“I don’t reckon that Bud Deal’s got a great lot of use for either one of
us, Smith.”
“I’m thinkin’ there’s a world of truth in that,” said Jimmy seriously.
“Yuh don’t think much of him yourself, do yuh?”
Jimmy lit his cigaret and inhaled deeply.
“Mister Frawley, it takes all kinds of people to make a world, and Bud
is just one of the kinds. I don’t hate him, because—” Jimmy scratched
his chin, as if searching for words to describe his point. “Sure,
there’s only the thickness of a cigaret paper between love and hate; but
ye don’t love any one who means nothin’ to ye. Neither can ye hate a
man, who—who ye never could love. To love or hate, ye must feel that the
person has a soul, which I can’t feel of our _compadre_ Bud.”
“Pat is goin’ to marry him, I hear.”
Jimmy did not look at Frawley, who watched him closely; but there was
only a sudden tightening of the muscles of Jimmy’s mouth, which might
have been caused by holding the cigaret, the smoke of which drifted
unminded into his eyes.
Jimmy slowly removed the cigaret, crushed it carefully between his thumb
and finger and let the contents sift to the floor of the porch.
“I’ll be goin’ to work now,” said Jimmy slowly, and went down the steps.
He found a crowbar and a shovel and selected the far side of the corral
to start operations. He saw Frawley hitch up the team to the buckboard
and drive up to the house; and later he saw them leaving for Oxbow. It
was getting hot; but Jimmy dug savagely at the rocky soil. A number of
the posts were tottering—rotted away at the ground.
“You boomer!” he told himself savagely. “You paroled thief! What right
have ye to care for anybody? Go on away from here and forget such fool
ideas. Bud Deal must be all right, or she wouldn’t think of marryin’
him.”
Jimmy sent the sharp end of the heavy crowbar deep into the gravel,
twisting and turning it as if it weighed only a few ounces.
“Are you going to enlarge the corral, Jimmy?”
He turned his sweat-streaked face and looked at Pat, who had come
unnoticed and was leaning against the fence, watching him curiously. He
glanced down at the post-hole and suddenly realized that he had dug at
least two feet away from the original hole.
“Aye,” he muttered foolishly, and broke into a grin. “Sure, me mind is
not broad enough to handle the north end of a crowbar and play civil
engineer at the same time. Why did ye not go to town?”
“I wanted to help you gather eggs, Jimmy. You haven’t forgotten your
sick friend, have you?”
Jimmy shook his head.
“No, I’ve not; but Mister Frawley mapped out me day’s work and I must be
doin’ it.”
“Suppose,” smiled Pat confidentially, “suppose I was the one who mapped
out the work, Jimmy. Jud won’t expect to find much done when he gets
back, but he won’t mention it.”
“Ye—ye framed it to stay with me?” Jimmy wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Why did ye do that, Pat?”
“I wanted to help you.”
He shook his head slowly.
“Ye shouldn’t ’a’ done it, Pat. Sure, I appreciate it, y’ betcha; but
bein’ here all alone with me, and ridin’ into the hills——”
“What do you mean?” demanded Pat.
“Frawley told me!” Jimmy was closely examining the crowbar—“Frawley told
me about you—and Bud Deal.”
“Oh!” softly. “And you—you respected his rights?”
Jimmy looked up quickly.
“I’d thank him to respect mine.”
Pat stepped over and put her hand on his arm.
“Jimmy, I—I think you are the squarest shooter I ever met. Jud Frawley
is only the foreman of this ranch. If you don’t think I am the boss—ask
Jud or dad. Now, let’s go and find those eggs.”
Jimmy stared at her for a moment and his hand went to the brim of his
sombrero in a half-salute.
“I never dispute me commandin’ officer. We’ll rustle the eggs.”
Pat had already “rustled” the eggs and had made up a compact bundle of
eggs, jam, pickles and fresh bread to take to the sick man. Jimmy
saddled her horse, a brown mare, and put a saddle on the Whistler, while
Pat stood aside, expecting the notorious outlaw to show its true colors
again. But Whistler submitted quietly to the saddle and only acted a
trifle stubborn after Jimmy had settled into the saddle.
They rode out of the main gate, swung a trifle southeast and crossed
Leloo Creek, from where they climbed a sloping hogback ridge.
About a mile from the ranch-house, in almost the same place where Garvin
and Frawley had watched the place on the day of the robbery, sat Bud
Deal, with his field-glasses, watching the ranch. Bud had felt sure that
Devlin had been to that cabin; but Whitey had not intimated a thing that
would corroborate his suspicions. If Devlin had cached that money under
the cabin floor he would most surely search for it, and would find
Whitey.
Bud scowled through the glasses as he watched Jimmy and Pat ride up the
ridge, and as soon as they were out of sight he mounted and rode swiftly
down past the ranch-house and into the hills, following them.
Jimmy and Pat traveled slowly along the ridge and swung around the head
of a draw, which led back to Leloo Creek. This brought them in on the
right-hand side of the big coulée and across the coulée from Devil’s
Pulpit.
A light wind swept the hills, rippling the grass and flowers as it might
ripple a great lake of gaudy colors. Jimmy and Pat had done little
talking, as it was almost impossible to ride side by side; but when they
struck the flat country, Jimmy spurred up beside her and both horses
fell into a slow walk.
“Sure, this is God’s country,” said Jimmy. “Did ye ever see so much
color? ’Tis skies of blue, a breeze like the perfumed breath of the gods
and a flower garden from Paradise.”
“Yes,” nodded Pat, “and in the Winter?”
“Aye. But for every love there’s a hate, Pat.”
“I suppose so, Jimmy. Poor old dad. Hundreds of cows lost in the big
blizzard, which means thousands of dollars. Still he doesn’t complain.
Now, he’s in jail, and the law says he must stay there until—— Jimmy,
what in the world is that?”
Pat pointed at the brushy side of a small coulée, where a weird figure
had appeared. It was the figure of a man, standing with arms
outstretched, as if invoking the gods. His clothes were almost all torn
from his body and his face was an indistinguishable mass, which looked
like blood and dirt.
They rode in closer, but the figure gave them no heed.
“Why, it’s old Indian Jim!” exclaimed Pat. “What in the world is the
matter with him?”
Jimmy spurred in closer and peered at the Indian. His hair and the upper
part of his half-naked body was crusted with blood and dirt, and his
chest and arms had been scratched deeply from mesquite snags.
“What in the divil happened to ye?” asked Jimmy.
The old Indian turned slowly and seemed to see them for the first time.
He moved slowly backward, with arms still outstretched, whirled suddenly
and bounded across the coulée, screeching like a panther. Over the far
side he went, running swiftly, and disappeared into another ravine,
which led into the big coulée at the foot of Devil’s Pulpit.
“Crazy as a March hare!” grunted Jimmy. “He’s been hurt in the head, I’m
thinkin’. What do ye make of it?”
Pat shook her head. “I do not know, Jimmy. Old Jim always seemed sane;
but he would do anything for a drink of liquor. Perhaps he got drunk and
hurt himself.”
“By golly, that’s the Injun who was takin’ care of my sick friend!”
exclaimed Jimmy to himself. “I wonder if somethin’ has happened to him.
Ye never can trust a drunken Injun—nor a drunken white man, for that
matter.”
* * * * *
They rode on toward the rim of the big coulée, watching for another
glimpse of the Indian. A dense patch of brush masked their approach to
the edge. Jimmy tied the horses in the brush and he and Pat walked out
to where they could get almost a bird’s-eye view of the coulée. Across
from them was Devil’s Pulpit, and below, hidden in the brush, was the
little cabin. From their elevation they could see the sweep of open
country at the head of the coulée, and to the right the hills swept off
to the blue haze of Bitter River.
A drifting herd of cattle went slowly along the sky-line to the left and
far behind the Pulpit. An eagle circled high in the air; without visible
movement, like a bird-figure suspended on invisible wires. Far down the
coulée a blue-jay chattered violently at intervals.
“A picture of peace,” muttered Jimmy softly, “but down in that brush is
a half-naked war-whoop, without brains enough to know sic ’em. Mostly
always peace is like that, Pat. Ye never can tell by the label.”
Pat nodded absently, squinting across the coulée.
“Jimmy, look over at the bottom of the Pulpit. Look at the spot near
where the rock comes to the brush. See the place, which looks like the
corner of a building?”
“Aye,” grunted Jimmy. “Now what do ye suppose any man would want there?”
The tiny figure of a man was plainly visible, as he came down along the
side of the Pulpit. For a few moments he disappeared, as he entered a
heavy growth of brush, but reappeared again closer to the corner. At
that distance it was impossible to see just what he was doing, as he
blended with the rocks and foliage. But very soon he was retracing his
steps, going back toward the top of the ridge.
“That wasn’t the Injun,” declared Jimmy. “He could not get there so
soon.”
“Shall we go on down to the cabin?” asked Pat.
“I’ve a hunch to stop here a while,” smiled Jimmy, and added, “and
anyway, I’m goin’ down there alone, Pat.”
“I am going with you,” declared Pat.
“I’ve had little experience with women,” said Jimmy seriously, “but they
do tell me they’re not open to conviction, so I’ll not argue with any of
them.”
Jimmy looked back across the coulée. The figure of a mounted man was
riding down the right-hand side of the ridge, which led from the
pulpit—far enough back to conceal him from any one in the coulée, but
visible to Pat and Jimmy. They watched him finally ride down into the
coulée, far below the little cabin.
At times they could see him through the trees and brush, and it appeared
that he was crossing the coulée and heading toward them. He passed out
of sight into one of the draws on their side.
Jimmy turned and looked toward the head of the coulée. A wild range
steer, like a tiny silhouette, was trotting along the sky-line, and in a
few moments they were able to distinguish a horse and rider coming over
the sky-line behind the steer, but the rider came down the hill instead
of keeping to the sky-line.
“Some one else is comin’,” grunted Jimmy, pointing out the rider to Pat.
“We’ll be havin’ a quorum soon, I’m thinkin’.”
“Is it just a chance, or is there a reason, Jimmy?”
“I dunno, Pat. These two won’t meet. Anyway, it’s interestin’ to sit
here and make bugaboos and bloodthirsty men out of ordinary,
hard-workin’ range riders. Sure, I love to build me own heroes and
villains. It’s the Irish in me which loves to see a bomb behind every
bunch of chin-whiskers or to picture a colored waiter as a head-huntin’
Dyak, sneaking softly down through the steamin’ jungle, instead of a
perfectly harmless hired man, comin’ between tables with a bowl of
steamin’ mulligan.”
“You are a dreamer, Jimmy,” smiled Pat. “And still you whipped Bud
Deal.”
“Is he hard to whip?”
“They say he has never met his match with fists or a gun.”
“Well, now,” smiled Jimmy, “I shall try me best to be afraid of him.
Sure, I didn’t know about him.”
Pat looked at Jimmy and shook her head slowly.
“You will have to try real hard, I think. You had no trouble with Klooch
and you rode Whistler—and knocked Bud Deal down, when he started to draw
his gun.”
“He wasn’t lookin’ for it, Pat. Mebbe we’d make a real pretty fight—I
dunno. I’m sure I don’t—sh-h-h!”
The sound of a walking horse drifted to their ears. It was passing
between them and their horses, from the sound. Then, through an opening
in the brush, they saw Jeff Garvin, riding slowly. He had something in
front of him in the saddle. He passed out of sight, and a moment later
there was no sound from his horse.
Jimmy raised up slowly and motioned to Pat to remain where she was. He
wormed his way around through the brush for about fifty feet, where he
could see Garvin, sitting motionless on his horse and looking toward the
head of the coulée.
Jimmy turned his head. The other rider was coming slowly to the edge of
the coulée, and Jimmy recognized Bud Deal’s sorrel. He glanced back at
Garvin, who turned his horse back into the brush and dismounted. For the
space of a full minute he remained motionless. Just in front of him was
a small ravine, full of rocks and brush, and Garvin seemed to be
considering this spot. Finally he took what looked like a dirty canvas
sack and went over to this little ravine.
It took him some time to select a certain spot, after which he appeared
to conceal the sack. Then he got to his feet, gazed for a few moments
toward the horse and rider far beyond, and then went back to his horse,
where he waited until Bud Deal had disappeared in the brush.
Garvin seemed undecided about which way to go, but finally rode into the
brush, heading toward the spot where Bud had disappeared.
Jimmy slipped back to Pat and motioned for her to follow him. He told
her nothing; but led her to the little ravine, where, from under a pile
of rocks, which looked as if they had been in place for centuries, he
drew out the canvas sack.
“Our friend Garvin hid it,” grinned Jimmy, as he unwound the string and
peered inside. “Holy smoke! Would ye look at this, Pat?”
He opened the sack for her inspection, and she gazed wide-eyed at a
jumble of yellow-backed currency and minted gold. The sack would weigh
about twenty pounds, but the bulk of the money seemed to be in currency.
“What is it?” gasped Pat, staring at Jimmy.
“Unless me thoughts are wanderin’, that’s the money which was stole from
the train. The sheriff has your father and brother in jail for the deed,
while he goes around hidin’ it. Can ye beat that for inconsistency?”
Pat looked blankly at the money and Jimmy grinned up at her.
“I wonder if Garvin was one—sure, that was him at the foot of the
Pulpit. Now, I’m beginnin’ to see a bit clearer.”
“What will we do with it, Jimmy?” nervously.
Jimmy stood up with the sack in his hands, and looked around.
“We’ll shock Mister Garvin, I’m thinkin’. Come on.”
He led the way back to where they had sat, and picked a spot near the
edge, where he placed the sack under the side of a large granite
outcropping and covered it with other rocks. When he had finished the
job, no one would ever suspect that the rocks had been placed there by
human hands.
“Remember this place, Pat,” said Jimmy seriously. “Ye may have to find
it alone. We want that money to go back to its rightful owners.”
“Why will I have to find it alone, Jimmy?”
“I only say that ye may, Pat. Life is uncertain, ye know.”
“But this robbery does not concern you. There is no danger for you,
Jimmy—is there?”
“The good Lord only knows, and He ain’t exposin’ nothin’ to mortal man,
little Pat. Let’s quit arguin’ and do a bit o’ lookin’.”
They moved back to the rim of the coulée, where they could remain
concealed, yet be in a position to watch the whole sweep of country.