Limber and Powell were riding together in a deep canyon of the Galiuros.
Neither had spoken for some time, for often they rode together without
exchanging a word. Limber, who was slightly in advance of the doctor,
stopped Peanut and leaned forward in his saddle. Then his quick glance
brought Powell closer.
From the thick undergrowth ahead of them a tiny spiral of smoke rose
faintly. Cautiously they urged their ponies; then through the brush,
silently watched a man carrying a hot branding iron in his hand. A cow
was roped and lying on the ground. The iron burned into the hide, the
smell of singed hair, the bellows of pain told the story. The man's back
had been toward them, but both Powell and Limber had recognized the
figure and walk.
They waited. The man loosed the rope that bound the cow. It caught in a
snarl, the cow struggled. With an oath, he jerked the rope, at the same
time giving the animal a vicious kick on the head.
It staggered to its feet and stood dazed for a second, then darted into
the brush; but not before Limber and Powell had seen the fresh brand.
Limber leaned close to the doctor and whispered, "That's a PL cow and
it's been changed to a BD."
The eyes of the two men met in understanding. Again they peered through
the brush to see the other man rubbing the hot iron in the dirt to cool
it. He turned to his horse, the iron in his hand.
An inspiration seized Powell.
"Quick! Let him know we saw him!"
Their ponies jumped forward under the spurs, but Glendon, busy tying the
iron to his saddle, did not notice their presence until Peanut's hoof
crackled on a loose branch. Glendon leaped to his horse, whirled it
around and faced them with his hand resting on his pistol holster. It
relaxed as he recognized them.
"Oh, hello!" he said affably, plainly speculating as to how long they
had been watching him.
Limber looked at him curiously. "Been brandin'?" he spoke in a casual
voice.
"No:" answered Glendon. "I was just looking over the range. Glad we
happened to meet."
Without comment, the cowpuncher rode to the still smouldering embers,
slipped from his saddle, then kicked at the bits of charred and glowing
wood. Before Glendon realized it, Limber reached out suddenly and
touched the still hot iron fastened to Glendon's saddle.
Glendon glared at him as the cowboy said very quietly, "Looks as if your
Greaser friend has come back from Mexico, Glendon. I jest seen another
of them BD bunch you bought from him. It's got a fresh brand on it, too.
You must of just bought it today."
Glendon's pony twisted toward Limber, Glendon's hand moved almost
imperceptibly, but dropped quickly as Limber called, "Don't tech your
gun, you idjit!"
The eyes of Glendon shifted cat-like from Limber to Powell, then his
hands rested lightly on the horn of his saddle and he leaned forward
carelessly, saying, "Don't you think you two have carried your joke
about far enough?"
"Joke!" vociferated the angry cowpuncher with an oath, "It means the Pen
for you--if you call that a joke."
Glendon's eyes narrowed as they rested on Powell, and an expression of
fury distorted his face.
"Oh, I see your little game now!" he snarled. "Going to try to railroad
me to the Pen so Powell can make love to my wife. I'll see you both
damned before you play your last card. I'll show both of you up--and
Katherine, too!"
Two shots rang out together. The ponies reared as bullets pinged past,
Powell, unarmed, looked at Limber, who stood with smoking pistol in his
tense grip. The remnant of Glendon's six-shooter was lying on the ground
some distance from his horse--knocked from his hand by the shot from
Limber's gun. That shot had saved Powell's life.
Not one of the men spoke, but Powell who was unarmed, leaped from his
horse. All the rage that had consumed him for months seethed over. He
clutched at Glendon, dragged him, despite his struggles, from his horse,
and then face to face they met. All the knowledge of the misery
inflicted on Katherine by this man, lent additional strength to Powell's
blows, while Glendon's hatred responded in full. It was caveman against
caveman, with bare hands for weapons.
The fight was short but sharp. Though Glendon was a much larger man than
Powell, and had once been able to hold his own with the gloves or at
wrestling, years of dissipation told on him now. A crashing blow from
the doctor stretched him on the ground motionless for several seconds;
then his eyes opened and looked into the grim faces of the two men who
stood watching him.
"Get up," ordered Powell.
Glendon dragged himself to his feet, swayed dizzily and passed his hand
over his dazed eyes; slowly he moved to a fallen tree and dropped
heavily on it.
"What are you going to do?" he asked sullenly. "Send me up? You won't
get her that way. She'll stick to me."
Powell stepped to Glendon's side, his face white with fury, his hands
clenched ominously. "Keep your wife's name off your dirty tongue," he
commanded tensely, "or, by God! I'll kill you."
Glendon knew it was no idle threat, and his eyes sought the ground
until he was roused by Powell handing him a note book and fountain pen.
"What's this for?" he demanded with an oath.
"Write what I dictate," Powell answered.
Glendon's head jerked angrily, "I will write nothing," he retorted.
"You have ten minutes to do as I say;" Powell's voice was like flint,
and so were the angry eyes that regarded the man at his feet. "Write.
'This is to confess that John Burritt and Doctor Powell caught me
changing a PL cow to a BD and marking it with the Circle Cross."
Glendon laughed contemptously. "Do you think I'm such a fool as to sign
a paper that will send me to the penitentiary?"
"It's the only way that you can keep from going there," was Powell's
reply.
"Suppose I sign it?"
"Then, so long as you stop your crooked work and behave decently, no one
will know of this episode except myself and Limber. In case you try to
coerce your wife in any way, or take Donnie from her as you plan, this
paper will be used by us to help her keep her boy. A woman has no legal
right to her child in Arizona, but neither has the father if he is a
convict. So it's up to you. I give you ten minutes."
The doctor seated himself on a boulder, holding his open watch in his
hand, while Glendon sat staring at the ground in helpless fury.
"Time's up," announced Powell, snapping the cover of his watch and
placing it in his pocket, "Well, what is your answer?"
"I'll write what you say," muttered Glendon, reaching out for the pen
and notebook.
Powell repeated the words while Glendon with shaking hand signed his
name to the confession. His face was white with rage as he returned the
book to Powell.
"Sign as a witness, please, Limber;" and the cowpuncher signed his
name, "John C. Burritt," beneath which was written, "Cuthbert Powell,"
and the date. Then the doctor pocketed the pen and book.
"You might as well know," commented Powell, "that this paper will be
forwarded immediately to my attorneys in the East, with instructions how
to act in event of any stray bullet or other mysterious accident
happening to Limber or me. Our safety is your only protection. Now, I
think we understand each other perfectly."
Glendon made no answer. The three men mounted their ponies, rode through
the canyon, climbed the backbone of the mountain and worked down the
narrow trail that merged into the road leading to the Hot Springs. None
of them spoke. Each was busy with his own thoughts.
As they approached the Hot Springs ranch, Powell looked critically at
Glendon's bruised eye and swollen hands. It was a purely professional
survey, and Glendon recognized it as such when the doctor spoke.
"Come in," was the curt command. "You can't let your wife see you that
way, unless you want me to tell her the whole truth."
Glendon hesitated, then reined his pony at the gate and dismounted
painfully.
Though Powell's hands were deft and light, Glendon knew they were not
ministering lovingly, while they bandaged the bruises they had
inflicted. It goaded him to submit; but he had no alternative. Limber
sat watching the two men. The room was silent save for the doctor's
movements.
"That will do," he said at last, and Glendon rose from the chair, his
hands bandaged and one eye covered with a patch. "Limber, you may ride
down with him, and tell Mrs. Glendon that her husband met with an
accident and we were lucky enough to be near; but there is nothing to
cause her any anxiety so long as her husband is careful," he regarded
Glendon steadily as he uttered these words.
Then without further addressing his patient, the doctor turned into his
bedroom, carrying the bandages with him, and Glendon, with the
suppressed fury of a volcano, followed the cowboy to the gate.
From a window, Powell watched them ride side by side down the road
toward the Circle Cross. With grim satisfaction he recalled the fight in
the canyon. He knew that Limber would deliver his message to Glendon's
wife, and that Glendon would not contradict it.
When Limber returned, he reported to the doctor that Mrs. Glendon would
care for the patient, and she sent her thanks to Doctor Powell. Limber's
eyes had a lurking twinkle that was reflected in Powell's.
"It's plumb lucky you thought about fixin' things so's he can't take
Donnie away from her," the cowpuncher spoke in admiration. "I'd a never
thought of it."
For the first time the doctor told Limber of the desperation of the
mother, and the narrow averting of a terrible tragedy in the Box.
Limber's face was white and his grey eyes glazed.
"Doc, do you mean ter tell me that she ain't got no right to Donnie? An'
Glen kin take him away anytime he wants to?"
"That is the way the law stands now, Limber. I looked up the matter
through a lawyer in Tucson after I came to live at the Springs and saw
the terrible struggle she was making. She does not believe in divorce,
but even if she did, the law is on his side; so long as he keeps from
being classed as a criminal. If she leaves Glendon, he can keep the
child."
"If I'd knowed that," Limber spoke very quietly, "I wouldn't have been
so careful aimin' at that pistol in his hand, when he pulled his gun on
you and you wasn't armed."
"Well, it worked out still better," responded Powell, "We've got him
just where we want him now, thank God!"
Limber stared at the cigarette rings above his head, and sat thinking
for quite a while, before he said, "Some day somethin's goin' to bust
them laws. It takes a heap to wake people up, but when they get woke up
they'll be like the ol' white horse and the China pump at the Diamond H.
"You see, we uster work him at the big pond, and the water was pumped
from the well with an' ol' fashioned pump called a China pump. That was
before the Boss got gasoline engines. You may believe me, or not, Doc,
but it was that ol' white horse that got the first engine on the ranch.
For five years ol' Whitey was hitched up to the cross-bar and a blinder
put across his eyes, then he was started, an' once he started, he jest
kept on goin' round and round without nobody watching him and he never
knowed the difference.
"But one day he stopped short, and of course, thar warn't no water
pumpin', the troughs was dry and the cattle bawlin' their heads off. Me
and the Boss rid near, and went over to see what was makin' the trouble.
The cows was climbin' over each other's backs trying to get a drink.
Well, we found ol' Whitey's blind had slid down so he could see outen
one eye.
"I fixed it back and said, 'Gittap,' expectin' he would go long jest as
he always done, but Whitey never moved a step.
"I touched him with my quirt, and then that ol' horse that was old
enough to die three times over and had never done a mean thing in his
life, turned loose and kicked the stuffin' outen the woodwork of that
pump as far as he could reach."