he beckoned to him a slim, swarthy-skinned youth who answered to the
euphonious name of Sam Pretty Cow, who was three-quarters Indian and
forgiven the taint for the ability to ride anything he ever tried to
ride, rope anything he ever swung his loop at, and for his unfailing
good humor which set him far above his kind.
"Cheyenne's in a hurry to-night, Sam."
"Yeah. Ride hell out of his horse. I dunno, me." Sam grinned amiably
at his boss.
"I wish you would camp on his trail, Sam. He'll maybe ride somewhere
to-night."
"Yeah. Uh-huh. You bet," acquiesced Sam, and leaned forward a little,
meaning to gallop after Cheyenne.
"Hold on a minute! What did Scotty have to say, Sam?"
"Him? Talk a lot about spotty yearlin' he says is dead. Asking who
kills them calf. Search me, I dunno."
"Hear any talk among the boys about beef rustling?"
"Uh-huh. First I hear is them sour-face asking me who kills them
critter. Me, I dunno."
"If you hear anything about it, Sam, let me know. Scotty thinks we
done it."
"Yeah. Uh-huh. Anybody does something mean, everybody says, 'Damn
Lorrigans done it.' Too much talk in the Black Rim. Talking under
their hats all the time but no liking to fight them Lorrigans. Uh-huh.
They're scared, you bet."
"They'll have something to get scared at, if they ain't careful. I'm
getting tired of it," said Tom gloomily.
"Yeah, you bet!" agreed Sam, his voice all sympathy. Then seeing that
Tom had no immediate intention of saying more, he touched his horse
with his long-shanked spurs and hurried on to "camp on the trail of
Cheyenne."
Tom had nearly reached camp when Duke came pounding up behind him,
coming from the herd. Duke set his horse up, in two jumps slowing from
a gallop to a walk. Tom turned his head but he did not speak. Nor did
Duke wait for questions.
"Dad, we didn't find any hide over by Squaw Butte," he announced
abruptly. "Mel and I hunted every foot of the willows. I saw where a
critter had been killed, all right. There was some scuffed-out tracks
and blood on the ground. But there wasn't any hide. Scotty musta
cached it somewheres."
"Scotty claims he left it where he found it, for evidence," Tom said
gloomily.
"Darned if I'd take the blame for other folks' rustling," Duke
declared. "I wisht he'd of come to me with his tale of woe. I'd a
showed him where to head in, mighty darned sudden. I'd of asked where
was his proof; there's other cow outfits in the Black Rim besides the
Devil's Tooth, I'd tell him. And if he didn't have mighty darned good
evidence, I'd of--"
"Yes, I expect you would of tore the earth up all round him," Tom
interrupted drily. "You boys shore are fighty, all right--with your
faces. What I'm interested in, is whereabouts you and Mel hunted. That
hide wouldn't show up like the Devil's Tooth--understand. And Scotty
was bawling around like a man that's been hurt in the pocket. He found
a hide, and if it ain't his he shore thinks it is, and that's just
about the same. And we camped over there three days ago. Where all did
you and Mel look?"
"All over, wherever a hide could be cached. There ain't any over
there. Scotty musta dreamt it--or else he buried it."
"Scotty ain't the dreamy kind. Might be possible that the ones that
done the killing went back and had a burying--which they'd oughta
have had at the time. I can't sabe a man rustling beef and leaving
the hide laying around, unless--" Tom pulled his eyebrows together
in quick suspicion. "It kinda looks to me like a frame-up," he
resumed from his fresh viewpoint. "Well, you and Mel keep it under
your hats, Duke. Don't say nothing to any of the boys at all. But if
any of the boys has anything to say, you listen. Scotty made the
rounds to-day--talked to the whole bunch. They know all about his
spotty yearlin', gol darn him! I'd like to know if any of 'em has got
any inside dope. There's strangers in the outfit this spring. And,
Duke, you kinda keep your eye on Cheyenne. Al seems to think he
ain't right--but Al has got to the suspicious age, when every man
and his dog packs a crime on his conscience. You kinda stall around
and see if Cheyenne lets slip anything."
"What would happen to old Scotty Douglas if he lost a bunch, for gosh
sake? Drop dead, I reckon," grumbled Duke. "He's sure making a lot of
fuss over one measly yearlin'."
"Yeah--but I've saw bigger fusses made over smaller matters, son," Tom
drawled whimsically. "I saw two men killed over a nickel in change,
once. It ain't the start; it's the finish that counts."
"Well, looking at it that way, uh course--"
"That's the only way to look at it, son. Did you think, maybe, that I
hazed you over to find that hide and bury it, just to keep it from
scentin' up the scenery? It's what I could smell farther ahead that I
was after. If you'd looked ahead a little further, maybe you'd of
looked a little closer in the willers."
To this Duke had nothing to say; and presently he loped on, leaving
Tom to ride slowly and turn the matter of the spotted yearling over
and over in his mind until he had reached some definite conclusion.
Tom had the name of being a dangerous man, but he had not earned it by
being hasty. His anger was to be feared because it smoldered long,
rather than because it exploded into quick violence. He wanted to see
the trail ahead of him--and just now he thought he saw Trouble waiting
on the turn. No Lorrigan had ever ridden the other way because Trouble
waited ahead, but one Lorrigan at least would advance with his eyes
open and his weapons ready to his hand.
"Bring your proof," he had said in effect to Aleck Douglas, "or stand
trial for libel. Since you won't fight with guns, I'll fight you with
the law." Very good, if he could be sure that the Douglas would fail
to produce his proof.
Tom knew well enough the reputation he bore in the Black Rim country.
Before the coming of Belle, and later, of the boys, Tom had done his
share toward earning that reputation. But Belle and the boys had
changed his life far more than appeared on the surface. They had held
his rope from his neighbors' cattle, for one thing, though his
neighbors never had credited him with honesty.
It is true that Tom could remember certain incidents of the round-up
that had added to his herd and brought him a little nearer the
million-dollar mark. Without remorse he remembered, and knew that any
cowman in the country would do the same, or worse if he dared. For
branding irons do not always inquire very closely into the parentage
of a calf that comes bouncing up stiff-legged at the end of a
cowpuncher's rope. Nor need a maverick worry very long because he
belongs to no one, so long as cowmen ride the range. Cattle would
always stray into the Black Rim country from ranges across the
mountains, and of these the Black Rim took its toll. He supposed
strange irons were set now and then on the hide of an NL animal across
the mountains--but the branders had better not let him catch them at
it! On the other hand, he would see to it that they did not catch him
branding mavericks on his own range. To Tom that seemed fair
enough,--a give-and-take game of the rangeland. According to Tom's
code he was as honest as his neighbors, and that was honest enough for
practical purposes.
It happened that he had not killed Aleck Douglas' spotted yearling.
And to be accused of the theft hurt.
"Why, humpin' hyenas! If I'd a beefed that critter, old Scotty
wouldn't ever have found no hide to catch me on! What kinda mark does
he think I am! Rustle a beef and leave the hide laying around? why,
any darn fool would know better than that!"
It was characteristic of the Lorrigan influence that when Tom rode
into camp every one of the crew save his own sons quieted a little;
not enough to suggest timidity, but to a degree that told how well
they knew that their master was present.
That master quietly took stock of his men while they ate their supper
and loafed and smoked and talked. Cheyenne had unobtrusively retired
to the bed tent. With his thumbs pushed down inside his belt Tom
strolled past and slanted a glance inside. Cheyenne was squatted on
his heels shaving with cold lather and a cracked looking-glass propped
against a roll of bedding, and a razor which needed honing. In turning
his head to look at Tom he nicked his chin and while he stopped the
bleeding with a bit of old newspaper the size of a small finger-nail
he congratulated himself in the mistaken belief that Tom had not seen
him at all.
Cheyenne did not know Tom very well, else he would have taken it for
granted that Tom not only had seen him, but had also made a guess at
his reason for shaving in the middle of the week.
Tom walked on, making a mental tally of the girls within riding
distance from camp. Jennie Miller was reported engaged to an AJ man,
and besides, she lived too far away and was not pretty enough to be
worth the effort of a twenty-five mile ride just to hear her play
hymns distressingly on an organ with a chronic squeak in one pedal.
There was Alice Boyle at the AJ, and there was Mary Hope Douglas, who
was growing to be quite a young lady,--pretty good-looking, too, if
she wouldn't peel her hair back so straight and tight. Mary Hope
Douglas, Tom decided, was probably the girl. It struck Tom as
significant that she should be the daughter of the man who mourned the
loss of the yearling. He had not reached the rear of the tent before
he decided that he himself would do a little riding that night. He
caught and saddled Coaley, his own pet saddle horse that had never
carried any man save Tom--never would, so long as Tom had anything to
say about it--and set off toward the Devil's Tooth ranch. Cheyenne
ducked his head under the tent flap when he heard the sound of hoof
beats passing close, saw that it was his boss, noted the direction he
was taking, and heaved a sigh of relief. While he labored with the
knot in his handkerchief which must be tied exactly right before he
would leave the tent, Cheyenne had been composing a reason for leaving
camp. Now he would not need a reason, and he grinned while he
plastered his hair down in a sleek, artistically perfect scallop over
his right eyebrow. Tom was going to the home ranch,--to round up Al,
very likely. He would be gone all night and he would not know how many
of his men rode abroad that night.
So presently Cheyenne saddled the freshest horse in his string and
loped off, making an insulting sign with one hand when the boys wished
him luck with the girl and offered to go along and talk religion with
"feyther" just to help him out.
Very soon after that Sam Pretty Cow drifted away, and no one noticed
his absence. Sam Pretty Cow's wanderings never did attract much
attention. He was Injun, and Injuns have ways strange to white men.
For instance, he did not sleep in the tent, but spread his blankets
under whatever shelter he could find within hailing distance from the
others. He was always around when he was wanted, and that seemed to be
all that was expected of him. Sleep settled on the Devil's Tooth
round-up camp, and the night guard sang to the cattle while they rode
round and round the herd, and never dreamed that this night was not as
other nights had been.
CHAPTER SIX
BELLE MEETS AN EMERGENCY IN HER OWN WAY
A Meadow Lark, his conscience comfortable after a generous breakfast
of big and little worms carried to his mate hidden away under a thick
clump of rabbit weed down by the creek, spread rigid wings and
volplaned to the crooked post beside the corral gate, folded his
feathers snug and tilted his head aslant. _"Cler, cler, cler, cler-ee,
cler-ee!"_ he sang, and perked a wary eye toward the low-roofed
stable.
"Oh, I hear you, you sassy little sinner! I wouldn't think you'd have
the nerve, after what you've done to my radishes. I'm sure going to
mix with you, if you--Rosa! Lift a heel at me and you die! Stand
over--don't you try squeezing me against the wall, or I'll take my
quirt to you! Get over there, before I brain you! Hay-ah-h, you--"
From the sounds one would imagine that a bear, two lions and a mule
had come to handgrips in the stable, and that a woman of the Amazons
was battling with them all. The meadow lark knew better. This was his
second season on the Devil's Tooth ranch, and he knew that Belle
Lorrigan was merely harnessing her pinto team in the stable, and that
nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. Being a wise bird as
well as an inquisitive one, he fluttered up to the ridge-pole of the
roof and from that sanctuary listened beady-eyed to the customary
tumult.
Certain staccato epithets meant merely that Subrosa was objecting to
the crupper. A sudden stamping testified that Belle had approached
Rosa with the bridle. A high-keyed, musical voice chanting man-size
words of an intimidating nature followed which proved that the
harnessing was progressing as well as could be expected. Then came a
lull, and the meadow lark tilted forward expectantly, his head turned
sidewise to see what came next.
First came Belle Lorrigan, walking backward, a shot-loaded quirt
raised admonishingly to the chin of Subrosa who walked stiff-legged
and reluctant, his white-lashed, blue eyes rolling fearsomely, his
nostrils belling in loud snorts of protest. A complexity of
emotions stirred Subrosa. Afraid to lunge forward, hating to walk
circumspectly, eager for the race yet dreading the discipline of rein
and whip, Subrosa yielded perforce to the inevitable. As his heels
flicked over the low doorsill he swung round and landed one final
kick against the log wall, threw up his head in anticipation of the
quirt, stepped on a dragging trace chain and jumped as though it
was a rattler.
"None of that, you cantankerous brute! One of these days I'm going to
just naturally brain you, Sub. I'm getting good and tired of this
circus business. You settle down, now, and act human, or--"
Subrosa kicked at the trace and flipped it up so that it struck him
smartly on the rump. He jumped straight forward at Belle, who dodged
and landed the quirt none too gently on his nose. Subrosa sat down
violently, and Belle straightway kicked him in the paunch by way of
hinting that she preferred him standing. Then they had it out,
rampaging all over the round-pole corral until Belle, breathing a bit
fast but sparkly-eyed and victorious, led Subrosa through the gate and
up to the post where she snubbed him fast. She was turning to go after
Rosa when a young voice called to her anxiously.
"Oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! Quick, I'm in a hurry. I mustn't stay, because
they'll be here in a little while. But they're coming by the road and
I came down the trail, and that gave me time. I can't take any more
music lessons, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father is that angry wi' your
husband--and oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! If you have any hide that isna your
own, ye should hide it away at once! Because the shuriff--"
Belle laid her palms on her hips and stared blankly up at Mary Hope,
who sat nervously on old Rab at the gate.
"Heavens, child! My hide is my own--and at that it's pretty well
hidden. What about the sheriff? What's he got to say about it?"
"It's the stealing, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father has the shuriff wi' him, and
they are going to search the ranch for the hides--"
"Good Lord! _What_ hides?"
"The hides of my father's cattle. And if you have any, put them away
quick, where the shuriff canna find them, Mrs. Lorrigan! It's ill I
should go against my father, but you have been so good to me with the
music lessons, and--"
"Don't let the music lessons bother you, Hope. And I guess we're
entitled to all the cowhides we've got on the place, if that's what
you mean. What do you think we are--thieves, Hope Douglas?"
"I dinna say it. I only came to warn ye, so that you may have time tae
put your hides way oot o' their sicht when they come. I dinna want
that your husband should go to prison, Mrs. Lorrigan. But father is
that angry--"
"Well, say! Let me tell you something, Hope. If there's any talk of
stealing and prison for the Lorrigans, your dad had better keep outa
my Tom's sight. And outa mine," she added grimly. "There'll be no
searching for anything on this ranch when my Tom's not here to see
what goes on. You better go back and tell your dad I said it. If you
don't and he brings the sheriff on here, don't blame me if somebody
gets hurt."
"Oh, but it's the law they're bringing on ye! Ye canna go contrary to
the law!" Mary Hope's voice quavered with fear.
"Oh, can't I!" Belle gave her head a tilt. "You beat it, while the
going's good. I hear voices up on the road. If you don't want your dad
to come and catch you here--"
That settled it. Terror drove Mary Hope into the Devil's Tooth trail
at Rab's best pace, which was a stiff-legged lope. Her last glance
backward showed her Belle Lorrigan taking her six-shooter belt off the
buckboard seat and buckling it around her waist so that the gun hung
well forward. Mary Hope shuddered and struck Rab with the quirt.
Belle had led Rosa from the stable and was cautiously fastening the
neck yoke in place when the sheriff and Aleck Douglas rode around the
corner of the stable. Rosa shied and snorted and reared, and Belle
used the rein-ends for a whiplash until Rosa decided that she would
better submit to authority and keep her hide whole. She stood fairly
quiet after that, with little nipping dance-steps in one spot, while
Belle fastened buckles and snaps and trace chains. Subrosa, having had
his tantrum, contented himself with sundry head-shakings and snorts.
When the team was "hooked up" to Belle's satisfaction, she tied them
both firmly to the corral with short ropes, and finally turned her
attention to her visitors.
"Howdy, Mr. Douglas? Fine day we're having," she greeted the dour
Scotchman amiably.
The sheriff coughed behind his hand, looked sidelong at his companion,
rode a step or two nearer to Belle, swung a leg over the cantle of his
saddle. Perhaps he expected Aleck Douglas to introduce him, but he did
not wait for the formality.
"Mrs. Lorrigan, I'm sheriff of the county," he began ingratiatingly,
when his two feet were on the ground.
"You are?" Belle flashed a row of very white teeth. "You sure don't
look it. I'd have taken you for a regular human being."
"Mr. Douglas, here, would like to take a look at some hides Mr.
Lorrigan has got curing. He thinks possibly--"
"'Tis useless to cover the truth wi' saft words, shuriff," Douglas
interrupted glumly. "'Tis stolen cattle we are tracing, and 'tis here
we wad look for the hides of them. I hae guid reason--"
"You'll find my husband at the round-up. Before you do any searching,
you had better go and have a talk with him. When he's gone strangers
don't go prowling around this ranch."
"We'll have our talk with him after we've taken a look around,"
the sheriff amended, grinning a little. "It's just a matter of
form--nothing you need to object to, one way or the other. I don't
suppose we'll find anything--"
"No, I don't suppose you will. Not unless you find it on the road
back. I hate to seem unfriendly, but I'll just have to ask you to
crawl on your horse and go see Tom about it."
"Now, we don't want any unpleasantness at all, Mrs. Lorrigan. But this
man has swore out a warrant--"
"Shucks! What he does never did interest me one way or the other, and
does not now. I'm telling you there'll be no snooping around here
while Tom's away."
"Oh, well, now!" The sheriff rather prided himself on his ability to
"handle folks peaceable," as he expressed it. He injected a little
more of the oil of persuasiveness into his voice. It was his standard
recipe for avoiding trouble with a woman. "You don't think for a
minute I'd take advantage of his absence, Mrs. Lorrigan? Nothing like
that at all. We just want to see if a certain cowhide is here. If it
isn't, then we won't need to bother Tom at all, maybe. Get down, Mr.
Douglas, and we'll just have a look around. Mrs. Lorrigan ain't going
to make no objections to that."
Belle smiled. "Oh, yes, she is. She's going to do quite a lot of
objecting. You better stay right where you are, Scotty. You're a heap
safer."
The sheriff began to lose patience. "Now, look here, Mrs. Lorrigan!
You're dealing with the law, you know. We can't have any nonsense."
"We won't have," Belle assured him placidly. "That's what I've been
trying to beat into your head. Why, good Lord! Can't you take the hint
and see I'm trying not to have any trouble with yuh? I don't want to
have to _run_ you off the ranch--but as you say, there's not going to
be any nonsense. I said, _go_. I'm waiting to see if you've got sense
enough to do it."
"Sa-ay! Just look here now! Do you know it's a State's prison offense
to resist an officer!" The sheriff's face was growing red.
Belle laughed. "Sure. But I'm not. You--you're irresistible! And I
don't know you're an officer."
This went over the sheriff's head and was wasted, though Aleck Douglas
pulled down his mouth at the corners as though he was afraid he might
smile if he were not careful.
The sheriff took up his bridle reins, preparing to lead his horse over
to a post and tie him. He glanced at Belle and saw that she had a
six-shooter in her hand and a glitter in her eyes. Quite naturally he
hesitated. Then, at a perfectly plain signal from the gun, he turned
his palms toward her at a level with his shoulders.
"You needn't tie up. Crawl into the saddle and drift."
"I've got a search warrant--"
"You can keep it and show it to Tom. And get off this ranch just as
quick as that horse can take you. I'll have you both arrested for
trespassing. I'm not taking your word for anything, you see. _I_ don't
know anything about your warrant--hey, Riley!" This to the cook, who
came, taking steps as long as his legs would let him, and swinging a
damp dishcloth in one moist red hand.
"Riley, here's a man claims he's the sheriff and that he's got a
warrant to search the ranch. I don't believe a word of it, and I've
ordered him off the place. I wouldn't for the world resist an officer
of the law--put your hands up a little higher, Mr. Man!--but when Tom
ain't home no stranger is going to come snooping around here if I can
stop him. Ain't that right, Riley?"
"That's right, Belle," Riley acquiesced, working his oversized Adam's
apple convulsively. (Riley, by the way, would just as readily have
approved of murder if Belle had asked for his approval.)
"Well, you're a witness that I'm from Missouri. I've told this man to
go tell his troubles to Tom. If he's honest he'll do it. If he don't
go in about ten seconds, I'm going to throw a bullet through his hat.
_Then_ if he hangs around, I shall shoot him in his left leg just
about six inches above the knee. I can do it, can't I, Riley?"
"Well, now, you shore can, Belle!" Riley nodded his head emphatically.
"If you say six, I'd shore gamble a year's wages it won't be five,
or seven. Six inches above his knee goes, if you say six."
"All right. I'm just defending the ranch when Tom's gone. You hear me,
Mr. Man. Now, you git!"
The sheriff turned and opened his mouth to protest, and Belle shot the
promised bullet through his hat crown. The sheriff ducked and made a
wild scramble for the stirrup.
"Open your mouth again and I'll be awfully tempted to shoot that
crooked tooth out of it," Belle observed. "And in ten seconds,
remember, you're going to get--"
The sheriff still had two of the ten seconds to spare when he left,
Aleck Douglas following him glumly.
"It's him, all right. It's the sheriff, Belle," Riley informed her,
while they watched the two clatter up the road to where the real grade
began. "What's eatin' on 'em? Likely he did have a search warrant."
"He can use it, after I'm through. Old Scotty is trailing some rustled
stock, they claim. They came here looking for hides. You keep an eye
out, Riley, and see if they keep going. I guess they will--they'll go
after Tom. I'm going to have a look at those cowhides in the old
shed."
"Better let me," Riley offered. "It ain't any job for a woman nohow.
You watch the trail and I'll look."
Belle would not even consider the proposition. The Lorrigan reputation
never had troubled her much,--but it sent her now to the shed where
hides were kept stored until the hide buyer made his next annual visit
through the country. She did not believe that she would find any brand
save the various combinations of the NL monogram, but she meant to
make sure before any stranger was given access to the place.
The _job_ was neither easy nor pleasant, but she did it thoroughly.
Riley, roosting meditatively on the top rail of the corral where he
could watch the road down the bluff, craned his long neck inquiringly
toward her when she returned.