a-grabbin' or elsea-wearin' yore pet pants."
"That's whatever," agreed Loudon.
Five miles out of Farewell, where the trail forked, onebranch leading southeast to the Cross-in-a-box, the other tothe Bar S, Loudon checked his horse.
"Keep a-goin'," said Johnny Ramsay. "I'm travellin' withyou a spell. I'm kind o' sick o' that old trail. I've rode it sofrequent I know all the rocks an' the cotton-woods by theirfirst names."
Which explanation Loudon did not accept at its face value.He understood perfectly why Ramsay continued to ridewith him. Ramsay believed that Blakely would endeavourto drop Loudon from ambush, and it is well known that agentleman lying in wait for another will often stay hishand when his intended victim is accompanied. NeitherLoudon nor Ramsay made any mention of the true inwardnessof his thoughts. They had been friends for a long time.
Climbing the long slope of Indian Ridge, they scanned thetrail warily. But nowhere did the hoofprints of Blakely'shorse leave the dust of the trail. On the reverse slope of theridge they picked up the larger hoofprints of Block's horse.Fair and plain the two sets of marks led southward.
"Wonder who the other gent was," hazarded Ramsay.
"Block," said Loudon, "I met him this mornin'. I wasputtin' holes in his notice, an' he didn't like it none."
"Did he chatter much?"
"He talked a few, but nothin' to hurt."
"The tinhorn!" laughed Ramsay. "Bet he's goin' to the 88."
"It's some likely. We'll know when we reach Long Coulee."
They reached Long Coulee, where the trail to the 88 swungwestward, as the sun was dropping behind the far-away peaksof the Three Sisters Mountains. Loudon slipped his feetfrom the stirrups and stretched luxuriously. But he didnot feel luxurious.
As he had expected, Block had turned into the 88 trail,but as he had not expected Blakely had ridden straight ontoward the Bar S. Which latter event was disquieting, notthat Loudon feared an act of violence on the part of Blakely,but because Kate's evening would be preempted by his enemy.
Loudon keenly desired to talk to Kate that evening. Hehad a great many things to tell her, and now the coming ofBlakely spoiled it all.
"The nerve o' some folks," remarked Johnny Ramsay,eying the tracks of Blakely's horse with disfavour. "Bettertell old Salt to lock up the silver an' the cuckoo clock. Nooffence now, Tommy, but if I was you, I'd sleep in the corralto-night. Blakely might take a fancy to the goat."
"I shore hope he does," grinned Loudon. "It would easethe strain some."
"Make it complete, old beanpole, when you do call theturn. Well, I got to be skippin'. Give my love to old Salt.So long."
"So long."
Johnny Ramsay picked up his reins, wheeled his pony,and fox-trotted away. He felt that further accompanying ofLoudon was unnecessary. The danger of an ambush was past.Riding with Loudon had taken Ramsay some fifteen milesout of his way, and twent
y-five long miles lay between hispony's nose and the corral bars of the Cross-in-a-box ranch.But Ramsay wasted not a thought on his lengthened journey.He would have ridden cheerfully across the territory andback again in order to benefit a friend.
"Come on, fellah," said Loudon, when Ramsay had gone.
The chestnut moved off at a walk. Loudon did not hurryhim. He took out his papers and tobacco and rolled acigarette with neatness and despatch. Tilting back his head,he blew the first lungful of smoke straight up into the air.
"It wouldn't be right for her to marry him," he observed."She shore is one pretty girl. I wonder now if I have gotany chance. She's rich, an' I ain't, but I shore do love hera lot. Kate Loudon--that's a right nice-soundin' name."
He lowered his head and smoked silently for severalminutes. The horse, reins on his neck, swung along steadily.
"Ranger fellah," said Loudon, "she'd ought to be willin'to wait till we make a stake, oughtn't she now? That's right.Wiggle one ear for yes. You know, don't yuh, old tiger-eye?"
When the lights of the ranch sparked across the flat,Ranger pointed his ears, lifted his head, and broke into afoxtrot. Passing the ranch house, on his way to the corral,Loudon heard the merry tinkle of a guitar. Through anopen window Loudon saw the squat figure of Mr. Saltoun bentover a desk. On the porch, in the corner where the hammockhung, flickered the glowing tip of a cigarette. With a doublethrum of swept strings the guitar-player in the hammockswung from "The Kerry Dance" into "Loch Lomond."
Loudon swore under his breath, and rode on.
Jimmy, the cook, and Chuck Morgan, one of the punchers,were lying in their bunks squabbling over the respectivemerits of Texas and New Mexico when Loudon entered thebunkhouse. Both men immediately ceased wrangling anddemanded letters.
"I ain't read 'em all yet," replied Loudon, dropping hissaddle and bridle in a corner. "Wait till to-morrow."
"Jimmy's expectin' one from a red-headed gal," grinnedChuck Morgan. "He's been restless all day. 'Will shewrite?' says he, 'an' I wonder if she's sick or somethin'.' Don'tyou worry none, cookie. Them red-headed gals liveforever. They're tough, same as a yaller hoss."
"You shut up!" exclaimed Jimmy. "Who'd write to you,you frazzled end of a misspent life? D'jever look at yoreselfin the glass? You! Huh! Gimme my letter, Tommy."
"Letter? What letter? I didn't say there was a letterfor yuh."
"Well, ain't there?"
"You gimme somethin' to eat, an' then we'll talk aboutletters."
"You got a nerve!" roared the cook, indignantly. "Comin'rollickin' in 'round midnight an' want yore chuck! Well,there it is"--indicating Chuck Morgan--"go eat it."
"You fry him an' I will. I'll gamble he wouldn't taste anyworse than them steaks you've been dishin' out lately."
"You punchers gimme a pain," growled the cook, swinginghis legs out of the bunk. "Always eatin,' eatin'. I neverseen nothin' like it nohow."
"He's sore 'cause Buff put a li'l dead snake in his bunk,"explained Chuck Morgan placidly. "Just a li'l snake--notmore'n three foot long at the outside. He shore is the mostfault-findin' feller, that Jimmy is."
"There ain't anythin' for yuh, Chuck," said Loudon."Here's yore letter, Jimmy."
The cook seized the grimy missive and retreated to hiskitchen. Twenty minutes later Loudon was eating supper.He ate leisurely. He was in no hurry to go up to the ranchhouse.
"Got the makin's!" Chuck Morgan's voice was a roar.
"Be careful," said Loudon, turning a slow head. "Yo'reliable to strain yore throat, an' for a fellah talkin' as much asyou do, that would shore be a calamity."
"It shore would," agreed Morgan. "I only asked yuhfor the makin's three times before I hollered."
"Holler first next time," advised Loudon, tossing paperand tobacco across to Morgan. "Have yuh got matches?Perhaps yuh'd like me to roll yuh a pill an' then light it foryuh?"
"Oh, that ain't necessary; none whatever. I got matches.They're all I got left. This aft'noon Jimmy says 'gimme apipeful,' an' I wants to say right here that any jigger that'llsmoke a pipe will herd sheep. 'Gimme a load,' says Jimmy.'Shore,' says I, an' Jimmy bulges up holdin' the father of allcorncobs in his hand. I forks over my bag, an' Jimmywades in to fill the pipe. But that pipe don't fill up for aplugged nickel.
"He upends my bag, shakes her empty, an' hands her back.'Thanks,' says Jimmy. 'That's all right,' I says, 'keep thebag, too. It'll fit in right handy to mend yore shirt with,maybe.' Come to find out, that pipe o' Jimmy's hadn't nobottom in her, an' all the tobacco run through an' into a bagJimmy was holdin' underneath. A reg'lar Injun trick, thatis. Yuh can't tell me Jimmy ain't been a squaw-man.Digger Injuns, too, I'll bet."
Jimmy, leaning against the door-jamb, laughed uproariously.
"Yah," he yelped. "I'll teach yuh to steal my socks, Iwill. I'd just washed a whole pair an' I was a-dryin' 'embehind the house, an' along comes Chuck an' gloms both of'em, the hawg."
Leaving the two wrangling it out between them, Loudonpushed back his chair and went to the door. For a time hestood looking out into the night. Then he went to his saddle,picked up the bag containing the mail for Mr. Saltoun, andleft the bunkhouse.
On the way to the ranch house he took out of his shirt theparcel of ribbon and smoothed it out. Skirting the house onthe side farthest from the porch corner where sat Kate andBlakely, Loudon entered the kitchen and walked through thedining room to the open doorway of the office. Mr. Saltounhalf turned at Loudon's entrance.
"Hello," said Mr. Saltoun, screwing up his eyes. "I wasjust wonderin' when you'd pull in."
"'Lo," returned Loudon. "Here's the mail, an' here's apackage for Miss Kate."
There was a rush of skirts, and handsome, black-hairedKate Saltoun, her dark eyes dancing, stood in the doorway.
"Did you get my ribbon, Tom?" cried she, and pouncedon the flat parcel before Loudon could reply.
She smiled and glowed and held the ribbon under her olivechin, exclaimed over it and thanked Loudon all in a breath.Her father beamed upon her. He loved this handsome girlof his.
"Come out on the porch, Tom," said Kate, "when you'rethrough with father. Mr. Blakely's here. Thank you againfor bringing my ribbon."
Kate swished away, and Mr. Saltoun's beaming expressionvanished also. Mr. Saltoun was not especially keen. Herarely saw anything save the obvious, but for several weekshe had been under the impression that Kate and this tall,lean puncher with the gray eyes were too friendly.
And here was Kate, while entertaining the 88 manager,inviting Loudon to join her on the porch. Mr. Saltoun wasambitious for his daughter. He had not the remotestintention of receiving into his family a forty-dollar-a-monthcowhand. He would have relished firing Loudon. But thelatter was a valuable man. He was the best rider and roperin the outfit. Good cowboys do not drift in on the heels ofevery vagrant breeze.
Mr. Saltoun resolved to keep an eye on Loudon and arrangematters so that Kate and the puncher should meet seldom,if at all. He knew better than to speak to his daughter.That would precipitate matters.
By long experience Mr. Saltoun had learned that oppositionalways stiffened Kate's determination. From babyhoodher father had spoiled her. Consequently the Kate oftwenty-three was hopelessly intractable.
Mr. Saltoun drummed on the desk-top with a pencil.Loudon shifted his feet. He had mumbled a non-committalreply to Kate's invitation. Not for a great deal would hehave joined the pair on the porch. But Mr. Saltoun did notknow that.
"Chuck tells me," said Mr. Saltoun, suddenly, "that hejerked five cows out o' that mud-hole on Pack-saddle Creeknear Box Hill. Yeah, that one. To-morrow I want yuhto ride along Pack-saddle an' take a look at them other twoholes between Box Hill an' Fishtail Coolee. If yuh see anycows driftin' west, head 'em east. When that ---- barb-wirecomes--if it ever does, an' I ordered it a month ago--you an'Chuck can fence them three mud-holes. Better get an earlystart, Tom."
"All right," said Loudon, and made an unhurriedwithdr
awal--by way of the kitchen.
Once in the open air Loudon smiled a slow smile. He hadcorrectly divined the tenor of his employer's thoughts.Before he reached the bunkhouse Loudon had resolved topropose to Kate Saltoun within forty-eight hours.
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