PREPARATIONS
The next morning Johnny said good-bye to Pop and walked by Pepper's
side, watching the big pack on her back, while Pop, shaking his head,
entered his place of business and forthwith began work on a crude sign
which, one day a week, would hang on his locked front door.
Well to the north of Hastings, Johnny came to a brook flowing through
a deep ravine, and, forsaking the trail, followed the little stream
westward and evening found him encamped in a small clearing. He spent
several days here, panning the stream and fishing during daylight, and
scouting in his moccasins at night. He paid a visit to Little Canyon
and explored the valley he was in, and at the head of the valley he
found a deep-walled pasture above a short, narrow canyon. Deciding to
erect a cabin at the canyon entrance as a monument to the innocence of
his activities, he prospected a sand bar near by and rediscovered the
gold which he had found at Devil's Gap, which served as an excellent
excuse for locating there permanently; and after a week of hard work,
the cabin became a reality.
His every movement had been made upon the supposition that he was
being watched; and the supposition became a fact when he discovered
boot-prints along the opposite bank of the creek. These promised him
a trail by which he could easily locate the rustlers' ranch, and at
daylight the next morning he was following them and finally reached a
great ridge, which he ascended with caution.
Below him was a deep valley, through which a stream moved sluggishly,
and at the upper end was a narrow canyon, not more than ten paces wide,
through which the stream escaped from another valley above. Twin Buttes
were several miles to the east of him, lying a mile or more north of
the valley. He looked through the deep canyon and at the corner of a
stone house at its other end, and as he watched he saw several men come
into view. One of them motioned toward the south and paused to speak to
his companions, whereupon Johnny wriggled down the slope and set out
for his camp.
Back again in his own valley, he built a sapling fence across the
little canyon, cut a pile of firewood near by, and then rode to
Hastings, where he nearly gave Charley heart failure by displaying
a pleasing amount of virgin gold. He did not see Pop because on the
saloon door he found a sign reading: "Back at 4 P. M."
It was a very cheerful cow-puncher who rode to the new cabin that
evening, for he was matching his wits against those of his natural
enemies, he was playing a lone hand in his own way against odds, and
the game was only beginning.
In perfect condition, virile, young, enduring, he had serene confidence
in his ability to take care of himself. He admitted but one master in
the art of gun-play, and that man had been his teacher and best friend
for years. Even now Hopalong could beat him on the draw, but barely,
and he could roll his two guns forward, backward and "mixed;" but he
could shoot neither faster nor straighter than his pupil.
Johnny could not roll a gun because he never had tried very hard to
master that most difficult of all gun-play, regarding it as an idle
accomplishment, good only for exhibition purposes, and, while awe
inspiring, Johnny had no yearning for it. He clove to strict utility
and did not care to call attention to his wooden-handled, flare-butt
Frontiers. There was no ornamentation on them, no ivory, inlay, or
engraving. The only marks on their heavy, worn frames were a few dents.
He had such a strong dislike for fancy guns that the sight of ivory
grips made his lips curl, and such things as pearl handles filled him
with grieving contempt for the owner.
He never mentioned his guns to any but his closest friends, and they
were as unconscious a part of him as his arms or his legs. And it
was his creed that no man but himself should touch them, his friends
excepted. He wore them low because utility demanded it; and to so wear
them, and to tie them down besides, was in itself a responsibility, for
there were men who would not be satisfied with the quiet warning.
In other things, from routine ranch work to man-hunting, from roping
and riding to rifle shooting, the old outfit of the Bar-20 had been his
teachers and they had taken him in hand at an early age. His rifle he
had copied from Hopalong; but Red had taught him the use of it, and to
his way of thinking Red Connors was without a peer in the use of the
longer weapon.
Johnny was a genius with his six-guns, one of those few men produced in
a generation; and he did not belong to the class of fancy gun-workers
who shine at exhibitions and fall short when lead is flying and the
nerves are sorely tried. He shot from his hips by instinct, and that is
the real test of utility. Had he turned his talents to ends which lay
outside the law he would have become the most dangerous and the most
feared man in the cow-country.
John Logan awoke with a start, sat up suddenly in his bunk and grunted
a profane query as his hand closed over his Colt.
"It's Nelson," softy said a voice from outside the window. "Don't make
so much noise," it continued, as its owner dropped a handful of pebbles
on the ground. "I wanted you awake before I showed myself. Never
like to walk into a man's room in th' dark, when he's asleep an' not
expectin' visitors. 'Specially when he's worryin' about rustlers. It
ain't allus healthy."
"All right," growled the foreman, "but you don't have to throw 'em; you
can toss 'em, easy, from there. I've got a welt on my head as big as
a chew of tobacco. I'm shore glad you couldn't find nothin' out there
that was any bigger. You comin' in or am I comin' out?"
The door squeaked open and squeaked shut and then a chair squeaked.
"You got a musical room," observed Johnny, chuckling softly. "Yore bunk
squeaked, too, when you sat up."
"It was a narrow squeak for you," grunted Logan, reluctantly putting
down the Colt. "If I'd seen a head I'd 'a' let drive on suspicion. I
was havin' a cussed bad dream an' was all het up. My cows was goin' up
Little Canyon in whole herds an' I couldn't seem to stop 'em nohow."
"Keepin' my head out of trouble is my long suit," chuckled Johnny. "An'
there ain't none of yore cows goin' up Little Canyon--not till I steal
some of 'em. Been wonderin' where I was an' what I was doin'?"
"Not very much," answered the foreman. "Got a match? We been gettin'
our mail reg'lar every week, an' th' boys allus drop in for a drink at
Pop's; an' they're good listeners. Say! What th' h--l is this I hears
about puttin' blankets on my cows an' shovin' 'em into th' river every
night? Well, that can wait. You've shore made an impression on Ol' Pop
Hayes. Th' old Piute can't talk about nothin' but you. Every time th'
boys drop in there they get fed up on you. Of course they don't show
much interest in yore doin's; an' they don't have to. They says yo're
a d--d quitter, an' stuff like that, an' Pop gets riled up an' near
scalps 'em. What you been doin' to get him so friendly? I never thought
he'd be friendly, like that, to anythin' but a silver dollar."
"I don't know--just treat him decent," replied Johnny.
"Huh! I been treatin' him decent for ten years, an' he still thinks
I'm some kind of an unknown animal. If he saw me dyin' in th' street
he wouldn't drag me five feet, unless I was blockin' his door; but
he's doin' a lot of worryin' about you, all right. What you been doin'
besides courtin' Pop an' Andy Jackson, washin' gravel an' ketchin'
fish?"
Johnny laughed. "I've been playin' cautious--an' right now I ain't
shore that I've fooled 'em a whole lot. Here, lemme tell you th' whole
thing--" and he explained his activities since leaving the CL.
At its conclusion Logan grunted. "You got nerve an' patience; an' mebby
you got brains. If you can keep 'em from bein' shot out of yore head,
you have. An' you say they ain't usin' Little Canyon? I know they ain't
usin' it now; but was they?"
"Not since th' frost come out of th' ground," replied Johnny. "I can't
tell you about what they _are_ doin' because I'm just beginnin' to get
close to 'em. Th' next time you see me I may know somethin'. Now you
listen to me," and he gave the foreman certain instructions, which
Logan repeated over after him. "Now, then: I want about sixty feet of
rope strong enough to hold me, an' I want a short, straight iron."
"Come with me," ordered the foreman, slipping on his clothes; and in
ten minutes they emerged from the blacksmith shop, which also was a
storeroom, and Johnny carried a coil of old but strong rope and an iron
bar.
"I never thought I'd be totin' a runnin' iron," he chuckled. "If
my friends could only see me now! Johnny Nelson, cow-thief an'
brand-blotter!"
"You needn't swell up," growled Logan. "You ain't th' only one in this
country right now."
"Well," said Johnny, "go back an' finish yore dream--mebby you can find
out how to make them cows come back through Little Canyon."
"Yo're goin' to do that," responded Logan; "an' _I'm_ goin' to close
that window in case _you_ come back. I ain't forgot nothin' you
said--an' if we don't see one of yore signs for a period of five days,
we'll comb yore valley an' th' whole Twin Buttes country. So long!"
Johnny melted into the dark, a low whistle sounded and in a few minutes
Logan heard the rhythmic drumming of hoofs, rapidly growing fainter.