set up close to the creek at Sinkhole cabin. Sudden, sprawled in the
shade of the wagon, was staring glumly at the sluggish little stream,
smoking his after-dinner cigar and trying to formulate some plan that
would promise results where results were most vital to his bank account.
It would, of course, take two or three days to gather in all the horses
on Sinkhole range, and the restless lot in the corral yonder might be a
large or a small part of the entire number down there. Sudden was not
worrying so much over those that were left, as he was over what had been
stolen. It seemed to him that there ought to be some way of getting those
horses back. He was trying to think of the way.
"Oh, Bill!" he called, getting stiffly to his feet. "Let's get into the
cabin and go over those tally books." Which was merely a subterfuge to
get Bill away from the wagon without letting the boys know something was
wrong. Bill got up, brushed the dirt off his trousers with a flick of his
fingers, lighted the cigarette he had just rolled and followed the boss.
"Bill, what's your idea about this horse-stealing, anyway? If they were
going to steal horses, why didn't they run off a whole herd and be done
with it?"
Bill seated himself on Johnny's bunk, spat toward the stove, pulled a
splinter off the rough board of the bunk's side, and began carefully
nipping off tiny shreds with his finger nails. Bill, by all these signs
and tokens, was limbering up his keen old range-bred wits for action.
"Well, I'll tell yuh. The way to get at the thing is to figger out why
you'd do it, s'posin' you was in their place. Now if it was _me_ that was
stealin' these hawses--say, s'posin' I was aimin' to sell 'em over across
the line--I'd aim to take the best I could git holt of, because I'd be
wanting 'em for good, all-round, tough saddle hawses. Them greasers, the
way they're hellin' around over the country shootin' and fightin', they
got to have good hawses under 'em. Er they want good hawses, if they can
git 'em.
"Well, s'posin' 't I was out to furnish what I could. Chances is I
wouldn't have a very big bunch in with me--say five or six of us, jest
enough to handle a few head at a time. I'd aim to git 'em over acrost
the line first shot. Anybody would do that. Well, s'posin' I didn't
have a place that'd take care of very many at a time. Feed's pore, over
there, and a hawse has got to eat. These here hawses are in purty fair
condition, and I'd aim to keep 'em in flesh whilst I was breakin'
'em--I'd git better prices. And then again, mebby I wouldn't want too
many on hand at once, in case some party come along with the gall to loot
'em instead of buy 'em.
"I figger I'd be plumb content if I could take over a few at a time, and
let the rest go ahead eatin' grass here till I was ready for 'em. The
longer I could keep that up, the better I'd like it. Same as we been
doin' at the home ranch, y' see. We didn't go t' work and haze in the
hull bunch and keep 'em up, eatin' their heads off, waitin' till we got
ready for 'em. No, sir, we go out and bring in half a dozen, or a dozen
at most and cut out what we want. We bust them, and git more.
"I figger, Mr. Selmer, that these geezers down here have been doin' that
very same way. They had the kid baited with that flyin' machine, so he
wouldn't have no eyes for anything else. And he was _here_, so you
wouldn't be worryin' none about the stock. And they've been helpin'
theirselves at their own convenience--like Mary V would put it. I dunno,
but that's the way I figger it. And I don't guess, Mr. Selmer, you'll see
none of yore hawses again, unless mebby it's the last ones they took. And
I don't guess there's very much chance of gittin' them back, either,
because we don't know whereabouts they took 'em to. Way I look at it,
you're doin' about the only thing that can be did--cleanin' out this
range and drivin' the hawses all up on the north range. That kinda leaves
the jam pot empty when they come lickin' their lips for more of the
same."
"Well, I guess you're right, Bill. And how do you figure young Jewel not
being here? His saddle is out there in the shed, and all his horses are
here."
"Him?" Bill laughed a little. "Me, I don't aim to do no figgerin' about
Skyrider. He's got his flyin' machine workin', though, accordin' to Mary
V. I guess Skyrider has mebby flew the country. He'd likely think it was
about time--way he gummed things up around here."
Sudden permitted himself a snort, probably in agreement with Bill's
statement that things were "gummed up" at Sinkhole. He went to the door
and stood looking out, his face sour as one may expect a face to be when
thoughts of loss are behind it.
"Where's Mary V?" he turned abruptly to ask of Bill.
"Mary V? Why, I guess she went home. Said something about takin' a
picture of some darn thing; she never come on with the boys to camp,
anyhow."
"She didn't go foolin' off with Tex, did she?"
"Tex? No, Tex rode after stock. Had some trouble with his hawse. I heard
him tellin' the boys. Said his hawse run away with him. Come in all
lathered up."
Sudden turned back, went to the telephone, changed his mind. No use
worrying her mother by asking if she had got home, he thought.
"You're sure she went home?" his eyes dwelt rather sharply upon Bill's
lean, leathery face. Bill looked up from the slow disintegration of the
splinter. He spat toward the stove again, looked down at the splinter,
and then got up quite unexpectedly.
"Hell, no! I ain't shore, but I can quick enough find out." He brushed
past Sudden and took long steps toward the camp. Sudden followed him.
The boys were standing in a group, holding their hat brims down to shield
their eyes from the bitter glare of the sun while they gazed up into the
sky, their faces turned towards the south. A speck was scudding across
the blue--a speck that rapidly grew larger, circled downward in a great,
easy spiral. Sudden and Bill perforce turned and held their own hat brims
while they looked.
"Sa-ay, if that there's Skyrider sailin' around in an airship, he's shore
got the laugh on us fellers," Aleck observed, squinting his nose until
his gums showed red above his teeth. "Look at 'im come down, would yuh!"
"Wonder where he got it?" little Curley hazarded. "I always told you
fellers--"
"Does anybody know where Mary V went?" Sudden's voice brought them all
facing him. They looked at him uncomprehendingly for a minute, then
uncertainly at one another.
"Why--she was going to take a picture of a cactus. I dunno where she went
after that." This was Bud, a shade of uneasiness creeping into his face.
"Which way did she go? Toward home?"
"She started that way--back toward Snake Ridge--"
"I seen her riding east," Curley broke in. "Jake shore was pickin' 'em up
and layin' 'em down too. I thought at first he was running off with her,
but he wasn't. He slowed down, climbin' that lava slope--and after that
I didn't see no more of 'er."
Sudden looked at his watch, frowning a little. Mary V probably was all
right; there was nothing unusual in her absence. But this country south
of Snake Ridge was closer to the lawless land across the boundary than he
liked. Their very errand down there gave proof enough of its character.
North of Snake Ridge, Sudden would merely have stored away a lecture for
Mary V. Down here at Sinkhole--
"You boys get out and hunt her up!" he snapped, almost as though they
were to blame for her absence. "I didn't tell you before, but I'm telling
you now that rustlers have been at work down here, and that's why we're
taking the horses off this range. This is no place for Mary V to be
riding around by herself."
"It's a wonder he wouldn't of woke up to that fact before," Bud grumbled
to Aleck, while he went limping to the corral. "If she was a girl uh
mine, she'd be home with her maw, where she belongs!"
"Rustlers--that sounds like greasers had been at work here. Runnin'
hawses acrost the line. For Lord sake, git a faster wiggle on than that
limp, Bud! If that poor little kid meets up with a bunch of them damn
renegades--"
Bud swore and increased his pace in spite of the pain. Others were before
him. Already Tex had his loop over the head of a speedy horse, and was
leading it toward his saddle. Curley, the quickest of them all, was
giving frantic tugs to his latigo. Bill was in the saddle ready to direct
the search, and Sudden was standing by his car, wondering whether it
would be possible to negotiate that rough country to the eastward with
a "mechanical bronk."
Nothing much was said. You would have thought, to look at them, that
they were merely in a hurry to get back to the work. Nevertheless, if it
should happen that Mary V was being annoyed or in any danger, it would go
hard with the miscreants if the Rolling R boys once came within sight of
them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LUCK TURNS TRAITOR
Johnny Jewel, carrying the propeller balanced on his shoulder and his
rifle in the other hand--and perspiring freely with the task--came
hurrying through the sage brush, following the faint trail his own eager
feet had worn in the sand. His eyes were turned frowning upon the ground,
his lips were set together in the line of stubbornness.
He tilted the propeller against the adobe wall of the cabin, and went in
without noticing that the door was open instead of closed as he had left
it. He was at the telephone when Sudden stepped in after him. Johnny
looked over his shoulder with wide, startled eyes.
"Oh. I was just going to call up the ranch," he said with the brusqueness
of a man whose mind is concentrated on one thing.
"What you want of the ranch?" Sudden's tone was noncommittal. Here was
the fellow that had caused all this trouble and worry and loss. Sudden
meant to deal with him as he deserved, but that did not mean he would fly
into a passion and handicap his judgment.
"I want the boys, if you can get hold of them. I've located the ranch
where they've been taking those horses to that they stole. There's some
there now--or there was. I went down and let down the fence of the little
field they had 'em in, and headed 'em for the gap. There wasn't anybody
around but two women--an old one and a young one--and some kids. They
spluttered a lot, but I went ahead anyway. There's about a dozen Rolling
R horses I turned loose. The brands were blotched, but I knew 'em anyway.
"So I got 'em outa the field, and then we went back to the plane and
circled around and come up on 'em from the south, and flew low enough to
scare 'em good, but not enough to scatter 'em like that bunch up at the
ranch scattered. They high-tailed it this way, and I guess they'll keep
coming, all right, if they aren't turned back again. The boys can pick
'em up.
"If the boys could come down I think they could get a whack at the
rustlers themselves. I got a sight of 'em, with a little bunch of horses,
as I was coming back. Far as I could see, they didn't notice the
plane--we were high, and soon as I saw 'em I had Bland shut off the motor
and glide. They must have camped just across the line till they got a
bunch together, or something. They were taking their time, and if the
boys could get down here right away, I believe we could get 'em. If not,
I'll go back and stampede the horses this way, and see if I can't get me
a greaser or two. We had to come back and fill up the tank again, anyway.
I didn't want to get caught the way those other fellows did. Is Bill at
the ranch, Mr. Selmer?"
It speaks well for Sudden Selmer that he could listen to this amazing
statement without looking dazed. As it was, his first bewildered stare
subsided into mere astonishment. Later other emotions crept in. By the
time Johnny had finished his headlong report, Sudden had recovered his
mental poise and was able to speak coherently.
"Been hunting horses with a flying machine, eh? I must say you're right
up to date, young man. No, Bill isn't at the ranch. If you'd keep your
eyes open here at home, same as you do when you're flying around next the
clouds, you'd see the chuck wagon down there by the creek. I moved 'em
down here to save what horses are left. The boys are out now hunting up
Mary V. She had to go larruping off by herself on Bill's horse Jake, and
she hasn't come back yet. I guess she's all right; but the boys went
after her so as not to take any chances. I'm kinda hoping the kid went
home. I don't like to scare her mother, though, by calling up to see."
Johnny's eyes had widened and grown round, just as they always did when
something stirred him unexpectedly. "I could call up, Mr. Selmer, and ask
if I can speak to Mary V. That wouldn't scare her mother."
"Sure, you can find out; only don't you say anything about the wagons
being camped here. If she asks, say you haven't seen us yet. She'll think
we made camp somewhere else. Go ahead."
It did not take long, and when Johnny turned to Selmer he had the white
line around his mouth. "She says Mary V went out with you and the boys,
to a round-up somewhere down this way."
"Well, maybe she just rode farther than she intended. But she was on
Jake; she deviled us into letting her take him. Bill thinks Jake isn't
very safe. I don't think he is, either. You say the rustlers were away
down across the line, driving a bunch of horses, so there's no danger--"
"I didn't say all of them were down that way. I don't know how many there
are. They were just little dots crawling along--but I guessed there were
about four riders." Johnny started for the door, picking up his rifle
from the table where he had placed it. "I wish I'd got after 'em as I
wanted to, but Bland kept hollering about gas--" He balanced the
propeller on his shoulder again, and turned to Sudden.
"Don't you worry, Mr. Selmer, we'll get right out after her. Which way
did she go? There's times when an airplane comes in kinda handy, after
all!"
"You young hound, there wouldn't be all this hell a-poppin' if it wasn't
for you and your bederned airplane! Don't overlook that fact. You've
managed to hold up all my plans, and lose me Lord-knows-how-many horses
that are probably the pick of the herds; and you've got the gall to crow
because your flying machine will fly! And if that girl of mine's in any
trouble, it'll be your fault more than anybody's. If you'd stuck to your
job and done what I've been paying you wages to do--"
"You don't have to rub all that in, Mr. Selmer. I guess I know it better
than you do. Just because I don't come crying around you with a lot of
please-forgive-me stuff, you think I don't give a cuss! Which way did
Mary V go? That's more important right now than naming over all the kinds
of damn fools I've been. I can sing that song backwards. Which way--"
"She went east. Damn yuh, don't yuh stand there talking back to me, or
I'll--"
"Oh, go to--war," said Johnny sullenly, and hitched the propeller to a
better balance on his shoulder, and went striding back whence he had
come.
He had not meant to crow. He knew perfectly well what harm he had
wrought. He was doing what he could to undo that harm, and he was at that
high pitch of self-torment when the lash of another was unbearable. He
did not want to quarrel with the boss, but no human being could have
reproached Johnny then without receiving some of the bitterness which
filled Johnny's soul.
He routed Bland out of nap and commanded him to make ready for another
flight. Bland protested, with his usual whine against extra work, and got
a look from Johnny that sent him hurrying around the plane to make his
regular before-flying inspection.
Fifteen minutes after Johnny's arrival the plane was quivering outside on
the flying field, and Bland was pulling down his goggles while Johnny
kicked a small rock away from a wheel and climbed up to straddle into the
rear seat, carrying his rifle with him--to the manifest discomfort of
Bland, who was "gun-shy."
"Fly a kinda zigzag course east till I tell yuh to swing south," Johnny
called, close to Bland's ear. "Miss Selmer's off that way somewhere. If
you see her, don't fly low enough to scare her horse--keep away a little
and hunt a landing. I'll tell yuh when to land, same as before."
He settled back, and Bland nodded, glanced right and left, eased the
motor on and started. They took the air and climbed steadily, circling
until they had the altitude Johnny wanted. Then, swinging away toward
Snake Ridge, they worked eastward. Johnny did not use the controls at
all. He wanted all his mind for scanning the country spread out below
them.
Ridges, arroyos, brushy flats--Johnny's eyes went over them all. Almost
before they had completed the first circle he spied a rider, then
two--and over to the right a couple more, scattered out and riding
eastward. Johnny wished that he could have speech with the boys, could
tell them what he meant to do. But he knew too well how the horses would
feel about the plane, so he kept on, skimming high over their heads like
a great, humming dragon fly. He saw them crane necks to watch him, saw
the horses plunge and try to bolt. Then they were far behind, and his
eyes were searching anxiously the landscape below.
Mary V, it occurred to him suddenly, might be lying hurt. Jake might have
thrown her--though on second thought that was not likely, for Mary V
was too good a rider to be thrown unless a horse pitched rather
viciously. Jake would run away, would rear and plunge and sidle when fear
gripped him or his temper was up, but Johnny had never heard of his
pitching. Jake was not a range-bred horse, and if there was a buck-jump
in his system, it had never betrayed itself. After all, Mary V's chance
of lying hurt was minimized by the very fact that she rode Jake.
Red hill came sliding rapidly toward them. Now it was beneath, and the
plane had risen sharply to the air current that flowed steadily over the
hill. It swooped down again--they were over the flat where he had seen
the riders. The line of fence showed like knotted thread drawn across the
land. And within it was no Mary V.
Johnny tapped Bland's shoulder for a circle to the north, hoping that
she might be riding back that way. He strained his eyes, and saw tiny
dots of horses feeding quietly, but no rider moving anywhere. He sent
Bland swinging southward, while he leaned a little and watched the
swift-sliding panorama of arid land beneath. It was a rough country, as
Tex had said. To look for one little moving speck in all that veined
network of little ridges and draws was enough to tax quicker, keener eyes
than Johnny Jewel's.
But Johnny would not think of failure. Somewhere he would see her; he
would circle and seek until he did find her--if she were there.
Twice they sailed round, keeping within the boundaries of the east and
south fences. Then, flying as low as was safe, Johnny turned south, along
the course which he believed the horse thieves to have followed. It did
not seem possible--rather, he did not want to think it possible--that
they should have met Mary V. But Mexico is always Mexico, and sinister
things do happen along its border. The boys were coming on horseback, and
they would scatter and comb the draws which Johnny had looked down into
as he passed over. He would leave that closer search to the boys, while
he himself went farther--as far as Jake could travel in half a day.
They reached the south fence, left it dwindling behind them. Minutes
brought them over the invisible line which divides lawful country from
lawless. They went on, until Johnny spied again the group of stolen
horses being herded loosely in a shallow arroyo where there was a little
sparse grass. The men he did not at first see, save the one on herd.
Then he thought he could detect them sprawled in the shade of a few
stunted trees.
Apparently they felt safe, close though they were to the line. Indeed,
they were safe enough--from horsemen riding down from the Rolling R. So
far they had thieved at their leisure and with impunity. The element of
risk had been discounted until they no longer considered it at all,
except when they were actually within the Rolling R Boundaries. Now, in
the heat of the day, they slept as was their habit. Even the herder was
probably dozing in the saddle and leaving watchfulness to his cow-pony.
Certainly he did not give any sign that he saw the airplane as it glided
silently over so that they could come back from the south.
"What I want, Bland, is to scare these horses back toward home," Johnny
said. "We'll come at 'em first from the south, and if they don't run
straight, we'll have to circle round till they do. But I want to come
within shooting distance of them hombres under the trees. See? So fly as
low as yuh dare, when we come back."
Bland threw on the motor, circled and came volplaning back. He did not
complain; he left that for times when he was not flying. Johnny braced
himself, rifle ready. He was sorry then that he was not an expert shot;
but he hoped that luck would be with him and make up for what he lacked
in skill.
The horses stampeded, carrying the herder with them. They ran north, in a
panic that would keep them going for some time. As they raced clattering
past the camp, Johnny saw four men rise up hastily, their faces turned up
to the sky. He leaned, took what aim was possible, and fired four shots
as the plane swept over.
He did not hit any one, so far as he could see, but he saw them duck and
run close to the tree trunks, which gave him some satisfaction. Moreover,
they were afoot. Not a single horse remained within sight or hearing of
that camp.
Johnny did not go back for another try at them, though he was tempted to
land and fight it out with them. There was Mary V to think of, and there
were the horses. They went on, shying off from the fleeing animals lest
they drive them back instead of forward. Bland spiraled upward, waiting
to see what Johnny wanted next. Whatever it might be, Bland would do
it--with two guns and a headstrong young man just behind him.
The thrum of the motor stuttered a little on the last upward turn. Bland
straightened out the plane, fussed with the spark and the gas, banked
cautiously around and headed for home. Like a heart that skips a beat now
and then, an odd little pause, scarcely to be distinguished except when
the ear has become accustomed to the rhythm of perfect firing, manifested
itself. Bland turned his head sidewise, listening. The pause became more
marked. The steady, forward thrust slackened a little. Johnny was aware
that the monotonous waste below did not slip behind them quite so fast;
not quite.
Bland was nursing the motor along, Johnny could tell by his slight
movements. It seemed to him that a tenseness had crept into the set of
Bland's head. Johnny braced himself for something--just what, he did not
know. His knowledge of motors was superficial. Something was wrong with
the ignition, he guessed, but he had no idea what it could be.
A sick feeling of thwarted purpose came over him. He knew it was not
fear. He felt as though he could not possibly be afraid in an airplane,
however much reason he might have for fear. He felt betrayed, as though
this wonderful piece of mechanism, for which he had paid so dear a price
and which he worshiped in proportion, had suddenly turned traitor. It was
failing him, just when his need of it was so vital. Just when he had so
much to retrieve, just when he had counted on its help in re-establishing
his self-respect.
Bland turned his head, and gave Johnny a fleeting glance from the corner
of one eye. Bland's face was a sallow white.
Johnny laid down his rifle and carefully placed feet and hands on the
controls. Bland might get scared and lose his head, and if he did, Johnny
did not want to be altogether at his mercy. Anyway, Bland did not know
the country.
"How far will she glide?" Johnny shouted above the sputtering cough of
the motor. But Bland only shook his head slowly from right to left and
back again. Bland's ears were a waxy white now, and the line of his jaw
had sharpened. Johnny believed that Bland would fail him too.
They were gliding down an invisible incline, and it was a long way to
Sinkhole. Johnny began to think feverishly of certain sandy patches, bare
of brush and rocks, and to estimate distances. Now they crossed the line
fence and were over the rough country below Red Hill and the plane was
lifting and falling to the uneven currents like a boat riding the waves.
Gliding parallel with a dry tributary of Sinkhole Creek, the plane
side-slipped and came perilously close to disaster. Bland righted it,
but Johnny held his breath at the way the ground had jumped up at them.