Upon the highest ridge between the camp and old Peter's basin Hope and
the twins met Ned riding slowly along, his sturdy little legs drawn up
into the straps of a man's saddle. He had an old, discarded felt hat of
his father's, several sizes too large for him, pulled down until his
ears laid flat along the brim. From under its wide, dingy expanse his
sharp, little black eyes peered out inquisitively. In imitation of a
certain French breed whom he greatly admired, a large red handkerchief
was knotted about his waist.
He made a picturesque little figure in the bright sunlight as he rode
leisurely toward them.
"Where've you all been?" he called at the top of his boyish treble. "You
boys're goin' to catch it if you don't bring in those cows before
dark!"
"Who told you?" roared Dave.
"The old man told me to come an' look you fellers up. Where've you
been?" inquired the child, riding up alongside and swinging his horse
into pace with the others.
"Now you want to find out something," said Dan complacently.
"I don't _care_ where you've been," said the child indignantly, "but
you'd better be roundin' in them cows or you'll catch it!"
Hope rode up beside him. "I'm sorry you weren't home when we left. We've
been over at my cousin's camp. The next time you shall go along."
"Let's go to-morrow," suggested the boy eagerly, to which amusing
proposition she immediately agreed. "Say," he continued, "I seen Long
Bill and some o' them fellers drive in a bunch of mavericks off'n the
range, an' they're goin' to brand 'em back of old Peter's this evenin'.
There was a cow with an O Bar brand on her, followed 'em all the way
down, bellerin' an' makin' a big fuss, an' they can't get rid of her.
They give me a half a dollar to drive her back, but she turned so quick
I couldn't do nothin' with her, so I thought I'd just let 'em take care
of her themselves."
"Are you sure about that brand?" asked Hope quickly.
"Sure as anything," replied the boy. "Why?"
"I think you must be mistaken," she told him. "For it would be very
queer if one of my father's cows should be following a stray maverick up
to old Peter's place."
"I'll tell you something," whispered the boy, leaning toward her. "They
wasn't yearlings at all, they was bringin' in, only big calves."
Her face darkened savagely. "Come," she exclaimed, "I'm going to see for
myself!"
"Tattle-tale!" cried the sweet-voiced twin. "Now you'll get us into a
scrape for tellin'. I'll lick you for this!"
The girl turned her horse sharply about, stopped it short, facing them
fiercely.
"You coward!" she exclaimed. "That child didn't know what he was
telling! He's honest. If either of you touch him, or say one unkind word
to him about this, I'll make you smart for it!"
"I didn't mean nothin'," declared the soft-voiced twin suavely.
"Well, I guess you didn't if you know what's good for you!" she
exclaimed, still angry. "Now what are you going to do about it, go home
like babies, or stand by me and do what I tell you?"
"You bet I'll stand by you!" roared Dave.
"I reckon you're our captain, ain't you?" said the other sweetly.
"I'm a scout, I am!" exclaimed the boy, Ned, riding close beside her.
She mused for a moment with darkening eyes, putting her elbow upon the
saddle's horn and resting her chin in the hollow of her hand.
"It's all right," she said at length deliberately. "Ned will show you
where the cow is, and you boys drive it up to old Peter's corral just as
quickly as you can ride. Don't let anyone see you. When you have done
that, go up to the school-house and wait there for me. Now hurry, and
don't let anyone see you drive in that cow. Go around this other side of
old Peter's."
She motioned her hand for them to go, and waited until they were out of
sight, then rode on to the school coulee which led into old Peter's
basin. It was a long, roundabout way, but her horse covered the ground
rapidly.
From the hill behind the school-house she saw Livingston driving back to
his ranch. She stood out in full relief against the green hillside, and
if he had glanced in that direction must surely have seen her. From that
distance she could not tell if he had done so or not. She wondered what
he would think if he saw her there alone. Then to get sooner out of
sight she ran her horse at full speed up the school coulee toward old
Peter's basin.
Livingston saw her quite plainly; from that distance there was no
mistaking her. Then he proceeded to do a very unwise thing. He put his
horses to their full speed, reached his stables in a few moments, threw
his saddle on his best horse and set out in the direction the girl had
taken.
Hope made her way quickly up to the top of the divide, then skirmished
from brush patch to brush patch, keeping well out of sight until she
reached the brush-covered entrance of Peter's basin. There she had a
plain view of the small cabin, the rude stable, and corral, without
herself being observed by the occupants of the place, and there she
settled herself to wait the appearance of the cow, whose queer actions
had been reviewed to her.
It was difficult to believe that she was actually in the midst of cattle
thieves, though the suspicion had more than once crossed her mind.
She held that class of men in the utmost loathing, and felt herself to
be, now, in the actual discovery of the crime, a righteous instrument in
the arm of justice.
The unmistakable figure of Long Bill loafed serenely in the doorway; old
Peter hobbled about, in and out of the house, while back near the corral
a man was carrying an armful of wood. This man the girl watched with
particular interest. He took the sticks to one side of the corral, and
getting down upon his knees proceeded to arrange them on the ground in
methodical order, into the shape of a small pyramid. That done to his
satisfaction, he lounged back to the cabin and took a seat beside Long
Bill in the doorway.
Presently all three men went back to the corral, and looked over the
rails at several small creatures which were running about the enclosure.
"Them ain't bad-lookin' fellers," Long Bill was saying.
Hope, from her position in the brush, tried to imagine what they were
talking about, for the distance was too great to carry the sound of
their voices.
"I reckon we might as well git 'em branded an' have it over with,"
suggested Shorty Smith, the third man of the party.
"I reckon we might as well," replied Long Bill. Old Peter shook his head
doubtfully.
"Go ahead," he grunted. "But remember I don't know nothin' about these
here calves! You're just usin' my corral here to-day, an' the devil keep
your skins if you git caught!"
"Oh, I don't know!" drawled Shorty Smith.
"Well, I know!" roared the old man. "If you can't take my advice an' put
this here thing off till after dark you kin take the consequences.
Anybody's likely to ride along here, an' I'd like to know what kind of a
yarn you'd have to tell!"
"Now you know them calves 're yourn," drawled Shorty Smith, in an
aggravating tone, as he climbed up and seated himself on the top pole of
the corral. "You know them 're yourn, every blame one, an' their mothers
're back in the hills there!"
"Your cows all had twins, so you picked out these here ones to wean 'em,
if anybody should ask," said Long Bill, continuing the sport.
The old man uttered a string of oaths.
"Not much you don't pan 'em off onto me!" he exclaimed. "My cows ain't
havin' twins this year!"
"Some of Harris' has got triplets," mused Shorty Smith, at which Long
Bill laughed, exclaiming:
"Been lary ever since them stock-inspectors was up here last fall, ain't
you? Before that some o' your cows had a half a dozen calves. I should
'a' thought you had more grit'n that, Peter!"
The old man cursed some more. Shorty Smith jumped down from his high
perch and fetched a long, slender rod of iron from between two logs of
the cow-shed.
"Might as well git down to business," he said as he threw the branding
iron on the ground beside the symmetrical pyramid of fire-wood, which he
proceeded to ignite.
"Let up, old man," growled Long Bill, "I'll take the blame o' the whole
concern an' you ken rake in your share in the fall without any
interference whatsomever."
"Don't git scared, Peter, you ain't got long to live on this here
planet, nohow, so you can finish your days in peace. If there's any time
to be served we'll do it for you," drawled Shorty.
"That's what I call a mighty generous proposition," remarked Long Bill,
as he coiled up his rope. "We'll just git the orniments on these
innocent creatures an' shut 'em up in the shed fer a spell."
"Yes, yes! Git the job over with if you ain't goin' to wait till after
sundown," exclaimed old Peter nervously.
They set to work at once, roping, throwing, and putting a running brand
on the frightened calves. As each one was finished to the satisfaction
of the operator it was put into the cow-shed nearby--a rude sort of
stable, where it was turned loose and the door securely fastened on the
outside with a large wooden peg.
They had been working industriously for perhaps half an hour when old
Peter glanced up from the calf upon which he was sitting and encountered
Hope Hathaway's quiet eyes watching them interestedly. She stood beside
the cow-shed but a few feet away, and held her horse by the bridle.
"Good God!" screamed the old man, nearly losing his balance. "Where did
you come from?"
The other men, whose backs were toward her, glanced about quickly, then
proceeded in well assumed unconcern with the work upon which they were
engaged.
"I hope I'm not intruding," said the girl.
"Not at all," replied Shorty Smith politely. "It ain't often we're
favored by the company of wimmen folks."
"Those are fine-looking calves you've got there," observed the girl.
"Pretty fair," replied Shorty Smith, assisting the animal to its feet.
The visitor stepped to one side while he dragged it into the shed and
closed the door, fastening it with the peg. Then Long Bill proceeded to
throw another victim with as much coolness as though Hope had not been
there with her quiet eyes taking in every detail.
Old Peter had not uttered a word since his first involuntary
exclamation, and though visibly agitated, proceeded in a mechanical
manner to assist with the branding, but he kept his head down and his
eyes obstinately averted from the girl's.
Nearly a dozen had been branded, and only one, besides the last victim
already thrown to the ground, remained in the corral.
Hope's whole attention was apparently taken up with the branding, which
she watched with great interest. Old Peter gradually regained his
equilibrium, while Long Bill and Shorty Smith had begun to congratulate
themselves that their spectator was most innocent and harmless. Yet as
Hope moved quietly back to her position beside the rude stable building
she not only observed the three men intent upon the branding, but noted
the approach of a large cow which had appeared from the right-hand
coulee about the time she left her hiding-place in the brush.
If the men had not been so busy they would undoubtedly have seen this
particular cow coming on steadily toward the corral, now but a rod
distant. They would have noticed, too, the girl's hand leave her side
like a flash and remove the large, smooth peg from where Shorty Smith
had hastily inserted it in the building. They would have seen the stable
door open slowly by its own weight, and then the peg quickly replaced.
What they did notice was that Miss Hathaway came very near to them, so
close that she leaned over old Peter's shoulders to observe the smoking,
steaming operation.
For a moment she stood there quietly, then all at once exclaimed in some
surprise:
"Why, your calves are all out!" Instantly the greatest consternation
reigned, then old Peter hobbled to his feet with an oath.
"Every blamed one," said Shorty Smith. "How 'n blazes did that happen?"
"I reckon you didn't put that peg in right," drawled Long Bill.
"Look!" screamed old Peter, pointing at the large cow that had come
nearer and had picked out from the assortment of calves one of which it
claimed absolute possession. It was at this unfortunate moment that
Livingston, quite unobserved, rode into Peter's basin.
"I'll help you drive them in," volunteered Hope, instantly mounting her
horse and riding into their midst. Then a queer thing followed. Old
Peter, with a cat-like motion, sprang toward her and covered her with a
six-shooter.
"Git off'n my place, you she-devil!" he cried, his face livid with rage
and fear.
"Good God, don't shoot, you fool!" cried Shorty Smith, while Long Bill
made a stride toward the frenzied old man.
Livingston's heart stood still. He was some distance away and, as usual,
unarmed. For an instant he stopped short, paralyzed by the sight. Then
the girl wheeled her horse suddenly about as if to obey the command. As
she did so a report rang out and old Peter, with the flesh ripped from
wrist to elbow, rolled over in a convulsed heap. It was all so sudden
that it seemed unreal. Hope sat on her quivering horse, motionless,
serene, holding in her hand a smoking revolver.
Long Bill and his companion stood like statues, dumfounded for the
instant, but Livingston, with a bound, was at the girl's side, his face
white, his whole being shaken.
"Thank God!" he cried in great tenderness. "You are all right!"
"What made you come here?" she exclaimed in sudden nervousness, which
sounded more like impatience.
Then their eyes met. Her own softened, then dropped, until they rested
upon the gun in her hand. A flush rose to her face and her heart beat
strangely, for in his eyes she had seen the undisguised love of a great,
true soul. For an instant she was filled with the wild intoxication of
it, then the present situation, which might now involve him, returned to
her with all its seriousness. The danger must be averted at once, she
decided, before he learned the actual truth.
"Poor old man!" she exclaimed. Then turned to Long Bill and his
companion. "I'm awfully sorry I had to hurt him, but he actually made me
nervous! I had an idea he was crazy, but I never believed he was
perfectly mad. He ought to be watched constantly and all dangerous
weapons kept away from him. Didn't you know he was dangerous?"
Shorty Smith suddenly rose to meet the situation.
"I knowed he was crazy," he said, "but I didn't know he was as plumb
locoed as that."
"Well, he's out of business for awhile," remarked the girl. "You boys
better bandage up his arm and carry him into the house. I'll send over
old Mother White Blanket when I get back. I guess you can get in the
calves by yourselves all right, for really I feel very shaken and I
think I'll go right home. You'll go with me, won't you, Mr. Livingston.
But the poor old crazy man! You boys will take good care of him, won't
you--and let me know if I can be of any assistance."
"Well, what do yo' think?" asked Shorty Smith, as Hope and her companion
disappeared from the basin.
"What'd I think?" exclaimed Long Bill. "I think we've been pretty badly
_done_!"
"Oh, I don't know," drawled Shorty Smith, "I reckon she ain't goin' to
say nothin' about _me_!"