BRAND
The man looked at the two boys with dull eyes. He opened his mouth
as though to speak, then put his hand to his head. He swayed
uncertainly for a moment, gave a little cough, and pitched headlong
to the floor.
“He’s hurt!” Roy cried, springing forward. “Teddy, shut that door!
Help me lift him nearer the fire! Golly, he’s bleedin’ like a stuck
pig!”
Together the boys carried the wounded man closer to the warmth of
the fire. Luckily it still had some live embers, and Roy quickly
piled these together and added fresh wood so that they flamed once
more.
Teddy noticed that the man’s lips were blue and his closed eyes were
sunk deep in his head. The boy leaned over and swiftly opened the
man’s shirt. From the top of the left shoulder to the breast ran a
red gash.
“Knifed!” Roy exclaimed. “If we don’t stop that bleeding soon, he’ll
cash in!”
“A tourniquet--it’s the only chance,” came from Teddy. “Can you make
one?”
“Think so--though the cut is in a mighty tough place.” Always at his
best in emergencies, Roy ran to the other room and twisted the
wooden handle off one of the branding irons. Then, with his
jackknife, he cut the injured man’s sleeve off at the shoulder, and
bound it about the man’s chest and shoulder so that it pressed
against the main arteries. He inserted the handle of the iron under
the cloth, and twisted.
Slowly the blood stopped flowing.
“Got it!” Roy cried triumphantly. “Now I’ve got to hold this until
she clots. I don’t think any of the large arteries are cut, but it
won’t do to take a chance. Teddy--” he added in a questioning voice.
His brother nodded.
“I know. Recognized him as soon as he came in. Checkered Shirt!”
“Well, he’s harmless now. That’s a terrible wound. Wonder how it
happened!”
Teddy shook his head.
“Hard to say. Poor geezer, I feel sorry for him, even if he is one
of Frond’s gang. He stands a fair chance of passing out, and we
can’t do much for him. Want me to try to get help while you watch
here? If we could find a doctor in time--”
The ranch boy stopped. The man’s eyes opened and his lips moved
feebly. Roy bent closer.
“What is it?” he asked gently. “Just take it easy now. You’re all
right. Just lie quiet.”
“Froud--Froud--” the man whispered. “Stabbed me--”
Roy looked up with startled eyes.
“Did you hear that?” he demanded. “He says Froud stabbed him! Yes,
I’m listening.”
“Knifed me--” the man faltered. He struggled to sit up, but Roy
prevented this. The man’s fist clenched and his voice came more
strongly.
“The rat!” he cried. “Cut me--without givin’ me no chance. I’ll get
him for this!” He expelled his breath in a long sigh. “Water,” he
gasped. “Water. Pump in back.”
Teddy nodded, and ran to the rear. He returned in a moment with a
tin cup full of water and held it to the man’s lips. After drinking
deep, the man turned his head from side to side.
“Better now,” he declared in a weak voice. Then his eyes caught
Teddy’s face. “I know you! Manley--Bard Manley’s son, ain’t you?
And--” He looked at Roy and a slight grin twisted his mouth. “Well,
if this ain’t the beatenest! Bein’ helped by the very guys
who--who--” he stopped.
“Whose horses you stole?” Teddy finished. “Is that what you mean?”
The man shook his head.
“Not me! I didn’t rustle yore hosses. But what I was goin’ to--to--”
a fit of coughing wracked his whole frame. Roy tightened the
tourniquet slightly, so that the bleeding would not begin again.
When the man regained control of himself Teddy gave him another
drink, and he grinned his gratitude. Then, for the first time, he
noticed the stick of wood entwined in the improvised bandage. He
looked at it curiously.
“Where’d you get that?” he asked.
“Guess you know,” Roy declared shortly. “It’s the handle to an 8 X 8
branding iron.”
A flicker of amusement appeared in the man’s eyes. Then he started
to laugh. Weakly at first, then louder, until Teddy feared he might
be becoming delirious. But in a moment the laughter ceased, to give
way to a sardonic smile.
“Ain’t that luck for you?” He looked at the stick once more. “Savin’
my life with a rustler’s branding iron! An’ me--I’m the rustler! Can
you beat it?”
“Never mind that now,” Teddy said. “What were you saying when that
cough hit you?”
“Give me a chance, will you?” the man snarled. “Here I am dyin’,
maybe, an’ you keep askin’ questions! It’s funny, though--it sure is
funny--”
“You won’t die unless you get strung up,” Roy asserted coolly.
“Better come clean. Who are you? Do you know where our horses are?”
For a moment the man did not answer. He appeared to be turning
something over in his mind. Then suddenly he hammered his fist on
the floor, and raised himself on one elbow.
“I’ll tell,” he said forcibly. “I’ll tell you the whole thing! I’m
done with Gilly Froud--the rat! He tried his best to kill me! Now
listen!”
The fire flared up, and Roy and Teddy bent over the injured man.
Outside the rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast, so
that shadows thrown by the dancing flames played cheerily about in
the dim light of the room. A horse whinnied softly, but neither Roy
nor Teddy heard it. The man on the floor took a deep breath and
continued:
“My name--never mind my name. You wouldn’t know it, anyway. My
business you gotta know--I’m a rustler.” He paused for a moment.
“One of Gilly Froud’s gang?” Roy asked eagerly.
“Gilly Froud’s gang? No! You think that sneak has got nerve enough
to boss a bunch of rustlers? He was one of my gang until now, an’ I
hope he gets it good! Thought he could kill me an’ take all the
cattle for himself--left me for dead an’ rode away. But I fooled
him! I ain’t dead yet, by a long shot! I waited till I saw him go,
then I started on foot--he’d taken my bronc. Somehow I couldn’t stop
this bleedin’, an’ I got weaker. Then it started to rain, an’ I
said, ‘Well, here goes nothin’.’ I made for this shack, thinkin’ I’d
come here an’ die, where I kept my brandin’ irons--an’ right good
irons they are, too, if I do say it myself! I wanted to take one
more look at ’em. Had an idea that the 8 X 8 brand wasn’t just
perfect, an’ I wanted to find out before I passed on. You see, we
sometimes have to use the old iron with the new.” He looked up at
Roy, who was holding the wooden handle of the tourniquet. “Was it
all right? Does that curl on the eight look real?”
“It does,” Roy answered, glancing down with a puzzled expression. A
man who thought he was dying wanting to take a last look at the
irons with which he branded stolen horses!
“Glad of that,” the wounded man said, with a sigh. “I never made a
mistake on an iron in my life, an’ I just wanted to satisfy myself
before I kicked the bucket. Well, I guess you know the rest. Here I
am. What are you goin’ to do with me?”
“But our horses!” Teddy demanded. “Where are they?”
“Oh, they’re safe. We got ’em corralled with the cattle. I said I
didn’t steal ’em, and I didn’t. But I saw ’em stolen. I was leanin’
against Rimor’s Place that day you met me. It was Froud that took
yore broncs. He said yore dad kicked him off yore ranch, an’ he
wanted to get even. I tole him to ferget it, but he wouldn’t. Said
he’d get square if it was the last thing he ever did--that he wanted
to finish beatin’ a certain hoss. It was this that turned me against
him. I may be a rustler, but I never beat no hoss! Nor hurt one!”
“Did Froud beat the pony?” Teddy asked, his eyes gleaming with a
strange light. “Did he?”
“Started to. I seen him, an’ made him quit. Guess he got sore at me
then, an’ decided to do me an’ keep the cattle we rustled fer
himself!”
Teddy looked at the man sympathetically.
“You wouldn’t let him whip Flash? I’ll remember that. Go ahead. Tell
us where our ponies are.”
“Will you let me go if I do?” the man asked cunningly.
Roy glanced at his brother. Teddy knew what was in Roy’s mind, for
it was in his own, too. They could get Flash, Star, and General
back. Also, they might recapture the cattle stolen from the 8 X 8.
If they could get Froud, too, and jail him, together with the other
rustlers, the country would be rid of a band of rascals.
On the other hand, here was the man who had confessed that he was
the ringleader. If they let him go, he might start another gang and
create more disturbance.
“Will you promise to give up horse stealing if we do?” Roy demanded.
The man looked up. His eyes seemed strangely as though they were
laughing, but his mouth never moved.
“Now, wait a second, buddy. You don’t know what yore askin’. Me, I
been a rustler fer years, an’ I don’t know nothin’ else. I can copy
any brandin’ iron an’ I can work a brand over into another so you’d
never know the difference. There ain’t nobody who can do that as
well as me, if I do say it myself. Me, I ain’t a hoss thief. I’m a
brand-iron artist.” He grinned widely. “But I’ll tell you what. You
let me go, an’ I’ll tell you where yore broncs are and where all the
cattle we stole from this section is hidden. An’ then I’ll
promise--an’ I ain’t never went back on my word yet--that I’ll leave
this state an’ never come back.”
Roy stared him straight in the eyes. They stared back, unwavering,
sincere.
“I believe you,” the boy declared. “Spill it. You go free.”
A broad smile came over the man’s face. He thrust out his hand, and
the boys grasped it in turn.
“Listen,” he said eagerly, “an’ listen good. Froud is plannin’ to
raid yore father’s herd tonight. He’s goin’ to cut the fence on the
north side an’ get as many Durhams as he can an’ drive ’em to
Cottonwood Bowl, over near Harver’s Gully. That’s where yore broncs
are. I was supposed to be in on this, ’cause I planned it. But he’ll
go through with it all right. I know him. He’s money-mad! He held up
a flivver the other night just ’cause he thought it was carryin’
jewelry. I didn’t want to have nothin’ to do with it, but I rode
along to see there wouldn’t be no unnecessary shootin’. I ain’t no
sneak thief--nor a murderer, neither. Maybe you know about the
flivver? From the 8 X 8, it was.”
Both boys nodded.
“Go ahead!” Teddy exclaimed. “Just where is this Cottonwood Bowl?”
The man chuckled.
“You’d never find it in a million years if you didn’t know where to
look,” Checkered Shirt went on. “I discovered it, an’ you couldn’t
get a better place fer hidin’ cattle if you tried. First you head
fer Harver’s Gully. You know where that is, hey? Well, there’s a
hill on the other side. Don’t go up that. Foller the river to the
left, and you’ll come to a big rock. Climb that. Then you’ll see
soon enough where the Bowl is. Baby, it’s sweet, sweet!”
“An’ you’ll find yore broncs with the short-horns from the 8 X 8.
The brand ain’t been changed yet. The way I work, I make an iron
just like the original. Then I teases the letters into somethin’
else till even the owner wouldn’t know his own brand. But I got to
have the original exact to do it. That’s why I asked you if--”
“Yes, but we haven’t time! What else about that raid on our ranch?”
Teddy interrupted.
“It’s tonight, like I told you! On the north side of the fence!
An’, boys, I hope you get Froud! Go to it!”
Teddy straightened up.
“Roy, here’s our chance to get our horses back and capture Froud!
We’ve got to get to dad! You--er--”
“Call me Brand,” the man said, with a grin.
“Brand, can you ride? Will you go with us?”
Brand shook his head.
“I stay here. Just cart some water for me, and you’ll find some
bread an’ meat in a closet in back. An’ you might hand me down a
rifle, just in case. I’ll be all right. I’ll rest up, an’ you can
bring a doc when you come back. Then when I feel better, I’ll be
ridin’ on. Snap to it now. You ain’t got much time.”
For a moment Roy hesitated. Gently he unwound the tourniquet. The
bleeding had stopped, and the cut seemed to be closing. If the
fellow who called himself Brand kept quiet for a while, there was
every chance that the injury would soon mend.
Teddy fetched the water and food and laid them by the side of the
man, together with a rifle and a box of cartridges. Then he jerked a
blanket off the couch and threw it over the figure on the floor.
This done, the boys prepared to leave.
“So long, boys! Remember me to Froud--with an ounce of lead! Ride’
em, buckers! Go get ’em!”
Teddy and Roy made for the door. In a moment they were on their
ponies.
A cold wind cut their faces as they raced across the range. Night
was fast approaching. The prairie lay like a sodden blanket beneath
a gray sky.
In the cabin they had just left, a man pulled himself across the
floor and into the next room. His hand reached out toward a pile of
branding irons, and his fingers closed over the one without a
handle. Clutching this, he struggled back to the fire, and held it
to catch the glow of the dying embers. His fingers passed gently
over the raised surface. Then with a sigh of satisfaction he sank
back and watched the last sparks fade into blackness.