"The Chief says he does not know, but be on your guard."
Bill and Jim exchanged glances. Surely it was not for this that
Tabywana had paid this formal visit. But Jim, who knew the wary, slow
methods of the Indians, and who felt that something of more importance
was coming, looked straight at Tabywana, as he asked, "Is that all?"
Tabywana understood more of the language of his conquerors than he
admitted, and quickly answered the question through Baco. "No,
something else--very important." Then Tabywana himself added, "Bud
Hardy is here."
At these words Bill, who had been listening listlessly, turned sharply
to watch the Indian's face. In the crafty, restrained expression he
could read the effort at control that the Chief was exercising as he
emitted the sentences Baco translated for him to Jim. "That is
bad--very bad. Trouble will follow. He says Hardy has been talking and
drinking a great deal, and has begun to talk about the death of Cash
Hawkins, and Hardy will, he is afraid, soon arrest some one."
Jim did not answer. Tabywana moved a little so that he could watch Jim.
His face wore an expression of great curiosity as to how his words would
be received by Jim. The Chief had never known the exact truth
concerning the killing of Cash Hawkins, but he had often guessed that
Nat-u-ritch and Jim did. Jim did not answer. Bill spoke to him as
Baco, having performed his duty, sank back and began playing with some
straws.
"Jim, the old Chief is trying to tell you that Hardy has been bragging
that he was going to arrest the fellow that killed Cash Hawkins." Jim
gave no sign that the news in the least disturbed him.
"Tell the old Chief it's the fire-water that's talking."
Bill sank deep into a reverie. So Bud was up to some devilment--but
what? Then he heard the words:
"The Chief says that Hardy is no friend of yours," and Jim's quick
reply, "Tell the Chief I didn't kill Cash Hawkins, so I'm not afraid of
arrest." Jim smiled reassuringly at the Chief, who constantly watched
him. After all, what could Bud do to Jim? "He's a blow-hard, anyway,"
Bill muttered.
Jim was about to rise and end the interview when, looking cautiously
about him, Tabywana began speaking in a lower tone. Baco translated
without pause the thoughts that were troubling the Indian. "The Chief
thinks that Hardy thinks that maybe Nat-u-ritch killed Cash Hawkins."
Jim only let slip the word "Nat-u-ritch," but his eyes quickly sought
the Indian's, and in them he saw there was fear for the woman. To Bill
this seemed nonsense. There had never been an atom of suspicion
attached to Nat-u-ritch, so he lightly dismissed the idea with a laugh
as he said, "Bud must have been unusual drunk." Bill had never
understood the affair. He now began to feel the old suspicion creeping
back. Had the boss, in self-defence, done the deed? If so, he must
keep his watch all the closer on Bud and his men to see that they left
the ranch as quickly as possible.
Jim quietly and calmly gave this answer to the Chief:
"So Bud thinks Nat-u-ritch killed Cash. Why, there isn't a scrap of
evidence pointing towards Nat-u-ritch. Ask him what makes Bud think
so." This time Jim listened intently for the answer.
"He says he doesn't know. But that Bud Hardy is bad medicine, and he
wants you to make Bud Hardy move on to the next ranch."
Bill grunted his approval at this.
"That is impossible. The Chief knows that we cannot refuse shelter to
the white man."
Bill this time upheld Jim's attitude in maintaining the laws of the
place as he added, "Even though he is a bad man."
Tabywana looked from one to the other. There was a piteous look of
baffled hope on his face. In his heart he was wishing that they would
not take his words of wisdom so lightly, but it was difficult to explain
more to them. Despairingly he offered further advice, and Baco repeated
it for him, but Jim answered:
"The Chief knows that the rights of hospitality are sacred. Besides, I
do not anticipate any trouble."
He rose to his feet. He would be extremely wary of Bud Hardy, but he
felt no great concern. The affair had passed for five years, and it was
simply some drunken bravado on the Sheriff's part that had frightened
the old Chief. He laid his hands on Tabywana's shoulders. For
Nat-u-ritch's father he had a tender regard, and the generous tolerance
he had for, and the defence he constantly made of, the red man's rights,
caused Tabywana to lay aside all cunning in his dealings with Jim, and
to completely surrender his affections to him and the tiny child.
"Baco, tell Tabywana that no harm shall come to Nat-u-ritch while I
live, and say to the Chief he is a good friend and I thank him for
coming, and I would like him to accept this tobacco."
The eternal child in the Indian answered the last words, as Jim handed
him the gayly embroidered pouch, with a quick smile and nod of
appreciation. He was about to protest further, however, when Shorty
interrupted them as he came running in. "A stranger out here wants to
see the boss."
Ah, this was about the ranch, no doubt, so Jim said, "All right, Shorty,
bring him to me."
"All right, boss."
"Bill, show Tabywana on his way," Jim directed, as the Indian seemed
loath to leave him. "Adios amigo," he called to Tabywana, as Bill
gently pushed him away. Baco followed him.
"I beg your pardon. I am looking for Mr. Carston."
Bill amusedly surveyed the new-comer as he answered, "There's Mr.
Carston," and as he disappeared behind the house he muttered to himself,
with a backward glance at the visitor, "Looks as though he blew off a
comic paper."
*CHAPTER XXI*
And it was to this that James Wynnegate had come, was the first thought
of Malcolm Petrie as he surveyed the crude place with its marks of
poverty and failure. Like all those intimate with the Wynnegate family,
he knew of the mysterious disappearance of Jim Wynnegate at the time of
the embezzlement from the Relief Fund. Although his brother, Johnston
Petrie, had been the active adviser of the family, he had personally
known Jim's father, and as he watched Jim now he began to feel a new
interest in him. Since the death of his brother Johnston he had assumed
control of the Kerhill estate. As he studied the worn man who stood in
the strong light of the afternoon, dressed in faded and patched
riding-breeches, with a flannel shirt, and careless kerchief knotted
about his throat, and with roughened hands that showed their service in
manual labor, he thought of him as the soldier he had often seen in the
London world. But could those be the eyes of a man who was hiding from
justice? Again he looked at the slip of paper which was marked, "Jim
Carston, of Carston's Ranch."
Instinctively Jim placed the man who stood before him. Even though he
had never seen him before, the resemblance to his brother, Johnston
Petrie, was unmistakable. The light began to deepen into crimson
shadows, and a stillness hung over the ranch. All the men were away in
their quarters, with Big Bill guarding them so that the boss should not
be disturbed in what he supposed was a possible chance to sell the
place.