"ALL FRIENDS TOGETHER"
Old Bat, with Endicott following closely, led the way through the
darkness back along Timber City's main street. At the corner of the
livery stable he paused: "W'ere you hoss?"
"Why, I--wait, I'll step across to the hotel and borrow one of
Colston's." The half-breed nodded, and hurrying across the street
Endicott entered the office of the hostelry. His appearance was the
signal for a sudden awkward silence among the half-dozen men that
sprawled in the chairs or leaned against the cigar case. Endicott's
glance swept the faces of the men: "Where's Mr. Colston?" he asked.
The man with the long moustache, the one who had informed him that the
ferry-boat still floated, opened a door that gave into the rambling
interior: "Hey!" he called, loudly, "'s Y Bar went up?"
From the region beyond came an answer and the moustached one turned to
Endicott: "Yup, he's went up. Don't know what room's his'n, but jest
holler when you git to the top of the stairs, he ain't got to sleep
yet."
At the head of the stairs Endicott paused, a light showed through the
crack at the bottom of a door, and he knocked. The door opened and
Colston, in undershirt and trousers, bade him enter.
Endicott shook his head, "No I want to borrow a horse."
"Goin' after 'em?" asked Colston. "Well, help yourself. The Y Bar horses
are yours, now. But if I was you I'd wait right here in Timber City. A
man that ain't used to the range will get lost at night before he's gone
three miles. The chances are you'll never reach the river--and what are
you going to do when you get there?"
"I'm going to cross--somehow. I'm going to find my wife. As for getting
lost, Old Bat is going with me--or rather I'm going with him."
"Bat! What's he doing here?"
"Found out that the Texan had pulled out and came to get him. He knows
Tex better than anyone knows him. He had guessed pretty accurately what
was coming off here today, and he rode over to take the Texan back
home."
Colston nodded: "Go ahead. If Old Bat starts on the trail you'll find
your wife." He laid a hand on Endicott's shoulder, "and just bear in
mind that when you do find her, you'll find her all right! I, too, know
the Texan. He's been more like--like a son to me than an employee. The
boy's got his faults--but he's a man! Barring the possibility of an
accident on the river, you'll find 'em safe an' sound--an', when you do
find 'em, mind you bring 'em both back. You're goin' to need Tex."
Endicott nodded: "I'll remember," he said, "and when we return, you have
the papers ready, and we'll close the deal."
While the barn dogs saddled Endicott's horse, Old Bat led the way to the
alley between the livery barn and the saloon, and throwing himself upon
his belly, lighted matches and studied certain marks on the ground.
Satisfied at length he regained his feet.
"What are you hunting for?" Endicott asked.
"Hoss tracks. Tex, she ain' got hee's own hoss. Me, A'm wan' know w'at
kin' track A'm foller w'en we git 'cross de riv'."
"How are we going to cross?" asked Endicott as they swung along the
trail at a brisk trot.
"We ain' 'cross yet. Firs', we swing down de riv'. We comin' to de
ranch. Plent' ranch on dis side along de riv'. We git de boat."
"But, the horses? We can't take the horses in the boat."
"We com' w'ere we need de hoss we hont de ranch an' git mor' hoss."
At the river they halted for a few moments before heading down stream,
and Endicott shuddered as he gazed out over the drift-choked surface of
the flood. Old Bat devined what was passing in his mind.
"De riv', she look lak hell w'en you stan' an' see her go pas'. But she
ain' so bad she look. W'en de boat git een de wattaire she ron so fas'
lak de res', an' she 'bout de sam' lak she stan' still."
"Yes--but the boat--the heavy ferry--they couldn't handle her in the
water."
"Dey ain' got for han'l. De riv' she han'l. W'en de boat com' on de
plac', w'at you call, de ben'--w'ere de riv' she mak' de turn, de boat
she gon git shov' on de bank. Mebbe-so dey don' gon on de bank, w'en de
daylight com' some wan see um an' com' in de boat an' tak' um off."
Bat struck off down the river with Endicott following. After an hour's
ride through the darkness they came to a ranch. Bat opened and closed
the wire gate and led the way along the winding wagon road to the house,
a log affair, nestled in a deep coulee. A dog rushed from the darkness
and set up a furious barking, dodging in and out among the legs of the
horses in a frenzy of excitement. A light appeared in the window and as
the two riders drew up before the door it opened, a man thrust his head
out and swore at the dog. When the animal subsided he peered at the
horsemen: "Whut's up?" he growled surlily.
"Have you a boat?" Endicott asked.
"A boat! What the hell am I runnin', a cow outfit or a summer resort? A
boat! Er mebbe you think I fish fer a livin'? Mebbe I'm runnin' a ferry?
Mebbe I want the hull damn country raisin' hell around here all night!
No, I hain't got no boat! An' I never had none, an' don't want none!"
The man's senseless anger seemed to increase as though the imputation
that he might have owned a boat were in some way an insult. "What the
hell would I want of a boat?" his voice rose almost to a scream, and he
shook his fist almost in Bat's face.
The old half-breed leaned slightly forward in the saddle: "W'at de hell!
W'at de hell! W'at de hell you wan' wit de ponch on de nose--but you git
wan jes' de sam'!" As he spoke, his fist shot out and landed squarely in
the man's face, and as he staggered back into the cabin, the half-breed
put spurs to his horse and the two rode swiftly into the dark. "Dat do
um good--mebbe-so nex' tam som' wan com' 'long he ain' stan' an' holler
'W'at de hell! W'at de hell!' so mooch."
A boat was procured at the fourth ranch, and turning the horses into the
corral, the two pushed out into the river. Daylight was beginning to
break and, keeping close in, they scanned the shore eagerly for sign of
Long Bill's ferry. Hour after hour they drifted, Endicott overruling
Bat's suggestion that they stop for food. It was sometime after noon
that the half-breed stood up and pointed toward the other side. "A'm
t'ink mebbe-so de boat on de odder side. 'Long tam A'm watch de drift.
De heavy stuff--de tree an' de beeg log, dey mos' all on odder side. A'm
t'ink dat better we cross. A'm t'ink dat boat lan' befor' dis--we com'
pas' it."
"But how are we ever going to buck this current? If we've past it we'll
have to go up stream to find it."
"We hont de ranch an' git de hoss an' ride 'long de edge."
"But, suppose they haven't landed? Suppose they've drifted on down?"
The half-breed shrugged: "S'pose dey gon' on down--we can't ketch um.
Dey got de beeg start. De riv' she car' de ferry joost so fas' lak she
car' de leetle boat. S'pose dey gon' too far for ride back, dey com'
back on train. But, me--A'm t'ink dey lan' befor' dis. We com' bout
feefty mile. You fol' Ol' Bat--we fin' um."
The half-breed, who more than once that day had proven himself more
willing than proficient with the oars, surrendered them to Endicott and
for more than an hour the Easterner battled with the yellow, turgid
flood before he finally succeeded in driving the boat ashore in the
mouth of a coulee. Abandoning the boat, they struck out on foot up river
where, a mile or more above they had passed fences. When they finally
located the ranch house Endicott was near to exhaustion.
It was mid-afternoon and he had eaten nothing since the night before,
every muscle in his body ached from his labor at the oars, and the skin
of his feet was rubbed raw by the grind of the high-heeled boots. The
people at the ranch knew nothing of the wrecked ferry, the men holding
with Bat, that the chances were it had grounded far above. Declining
their invitation to remain over till morning, Endicott procured horses
and an ample supply of food and, with the hearty approval of Old Bat,
the two struck out up the river.
"He said it was nearly seventy miles to Long Bill Kearney's ferry
crossing and only three ranches between," said Endicott as the horses
laboured out of a deep coulee, "and if anything's happened to their
horses and they haven't struck one of those ranches, they're going to be
in a bad way."
"Dem all right. Dat Tex, she got de gun, she shoot de jack-rabbit, de
leetle owl, mebbe-so de deer--dey ain' gon' hungry w'ile he got de gun."
It was slow work exploring the margin of the flood. The late darkness
overtook them with scarcely twenty miles of the distance covered, and
they camped on the top of a high bluff where they built up a huge fire
visible for many miles up and down the river. Daylight found them once
more in the saddle, exploring the mouths of coulees and scouring every
foot of the scrub-bordered bank. It was nearly noon when, from the edge
of a high cliff that overlooked the river, they caught sight of the
abandoned ferry-boat. The crest of the rise of water had passed in the
night and the boat lay with one corner fast aground. Putting spurs to
the horses they raced back from the river until they reached a point
that gave access to the coulee. The keen eyes of the half-breed picked
up the tracks at the bottom of the ravine even before the horses had
completed the decent, and it was with difficulty that he restrained the
impatient Endicott from plunging down the ravine at the imminent risk of
destroying the sign. Picketing the horses beside the trail the two
proceeded on foot, Old Bat in the lead, bent slightly forward with his
eyes darting this way and that, studying each minutest detail of the
disturbed ground. Following closely, Endicott hung on each word and
grunt and fragmentary observation of the old Indian. In vain he plied
Bat with eager questions but he might as well have sought information
from the sphinx. The old man paid him not the slightest attention but
proceeded on down the coulee pausing and staring at the sign for a full
minute at a time, again almost running with his eyes fixed on the ground
until brought up again, frowning and muttering by some new baffling
combination of tracks. After what seemed an interminable length of time
they reached the mouth of the coulee where Endicott sank wearily onto
the end of the water-logged boat and watched the half-breed work back
and forth, back and forth, over the little strip of beach. Endicott had
long ceased to ask questions and when at last, Bat straightened up,
removed his hat, and wiped the sweat from his forehead upon the sleeve
of his faded shirt, the information he conveyed was voluntary: "I ain'
quite mak' it out. Firs' t'ing dey lan' here Tex, she ain' got on de
boots. De 'oman she sleep--mebbe-so w'at you call, knock out. Tex car'
her an' lay her on de grass w'ere she leetle bit flat," he paused and
pointed to a spot that looked no whit different from any other spot of
grass to Endicott's untrained eyes. "Only wan hoss lan'--dat Powder
Face, an' ron lak hell up de coulee. Tex, she gon' up de coulee an'
by'm'by he put on de boots an' climb oop on de bench. After w'ile com's
a man on a hoss off de bench. He ketch oop Powder Face an' com' down
here an' git de 'oman an' ride off--he lif her oop an' tie her on de
saddle an' ride off leadin' Powder Face. By'm'by Tex com' long on beeg
hoss an' nodder man on leetle hoss. Tex git off an' look roun' an' fin'
de 'oman gon'--he joomp on de hoss an ride lak hell after de man an' de
'oman."
Endicott was staring, white-lipped into the half-breed's face. He leaped
up and seized the man's arm roughly. "Did he catch them?" he cried.
Bat shook his head: "_Non_--not yet. We fol' 'long on de trail--we fin'
dat out. Com' we git de hoss."
"But, maybe it was Tex who got here first and rode away with her," cried
Endicott as they hastened toward the picketed horses. "Surely you can't
tell from those tracks----"
The other interrupted him: "_Oui!_ De track don't lie. Ol' Bat, she know
'bout dat. Me--A'm know Tex track an' when she tromp 'roun' she shov' de
mud on de odder man track--eef de odder track ain' dere firs' how in
hell Tex kin shov' de mud on it?"
"And this happened yesterday! Oh, Alice! Alice!" The man's voice broke
on the name, and glancing into his face, Bat saw that it glistened wet
with the sweat of torture.
As they mounted he offered a word of advice and encouragement: "Dat
better you ain' los' de, w'at you call, de guts. Mebbe-so you 'oman all
right. We fin' um safe on som' ranch house."
The trail of the four horses was so plain that even Endicott found no
difficulty in following it across the bench. Bat struck into a steady
trot which was maintained till he pulled up sharply at a point where the
trail dimmed to nothing upon the hard lava rock of the bad lands. The
half-breed studied the ground: "De leetle hoss turn back," he announced,
"Tex, she gon' on in. He los' de trail, now--he ain' kin pick it oop in
here--he ain' Injun. He', w'at you call, goin' it blin'."
Unhesitatingly the old half-breed followed along a ridge and dropped off
into a coulee. He rode slowly, now, with his eyes on the hard rocky
ground. Several times he dismounted and Endicott's heart sank as he
watched him search, sometimes upon hands and knees. But always the old
man straightened up with a grunt of satisfaction and mounting proceeded
confidently upon his course, although try as he would, Endicott could
discern no slightest mark or scratch that would indicate that anyone had
passed that way. "Are you really following a trail?" he asked, at
length, as the Indian headed up a coulee whose wind-swept floor was
almost solid rock.
The old man smiled: "_Oui_, A'm fol' de trail, all right. Two hoss,
shod, mak' good trail for Injun. Eef dey swim een de wattaire lak de
feesh, eef dey fly een de air lak de bird, Ol' Bat he no kin pick oop de
trail--but, by Goss! Eef dey walk, or ron, or stan' still dey got to
mak' de sign on de groun' an' me--A'm fin' dat out--" The words died in
his throat as he jerked his horse to a stand. From behind a projecting
shoulder of rock a man stepped directly into their path.
"Stick 'em up!" The command rang with a metallic hardness in the
rock-walled coulee, and Bat's hands flew upward. From the rear Endicott
saw that the man who barred the way was squat, bow-legged, and bearded,
and that he held a gun in either hand. For one sickening instant he
thought of Alice in the power of this man, and reckless of consequences,
he forced his horse to the fore. "Damn you!" he cried leaning forward in
the saddle, "where's my wife?"
Old Bat cried out a warning, and then stared in surprise at the man on
the ground who was returning his guns to their holsters, and grinning as
he did it.
"Damn me, where's your wife?" repeated the man, "ain't that a kind of a
rough way, pardner, to ask a question of a stranger? Or mebbe you're
jest na'chelly rough, an' can't help it." The metallic hardness was gone
from the voice. Endicott noticed that a tuft of hair stuck through a
hole in the crown of the man's hat, and that upon close inspection the
bearded face had lost its look of villainy.
"But--my wife!" he persisted, "you brought her here! She----"
"Not me," interrupted the man, "I didn't bring her nowheres. An' besides
she ain't here."
"Where is she? And who did bring her! Speak up, man!"
"She's safe enough. You don't need to worry about her. She's over to
Cinnabar Joe's ranch on Red Sand. Purdy took her there yesterday."
"Purdy!" shouted Endicott, "do you mean the Purdy that----"
"Yup," interrupted the other, "the Purdy that you took a shot at a year
ago an' creased. Why in hell couldn't you of shot a half an inch lower
that night?"
"How do you know she's safe?" cried Endicott. "How do you know he ever
took her there? I wouldn't trust Purdy out of my sight!"
"You an' me both," grinned the man, "an', I didn't. I trailed along from
the time they hit the bad lands till he delivered her at the ranch. He's
after the reward an' he had to keep her safe."
"But the people at the ranch--this Cinnabar Joe?"
"Ace high all around--the breed, there, he knows 'em."
"How did Purdy know about the reward?"
"Long Bill Kearney, he brung the bills along."
"Long Bill! He's another fine specimen! She's not safe as long as those
two scoundrels are at large. Where are they now? And where's Tex?"
"Well, Long Bill, he's quite a piece away from the bad lands by now. I
'spect he wishes he was back--but he won't come back. An' Purdy, he's
prob'ly wishin', by now, that he'd listened to me. God knows, I tried to
make a horse-thief out of him, but it wasn't no use--he's crooked. An'
Tex, he's busy an' don't want to be disturbed."
"Busy?"
"Yup. Busy killin' some folks--Purdy an' some others. I wanted he should
let me an' Bill Harlow go 'long an' help--but he wouldn't. Said he
wanted to settle with Purdy hisself."
"Who are you?"
"Me? I'm Cass Grimshaw."
"Ha!" cried Bat, climbing from the saddle, "A'm lak A'm shake you han'.
A'm know 'bout you. You de bes' hoss-t'ief in Montana, _sacre_! Me--A'm
Batiste Xavier Jean Jacques de Beaumont Lajune----"
"Is that one word--or several?" grinned Grimshaw. "An' as long as we
started in passin' poseys back an' forth, I've heard tell of both of you
birds. You're Tex's side kick an' your regular name's Bat, ain't it? An'
this here's the pilgrim that nicked Purdy over in Wolf River an' then
cussed out the lynchin' party to their face, thereby displayin' a set of
red guts that was entirely onlooked for in a pilgrim. So, bein' as we're
all friends together, let's hit it out an' see how Tex is makin' it."
He turned to Endicott, "Onless you'd ruther hit fer Cinnabar Joe's?"
Endicott shook his head: "No! If my wife is safe, my place is right here
beside Tex. This is my fight as much as it is his--more so, for it's on
her account he's after Purdy."
"That's what I call a man!" exclaimed Grimshaw extending a hand which
Endicott shook heartily. "Here's a gun--but let me slip you the word to
lay off Purdy. Nick away at the others, there's three more of 'em--or
was--but Tex he wants Purdy. Of course if anything should happen to
Tex--that lets us in. We'll pick up Bill Harlow on the way. Come on,
let's ride!"
And as they rode, Endicott smiled grimly to himself. A horse-thief, a
half-breed, and he, Winthrop Adams Endicott, "all friends together." And
in this friendship he suddenly realized he felt nothing but pride. The
feel of his galloping horse was good. He raised his eyes to the purpled
peaks of the distant Bear Paws, and as he filled his lungs to their
depths with the keen, clean air his knees tightened upon his saddle, his
fingers involuntarily closed about the butt of the gun that protruded
from the waistband of his corduroy trousers. "All friends together," he
muttered, and again he smiled--grimly.