scramble up to the shade of the ledge, and had received no attention
whatever from the person just beyond. The tan boots were still crossed,
and not so much as a toe of them moved to show that the owner heard him.
Starr knew that he had made noise enough, so far as that went.
"Why, no, I'm not asleep. What is it?" came crisply, after a
perceptible pause.
"It ain't anything at all," Starr retorted, and swung Rabbit into the
shade which Helen May had left. He dismounted, sat himself down with his
back against a rock, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. By no means
would he intrude upon the privacy of a lady, though the quiet, crossed
feet and the placid folds of the khaki skirt told him that she was
sitting there quietly--pouting about something, most likely, he diagnosed
her silence shrewdly. Well, it was early, and so long as he reached a
certain point by full dark, he was not neglecting anything. As a matter
of fact, he told himself philosophically, he really wanted to kill half a
day in a perfectly plausible manner. There was no hurry, no hurry at all.
Pat looked back at him ingratiatingly, and Starr called. Pat came running
in long leaps, nearly wagging himself in two because someone he liked was
going to be nice to him. Starr petted him and talked to him and pulled
his ears and slapped him on the ribs, and Pat in his joy persisted in
trying to lick Starr's cheek.
"Quit it! Lay down and be a doormat, then. You've got welcome wrote all
over you. And much as I like welcome, I hate to be licked."
Pat lay down, and Starr eyed the tan boot toes. They moved impatiently,
but they did not uncross. Starr smiled to himself and proceeded to carry
on a one-sided conversation with Pat, and to smoke his cigarette.
"Sick, over there?" he inquired casually after perhaps five minutes;
either of them would have sworn it ten or fifteen.
"Why, no," chirped the crisp voice. "Why?"
"Seemed polite to ask, is all," Starr confessed. "I didn't think you
was." He finished his smoke in the silence that followed. Then, because
he himself owned a perverse streak, he took his binoculars from their
case and began to study the low-lying ridge in the distance, in a pocket
of which nestled the Medina ranch buildings. He was glad this ridge
commanded all but the "draws" and hollows lying transversely between here
and Medina's place. It was Medina whom he had been advised by his chief
to watch particularly, when Starr had found a means of laying his clues
before that astute gentleman. If he could sit within ten feet of Helen
May while he kept an eye on that country over there, all the better.
He saw a horseman ride up out of a hollow and disappear almost
immediately into another. The man seemed to be coming over in this
direction, though Starr could not be sure. He watched for a reappearance
of the rider on high ground, but he saw no more of the fellow. So after a
little he took down the glasses to scan the country as a whole.
It was then that he glanced toward the other rock and saw that the tan
boots had moved out of sight. He believed that he would have heard her if
she moved away, and so he kept his eyes turned upon the corner of the
rock where her feet had shown a few minutes before.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A SHOT FROM THE PINNACLE
"Why--did some one come with you, Mr. Starr? I thought you were alone."
Starr turned his head and saw Helen May standing quite close, on the
other side of him. She was glancing inquiringly from him to the pinto
pony, and she was smiling the least little bit, though her eyes had a
shamed, self-conscious look. Starr eyed her keenly, a bit reproachfully,
and she blushed.
"I thought maybe you'd come around where I was," she defended herself
lamely. "It--seemed cooler there--"
"Yes, I noticed it was pretty cool, from the tone of your voice."
"Well--oh, I was just nursing a grouch, and I couldn't stop all at once,"
Helen May surrendered suddenly, sitting down beside him and crossing her
feet. "I've read in stories how sheepherders go crazy, and I know now
just why that is. They see so few people that they don't know how to act
when some one does come along. They get so they hate themselves and
everybody else. I had just finished abusing poor old Pat till he went
off and sulked too."
"I thought probably you and Pat had just had a run-in, the way he acted."
Starr went back to scanning that part of the mesa where he had glimpsed
the rider. He could not afford to forget business in the pleasure of
talking aimless, trivial things with Helen May.
"What are you looking for?"
"Stock," said Starr, falling back on the standard excuse of the
range man.
"And _what's_ the idea of two saddle-horses and two saddles and two
bridles?" Helen May's voice was as simply curious as a child's.
"The idea is that you're going to ride instead of walk from now on. It's
an outfit I got from a fellow that was leaving. He borrowed money from me
and left his horse and saddle, for a kind of security. I didn't want it,
but he had to leave 'em somewhere. So I thought you might as well keep
the horse and use it till he comes back, or something." Starr did very
well with this explanation; much better than he had done in explaining
Pat. The truth was that he had bought the horse for the express purpose
of giving it to Helen May; just as he had bought the dog.
Helen May studied his face while he studied the distant plain. She
thought he acted as though he didn't care much whether she kept the
horse or not, and for that reason, and because his explanation had
sounded like truth, she hesitated over refusing the offer, though she
felt that she ought to refuse.
"It ain't right for you to be out here afoot," said Starr, as though he
had read her thoughts. "It's bad enough for you to be here at all. What
ever possessed you to do such a crazy thing, anyhow?"
"Well, sometimes people can't choose. Dad got the notion first. And
then--when he died--Vic and I just went ahead with it."
"Did he know anything about this country? Did he know--what chances you'd
be taking?" Starr was trying to choose his words so that they would
impress her without alarming her. It angered him to have to worry over
the girl's welfare and to keep that worry to himself.
"What chances, for gracious sake? I never saw such a mild, perfectly
monotonous life. Why, there are more chances in Los Angeles every time a
person goes down town. It's deadly dull here, and it's too lonesome for
words, and I hate it. But as for taking chances--" Her voice was frankly
contemptuous of the idea.
"Chances of going broke. It takes experience--"
"Oh, as to that, it's partly a matter of health," said Helen May
lightly. "I have to live where the climate--"
"You could live in Albuquerque, or some other live town; close to it,
anyway. You don't have to stick away down here, where--"
"I don't see as it matters. So long as it isn't Los Angeles, no place
appeals to me. And dad had bought the improvements here, so--"
"I'll pay you for the improvements, if that's all," Starr said shortly.
Helen May laughed. "That sounds exactly as though you want to get me out
of the country," she challenged.
Starr did not rise to the bait. He took another long look for the
horseman, saw not so much as a flurry of dust, and slid the glasses into
their case.
"I brought out that carbine I was speaking about. And the shells that go
with it. I'm kind of a gun fiend, I guess. I'm always accumulating a lot
of shooting irons I never use. I run across a six-shooter and belt, too.
Come here, Rabbit!"
Rabbit came, and Starr untied the weapons, smiling boyishly. "You may as
well be using 'em; they'll only rust, kicking around in the shack. Buckle
this around you. I punched another hole or two, so the belt would come
within a mile or so of fitting. You want to wear that every time you go
out on the range. The time you leave it home is the very time when you'll
see a coyote or something.
"And if you expect to get rich in the goat business, you never want to
pass up a coyote. There's a bounty on 'em, for one thing, because they do
lots of damage among sheep and goats. And for another," he added
impressively, "the rabies that's been epidemic on the Coast is spreading.
You've maybe read about it. A rabid coyote would come right at you, and
you know the consequences. Or it would bite Pat, and then Pat would
tackle you."
"Oh!" Helen May had turned a sickly shade. Her eyes went anxiously over
the slope as though she half expected something of the sort to happen
then and there.
"That's why," said Starr solemnly, looking down into her face, "I'm kinda
worried about you ranging around afoot and without a gun--"
"But nobody else has even mentioned--"
"Everybody else goes prepared, and they're inclined to take chances as a
matter of course. I reckon they think you know all about rabies being in
the country. This has always been a scrappy kinda place, remember, and
folks are used to packing guns and using 'em when the case demands it.
You wear this six-gun, lady, and keep your eyes open from now on. I've
got another one for Vic; an automatic. Now we'll go down here in the
shade and practice shooting. I brought plenty of shells, and I want to
learn you how to handle a gun."
Silently she followed him down the slope on the side toward the Basin. He
stopped beside the pinto, took it by the bridle-reins and, whipping out
his gun, fired it once to test the horse. The pinto twitched its ears at
the sound and looked at Starr. Starr laughed.
"I'll learn you to shoot from horseback," he called back to Helen May.
"He's broke to it, I can see now."
"Oh, I wonder if I could! Don't tell Vic, will you? I'd like to take
him by surprise. Boys are so conceited and self-sufficient! You'd
think Vic was my grandfather, the way he lords it over me. First of
all, what is the right way to get on a horse? I wish you'd teach me
about riding, too."
This sort of instruction grew absorbing to both. Before either guessed
how the time had flown, the sun stood straight overhead; and Pat,
standing in front of her with an expectant look in his eyes and an
occasional wag of his stubby tail, reminded Helen May that it was time
for lunch. They had used almost a full box of shells, and Helen May had
succeeded in shooting from the back of the pinto and in hitting a certain
small hummock of pure sand twice in six shots. She was tremendously
proud of the feat, and she took no pains to conceal her pride. She wanted
to start in on another box of shells, but Pat's eyes were so reproachful,
and her sense of hospitality was so urgent that she decided to wait until
they had eaten the lunch she had brought with her.
The rocks which had cast a shadow were now baking in the glare, and the
sand where Helen May and Starr had sat was radiating heat waves. Starr
took another long look down toward Medina's ranch through his field
glasses, while Helen May went to find a comfortable bit of shade.
"If you'll come over this way, Mr. Starr," she called abruptly, "I'll
give you a sandwich. It's hot everywhere to-day, but this is a little
better than out in the sun."
Starr took the glasses down from his eyes and let them dangle by their
cord while he walked over the nose of the ridge to where she was
waiting for him.
Half-way there, a streak of fire seemed to sear his arm near his
shoulder. Starr knew the feeling well enough. He staggered and went
down headlong in a clump of greasewood, and at the same instant the
report of a rifle came clearly from the high pinnacle at the head of
Sunlight Basin.
Helen May came running, her face white with horror, for she had seen
Starr fall just as the sound of the shot came to tell her why. She did
not cry out, but she rushed to where he lay half concealed in the bushes.
When she came near him, she stopped short. For Starr was lying on his
stomach with his head up and elbows in the sand, steadying the glasses to
his eyes that he might search that pinnacle.
"W-what made you fall down like that?" Helen May cried exasperatedly.
"I--I thought you were shot!"
"I am, to a certain extent," Starr told her unconcernedly. "Kneel down
here beside me and act scared, will you? And in a minute I want you to
climb on the pinto and ride around behind them rocks and wait for me.
Take Rabbit with you. Act like you was going for help, or was scared
and running away from a corpse. You get me? I'll crawl over there after
a little."
"W-why? Are you hurt so you can't walk?"
Helen May did not have to act; she was scared quite enough for
Starr's purpose.
"Oh, I could walk, but walking ain't healthy right now. Jump up now and
climb your horse like you was expecting to ride him down to a whisper. Go
on--beat it. And when you get outa sight of the pinnacle, stay outa
sight. Run!"
There were several questions which Helen May wanted to ask, but she only
gave him a hasty, imploring glance which Starr did not see at all, since
his eyes were focussed on the pinnacle. She ran to the pinto and scared
him so that he jumped away from her. Starr heard and glanced impatiently
back at her. He saw that she had managed to get the reins and was
mounting with all the haste and all the awkwardness he could possibly
expect of her, and he grinned and returned to his scrutiny of the peak.
Whatever he saw he kept to himself; but presently he began to wriggle
backward, keeping the greasewood clump, and afterwards certain rocks and
little ridges, between himself and a view of the point he had fixed upon
as the spot where the shooter had stood.
When he had rounded the first rock ledge he got up and looked for Helen
May, and found her standing a couple of rods off, watching him anxiously.
He smiled reassuringly at her while he dusted his trousers with the flat
of his hands.
"Fine and dandy," he said. "Whoever took a pot-shot at me thinks he got
me first crack. See? Now listen, lady. That maybe was some herder out
gunning for coyotes, and maybe he was gunning for me. I licked a herder
that ranges over that way, and he maybe thought he'd play even. But
anyway, don't say anything about it to anybody, will you. I kinda--"
"Why not? If he shot at you, he wanted to kill you. And that's murder; he
ought to be--"
"Now, you know you said yourself that herders go crazy. I don't want to
get the poor boob into trouble. Let's not say anything about it. I've got
to go now; I've stayed longer than I meant to, as it is. Have Vic put
that halter that's on the saddle on the pinto, and tie the rope to it and
let it drag. He won't go away, and you can catch him without any bother.
If Vic don't know how to set the saddle, you take notice just how it's
fixed when you take it off. I meant to show you how, but I can't stop
now. And don't go anywhere, not even to the mail box, without Pat or your
six-gun, or both. Come here, Rabbit, you old scoundrel!
"I wish I could stay," he added, swinging up to the saddle and looking
down at her anxiously. "Don't let Vic monkey with that automatic till I
come and show him how to use it. I--"
"You said you were shot," said Helen May, staring at him enigmatically
from under her lashes. "Are you?"
"Not much; burnt a streak on my arm, nothing to bother about. Now
remember and don't leave your gun--"
"I don't believe it was because you licked a herder. What made somebody
shoot at you? Was it--on account of Pat?"
"Pat? No, I don't see what the dog would have to do with it. It was some
half-baked herder, shooting maybe because he heard us shoot and thought
we was using him for a target. You can't," Starr declared firmly, "tell
what fool idea they'll get into their heads. It was our shooting, most
likely. Now I must go. Adios, I'll see yuh before long."
"Well, but what--"
Helen May found herself speaking to the scenery. Starr was gone with
Rabbit at a sliding trot down the slope that kept the ridge between him
and the pinnacle. She stood staring after him blankly, her hat askew on
the back of her head, and her lips parted in futile astonishment. She did
not in the least realize just what Starr's extreme caution had meant. She
had no inkling of the real gravity of the situation, for her ignorance of
the lawless possibilities of that big, bare country insulated her against
understanding.
What struck her most forcibly was the cool manner in which he had ordered
her to act a part, and the unhesitating manner in which she had obeyed
him. He ordered her about, she thought, as though he had a right; and she
obeyed as though she recognized that right.
She watched him as long as he was in sight, and tried to guess where he
was going and what he meant to do, and what was his business--what he did
for a living. He must be a rancher, since he had said he was looking for
stock; but it was queer he had never told her where his ranch lay, or how
far off it was, or anything about it.
After a little it occurred to her that Starr would want the man who had
shot at him to think she had left that neighborhood, so she called to
Pat and had him drive the goats around where they could not be seen from
the pinnacle.
Then she sat down and ate her sandwiches thoughtfully, with long,
meditative intervals between bites. She regarded the pinto curiously,
wondering if Starr had really taken him as security for a debt, and
wishing that she had asked him what its name was. It was queer, the way
he rode up unexpectedly every few days, always bringing something he
thought she needed, and seeming to take it for granted that she would
accept everything he offered. It was much queerer that she did accept
everything without argument or hesitation. For that matter, everything
that concerned Starr was queer, from Helen May's point of view.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HELEN MAY UNDERSTANDS
Pat, lying at her feet and licking his lips contentedly after his bone
and the crusts of her sandwich, raised his head suddenly and rumbled a
growl somewhere deep in his chest. His upper lip lifted and showed his
teeth wickedly, and the hair on the back of his neck stood out in a ruff
that made him look a different dog.
Helen May felt a cold shiver all up and down her spine. She had never
seen Pat, nor any other dog for that matter, look like that. It was much
more terrifying than that mysterious shot which had effected Starr so
strangely. Pat was staring directly behind her, and his eyes had a
greenish tinge in the iris, and the white part was all pink and
bloodshot. Helen May thought he must have rabies or something; or else a
rabid coyote was up on the ridge behind her. She wanted to scream, but
she was afraid; she was afraid to look behind her, even.
Pat got up and stood digging his toe nails into the earth in the most
horribly suggestive way imaginable. The green light in his eyes
terrified her. His ruff bristled bigger on his neck. He looked ready to
spring at something. Helen May was too scared to move so much as a
finger. She waited, and her heart began beating so hard in her throat
that it nearly suffocated her. She never once thought of the six-shooter
which Starr had given her. She did not think of anything, except that a
rabid coyote was right behind her, and in a minute Pat would jump at it,
if it did not first jump at her! And then Pat would be bitten, and would
go mad and bite her and Vic, and they'd all die horribly of hydrophobia.
"Ah--is this a modern, dramatic version of Beauty and the Beast? If so,
it is a masterpiece in depicting perfect repose on the part of Beauty,
while the Beast vivifies the protective instinct of the stronger toward
the weaker. Speaking in the common parlance, if you will call off your
dog, Miss Stevenson, I might be persuaded to venture within hand-shaking
distance." A little laugh, that was much more humorous than the words,
followed the speech.
Helen May felt as though she were going to faint. "Pat!" she tried to say
admonishingly; but her voice was a weak whisper that did not carry ten
feet. She pulled herself together and tried again. "Pat, lie down!"
Pat turned his bead a trifle and sent her a tolerant glance, but the
hair did not lie down on his neck, and the growl did not cease to rumble
in his throat.
"Pat!" Helen May began to recover a little from the reaction. "Come here
to me! I--don't think he'll bite you, Mr. Sommers. It's--it's only
Mexicans that he's supposed to hate. I--I didn't know it was you."
Holman Sommers, being careful to keep a safe distance between himself and
Pat, came around to where he could see her face. "As a matter of fact,"
he began, "it's really my sister who came to visit you. Your brother
informed us that you were out here, and I came to tell you. Why, did I
frighten you so badly, Miss Stevenson? Your face is absolutely colorless.
What did I do to so terrify you? I surely never intended--" His eyes were
remorseful as he stood and looked at her.
"It was just the way Pat acted. I--I'd been hearing about rabid coyotes,
and I thought one was behind me, Pat acted so queer. Lie down, Pat!"
Holman Sommers spoke to the dog ingratiatingly, but Pat did not exhibit
any tail-wagging desire for friendly acquaintance. He slunk over to
Helen May and flattened himself on his belly with his nose on his paws,
and his eyes, that still showed greenish lights and bloodshot whites,
fixed on the man.
"It may be," said Sommers judgmatically, "that he has been taught to
resent strangers coming in close proximity to the animals he has in
charge. A great many dogs are so trained, and are therefore in no wise to
blame for exhibiting a certain degree of ferocity. The canine mind is
wholly lacking in the power of deduction, its intelligence consisting
rather of a highly developed instinctive faculty for retaining
impressions which invariably express themselves in some concrete form
such as hate, fear, joy, affection and like primitive emotions. Pat, for
instance, has been taught to regard strangers as interlopers. He
therefore resents the presence of all strangers, and has no mental
faculty for distinguishing between strangers, as such, and actual
intruders whose presence is essentially undesirable."
Helen May gave a little, half-hysterical laugh, and Holman Sommers looked
at her keenly, as a doctor sometimes looks at a patient.
"I am intensely sorry that my coming frightened you," he said gently.
Then he laughed. "I am also deeply humiliated at the idea of being
mistaken, in the broad light of midday, for a rabid coyote. May I ask
just wherein lies the resemblance?"
Helen May looked at him, saw the dancing light in his eyes and a mirthful
quirk of his lips, and blushed while she smiled.
"It's just that I happened to be thinking about them," she said,
instinctively belittling her fear. "And then I never saw Pat act the way
he's acting now."
Holman Sommers regarded the dog with the same keen, studying look he had
given Helen May. Pat did not take it as calmly, however, as Helen May had
done. Pat lifted his upper lip again and snarled with an extremely
concrete depiction of the primitive emotion, hate.
"There _are_ such things as rabid coyotes, aren't there? Just--do you
know how they act, and how a person could tell when something has caught
the disease from them?"
"I think I may safely assert that there undoubtedly are rabid coyotes in
the country. As a matter of fact, and speaking relatively, they have
been, and probably still are, somewhat of a menace to stock running
abroad without a herder amply provided with the means of protecting his
charge. At the same time I may point with pardonable pride to the
concerted action of both State and Stock Association to rid the country
of these pests. So far we feel highly gratified at the success which has
attended our efforts. I gravely doubt whether you would now find, in this
whole county, a single case of infection. But on the other hand, I could
not, of course, venture to state unqualifiedly that there may not be
certain isolated cases--"
"Pat! Do stop that growling! What ails you, anyway? I never saw him act
that way before. I wonder if he could possibly be--" She looked at
Sommers questioningly.
"Infected?" he finished for her understandingly. "As a matter of fact,
that may be possible, though I should not consider it altogether
probable. Since the period of incubation varies from three weeks to six
months, as in man, the dog may possibly have been infected before coming
into your possession. If that were true, you would have no means of
discovering the fact until he exhibits certain premonitory symptoms,
which may or may not form in themselves conclusive evidence of the
presence of the disease."
Helen May got up from the rock and moved away, eyeing Pat suspiciously.
Pat got up and followed her, keeping a watchful eye on Sommers.