KARL TO THE RESCUE
Dave, harboring a fermenting acerbity beside which the Spartan boy's
wolf was a tickling parasite, lay hidden behind a stunted pine, his
glasses trained on the Schatz cabin. Sourly he reviewed his several
plans, each coming to nought as surely as if Peters had been made aware
of it in its inception. The last grand coup, from which he had expected
to derive immediate benefit, had arrived prematurely and mysteriously at
its unexpected denouement; and that fool Saxe, upon whom he had relied
to create a diversion, must needs keep himself hidden, to turn up when
his efforts would be worse than useless. And then to come to Dave to be
paid for making a fool of himself! He cursed aloud at the recollection.
"It was a good scheme, too," he asserted savagely. No use telling him
all those cows had stampeded and hurled themselves to destruction--"When
the money for 'em was as good as mine." It had never been his real
intention to allow Murray and Jack to divide the profits and by a
curious mental strabismus he readily saw how he had been robbed. But
losing the money was not the only nor the greatest blow. The injury to
his sorely tried vanity hurt the most. He had been beaten, not so much
by the enemy as by one of his friends.
Clouded by that same vanity his reason had acquitted all those who might
have betrayed him, excepting Schatz. Rose, a woman who loved him--he
had dismissed the thought with scorn; Comin', Cock Murray; they had all
to lose and nothing to gain by treachery: and all the others were bound
to him by ties, the weakest of which was stronger than any Buck could
have formed in the time. Schatz alone might prove a gainer. He did not
know in what way, but purposed to discover. That was why he was
watching now. He knew Schatz was at home: he had seen the smoke of his
breakfast fire. "Allus _is_ home," he grated. He anticipated the
calling of Schatz' agents at the cabin and when Schatz came out and
finally rode off on the Twin River trail, Dave was disconcerted. He
followed with much care, making good use of his glasses. The sight of
Schatz turning off the trail and riding toward the Double Y ranch house
filled him with a cold fury.--He determined to intercept him on his
return and have it out on the spot.
But Dave, intent upon the unconscious back of Karl, had been careless of
the surrounding country; and only his luck in choosing to wait in a
place remote from cover, saved him just then from a rude awakening.
Dodging about in the vain effort to approach to a point of vantage, was
Pickles; he had finished certain mystic incantations involving the
running at speed in circles, and was returning to await the fulfilment
of his wish. Filled with awe as he was at this swift response, it did
not prevent him from acting upon it.
His arrival at the nearest possible point showed him that Dave was still
out of range. For the first time a doubt of Buck's omniscience assailed
him: it was no part of wisdom to arm a man with a rifle of that sort.
With cautious speed he retraced his steps, mounted the Goat, and
scurried for the ranch by a roundabout route. There was nothing
haphazard about this; his ideas were clearly defined: did n't Red
Connors always borrow Hopalong's Sharps for long range? That showed.
Pickles had implicit faith in the rifle. All that worried him was that
Dave might not wait long enough.
Karl rode leisurely up to the ranch house and called. Mary came to the
door and behind her Buck, whose brow was wrinkled in the effort of
composing a letter to McAllister. It was not an easy letter to write
and Buck had enlisted Whitby's services. He asked Karl to climb down
and come inside. Mary had disappeared with a promptitude due to
instinctive dislike. Karl was not a man to invite the admiration of any
woman at the best of times and now his appearance gave abundant proof of
its being long past "chipping-time."
Karl entered with the unexpected lightness of step so often a
compensating grace in fat men, shook hands with Whitby, accepted the
proffered chair, and plunged into the reason of his visit with but
little preamble. Whitby sat making idle marks with his pen; soon he
began to write swiftly.
"Big lot of cows you loose, ain'd it?" he asked.
"A few," replied Buck.
"Vat you t'ink: stampede?"
"Looks like it."
"_Look_ like it? _Donnerwetter_! Look like a drive."
"You seen it?"
Karl nodded. "Look like a drive," he repeated.
"Would n't surprise me none," admitted Buck. "We had Injuns shootin' 'em
on th' range last night."
"_Himmel_! Vat fools!"
"Looks like they 're tryin' to drive me off 'n th' range."
"_Yah, aber_ not me. Ten years und no trouble come."
"Huh! Well, what would _you_ do?"
"Fight," advised Karl. "I vill fight if you let me in. I haf a plan."
"In where?" asked Buck, in some wonder.
"In der ranch--a partner. Look! Cows you must haf, money you must haf,
brains you must haf: I bring dem. I bring shust so much money as you
und your partner togedder. Der money in der bank _geht_. You buy der
cows, goot stock, besser as before. Goot cows, goot prices, ain'd it?
You pay for everyt'ing mit der money in der bank. I stay here und stop
dot foolishness mit precipices und parasites und shooting. Vat you
dink?"
"Let me get you. You want to buy in on the Double Y, equal partners. I
put in so much, McAllister puts in so much, and you put in as much as
both of us. Th' money goes in th' bank an' I have th' spendin' of it.
You do yore share o' th' work an' yo 're dead certain you can stop th'
deviltry on th' range. Is that it?"
"_Yah!_" assented Karl, emphatically.
Buck was astounded at the audacity of the proposal. His gaze wandered to
Whitby, whose pen was moving over the paper with a speed that impressed
Buck, busy as his mind was. Outside, a horseman clattered up to the
house and Mary, from the kitchen door, motioned Hopalong to come in that
way. The door had no sooner closed behind him than Pickles sped from
the security of the stable, slipped Hoppy's rifle from the saddle
holster, and half a minute later the Goat went tearing away, bearing the
triumphant boy and the coveted rifle to another scene of operations.
For tenacity of purpose and facility of execution, Pickles was already
superior to most men.
Buck recovered his wits and faced the expectant Schatz. "I just been
a-writin' to McAllister," he informed him. "You 'll have to give me
time to see what he says. Let's liquor."
* * * * *
Buck stood in the door watching Karl ride away; the expressionless face
gave no hint of his feelings unless it were found in a certain cold
hardness of the gray eyes in their steady stare, fixed upon the broad
back of the receding German. Leaving this mark, his glance fell on the
horse, waiting patiently for its late rider, and he turned back into the
room and called: "Hoppy!" Hopalong came in from the kitchen and Buck
met his entry with the question: "What do you think that Dutch hog come
for?"
Hopalong glanced meaningly at Whitby, who still appeared to be writing
against time. "That's all right," asserted Buck, "I 'm a-copperin' my
bets from now on. Schatz wants to buy in as a partner an' reckons he
can stop th' Double Y from losin' any more stock, long 's he 's in on
th' deal."
"What 'd _you_ say?" asked Hopalong.
"Nothin'. I wanted a chance to get my breath."
"Well, I would n't flirt with that proposition, not any."
"Why, curse his fool hide, what do I want with him or his money? If he
can stop th' deviltry mebby he 's at th' bottom of it; an' if he is, it
won't be long afore we know it. Next time he comes I 'll tell him to go
plumb to h--l."
"I would n't, Buck."
"What's that?" asked Buck, staring hard at Whitby.
"I would n't," repeated Whitby. "I fancy it's time you learned what I
know. This German chap, now. You can't fight him yet, Buck; you can't,
really."
"Oh, can't I!" exclaimed Buck. "What do you know about it?"
"I know all about it, I should say all that can be found out. Do you
mind if we have in Mrs. Cassidy? Clever woman, Mrs. Cassidy."
He left the room while Buck and Hopalong eyed each other helplessly.
"D--d if he ain't tellin' me what kind of a wife I 've got," complained
Hopalong. Mary came in, followed by Whitby.
"Now if you two boys 'll only listen to Whitby, you 'll learn
somethin'," promised Mary.
"It began in Chicago," said Whitby. "Beastly hole, Chicago. I was n't
at all sorry to leave it, except--but that's neither here nor there.
McAllister is a friend of mine and he rather thought Buck under-rated
the difficulties here; so he asked me to run out and look it over. I
soon found it was jolly well too big for me so I wrote to the
Governor--my father, at home you know--and he said he 'd foot the bills.
So I put it in the hands of a detective agency; very thorough people,
'pon my word. They tell me this German chap is at the bottom of the
mischief but they can't prove it. He is always behind somebody else.
If Ned Monroe had not been honest and given up, McAllister would never
have won his case in that court: Schatz owns the judge, so they tell me.
Amazin' country, is n't it? And then he is far too clever to wage a
losing fight: you would have won at the last, despite his efforts. Now
he 's come with his offer of partnership. Clever idea, really. He 'll
jolly well use you if he can't beat you; and no doubt he expects to
trick you, Buck, in some way, perhaps lending you money--then, you out
of it, he has McAllister at a disadvantage.
"My idea is this: take Schatz in as a partner and he 'll grow less
careful. We shall be able to trip him up. Remarkable man, really. Not
one of those he employs can be made to talk; they 're entirely loyal.
But sooner or later he will make a mistake: rogues all do, even the
cleverest of them; and if they continue to escape, it is merely because
no one happened to be watching and catch them at it. I 'll lend you the
money, Buck--"
"But what in--what do I need money for, Whit? Ain't th' range an' th'
cattle enough?"
"Of course they are. But the German wants to see some cash capital and
it will do no harm to give him plenty of rope, will it now?"
"But, Whit," objected Hopalong, "if yo 're shore it's th' Dutchman, we
can drive him out of th' country so quick he 'll burn his feet. Men 's
been shot for less 'n he 's done."
"You can't do it, Cassidy. The agency has n't been able to get a bit of
proof. And McAllister is set against anything rash. I thought at one
time he had put on another man. There 's a chap who makes his
headquarters at Twin River who 's busy, no end. The agency rather
suspected he was one of Schatz's men. Sharp chap, that. And he can't be
working on his own hook, can he?"
He glanced at Buck as if expecting a reply.
"That's Tex Ewalt, Whit," informed Mary. "He 's on our side."
"Ah! do you know, I thought as much. My word, I 'm thirsty; wish I had
a brandy and soda here." He paused to take a drink of water, shaking
his head when Buck motioned to the whiskey. "I 'm afraid I shall never
get used to that rye of yours," he declared, mournfully.
Buck turned to Hopalong. "What do you make of it?" he asked.
"If it depended on you alone, Buck, it would be easier to answer. But
McAllister is in th' game an' it shore ain't Frenchy: we both know what
he 'd 'a' done. What does McAllister think o' this partnership deal?" he
asked Whitby.
"He has n't heard of it, but I 'm sure he would agree with me."
"All right!" exclaimed Buck. "We'll let Mac make th' runnin'. If it
looks like he 's goin' to lose th' race it will be all th' easier to
drop th' winner if we got him in gun range. But I shore hates to pay
big interest, like I must, a-puttin' up money that way."
"Let me lend it you, Buck," advised Whitby. "The Governor will cable it
fast enough when I ask for it. You won't have to pay me a penny
interest. And when things settle down a bit you can turn it over to
McAllister. I shall stop in this country. I like it, by Jove! And I
'm jolly well sure McAllister will sell out to me, particularly if--I
say, Buck, have I made good out here in the West?"
Buck laughed as he grasped Whitby's hand. "Made good!" he repeated.
"Yo 're th' best Britisher I ever knew an' I 've met some good ones in
my time." With Hopalong's slap on his shoulder and Mary smiling at him
from her chair by the window, Whitby felt that it was likely to prove a
very pleasant country "when things settled down a bit."
"Let's get at that letter to Mac," suggested Buck. "Th' sooner I hear
from him th' easier I 'll be in mind."
"I 've written it," answered Whitby. "If you like I 'll get it to
Wayback to-night and stop over until morning."
"Go ahead," agreed Buck.
When he had left, Hopalong turned to his wife with the query: "How did
he find out yo 're a clever woman, Mary?"
"Because he 's a clever man, only he hides it," replied Mary. "He was
a-gassin' 'bout you an' Buck an' I naturally found out a thing or two
myself. That's how he came to tell you. He regular confided in me an' I
advised him to tell you-all."
"It was a safe bet you 'd find out more 'n you 'd let go," complimented
Hopalong.
"Oh, you Billy-Red!"
* * * * *
When Pickles, mounted on the Goat, had left the ranch by a roundabout
way he headed for the bottom of one of the range's many depressions and
followed it until close to the Jill, where he turned south and began
edging nearer and nearer to the place he had seen Dave. Pickles had
listened to many tales of hunting and as his associates had been grown
men, experienced in stalking, the boy had absorbed a great deal of
healthy knowledge which he made use of in his playing, in the great
outdoors. With a grave thoughtfulness beyond his years he now proceeded
to put his knowledge to a sterner use and worked cautiously toward his
objective without loss of time. When he rode up the bank of a draw,
alert and wary, and saw the solitary horseman still keeping his patient
vigil, he swiftly dismounted, picketed the Goat and, taking the heavy
rifle, crept forward, crouching as he went.
He had come to the edge of the cover and saw Dave still very far away;
and after vainly trying to find some way to get closer to the man he was
after, he carefully opened the breech of the heavy Sharps to be again
assured it was loaded. A bigger cartridge than he had ever used
confronted him: four inches of brass and lead, throwing a 600-grain
bullet by the terrific force of one hundred and twenty grains of powder.
The forty-five Sharps Special raised Hopalong another notch in Pickles'
estimation--truly it was a man's weapon.
"Gosh!" he gloated, and then glanced thoughtfully across the open plain
towards the horseman. "Twelve hundred, all right," he muttered,
regretfully, for one hundred would have suited him better. But a swift
smile chased away the scowl. The rifle belonging to Hopalong never
missed--he had Buck's word for that--and besides, he had made his wish.
One last look around for a cover nearer to Dave, and the big sight was
raised and set. The gun went to his shoulder and the heavy report
crashed out of a huge cloud of gray smoke as the Sharps spoke.
[Illustration: The rifle belonging to Hopalong never missed--and
besides, he had made his wish.]
Dave's sullen temper was rudely jogged into fierce and righteous anger.
Something hit his face. Something else screamed past him, struck a rock
and whirred into the sky with a sharp, venomous burr. The pony,
resenting Dave's painful appropriation of part of his ear, went up into
the air and came down on stiff legs, its back arching once as it landed.
The instant the hoofs were firmly on the ground it stretched out and ran
as it never had before, Dave helpless to check it. The heavy, sharp
report of the huge rifle in Pickles' hand had no sooner reached him than
he had all he could do to hold his seat. But the sound of that bullet
passing him, lingered in his mind long after he had regained control of
his terrified mount.
Pickles, swallowing hard and holding one shoulder with a timidly
investigating hand, blinked his dazed eyes as he looked about,
inquiringly. He remembered pulling the trigger--and then the Goat had
reached out thirty feet and kicked him in the neck--and if it wasn't the
Goat, who threw the rock? Dave! He sat up and then struggled to his
feet, looking eagerly out to see the remains of Dave scattered
carelessly over the landscape. Dave was fast getting smaller, a cloud
of dust drifting to the south along his trail.
"D--n it!" cried the boy, tears of vexation in his eyes. "He got away!
I missed! I missed!" he shouted. "Buck lied to me! Th' old gun ain't
no good!" and in the ecstasy of his rage he danced up and down on the
discredited weapon. "Whitby's witches ain't no good! Nothin's no good;
an' I missed him!"
Meanwhile his injuries were not becoming easier: his head displayed a
large, angry lump, and ached fit to burst; his shoulder was n't broken,
he decided, as he exercised it tentatively, but not far from it; and a
piece of skin was missing from his bleeding cheek.
"I ought to 'a' got him," he muttered sullenly, picking up the rifle and
moving slowly back to where his horse was picketed. "Well, anyhow, he
was awful scared--I _knowed_ he was a coward! I knowed it! If this old
gun was as good as its kick I _would_ 'a' got him, too." Pickles had
gauged the distance perfectly and his hand had not even quivered when he
pulled the trigger--but he had yet to learn of windage and how to figure
it. Dave owed his life to the wind that swept the dust of his pony's
feet southward.
When Pickles had turned the horse into the pasture he reloaded the rifle
before slipping it back into its long leather scabbard. It must be
found as he had found it and, besides, he was plainsman enough to
realize how serious it might be for Hopalong if he believed the weapon
was loaded and found it empty in a crisis.
"Never missed, hey?" he growled savagely as he moved away. "Huh!
_Next_ time, I 'll use _Buck's_ gun!"