CHAPTER IX
AUTHORS OF CONFUSION
When Loudon went to the office that evening he found Doubleday alone."Scotty's gone," said Doubleday, in response to Loudon's question."He's traipsin' over to the Seven Lazy Seven. Wants to get rid o' someof our no-account stock."
"When'll he be back?"
"Dunno. He may take in the Two Bar, Wagonwheel, T V U, an' the DoubleDiamond K before he comes back, He might stay away a week, or threeweeks, or a month. Yuh can't keep tabs on Scotty. I tried to once,but I give it up long ago."
Loudon did not take the garrulous Doubleday into his confidence. Nordid he mention the matter to Laguerre. The half-breed had seen O'Learyride up to the blacksmith shop, and his Gallic curiosity was aroused tothe full.
"My frien'," said Laguerre, when Loudon and he were mending a break inthe corral fence the following day, "my frien', I wan' for tell yousomethin'. Somethin' mabbeso you not see. Yes'erday O'Leary she cometo de ranch; she go to de blacksmith shop. I see heem before she go tode blacksmith shop. I see heem aftair. Before she see you dere een deshop hees face was de face of de man who ees not satisfy, who ees huntfor somethin'. Wen I see heem aftair, she look satisfy. She has foun'w'at she hunt for. Are you me?"
Loudon nodded.
"O'Leary's takin' a heap o' trouble on my account," he said, slowly.
"More dan I t'ought she would," vouchsafed Laguerre. "I tell you, Tom,she have not de good feelin' for you. Were ees dat damn hammair gone?"
Three weeks later, Loudon and Laguerre were lazily enjoying the cool ofthe evening outside the door of the bunkhouse when Doubleday camestriding toward them. In one hand the foreman waved a letter. Heappeared to be annoyed. He was.
"Tom, Scotty wants yuh to meet him at the Bend Tuesday--that'sto-morrow," said Doubleday, crossly. "Yuh'll find him at the ThreeCard. ---- it to ----! An' I wanted you an' Telescope to ride thenorth range to-morrow! Which that Scotty Mackenzie is shore the mostunexpected gent! Says he wants yuh to ride yore own hoss. Dunno whathe wants yuh for. He don't say. Just says meet him."
Doubleday departed, swearing.
"Pore old Doubleday," drawled a bristle-haired youth named SwingTunstall. "He gets a heap displeased with Scotty sometimes."
"Scotty ain't just regular in his ways," commented Giant Morton, adwarfish man with tremendously long arms. "Scotty wasn't goin' beyondthe Wagonwheel, if he got that far, an' his letter was mailed inRocket, fifty miles south. I brought her in from the Bend thisaft'noon, an' I noticed the postmark special."
"He wears the raggedest clo'es I ever seen," said the cook. "An' he'sgot money, too."
"Money!" exclaimed Morton. "He's lousy with money. Wish I had it. Doyuh know what I'd do? I'd buy me a seventeen-hand hoss an' a saloon."
"I wouldn't," said Loudon, winking at Laguerre. "I'd have a _hacienda_down in old Mexico, an' I'd hire half-a-dozen good-lookin' _senoritas_with black hair an' blue eyes to play tunes for me on banjos, an' I'dhire cookie here to come an' wake me up every mornin' at five o'clockjust so's I could have the pleasure o' heavin' him out o' the windowan' goin' back to sleep."
By which it may be seen that the moody Loudon was becoming more human.His remarks irritated the cook, who rather fancied himself. He allowedhimself to be the more provoked because of a growing belief thatLoudon's habitually retiring and inoffensive manner denoted a lack ofmettle. Which mental attitude was shared by none of the others.
At Loudon's careless words the cook bounced up from his seat on thedoorsill and assumed a crouching position in front of Loudon.
"Yuh couldn't throw nothin'!" yapped the man of pots and pans. "Yuhcouldn't throw a fit, let alone me! An' I want yuh to understand I canthrow any bowlegged misfit that ever wore hair pants!"
"What did yuh throw 'em with--yore mouth?" inquired Loudon, gently.
The Lazy River man had not moved from his seat on the washbench. Hisarms remained folded across his chest. He smiled pleasantly at theirate cook.
"I throwed 'em like I'm goin' to throw you!" frothed the hot-temperedone. "That is," he added, sneeringly, "if yuh ain't afraid."
The bristle-haired Tunstall sprang between the two.
"Don't mind him, Loudon!" he cried. "He's only a fool idjit, but he'sa good cook, an' losin' him would be a calamity. He don't never packno gun neither."
"I can see he ain't heeled," said Loudon, calmly. "But he shore talksjust like a regular man, don't he?"
"Regular man!" bellowed the cook. "Why----"
The sentence ended in a gurgle. For Tunstall, Morton, and Laguerre hadhurled themselves upon the cook and gagged him with the crown of a hat.
"Ain't yuh got no sense at all?" growled Morton.
"'Tsall right," grinned Loudon, rising to his feet. "I understand.Turn yore bull loose."
The three doubtfully released the cook. That misguided man promptlylowered his head, spread wide his arms, and charged at Loudon. Thepuncher sidestepped neatly and gave the cook's head a smart downwardshove with the palm of his hand. The cook's face plowed the earth.
Spitting dirt and gravel he scrambled up and plunged madly at hiselusive adversary. This time Loudon did not budge.
Even as the cook gripped him round the waist Loudon leaned forwardalong the cook's back, seized the slack of his trousers, and up-endedhim. The cook's hold was broken, and again his head collided violentlywith the ground. He fell in a huddle, but arose instantly, hisstubborn spirit unshaken. Now he did not rush. He approached thepuncher warily.
Swaying on his high heels Loudon waited. Then run, with a pantherlikeleap, he flung himself forward, drove both arms beneath those of thecook and clipped him round the body. The cook strove for astrangle-hold, but Loudon forestalled the attempt by hooking his chinover his opponent's shoulder. Legs apart, Loudon lifted and squeezed.
Gradually, as Loudon put forth all his great strength, the breath ofthe cook was expelled from his cracking chest in gasps and wheezes.His muscles relaxed, his face became distorted, empurpled.
Loudon released his grip. The cook fell limply and lay on his back,arms outspread, his crushed lungs fighting for air. In the strugglehis shirt had been ripped across, and now his chest and one shoulderwere exposed. Loudon, gazing down at the prostrate man, startedslightly, then stooped and looked more closely at the broad triangle ofbreast.
Abruptly Loudon turned away and resumed his seat on the bench. After atime the cook rolled over, staggered to his feet, and reeled into thebunkhouse without a word.
No one commented on the wrestling-match. Swing Tunstall started acheerful reminiscence of his last trip to the Bend. Laguerre rose andpassed silently round the corner of the bunkhouse. Loudon, chin onhand, stared off into the distance.
Suddenly, within the bunkhouse, there was the thump of feet followed inquick succession by a thud and a grunt. Out through the doorway thecook tumbled headlong, fell flat, and lay motionless, his nose in thedirt, his boot-toes on the doorsill. One outflung hand still clutchedthe butt of a six-shooter. From a gash on the back of his head theblood oozed slowly.
Issued then Laguerre from the doorway. The half-breed was in hisstocking feet. He wrenched the gun from the cook's fingers, stuffedthe weapon into the waistband of his trousers, and squatted down on hisheels.
None of the onlookers had moved. Gravely they regarded Laguerre andthe cook. Loudon realized that he had narrowly escaped being shot inthe back. A farce had developed into melodrama.
At this juncture Doubleday strolled leisurely out of the office. Atsight of the fallen man and the serious group at the bunkhouse hequickened his steps.
"Who done it?" demanded Doubleday, severely, for he believed the cookto be dead.
"I heet heem on de head wit' my gun," explained Laguerre. "Loudon shet'row de cook. De cook she geet varree mad un go een de bunkhouse. It'ink mabbeso she do somethin' un I go roun' de bunkhouse, tak' off myboots, un crawl een de side window. De cook she was jus' run for doorwit' hees gu
n een hees han'. I stop heem."
Complacently Laguerre gazed upon the still unconscious cook.
"The kyote!" exclaimed Doubleday. "That's what comes o' not havin' anysense o' humour! ---- his soul! Now I got to fire him. Trouble!Trouble! Nothin' but ----"
The discouraged foreman slumped down beside Loudon and rolled acigarette with vicious energy.
Some ten minutes later the cook stirred, rolled over, and sat up. Hestared with dull eyes at the men on the bench. Stupidly he fingeredthe cut at the back of his head. As deadened senses revived and memoryreturned, his back stiffened, and defiance blazed up in his eyes.
"Telescope," said Loudon, "I'd take it as a favour if yuh'd give himhis gun--an' his cartridges."
The cook lost his defiant look when the half-breed complied withLoudon's request. Helplessly he eyed the gun a moment, then, struckwith a bright idea, he waggled his right wrist and grimaced as if withpain. Gingerly he rubbed the wrist-bone.
"Sprained my wrist," he stated brazenly. "Can't shoot with my lefthand nohow. If I could, I'd shore enjoy finishin' up. Helluva notethis is! I start for to shoot it out with a gent, an' one o' yousports whangs me over the head an' lays me out. I'd admire to knowwhich one o' yuh done it."
"I done eet," Laguerre informed him, his white teeth flashing under hisblack mustache.
"I'll remember yuh," said the cook with dignity. "I'll remember youtoo," he added looking at Loudon. "Doubleday, I'd like my time. Iain't a-goin' to cook for this bunch no longer. An' if it's all thesame to you I'll take a hoss for part o' my pay."
"Well, by ----!" exclaimed Doubleday, hugely annoyed at being thusforestalled. "You've got a nerve. You ought to be hung!"
"Any gent does who works for the Flying M," countered the cook. "ButI'm quittin'. Do I get the hoss!"
"Yuh bet yuh do. An' yo're hittin' the trail to-night."
"The sooner the quicker."
Within half an hour Rufe Cutting, erstwhile cook at the Flying M, abandage under his hat, mounted his horse and rode away toward ParadiseBend. As he vanished in the gathering dusk, Swing Tunstall laughedharshly.
"All yaller an' a yard wide!" observed Giant Morton, and spatcontemptuously.
Loudon made no comment. He was working out a puzzle, and he was makingvery little headway.
In the morning he saddled Ranger and started for the Bend. He followedthe trail for a mile or two, then, fording the Dogsoldier, he struckacross the flats where a few of Mackenzie's horses grazed. He did notturn his horse's head toward Paradise Bend till the Dogsoldier was wellout of rifle-range. Loudon's caution was pardonable. Rufe Cuttingknew that he was to ride to the Bend, and Rufe had a rifle. Loudon hadmarked him tying it in his saddle-strings.
It was quite within the bounds of possibility that the cunning Rufe wasat that very moment lying in wait somewhere among the cottonwoods onthe bank of the Dogsoldier, for the trail in many places swung close tothe creek. Decidedly, the trail was no fit route for any one at oddswith a citizen of the Cutting stamp.
Loudon, when he drew near the Bend, circled back to the creek andentered the town by the Farewell trail.
He dismounted in front of the Three Card, anchored Ranger to theground, and went into the saloon. Several men were standing at thebar. They ceased talking at his entrance.
Loudon leaned both elbows on the bar and demanded liquor. He sensed acertain tenseness, a vague chill in the atmosphere. The bartender, hiseyes looking anywhere but at Loudon, served him hastily. The bartenderseemed nervous. Bottle and glass rattled as he placed them on the bar.
"Scotty Mackenzie come in yet?" inquired Loudon of the bartender,setting down his empty glass.
"N-no," quavered the bartender, shrilly. "I ain't seen him."
Loudon stared at the bartender. What was the matter with the man? Hisface was the colour of gray wrapping-paper. Loudon turned and glancedalong the bar at the other customers. Two of them were regarding him,a rapt fascination in their expressions. Swiftly the two men avertedtheir eyes.
Loudon hesitated an instant, then he wheeled and walked out of thesaloon. As he crossed the sidewalk he noticed a group of men standingnear by. He stooped to pick up his reins. When he straightened therewas a sudden rustle and a whisk in his rear. Something settled overhis shoulders and drew taut, pinning his arms to his sides.
"What in----" swore Loudon, and began to struggle furiously.
He was at once jerked over on his back. He fell heavily. The shockpartially stunned him. Dazedly he gazed upward into a ring of faces.The features of all save one were blurred. And that face was the faceof Block, the Sheriff of Fort Creek County.
Loudon felt a tugging at his belt and knew that one was removing hissix-shooter. He was pulled upright, his hands were wrenched together,and before he was aware of what was taking place, his wrists were inhandcuffs. Now his faculties returned with a rush.
"What seems to be the trouble, anyway?" he demanded of the crowd ingeneral.
"It seems yo're a hoss thief," replied a brown-bearded man wearing astar on the left lapel of his vest.
"Who says so?"
"This gent." The brown-bearded man pointed at Block.
"It's no good talkin', Loudon," said Block, grinning after the fashionof the cat which has just eaten the canary. "I know yuh. Yuh stolethat hoss yo're ridin' from the 88 ranch. There's the brand to proveit. But that ain't all. Yuh was caught rustlin' 88 cows. Yuh branded'em Crossed Dumbbell. An' yuh got away by shootin' Sam Blakely, an'holdin' up Marvin an' Rudd. I don't guess yuh'll get away now in ahurry."
"Where's yore warrant?"
"Don't need no warrant."
"That's right," corroborated the brown-bearded man with the star. "Yuhdon't need no warrant for a hoss-thief an' a rustler. I tell yuh,stranger, yo're lucky to be still alive. I'm doin' yuh a favour bylettin' yuh go south with Sheriff Block. By rights yuh'd ought to belynched instanter."
"Yuh don't say," said Loudon, gently. "Who are yuh, anyway?"
"Oh, I'm only the marshal here at the Bend," replied with sarcasm thebrown-bearded man. "My name's Smith--Dan Smith. Yuh might 'a' heardo' me."
"Shore, I've heard o' yuh, an' I'd understood yuh was a party withsense an' not in the habit o' believin' everythin' yuh hear. Now----"
"Yuh understood right," said the marshal, drily. "I'm listenin' to yuhnow, an' I don't believe everythin' I hear."
"Yo're believin' Block, an' he's the biggest liar in Fort Creek County,an' that's sayin' quite it lot, seein' as how the 88 outfit belongs inFort Creek. Now I never branded no 88 cows. The 88, because theyknowed I knowed they'd been brandin' other folks' cattle, went an'branded a cow an' a calf o' their own with the Crossed Dumbbell an'then tried to throw the blame on me. But the trick didn't pan out.They couldn't prove it nohow. Jack Richie o' the Cross-in-a-box cantell yuh I didn't rustle them cattle."
"I thought yuh was workin' for the Bar S," put in the marshal.
"I was, but I quit."
"Then why wouldn't Saltoun o' the Bar S know all about it? What didyuh say Jack Richie for?"
The marshal drooped a wise eyelid. He considered himself a most astutecross-examiner.
"I said Jack Richie because he was there at the Bar S when Marvin an'Rudd drove in the cow an' the calf. It was him proved I couldn't 'a'branded them cattle like they said I did."
"Why wouldn't Saltoun o' the Bar S speak for yuh?" inquired the marshal.
"He would, I guess," replied Loudon. "Old Salt an' me don't justhitch, but he's square. He'd tell yuh about it."
"He won't tell me. The Bar S an' the Cross-in-a-box are more'n twohundred miles south. I ain't ridin' that far to get yore pedigree.No, yuh can just bet I ain't. This gent here, Sheriff Block, will takeyuh south. If it's like yuh say it is, then yuh needn't worry none.Yuh'll have yore witnesses an' all right there."
"Don't yuh understand? I'll never see none o' my friends. The 88outfit will lynch me soon as ever I hit Farewell. I
tell yuh I knowtoo much about 'em. They want me out o' the way."
Before the marshal could reply there was a bustle in the crowd, and ahigh-pitched feminine voice inquired what evil was being visited uponMr. Loudon. An instant later Mrs. Burr, barearmed and perspiring,unceremoniously pushed Block to one side and confronted the marshal.
"What yuh doin' to him?" she demanded, with a quick jerk of her headtoward Loudon.
"Why, Mis' Burr, ma'am," replied the marshal, "he's a hoss thief, an'he's goin' south to Farewell."
"He ain't goin' to Farewell," retorted Mrs. Burr, "an' he ain't a hossthief. Who says so?"
"I do, ma'am," said Block, stepping forward. "He's a hoss thief,an'----"
"Hoss thief yoreself!" snapped Mrs. Burr, wheeling on Block so fiercelythat the sheriff gave ground involuntarily. "The more I look at yuhthe more yuh look like a hoss thief an' a rustler an' a road agent.You shut up, Dan Smith! I always guessed yuh was an idjit, an' now Iknow it! This man, Mr. Tom Loudon, is a friend o' my husband's. Iknow him well, an' if yuh think yo're goin' to string him up for a hossthief yo're mistaken."
"But, ma'am," explained the unhappy marshal, "we ain't a-goin' tostring him up. This gent, Sheriff Block, is takin' him south. He'llget justice down there, Mis' Burr."
"Will he? If the folks down there are as witless as you are he won't.Justice! Yuh make me plumb weary! Did yuh ask to see this Block man'swarrant? Answer me! Did you?"
"He ain't got no warrant," replied the marshal in a small voice.
"Ain't got no warrant!" screamed Mrs. Burr. "Ain't got no warrant, an'yo're lettin' him take away a party on just his say-so! Dan Smith,since when have yuh allowed a stranger to come in an' tell you what todo? What right has this Block man from Fort Creek County to try an'run Paradise Bend, I'd like to know?"
"I ain't tryin' to run the Bend," defended Block. "I wouldn't think o'such a thing. But I want this hoss thief, an' I mean to have him."
The words had barely passed Block's teeth when Loudon's self-controlbroke. With an inarticulate howl of rage he sprang at Block and drovethe iron manacles into the sheriff's face.
Down went Block with Loudon on top of him. Twice, three times, beforeDan Smith and two others pulled him up and away, Loudon smashed thehandcuffs home. It was a bloody-faced, teeth-spitting sheriff that gotslowly to his feet.
"By ----!" gibbered Block. "By ----! I'll down you here an' now!"
A tall man with square features tapped the raving sheriff on theshoulder.
"Don't cuss no more before a lady," advised the square-featured man."An' don't go draggin' at no gun. This ain't Fort Creek County. Yo'rein Paradise Bend, an' I just guess yuh won't beef any sport with hishands tied. This goes as it lays."
From the crowd came murmurs of approval. Public opinion was changingfront. Mrs. Burr smiled serenely.
"Yo're a real gent, Jim Mace," she said, addressing the square-featuredman. "I always knowed you'd protect a defenseless female. Dan Smith,"she continued, turning to the marshal, "unlock them handcuffs."
Dan Smith hesitated. Then Block spoiled his own case. He seizedLoudon by the shoulders. Loudon promptly kicked him in the skins[Transcriber's note: shins?] and endeavoured to repeat his formerassault with the handcuffs. But the two men holding him wrestled himbackward.
"Do I get him?" bellowed Block, rabid with pain, for Loudon had kickedhim with all his strength. "Do I get him, or are yuh goin' to let awoman tell yuh what to do?"
Jim Mace stepped close to the sheriff.
"Stranger," said Mace, sharply, "you've done chattered enough. In yoreown partic'lar hog-waller yuh may be a full-size toad, but up hereyo're half o' nothin'. Understand?"
The sheriff looked about him wildly. The Paradise Benders, cold,unfriendly, some openly hostile, stared back. Wrought up though hewas, the sheriff had wit enough to perceive that he was treading closeto the edge of a volcano. The sheriff subsided.
"Dan," said Mace, "it's come to a show-down. It's the word o' Mis'Burr agin' Block's. There's only one answer. If I was you I'd unlockthem handcuffs."
"Yo're right, Jim," agreed the marshal. "I will."
"Gimme my gun," demanded Loudon, when his hands were free.
"In a minute," parried the marshal. "Sheriff, if I was you I'd hit thetrail. Yore popularity ain't more'n deuce-high just now."
"I'll go," glowered Block. "But I'll be back. An' when I come I'llhave a warrant. I reckon the Sheriff o' Sunset will honour it, even ifyou won't."
"Bring on yore warrant," retorted the marshal.
The rumble of wheels and thud of hoofs attracted Loudon's attention.Over the heads of the crowd he saw the high sides of atarpaulin-covered wagon and, sitting on the driver's seat, CaptainBenjamin Burr and Scotty Mackenzie.
"Hi, Cap'n Burr. Hi, Scotty!" shouted Loudon.
"Where are they?" exclaimed Mrs. Burr, her harsh features lighting up."Oh, there they are! You Benjamin Burr, come right in here thisinstant. Yore wife wants yore help!"
Captain Burr swayed back on the reins. Dragging a sawed-off shotgun hehopped to the ground, Scotty Mackenzie at his heels. The crowd madeway for them. Captain Burr swept his hat off and bowed ceremoniouslyto his wife.
"My love," said he, "in what way may I assist you?"
"That party," sniffed Mrs. Burr, levelling a long forefinger at thewretched Block, "comes up an' accuses Mr. Tom Loudon here o' bein' arustler an' a hoss thief. Says he's been brandin' 88 cows an' that hestole that chestnut hoss yonder."
The sawed-off shotgun, an eight-gauge Greener, covered Block's beltbuckle.
"Suh, you lie," said Burr, simply.
"What did I tell all you folks?" cried Mrs. Burr, triumphantly.
Block made no attempt to draw. He folded his arms and glaredferociously. He found glaring difficult, for he knew that he did notlook in the least ferocious.
"I'm doin' my duty," he said, sullenly.
"Gentlemen all, I'd like some show in this," pleaded Loudon. "Justgimme back my gun, an' me an' Block'll shoot it out."
"Wait a shake," said Scotty, sliding between Loudon and Block. "Let meget the straight of this. You accuse Loudon here of brandin' 88cattle?"
"Shore," insisted the stubborn Block, "an' he stole that chestnut hosshe's ridin', too. Just look at the 88 brand. It's plain as day."
"Suh," burst out Burr, "I happened to be at the 88 ranch the day myfriend Tom Loudon bought that chestnut hoss. I saw him pay Blakely.Everybody in Fo't Creek County knows that Tom Loudon has owned thathoss fo' upwa'ds of a yeah. You know it, you rascal! Don't attempt todeny it!"
To this sweeping assertion Block made no reply.
"I guess now that settles half the cat-hop," said Scotty. "The otherhalf I know somethin' about myself. Jack Richie o' the Cross-in-a-boxtold me. It was thisaway----"
And Scotty related the tale of Marvin and Rudd and the Crossed Dumbbellcow and calf.
"Now what yuh got to say?" Scotty demanded of Block when the story wastold.
"What can I do?" snapped Block. "It's a whole town agin' one man.I'll get a warrant, an' yuh can gamble on that. If I thought I'd get asquare deal, I'd admire to shoot it out."
"Gimme my gun," begged Loudon. "Gimme it, or lend me one, somebody.He wants to shoot it out."
"No," said Scotty, firmly, "it's gone beyond shootin'. Block knowedyou was innocent. He couldn't help knowin' it. He tried to work sucha sneakin', low-down trick that killin' don't seem to fit somehow.He'd ought to be rode on a rail or buried up to his neck or somethin'."
"Tar an' feather him," suggested Mrs. Burr.
"We ain't got no tar," said Jim Mace, "an' there ain't a chicken in theplace."
"There's molasses an' goose-hair quilts in the Chicago Store," saidMrs. Burr, helpfully. "What more do yuh want?"
Molasses and feathers! Here was an extravagant jape! Block's handswept downward. But no smooth revolver-butt met his clutching fingers.A far-seeing soul had, in the confusion, adroitly r
emoved the sheriff'ssix-shooter.
In all seriousness the men of Paradise Bend set about their work. Theysaw no humour in the shriekingly grotesque business. Sheriff Blockessayed to struggle. But Scotty and other leading citizens attachedthemselves to his arms and legs and pulled him down and sat upon him.
When one came running with a five-gallon jug of molasses Block,uttering strange cries, was spread-eagled. From his forehead to hisfeet the molasses was thickly applied. When the front of him had beenthoroughly daubed, he was rolled over upon a ripped-up quilt--this sothat none of the molasses might be wasted--and a fresh jug was broughtinto play.
Dripping like a buckwheat cake, writhing in an agony of shame, Blockwas rolled up in the quilt. Then the quilt was torn away and menshowered upon him the contents of other quilts. The Paradise Bendersused up ten gallons of molasses and three quilts on Block, and theymade a complete job. Awful was the wreck that staggered down thestreet.
Somehow the sheriff contrived to reach the stable where he had left hishorse, and somehow--for his movements were the movements of one fargone in drink--he threw on the saddle and passed the cinch-straps.Mounting with difficulty, he rode away. None offered to molest himfurther.
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