THE SKY PILOT TAKES A HAND.
“Did you say something?” asked Wild Bill, looking the cattle barons
over with a grin which he made as irritating as possible.
“You were seen to pick up somethin’ in the road,” said Benner
angrily, “somethin’ that came out of my watch. I want it.”
“Oh, you do. You’ll have to go into details a little more if you
expect me to identify what you’ve lost. Was there anything but the
works that came out of that watch?”
“You know mighty well there was!” scowled Benner.
“I know mighty well that you’ve got to tell me what you lost before I
can tell you whether or not I know anything about it.”
“That is very reasonable, Mr. Benner,” put in the sky pilot. “It is
necessary for----”
“Dry up!” interrupted Phelps roughly. “You ain’t got a thing to do
with this, Jordan, so you keep out.”
“What have you got to do with it, Mr. Phelps?” queried the sky pilot
pleasantly. “I thought it was Mr. Benner who had lost something.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty to do with it!” snorted Phelps, giving his head
a flirt that set all the dangling brim ornaments to clattering. “I
sent him what he lost.”
Wild Bill was exceedingly glad to hear this, although he made no
sign, to that effect.
“We’ve used our bazoos a-plenty,” growled Benner. “Are you going to
give me that?” he demanded.
“I’ll give you a piece of my mind, in a minute, if you don’t tell me
what you want, and what you think I’ve got,” said Wild Bill, between
his teeth.
“Waugh!” chimed in the old trapper, who had been keeping silent
only by a great effort. “Ef ye git too rantankerous, I’ll hand ye a
fistful of five, with my compliments. We ain’t thieves, we ain’t.
We’re pards o’ Buffler Bill’s, an’ no measly, locoed watch manglers
aire goin’ ter insult us.”
Old Nomad looked so hostile that Benner cast a look around him as
though searching for some of his cowboys.
“What I’m after,” he went on, less truculently, “is a piece of paper
with some very important notes on it. I carried the paper under the
lid of my watch, and I forgot to remove it when I threw the watch.”
“Tell me what was on the paper,” insisted Wild Bill. “I picked up
something that wasn’t addressed or signed, and that might have been
dropped by any man, woman or child in Hackamore. You tell me what was
on the paper, Benner--this paper that Phelps sent to you--and if it
matches what I read, I’ll tell you where the paper is.”
Wild Bill had the cattle barons in a corner. Neither would dare
to repeat the contents of that piece of paper. It was the sort of
writing that could not be turned into public talk without exciting
comment.
“I was told you picked up the paper,” said Benner, with a fierce look
at the Laramie man, “an’ you know well enough that it dropped out o’
my watch. There’s no need of talking about what was written in the
note--it was private, anyway.”
Phelps, meanwhile, had seen the little scraps lying on the ground.
From these he must have inferred what had happened to Benner’s
memoranda. Catching his companion’s arm, Phelps drew him to one side
and whispered to him. Benner swept a look over the ground at the
minced fragments of the bit of thin pasteboard, then lifted his eyes
to Wild Bill.
“You’ll find, my man,” he cried, “that Lige Benner has some power up
and down the Brazos. This ain’t the end of this flare-up.”
With that, he whirled around and he and Phelps vanished in the
direction of the street.
“Waugh!” breathed the old trapper regretfully, “another chance fer
a fight gone a-glimmerin’. Ain’t et possible fer us ter git inter a
scrap noways?”
The sky pilot dropped a hand on his arm.
“You’re too gallant a man, Nomad,” said he, “to get into a fight for
the mere love of it. It’s a sign of barbarism for men to be too free
with their fists and their hardware.”
“I jest dote on barbarism,” carolled Nomad. “I’m plumb savage, elder,
an’ I got ter hev a set-to oncet er day er git bilious.”
The sky pilot laughed genially and thumped the old war horse on the
back.
“You’re a man after my own heart,” he declared, “and I can see that;
what’s more, you’re about as barbarous as a chipmunk until your fur
is ruffled the wrong way. I wouldn’t give two cents for a man who
hadn’t the sand to stick up for his rights. Brother, you and I are
going to get along. Now, tell me what you’ve found out about the
Perrys.”
Wild Bill and Nomad were taking a big liking to Jordan. He was vastly
different from most circuit-riding ministers they had met.
“Where’s Sim Pierce?” queried Wild Bill, looking around for that
worthy.
Sim Pierce had mysteriously vanished.
“Oh,” smiled Jordan, “Sim lit out. He’s careful of his health, you
know, and he didn’t want Benner and Phelps to catch him fraternizing
with you. These cattle barons seem to be a law unto themselves on the
Brazos, and most of the people in these parts try to keep on the good
side of them. But never mind Sim. Tell me about the Perrys.”
Feeling that here was a man to be trusted to the limit, Wild Bill
told him about the paper that had dropped from Benner’s watch. A
thoughtful frown crept over the sky pilot’s face as the Laramie man
repeated the contents of the paper.
“The barons have been getting more and more reckless in their
dealings with Perry,” said Jordan; “they have gone from one lawless
act to another until now they have captured him and taken him away.
Phelps admitted that he had sent that note to Benner; and that means,
my friends, that Perry is being held a prisoner at Phelps’ ranch.”
“Whoop-ya!” murmured the trapper. “S’posin’ we ride out ter Phelps’
place an’ lift Perry’s blockade? What d’ye say? Et’s er noble deed,
an’ mebbyso et’ll lead ter a ruction.”
“Will you be guided by me, my friends?” asked the sky pilot
earnestly. “I am familiar with the situation along this part of
the Brazos, and I know pretty nearly everybody in this part of the
country. Perhaps, equipped as I am, I can judge better than you what
is best to be done.”
“Throw et up ter us, elder. Any palaver ye kin hand out will receive
full attention.”
“Thank you. Don’t try to go to Phelps’ ranch this side of dewfall.
Wait till night comes. From now on, Benner and Phelps will have both
of you men watched. The barons know you got that note, and they can
guess that you read it and then tore it up. If you try to go to
Phelps’ before night, there’ll be trouble, and you’ll get the worst
of it.”
“We’re not dodging trouble so you can notice it, amigo,” returned
Wild Bill.
“I hope, for Dick Perry’s sake, that you will dodge trouble, and keep
your hands clear so that you can help him. Will you give me a part in
the work before you?”
This was embarrassing to the pards--to have a minister along with
them when the prospects were bright for rough work.
“I’ll not be a hindrance to you,” continued Jordan, noting the pards’
hesitation, “but, on the other hand, my familiarity with the country
may prove a help. I have a marriage ceremony for four o’clock; after
that, I’ll join you at supper at the hotel. Following supper, we’ll
saddle up and ride toward Phelps’ ranch. On the way, we’ll stop at
Perry’s. Perry’s daughter, Hattie, must be about wild over what’s
happened to her father.”
“Is there any one at Perry’s besides the girl?” asked Wild Bill.
“No one, now, but Nate Dunbar, a cowboy who works for Perry and has
an interest in the cattle. Dunbar may know something about Perry
which will be a help to us. We’ll ride to Perry’s first, see Nate
Dunbar and Hattie, then go on to Phelps’ ranch.”
“Parson,” spoke up Nomad, grabbing Jordan’s hand, “ye’ve shore made
er hit with me. This hyar’s ther fust time on reecord I ever trotted
a heat with a sky pilot, but I’m cottonin’ ter you real strong, an’ I
fer one will be tickled ter hev ye go with us.”
“Nomad’s sentiments are mine, parson,” seconded Wild Bill. “You go
ahead and splice that couple at four o’clock, then blow in at the
hotel and we’ll sit in together at the chuck table.”
“Thank you for your confidence in me,” said Jordan quietly. “You’ll
find that I’m not a figurehead in the enterprise, I think. You are
brave men, and pards of one of the bravest and most chivalrous
Westerners the border has ever known. It is a pleasure to be engaged
in such a venture with you. Adios, for the present.”
The slender, boyish figure turned and swiftly vanished. Old Nomad
stood staring after him.
“Hickok,” said he, slowly turning to the Laramie man, “I’m er Piegan
of thet sky pilot ain’t cuttin’ a wider swath in my regyard than I
ever thort one could. He seems ther clear quill.”
“And so he is, if I know the brand. But I hope our ride to the Brazos
won’t turn out a Sunday-school picnic.”
“Et won’t be ther parson’s fault ef et does,” chuckled the trapper.
“Did ye mark his eye, Pard Hickok? Et’s what they calls a fightin’
eye. Ef necessary, I’ll bet a blue stack thet Jordan kin convart the
heathen by an upper cut an’ a right hook ter ther jaw. Oh, I’m plumb
gone on him.”
“He’ll do,” returned Hickok briefly, but with conviction. “We’ve been
in town about three hours, Nick, and we’ve got the cattle barons down
on us.”
“What do we care? Thet means excitement--somethin’ ter fill in ther
time till Buffler gits hyar. Ye was pinin’ fer thet, a spell ago.”
“I’m pining for it now, too. Come on, pard, and let’s mosey back into
the main street.”
“Kerect. Ef any o’ Benner’s ’r Phelps’ punchers makes er dead set at
us prior ter supper, us two’ll turn Hackamore inside out.”