A SUMMONS AND A REPLY.
Brother and sister were astounded. The hour was late, and they had
been urging their guest to remain several days with them. He had not
consented, nor had he refused, from which they were confident he would
stay.
And now he announced his intention of departing at once, riding out
into the night--whither?
They protested, but he replied so earnestly that an urgent necessity
existed that they refrained. He gave no hint of the reason for his
strange action, and they could not ask it. His fleet mare, which
had been allowed to graze on the succulent grass at the rear of the
building with the other horses, was brought forward and saddled and
bridled, and he quickly vaulted upon her back.
"Remember me to your mother; it is not worth while to disturb her; I
hope soon to be with you again."
He leaned over and pressed the hand of Fred Whitney, and then, raising
his hat with his left hand, extended the right to Jennie.
Fred made an excuse to move away a few paces, for he understood the
situation.
"Good-by," Sterry said in a voice just low enough to reach the dear
one, as he pressed the delicate hand which rested so trustingly in his
own.
"Good-by," she answered. "I am sorry you are going."
"So am I, but it is better that I should leave. As I said, I trust
soon to see you again. Do you know why I hope Fred will decide to
return to the East with you and your mother?"
"I suppose because we shall all be safer there;" and then she added,
forgetting her sorrow for the moment, "that is if we do not go skating
to Wolf Glen."
"It is not necessary to remove as far as Maine, but father insists
that I am wasting time here, when I ought to be home studying my
profession."
"And he is right, Monteith."
"But," he replied in a low voice, "before I go back I want to make
sure that you will do the same. There, good-by again."
He replaced his hat, wheeled and dashed across the prairie without
another word.
Jennie stood gazing in the direction taken by him for some time after
he had disappeared in the gloom of the night. Then she turned to speak
to her brother, but he had passed within the house. She resumed her
seat, knowing he would soon return.
Fifteen minutes and more went by and she was still alone.
Sh! Was she mistaken, or was that the faint sound of a horse's hoofs
in the distance?
She turned her head and listened. The murmur of voices, as her brother
and mother talked in low tones, did not disturb her, and the almost
inaudible lowing of the cattle on the distant ranges was but a part of
silence itself.
Hardly a breath of air was stirring, but all knew the eccentric way
in which sound is sometimes carried by it. Suddenly the reports of
rifle-firing were heard, faint but distinct, and lasting several
minutes. Then other and different noises reached her, still faint but
clear.
Her power of hearing, like her vision, was exceptionally strong. It
was that which enabled her to tell that the last sounds were not made
by a single animal, but by several going at a high rate of speed.
These, with the reports of rifles, made her certain that the rustlers
had attacked Sterry.
Meanwhile the young man found matters exceedingly lively.
The reception of the "warning" through the hands of Fred Whitney was
proof that his enemies knew he was frequently at his house. Their
messenger had gone thither to deliver it. Young Whitney had slain one
of their number, and though the law-breakers themselves had suffered
the most, they felt bitter resentment toward the family.
If Sterry remained with them they would have trouble. He was satisfied
that Larch Cadmus recognized him, as he sat in front of the rancher's
house, and would not forget to tell it to his comrades, who would
speedily make the place a visit. He believed they were likely to do it
before the rise of the morrow's sun.
If the Whitneys were attacked, his presence would add to the defensive
strength, but such an attack would not be made if he was not there.
Desperate and defiant as the rustlers had been, it would be an
injustice to represent them as capable of such wantonness.
He felt, therefore, that it was his duty to leave the ranch without
delay, thus removing an element of grave danger. It would have been
hardly wise to make this explanation to them, though he believed Fred
suspected it.
Turning his back, therefore, upon the dearest spot in all the West
to him, he set his mare Queenie on an easy, swift gallop, heading
southward toward the ranges where the cattle of the Whitneys were
grazing.
Sterry, in one sense, was without a home as long as he remained
in Wyoming or Montana, while in another sense he was the owner of
numberless dwelling-places or "headquarters." He may be likened to a
commercial traveller in a vast and sparsely-settled region, where he
is well known and welcomed by the inhabitants.
The ranchmen who knew him--and there were few who did not--were his
friends, for he was working in their interests. At whichever cabin he
drew rein he was certain of a hospitable reception.
With no clearly defined idea of where he would spend the remaining
hours of the night, he turned the nose of Queenie toward the ranges,
among the mountain spurs.
Grizzly Weber and Budd Hankinson would stay near the cattle for an
indefinite time, and he was debating whether to join them or to ride
on to the ranch of Dick Hawkridge, a number of miles to the northeast,
when his meditations were broken in upon in the most startling manner.
During those perilous times, the lonely horseman, in a dangerous
region, relies much on his intelligent steed for warning. While
Monteith Sterry could do a great deal of thinking in the saddle,
he was too alert to drop into a brown study that would divert his
thoughts from his surroundings.
He was no more than a mile from the Whitney ranch when his mare
pricked up her ears, gave an almost inaudible whinny, and slightly
slackened her pace.
That meant that she scented danger, and her rider was on the _qui
vive_.
He tightened the rein and drew her to a full stop. She turned her head
to the right and looked steadily in that direction, with her pretty
ears thrown forward. This meant that whatever impended was coming from
that point of the compass.
But the keen eyes of Mont Sterry could not penetrate the moonlight
sufficiently far to detect anything. He was out of the saddle in a
twinkling, and tried a trick learned from the old hunters. He pressed
one ear against the ground, which, as all know, is a much better
conductor of sound than the air.
This told the story he anticipated. The faint but distinct clamping of
horses' hoofs was heard. The number was indefinite, but, somewhat to
his surprise, none of them was running or loping; all were moving on a
walk.
The noise was so clear that when he rose to his feet and looked off to
the right he expected to see the animals and their riders, and he was
not disappointed.
On the outer margin of the field of vision the outlines of several
horsemen assumed shape. They were approaching, and one of their steeds
emitted a whinny, as a salutation to the motionless Queenie, who had
shifted her pose so as to face that point of the compass.
"Sh!" whispered Sterry to her.
But there was no call for the warning; she was too well trained to
betray her master, and remained mute.
But it was inevitable that if the young man could discern the figures
of the approaching horsemen, they must also see him. He leaped into
the saddle and turned away.
He knew instinctively they were rustlers, and he was almost equally
certain they were hunting for him. There were at least three; and,
well aware of their character, he was only prudent in shying off, with
the intention of avoiding them altogether.
But they were not the men to be bluffed in that fashion. They were
"out" for the inspector, and did not intend that such an opportunity
should slip by unchallenged.
"Hello, pard!" called one of the trio, "where from and where going?"
This was a pointed demand, to which Mont Sterry made an equally
pointed response.
"That is my own business; I will attend to it, and you may attend to
yours."
All this time he was keeping watch of their movements. Their horses
were still walking, but they were now coming straight toward him. At a
touch of the rein Queenie headed directly away, and her gait was about
the same. She acted as though she shared the thoughts of her master,
who shrank from sending her off on a flying run, as would have been
more prudent for him to do.
A brave man dislikes to flee, even when his better judgment tells him
it is the only wise thing to do.
The night was so still that Sterry plainly heard the words of the men
when talking to each other in an ordinary conversational tone.
"I believe that's him," said one of them, eagerly.
"It sounded like his voice, but he wouldn't leave the Whitneys at this
time of night when she's there."
"He's too free with his tongue, anyway; we'll make him show up."
"Say, you! hold on a minute. Do you know anything about Mont Sterry?
We're looking for him."
"I am Mont Sterry," was the defiant response. "What do you propose to
do about it?"