MR. ROSS PAYS A CALL
The nearest ranch to that of Mr. Sherwood was the "Cross and Circle,"
which lay some twelve or fifteen miles to the northwest, toward
and nearer the mountains, near the left bank of Elkhorn River, the
ranch-house itself being not more than about a hundred yards from the
water's edge. Being nearer the mountains, the ground upon which the
ranch-house stood was of rock formation, and was over-shadowed by a
high cliff.
While it was a rather valuable property, it did not compare with
the Bar O, either in its extent, improvements, or in its grazing
facilities. It was occupied by Samuel Ross, who had obtained it from
its former owner about six months before the time this story opens.
In many ways Ross had allowed the ranch to run down. The house needed
repair, the out-buildings and fences were not well kept, and there was
no semblance of the discipline or morale that prevailed at the Bar O.
It had perhaps somewhere between five hundred and a thousand head of
cattle, but they were notoriously ill-cared for and neglected.
The ranch was not noted for its hospitality--in fact, exactly the
reverse was the case; and any attempt to establish anything like
neighborly intercourse was frowned upon or roughly declined. The men
kept to themselves in a surly, clannish way, even when excursions were
made into town and "festivities" were indulged in at the saloon and
dance-hall and gambling-joint.
In one way, this was not resented. It is regarded as a man's right to
keep to himself. In many parts of the West, even to-day, it is not well
to start an investigation into a man's family and pedigree, or where he
comes from and what his business is. Young readers may not understand
why this is so.
In the early days, the West was a haven or refuge for all sorts
of characters who, for reasons of their own, sought to lose their
identities. Some desired to escape punishments for crimes committed
elsewhere; some were ne'er-do-wells or failures who desired to start
life over again with a clean slate. In the vast confines of the West,
this was comparatively easy. In the case of criminals, the law had
difficulty in reaching into its remote corners and dragging a man back
to Justice. In the case of ne'er-do-wells and failures, they could
start again on an even basis with other men, unhandicapped by their
previous records. Thus it can be seen that all inquiry into a man's
past was resented. So general did this become, that even those who had
nothing whatever to hide grew to resent questions of this nature.
And the mistake must not be made of thinking that the West was overrun
with people of shady records. Nothing could be further from the fact.
There never has been a higher standard of manhood established anywhere
in the world than that which prevailed, and does prevail, in the
West. And naturally so. Nowhere were, or are, such great opportunities
offered; but the taking advantage of these opportunities required
not only brains, but physical fitness, courage, and a moral fiber
of a high order as well. Nowhere in the world have people come to
themselves--weeded out the bad, separated the wheat from the chaff,
and purged themselves from uncleanness--in so short a time or in so
effective a way as did the people of the West.
And another thing that the West has had to stand: any time a
penny-a-liner with an inflamed imagination thought out some lurid,
impossible tale of blood and thunder and crime and debauchery, he
staged it in the West. It is safe to say that _not one in a hundred_
of these "penny-dreadfuls" was ever written by a man who had been
west of Hoboken, New Jersey! As said before, there is more gun-play
in New York City in one month than there is in all the states west of
the Mississippi in one year! And we'll throw in Alaska, too, for good
measure! Of course, there are "skunks" in every community, but if
there is one climate in the world where it is unhealthy for a "skunk"
it is the climate of the West. They can't "get by" out there! Not for
very long, they can't!
With this matter settled we can get back to the story.
Ross, himself, was a huge man, weighing in the neighborhood of two
hundred and fifty pounds, and was of most forbidding mien. His red,
bloated face was encircled by a closely cropped thatch of hair that
came down within an inch or so of his eyes, and the lower part of his
face was covered by a thick, rank growth of sandy whiskers. His whole
person gave the impression of untidiness and neglect, and probably
the impression did not belie the fact. He seemed to have a perpetual
grouch, and enforced his wishes by sheer brutality. And even in the
rough band about him he carried things with a high hand, and brooked no
crossing of his will.
After he had taken possession of the ranch he had proceeded to carry on
the business in his own way. The men about him--the ranch-hands--were
a motley collection; many of them half-breeds, and all of a similar
stripe to the boss. There was no attempt to conceal the frequent sprees
and drunken brawls that occurred at the ranch, and there were rumors
that more than one "killing" had taken place within the walls of the
ranch-house. This, of course, was a difficult matter to prove; and as
the alleged victim had invariably been a man who was not especially an
ornament to the community, no thorough investigation of these rumors
had taken place.
When a scorpion kills a tarantula, nobody feels very much like
punishing the scorpion--on that account, at least.
But while the outfit at the Ross ranch had, in general, a bad name,
there was nothing that one could put his finger on as being contrary
to law. Ross paid his obligations--possibly reluctantly and late--but
he paid them; and however much suspicion of sharp practice might
be attached to him, suspicions are not evidence in a court of law.
And however much his neighbors may have disliked him, the dislike
had hardly gotten strong enough to warrant a visit from a Vigilance
Committee.
One thing had caused considerable comment--no visitor had ever been
permitted to enter the ranch-house proper. Many people had, at one time
or another, come to the threshold; but that was as far as they ever
got. The bulky form of Ross, or of some one equally hospitable, blocked
further passage; and the conduct of any necessary business took place
out in the ranch-yard. While this may have caused comment and aroused
curiosity, the fact remained that "every man's house is his castle,"
and unless he has put himself outside of the pale of the law, nobody is
justified in violating it. And thus, it will be seen that Ross, mean
and underhand, as he undoubtedly was, in many ways was well within his
rights.
Ross made his shipments of cattle in the regular way, but over a
different branch of the railroad from that used by the Bar O, and
as far as any one could see these shipments were regular and not
disproportionate to the amount the ranch should make under proper
handling. It is doubtful if anybody had ever kept actual tabs on these
shipments; and as Ross was more than usually "reticent" about his
business as well as his personal affairs, little was really known.
In view of the foregoing facts, it was somewhat surprising to see Mr.
Sam Ross and two of his men ride into the Bar O ranch-yard early one
afternoon. They were received civilly, if not with any very great
cordiality by Bill Jordan, and after he had made them known to Mr.
Sherwood, Ross opened up.
"Hev yo' all been losin' stock?" he asked. Mr. Sherwood glanced at
Bill, putting the matter up to him.
"Well, yes," said Bill Jordan, cautiously, answering for Sherwood, "I
reckon we hev had some losses--not nuthin' very much, but some, and
pretty continual. Hev you?"
"We hev," said Ross, emphatically, "an' enough to speak 'bout, too! But
we can't find hide ner hair ner no trace of any rustlers, 'less'n it be
them Injuns thet's down toward the Fork. An' yet we can't find nuthin'
to fix it onto 'em."
Bill pondered the matter for a time before he spoke. "Thet's 'bout
the same fix we're in," he said. "We been givin' them Redskins the
once-over right consider'ble frequent, but we're pretty well satisfied
it ain't them. An' none o' the boys has seen any strangers hangin'
'round. But," he added, shaking his head, in a mystified way, "them
steers don't evaporate! Somebody is puttin' somethin' over."
"What are y' goin' to do--let 'em get away with it, clean?" asked Ross.
"I dunno," said Bill, rolling a cigarette. "I thought I put the fear o'
God into the hearts o' them rustlers some time ago, but I guess I hev
bin kiddin' myself. What are _you_ goin' to do?"
"It's got me guessin'," answered Ross. Then, after a moment, he said:
"How's all your men? Be they all right? Never had no suspicions on none
of 'em bein' in on the job?"
"The men is as straight an outfit as ever was got together!" answered
Bill with a little asperity. "This here thing of our'n ain't no inside
job. How's yours--know their pedigrees an' all that?"
"Same thing with me," said Ross, "I got a lot o' crackerjacks--honest
and straight as day--no chanct fer any leakage thataway. I'm inclined
to put it up to them Injuns. Don't see who else kin be at the bottom of
it."
Bill was silent for a time; then he said, "Well, _if 't ain't nobody
else_, it _must be_ them," and Bill smiled, enigmatically.
"My men says thet they's one on 'em--a boy--hangs 'round here a good
deal," said Ross, tentatively.
"You needn't give him a second thought, Mr. Ross," said Sherwood,
quickly, in defense of Injun. "He is nothing but a boy, and he and my
son occupy themselves in a perfectly legitimate way. Besides, he has
very little to do with his own people and is seldom with the rest of
his tribe."
"Well," said Ross, shaking his head, "I wouldn't put anything past an
Injun. He may be givin' 'em a lot o' useful information. If he comes
up my way, he'll get short shrift."
"I'll answer for him," said Whitey, butting into the conversation with
indignation. "I'm with him most of the time, and he hasn't any more to
do with stealing cattle than I have!"
Ross laughed. "Mebbe not, Son," he said. "Mebbe not. But I don't want
him 'round my place." Ross and his two men rose. "I guess we'll be
pullin' our freight," he said; "it's gittin' late. Let me know what yo'
all intends to do, an' I'm with yo'. In the meantime, I'm goin' to keep
my eye on them red devils--an' I advise yo' all to do the same."
When Ross and his men had ridden out of the ranch-yard and were well
down the road, Bill Jordan looked quizzically at Mr. Sherwood, who gave
back an answering look of inquiry.
"What do yo' make o' all this?" Bill asked.
"I don't quite know," said Mr. Sherwood. "Have you got any solution?
I didn't know that there was any significance in the call other than
appeared on the surface--to warn us against the Indians."
"Well," said Bill, slowly, "I dunno as the' is--'cept thet ol'
bird knows 't ain't them Injuns thet's gettin' away with his
stock--_pervidin' anybody is gettin' away with it_."
"Do you mean that he's lying about it?" asked Mr. Sherwood in a
surprised way.
"Well," said Bill, smiling, "I dunno 's I'd want t' say jest thet, but
I do say thet him an' Anannias is blood kin--proba'ly full brothers!
He was boostin' the men in his outfit jes' now, wasn't he? Well, I
know personal, thet the tall galoot he hed with him done time in San
Quentin. He's named an' denominated as 'One-Card' Tucker an' he's one
bad egg! The's some o' the rest of 'em thet wont assay up very good.
Our boys wont hev nuthin' to do with 'em--the's a few Greasers an'
half-breeds mixed in with 'em."
"You couldn't be mistaken about the tall man being a jail-bird, could
you, Bill?" asked Mr. Sherwood. And then, smiling, he added, "How do
you know--were you there with him?"
Bill laughed. "I was," he said. "I ain't mistaken--I brung him there
an' handed him over--when I was Dep'ty Shur'ff, out San Diego way. He
done got a lot o' somebody else's sheep mixed up with his'n. He was one
lucky guy to get off with four years in prison--'Judge Lynch' come near
settin' on the case. Oh, I know _him_, all right," said Bill, "an' I
reckon he must of knowed _me_! I noticed he wasn't exactly easy in his
mind when he set there jes' now. An' I think I know this Ross, too."
"Humph!" said Sherwood, reflectively, "that kind of association doesn't
speak very well for Mr. Ross anyway. What do you think we better do?
I understand that our man Walker reports that he came across a place
where a bunch of our cattle had been stampeded. He followed the trail,
but lost it at the creek--couldn't pick it up anywhere. I don't suppose
it could have been a grizzly?" he asked.
"Grizzly, nuthin'!" said Bill. "It had been rainin' shortly before the
cattle was drove off, an' the' was no sign of a grizzly's tracks--I
rode out there an' seen it myself," said Bill with positiveness. Then
he added: "But the' _was_ horses' hoofs! I ain't heard of no grizzlies
wearin' iron shoes--not this summer, I ain't! Besides, if they was
stampeded, they'd of scattered more. Them beeves kep' together--they
was drove!"
"And you think----" Mr. Sherwood paused, and Bill nodded his head:
"Jest a plain case o' rustlin'--nuthin' else to it!" and Bill spat
disgustedly.
There was a silence for a moment or so while the two men pondered the
matter, and Whitey waited almost breathlessly for what would follow.
Here was a mystery--a vital ranch mystery--and he was in the thick of
it! He had tried to imagine the situation, many times, when he had read
of such things in books; and now he was face to face with it. Suddenly
the thought came to him that here was something for him to solve, and
he instantly determined that he would take a hand in the game--though
he was wise enough (or, perhaps foolish enough) to keep this
determination to himself. He knew that once he broached the subject
to his father, he would receive positive orders to keep his hands off;
but, in the absence of those orders, he intended to "mix in." In that
way, he was going to justify himself in his own mind!
Finally Mr. Sherwood broke the silence: "Does the creek run near Ross's
ranch?" he asked.
"No," said Jordan, "it's quite a ways from his line. His ranch is way
down on the Elkhorn--this is a branch thet empties into the Elkhorn a
few miles below where we lost the trail. It's too deep there fer cattle
to ford; besides, there wasn't no place on the opposite bank where
we found they'd come out--not fer two er three mile down--where she
empties into the Elkhorn. We went over the hull ground careful."
"Do you think they could have been drowned?" asked Sherwood. "If they
went into the river and didn't come out, that would seem to be the only
alternative," he added.
"Mebbe!" said Jordan, enigmatically. The two men rose and walked toward
the corral, much to Whitey's disgust. And though he tried to follow
and hear the rest, he was not able to do so. But strong in his bosom
the mystery burned, and more than ever he was determined to conduct an
independent investigation, taking Injun, of course, into partnership.