The Free Range

by Francis William Sullivan

  CHAPTER XIV

  SENTENCED

  Everybody at the Bar T ranch house was laboring under suppressedexcitement. It was now the middle of June when the yearly round-up shouldbe under way, yet, owing to the invasion of the sheep and the recentrustler troubles, the cowboys had not been free to undertake this task.

  On other ranches this spring work was well advanced, and the fact that theBar T had not yet begun was a source of constant worry to Bissell andStelton. The former, when he had sent out his call for other cowmen of theregion, had encountered great difficulty in getting his neighbors to giveup their time to the disposal of Bud Larkin's case.

  At last, however, ten owners, impatient at the summons and anxious toreturn as quickly as possible to their work, had ridden in, some of themalone and others with a cowboy taken from the round-up.

  Since the Bar T ranch house was incapable of accommodating them all, thepunchers had been ousted from their bunk-house and the structure givenover to the visitors.

  The sudden disappearance of the Chinese cook had added to Bissell'stroubles and shamed the hospitality of his home. This situation had beenrelieved temporarily by the labors of Mrs. Bissell and Juliet until anincompetent cowboy had been pressed into service at an exorbitant figure.

  Therefore it was with short temper and less patience that Bissell beganwhat might be called the trial of Larkin. The meeting-place of the men wasunder a big cottonwood that stood by the bank of the little stream curvingpast the Bar T.

  As each man arrived from his home ranch he was made acquainted with thesituation as it stood, and one afternoon Larkin was brought out from hisroom to appear before the tribunal. The owners were determined to end thematter that day, mete out punishment, and ride back to their own ranchesin the morning.

  It was a circle of stern-faced, solemn men that Larkin faced under thecottonwood tree, and as he looked at one after another, his heart sank,for there appeared very little of the quality of mercy in any of them.Knowing as he did the urgency that was drawing them home again, he fearedthat the swiftness of judgment would be tempered with very little reason.

  Bissell as head of the organization occupied a chair, while at each sideof him five men lounged on the grass, their guns within easy reach. Larkinwas assigned to a seat facing them all, and, looking them over, recognizedone or two. There was Billy Speaker, of the Circle-Arrow, whom he had oncemet, and Red Tarken, of the M Square, unmistakable both because of hissize and his flaming hair.

  "Now, Larkin," began Bissell, "these men know what you've been tryin' todo to my range--"

  "Do they know what you did to my sheep?" interrupted Bud crisply.

  Bissell's face reddened at this thrust, for, deep down, he knew that thestampede was an utterly despicable trick, and he was not over-anxious tohave it paraded before his neighbors, some of whom had ridden far at hisrequest.

  "Shut yore mouth," he snarled, "an' don't yuh open it except to answerquestions."

  "Oh, no, yuh can't do that, Bissell," and blond Billy Speaker shook hishead. "Yuh got to give 'im a chance to defend himself. Now we're here wewant to get all the facts. What did yuh do to his sheep, Beef? I neverheard."

  "I run a few of 'em into the Little River, if yore any happier knowin',"snapped Bissell, glowering on Speaker.

  Larkin grinned.

  "Two thousand of 'em," he volunteered. There was no comment.

  "These gents know," went on Bissell, after a short pause, "that yuh weretwo days with them rustlers and that yuh can tell who they are if yuhwill. Now will yuh tell us how you got in with 'em in the first place?"

  Bud began at the time of the crossing of the Big Horn and with much detaildescribed how he had outwitted the Bar T punchers with the hundred sheepunder Pedro, while the rest of the flock went placidly north. His mannerof address was good, he talked straightforwardly, and with conviction and,best of all, had a broad sense of humor that vastly amused these cowmen.

  Sympathetic though they were with Bissell's cause, Larkin's story of how adespised sheepman had outwitted the cattle-king brought grins andchuckles.

  "I allow yuh better steer clear o' them sheep, Bissell," suggested one mandrolly. "First thing yuh know this feller'll tell yuh he's bought the BarT away from yuh without yore knowin' it. Better look up yore land grantto-night."

  By this time Bissell had become a caldron of seething rage. His handactually itched to grab his gun and teach Larkin a lesson. But hisposition as chairman of the gathering prevented this, although he knewthat plains gossip was being made with every word spoken. Among the cowmenabout him were some whose ill success or smaller ranches had made themjealous, and, in his mind, he could see them retailing with much relishwhat a fool Larkin had made of him. He knew he would meet with remindersof this trial during the rest of his life.

  However, he stuck to his guns.

  "Now what we want to know, young feller, is this: the names an'descriptions of them rustlers."

  "I will give them to you gladly and will supply men to help run them downat my own expense if you will let the rest of my sheep come north on yourrange. Not only that, but I will not ask any damages for the animals youhave already killed. Now, men," Larkin added, turning to the others andwith a determined ring in his voice, "I want peace. This fighting iscutting our own throats and we are losing money by the hour.

  "The range is free, as all of you know; there is a law against fencing it,and that means that no grangers can settle here and make it pay--theanimals would eat all their unfenced farm truck. I have a ranch in Montanawith about three thousand sheep on it. I tried to buy more there, butcouldn't.

  "Therefore, I had to come down south and 'walk' them north. Now I don'tlike to fight anybody, chiefly because it costs too much; but in a caselike this, when I find a dog in the manger"--he looked directly atBissell--"I make it a principle to kick that dog out of the manger and useit.

  "I am just as much of an American as any of you, and Americans never had ahabit of letting other people walk all over them. Now you men can doanything with me you want--I can't prevent you. But I can warn you that ifI am judged in any way it will be the worst job the cowmen of Wyoming everdid.

  "Understand, this isn't a threat, it's just a statement. Because I refuseto turn in and help that man, who has done his best to ruin me, he wantsme to suffer the same penalty as a criminal. Now I leave it to you. Has hemuch of a case?"

  Bud, who had risen in the fervor of his speech, sat down and looked at hishearers. Never in his life had he pleaded for anything, but in this momentnecessity had made him eloquent. He had hardly taken his seat when MikeStelton strolled over and sat down on the grass.

  For a few minutes there was silence as the men, slow of thought, revolvedwhat Larkin had said. Bissell, ill-concealing his impatience, awaitedtheir comments anxiously. At last Billy Speaker remarked:

  "I can't see your bellyache at all, Bissell. It seems to me you've actedpretty ornery."

  "I have, eh?" roared Beef, stung by this cool opinion. "Would yuh letsheep go up yore range? Tell me that, would yuh?"

  "I allow I might manage," was the contemptuous retort. "They're closefeeders on the march, an' don't spread out noways far."

  Bissell choked with fury, but subsided when another man spoke.

  "I figure we're missin' the point, fellers," he said. "This hereassociation of our'n was made for the purpose of doin' just what Bissellhas been tryin' to do--that is, keep the range clear for the cows. Wedon't care what it is that threatens, whether it's sheep, or wolves, orrustlers, or prairie fires. This association is supposed to pertect thecows.

  "Now I 'low that Mr. Larkin has had his troubles right enough, but that'shis fault. You warned him in time. I'm plumb regretful he's lost hissheep, but that don't let him out of tellin' us where them rustlers are.It's a pretty mean cuss that'll cost us thousands of dollars a year justfor spite or because he can't drive a hard bargain.

  "Up on my place I've lost a hundred calves already, but I'd be mighty gladto lose a hundred mor
e if I could see the dirty dogs that stole 'emkickin' from a tree-limb. An' I'm in favor of a tree-limb for anybody whowon't tell."

  "Yore shore gettin' some long-winded, Luby," remarked a tall man whosmoked a pipe, "an' likewise yore angry passions has run away with yoresense. Yuh can't string a man up because he won't talk; 'cause if yuh dowe'll sick the deputy sheriff on yuh an' mebbe you'll go to jail."

  The speaker rolled a droll, twinkling eye at Bissell and the wholegathering burst into a great guffaw at his expense. This was all the moreeffective since Bissell had decorated the outside of his vest with thenickel-plated star of his authority.

  At this sally he nearly had apoplexy and bawled out for a drink, whichsomebody accommodatingly supplied from a flask, although such things wererarely carried.

  When the merriment had subsided a fourth man volunteered the opinion that,although there was nothing that could force Bud to tell what he knew,still, such a defiance of their organization should not go unpunished. Thefact that the cowmen were opposed to the entrance of sheep into theterritory was enough excuse, he thought, to make an example of Bud Larkinand thus keep other ambitious sheepmen away from the range in thissection.

  One after another of the men gave their opinions and finally lined up intwo camps, the first resolved on punishing Larkin in some manner, and thesecond in favor of letting him go with a warning that he must take theconsequences if he ever attempted to walk any more sheep over the Bar Trange or any other range of the association.

  As has been said, the right of justice and fair-dealing was the verybackbone of the cattle-raising industry, and owners depended almostentirely upon other men's recognition of it to insure them any profits inthe fall.

  For this reason six of the eleven men were in favor of letting Larkin go.The matter rested with the majority vote and was about to be put to thefinal ballot when Mike Stelton got on his feet and asked if he might put afew questions.

  Bissell, only too eager for any delay or interruption that might changethe sentiment of the majority, granted the request.

  Stelton's dark face was illumined for a moment with a crafty smile, andthen he said:

  "Yuh know a man by the name of Smithy Caldwell, don't yuh?"

  "Yes," said Bud, cautiously, not seeing quite where the question mightlead.

  "He was in that stampede with yuh, wasn't he?"

  "Yes."

  "He was one of the party sent out to string yuh up, wasn't he?"

  This time there was a long hesitation as Bud tried vainly to catch thedrift of the other's interrogation.

  "Yes," he answered slowly at last.

  "Well, then, he must have been one of the rustlers," cried Stelton in atriumphant voice, turning to the rest of the men, who were listeningintently.

  "All right, I admit it," remarked Larkin coolly. "I don't see where thatis taking you."

  "Just keep yore shirt on an' yuh will in a minute," retorted Stelton."Now just one or two more questions.

  "Do you remember the first night Caldwell came to the Bar T ranch?"

  Larkin did not answer. A premonition that he was in the toils of this manconcerning that dark thing in his past life smote him with a chill ofterror. He remembered wondering that very night whether or not Stelton hadbeen listening to his talk with Caldwell. Then the recollection suddenlycame to him that, even though he had heard, the foreman could not exposethe thing that was back of it all. Once more he regained his equilibrium.

  "Yes, I remember that night," he said calmly.

  "All right!" snapped Stelton, his words like pistol-shots. "Then yuhremember that Smithy Caldwell got five hundred dollars from yuh after atalk by the corral, don't you?"

  "Yes," replied Larkin, in immense relief that Stelton had not mentionedthe blackmail.

  "Well, then, gents," cried the foreman with the air of a lawyer making agreat point, "yuh have the admission from Larkin that he gave moneysecretly to one of the rustlers. If that ain't connivance and ackchulsupport I'm a longhorn heifer."

  He sat down on the grass triumphantly.

  It seemed to Bud Larkin as though some gigantic club had descended on thetop of his head and numbed all his senses. Careful as he had been, thiswily devil had led him into a labyrinthic maze of questions, the end ofwhich was a concealed precipice. And, like one of his own sheep, he hadleaped over it at the leader's call!

  He looked at the faces of his judges. They were all dark now andperplexed. Even Billy Speaker seemed convinced. Bud admitted to himselfthat his only chance was to refute Stelton's damaging inference. But how?

  The cowmen were beginning to talk in low tones among themselves and therewas not much time. Suddenly an idea came. With a difficult effort hecontrolled his nervous trepidation.

  "Men," he said, "Stelton did not pursue his questions far enough."

  "What d'yuh mean by that?" asked Bissell, glaring at him savagely.

  "I mean that he did not ask me what Caldwell actually did with the money Igave him. He made you believe that Smithy used it for the rustlers with myconsent. That is a blamed lie!"

  "What did he do with it?" cried Billy Speaker.

  "Ask Stelton," shouted Bud, suddenly leaping out of his chair andpointing an accusing finger at the foreman. "He seems to know so muchabout everything, ask him!"

  The foreman, dazed by the unexpected attack, turned a surprised andharrowed countenance toward the men as he scrambled to his feet. He castquick, fearful glances in Larkin's direction, as though attempting todiscover how much of certain matters that young man actually knew.

  "Ask him!" repeated Bud emphatically. "There's a fine man to listen to,coming here with a larkum story that he can't follow up."

  "Come on, Stelton, loosen yore jaw," suggested Billy Speaker. "What didthis here Caldwell do with the money?"

  Stelton, his face black with a cloud of rage and disappointment, glaredfrom one to another of the men, who were eagerly awaiting his replies.Larkin, watching him closely, saw again those quick, furtive flicks of theeye in his direction, and the belief grew upon him that Stelton wassuspicious and afraid of something as yet undreamed of by the rest. Larkindetermined to remember the fact.

  "I don't know what he done with the money," growled the foreman at last,admitting his defeat.

  "Why did you give Caldwell five hundred in the first place, Larkin?" askedBissell suddenly.

  "That is a matter between himself and me only," answered Bud freezingly,while at the same time he sat in fear and trembling that Stelton wouldleap before the cowmen at this new cue and retail all the conversation ofthat night at the corral.

  But for some reason the foreman let the opportunity pass and Bud wonderedto himself what this sudden silence might mean.

  He knew perfectly well that no gentle motive was responsible for thefellow's attitude, and wrote the occurrence down on the tablets of hismemory for further consideration at a later date.

  After this there was little left to be done. Stelton's testimony hadfailed in its chief purpose, to compass the death of Larkin, but it hadnot left him clear of the mark of suspicion and he himself had little ideaof absolute acquittal. Under the guard of his sharpshooting cow-puncher hewas led back to his room in the ranch house to await the final judgment.

  In an hour it was delivered to him, and in all the history of the rangewars between the sheep and cattle men there is recorded no strangersentence. In a land where men were either guilty or innocent, and,therefore, dead or alive, it stands alone.

  It was decided by the cowmen that, as a warning and example to other sheepowners, Bud Larkin should be tied to a tree and quirted, the maximum ofthe punishment being set at thirty blows and the sentence to be carriedout at dawn.