IN PART PAYMENT
The temporary loss of the horses was a twofold source of irritation to
Douglass. They had been gathered with much labor for the forthcoming
round-up and that work would all have to be done over again at quite an
expenditure of time, patience and money; for this he deemed himself also
responsible, and it added materially to the already large pecuniary
obligation which he had assumed.
Then, he also regarded the malicious scattering of his horses as a
stigma on his care and watchfulness of his employer's interests, as well
as a personal affront and challenge to himself. It would be a sorry
reflection on his professional ability, as well as on his courage, and
he writhed in the shock to his really abnormal vanity. By established
code he should have "got" Matlock long ago; and now he would have to
defer the wiping out of that blot on his escutcheon until after the
season's work was over. In the cold fury of his bitter self-revilement,
he actually forgot the woman who had stirred his blood almost as
strongly a short half-hour ago.
The mischief had been made possible only by the fact that the day after
the horse round-up was ended he had indulgently granted a four days'
leave of absence to his entire force, excepting only McVey, who had
professed a lack of interest, to enable them to participate in a roping
and riding tournament over in South Park. His own and Red's temporary
absence to-day had given the perpetrator, of whose identity he had not
even a momentary doubt, the chance to do the contemptible trick, the
undoing of which would take a whole week's furious work with the
entailed strain on both men and horses. His provocation was very great.
The next day, working over the ground, he found the freshly-cast shoe of
the marauder's mount; it was a peculiarly constructed "blind-bar"
affair, and Matlock's horse, his own private property, taken with him
when he left the ranch, had a bad frog on his left hind hoof. His
conviction was made a certainty later when the blacksmith at Gunnison
identified the shoe as one that he had made for and attached to the left
hind foot of the deposed foreman's horse. The chain of evidence was
complete and conclusive.
By a rare bit of good fortune he discovered quite a large band of his
best horses quietly feeding in a little valley some three miles from the
house, and he quickly returned to the ranch, where he discussed with Red
the likelihood of their being able to corral it; it was a big contract
for two men, this particular band being a notoriously wild one and hard
to handle, and now the animals would especially resent a return to
durance vile after their previous week's confinement. But it meant an
indispensable factor to the ultimate recovery of the other horses,
without which, the outfit would be practically afoot. Red was logically
pessimistic.
"Three might do it, but two ain't got any more chanct than a snowball in
hell," was his opinion, and Douglass knew that he was right. It had
taken four of his best riders to turn the trick a week before. But the
other men were absolutely unavailable and long before their earliest
possible return this band of horses would be off to their favorite range
twenty miles or more away.
He determined to take a chance, saying hopefully, "Well, we might be
able to corral a part of them, anyway, and that would give us a few to
work with."
Miss Carter, coming to summon them to breakfast, was made acquainted
with the dilemma. "Can I be of any help?" she asked instantly. "I can
ride fairly well, and under your instructions may really be of some
assistance."
Douglass looked at Red doubtfully, but that worthy was for some
inscrutable reason, enthusiastically sanguine. "Why, shore yuh kin! Yuah
hosses wa'nt done up any to speak of by yuah pasear yiste'day, an' the
buckskin is fresh. That bunch is ourn."
"Oh, I am so glad," she cried eagerly. "I'll be ready before you get
saddled up."
She was flushed with excitement as they slowly cantered out, but paid
careful attention to Douglass's minutely detailed instructions as he
outlined his plan of campaign. Red looking admiringly at her skillful
handling of the rangy roan gelding, the kindling eyes and firmly
compressed lips, decided that she would "make good." He remarked as much
to Douglass, who nodded his conviction and said a word or two of
caution in an undertone:
"If they break back at the corral, see that she isn't in the way of the
big blue; you know his trick. If there should be any danger, shoot quick
and straight."
To Grace he said with frank admonition: "The leader of this bunch is a
big blue stallion which has a nasty habit of whirling about just as he
touches the corral gate; he will run over anything that opposes him when
he breaks back, and if he tries it to-day, ride to one side as fast as
you can. Don't try to stop him in any event. You understand?"
She merely nodded, her lips closing a bit more tightly. Then she smiled
a protest: "Please don't try to 'buffalo' me--I think that is the proper
word?--at the outset. This is my first round-up, you know. I'll 'make
good,' as Mr. McVey said a while ago."
Both men laughed heartily. "Red's whisper is a little stertorous,"
admitted Douglass, "but you remember what I say: fight shy of the blue
if he breaks." Down in his heart he knew that this woman would surely
"make good" in anything she attempted, but nevertheless, he saw to it
that the revolver slid easily and without a hitch in the holster, and
loosened up a few cartridges in his belt. Red had already taken that
precaution.
They circled the bunch without alarming it and with comparative ease
started it corralwards, the leader proving unusually tractable for the
nonce. Her roan was no novice at the business and covered his assigned
arc as gracefully as a swallow, to the great delight of the young woman
who was reveling in the pleasure of a new sensation. She wisely gave the
horse his head, and the intelligent beast repaid her good judgment by
cleverly heading off every straggler who essayed to dodge back to
liberty. She was really proving of decided assistance and Red waved her
a cordial encouragement from the left flank.
The horses were bunched closely together as they neared the corral gate,
the leader trotting easily and with apparently no concern, directly
towards the entrance. He was seemingly resigned to the inevitable and
the riders closed in sharply to urge them through. Grace was much elated
over her successful debut and gave a little exultant shout as the
massive head and shoulders of the blue stallion were momentarily framed
in the opening. She was inclined to be contemptuous of the ease with
which it had been accomplished, and in the relief of the thought dropped
her rein loosely on the roan's neck. At that exact moment the cunning
beast In the gateway whirled like a flash, lowered his head like a
snake, and darted back through the plunging throng which opened before
him as a dry pine butt splits to a stoutly driven wedge.
Owing to the dense smother of dust about the gateway, and the further
fact that the bunch, not missing their leader in its enveloping clouds,
were crowding through the opening into the corral, neither of the men
noted the maneuver of the stallion until he broke out of the press,
heading obliquely to one side, between Douglass and Miss Carter.
Then was she conscious of a hoarse cry that rang like the roar of an
anguished lion above the din of trampling feet:
"To the left! Get out of his way, for Christ's sake! To the left!"
Out of the dust blur, an animated lead-blue bullet, shot the great
stallion, his head held low, his body extended until his stomach brushed
the sagebrush beneath. The roan, taking the bit between his teeth,
turned as on a pivot, almost unseating his rider, and raced undirected
towards the exact point where the escaping animal could be best
intercepted, intent only on the well-understood work which was logically
his duty. It was his business to head off and turn back the fugitive,
and, unchecked by his helpless rider, who clung fearfully to her
saddle-horn in her extremity, he ran the race of his life, putting his
whole heart into the work, her light weight hampering him almost
negligibly.
The point of intersection was at least five hundred yards away, the
horses racing along the converging sides of an obtuse angle, the roan
some hundred yards in the lead; the point of convergence was just below
the brow of a little hill, and the roan, running in open ground, had the
advantage of the blue who was impeded by the thick sagebrush; he gained
rapidly, changing the locus of intersection thereby, and finally swung
at right angles across the stallion's course.
Grace had been vaguely conscious of a crackle of pistol shots and a
confused roar of profanely phrased implorations, but all her energies
were concentrated to the end of keeping her seat on that plunging roan
thunderbolt, whose speed was accelerated by the lashing reins which,
dropping from her nerveless hand, were now flapping against his sides.
Swinging in a beautiful arc of exactly the correct radius, the roan
headed the blue in triumph, his legs stiffening as he crossed the
latter's course, his hoofs tearing up the thin turf in a fifty-foot
furrow as he essayed a turn in order to forestall any side divergence of
the stallion. But the blue streak swerved not one iota.
With ears flattened against his head, eyes green with malignity and
pain, lips curled back and teeth bared to the gums, he charged directly
at the unbalanced roan, squealing fiendishly as he came. The gallant
gelding floundered ineffectually for a footing, fell directly in the
path of the infuriated beast, and threw his rider over his head.
Though dazed by her violent contact with the hard ground, Grace
instinctively struggled to her knees, raising one hand as if to ward off
that impending horror; twenty yards away the thudding hoofs beat on her
ear drums like a funeral knell, her lips parted in a soundless gasp,
then faintly as from a far distance she heard a dull concussion, felt a
crashing blow, and lost consciousness.
When her eyes opened again they were in close juxtaposition to a rough
tan-colored shirt whose coarse fiber rasped her cheek; the whole
universe seemed rocking with a gentle up and down motion as soothing as
the swing of her beloved hammock, but there was a curious numbness
across her chest and lower limbs like that induced by the pressure of
closely-encircling iron bands. Gradually it dawned upon her that she
was in the arms of a man who, carrying her weight with perceptibly no
effort, was running swiftly towards the house. One little shy upward
glance completed her inventory; she deliberately closed her eyes and
cuddled closer, so close that she could distinctly hear and count the
strong heart-beats against her temple. Nor did she open them again until
he had lain her on a sofa in the living room and bent solicitously over
her.
"Thank God!" The relief in his voice was somehow very sweet to her. "I
was afraid--tell me, are you hurt?"
"Only frightened, I think." The tone was effectively languid and
hesitating; she was loth to dissipate the tender concern in his eyes.
"But oh, the horror of it. I can scarcely realize that I am alive. Death
seemed so close." She hid her face, shudderingly. "Was the horse
killed?"
"The blue was," for some reason avoiding her glance, "but the roan is
all right. You had a very close call. Why did you try to head him?"
"Don't scold me, please!" she pleaded. "I could not help it; he bolted
when the other horse broke away and I lost my reins. I had no control
over him, whatever. How did I get here?" The question was a marvel of
innocent nescience. And how could he know that her heart was beating
even more furiously than his as he had held her close for those five
blissful minutes.
"I carried you," he said, simply. "There was no other way. Are you quite
sure that you are not injured? That brute's head was lying on your
shoulder when I picked you up. He must have struck you as he fell."
"I do feel sorely bruised," tentatively rubbing her side, "but I am
certain that is all." She arose and walked lamely across the room in
confirmation, then came back and sat down on the sofa. "How silly of me
to faint! And how kind of you to take such care of me! Was I _very_
heavy?"
"I've carried heavier women," he said, unthinkingly, and could have
bitten his tongue off in instant chagrin at his unfortunate slip. "You
see," he said with forced attempt at humor, "I make a business of
rescuing young damsels in distress and carrying them off to places of
safety."
"Really! How romantic!" hiding her sudden bitter anger under the mask of
persiflage. "I assume they all came through their difficulties as
happily as I?"
"I can't remember any of them dying," he said caustically; then with
deliberate malice: "None of them even pretended to faint."
The evil bolt, although all unwittingly shot, came close home and she
could have struck him in her shame and fury. How much did he know? And
how dared he couple her with those nameless creatures! Taken at a
disadvantage, the retort courteous failed her for once, and she was
devoutly glad for the timely intervention of Red, who thrust his carroty
shock into the door at that moment.
"Miss Cahtah," he said with solemn gravity. "I'm almighty glad yuh ain't
daid!" At her reassuring laugh of relief he added admiringly: "Yuh
suttinly are quick on yuh feets, ma'am! Thet hoss was goin' some when
yuh was standin' on yuah haid!" He had been quick to appreciate the
strain she was laboring under and Red's panacea for any suffering was to
make fun of it. She laughed again, a bit hysterically.
"Did I look particularly ridiculous?"
Red's protest was suspiciously grave: "Ridic'lous! suttinly not, ma'am.
Yuh looked just like a angel, floppin hes wings--upside down."
They all shouted at that, their hilarity exciting the antelope kid into
a rear charge upon Red, who used the incident to cover his retreat. He
turned at the door to impart some good news.
"We've got the whole bunch corralled. Reckon thu shootin' an' yellin'
you done, Ken, scared 'em in. I got thu bars up befoh I missed thu blue;
fact is I didn't see him break, thu dust were so thick."
A minute later he returned with the additional good; tidings that Abbie
was in sight; ten minutes more and he strode into the room, bearing in
his arms a struggling, scratching, scolding burden which he deposited
with much aplomb on the sofa besides Miss Carter.
"Reckon I'm some pumpkins on thu carry, mahself!" he said with much
unction, grinning at the scandalized Abbie, who was quaintly
anathematizing him. "No use yuh yowlin', Miss Abbie. The fashion's been
sot an' yuh cloth is cut. But yuh shore got to gentle up a heap or Ken,
yeah, will hev to do thu totin'."
Quick as a flash the old woman's arms went around Grace and the fair
head was pillowed upon her bosom.
"What is it, honey?" she cooed, gently stroking the silken hair and
entirely ignoring the men. The tensely strung nerves gave way and in the
reaction the tears were softly welling. The two cowpunchers sneaked out
sheepishly and once out of hearing, Red swore wonderingly.
"Well, I'm damned! Never peeped till it was all over with, and then
clapped on the water-works. Wouldn't that bust yuah cinche!"
Douglass smiled but said nothing. Actuated by a common impulse, both men
mounted their horses and rode over to where the blue stallion lay
doubled up in a thickening pool of scarlet. Dismounting, they gave the
dead beast a critical examination.
"Good shootin'!" said Red, touching approvingly six blue-black blots on
the muscular hip that could be covered with the open palm; "but the
range were too far--over two hundred, I reckon--and they had lost their
force. Stern on all thu time, wa'nt he?"
Douglass nodded. "I tried to break his hip but the bullets were spent at
that distance. This is what got him, Red." He touched an oozing puncture
just forward of the shapely shoulder. "Looks like a small caliber high
pressure to me; let's have it out."
Some minutes later both men were bending over a bit of metal lying in
Red's palm. They were very thoughtful and a curious expression was
playing over their faces. "It's a seven millimeter Mauser," said
Douglass, quietly, "and there's only one such gun on this range. It's a
pretty big payment on account, Red!"
McVey's lips hardened but he evaded the other's eye. "Let's get the
direction," he said, "and maybe we can work it out."
In an incredibly short time these experienced frontiersmen had not only
located the spot from which had been fired the shot that undoubtedly
saved Miss Carter's life, but Douglass had as well found the discharged
cartridge shell. It was a seven millimeter Mauser case, and Matlock was
the possessor of the only weapon of the kind on this range! Furthermore,
they found the depressions in the loose soil where he had knelt when
firing the shot. It was a good three hundred yards from where the horse
lay and Red once more said, "Damn good shoot in,' Ken! It's worth
remembering when the time comes. A six-shooter ain't deuce high against
that Dutch joker at long range."
Tracking the shooter's footprints back to the gully oil the other slope
of the hill, they were found to lead to where a horse had been tied. The
horse tracks showed that the beast had cast his left hind shoe!
Back-tracking still farther, they ascertained that the tracks had
proceeded to this spot from an eminence at the head of a wooded coulie
which commanded the valley where the horses had been found. To these men
it was as plain as a printed page that Matlock had followed their
movements unseen, finally establishing his position on the crest of the
little hill where the empty shell was found, a position that commanded
the corral and all the country likely to be traversed by the blue in
his attempt to escape!
"He figgered the blue would break back, and that you would try to turn
him," said Red. "Yuh have had a close call, son!"
"Yet he saved her," said Douglass, steadily. "That's a big payment, Red,
a big payment!"
"Yep!" answered McVey, noncommittally, "but only part payment."