hands as far away from her face as possible. "I knew Tom wouldn't have
any stolen hides on the place--but it was best to make sure."
"No ma'am, he wouldn't. I'm shore surprised they'd come and try to
find any. Looks bad to me, Belle. Looks to me like somebody is shore
tryin' to start somethin'. There's plenty in the Black Rim would like
to see Tom railroaded to the pen--plenty. Looks to me like they're
aimin' to pin something on him. No, sir, I don't like it. Uh course,"
he went on, letting himself loose-jointedly to the ground, "they
couldn't get nothing on Tom--not unless they framed something. But I
wouldn't put it a-past 'em to do it. No, ma'am, I wouldn't."
"Your bread's burning, Riley. I can smell it. Don't you never think
they'll frame on Tom. They may try it--but that's as far as they'll
get. They don't want to start anything with the Lorrigans!"
"Well, I left the oven door open. She ain't burning to hurt. Yuh see,
Scotty Douglas, he's religious and he don't never pack a gun. Them
kind's bad to tangle up with; awful bad. There ain't nothing much a
man can do with them religious birds. Them not being armed, you can't
shoot--it's murder. And that kinda ties a man's hands, as yuh might
say. They always take advantage of it, invariable. No, ma'am, it looks
bad."
"It'll look worse--for them that tries any funny business with this
outfit," Belle assured him. "Go along and 'tend to your baking. You
know I hate burnt bread. I'm going to drive over and see what they're
up to."
She untied Rosa and Subrosa, and because she was in a hurry she
permitted Riley to hold them by the bits while she climbed in, got the
lines firmly in one hand and her blacksnake in the other. Not often
did she deign to accept assistance, and Riley was all aquiver with
gratified vanity at this mark of her favor.
"Turn 'em loose--and get to that bread!" she cried, and circled the
pintos into the road. "You, Sub! Cut that out, now--settle down! Rosa!
Stead-dy, I ain't any Ben Hur pulling off a chariot race, remember!"
At a gallop they took the first sandy slope of the climb, and Belle
let them go. They were tough--many's the time they had hit the level
on top of the ridge without slowing to a walk on the way up. They had
no great load to pull, and if it pleased them to lope instead of trot,
Belle would never object.
As she sat jouncing on the seat of a buckboard with rattly spokes in
all of the four wheels and a splintered dashboard where Subrosa landed
his heels one day when he had backed before he kicked, one felt that
she would have made a magnificent charioteer. Before she had gone half
a mile her hair was down and whipping behind her like a golden
pennant. Her big range hat would have gone sailing had it not been
tied under her chin with buckskin strings. Usually she sang as she
hurtled through space, but to-day the pintos missed her voice.
Five miles out on the range she overtook the sheriff and Aleck Douglas
riding to the round-up. Aleck Douglas seldom rode faster than a
jogging trot, and the sheriff was not particularly eager for his
encounter with Tom Lorrigan. For that matter, no sheriff had ever been
eager to encounter a Lorrigan. The Lorrigan family had always been
counted a hazard in the office of the sheriff, though of a truth the
present generation had remained quiescent so far and the law had not
heretofore reached its arm toward them.
The two men looked back, saw Belle coming and parted to let her pass.
Belle yelled to her team and went by with never a glance toward
either, and the two stared after her without a word until she had
jounced down into a shallow draw and up the other side, the pintos
never slowing their lope.
"Well, I'm darned!" ejaculated the sheriff. His name, by the way, was
Perry. "I've heard tell of Belle Lorrigan drivin' hell-whoopin' over
the country with a team of bronks, but I kinda thought they was
stretching the truth. I guess not, though, if that's a sample."
"The woman hersel' is no so bad. 'Tis the men folk that are black wi'
sin. Drinkin', swearin', gamblin' thieves they be, and 'tis well they
should be taught a lesson." The Douglas head wagged self-righteously.
"Maybe it would be a good idea to go back and search the ranch now,
while she's gone." The sheriff pulled up, considering. "I didn't want
any trouble with her; I never do quarrel with a woman if I can get
around it any way. She's a holy terror. I guess I'll just ride back
and take a look at them hides."
Aleck Douglas eyed him sardonically, thinking perhaps of the
black-edged bullet hole that showed plainly in the sheriff's
hat-crown.
"'Tis a deal safer wi' the woman oot of the way," he agreed drily.
The sheriff nodded and turned back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NAME
Tom Lorrigan may have seen bigger fusses made over smaller matters
than the hide of a spotty yearlin', but his boys never had.
No country is so isolated that gossip cannot find it out. The story of
the spotted yearling went speeding through the country. Men made thin
excuses to ride miles out of their way that they might air their
opinions and hear some fresh bit of news, some conjecture that grew to
a rumor and was finally repeated broadcast as truth. Children cringed
and wept while necks were scrubbed relentlessly, for a fever of
"visiting" attacked the women of the range. Miles they would travel to
visit a neighbor. And there they talked and talked and talked, while
the guest in neighborly fashion dried the dinner dishes for the
hostess in hot, fly-infested kitchens.
Aleck Douglas, infuriated by the contemptuous attitude which Tom had
taken toward him and his spotty yearling, and by his failure to find
any incriminating evidence on the Devil's Tooth ranch, swore to a
good many suspicions which he called facts, and had Tom arrested. The
sheriff had taken two deputies along with him, because he fully
expected that the Lorrigans would "go on the warpath" as Belle had
done. He was vastly astonished and somewhat chagrined when Tom gave a
snort, handed over his gun, and turned to one of his boys.
"Al," said Tom, "you go ahead with the round-up while I go in and fix
this up. May take a few days--depends on the gait I can get 'em to
travel. I'll have to rustle me a lawyer, too. But you know what to do;
keep 'er moving till I get back."
Black Rim country talked and chortled and surmised, and wondered what
made Tom so darned meek about it. They did not accuse him of any lack
of nerve; being a Lorrigan, his nerve could scarcely be questioned.
Opinion was about evenly divided. A few declared that Tom had
something up his sleeve, and there would be a killing yet. Others
insisted that Tom knew when he was backed into a corner. Old Scotty
Douglas had him dead to rights, they said, and Tom knew better than to
run on the rope. Men and women assumed the gift of prophecy, and all
prophesied alike. Tom Lorrigan would go "over the road"; for how long
they could only guess according to their secret hopes. Some predicted
a fifteen-year term for Tom. Others thought that he might get off
lightly--say with five or six years. They based their opinion on the
fact that men have been sent to the penitentiary for fifteen years,
there to repent of stealing a calf not yet past the age of prime veal.
And it is not so long since men were hanged for stealing a horse;
witness Tom's brother, who would surely have been lynched had he not
been shot. Witness also divers other Lorrigans whose careers had been
shortened by their misdeeds.
Much of the talk was peddled to Tom and the boys under the guise of
friendship. Having lived all of his life in the Black Rim country, Tom
knew how much the friendship was worth, knew that the Black Rim folk
had drawn together like a wolf pack, and were waiting only until he
was down before they rushed in to rend him and his family. Old grudges
were brought out and aired secretly. It would go hard with the
Lorrigan family if Tom were found guilty. Although he sensed the
covert malice behind the smiles men gave him, he would not yield one
inch from his mocking disparagement of the whole affair. He laid down
a law or two to his boys, and bade them hold their tongues and go
their way and give no heed to the clacking.
"The show ain't over till the curtain's down for good," he said,
borrowing a phrase from Belle. "We got a long time yet to live in the
Black Rim. We'll be right here when the smoke lifts. Hang and rattle
now, and keep your mouths shut. This here's the law-sharp's job. I'm
payin' him darn good money for it, too. When he's through, then we'll
play. But mark this down in yore little red book, boys: The less yuh
say right now, the stronger we can play the game when we're ready."
"If they do railroad yuh, dad, leave it to us. They'll be a sorry
looking bunch when we're through," said Lance, and meant every word of
it.
"They won't railroad me." Tom snorted and laughed his contempt of the
whole affair. "I ain't ever used the law to fight with before--but
shucks! When a scrap gets outside of gun range, one club's about the
same as another to me."
Optimism is a good thing, but it does not altogether serve, as Tom
discovered at the trial.
Evidence was produced which astonished him. For instance, an AJ man
had seen him riding over by Squaw Butte, on the night after Douglas
had accused him of stealing the spotted yearling. The AJ man seemed
embarrassed at his sudden prominence in the case, and kept turning his
big range hat round and round on one knee as he sat in the chair
sacred to those who bore witness to the guilt or innocence of their
fellow men in Black Rim country. He did not often look up, and when he
did he swallowed convulsively, as though something stuck in his
throat. But his story sounded matter-of-fact and honest.
He had ridden past Squaw Butte the night after Tom Lorrigan was
accused by Douglas. Yes, he knew it was that night, because next day
he heard about the fuss over at Devil's Tooth. He had been on his way
from Jumpoff and had cut across country because he was late. There was
a moon, and he had seen a man riding across an open space between the
creek and the willows. The man had gone in among the willows. The AJ
man had not thought much about it, though he did wonder a little, too.
It was late for a man to be riding around on the range.
When he reached the place, he saw a man ride out of the brush farther
along, into clear moonlight. It was Tom Lorrigan; yes, he was sure of
that. He knew the horse that Tom was riding. It was a big, shiny black
that always carried its head up; a high-stepping horse that a man
could recognize anywhere. No, he didn't know of any other horse in the
country just like it. He admitted that if he hadn't been sure of the
horse he would not have been sure it was Tom. He did not think Tom saw
him at all. He was riding along next the bank, in the shadow. He had
gone on home, and the next day he heard that Scotty Douglas claimed
the Lorrigans had rustled a yearling from him.
Later, Tom's lawyer asked him why he had not spoken to Tom. The AJ man
replied that he didn't know--he wasn't very close; not close enough
for talking unless he hollered.
That was all very well, and Black Rim perked its ears, thinking that
the case looked bad for Tom. Very bad indeed.
But Tom's lawyer proved very adroitly that the AJ man had not been in
Jumpoff at the time he claimed. He had been with his own outfit, and
if he had ridden past Squaw Butte that night he must have gone out
from the ranch and come back again. Which led very naturally to the
question, Why?
On the other hand, why had Tom Lorrigan ridden to Squaw Butte that
night? He himself explained that later on. He said that he had gone
over to see if there was any hide in the willows as Douglas had
claimed. He had not found any.
Thus two men admitted having been in the neighborhood of the stolen
hide on that night. Tom's lawyer was quick to seize the coincidence,
and make the most of it. Why, he asked mildly, might not the AJ outfit
have stolen the yearling? What was the AJ man doing there? Why not
suspect him of having placed the hide in the crevice where it had
later been found? That night the hide had been removed from the
willows where Douglas had first discovered it. Douglas had gone back
the next day after it, and it had been missing. It was not until
several days later that he had found it in the crevice. Why assume
that Tom Lorrigan had removed it?
"If I'd set out to cache that hide," Tom here interposed, "I'd have
buried it. Only a darn fool would leave evidence like that laying
around in sight."
For this the court reprimanded him, but he had seen several of the
jury nod their heads, unconsciously agreeing with him. And although
his remark was never put on record, it stuck deep in the minds of the
jury and had its influence later on. They remembered that the
Lorrigans were no fools, and they considered the attempt at concealing
the hide a foolish one--not to say childish.
Tom's lawyer did not argue openly that a conspiracy had been hatched
against Tom Lorrigan, but he so presented the case in his closing
argument to the jury that each man believed he saw an angle to the
affair which the defense had overlooked. It appeared to the jury to be
a "frame-up." For instance, why had Cheyenne, a Lorrigan man, ridden
over to the Douglas ranch and remained outside by the corral for a
long time, talking with Aleck Douglas, before he went inside to call
on the Douglas girl? Sam Pretty Cow impassively testified to that. He
had been riding over to see a halfbreed girl that worked for the
Blacks, and he had cut through the Douglas ranch to save time. He saw
Cheyenne's horse at the corral.
"Me, I dunno what she's doin' on that place. Cheyenne, he's in camp
when I'm go. I'm stop by the haystack. I'm see Cheyenne talk to
Scotty. That don't look good, you bet."
A full week the trial lasted, while the lawyers wrangled over evidence
and technicalities, and the judge ruled out evidence and later ruled
it in again. A full week Tom slept in the county jail,--and for all
their bad reputation, it was the first time a Lorrigan had lain down
behind a bolted door to sleep, had opened his eyes to see the dawn
light painting the wall with the shadow of bars.
There were nights when his optimism failed him, when Tom lay awake
trying to adjust himself to the harrying thought that long, caged
years might be his portion. Nights when he doubted the skill of his
"law-sharp" to free him from the deadweight of the Lorrigan reputation
and the malice of his neighbors. Of course, he would fight--to the
last dollar; but there were nights when he doubted the power of his
dollars to save him.
It was during those nights that the lawless blood of the Lorrigans ran
swiftly through the veins of Tom, who had set himself to win a million
honestly. It was then that he remembered his quiet, law-abiding years
regretfully, as time wasted; a thankless struggle toward the regard of
his fellow men. Of what avail to plod along the path of uprightness
when no man would point to him and say, "There is an honest man."
"They've give me the name, and I ain't got the game," cried Tom
bitterly, in the quiet of his cell. "Whether I go to the pen or
whether I don't, they better stand from under. They'll sure know a
Lorrigan's livin' in the Black Rim before I'm done."
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE GAME
At the long table in the living room of the Devil's Tooth ranch Tom
Lorrigan sat and sharpened an indelible pencil with the razor-edged
small blade of his jackknife. On the open space which Tom had cleared
with the sweep of his arm, a large-sized tablet of glazed and ruled
paper, with George Washington pictured in red and blue and buff on the
cover, received the wood parings from the pencil. It may have been
significant that Tom was careful in his work and made the pencil very
sharp.
Across the room, Belle swung around on the piano stool and looked at
him. "Honey, if you're going to make out the order to Montgomery,
Ward, I'd like to send on for some more music. I've been going over
that new list--"
"I ain't," said Tom, removing his cigarette from the corner of his
mouth and blowing the tiny, blue-painted shavings off George
Washington's face. "You go ahead and make out the order yourself."
Belle eyed the pencil-sharpening and sent a keen glance at Tom's face.
"Well, honey, from the way you're squaring up to that tablet, I
thought you was going to send on for a new buckboard and mower."
Tom bent his head and blew again, gave George a sardonic grin and
turned him face-down on the table, so that the ruled paper lay ready
to his hand.
"Right now I'm going to figure up what that dang spotty yearlin' of
old Scotty's cost me," he stated grimly. "And there's some other Black
Rimmers I've got a bill against."
"Hope you don't try holding your breath till you collect," Belle
retorted. "Honey, you'd best leave the Black Rimmers alone. I feel as
if we'd had enough excitement enough for a while. I wouldn't start
anything more right now, if I was you. Every last one of them is ready
to jump on your neck--and the Lord only knows why, unless it's because
you _didn't_ steal that darned spotted yearling! Some folks sure do
love to see the other fellow up to his eyebrows in trouble. They were
sitting there in that courtroom just _wishing_ you would be sent up. I
saw it in their faces, Tom. And that old rock-hearted Scotchman looked
as if he's just lost two bits when the jury said 'Not guilty.'"
"Mh-m--hm-m--that's what I'm figuring on now," said Tom, and bent to
his problem. "My old dad woulda gone out and shot up a few, but times
are changed and we're all getting so damn civilized we've got to stack
the cards or quit the game. Belle, what do you reckon it's worth to a
man to be hauled into court and called a cow thief?"
Belle's lips pressed together. "I don't know, Tom--but I know what it
would have cost 'em if they had sent you over the road. I had a gun on
me, and when that jury foreman stood up to give the verdict, it was
looking him in the eye through a buttonhole in my coat. Him and
Cheyenne and old Scotty and two or three more would sure have got
theirs, if he hadn't said, 'Not guilty.'"
"Lord bless yuh, I knew it all the time. Next time we go to court
you'll leave the artillery at home, old girl. I like to got heart
failure there for a minute, till I seen you ease down and lay your
hand in your lap." He looked at her and laughed a little. "I've got a
bill of damages against several of the folks around here, but I ain't
fool enough to try and collect with a six-gun."
He settled himself to his task, writing at the top of the page the
name of Aleck Douglas and after that "Dr." A full page he covered with
items set against the names of various neighbors. When he had finished
he folded the paper neatly and put it away with other important
memoranda, picked up his big gray Stetson and went over to kiss Belle
full on her red lips, and to smooth her hair, with a reassuring pat
on her plump shoulder as a final caress.
"Don't you worry none about the Black Rimmers," he said, "and don't
you worry about me. I've got to ride high, wide and handsome now to
make up the time and money I lost on account of the spotty yearlin',
and maybe I won't be home so much. But I ain't quarreling with my
neighbors, nor getting into any kind of ruckus whatever."
With the stilted, slightly stiff-legged gait born of long hours in the
saddle and of high-heeled riding boots, he walked unhurriedly to the
corral where the boys were just driving in a herd of horses.
Few of them showed saddle marks, all of them snorted and tossed
untrimmed manes and tails as they clattered against the stout poles,
circling the big corral in a cloud of dust and a thunder of hoof
beats. Pulling his hat down over his black brows to secure it against
the wind, Tom climbed the corral fence and straddled the top rail that
he might scan the herd.
"Pretty good-looking bunch, dad," said Al, reining up beside Tom. "We
had to ride some to get 'em in--they're sure snuffy. What you going to
do with 'em? Break out a few?"
"Some. Did yuh take notice, Al, that Coaley come within an ace of
sending me over the road? That there AJ man swore to the horse when he
wouldn't never have swore to me, but they all took it as a cinch it
was me he saw, because nobody else ever rides Coaley. And by the Lord
John, Al, that's the last time any man's going to swear to me in the
dark by the horse I'm ridin'. The Devil's Tooth outfit is going to
have a lot more saddle horses broke gentle than what they've got now.
And just between me and you, Al, any more night-ridin' that's done in
this outfit ain't going to be done on cayuses that can be told a mile
off on a dark night!"
"You're durn tootin', dad." Al grinned while he moistened the edge of
his rolled cigarette. "I thought at the time that Coaley was liable to
be a damn expensive horse for you to be ridin'." His eyes traveled
over the restless herd, singling out this horse and that for brief
study. "There's some right speedy stuff in that bunch," he said.
"They've got the look of stayers, some of 'em. Take that there bay
over there by the post: He's got a chest on him like a lion--and look
at them legs! There'd be a good horse for you, dad."
"One, maybe." Tom spat into the dust and, impelled by Al's example,
drew his own cigarette papers from his shirt pocket. "I'm thinkin' of
breakin' all we've got time for this summer. Darn this here makin' one
horse your trademark!"
Up at the house, Riley appeared in the kitchen doorway and gave a long
halloo while he wiped his big freckled hand on his flour-sack apron.
"Hoo-ee! Come an' git it!" He waited a moment, until he saw riders
dismounting and leading their horses into the little corral. Then he
turned back to pour the coffee into the big, thick, white cups
standing in single file around the long oil-cloth-covered table in the
end of the kitchen nearest the side door where the boys would
presently come trooping in to slide loose-jointedly into their places
on the long, shiny benches.
Tom pinched out the blaze of his match and threw one long leg back
over the corral fence. His glance went to the riders beyond the big
corral.
"Where's Lance at!" he called to Al, who was riding around to the
little corral.
"You can search me. He quit us when we got the horses into the corral,
and rode off up the Slide trail. If I was to make a guess, I would say
that he went to meet Mary Hope. They been doing that right frequent
ever since she quit coming here. 'Tain't no skin off my nose--but
Lance, he's buildin' himself a mess uh trouble with old Scotty, sure
as you're a foot high."
"Darn fool kid--let the old folks git to scrappin' amongst themselves,
and the young ones start the lovemakin'! I never knowed it to fail;
but you can skin me for a coyote if I know what makes 'em do it."
Grumbling to himself, Tom climbed down and followed Al. "You can
tell Riley I'll be late to dinner," he said, when he had come up
to where Al was pulling the saddle off his horse. "I ain't much
on buttin' into other folks' love affairs, but I reckon it maybe
might be a good idea to throw a scare into them two. I'm plumb sick
of Scotch--wouldn't take it in a highball right now if you was to
shove one under my nose!"
Al laughed, looking over his shoulder at Tom while he loosened the
latigo. "If you can throw a scare into Lance, you sure are a dinger,"
he bantered. "That youth is some heady."
"Looks to me like it runs in the family," Tom retorted. "You're some
heady yourself, if you ever took notice. And I don't give a damn how
heady any of you kids are; you can't run any rannies on your dad, and
you want to put that down in your little red book so you won't forgit
it!"
He led Coaley from the stable, mounted and rode away up the Slide
trail, more than half ashamed of his errand. To interfere in a love
affair went against the grain, but to let a Lorrigan make love to a
Douglas on the heels of the trial was a pill so bitter that he refused
to swallow it.
He urged Coaley up the trail, his eyes somber with resentment whenever
he saw the fresh hoofprints of Lance's horse in the sandy places. Of
the three boys, Lance was his favorite, and it hurt him to think that
Lance had so little of the Lorrigan pride that he would ride a foot
out of his way to speak to any one of the Douglas blood.