THE OUTFIT HUNTS FOR STRAYS
As the group of punchers and the stage neared each other Bill saw two
horsemen ride out into view beside a chaparral half a mile to the
northwest, and he recognized Shields and Charley, who were loping forward
as if to overtake the cowboys, their approach noiseless because of
the deep sand. As the cowboys came nearer Bill recognized them as being
the five worst men of the Cross Bar-8 outfit, and his loyalty to his
new friend was no stronger than his dislike for the newcomers. They
swept up at a canter and stopped abruptly near the front wheel.
"Who was _that?"_ asked Larry Thompson impatiently, with his gloved hand
indicating the direction taken by The Orphan.
"Friend of mine," replied Bill, who was diplomatically pleasant. "Say," he
began, enthusing for effect, "you should have turned up sooner--you missed
a regular circus! We was chased by five Apaches, and my friend cleaned
'em up right, he shore did! You should a seen it. I wouldn't a missed it
for----"
"Cheese it!" relentlessly continued Larry, interrupting the threatened
verbal deluge. "Don't be all day about it, Windy," he cried; "who is he?"
"Why, a friend of mine, Tom Davis," lied Bill. "He just wiped out a bunch
of Apaches, like I was telling you. They was a-chasing me some plentiful
and things was getting real interesting when he chipped in and took a
hand from behind. And he certainly cleaned 'em up brown, he shore did!
Say, I'll bet you, even money, that he can lick the sheriff, or even The
Orphant! He's a holy terror on wheels, that's what he is! Talk about
lightning on the shoot--and he can hit twice in the same place, too,
if he wants to, though there ain't no use of it when he gets there once.
The way he can heave lead is enough to make----"
"Choke it, Bill, choke it!" testily ordered Curley Smith, whose reputation
was unsavory. "Tell us why in h--l he hit th' trail so all-fired hard.
Is yore friend some bashful?" he inquired ironically.
"Well," replied Bill, grinning exasperatingly, "it all depends on how
you looks at it. Women say he is, men swear he ain't; you can take your
choice. But they do say he ain't no ladies' man," he jabbed maliciously,
well knowing that Curley prided himself on being a "lady-killer."
"Th' h--l he ain't!" retorted Curley, with a show of anger, preparing to
argue, which would take time; and Bill was trying to give the outlaw a
good start of them. "Th' h--l he ain't!" he repeated, leaning aggressively
forward. "Yu keep yore opinions close to home, yu big-mouthed coyote!"
"Well, you asked me, didn't you?" replied Bill. "And I told you, didn't I?
He's a good man all around, and say, you should oughter hear him sing!
He's a singer from Singersville, he is. Got the finest voice this side
of Chicago, that's what."
"That's _real_ interesting, and _just_ what we was askin' yu about,"
replied Larry with withering sarcasm. "An' bein' so, Windy, we'll shore
give him all the music he wants to sing to before dark if we gets him.
Yore lying ability is real highfalutin'. Now, suppose yu tell th' truth
before we drag it outen yu--who is he?"
"You ought to know it by this time. Didn't I say his name is Tom Davis?"
he replied, crossing his legs, his face wearing a bored look. "How many
names do you think he's got, anyhow? Ain't one enough?"
"Look a-here!" cried Curley, pushing forward. "Was that th' d----d
Orphant? Come on, now, talk straight!"
"Orphant!" ejaculated Bill in surprise. "Did you say Orphant? Orphant
nothing!" he responded. "What in h--l do you think I'd be lying about
him for? Do I look easy? He ain't no friend of mine! Besides, I wouldn't
know him if I saw him, never having seen that frisky gent. Holy gee! is
the Orphant loose in this country, out here along my route!" he cried,
simulating alarm.
"Well, we'll take a chance anyhow," interposed Jack Kelly. "I can tell
when a fool lies. If it _is_ yore friend Tom Davis we won't hurt him none."
"Honest, you won't hurt him?" asked Bill, grinning broadly. "No, I reckon
_you_ won't, all right," he added, for the sheriff was close at hand
now and was coming up at a walk, and Bill had an abiding faith in that
official. He could be a trifle reckless how he talked now. He laughed
sarcastically and hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest. "Nope,
I reckon _you_ won't hurt him, not a little bit. Not if he knows you're
going to try it on him. And if it should be Mister Orphant, well, I hear
that he's dead sore on being hunted--don't like it for a d----n. I also
hear he drinks blood instead of water and whips five men before breakfast
every morning to get up an appetite. Oh, no, and you won't hurt him
neither, will you?"
"Yore real pert, now _ain't_ yu?" shouted Curley angrily. "Yore a whole
lot sassy an' smart, _ain't_ yu? But if we find that he is that Orphant,
we'll pay yu a visit so yu can explain just why yore so d----d friendly
with him. He seems to have a whole lot of friends about this country, he
does! Even the sheriff won't hurt him. Even th' brave sheriff loses his
trail. Must be somethin' in it for somebody, eh?"
"You'd better tell that to somebody else, the sheriff, for instance. He'd
like to think it over," responded Bill easily. "It's a good chance to
see a little branding, a la Colt, as the French say. Tell it to him, why
don't you?"
"I'm a-tellin' it to yu, _now_, an' I'll tell it to Shields when I sees
him, yu overgrown baby, yu!" shouted Curley, his hand dropping to his
Colt. "Everybody knows it! Everybody is a-talkin' about it! An' we'll
have a new sheriff, too, before long! An' as for yu, if we wasn't in such
a hurry, we'd give yu a lesson yu'd never forget! That d----d Orphant
has got a pull, but we're goin' to give him a push, an' plumb into hell!
Either a pull or our brave sheriff is some ascairt of him! He's a _fine_
sheriff, _he_ is, th' big baby!"
"Pleasant afternoon, Curley," came from behind the group, accompanied by a
soft laugh. The voice was very pleasant and low. Curley stiffened and
turned in his saddle like a flash. The sheriff was smiling, but there was
a glint in his fighting eyes that gave grave warning. The sheriff smiled,
but some men smile when most dangerous, and as an assurance of mastery
and coolness.
"Looking for strays, or is it mavericks?" he casually asked, a question
which left no doubt as to what the smile indicated, for it was a
challenge. Maverick hunting was at that time akin to rustling, and it was
occurring on the range despite the sheriff's best efforts to stop it.
Curley flushed and mumbled something about a missing herd. He had suddenly
remembered the scene at the corral, and it had a most subduing effect on
him. The sheriff regarded him closely and then noted the bullet holes in
the coach. The door of the vehicle was closed, the curtains down, and no
sound came from within it. The baggage flap had settled askew over the
tell-tale trunks and hid them from sight on that side.
"Oh, it's a missing herd this time, is it?" he inquired coolly. "Well,
I reckon you won't find it out here. They don't wander over this layout
while the Limping Water is running."
"Well, we'll take a look down south aways; it won't do no harm now that
we've got this far," replied Larry. "Come on, boys," he cried. "We've
wasted too much time with th' engineer."
"Wait!" commanded the sheriff shortly. "Your foreman made me certain
promises, and I reckon that you are out against orders. I wouldn't be
surprised if Sneed wants you right now."
Larry laughed uneasily. "Oh, I reckon he ain't losin' no sleep about us.
We won't hurt nobody" --whereat Bill grinned. "Come on, fellows."
"Well, I hope you get what you're looking for," replied the sheriff,
whereat Bill snickered outright and winked at Charley, who sat alert
and scowling behind the sheriff, rather hoping for a fight.
Larry flashed the driver a malicious look and, wheeling, cantered south,
followed by his companions. They rode straight for the point at which The
Orphan had disappeared, Bill waving his arms and crying: "Sic 'em." The
chase was on in earnest.
The stage door suddenly flew open with a bang and interrupted the
explanations which Bill was about to offer, and in a flash the sheriff
was almost smothered by the attentions showered on him. Laughing and
struggling and delighted by the surprise, the peace officer could not
get a word edgewise in the rapid-fire exclamations and questions which
were hurled at him from all sides.
But finally he could be heard as he extricated himself from the embraces
of his sisters.
"Well, well!" he cried, smiles wreathing his face as he stepped back to
get a good look at them. "You're a sight to make a sick man well! My,
Helen, but how you've grown! It's been five years since I saw you--and
you were only a schoolgirl in short dresses! And Mary hasn't grown a
bit older, not a bit," addressing the elder of the two. Then he turned to
the friend. "You must pardon me, Miss Ritchie," he said as he shook hands
with her. "But I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time.
And I'm really surprised, too, because I didn't expect you all until the
next stage trip. I had intended meeting you at the train and seeing you
safely to Ford's Station, because the Apaches are out. I couldn't get
word to you in time for you to postpone your visit, so I was going to
take Charley and several more of the boys and escort you home."
Then he looked about for Charley, and found that person engaged in
conversation with Bill as the two examined the bullet-marked stage.
"Come here, Charley!" he cried, beckoning his friend to his side.
"Ladies, this is Charley Winter, and he is a real good boy for a puncher.
Charley, Miss Ritchie, my sisters Mary and Helen. I reckon you ladies are
purty well acquainted with Bill Howland by this time, but in case you
ain't, I'll just say that he is the boss driver of the Southwest, noted
locally for his oppressive taciturnity. I reckon you two boys don't need
any introducing," he laughed.
Then, while the conversation throbbed at fever heat, Bill suddenly
remembered and wheeled toward the sheriff.
"The Orphant!" he yelled in alarm, hoping to gain attention that way.
The sheriff and Charley wheeled, guns in hand, and leaped clear of the
women, their quick eyes glancing from point to point in search of the
danger.
"Where?" cried the sheriff over his shoulder at Bill.
"Down south, ahead of them fool punchers," Bill exclaimed. "He's only
got a little start on 'em. And they know he's there, too. That's why
they're looking for cows on a place cows never go."
Then he related in detail the occurrences of the past few hours, to the
sheriff's great astonishment, and also to his delight at the way it had
turned out. Shields thought of his own personal experiences with the
outlaw, and this put him deeper in debt. His opinion as to there being
much good in his enemy's makeup was strengthened, and he smiled at the
fighting ability and fairness of the man who had declared a truce with
him by the big bowlder on the Apache Trail.
"Oh, I hope they don't catch him!" Helen cried anxiously. "Can't you do
something, James?" she implored. "He saved us, and he is wounded, too!
Can't you stop them?"
The sheriff looked to the south in the direction taken by the
cow-punchers, and a hard light grew in his eyes.
"No, not now," he replied decisively. "They've had too much time now. And
it's safe to bet that they rode at full speed just as soon as they got
out of my sight. They knew Bill would tell me. They're miles away by
this time. But don't you worry, Sis--they won't get him. Five curs never
lived that could catch a timber wolf in his own country--and if they
do catch him, they will wish they hadn't. And I almost hope they win the
chase, for they'll lose their fool lives. It will be a lesson to the
rest of the bullies of the Cross Bar-8--and small loss to the community at
large, eh, Charley?"
"Yore shore right, Jim," replied Charley, smiling at Miss Ritchie.
"Did you ever hear tell of the dog that retrieved a lighted dynamite
cartridge?" he asked her. "No? Well, the dog left for parts unknown."
"That's good, Charley," Shields responded with a laugh. "The dog just
wouldn't mind, and he was only a snarling, no-account cur at that,
wasn't he?" Then he looked at the coach, and his heart softened to the
hunted man. "I can see it all, now," he said slowly. "Those punchers must
have forced him out of the Backbone, and he was getting away when he
saw the plight you were in. By God!" he cried in appreciation of the
act. "It wasn't no one man's work, five Apaches! One man stopping five of
those devils--it was no work for a murderer, not much! It was clean-cut
nerve, and if I ever see him I'll tell him so, too! I'll let him know that
he's got some friends in this country. They can say what they please,
but there's more manhood in him to the square inch than there is in all
the people who cry him down; and who are in a great way responsible for
his being an outlaw. I'm ready to swear that he never wantonly shot a man
down; no, sir, he didn't. And I reckon he never had much show, from
what I know of him."
"Helen was real kind to him," remarked the spinster. "She bathed his wound
and bandaged it. Spoiled her very best skirt, too."
"You're a good girl, Sis," Shields said, looking fondly at the beautiful
girl at his side. His arm went around her shoulder and he affectionately
patted her cheek. "I'm proud of you, and we'll have to see if we can't
get another 'very best skirt,' too." Then he laughed: "But I'll bet he
blesses the warrior who fired that shot--he's not used to having pretty
girls fuss about him."
Mary looked quickly at her sister. "Why, Helen! You've lost your gold pin!
Where do you suppose it has gone? I'll look in the stage for it before we
forget about it. Dear me, dear me," she cried as she entered the vehicle,
"this has indeed been a terrible day!"
Bill grinned and turned toward his team. "I reckon she'll find it some
day," he said in a low aside as he passed the sheriff. "I'll just bet she
does. It'll be in at the finish of a whole lot of things, and people, too,
you bet," he added enigmatically.
Shields looked quickly at the driver, his face brightened and he smiled
knowingly at the words. "I reckon it will; fool punchers, for instance?"
Bill turned his head and one eye closed in an emphatic wink. "Keno," he
replied.
Mary bustled out again, very much agitated. "I can't find it. Where do
you suppose you lost it, dear? I've looked everywhere in the stage."
"Probably back where we stopped before," Helen replied quietly. "We were
so agitated that we would never have noticed it if it slipped down."
"Well--" began Mary.
"No use going back for it, Miss Shields," promptly interrupted Bill from
his high seat. "We just couldn't find it in all that trampled sand, not
if we hunted all week for it with a comb."
"You're right, Bill," gravely responded the sheriff. "We never could."
As they entered the defile of the Backbone the sheriff suddenly remembered
what Bill had told him and he stopped and dismounted.
"You keep right on, Bill," he said. "I'm going up to hunt that fool
puncher. Lord, but it's a joke! This game is getting better every day--I'm
getting so I sort of like to have The Orphan around. He's shore original,
all right."
"He's better than a marked deck in a darkened room," laughed the driver.
"He shore ought to be framed, or something like that."
"You better go with them, Charley," the sheriff said as his friend made a
move at dismounting. "There ain't no danger, but we won't take no chances
this time; we've got a precious coachful."
"All right," replied Charley as he wheeled toward the disappearing stage.
"So long, Sheriff."
The sheriff looked the wall over and then picked out a comparatively easy
place and climbed to the top. As he drew himself over the edge he espied
a pair of boots which showed from under a pile of debris, and he laughed
heartily. At the laugh the feet began to kick vigorously, so affecting
the sheriff that he had to stop a minute, for it was the most ludicrous
sight he had ever looked upon.
Shields grabbed the boots and pulled, walking backward, and soon an
enraged and trussed cow-puncher came into view. Slowly and carefully
unrolling the rope from the unfortunate man, he coiled it methodically
and slung it over his shoulder, and then assisted in loosening the gag.
The puncher was too stiff to rise and his liberator helped him to his
feet and slapped and rubbed and chuckled and rubbed to start the blood in
circulation. The gag had so affected the muscles of the puncher's jaw
that his mouth would not close without assistance and effort, and his
words were not at all clear for that reason. His first word was a curse.
"'Ell!" he cried as he stamped and swung his arms. "'Ell! I'm asleep all
o'er! ----! 'Ait till I get 'im! ----! 'Ait till I get 'im!"
"Sort of continuing the little nap you was taking when he roped you, eh?"
asked Shields, holding his sides.
"Nap nothing! Nap nothing!" yelled the other in profane denial. "I wasn't
asleep, I tell yu! I was wide awake! He got th' drop on me, and then that
cussed rope of his'n was everywhere! Th' air was plumb full of rope and
guns! I didn't have no show! Not a bit of a show! Oh, just wait till I
get him! Why, I heard my pardners talking as they hunted for me, and there
I was not twenty feet away from them all the time, helpless! They're
fine lookers, they are! Wait till I sees them, too! I'll tell 'em a few
things, all right!"
"Well, I reckon you may see one or two of them, if they're lucky--and you
can't beat a fool for luck," replied the sheriff. "They want to be angels;
they're on his trail now."
"Hope they get him!" yelled the puncher, dancing with rage. "Hope they
burn him at th' stake! Hope they scalp him, an' hash him, an' saw his arms
off, an' cave his roof in! Hope they make him eat his fingers and toes!
Hope----"
"You're some hopeful to-day," responded the sheriff. "If you like them,
you better hope they don't get him. That's hoping real hope."
"Wait till I get him!" the puncher repeated, grabbing for his Colt, being
too enraged to notice its absence. "I'll show him if he can tie a man up
an' leave him to choke to death, an' starve an' roast! I'll show him if
he can run this country like he owns it, shooting and abusing everybody
he wants to!"
"All right, Sonny," Shields laughed. "I'll shore wait till you gets him,
if I live long enough. But for your sake I shore hope you never finds him.
He wouldn't get any more reputation if he killed you, and your friends
would miss you."
"Don't yu let that worry yu!" retorted the enraged man. "I can take care
of myself in a mix-up, all right! An' I'm going to chase after my friends
an' take a hand in th' game, too, by God! He ain't going to leave me high
an' dry an' live to boast about it! But I suppose you reckon yu'll stop
me, hey?"
Shields raised both hands high in the air in denial. "I wouldn't think
of such a thing, not for the world," he cried, laughter shaking his big
frame. "You can go any place you please, only _I'd_ take a gun if I was
going after _him_," he added, eyeing the empty holster. "You know, you
_might_ need it," he was very grave in his use of the subjunctive.
The puncher slapped his hand to his thigh and then jumped high into the
air: "----! ----!" he shouted. "Stole my gun! Stole my gun!" Then he
paused suddenly and his face cleared. "But I've got something better'n a
Colt on my cayuse!" he cried as he leaped toward the edge of the canyon.
"An' I'll give him all it holds, too!" he threatened as he bumped and
slid to the bottom. The sheriff took more care and time in descending and
had just reached the trail when he heard a heart-rending yell, followed
by a sizzling stream of throbbing profanity.
"Where's my cayuse?" yelled the puncher as he rounded the corner of
the canyon wall on a peculiar lope and hop. "Where's my cayuse, yu
law-coyote?" he shouted, temporarily out of his senses from rage.
"Where's my cayuse!" dancing up to the sheriff and shaking both fists
under the laughter-convulsed face.
When the sheriff could speak, he leaned against the canyon wall for support
and broke the news.
"Why, Bill Howland said as how The Orphan was riding a Cross Bar-8
cayuse--dirty brown, with a white stocking on his near front foot. It
had a big scar on its neck, too."
"Th' d----d hoss thief!" began the puncher, but Shields kept right on
talking.
"There was a dandy Cheyenne saddle," he said, counting on his fingers, "a
good gun, a pair of hobbles and a big coil of rawhide rope on the cayuse.
Was they yours?"
"Was they mine! Was they mine!" his companion screamed. "My new saddle
gone, my gun gone and my fine rope gone! Oh, h--l! How'll I hunt him now?
How'll I get home? How'll I get back to th' ranch?" Words failed him, and
he could only wave his arms and yell.
"Well, it wouldn't hardly be worth while chasing him on foot without a
gun, that's shore," the sheriff said, grave once more. "But you can get
home all right; that's easy."
"How can I?" asked the puncher, eyeing the sheriff's horse and waiting
for the invitation to ride double on it.
"Why, walk," was the reply. "It's only about twenty miles as the crow
flies--say twenty-five on the trail."
"Walk! Walk!" cried his companion, savagely kicking at a lizard which
looked out from a crevice in the rock wall. "I never walked five miles
all at once in my life!"
"Well, it'll be a new experience, and you can't begin any younger,"
replied Shields as he swung into his saddle. "It'll do you good,
too--increase your appetite."
"I'm so hungry now I'm half starved," replied the other. "But I'll pay up
for all this, you see if I don't! I'll get square with that d----d outlaw!"
"You don't know enough to be glad you were found," retorted the sheriff.
"And if he hadn't told Bill where to look for you, you wouldn't have been,
neither. You got off easy, Bucknell, and don't you forget it, neither.
Men have been killed for less than what you tried to do."
The puncher wilted, for twenty-five miles in high-heeled boots, over rocks
and sand, and with an empty stomach, was terrible to contemplate, and he
turned to the sheriff beseechingly.
"Give me a lift, Sheriff," he implored. "Take me up behind you--I can't
walk all the way!"
Shields looked at the sun, which was nearing the western horizon, and
thought for a minute. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, I hadn't ought to help you a step, not a single, solitary step, and
you know it. You tried your best to run against me. You tried to hold me
up there by the corral, and then after I had warned you not to go out
for The Orphan you went right ahead. Now you're asking me to help you out
of your trouble, to make good for your fool stupidity. But I'll take you
as far as the end of the canyon--no, I'll take you on to the ford, and
then you can do the rest on foot. That'll leave you ten or a dozen miles.
Get aboard."