PINK EYE AND THE ENGLISH SADDLE
Stamford tossed about when he should have been sleeping, worried by a
thousand questions, a thousand disturbing suspicions. And through
them all ran the thread of his love for Isabel Bulkeley. He could
hear her moving about her room, and long after they should have been
asleep, the voices of brother and sister came to him in gentle
murmur. Added to this was the evidence of a similar wakefulness in
the Aikens' bedroom.
Imp came to his door and whined, and Stamford let him in, glad of his
companionship. Thereafter, with the watchful little terrier curled
on his feet, he found it easier to drift away.
He was awakened by Imp. In the outline of the window Stamford saw
the dog's ears erect, and a slight sniffing sound told of some
disturbing scent. Stamford hurried to the window.
The night was sharp and clear. He shivered, partly with excitement,
partly with chill. Something moved in the moonlight down the slope
toward the corrals, but it was gone so quickly that he was uncertain
of his eyes. The moon was low and dull, with a thin mist before it
that prophesied the coming of winter. He watched until his teeth
were chattering, then, with a pat to Imp's warm body, he returned
gratefully to the warm sheets and settled to sleep.
He was wakened again by Imp leaping to the floor to sniff beneath the
door. Out in the sitting-room someone was moving, but there was
nothing furtive about it.
Then Stamford became conscious of a strange rumble like distant
thunder. But it was no noise of the elements.
Mary and Cockney were whispering outside his door in excited tones.
Someone rapped.
"Don't be alarmed, Stamford." Cockney pushed open the door, speaking
in a low voice. "It's cattle on the run--a stampede.... But it's a
small bunch. They'll get them under control. The boys are riding
now ... like mad! ... Listen! ... Ah! They have them bunched! ...
They'll stop by getting in each other's way! Not badly frightened, I
guess.... I wonder where they broke from."
A moment longer he stood listening to the waning sound.
"If you'd throw something on and come out to the sitting-room I'd be
grateful. I'm going out. Mary's frightened.... I hope--I hope
we're not making our guests too uncomfortable."
"I'll be there in three minutes," Stamford promised, groping for his
clothes. "We'd better tell the Bulkeleys; they'll wonder what it is."
"Never mind the Bulkeleys," returned Cockney sharply.
Stamford could hear him pounding off to the stables. In what seemed
seconds he was galloping back below the house, making for the west.
Opposite Stamford's window the horse dropped suddenly back on its
haunches. Stamford peered out. Somewhere to the west came the swift
gallop of approaching horses.
But Cockney's eyes were fixed on the side of the house. Stamford saw
them rise to the Professor's window and drop again, while the broncho
pawed impatiently. With a bend of the hand Cockney turned the horse
to the house, where it drew up for a brief moment, then, under
digging spur, dashed to meet the oncoming riders.
Stamford leaned out and saw the rope ladder dangling from the
Professor's window.
Before Cockney had gone a dozen paces the ladder began to move
rapidly upward. In the dim light Stamford imagined a small hand
reached out and drew it over the sill.
Thirty yards away Stamford and the approaching horses met.
"Who's had Pink Eye out?" demanded Dakota's angry voice.
There was a perceptible pause.
"I don't like your tone, Dakota," said Cockney icily. "When you want
information, there's only one way to get it."
"I found him out there on the prairie," Dakota blustered.
Cockney rode round the horse Dakota was leading.
"I didn't know he was out. But first you'd better answer my
questions. Where did the cattle stampede from, and how did they
happen to be away off there?"
"What difference does that make? But if you want to know"--Dakota
was plainly sparring for time--"it was a bit of the Lost Dog Coulee
bunch. They ran a long way before we got 'em stopped. Just a small
bunch. What's more serious is Pink Eye out there."
"Who's saddle's this?" Cockney was leaning over Pink Eye's back.
Dakota laughed in a nasty way. "Thought maybe you'd know. It's an
English saddle. Ever see it before?"
"By gad! That's curious! It's a racing saddle of the lightest kind."
"I found the cinch unbuckled," said Dakota. "We were a bit too quick
for the fellow that had him. But we couldn't find him." He cursed..
Cockney rode up to Stamford's window.
"You there, Stamford? Did you lock Pink Eye in the corral last
night?"
"Certain of it. Both the Professor and I tried the padlock
afterwards."
Dakota spoke impatiently:
"Anyone out of the house now?"
"One moment, Dakota," snapped Cockney. "I'll do the questioning. I
can answer that one myself. Everyone is in.... I think I'd like to
take a look at that corral," he said suspiciously. "Come along,
Stamford; you can tell us if things are as you left them. Tell Mary
it's all right, will you?"
Stamford spoke to Mary Aikens on his way out. She was sitting in the
dark sitting-room, and he imagined she was sobbing. He ran after
Cockney and Dakota, and arrived at the corral in time to hear Dakota
exclaim:
"Holy cripes!"
Stamford ran forward.
The gate was wide open, but the padlock was still locked. The
ponderous mass of logs must have been lifted until the chain would
pass over the top of the post to which it was fastened.
"Holy cripes!" Dakota exploded again, when he had examined padlock
and post.
He stooped and put his muscle to the heavy gate, but he could
scarcely lift its weight from the loops that acted as hinges.
Cockney smiled in a superior way and pushed him away. With a great
heave he managed to raise the gate from the ground, but he dared not
remove a hand to throw the chain over the post. With a muffled oath
he let it drop, and the upper loop snapped, letting the gate sag on
the lower hinge.
"That's two men's work," Dakota exclaimed.
"Three--at least," corrected Cockney thoughtfully, "two to lift the
gate, the third to remove the chain."
Dakota looked fearfully about in the dim moonlight.
"Then--then there's a gang about!" he whispered.
"Come back to the house," said Cockney. "It's worth looking into."
Beneath Professor Bulkeley's window he stopped and called his name.
Mary Aikens came timidly from the house, a lonely little figure
bathed in the moonlight.
"What is it, Jim?"
He turned on her roughly.
"Go inside. This at least is no concern of yours."
She obeyed without a murmur, her feet dragging forlornly over the
frosty grass.
"Professor! Professor!" Cockney's voice grew louder and more
peremptory with each call.
Isabel Bulkeley's head appeared in her window.
"Did you want my brother, Mr. Aikens?"
"I'm not calling him at this hour of the night for vocal exercise,"
replied Cockney.
"He's such a sound sleeper----"
"Then you'd better waken him."
"Is anything the matter? I'll go and call him."
They heard her bedroom door open, then a knock on her brother's, and
the turning of the knob.
"Amos! Amos! Don't be frightened. It's only Isabel."
The bed creaked with sudden violence.
"Uh! What--what's the matter?" sputtered the terrified voice of the
Professor. "Is it fire?"
His great feet pounded to the floor and across the room to his bureau.
"Here--here! Isabel! Take these--and these--and these. I'll--oh,
where's that--that----"
"Amos! Amos, dear!" She was laughing a little now. "It's
not--fire. Listen! It's--not--fire."
"Not--fire? Not---- Then what's the reason----"
"Mr. Aikens wants to speak to you--out the window. Put your slippers
on first--and this gown."
"Eh--Mr. Aikens? Why--why, what's the matter?"
The window opened wider and a night-capped head was thrust out, only
to be withdrawn immediately.
"Isabel--Isabel!" he whispered, in a tone that carried as far as if
he had shouted it. "Where's the ladder? I'm sure I left it out as
usual. It's--gone."
She spoke from dose beside him at the window, laughing:
"I drew it in, you silly! I didn't want the whole world to see how
foolish you are." She put her head from the window and called
laughingly down: "We always have trouble with him like this, wakening
him out of his usual hours. He'll be sane in a moment."
The Professor's head appeared again, this time minus the night-cap.
"Say, is this a serenade? On behalf of myself and my sister, and the
great Republic we represent---- Oh, that you, Mr. Stamford? Where's
your banjo? Isabel's window is the one over yours. Fancy you making
a mistake like that!"
Even Dakota was laughing. Stamford failed to see the joke.
"It's all right, Professor," Cockney assured him. "We only wanted to
make certain no one was alarmed. There was a slight disturbance in a
herd of cattle. You can go back to bed."
"Thank you, Mr. Aikens. I won't leave that ladder out again. I
wouldn't put it past those New York museum people to have spies on my
track. They haven't in their whole collection such a----"
He sneezed, repeated it, doubled in volume and noise. The men
beneath the window laughed openly.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Aikens, will you come round to my door. I
never could stand the night air. Could I, Isabel?"