THE DAY AFTER
ROWAN closed the door of his bedroom with a sick heart. It was
characteristic of him that he did not debate his responsibility for the
death of the two sheepmen. It did not matter that he had repeatedly
warned his friends not to shoot nor that from the beginning to the end
of the affair he had not fired his rifle. He could not escape the
conviction of guilt by pleading to himself that but for the heady folly
of one man the raid would have worked out as planned. Nor did it avail
to clear him that he had tried to save the life of Gilroy and had
protected the herders from the blood lust of Falkner. Before the law he
was a murderer. He had led a band of raiders to an attack in which two
men had died.
The rock upon which the venture had split was Falkner’s uncontrolled
venom. But for that first shot and the triumphant shout of vengeance
Tait could have been captured and held safely a prisoner. Now they all
stood within the shadow of the gallows.
The shock of Gilroy’s death was for the time deadened to McCoy by the
obligation that lay on him to look out for the safety of his associates.
The cattleman did not deceive himself for an instant. The days when men
could ride to lawless murder in Wyoming were past. Tom Horn had been
hanged in spite of a tremendous influence on his behalf. So it would be
now. Shoshone County would flame with indignation at the outrage. A deep
cry for justice upon the guilty would run from border to border.
Beyond doubt suspicion would be directed toward them on account of their
absence from the round-up camp at the time of the raid. But unless some
of them talked there could be no proof. The snow had turned out only a
flurry of an inch or two, but it was not likely Matson could reach Bald
Knob before night. This would give them till to-morrow morning, by which
time the trail would be obliterated. There was the taste of another
storm in the air. Unless McCoy was a poor prophet, the ground would be
well covered with snow before midnight.
Rowan had collected all of the bandannas used as masks. He intended to
burn them in the kitchen stove as he passed through to breakfast. It
could not be proved that Rogers and Yerby had not slept at home unless
their wives got to gossiping, nor that the others had not spent the
night at the Circle Diamond. On the whole they were as safe as men could
be who stood over a powder mine that might be fired at any moment.
When the breakfast bell sounded McCoy descended by the back stairs to
the kitchen. Mrs. Stovall was just putting a batch of biscuits into the
oven.
“Would you mind stepping outside and ringing the bell, Mrs. Stovall?”
Rowan asked. “Three of the boys are sleeping in the bunk house. They
stayed there last night after we drove the bunch of cows home.”
As soon as his housekeeper had left the room McCoy stepped to the stove,
lifted a lid, and stuffed six coloured handkerchiefs into the fire. When
Mrs. Stovall returned he was casting a casual eye over the pantry.
“Not short of any supplies, are you, Mrs. Stovall?”
“I’m almost out of sugar and lard.”
“Better make out a list. I’ve got to send one o’ the boys to Wagon Wheel
with the team to-morrow.”
The burden of keeping up a pretense of conversation at breakfast rested
upon the host and Jack Cole. Silcott was jumpy with nerves, and Falkner
was gloomy. As soon as he was alone with the men on the trail to the
round-up camp McCoy brought them to time.
“This won’t do, boys. You’ve got to buck up and act as usual. You look
as if you were riding to your own funeral, Hal. You’re just as bad,
Larry. Both of you have ‘criminal’ written all over you. Keep yore grins
working.”
“What am I to do with this gun?” demanded Falkner abruptly. “I got it
last night from the bunk house at the Triangle Dot.”
“Did anybody see you get it?”
“No.”
“We’ll have to bury it. You can’t take it into camp with you.”
With their knives they dug a shallow ditch back of a big rock and in it
hid the rifle. The ammunition belt was put beside it.
It was perhaps fortunate that by the time they reached camp the riders
had scattered to comb Plum Creek for cattle. Rowan sent his companions
out to join the drive, while he waited in camp for a talk with Rogers
and Yerby, neither of whom had yet arrived.
About noon the two hill cattlemen rode into the draw. The men met in the
presence of the cook. They greeted each other with the careless aplomb
of the old-timer:
“’Lo, Mac!”
“’Lo, Sam—Brad! How’s every little thing?”
“Fine. Missie done fixed my game laig up with that ointment good as new.
I want to tell you-all that girl is a wiz,” bragged Yerby, firing his
tobacco juice at a white rock and making a centre shot.
McCoy breathed freer. Yerby and Rogers could be depended upon to go
through the ordeal before them with cool imperturbability. Cole, under
fire, would be as steady as a rock. Falkner and Silcott were just now
nervous as high-bred colts, but Rowan felt that this was merely the
reaction from the shock of the night. When the test came they would face
the music all right.
Late in the afternoon the bawling of thirsty cattle gave notice that the
gathered stock were nearing camp. Not until the stars were out was there
a moment’s rest for anybody.
Supper was eaten by the light of the moon. During this meal a horseman
rode up and nodded a greeting.
Young King caught sight of him first. “Hello, Sheriff!” he shouted
gaily. “Which of us do you want? And what have we been doing now?”
Rowan’s heart sank. Matson had beaten the time he had allowed him by
nearly twenty-four hours. But he turned a wooden face and a cool,
impassive eye upon the sheriff.
“’Lo, Aleck! Won’t you ’light?”
“Reckon I will, Mac.”
The sheriff swung from his horse stiffly and came forward into the
firelight. At least six pairs of eyes watched him closely, but the
tanned, leathery face of the officer told nothing.
“Anything new, Matson?” demanded a young cow-puncher. “Don’t forget
we’ve been off the map ’most three weeks. Who’s eloped, absconded,
married, divorced, or otherwise played billiards with the Ten
Commandments?”
Matson sat down tailor fashion and accepted the steak, bread, and coffee
offered him.
“The only news on tap when I left town was that the Limited got in on
time—yesterday. Few will believe it, but it’s an honest-to-goodness
fact. We had it sworn to before a notary.”