sentences out of the girl." Senator Warfield rode through just behind
Lone and reined close, lowering his voice. "No use in letting this get
out," he said confidentially. "It may be that the girl's dementia is
some curable nervous disorder, and you know what an injustice it would
be if it became noised around that the girl is crazy. How much English
does that Swede know?"
"Not any more than he needs to get along on," Lone answered,
instinctively on guard. "He's all right--just a good-natured kinda cuss
that wouldn't harm anybody."
He glanced uneasily at the house, hoping that Lorraine was safe inside,
yet fearing that she would not be safe anywhere. Sane or insane, she was
in danger if Senator Warfield considered her of sufficient importance to
bring him out on horseback to the Quirt ranch. Lone knew how seldom the
owner of the Sawtooth rode on horseback since he had high-powered cars
to carry him in soft comfort.
"I'll go see if she's home," Lone explained, and reined John Doe toward
the house.
"I'll go with you," Senator Warfield offered suavely and kept alongside.
"Frank Johnson was killed, you say? How did it happen?"
"Fell off his wagon and broke his neck," Lone told him laconically.
"Brit's pretty sick yet; I don't guess you'd better go inside. There's
been a lot of excitement already for the old man. He only sees folks
he's used to having around."
With that he dismounted and went into the house, leaving Senator
Warfield without an excuse for following. Swan and Hawkins came up and
waited with him, and Jim opened the door of the bunk-house and looked
out at them without showing enough interest to come forward and speak to
them.
In a few minutes Lone returned, to find Senator Warfield trying to
glean information from Swan, who seemed willing enough to give it if
only he could find enough English words to form a complete sentence.
Swan, then, had availed himself of Lone's belittlement of him and was
living down to it. But Lone gave him scant attention just then.
"She hasn't come back. Brit's worked himself up into a fever, and I
didn't dare tell him she wasn't with me. I said she's all tired out and
sick and wanted to stay up by the spring awhile, where it's cool. I said
she was with me, and the sun was too much for her, and she sent him word
that Jim would take care of him awhile longer. So you better move down
this way, or he'll hear us talking and want to know what's up."
"You're sure she isn't here?" Senator Warfield's voice held suspicion.
"You can ask Jim, over here. He's been on hand right along. And if you
can't take his word for it, you can go look in the shack--but in that
case Brit's liable to take a shot at yuh, Senator. He's on the warpath
right, and he's got his gun right handy."
"It is not necessary to search the cabin," Senator Warfield answered
stiffly. "Unless she is in a stupor we'd have heard her yelling long
ago. The girl was a raving maniac when she appeared at the Sawtooth.
It's for her good that I'm thinking."
Jim stepped out of the doorway and came slowly toward them, eyeing the
two from the Sawtooth curiously while he chewed tobacco. His hands
rested on his hips, his thumbs hooked inside his overalls; a gawky pose
that fitted well his colorless personality,--and left his right hand
close to his six-shooter.
"Cor'ner comin'?" he asked, nodding at the two who were almost strangers
to him. "Sorry, he got back two hours ago, and he said the cor'ner would
be right out. But he ain't showed up yet."
Senator Warfield said that he felt sure the coroner would be prompt and
then questioned Jim artfully about "Miss Hunter."
"Raine? She went fer a ride. I loaned her my horse, and she ain't back
yet. I told her to take a good long ride and settle her nerves. She
acted kinda edgy."
Senator Warfield and his foreman exchanged glances for which Lone could
have killed them.
"You noticed, then, that she was not quite--herself?" Senator Warfield
used his friendly, confidential tone on Jim.
"We-ell--yes, I did. I thought a ride would do her good, mebby. She's
been sticking here on the job purty close. And Frank getting killed
kinda--upset her, I guess."
"That's it--that's what I was saying. Disordered nerves, which rest and
proper medical care will soon remedy." He looked at Lone. "Her horse was
worn out when she reached the ranch. Does she know this country well?
She started this way, and she should have been here some time ago. We
thought it best to ride after her, but there was some delay in getting
started. Hawkins' horse broke away and gave us some trouble catching
him, so the girl had quite a start. But with her horse fagged as it was,
we had no idea that we would fail to get even a sight of her. She may
have wandered off on some other trail, in which case her life as well as
her reason is in danger."
Lone did not answer at once. It had occurred to him that Senator
Warfield knew where Lorraine was at that minute, and that he might be
showing this concern for the effect it would have on his hearers. He
looked at him speculatively.
"Do you think we ought to get out and hunt for her?" he asked.
"I certainly think some one ought to. We can't let her wander around the
country in that condition. If she is not here, she is somewhere in the
hills, and she should be found."
"She sure ain't here," Jim asserted convincingly. "I been watching for
the last two hours, expecting every minute she'd show up. I'd a been
kinda oneasy, myself, but Snake's dead gentle, and she's a purty fair
rider fer a girl."
"Then we'll have to find her. Lone, can you come and help?"
"The Swede and me'll both help," Lone volunteered. "Jim and Sorry can
wait here for the coroner. We ought to find her without any trouble,
much. Swan, I'll get you that tobacco first and see if Brit needs
anything."
He started to the house, and Swan followed him aimlessly, his long
strides bringing him close to Lone before they reached the door.
"What do you make of this new play?" Lone muttered cautiously when he
saw Swan's shadow move close to his own.
"By golly, it's something funny about it. You stick with them, Loney,
and find out. I'm taking Al's trail with Yack. You fix it." And he
added whimsically, "Not so much tobacco, Lone. I don't eat it or smoke
it ever in my life."
His voice was very Swedish, which was fortunate, because Senator
Warfield appeared softly behind him and went into the house. Swan was
startled, but he hadn't much time to worry over the possibility of
having been overheard. Brit's voice rose in a furious denunciation of
Bill Warfield, punctuated by two shots and followed almost immediately
by the senator.
"My God, the whole family's crazy!" Warfield exclaimed, when he had
reached the safety of the open air. "You're right, Lone. I thought I'd
be neighborly enough to ask what I could do for him, and he tried to
kill me!"
Lone merely grunted and gave Swan the tobacco.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"I THINK AL WOODRUFF'S GOT HER"
There was no opportunity for further conference. Senator Warfield showed
no especial interest in Swan, and the Swede was permitted without
comment to take his dog and strike off up the ridge. Jim and Sorry were
sent to look after Brit, who was still shouting vain threats against the
Sawtooth, and the three men rode away together. Warfield did not suggest
separating, though Lone expected him to do so, since one man on a trail
was as good as three in a search of this kind.
He was still inclined to doubt the whole story. He did not believe that
Lorraine had been to the Sawtooth, or that she had raved about anything.
She had probably gone off by herself to cry and to worry over her
troubles,--hurt, too, perhaps, because Lone had left the ranch that
morning without a word with her first. He believed the story of her
being insane had been carefully planned, and that Warfield had perhaps
ridden over in the hope that they would find her alone; though with
Frank dead on the ranch that would be unlikely. But to offset that,
Lone's reason told him that Warfield had probably not known that Frank
was dead. That had been news to him--or had it? He tried to remember
whether Warfield had mentioned it first and could not. Too many
disturbing emotions had held him lately; Lone was beginning to feel the
need of a long, quiet pondering over his problems. He did not feel sure
of anything except the fact that the Quirt was like a drowning man
struggling vainly against the whirlpool that is sucking him slowly
under.
One thing he knew, and that was his determination to stay with these two
of the Sawtooth until he had some definite information; until he saw
Lorraine or knew that she was safe from them. Like a weight pressing
harder and harder until one is crushed beneath it, their talk of
Lorraine's insanity forced fear into his soul. They could do just what
they had talked of doing. He himself had placed that weapon in their
hands when he took her to the Sawtooth delirious and told of wilder
words and actions. Hawkins and his wife would swear away her sanity if
they were told to do it, and there were witnesses in plenty who had
heard him call her crazy that first morning.
They could do it; they could have her committed to an asylum, or at
least to a sanitarium. He did not underestimate the influence of Senator
Warfield. And what could the Quirt do to prevent the outrage? Frank
Johnson was dead; Brit was out of the fight for the time being; Jim and
Sorry were the doggedly faithful sort who must have a leader before they
can be counted upon to do much.
Swan,--Lone lifted his head and glanced toward the ridge when he thought
of Swan. There, indeed, he might hope for help. But Swan was out here,
away from reinforcements. He was trailing Al Woodruff, and when he found
him,--that might be the end of Swan. If not, Warfield could hurry
Lorraine away before Swan could act in the matter. A whimsical thought
of Swan's telepathic miracle crossed his mind and was dismissed as an
unseemly bit of foolery in a matter so grave as Lorraine's safety. And
yet--the doctor _had_ received a message that he was wanted at the
Quirt, and he had arrived before his patient. There was no getting
around that, however impossible it might be. No one could have foreseen
Brit's accident; no one save the man who had prepared it for him, and he
would be the last person to call for help.
"We followed the girl's horse-tracks almost to Thurman's place and lost
the trail there." Warfield turned in the saddle to look at Lone riding
behind him. "We made no particular effort to trace her from there,
because we were sure she would come on home. I'm going back that far,
and we'll pick up the trail, unless we find her at the ranch. She may
have hidden herself away. You can't," he added, "be sure of anything
where a demented person is concerned. They never act according to logic
or reason, and it is impossible to make any deductions as to their
probable movements."
Lone nodded, not daring to trust his tongue with speech just then. If he
were to protect Lorraine later on, he knew that he must not defend her
now.
"Hawkins told me she had some sort of hallucination that she had seen a
man killed at Rock City, when she was wandering around in that storm,"
Warfield went on in a careless, gossipy tone. "Just what was that
about, Lone? You're the one who found her and took her in to the ranch,
I believe. She somehow mixed her delusion up with Fred Thurman, didn't
she?"
Lone made a swift decision. He was afraid to appear to hesitate, so he
laughed his quiet little chuckle while he scrambled mentally for a
plausible lie.
"I don't know as she done that, quite," he drawled humorously. "She was
out of her head, all right, and talking wild, but I laid it to her being
sick and scared. She said a man was shot, and that she saw it happen.
And right on top of that she said she didn't think they ought to stage a
murder and a thunderstorm in the same scene, and thought they ought to
save the thunder and lightning for the murderer to make his getaway by.
She used to work for the moving pictures, and she was going on about
some wild-west picture she thought she was acting a part in.
"Afterwards I told her what she'd been saying, and she seemed to kinda
remember it, like a bad dream she'd had. She told me she thought the
villain in one of the plays she acted in had pulled off a stage murder
in them rocks. We figured it out together that the first crack of
thunder had sounded like shooting, and that's what started her off. She
hadn't ever been in a real thunderstorm before, and she's scared of
them. I know that one we had the other day like to of scared her into
hysterics. I laughed at her and joshed her out of it."
"Didn't she ever say anything about Fred Thurman, then?" Warfield
persisted.
"Not to me, she didn't. Fred was dragged that night, and if she heard
about a man being killed during that same storm, she might have said
something about it. She might have wondered if that was what she saw. I
don't know. She's pretty sensible--when she ain't crazy."
Warfield turned his horse, as if by accident, so that he was brought
face to face with Lone. His eyes searched Lone's face pitilessly.
"Lone, you know how ugly a story can grow if it's left alone. Do _you_
believe that girl actually saw a man shot? Or do you think she was
crazy?"
Lone met Warfield's eyes fairly. "I think she was plumb out of her
head," he answered. And he added with just the right degree of
hesitation: "I don't think she's what you'd call right crazy, Mr.
Warfield. Lots of folks go outa their heads and talk crazy when they
get a touch of fever, and they get over it again."
"Let's have a fair understanding," Warfield insisted. "Do you think I am
justified in the course I am taking, or don't you?"
"Hunting her up? Sure, I do! If you and Hawkins rode on home, I'd keep
on hunting till I located her. If she's been raving around like you say,
she's in no shape to be riding these hills alone. She's got to be taken
care of."
Warfield gave him another sharp scrutiny and rode on. "I always prefer
to deal in the open with every one," he averred. "It may not be my
affair, strictly speaking. The Quirt and the Sawtooth aren't very
intimate. But the Quirt's having trouble enough to warrant any one in
lending a hand; and common humanity demands that I take charge of the
girl until she is herself again."
"I don't know as any one would question that," Lone assented and ground
his teeth afterwards because he must yield even the appearance of
approval. He knew that Warfield must feel himself in rather a desperate
position, else he would never trouble to make his motives so clear to
one of his men. Indeed, Warfield had protested his unselfishness in the
matter too much and too often to have deceived the dullest man who owned
the slightest suspicion of him. Lone could have smiled at the sight of
Senator Warfield betraying himself so, had smiling been possible to him
then.
He dropped behind the two at the first rough bit of trail and felt
stealthily to test the hanging of his six-shooter, which he might need
in a hurry. Those two men would never lay their hands on Lorraine Hunter
while he lived to prevent it. He did not swear it to himself; he had no
need.
They rode on to Fred Thurman's ranch, dismounted at Warfield's
suggestion--which amounted to a command--and began a careful search of
the premises. If Warfield had felt any doubt of Lone's loyalty he
appeared to have dismissed it from his mind, for he sent Lone to the
stable to search there, while he and Hawkins went into the house. Lone
guessed that the two felt the need of a private conference after their
visit to the Quirt, but he could see no way to slip unobserved to the
house and eavesdrop, so he looked perfunctorily through all the sheds
and around the depleted haystacks,--wherever a person could find a
hiding place. He was letting himself down through the manhole in the
stable loft when Swan's voice, lowered almost to a whisper, startled
him.
"What the hell!" Lone ejaculated under his breath. "I thought you were
on another trail!"
"That trail leads here, Lone. Did you find Raine yet?"
"Not a sign of her. Swan, I don't know what to make of it. I did think
them two were stalling. I thought they either hadn't seen her at all, or
had got hold of her and were trying to square themselves on the insanity
dodge. But if they know where she is, they're acting damn queer, Swan.
They _want_ her. They haven't got her yet."
"They're in the house," Swan reassured Lone. "I heard them walking. You
don't think they've got her there, Lone?"
"If they have," gritted Lone, "they made the biggest blunder of their
lives bringing me over here. No, I could see they wanted to get off
alone and hold a powwow. They expected she'd be at the Quirt."
"I think Al Woodruff, he's maybe got her, then," Swan declared, after
studying the matter briefly. "All the way he follows the trail over
here, Lone. I could see you sometimes in the trail. He was keeping hid
from the trail--I think because Raine was riding along, this morning,
and he's following. The tracks are that old."
"They said they had trailed Raine this far, coming from the Sawtooth,"
Lone told him worriedly. "What do you think Al would want----"
"Don't she see him shoot Fred Thurman? By golly, I'm scared for that
girl, Loney!"
Lone stared at him. "He wouldn't dare!"
"A coward is a brave man when you scare him bad enough," Swan stated
flatly. "I'm careful always when I corner a coward."
"Al ain't a coward. You've got him wrong."
"Maybe, but he kills like a coward would kill, and he's scared he will
be caught. Warfield, he's scared, too. You watch him, Lone.
"Now I tell you what I do. Yack, he picks up the trail from here to
where you can follow easy. We know two places where he didn't go with
her, and from here is two more trails he could take. But one goes to the
main road, and he don't take that one, I bet you. I think he takes that
girl up Spirit Canyon, maybe. It's woods and wild country in a few
miles, and plenty of places to hide, and good chances for getting out
over the top of the divide.
"I'm going to my cabin, and you don't say anything when I leave.
Warfield, he don't want the damn Swede hanging around. So you go with
them, Loney. This is to what you call a show-down."
"We'll want the dog," Lone told him, but Swan shook his head. Hawkins
and Warfield had come from the house and were approaching the stable.
Swan looked at Lone, and Lone went forward to meet them.
"The Swede followed along on the ridge, and he didn't see anything," he
volunteered, before Warfield could question him. "We might put his dog
on the trail and see which way she went from here."
Warfield thought that a good idea. He was so sure that Lorraine must be
somewhere within a mile or two of the place that he seemed to think the
search was practically over when Jack, nosing out the trail of Al
Woodruff, went trotting toward Spirit Canyon.
"Took the wrong turn after she left the corrals here," Warfield
commented relievedly. "She wouldn't get far, up this way."
"There's the track of two horses," Hawkins said abruptly. "That there is
the girl's horse, all right--there's a hind shoe missing. We saw where
her horse had cast a shoe, coming over Juniper Ridge. But there's
another horse track."
Lone bit his lip. It was the other horse that Jack had been trailing so
long. "There was a loose horse hanging around Thurman's place," he said
casually. "It's him, tagging along, I reckon."
"Oh," said Hawkins. "That accounts for it."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SWAN CALLS FOR HELP
Past the field where the horses were grazing and up the canyon on the
side toward Skyline Meadow, that lay on a shoulder of Bear Top, the dog
nosed unfalteringly along the trail. Now and then he was balked when the
hoofprints led him to the bank of Granite Creek, but not for long. Jack
appeared to understand why his trailing was interrupted and sniffed the
bank until he picked up the scent again.
"Wonder if she changed off and rode that loose horse," Hawkins said
once, when the tracks were plain in the soft soil of the creek bank.
"She might, and lead that horse she was on."
"She wouldn't know enough. She's a city girl," Lone replied, his heart
heavy with fear for Lorraine.
"Well, she ain't far off then," Hawkins comforted himself. "Her horse
acted about played out when she hit the ranch. She had him wet from his
ears to his tail, and he was breathin' like that Ford at the ranch. If
that's a sample of her riding, she ain't far off."
"Crazy--to ride up here. Keep your eyes open, boys. We must find her,
whatever we do." Warfield gazed apprehensively at the rugged steeps on
either hand and at the timber line above them. "From here on she
couldn't turn back without meeting us--if I remember this country
correctly. Could she, Hawkins?"
"Not unless she turned off, up here a mile or two, into that gulch that
heads into Skyline," said Hawkins. "There's a stock trail part way down
from the top where it swings off from the divide to Wilder Creek."
Swan, walking just behind Hawkins, moved up a pace.
"I could go on Skyline with Yack, and I could come down by those trail,"
he suggested diffidently, Swedishly, yet with a certain compelling
confidence. "What you think?"
"I think that's a damned good idea for a square head," Hawkins told him,
and repeated it to Warfield, who was riding ahead.
"Why, yes. We don't need the dog, or the man either. Go up to the head
of the gulch and keep your eyes open, Swan. We'll meet you up here. You
know the girl, don't you?"
"Yas, Ay know her pretty good," grinned Swan.
"Well, don't frighten her. Don't let her see that you think anything is
wrong--and don't say anything about us. We made the mistake of
discussing her condition within her hearing, and it is possible that she
understood enough of what we were saying to take alarm. You understand?
Don't tell girl she's crazy." He tapped his head to make his meaning
plainer. "Don't tell girl we're looking for her. You understand?"
"Yas, Ay know English pretty good. Ay don't tell too moch." His cheerful
smile brought a faint response from Senator Warfield. At Lone he did not
look at all. "I go quick. I'm good climber like a sheep," he boasted,
and whistling to Jack, he began working his way up a rough,
brush-scattered ledge to the slope above.
Lone watched him miserably, wishing that Swan was not quite so matter of
fact in his man-chasing. If Al Woodruff, for some reason which Lone
could not fathom, had taken Lorraine and forced her to go with him into
the wilderness, Warfield and Hawkins would be his allies the moment
they came up with him. Lone was no coward, but neither was he a fool.
Hawkins had never distinguished himself as a fighter, but Lone had
gleaned here and there a great deal of information about Senator
Warfield in the old days when he had been plain Bill. When Lorraine and
Al were overtaken, then Lone would need to show the stuff that was in
him. He only hoped he would have time, and that luck would be with him.
"If they get me, it'll be all off with her," he worried, as he followed
the two up the canyon. "Swan would have been a help. But he thinks more
of catching Al than he does of helping Raine."
He looked up and saw that already Swan was halfway up the canyon's steep
side, making his way through the brush with more speed than Lone could
have shown on foot in the open, unless he ran. The sight heartened Lone
a little. Swan might have some plan of his own,--an ambush, possibly. If
he would only keep along within rifle shot and remain hidden, he would
show real brains, Lone thought. But Swan, when Lone looked up again, was
climbing straight away from the little searching party; and even though
he seemed tireless on foot, he could not perform miracles.