Partners of Chance

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  CHAPTER XXV

  TWO TRAILS HOME

  Bartley was the chief witness at the inquest. He told his story in amanner that impressed the coroner's jury. Senator Brown was present, andidentified one of the dead outlaws as Sneed. Posmo, killed byPanhandle's first shot, was known in Phoenix. Panhandle, riddled withbullets, was also identified by the Senator, Cheyenne, and severalhabitues of the gambling-hall. Bartley himself identified the body ofone man as that of Hull.

  Cheyenne was the last witness called. He admitted that he had hadtrouble with Panhandle Sears, and that he was looking for him when thefight started; that Sneed and his men had unexpectedly taken the quarrelout of his hands, and that he had fired exactly five shots at the menwho had killed Panhandle and it had been close work, and easy. Panhandlehad put up a game fight. The odds had been heavily against him. He hadbeen standing in the light of the gambling-hall doorway while the menwho had killed him had been in the shadow. "He didn't have a chance,"concluded Cheyenne.

  "You say you were looking for this man Sears, and yet you took his partagainst Sneed's outfit?" queried the coroner.

  "I didn't just say so. Mr. Bartley said that."

  "Mr. Bartley seems to be the only disinterested witness of theshooting," observed the coroner.

  "If there is any further evidence needed to convince the jury that Mr.Bartley's statements are impartial and correct, you might read this,"declared the city marshal. "It is the antemortem statement of one ofSneed's men, taken at the hospital at three-fifteen this morning. Hedied at four o'clock."

  The coroner read the statement aloud. Ten minutes later the verdict wasgiven. The deceased, named severally, had met death by gunshot wounds,_at the hands of parties unknown_.

  It was a caustic verdict, intended for the benefit of the cattle-andhorse-thieves of the Southwest. It conveyed the hint that the city ofPhoenix was prompt to resent the presence of such gentry within itsboundaries. One of the daily papers commented upon the fact that "theparties unknown" must have been fast and efficient gunmen. Cheyenne'sname was not mentioned, and that was due to the influence of themarshal, Senator Brown, and the mayor, which left readers of the papersto infer that the police of Phoenix had handled the matter themselves.

  Through the evidence of the outlaw who had survived long enough to makea statement, the Box-S horses were traced to a ranch in the neighborhoodof Tucson, identified, and finally returned to their owner.

  The day following the inquest, Bartley and Cheyenne left Phoenix, withFort Apache as their first tentative destination, and with the promiseof much rugged and wonderful country in between as an incentive tojourney again with his companion, although Bartley needed no specialincentive. At close range Bartley had beheld the killing of several men.And he could not free himself from the vision of Panhandle crawlingtoward him in the patch of white light, the flitting of horsemen backand forth, and the red flash of six-guns. Bartley was only too anxiousto leave the place.

  It was not until they were two days out of Phoenix that Cheyennementioned the fight--and then he did so casually, as though seeking anopinion from his comrade.

  Bartley merely said he was glad Cheyenne had not killed Panhandle.Cheyenne pondered a while, riding loosely, and gazing down at the trail.

  "I reckon I would 'a' killed him--if I'd 'a' got the chance," he said."I meant to. No, it wasn't me or Panhandle that settled that argument:it was somethin' bigger than us. Folks that reads about the fight,knowin' I was in Phoenix, will most like say that I got him. Let 'em sayso. I know I didn't; and you know I didn't--and that's good enough forme."

  "And Dorothy and Aunt Jane and Little Jim," said Bartley.

  "Meanin' Little Jim won't have to grow up knowin' that his father was akiller."

  "I was thinking of that."

  "Well, right here is where I quit thinkin' about it and talkin' aboutit. If that dog of yours there was to kill a coyote, in a fair fight, Ireckon he wouldn't think about it long."

  A few minutes later Cheyenne spoke of the country they were in.

  "She's rough and unfriendly, right here," he said. "But north a ways shesure makes up for it. There's big spruce and high mesas and grass toyour pony's knees and water 'most anywhere you look for it. I ain't muchon huntin'. But there's plenty deer and wild turkey up that way, andsome bear. And with a bent pin and a piece of string a fella can catchall the trout he wants. Arizona is a mighty surprisin' State, in spots.Most folks from the East think she's sagebrush and sand, except theGrand Canon; but that's kind of rented out to tourists, most of thetime. I like the Painted Desert better."

  "Where haven't you been?" said Bartley, laughing.

  "Well, I ain't been North for quite a spell."

  And Cheyenne fell silent, thinking of Laramie, of the broad prairies ofWyoming, of his old homestead, and the days when he was happy with hiswife and Little Jim. But he was not silent long. He visioned a plan thathe might work out, after he had seen Aunt Jane and Uncle Frank again.Meanwhile, the sun was shining, the road wound among the ragged hills,and Filaree and Joshua stepped along briskly, their hoof-beatssuggesting the rhythm of a song.

  That night they camped in the hill country not far from a crossroadsstore. In the morning they bought a few provisions and an extra canteen.

  "There's a piece of country between here and the real hills that is liketo be dry," explained Cheyenne. "We're leavin' the road, this mornin',and cuttin' north. She's some rough, the way we're headed, but you'lllike it."

  From the sagebrush of the southern slopes they climbed slowly up to acountry of scattered juniper. By noon they were among the pinons,following a dim bridle trail that Cheyenne's horses seemed to know.

  "In a couple of days, I aim to spring a surprise on you," said Cheyenneas they turned in that night. "I figure to show you somethin' you beenwantin' to see."

  "Bring on your bears," said Bartley, laughing.

  Cheyenne's moodiness had vanished. Frequently he hummed his old trailsong as they rode. Next day, as they nooned among the spruce of the highcountry, Cheyenne suddenly drew the dice from his pocket and, turningthem in his hands, finally tossed them over the rim-rock of the canonedging their camp. "It's a fool game," he said. And Bartley knew, by theotter's tone, that he did not alone refer to the game of dice.

  The air was thin, clear, and vital with a quality that the air of thelower country lacked. Bartley felt an ambition to settle down and go towriting. He thought that he now had material enough and to spare. Theywere in a country, vast, fenceless, verdant--almost awesome in itstimbered silences. His imagination was stirred.

  From their noon camp they rode into the timber and from the timber intoa mountain meadow, knee-deep with lush grass. There was no visible trailacross the meadow but the horses seemed to know which way to go. Aftercrossing the meadow, Filaree, leading the cavalcade, turned and took asteep trail down the side of a hidden canon, a mighty chasm, rock-walledand somber. At the bottom the horses drank, and, crossing the stream,climbed the farther side. In an hour they were again on the rim,plodding noiselessly through the sun-flecked shadows of the giantspruce.

  "How about that surprise?" queried Bartley.

  "Ain't this good enough?" said Cheyenne, gesturing roundabout.

  "Gosh, yes! Lead on, Macduff."

  About four that afternoon the horses pricked their ears and quickenedtheir pace. Filaree and Joshua especially seemed interested in gettingalong the silent trail; and presently the trail merged with anothertrail, more defined. A few hundred yards down this trail, and Bartleysaw a big log cabin; to the left and beyond it a corral, empty, and withthe bars down. Bartley had never seen the place before, and did notrealize where he was, yet he had noticed that the horses seemed to knowthe place.

  "We won't stop by," said Cheyenne.

  "Any one live there?"

  "Sneed used to," stated Cheyenne.

  Then Bartley knew that they were not far from the San Andreas Valleyand--well, the Lawrence ranch.

  They dropped down a long trail into an
other canon which finally spreadto a green valley dotted with ranches. The horses stepped briskly.Presently, rounding a bend, they saw a ranch-house, far below, andsharply defined squares of alfalfa.

  "That house with the red roof--" said Bartley.

  "That's her," asserted Cheyenne, a trifle ambiguously.

  "Then we've swung round in a circle."

  "We done crossed the res'avation, pardner. And we didn't see a dog-goneInjun."

  Little Jim was the first to catch sight of them as they jogged down thelast stretch of trail leaving the foothills. He recognized the horseslong before their riders were near enough to be identified as his fatherand Bartley.

  Little Jim did not rush to Aunt Jane and tell her excitedly that theywere coming. Instead, he quietly saddled up his pony and rode out tomeet them. Part-way up the slope he waited.

  His greeting was not effusive. "I just thought I'd ride up and tell youfolks that--'that I seen you comin'."

  "How goes the hunting?" queried Bartley.

  "Fine! I got six rabbits yesterday. Dorry is gittin' so she can shootpretty good, too. How you makin' it, dad?"

  Cheyenne pushed back his hat and gazed at his young son. "Pretty fair,for an old man," said Cheyenne presently. "You been behavin' yourself?"

  "Sure."

  "How would you like to ride a real hoss, once?"

  "You mean _your_ hoss?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "I'll trade you, even."

  "No, you won't, son. But you can ride him down to the ranch, if youlike."

  Little Jim almost tumbled from his pony in his eagerness to ride Joshua,his father's horse, with the big saddle and rope and the carbine underthe stirrup leather.

  "You musta made a long ride," declared Jimmy, as he scrambled up onJoshua. "Josh's shoes is worn thin. He'll be throwin' one, next."

  Jimmy called attention to the horse's shoes, that his father and Bartleymight not see how really pleased he was to ride a "real horse."

  "Yes, a long ride. How is Aunt Jane and Dorry?"

  "Oh, they're all right. Uncle Frank he cut twenty-two tons of alfalfaoff the lower field last week."

  Cheyenne sat sideways on Jimmy's pony as they rode down the last easyslope and turned into the ranch gate. Aunt Jane, who was busycooking,--it seemed that Aunt Jane was always busy cooking something orother, when she wasn't dressmaking or mending clothing orironing,--greeted them warmly. Frank was working down at the lower end.Dorry had gone to San Andreas. She would be back 'most any time, now.And weren't they hungry?

  They were. And there was fresh milk and pie. But they put up the horsesfirst.

  Later, Cheyenne and Little Jim decided to walk down to the lower end ofthe ranch and see Uncle Frank. Cheyenne had washed his hands and facebefore eating, as had Bartley. But Bartley did not let it go at that. Hebegged some hot water and again washed and shaved, brushed his clothes,and changed his flannel shirt for a clean one. Then he strolled to thekitchen and chatted with Aunt Jane, who had read of the killing of theoutlaws in Phoenix, and had many questions to ask. It had been aterrible tragedy. And Mr. Bartley had actually seen the shooting?

  Aunt Jane was glad that Cheyenne had not been mixed up in it, especiallyas that man Sears had been killed. But now that he had been killed,people would talk less about her brother. It really had seemed an act ofProvidence that Cheyenne had had nothing to do with the shooting. Ofcourse, Mr. Bartley knew about the trouble that her brother had had--andwhy he had never settled down--

  "His name was not mentioned in the papers," said Bartley, thinking thathe must say something.

  "There's Dorry, now," said Aunt Jane, glancing through the kitchenwindow.

  Bartley promptly excused himself and stepped out to the gate, which hevaulted and opened as Dorothy waved a greeting. Bartley carried thegroceries in, and later helped unhitch the team. They chatted casuallyneither referring to the subject uppermost in their minds.

  When Cheyenne returned, riding on a load of alfalfa with Uncle Frank andLittle Jim, Bartley managed to let Uncle Frank know that he was notsupposed to have had a hand in the Phoenix affair. Cheyenne thanked him.

  "But you ain't talked with Dorry, yet, have you?" queried Cheyenne.

  Bartley shook his head.

  "She'll find out," stated Cheyenne. "You can't fool Dorry."

  That evening, while Uncle Frank and Cheyenne were discussing a matterwhich seemed confidential to themselves, and while Aunt Jane was quietlykeeping an eye on Jimmy, who could hardly keep from interrupting hisseniors--Bartley and Dorry didn't count, just then, for _they_ werealso talking together--Dorothy intimated to Bartley that she would liketo talk with him alone. She did not say so, nor make any gesture toindicate her wish, yet Bartley interpreted her expression correctly.

  He suggested that they step out to the veranda, where it was cooler.From the veranda they strolled to the big gate, and there she asked him,point-blank, to tell her just what had happened in Phoenix. She had readthe papers, and she surmised that there was more to the affair than thepapers printed. For instance, Senator Brown, upon his return to theBox-S, had kindly sent word to Aunt Jane that Cheyenne was all right.Bartley thought that the thoughtful Senator had rather spilled thebeans.

  "Did Cheyenne--" and Dorothy hesitated.

  "Cheyenne didn't kill Sears," stated Bartley.

  "You talked with Cheyenne, and got him to keep out of it?"

  "I tried to. He wouldn't listen. Then I wished him good luck and toldhim I hoped he'd win."

  Dorothy was puzzled. "How do you know he didn't?"

  "Because I was standing beside him when it happened. I don't see why youshouldn't know about it. Cheyenne and I were just about to cross thestreet, that night, when we saw Panhandle coming down the opposite side.Sneed and his men, who were evidently waiting for him, called toPanhandle. Panhandle must have thought it was the sheriff, or the citymarshal. It happened suddenly. Panhandle began firing at Sneed and hisriders. They shot him down just as he reached the curb in front of us.They kept on shooting at him as he lay in the street. Cheyenne couldn'tstand that. He emptied his gun, trying to keep them off--and he emptiedsome saddles."

  "Thank you for trying to--to give Cheyenne my message," said Dorothy.And she shook hands with him.

  "Do you know this is the loveliest vista I have seen since leavingPhoenix--this San Andreas Valley," said Bartley.

  "But you came through the Apache Forest," said Dorothy, not for the sakeof argument, but because Bartley was still holding her hand.

  "Yes. But you don't happen to live in the Apache Forest."

  "But, Mr. Bartley--"

  "John, please."

  "Cheyenne calls you Jack."

  "Better still. Do you think Aunt Jane would mind if we walked up theroad as far as--well, as far as the spring?"

  "Hadn't you better ask her?"

  "No. But she wouldn't object. Would you?"

  Slowly Dorothy withdrew her hand and Bartley opened the big gate. Asthey walked down the dim, starlit road they were startled by the adventof a yellow dog that bounded from the brush and whined joyously.

  "And I had forgotten him," said Bartley. "Oh, he's mine! I can't getaway from the fact. He adopted me, and has followed me clear through. Ihad forgotten that he is afraid to come into a ranch. And I am ashamedto say that I forgot to feed him, to-night. He isn't at all beautiful,but he's tremendously loyal."

  "And he shall have a good supper when we get back," declared Dorothy.

  The yellow dog padded along behind them in the dusk, content to be withhis master again. Bartley talked with Dorothy about his plans, hishopes, and her promise to become the heroine of his new story. Then hesurprised her by stating that he had decided to make a home in the SanAndreas Valley.

  "You really don't know anything about me, or my people," he said. "And Iwant you to know. My only living relative is my sister, and she isscandalously well-to-do. Her husband makes money manufacturing hooks andeyes. He's not romantic, but he's solid. As for me--"

  And B
artley spoke of his own income, just what he could afford to spendeach month, and just how much he managed to save, and his ambition toearn more. Dorothy realized that he was talking to her just as he wouldhave talked to a chum--a man friend, without reserve, and she liked himfor it. She had been curious about him, his vocation, and even about hisplans; and she felt a glow of affection because he had seemed so loyalto his friendship with Cheyenne, and because he had been kind to LittleJim Hastings. While doing so with no other thought than to please theboy, Bartley had made no mistake in buying him that new rifle.

  As they came to the big rock by the roadside--a spot which Bartley hadgood reason to remember--he paused and glanced at Dorothy. She waslaughing.

  "You looked so funny that day. You were the most dilapidated-lookingperson--for a writer--"

  "I imagine I was, after Hull got through with me. Let's sit down awhile.I want to tell you what I should like to do. Are you comfortable?"

  Dorothy nodded.

  "Well," said Bartley, seating himself beside her, "I should like to renta small place in the valley, a place just big enough for two, and thensettle down and write this story. Then, if I sold it, I think I shouldlock up, get a pack-horse and another saddle-horse, outfit for a longtrip, and then take the trail north and travel for, say, six months,seeing the country, camping along the way, visiting with folks, andincidentally gathering material for another story. It could be done."

  "But why rent a place, if you plan to leave it right away?"

  "Because I should want a home to come to, a place to think of when I wason the trails. You know a fellow can't wander up and down the worldforever. I like to travel, but I think a chap ought to spend at leasthalf a year under a roof. Don't you?"

  "I was thinking of Cheyenne," said Dorothy musingly.

  "I think of him a great deal," declared Bartley.

  Dorothy glanced up at him from her pondering.

  Bartley leaned toward her. "Dorothy, will you help me make that home,here in the valley, and be my comrade on the trails?"

  "Hadn't you better ask Aunt Jane?" said Dorothy softly, yet with a touchof humor.

  "Do you mean it?" Bartley's voice was boyishly enthusiastic, like thevoice of a chum, a hearty comrade. "But how about your own folks?"

  Dorothy's answer was not given then and there, in words. Nor yet bygesture, nor in any visible way--there being no moon that early in theevening. After a brief interval--or, at least, it seemed brief--theyrose and strolled back down the road, the yellow dog padding faithfullyat their heels. Presently--

  "Hey, Dorry!" came in a shrill voice.

  "It's the scout!" exclaimed Bartley, laughing.

  "We're coming, Jimmy," called Dorothy.

  "But before we're taken into custody--" said Bartley; and as mentionedbefore, the moon had not appeared.

  Little Jim, astride of the ranch gate, querulously demanded where theyhad been and why they had not told him they were going somewhere.

  "And you left the gate open, and--everything!" concluded Jimmy.

  "We just went for a walk," said Dorothy.

  "What's the use of walkin' up the old road in the dark?" queried Jimmy."You can't see anything."

  "What do you say to a rabbit hunt to-morrow morning early?" askedBartley.

  "Nope!" declared Little Jim decisively. "'Cause my dad was talkin' withAunt Jane and Uncle Frank, and dad says me and him are goin' back toLaramie where ma is. And we're goin' on the _train_. Aunt Jane shecried. But shucks! We ain't goin' to stay in Laramie all the time. Dadsays if things rib up right, me and ma and him are comin' back to livein the valley. Don't you wish you was goin', Dorry?"

  "You run along and tell Aunt Jane we're coming," said Bartley.

  Little Jim hesitated. But then, Mr. Bartley had bought him that newrifle. Jimmy pattered down the path to the lighted doorway, deliveredhis message, and pattered back again toward the gate, wasting no time_en route_. Halfway to the gate he stopped. Mr. Bartley was standingvery close to Dorry--in fact, Jimmy was amazed to see him kiss her.Jimmy turned and trotted back to the house.

  "Shucks!" he exclaimed. "I thought he liked guns and things more'ngirls!"

  But Jimmy was too loyal to tell what he had seen. After all, Dorry wasmighty fine, for a girl. She could ride and shoot, and she never told onhim when he had done wrong.

  With a skip and a hop Jimmy burst into the room. "We're goin' on the_train_," he declared. "Ain't we, dad?"

  Dorothy and Bartley came in. Bartley glanced at Cheyenne, hesitated, andthen thrust out his hand.

  "Good luck to your new venture," he said heartily.

  "Same to you, pardner!" And Cheyenne included Dorry in his glance.

  "I want to ask Aunt Jane's advice," stated Bartley.

  "Then," said Cheyenne, "I reckon me and Frank and Jimmy'll step out andtake a look at the stars. She's a wonderful night."