AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
Dawn broke, and as the light increased Holbrook saw a column of smoke
arising from the southern Twin like a faint streamer of gauze. A
slender pole raised and stood erect, and his suspicious mind sought a
reason for it.
"Wonder if he's tryin' to signal somebody? Long Pete! I reckon he don't
know Pete's dead. He'll not see _him_ this side of h--l," he muttered,
settling in a more comfortable position to go to sleep.
The pole swayed as a rope shot over it and grew taut, and then a faded
shirt, heavy with water, came into view and sagged the rope.
Holbrook grinned and picked up his rifle. "Gettin' th' wash out early.
An' he must have plenty of water, to waste it like that."
He raised the sight a little and tried again. "Can't tell where they're
goin'," he grumbled, and tried the third time. The edge of the shirt
flopped inward as the garment momentarily assumed the general shape of
a funnel.
"He ain't th' only ki-yote that can shoot," chuckled the marksman.
"Fleming couldn't 'a' done any better'n that. Bet he's mad. Serves him
right for havin' two. He ain't no better than me, an' I only got one,
since Ackerman took my other one. Cuss it!" he swore, blinking rapidly
and spitting as a sharp _spat!_ sent sand into his face.
He shifted, wiped his lips, and peered out at a spot on the other butte
where a cloud of smoke spread out along the ground. Then he poked his
sombrero over the breastwork and wriggled it on a stick, but waited in
vain for the expected shot.
"He ain't bitin' today; an' he's savin' his cartridges. Well, _I_ got
plenty; so here goes for that shirt again."
Again the inoffensive garment flopped; and then a singing bullet passed
squarely through Holbrook's expensive sombrero.
"You stay down from up there!" grunted Holbrook at the hat. "Plumb
center! I got a lot of respect for that hombre. He got th' best of
th' swap, too. I spoiled a worn-out shirt, an' he ventilated a twenty
dollar Stetson. He owes me a couple more shots!"
The next shot missed, but the second turned the shirt into another
funnel.
"Hey!" shouted an angry voice. "What you think yo're doin'?"
Holbrook's grin turned into a burst of laughter as the pole swiftly
descended, and he again poked up his hat, hoping for a miss and another
wasted cartridge; but, failing to draw a shot, he gave it up and
crawled back to a safer and more comfortable place where he lay down to
get some sleep.
Johnny, full of wrath, worked along the edge of the butte in a vain
endeavor to catch sight of his enemy, and he took plenty of time in his
efforts to be cautious. Any man who could hit a shirt plumb center and
nearly every time, at that distance, shooting across a deceptive canyon
and against the sky, was no one to get careless with. After waiting a
while without hearing any more from his humorous enemy, he looked down
each trail and then went to the other end of the butte.
Not far from him a slender column of smoke arose from a box-like
depression which lay beyond a high ridge and was well protected from
his rifle. Peering cautiously over the rim of the butte, his head
hidden in a tuft of grass, he critically examined the canyon, bowlder
by bowlder, ridge by ridge. A puff of smoke spurted from a pile of
rocks and a malignant whine passed over his head. Wriggling back, he
hurried to another point fifty yards to his right, where he again crept
to the edge and looked down. Another puff of smoke and a bloody furrow
across his cheek told him that the marksman had good eyes and knew how
to shoot. Johnny drove a Sharp's Special into the middle of the smoke
and heard an angry curse follow it.
"Hey, Nelson!" called a peeved voice from the rocks. "Nelson!"
"What you belly-achin' about?" demanded Johnny insolently.
"How'd you like to join us instead of fightin' us?"
"Yo're loco!" retorted Johnny. "Can't you think of anything better'n
that? I cut my eye-teeth long ago."
"I mean it," said Quigley, earnestly. "Mean it all th' way through. We
talked it over last night. It's poor business fightin' each other when
we might be workin' together. Laugh if you want to; but lemme tell you
it ain't as foolish as you think. It's a lazy, independent life; an'
there's good money in it. You'd do better with us than you'd 'a' done
alone."
"I've shore fooled 'em!" chuckled Johnny softly. Aloud he said: "I
can't trust you, not after what's happened."
"I reckon you _are_ suspicious; an' nobody can blame you," replied
Quigley. "But I mean it."
"Why didn't you make this play when I was in my valley, pannin' gold
an' gettin' a little herd together?" demanded Johnny. "_You_ knowed I
wasn't after no gold; an' you knowed what I _was_ after. But no; you
was hoggin' th' earth an' too cussed mean to give a man a chance, an'
make another split in yore profits. You burned--oh, what's th' use? If
you want my answer, stick yore head out an' I'll give it to you quick!"
"I know we acted hasty," persisted Quigley; "but some of us was ag'in
it. Three of 'em are dead now; Ackerman's missin'. We'll give you th'
share of one of 'em in th' herd that we got now; an' an equal share of
what we get from now on. That's fair; an' it more than makes up for
yore cabin an' them six cows. As far as _they_ are concerned, we'll
give you all of what they bring. How about it?"
"Reckon it's too late," replied Johnny. "I ain't takin' nobody's share.
I'm aimin' to take th' whole layout, lock, stock, an' barrel. Why
should I give you fellers any share in it? What'll you give me if I let
you all clear out now?"
"What you mean?" demanded Quigley.
"Just what I said," retorted Johnny. "There's six of you now. It ought
to be worth something to you fellers to be allowed to stay alive. I'll
throw off half for th' wounded men--let 'em off at half price. What are
you fellers willin' to pay me if I let you leave th' country with a
cayuse apiece an' all yore personal belongin's?"
"This ain't no time for jokin'!" snapped Quigley angrily.
"I ain't jokin' a bit! I'll have yore skins pegged out to dry before I
get through with you. Yo're a bunch of sap-headed jackasses, with no
more sense than a sheep-herder. I'm 'most ashamed to get you; but I'm
stranglin' my shame. You pore mutton-heads!"
Quigley's language almost seared the vegetation and he was threatened
with spontaneous combustion. When he paused for breath he swung his
rifle up and pulled the trigger, almost blind with rage. Johnny's
answering shot ripped through his forearm and he felt the awful
sickness which comes when a bone is scraped. Half fainting, Quigley
dropped his rifle and leaned back against a rock, regarding the numbed
and bleeding arm with eyes which saw the landscape turning over and
over. Gathering his senses by a great effort of will, he steadied
himself and managed to make and apply a rough bandage with the clumsy
aid of one hand and his teeth.
"I'll give you till tomorrow mornin' to make me an offer," shouted
Johnny; "but don't get reckless before then, because th' temptation
shore will be more than I can stand. Think it over."
"D--n his measly hide!" moaned Quigley, his anger welling up anew.
"Give him our ranch, an' cows, an' _pay_ him to _let_ us leave th'
country! Six of us! Six gun-fightin', law-breakin' cattle-liftin'
cow-punchers; sane, healthy, an' as tough as rawhide rope, payin'
_him_, a lone man up a tree, to let us leave th' country! All right,
you conceited pup; you'll pay, an' pay well, for that insult!"
He still was indulging in the luxury of an occasional burst of
profanity when Holbrook approached the bowlders on his hands and knees.
"I'm still hungry; an' I can't sleep unless I'm full of grub,"
apologized the rustler. "An' I heard shootin'. What's th' matter, Tom?
Yore language ain't fit for innercent ears!"
"Matter?" roared Quigley, going off in another flight of oratory.
"Matter?" he shouted. "Look at this arm! An' listen to what that ----
---- carrion-eatin' squaw's dog of a ---- ---- had th' ---- ---- gall
to say!"
As the recital unfolded Holbrook leaned back against a rock and laughed
until the tears washed clean furrows through the dust and dirt on his
face; and the more he laughed the more his companion's anger arose.
Finally Quigley could stand it no longer, and he loosed a sudden
torrent of verbal fire upon his howling friend.
Holbrook feebly wiped his eyes with the backs of his dusty hands,
which smeared the dirt over the wet places and gave him a grotesque
appearance.
"Why shouldn't I laugh?" he choked, and then became indignant. "Why
shouldn't I?" he demanded. "I've laughed at yore jokes, Fleming's
stories, Cookie's cookin', an' Dan'l Boone's windy lies; an' now when
something funny comes along you want me to be like th' chief mourner
at a funeral! I'm forty years old an' I've met some stuck-up people
in my life; but that fool up there has got more gall an' conceit than
anybody I ever even heard tell of! I'm glad _I_ didn't hear him say it,
or I shore would 'a' laughed myself plumb to death. Did you ever hear
anything like it: drunk or sober, _did_ you?"
"No, I didn't!" snapped Quigley. "An' if you've got all over yore
nonsense, suppose you take a look at my arm, an' fix this bandage
right!"
"Sorry, Tom," answered Holbrook quickly; "but I was near keeled over.
Here, gimme that arm; an' when I get it fixed right, you make a
bee-line for th' ranch. There ain't no use of you stayin' out here with
an arm like that. Good Lord! He shore made a mess of it! Them slugs of
his are awful; an' that gun is th' worst _I_ ever went up ag'in. _I_
want that rifle; an' I speaks for it here an' now. When we get him, I
get th' gun."
"It's yourn," groaned Quigley. "Gimme a drink of whiskey before I start
out. But I don't like to leave you to handle this alone. I can stick it
out."
"It's a one-man job until somebody comes out," responded Holbrook.
"All I got to do is lay low an' not let him come down that trail. A
ten-year-old kid can do that durin' daylight. But you ain't goin' to
go till you feel a little better," he ordered, producing a flask. "You
wait a while--th' sun won't be hot for a couple of hours yet. An' would
you look at th' mosquitoes! They must 'a' smelled th' blood. Here, wrap
yore coat around it or they'll pump it full of pizen."
Two hours later, Quigley having departed for the ranch, Holbrook lay
on the top of the northern Twin, glad to have escaped from the attacks
of the winged pests which had driven him out of the canyon; and hoping
that his enemy would try to take advantage of the situation, if he
knew of it, and try to escape. He had decided that he could guard the
trail as well from the top of the butte as he could from the canyon,
for the whole length of the steeply sloping path lay before him. Cool
breezes played about him, there were neither flies, mosquitoes, nor
yellow-jackets to plague him, and the opposite butte and the whole
canyon lay under his eyes. And he also had better protection than the
canyon afforded, for there was always present a vague uneasiness, no
matter how well hidden he might be, while his good-shooting enemy was
five hundred feet above him. Food and water were close to his hand
and he enjoyed a smoke as he lazily sprawled behind his protecting
breastwork of rocks and set himself the task of keeping awake and
alert.
He had seen no sign of his enemy, although he had closely scrutinized
every foot of the opposite butte. Quigley, he thought, must have
reached the ranch by that time and no doubt Fleming or Purdy was on the
way to relieve him. As he glanced along the canyon in the direction
that his friend would appear he saw a movement of the brush near the
bottom of the much watched trail and he slid his rifle through an
opening between the rocks covering the center of the disturbance.
It was too early for Fleming or Purdy, he reflected; and his eyes
narrowed as he wondered if it could be some friend of the man he was
watching.
The bushes moved again and a grizzled head thrust out into view, slowly
followed by a pair of massive shoulders as a great silver-tip grizzly
pushed out into the little clearing where the guarding fire had been,
and slowly turned its head from side to side, sniffing suspiciously.
Satisfied that there was nothing to fear, it crossed the clearing and
ripped the bark off of a dead and fallen tree trunk, licking up the
grubs and the scurrying insects. Shredding the bark and thoroughly
cleaning up the last of the grubs, it sat down and lazily regarded the
towering butte.
Holbrook watched it with interest, for there was something almost human
in the great bear's actions, a comical gravity and a deftness of paws
which brought a grin to his face.
The bear arose clumsily, scratched itself, and proceeded toward the
trail in that awkward, lumbering way which conveys such a vivid
impression of tremendous strength and power. Holbrook knew that the
lazy, clumsy shuffling, the indolent thrust of the rounded shoulders
and the slow, deliberate reaching of the great legs, the forefeet
flipping quickly forward, hid an amazing, deceptive quickness and
agility, and a devastating strength. Sleepy, peaceful, and good natured
as the beast appeared, its temper was always on edge and its heart knew
nothing of fear when that temper was aroused; and he also knew that the
vitality in that grub, insect, and berry-fed body was almost beyond
belief, that a clean, heart shot would not stop it instantly.
The animal waddled onto the trail and paused to turn over a rock,
licked up a few scurrying bugs and waddled on again, the great
shoulders rising and falling with each deliberate step. A pause, and
the red tongue wiped out a procession of hard-working ants, and again
it lumbered upward.
"Nelson is due to have company; an' plenty of it!" chuckled Holbrook;
"an' if he slides any lead into th' wrong place under that flea-bitten
hide he'll find that butte is a cussed lot smaller than he ever thought
it was. Ah-ha! Cussed if th' yellow-jackets ain't declarin' war on him!
Just wait till his snout gets well stung, an' he'll be ready an' eager
to fight anything that lives!"
The bear was moving swiftly now, but pausing frequently to scrape his
smarting snout with one paw or the other, and it was beginning to show
signs of irritation as the swarming yellow-jackets warmed to the attack.
"Gettin' riled more every minute!" grinned Holbrook. "I'd hate to run
foul of him now! Mr. Nelson shore is goin' to have a grand an' busy
little seance up there, unless that Sharp's of his gets home plumb
center th' first crack. He'll mebby wish it was a repeater. That old
varmint must be nine feet long, an' just plumb full of rage. I can
imagine them wicked little eyes of hisn gettin' redder an' redder
every minute. An' one swipe of them paws would cave in th' side of
th' biggest steer on th' range. It's a cussed good thing grizzlies
ain't got th' speed an' habits of mountain lions--they'd be th' most
dangerous things on earth if they had."
The bear sat down suddenly and dragged himself a few feet, and then ran
on at top speed.
Holbrook roared with laughter. "Ho! Ho! Ho! This is goin' to be as
much fun as a circus! D--d if I'd miss it for a week's pay! Go on. Old
Timer; steam up!"
Free at last from the stinging attacks of the yellow-jackets, the
great bear suddenly stopped, squatted back on his haunches and rubbed
his head and snout with both paws; and then, looking across the canyon
at the place the laughter was coming from, slouched back on four legs
and waddled rapidly upward, his huge body twisting ponderously at
each step. Reaching the top he paused while he surveyed his immediate
vicinity, looked back down the trail, glanced across the canyon again,
and then slowly disappeared among the rocks and bowlders.
Holbrook shifted his rifle to a more comfortable position across his
knees and leaned forward expectantly, grinning in keen anticipation,
his cigarette cold and forgotten between his lips. It was just possible
that there might be more in the coming show for him than amusement,
for Mr. Nelson, intent, very, very intent, upon his part of a game of
tag among the bowlders, might forget for a moment and carelessly show
himself long enough to become a promising target.
"Wonder how much he'll take, purty soon, to _let_ Ol' Silver-tip leave
th' country along with us?" he chuckled. "I wish Tom was here!"
Johnny opened his eyes at Pepper's snort and glanced at the horse,
which trembled in every limb and whose big eyes were ablaze with
terror. She had jerked the picket rope loose from under the rock which
had held it, but was rigid with fear. Sitting bolt upright as he
jerked out a Colt, Johnny glanced in the direction of Pepper's stare
and then left the blanket to take care of itself. Twenty paces distant
was the Sharp's, loaded and lying on a rock, and he hotly cursed the
stupidity and carelessness which had caused him to go to sleep so far
away from the weapon. It was the first time such a thing had happened
in weeks, and he instantly resolved that it never would happen again.
Between him and the rifle was the biggest, meanest looking grizzly it
ever had been his misfortune to face.
The unwelcome visitor had finished a pan of beans and a pan of rice
and had its nose jammed in the last can of sugar that Johnny owned.
Observing his unwilling host's acrobatic leap and the flying blanket,
the huge animal pushed the sugar can from its swollen nose with a
cunningly curved paw, and heaved itself onto its four legs, regarding
the puncher with a frankly curious and belligerent stare. The little
eyes were wicked and bloodshot and one of them was nearly closed from
the stings of the yellow-jackets. Altogether it was as unpleasant a
sight as anyone would care to look upon at such close range.
Behind Johnny was the rock wall, rising fifteen feet above the bottom
of the little rock basin, and it curved slightly outward at the top. On
one side were scattered several great bowlders, and he kept these in
mind as he glanced quickly behind him at the wall, which was smooth and
devoid of hand-holds.
He had killed a grizzly with a six-shooter, but no such an animal as
the one facing him; and a Colt was not a weapon to be eagerly used,
especially at such close quarters, where a sudden rush might be fatal
to the user. He knew the thickness of the bone over the little brain,
and keenly realized the smallness of the eyes as a target in the slowly
moving head; if he could maneuver the animal to give him a heart shot
he would have a fair chance.
"G'wan away from here!" he ordered peremptorily, with an assurance in
his voice which he did not feel. "Pull your stakes, you big tramp, or
I'll bust yore neck!"
Bruin refused to heed him; instead, the animal shuffled forward, its
head wagging, and Johnny also stepped forward, on his toes, yelled
loudly and waved his arms. Bruin paused and looked him over. Johnny
side-stepped toward the rifle, but the bear pivoted quickly, swung
around and declared its intentions with a low but entirely sufficient
growl.
Johnny figured quickly. He might beat his visitor to the gun, but he
strongly doubted if he would lead by a margin large enough to have
time to swing the weapon to his shoulder and obtain the nicety of aim
necessary to stop his pursuer as suddenly as the occasion demanded.
The bowlders remained as his other alternative, and as the bear took
its second step, which was the beginning of the rush, Johnny made a
very creditable leap in the direction of the bowlders, gained the first
by ten feet to spare, vaulted the second, dashed around the third and
streaked up the slope leading to the top of the rocky wall behind the
pool.
As he gained the top a bullet hummed past his head, but it received
no recognition from him, for the bear also was hustling up the slope,
thoroughly aroused and abrim with energy and ambition. Jerking out his
Colts, he emptied one of them into the rushing animal as he leaped
aside to get behind another bowlder. The bear slowed for an instant
as the six heavy slugs ripped into it, and then, loosing a roar that
awoke the echoes, it gathered speed and slid around the rock, clawing
desperately to make a short turn. Johnny emptied his second gun into
the enraged animal as he dodged around another rock, and then, dropping
both Colts into their holsters, he sprinted for the top of the wall as
Holbrook's second bullet loosened a heel and almost threw him.
Reaching the edge he launched himself from it, recovered his balance
like an acrobat and dashed for his rifle as the grizzly, reaching the
edge, checked himself barely in time and hunted hurriedly for a way
to get down the wall. Giving it up in an instant, the animal drew up
its forelegs with a pivoting swing, and started at full speed along
the edge, to go down the way it had come up. This exposed its left
side, and the Sharp's, already at Johnny's shoulder, steadied upon
the vital spot as he timed the swing of the great foreleg. There was
a sharp roar, and an ounce and a quarter of lead smashed through skin
and flesh, squarely into the animal's heart. The great beast collapsed,
slid around and raised its head; but again the heavy rifle spoke and
the massive head dropped limply, for the stopping power of a Sharp's
Special is tremendous.
Johnny jerked out the smoking shell, slid another great cartridge into
place, and then sat down on the rock, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"Hey!" called a distant voice. "Want any help with th' varmints?"
Johnny grabbed his rifle and slipped to the edge of the butte. Holbrook
called again, carelessly exposing his shoulder; and then cursed the
bullet which grooved it.
"Can I do anything more for _you_?" jeered Johnny.