LIGHT ON THE SHERIFF’S SHADOWS
From that night forth Fair came frequently to the homestead on
Nameless. It was a dull spot now and his advent was a saving grace.
The light of hope, the joy of labor and accomplishment, had in a
measure departed. There was little or nothing to do, less to look
forward to. For a little while Nance kept to the cabin as a matter
of precaution, but soon she began to pick up the odds and ends of
her pointless work—to mend the fence which had been cut, and to make
ready to harvest the crop of hay across the river.
“Though I suppose it will be just that much work thrown away,” she
said, “for the stacks will burn some night like they did before.”
“Take a chance,” counseled Fair, “maybe they won’t this time.”
“You bet we’ll take the chance,” said the girl with a flare of her
old spirit, “we’ve never laid down yet.”
But try as she would there was a dullness in her, a desire to stop
and rest a bit, and the hatred that was slowly growing in her
stirred anew each time she raised her eyes to the distant line of
Rainbow Cliff gleaming in the light like fairy stuff.
“If it wasn’t for you now, Mr. Fair,” she said to him, “I think
I’d—almost—be ready to give up. You give me new courage—as Sheriff
Selwood did when he stepped behind me that day on McKane’s porch.”
“No, you wouldn’t. It isn’t in you to give up. Perhaps
reinforcements do have their effect—but you’d never leave the line,
Nance.”
The girl smiled.
It was the first time he had used her given name and her heart
missed a beat, while the warm surge went through her again.
“No—I know it—but sometimes I do feel—well, tired.”
“You’ve had enough to make you so,” he said and laid his hand on
hers. At his infrequent touches Nance always felt a glow of
returning strength, as if once more she could work and fight for her
own. She counted it one of her secant blessings that Brand Fair had
come into her life at its darkest hour.
Sheriff Selwood had a visitor.
The prospector, John Smith, rode into his ranch yard and sat judging
him with shrewd eyes.
“Sheriff,” he said, “I’ve a notion you and I could have a pleasant
and perhaps a profitable talk. Will you saddle a horse and ride out
with me a way?”
“Sure,” said Price Selwood readily, and asked no questions.
He went into his stable and soon came out leading the lean bay,
mounted and followed as the other turned away.
“That’s a pretty good horse you ride, stranger,” he said, “I’ve
noticed it at Cordova a time or two.”
“Yes,” returned Smith, “he has blood and bottom—also intelligence.”
They rode for a while in silence. Then the stranger slouched
sidewise in his saddle and looked at Selwood.
“I’m going to tell you several things, Sheriff,” he said, “and show
you some more. And I want to make a pact with you. It’s about Cattle
Kate Cathrew and the Allison family.”
“Shoot,” said the sheriff succinctly.
“I’m a stranger hereabouts, but I’m not a happen-so. I’ve hunted
Kate Cathrew for two years.”
At that Price Selwood became alert in every nerve.
“What?” he ejaculated.
“On horseback, by train—from New York to this side the Rockies. Are
you willing to let me line up with you in this matter?”
“I’m willing to do anything under Heaven that’s square to get that
bunch of rustlers—for so I’m convinced they are,” said Selwood, “and
to do it quick, for I’m afraid if we don’t, something will happen to
the folks on Nameless that can’t be mended.”
“So am I. Miss Allison was shot in her doorway a few nights back.”
“God!” cried the sheriff, “what’s that?”
“Just a scratch on her arm—but it was meant for her heart. I was
there at the time. The ball came from across the river—a high-power
gun.”
The sheriff groaned.
“That’s it! The same old stuff—shoot from ambush—no
evidence—nothing. It makes a man wild! I’ve done all a man could do,
and I can’t put my finger on a thing.”
“I’ve heard about the disappearing cattle,” said the other, “and
I’ve done a bit on my own hook. I may as well tell you now, that my
name is not Smith, and that I’ve been in Blue Stone Cañon for nearly
two months.”
Selwood looked at him in astonishment.
“No one knows it all, even about his own doorstep,” he said. “I
thought you were just passing through.”
“If you will, I’d like you to ride up the cañon with me,” said Fair,
“to where the right wall falls away beyond the mouth of Little Blue.
It’s early and we can make it by noon, I think.”
They fell silent for a while, threading the hills that rose in a
jumbled mass to the south of Nameless Valley, and after an hour or
so, reached the river. They crossed on the riffle where Nance was
accustomed to ford on her way to Blue Stone, and entered the mouth
of the great cut.
“We’ll keep to the water as much as possible,” said Fair, “because
there are other eyes than ours here sometimes.”
They passed the empty cave where Nance had found Sonny and Dirk and
followed the stream on up to the mouth of Little Blue.
“From up in there,” said Fair, riding ahead, “I saw one of the
Cathrew riders—a man named Provine—driving a red steer up this way.”
“Ah!” said the sheriff, adding to himself—“and so did Nance Allison.
These young folks seem to know each other pretty well.”
“He went on north and disappeared. I followed next day and came upon
a mystery—some more of this water travel which leads nowhere.”
“We’ve had a lot of that,” said Selwood bitterly, “it’s what has
baffled the whole country.”
“Well—I’ll show you something,” said Fair, “that may set you
guessing.”
The keen blue shadows were cold and the voices were murmuring in the
high escarpments.
Through pools and over shale, where ever they could, they put their
horses, avoiding the sand, and presently, when the sunlight had
crept almost down to the floor of the cañon, they came out at the
spot where the right wall fell away abruptly showing the plains
stretched out like a dry brown floor, dotted with sparse bunch
grass.
On the left the great precipice continued unbroken.
Fair went on ahead, still keeping to the water, though both horses
were pretty well winded with the hard going it afforded, and at last
drew up to let Selwood come alongside.
He sat still for a moment.
“Listen a bit,” he said, “do you hear anything different from the
sounds of water and the murmuring of the big cut?”
The sheriff listened sharply.
“Yes,” he said presently, “I do. Sounds like wind.”
“Exactly. Yet there isn’t any wind, more than the draft which always
draws down the cañon. Now look closely at the wall. Watch that clump
of willows yonder.”
He pointed ahead and to the left where a dense green growth stood
alone against the rock face.
Selwood looked and for a moment his face did not change.
Then, suddenly, his mouth fell open, his eyes grew wide with
astonishment.
“Great Scott!” he said, “_they’re blowing out from the wall_!
There’s wind behind them!”
Fair moved forward and dismounted, leaving Diamond in the stream.
The sheriff followed.
They stepped lightly across the strip of sand which lay between the
water and the willows and Fair turned to the right, circling the
clump.
“Here,” he said, “that red steer and the man who drove it went into
the wall. I found their tracks that day. They’ve been obliterated by
the shifting sand since then.”
He pushed aside a feathery branch and the sheriff at his shoulder
craned an incredulous head to look into what seemed the mouth of a
cave.
“No—it’s not a cave,” said Fair at his surmise, “it’s a prehistoric
underground passage. It leads straight into the heart of Mystery
Ridge from this end, and it has an opening somewhere, attested to by
this current of wind. This mouth is just wide enough to admit one
steer at a time, one horse and rider—but—what more do you want?”
“Great Scott!” cried Selwood again, “of all the impossible things!
And not a soul on Nameless knows about it!”
“Wrong!” said Fair, “Kate Cathrew and her riders know. That open
plain yonder—it leads out to a town, doesn’t it? On the railroad?”
“Marston—yes. A long way across.”
“Water?” queried Fair.
“Yes—at intervals. Springs. Do for driving—yes—not for range—too far
apart.”
“Exactly,” said Fair. “Now, sheriff, find the other end of this
subterranean passage and I believe you’ll have solved the mystery of
the disappearing steers.”
Price Selwood held out his hand. It was trembling.
“I can’t tell you what I owe you for this information, Mr. ——?”
“Smith—yes,” said Fair smiling.
“Smith. It means more than I can say—to me.”
“It means as much—or more—to me,” returned the other, “I’ve given
two years of my life to a still-hunt for Kate Cathrew. I’d give two
more to see her brought to justice.”
“And we’ll get her!” said the sheriff grimly though with a lilt of
joy in his voice. “Oh, my Lord, just won’t we get her! We’ll follow
this hole straight to its——”
“If I might suggest,” cut in Fair, “I’d say we’ll back out now—even
brush out our tracks—and begin a systematic picketing of the Cathrew
bunch. The cattle are fat on the ranges—it’ll soon be time to drive.
Don’t you think it likely that another big bunch might—disappear
down Nameless River?”
“Say,” said Selwood smiling. “Mister, you just move in my house with
me! You can think faster and straighter than any man I ever met.
Let’s go right now.”
Fair laughed and turned away, leading Diamond back down the cañon.
“For the present,” he said, “I’ll keep to the background as I have
been doing. This woman would recognise me and be instantly alert for
trouble. Another thing, Sheriff—those men with her are not
cattlemen.”
“Just what I’ve always said!” cried Selwood delightedly, “I knew
that long ago. There’s one or two who do pass muster—her foreman and
that black devil from Texas, Sud Provine. The rest are city stuff.”
“They are, without exception, criminals who have been defended by
one of the ablest lawyers in New York and acquitted. They owe him a
lot—and he has something more on each one of them, so that they are
his henchmen in every instance. This man is Lawrence Arnold.”
“Kate Cathrew’s partner! He owns half of Sky Line!”
“Exactly. When he gets hold of a man he wants to use, he seems to
send him here. I have recognized three of these riders already,
though none of them knew me.”
“Excuse me, mister,” said Selwood, “but how do you happen to know so
much?”
“That question is your right, and I will answer it. Kate Cathrew was
a New York woman—I knew her there some six years ago. She was clever
then—and unscrupulous, always playing for her own advancement. It
was along that line that she did the deed for which I have hunted
her down—and found her at last. What deed that was I am not ready to
say, nor to whom it was done. It must suffice for the present to
tell you that it ruined one life and bade fair to ruin another until
I stepped in to take a hand. These two lives were very near my
own—and for their sake I have become a wanderer, a homeless tramp,
searching the lone places of the West to find this woman and make
her pay—to bring her to justice. I watched Lawrence Arnold for three
years before I started and I knew he was in touch with her, that
between them some way they were making money, but I could never get
track of her through him. He was too sharp for me. I have visited
every cattle ranch owned by a woman in the whole United States, it
seems to me. I found seven in Texas, two in Montana, and more in
Idaho. I have ridden this little chap thousands of miles, shipped
him with me by rail thousands more. I knew it was cattle stuff from
some of Arnold’s deals, but where they came from has been a
mystery—until two months ago. Now you know what I am and why I’m on
Cattle Kate’s trail like a nemesis. I think, if we work together,
we’ll land her soon—and land her hard and fast where she belongs.”
“Amen to that,” said Selwood fervently.
* * * * *
The summer drowsed along on Nameless, sweet with sun and the little
winds that stirred the pine tops, green with verdure and starred
with wild flowers. The lonesome world of the jumbled hills was fair
as Paradise, wistful with silence, mysterious with its suggestion of
eternal waiting.
To Nance Allison, sitting listlessly on her doorstep, it seemed
strangely empty. There was nothing to do, now that the heavy labor
of the haying was over. She watched her three big stacks with sombre
eyes, expecting each morning to find them destroyed, but nothing
happened to them.
Bud carried his father’s rifle now and day after day he went
morosely into the hills after venison.
“Got to hang up enough meat for winter,” he told Nance when she
looked at him with troubled eyes.
“Got to remember that Commandment which says ‘Thou shalt not kill,’”
she answered.
“Brand said to carry the gun.”
“Brand said ‘defend’—not ‘murder.’ Hold hard, Bud. We’ve kept clean
so far.”
“Yes—and what’ve we got? A grave—and _this_.”
He shrugged his sagging shoulder.
Quick tears came in Nance’s eyes and she laid a hand upon it with
infinite tenderness.
“I know,” she said, “but somehow I still have faith. We’ll come out
free some day.”
“Perhaps—free like our Pappy.”
“God forbid!” said the girl with trembling lips.