her drink preparatory to starting on his tiresome ride over the range.
Both he and the Colonel believed that the thieves would soon grow bolder,
and his strongest hope lay in coming upon them at work. He had noted that
there were no fresh hides among those which hung on the fence, and he
sauntered down to have another look at the old ones. With his foot he
turned over something which lay close against a fence-post, half concealed
in a sage-brush. Stooping, he unrolled it and shook it out; then he
whistled softly. It was a fresh hide with the brand cut out!
Ralston nodded his head in mingled satisfaction and regret. So the thief
was working from the MacDonald ranch! Did the Indian woman know, he
wondered. Was it possible that Susie was in ignorance? With all his heart,
he hoped she was. He walked leisurely to the house and leaned against the
jamb of the kitchen door.
"Have the makings, Ling?" He passed his tobacco-sack and paper to the
cook.
"Sure!" said Ling jauntily. "I like 'em cigilette."
And as they smoked fraternally together, they talked of food and its
preparation--subjects from which Ling's thoughts seldom wandered far. When
the advantages of soda and sour milk over baking powder were thoroughly
exhausted as a topic, Ralston asked casually:
"Who killed your last beef, Ling? It's hard to beat."
"Yellow Bird," he replied. "Him good butcher."
"Yes," Ralston agreed; "I should say that Yellow Bird was an uncommonly
good butcher."
So, after all, it was the Indians who were killing. Ralston sauntered on
to the bunk-house to think it over.
"Tubbs," McArthur was saying, as he eyed that person with an interest
which he seldom bestowed upon his hireling, "you really have a most
remarkable skull."
Tubbs, visibly flattered, smirked.
"It's claimed that it's double by people what have tried to work me over.
Onct I crawled in a winder and et up a batch of 'son-of-a-gun-in-a-sack'
that the feller who lived there had jest made. He come in upon me suddent,
and the way he hammered me over the head with the stove-lifter didn't
trouble _him_, but," declared Tubbs proudly, "he never even knocked me to
my knees."
"It is of the type of dolichocephalic," mused McArthur.
"A barber told me that same thing the last time I had a hair-cut,"
observed Tubbs blandly. "'Tubbs,' says he, 'you ought to have a massaj
every week, and lay the b'ar-ile on a-plenty.'"
"It is remarkably suggestive of the skulls found in the ancient paraderos
of Patagonia. Very similar in contour--very similar."
"There's no Irish in me," Tubbs declared with a touch of resentment. "I'm
pure mungrel--English and Dutch."
"It is an extremely curious skull--most peculiar." He felt of Tubbs's head
with growing interest. "This bump behind the ear, if the system of
phrenology has any value, would indicate unusual pugnacity."
"That's where a mule kicked me and put his laig out of joint," said Tubbs
humorously.
"Ah, that renders the skull pathological; but, even so, it is an
interesting skull to an anthropologist--a really valuable skull, it would
be to me, illustrating as it does certain features in dispute, for which I
have stubbornly contended in controversies with the Preparator of
Anthropology at the École des Haute Études in Paris."
"Why don't you sell it to him, Tubbs?" suggested Ralston, who had listened
in unfeigned amusement.
Tubbs, startled, clasped both hands over the top of his head and backed
off.
"Why, I need it myself."
"Certainly--we understand that; but supposing you were to die--supposing
something happened to you, as is liable to happen out here--you wouldn't
care what became of your skull, once you were good and dead. If it were
sold, you'd be just that much in, besides making an invaluable
contribution to science," Ralston urged persuasively.
"It not infrequently happens that paupers, and prisoners sentenced to
suffer capital punishment, dispose of their bodies for anatomical
purposes, for which they are paid in advance. As a matter of fact,
Tubbs," declared McArthur earnestly, "my superficial examination of your
head has so impressed me that upon the chance of some day adding it to my
collection I am willing to offer you a reasonable sum for it."
"It's on bi-products that the money is made," declared Ralston soberly,
"and I advise you not to let this chance pass. You can raise money on the
rest of your anatomy any time; but selling your head separately like
this--don't miss it, Tubbs!"
"Don't I git the money till you git my head?" Tubbs demanded
suspiciously.
"I could make a first payment to you, and the remainder could be paid to
your heirs."
"My heirs! Say, all that I'll ever git for my head wouldn't be a smell
amongst my heirs. A round-up of my heirs would take in the hull of North
Dakoty. Not aimin' to brag, I got mavericks runnin' on that range what
must be twelve-year-old."
McArthur looked the disgust he felt at Tubbs's ribald humor.
"Your jests are exceedingly distasteful to me, Tubbs."
"That ain't no jest. Onct I----"
"Let's get down to business," interrupted Ralston. "What do you consider
your skull worth?"
"It's wuth considerable to me. I don't know as I'm so turrible anxious to
sell. I can eat with it, and it gits me around." Tubbs's tone took on the
assumed indifference of an astute horse trader. "I've always held my head
high, as you might say, and it looks to me like it ought to bring a
hunderd dollars in the open market. No, I couldn't think of lettin' it go
for less than a hundred--cash."
McArthur considered.
"If you will agree to my conditions, I will give you my check for one
hundred dollars," he said at last.
"That sounds reasonable," Tubbs assented.
"I should want you to carry constantly upon your person my name, address,
and written instructions as to the care of and disposal of your skull, in
the event of your demise. I shall also insist that you do not voluntarily
place your head where your skull may be injured; because, as you can
readily see, if it were badly crushed, it would be worthless for my
purpose, or that of the scientific body to whom I intend to bequeath my
interest in it, should I die before yourself."
"I wasn't aimin' to lay it in a vise," remarked Tubbs.
While McArthur was drawing up the agreement between them, Tubbs's face
brightened with a unique thought.
"Say," he suggested, "why don't you leave word in them instructions for me
to be mounted? I know a taxidermist over there near the Yellowstone Park
what can put up a b'ar or a timber wolf so natural you wouldn't know 'twas
dead. Wouldn't it be kinda nice to see me settin' around the house with my
teeth showin' and an ear of corn in my mouth? I'll tell you what I'll do:
I'll sell you my hull hide for a hundred more. It might cost two dollars
to have me tanned, and with a nice felt linin' you could have a good rug
out of me for a very little money."
McArthur replied ironically:
"I never have regarded you as an ornament, Tubbs."
Tubbs looked at the check McArthur handed him, with satisfaction.
"That's what I call clear velvet!" he declared, and went off chuckling to
show it to his friends.
"When you think of it, this is a very singular transaction," observed
McArthur, wiping his fountain-pen carefully.
"Yes," and Ralston, no longer able to contain himself, shouted with
laughter; "it is."
XII
SMITH GETS "HUNKS"
Smith's ugly mood was still upon him when he picked up his grammar that
evening. Jealous, humiliated by the loss of the morning's race, full
of revengeful thoughts and evil feelings, he wanted to hurt
somebody--something--even Dora. He had a vague, sullen notion that she
was to blame because Ralston was in love with her. She could have
discouraged him in the beginning, he told himself; she could have
stopped it.
Unaccustomed as Smith was to self-restraint, he quickly showed his frame
of mind to Dora. He had no _savoir faire_ with which to conceal his mood;
besides, he entertained a feeling of proprietorship over her which
justified his resentment to himself. Was she not to be his? Would he not
eventually control her, her actions, choose her friends?
Dora found him a dense and disagreeable pupil, and one who seemingly had
forgotten everything he had learned during previous lessons. His replies
at times were so curt as to be uncivil, and a feeling of indignation
gradually rose within her. She was at a loss to understand his mood,
unless it was due to the result of the morning's race; yet she could
scarcely believe that his disappointment, perhaps chagrin, could account
for his rudeness to her.
When the useless lesson was finished, she closed the book and asked:
"You are not yourself to-night. What is wrong?"
With an expression upon his face which both startled and shocked her he
snarled:
"I'm sick of seein' that lady-killer hangin' around here!"
"You mean----?"
"Ralston!"
Dora had never looked at Smith as she looked at him now.
"I beg to be excused from your criticisms of Mr. Ralston."
Smith had not dreamed that the gentle, girlish voice could take on such a
quality. It cut him, stung him, until he felt hot and cold by turns.
"Oh, I didn't know he was such a friend," he sneered.
"Yes"--her eyes did not quail before the look that flamed in his--"he is
_just_ such a friend!"
They had risen; and Smith, looking at her as she stood erect, her head
high in defiance, could have choked her in his jealous rage.
He stumbled rather than walked toward the door.
"Good-night," he said in a strained, throaty voice.
"Good-night."
She stared at the door as it closed behind him. She had something of the
feeling of one who, making a pet of a tiger, feels its claws for the first
time, sees the first indication of its ferocious nature. This new phase of
Smith's character, while it angered, also filled her with uneasiness.
It was later than usual when Smith came in to say a word to the Indian
woman, after Dora and Susie had retired. He did not bring with him the
fumes of tobacco, the smoke of which rose in clouds in the bunk-house,
making it all but impossible to see the length of the building; he
brought, rather, an odor of freshness, a feeling of coolness, as though he
had been long in the night air.
The Indian woman sniffed imperceptibly.
"Where you been?"
His look was evil as he answered:
"Me? I've been payin' my debts, me--Smith."
He took her impassive hand in both of his and pressed it against his
heart.
"Prairie Flower," he said, "I want you to tell Ralston to go. _I hate
him_."
The woman looked at him, but did not answer.
"Will you?"
"Yes, I tell him."
"When?"
She raised her narrowing eyes to his.
"_When you tell de white woman to go_."
* * * * *
Ralston had felt that the old Colonel was growing impatient with his
seeming inactivity, so he decided, the next morning, to ride to the Bar C
and tell him that he believed he had a clue. It would not be necessary to
keep Running Rabbit under close surveillance until the beef in the
meat-house was getting low. Then the deputy sheriff meant not to let him
out of his sight.
Smith had not spoken to the man whom he had come to regard as his rival
since he had ridden away from him the morning before. He had ignored
Ralston's conversation at the table and avoided him in the bunk-house.
Now, engaged in trimming his horse's fetlocks, Smith did not look up as
the other man passed, but his eyes followed him with a triumphant gleam as
he went into the stable to saddle Molly.
Ralston backed the mare to turn her in the stall, and she all but fell
down. He felt a little surprise at her clumsiness, but did not grasp its
meaning until he led her to the door, where she stepped painfully over the
low door-sill and all but fell again. He led her a step or two further,
and she went almost to her knees. The mare was lame in every leg--she
could barely stand; yet there was not a mark on her--not ever so slight a
bruise! Her slender legs were as free from swellings as when they had
carried her past Smith's gray; her feet looked to be in perfect condition;
yet, save for the fact that she could stand up, she was as crippled as if
the bones of every leg were shattered.
It is doubtful if any but steel-colored eyes can take on the look which
Ralston's contained as they met Smith's. His skin was gray as he
straightened himself and drew a hand which shook noticeably the length of
his cheek and across his mouth.
In great anger, anger which precedes some quick and desperate act, almost
every person has some gesture peculiar to himself, and this was
Ralston's.
A less guilty man than Smith might have flinched at that moment. The
half-grin on his face faded, and he waited for a torrent of accusations
and oaths. But Ralston, in a voice so low that it barely reached him, a
voice so ominous, so fraught with meaning, that the dullest could not have
misunderstood, said:
"I'll borrow your horse, Smith."
Smith, like one hypnotized, heard himself saying:
"Sure! Take him."
Ralston knew as well as though he had witnessed the act that Smith had
hammered the frogs of Molly's feet until they were bruised and sore as
boils. Her lameness would not be permanent--she would recover in a week or
two; but the abuse of, the cruelty to, the little mare he loved filled
Ralston with a hatred for Smith as relentless and deep as Smith's own.
"A man who could do a thing like that," said Ralston through his set
teeth, "is no common cur! He's wolf--all wolf! He isn't staying here for
love, alone. There's something else. And I swear before the God that made
me, I'll find out what it is, and land him, before I quit!"
XIII
SUSIE'S INDIAN BLOOD
Coming leisurely up the path from the corrals, Smith saw Susie sitting on
the cottonwood log, wrapped in her mother's blanket. She was huddled in a
squaw's attitude. He eyed her; he never had seen her like that before.
But, knowing Indians better, possibly, than he knew his own race, Smith
understood. He recognized the mood. Her Indian blood was uppermost. It
rose in most half-breeds upon occasion. Sometimes under the influence of
liquor it cropped out, sometimes anger brought it to the surface. He had
seen it often--this heavy, smouldering sullenness.
Smith stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at her. He felt more at
ease with her than ever before.
"What are you sullin' about, Susie?"
She did not answer. Her pertness, her Anglo-Saxon vivacity, were gone; her
face was wooden, expressionless; her restless eyes slow-moving and dull;
her cheek-bones, always noticeably high, looked higher, and her skin was
murky and dark.
"You look like a squaw with that sull on," he ventured again, and there
was satisfaction in his face.
It was something to know that, after all, Susie was "Injun"--"pure
Injun." The scheme which had lain dormant in his brain now took active
shape. He had wanted Susie's help, but each time that he had tried to
conciliate her, his overtures had ended in a fresh rupture. Now her
stinging tongue was dumb, and there was no aggressiveness in her manner.
Smith, laying his hand heavily upon her shoulder, sat down beside her, and
a flash, a transitory gleam, shone for an instant in her dull eyes; but
she did not move or change expression.
He said in a low voice:
"What you need is stirrin' up, Susie."
He watched her narrowly, and continued:
"You ought to get into a game that has some ginger in it. This here life
is too tame for a girl like you."
Without looking at him she asked:
"What kind of a game?" Her voice was lifeless, guttural.
"It's agin my principles to empty my sack to a woman; but you're
diff'rent--you're game--you are, Susie." His voice dropped to a whisper,
and the weight of his hand made her shoulder sag. "Let's you and me rustle
a bunch of horses."
Susie did not betray surprise at the startling proposition by so much as
the twitching of an eyelid.
"What for?"
Smith replied:
"Just for the hell of it!"
She grunted, but neither in assent nor dissent; so Smith went on in an
eager, persuasive whisper:
"There's Injun enough in you, girl, to make horse-stealin' all the same as
breathin'. You jump in with me on this deal and see how easy you lose that
sull. Don't you ever have a feelin' take holt of you that you want to do
something onery--steal something, mix with somebody? I do. I've had that
notorious feelin' workin' on me strong for days now, and I've got to get
rid of it. If you'll come in on this, we'll have the excitement and make a
stake, too. Talk up, girl--show your sand! Be game!"
"What horses do you aim to steal?"
"Reservation horses. Say, the way I can burn their brands and fan 'em over
the line won't trouble _me_. I'll come back with a wad--me, Smith--and
I'll whack up even. What do you say?"
"What for a hand do I take in it?"
A smile of triumph lifted the corners of Smith's mouth.
"You gather 'em up and run 'em into a coulee, that's all. I'll do the
rest."
"What do you want _me_ to do it for?"
"Nobody'd think anything of it if they saw you runnin' horses, because
you're always doin' it; but they'd notice me."
"Where's the coulee?"
"I've picked it. I located my plant long ago. I've found the best spot in
the State to make a plant."
"Where are you goin' to sell?"
Smith eyed her inscrutable face suspiciously.
"You're askin' lots of questions, girl. I tips my hand too far to no
petticoat. You trusts me or you don't. Will you come in?"
"All right," said Susie after a silence; "I'll come in--'just for the hell
of it.'"
"Shake!"
She looked at his extended hand and wrapped her own in her blanket.
"There's no call to shake."
"Is your heart mixed, Susie?" he demanded. "Ain't it right toward me?"
"It'll be right enough when the time comes," she answered.
The reply did not satisfy Smith, but he told himself that, once she was
committed, he could manage her, for, after all, Susie was little more than
a child. Smith felt uncommonly pleased with himself for his bold stroke.
The new intimacy between Smith and Susie, the sudden cessation of
hostilities, caused surprise on the ranch, but the Indian woman was the
only one to whom it gave pleasure. She viewed the altered relations with
satisfaction, since it removed the only obstacle, as she believed, to a
speedy marriage with Smith.
"Didn't I tell you he smart white man?" she asked complacently of Susie.
"Oh, yes, he's awful smart," Susie answered with sarcasm.
Ralston, more than any one else, was puzzled by their apparent friendship.
He had believed that Susie's antipathy for Smith was as deep as his own,
and he wondered what could have happened to bring about such a sudden and
complete revulsion of feeling. He was disappointed in her. He felt that
she had weakly gone over to the enemy; and it shook his confidence in her
sturdy honesty more than anything she could have done. He believed that no
person who understood Smith, as Susie undoubtedly did, could make a friend
and confidant of him and be "right." But sometimes he caught Susie's eyes
fixed upon him in a kind of wistful, inquiring scrutiny, which left the
impression that something was troubling her, something that she longed to
confide in some one upon whom she could rely; but his past experience had
taught him the futility of attempting to force her confidence, of trying
to learn more than she volunteered.
Smith and Susie rode the surrounding country and selected horses from the
various bands. Three or four bore Bear Chief's brand, there were a pinto
and a black buckskin in Running Rabbit's herd, and a sorrel or two that
belonged to Yellow Bird. A couple of bays here were singled out, a brown
and black there, until they had the pick of the range.
"We don't want to get more nor you can cut out alone and handle," warned
Smith. "We don't want no slip-up on the start."
"I don't aim to make no slip-up."
"We've got lookers, we have," declared Smith. "And them chunky ones go off
quickest at a forced sale. I know a horse when I meet up with it,
me--Smith."
"But where you goin' to cache 'em?" insisted Susie.
"Girl, I ain't been ridin' this range for my health. I'll show you a blind
canyon where a regiment of soldiers couldn't find a hundred head of horses
in a year; and over there in the Bad Lands there's a spring breakin' out
where a man dyin' of thirst would never think of lookin' for it. We're all
right. You're a head-worker, and so am I." Smith chuckled. "We'll set some
of these Injuns afoot, and make a clean-get-away."
Smith was more than satisfied with the zest with which Susie now entered
into the plot, and the shrewdness which she showed in planning details
that he himself had overlooked.
"You work along with me, kid, and I'll make a dead-game one out of you!"
he declared with enthusiasm. "When we make a stake, we'll go to Billings
and rip up the sod!"
"I'll like that," said Susie dryly.
"When the right time comes, I'll know it," Smith went on. "When I wakes up
some mornin' with a feelin' that it's the day to get action on, I always
follows that feelin'--if it takes holt of me anyways strong. I has to do
certain things on certain days. I hates a chilly day worse nor anything. I
wants to hole up, and I feels mean enough to bite myself. But when the sun
shines, it thaws me; it draws the frost out of my heart, like. I hates to
let anybody's blood when the sun shines. I likes to lie out on a rock like
a lizard, and I feels kind. I'm cur'ous that way, about sun, me--Smith."
XIV
THE SLAYER OF MASTODONS
Dora and Susie had planned to botanize one fine Saturday morning, and
Susie, dressed for a tramp in the hills, was playing with a pup in the
dooryard, waiting for Dora, when she saw Smith coming toward her with the
short, quick step which, she had learned, with him denoted mental
activity.
"This is the day for it," he said decisively. "I had that notorious
feelin' take holt of me when I got awake. How's your heart, girl?"
It had given a thump at Smith's approach, and Susie's tawny skin had paled
under its tan, but by way of reply she gave the suggestive Indian sign of
strength.
"Good!" he nodded. "You'll need a strong heart for the ridin' you've got
to do to-day; but I'm not a worryin' that you can't do it, kid, for I've
watched you close."
"Guess I could ride a flyin' squirrel if I had to," Susie replied shortly,
"but Teacher wanted me to go with her to get flowers. She doesn't like to
go alone."
"There's no call for her to go alone. I'll go with her. It's no use for me
to get to the plant before afternoon. I'll go on this flower-pickin'
spree, and be at the mouth of the canyon in time to hold the first bunch
of horses you bring in. They're pretty much scattered, you know. What for
an outfit you goin' to wear? You don't want no flappin' skirts to
advertise you."
Susie answered curtly:
"I got some sense."
"You're a sassy side-kicker," he observed good-humoredly.
She pouted.
"I don't care, I wanted to pick flowers."
Smith said mockingly, "So do I, angel child. I jest worships flowers!"
"From pickin' flowers to stealin' horses is some of a jump."
"I holds a record for long jumps." As a final warning Smith said: "Now,
don't make no mistake in cuttin' out, for we've picked the top horses of
the range. And remember, once you get 'em strung out, haze 'em along--for
there'll be hell a-poppin' on the reservation when they're missed."
Susie had disappeared when the Schoolmarm came out with her basket and
knife, prepared to start, and Smith gave some plausible excuse for her
change of plan.
"She told me to go in her place," said Smith eagerly, "and I know a gulch
where there's a barrel of them Mormon lilies, and rock-roses, and a
reg'lar carpet of these here durn little blue flowers that look so nice
and smell like a Chinese laundry. I can dig like a badger, too."
Dora laughed, and, looking at him, noticed, as she often had before, the
wonderful vividness with which his varying moods were reflected in his
face, completely altering his expression.
He looked boyish, brimming with the buoyant spirits of youth. His skin had
unwonted clearness, his eyes were bright, his face was animated; he seemed
to radiate exuberant good-humor. Even his voice was different and his
laugh was less hard. As he walked away with the Schoolmarm's basket
swinging on his arm, he was for the time what he should have been always.
He had long since made ample apology to Dora for his offense and there had
been no further outbreak from him of which to complain.