BACK IN CAMP
From their place of concealment high upon the edge of Antelope Butte,
Alice Marcum and Endicott watched the movements of the three horsemen
with absorbing interest. They saw the Texan circle to the
south-eastward and swing north to intercept the trail of the unknown
rider. They watched Bat, with Indian cunning, creep to his place of
concealment at the edge of the coulee. They saw the riders disperse,
the unknown to head toward the mountains at a gallop, and the Texan to
turn his horse southward and ride slowly into the bad lands. And they
watched Bat recover his own horse from behind a rock pinnacle and
follow the Texan, always keeping out of sight in parallel coulees until
both were swallowed up in the amethyst haze of the bad lands.
For an hour they remained in their lookout, pointing out to each other
some new wonder of the landscape--a wind-carved pinnacle, the
heliographic flashing of the mica, or some new combination in the
ever-changing splendour of colours.
"Whew! But it's hot, and I'm thirsty. And besides it's lunch time."
Alice rose, and with Endicott following, made her way to the camp.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she breathed, as they ate their luncheon. "This
life in the open--the pure clean air--the magnificent world all spread
out before you, beckoning you on, and on, and on. It makes a person
strong with just the feel of living--the joy of it. Just think,
Winthrop, of being able to eat left-over biscuits and cold bacon and
enjoy it!"
Endicott smiled: "Haven't I improved enough, yet, for 'Win'?--Tex
thinks so."
The girl regarded him critically. "I have a great deal of respect for
Tex's judgment," she smiled.
"Then, dear, I am going to ask you again, the question I have asked you
times out of number: Will you marry me?"
"Don't spoil it all, now, please. I am enjoying it so. Enjoying being
here with just you and the big West. Oh, this is the real West--the
West of which I've dreamed!"
Endicott nodded: "Yes, this is the West. You were right, Alice.
California is no more the West than New York is."
"Don't you love it?" The girl's eyes were shining with enthusiasm.
"Yes. I love it," he answered, and she noticed that his face was very
grave. "There must be something--some slumbering ego in every man that
awakens at the voice of the wild places. Our complex system of
civilization seems to me, as I sit here now, a little thing--a thing,
somehow, remote--unnecessary, and very undesirable."
"Brooklyn seems very far away," murmured the girl.
"And Cincinnati--but not far enough away. We know they are real--that
they actually exist." Endicott rose and paced back and forth.
Suddenly he stopped before the girl. "Marry me, Alice, and I'll buy a
ranch and we will live out here, and for us Brooklyn and Cincinnati
need never exist. I do love it all, but I love you a thousand times
more."
To Endicott's surprise the girl's eyes dropped before his gaze and
rested for a long time upon the grazing horses--then abruptly she
buried her face in her arms. The man had half expected a return to the
light half-mocking raillery that had been her staunchest weapon, but
there was nothing even remotely suggestive of raillery in the figure
that huddled at his feet. Suddenly, his face became very grave:
"Alice," he cried, bending over her, "is it because my hands are red?
Because I have taken a human life, and am flying from the hand of the
law like a common murderer?"
"No, no, no! Not that? I----"
Swiftly he gathered her into his arms, but she freed herself and shook
her head in protest. "Don't please," she pleaded softly. "Oh, I--I
can't choose."
"Choose!" cried Endicott. "Then there is--someone else? You have
found--" he stopped abruptly and drew a long breath. "I see," he said,
gently, "I think I understand."
The unexpected gentleness of the voice caused the girl to raise her
head. Endicott stood as he had stood a moment before, but his gaze was
upon the far mountains. The girl's eyes were wet with tears: "Yes,
I--he loves me--and he asked me to marry him. He said I would marry
either you or him, and he would wait for me to decide--until I was
sure." Her voice steadied, and Endicott noticed that it held a trace
of defensive. "He's a dear, and--I know--way down in his heart he's
good--he's----"
Endicott smiled: "Yes, little girl, he is good. He's a man--every inch
of him. And he's a man among men. He's honest and open hearted and
human. There is not a mean hair in his head. And he stands a great
deal nearer the top of his profession than I do to the top of mine. I
have been a fool, Alice. I can see now what a complacent fool and a
cad I must have been--when I could look at these men and see nothing
but uncouthness. But, thank God, men can change----"
Impulsively the girl reached for his hand: "No," she murmured,
remembering the words of the Texan, "no, the man was there all the
time. The real man that is _you_ was concealed by the unreal man that
is superficiality."
"Thank you, Alice," he said gravely. "And for your sake--and I say it
an all sincerity--let the best man win!"
The girl smiled up into his face: "And in all sincerity I will say that
in all your life you have never seemed so--so marryable as you do right
now."
While Endicott cut a supply of fire-wood and tinkered about the spring,
the girl made a complete circuit of the little plateau, and as the
shadows began to lengthen they once more climbed to their lookout
station. For an hour the vast corrugated plane before them showed no
sign of life. Suddenly the girl's fingers clutched Endicott's arm and
she pointed to a lone horseman who rode from the north.
"I wonder if he's the same one we saw before--the one who rode away so
fast?"
"Not unless he has changed horses," answered Endicott. "The other rode
a grey."
The man swung from his horse and seemed to be minutely studying the
ground. Then he mounted and headed down the coulee at a trot.
"Look! There is Tex!" cried Endicott, and he pointed farther down the
same coulee. A sharp bend prevented either rider from noticing the
approach of the other.
"Oh, I wonder who it is, and what will happen when they see each
other?" cried the girl. "Look! There is Bat. Near the top of that
ridge. He's cutting across so he'll be right above them when they
meet." She was leaning forward watching: breathlessly the movements of
the three horsemen. "It is unreal. Just like some great spectacular
play. You see the actors moving through their parts and you wonder
what is going to happen next and how it is all going to work out."
"There! They see each other!" Endicott exclaimed. Each horseman
pulled up, hesitated a moment, and rode on. Distance veiled from the
eager onlookers the significant detail of the shifted gun arms. But no
such preclusion obstructed Bat's vision as he lay flattened upon the
rim of the coulee with the barrel of his six-gun resting upon the edge
of a rock, and its sights lined low upon the stranger's armpit.
"They've dismounted," observed Alice, "I believe Tex is going to
unsaddle."
"Tightening his cinch," ventured Endicott, and was interrupted by a cry
from the lips of the girl.
"Look! The other! He's going to shoot---- Why, they're fighting!"
Fighting they certainly were, and Endicott stared in surprise as he saw
the Texan knocked down and then spring to his feet and attack his
assailant with a vigour that rendered impossible any further attempt to
follow the progress of the combat.
"Why doesn't Bat shoot, or go down there and help him?" cried the girl,
as with clenched fists she strained her eyes in a vain effort to see
who was proving the victor.
"This does not seem to be a shooting affair," Endicott answered, "and
it is my own private opinion that Tex is abundantly able to take care
of himself. Ah--he got him that time! He's down for the count! Good
work, Tex, old man! A good clean knockout!"
The two watched as the men mounted and rode their several ways--the
stranger swinging northward toward the mountains, and the Texan
following along the south face of the butte.
"Some nice little meetings they have out here," grinned Endicott. "I
wonder if the vanquished one was a horse-thief or just an ordinary
friend."
Alice returned the smile: "You used to rather go in for boxing in
college, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes. I can hold my own when it comes to fists----
"And--you can shoot."
The man shook his head: "Do you know that was the first time I ever
fired a pistol in my life. I don't like to think about it. And yet--I
am always thinking about it! I have killed a man--have taken a human
life. I did it without malice--without forethought. All I knew was
that you were in danger, then I saw him fling you from him--the pistol
was in my hand, and I fired."
"You need have no regrets," answered the girl, quickly. "It was his
life or both of ours--worse than that--a thousand times worse."
Endicott was silent as the two turned toward the plateau. "Why,
there's Bat's horse, trotting over to join the others, and unsaddled,
too," cried Alice. "He has beaten Tex to camp. Bat is a dear, and he
just adores the ground Tex walks on, or 'rides on' would be more
appropriate, for I don't think he ever walked more than a hundred feet
in his life."
Sure enough, when they reached camp there sat the half-breed placidly
mending a blanket, with the bored air of one upon whom time hangs
heavily. He looked up as Endicott greeted him.
"Mebbe-so dat better you don' say nuttin' 'bout A'm gon' 'way from
here," he grinned. "Tex she com' 'long pret' queek, now. Mebbe-so he
t'ink dat better A'm stay roun' de camp. But _Voila_! How A'm know he
ain' gon for git hurt?"
"But he did--" Alice paused abruptly with the sentences unfinished,
for the sound of galloping hoofs reached her ears and she looked up to
see the Texan swing from his horse, strip off the saddle and bridle and
turn the animal loose.
"Oh," she cried, as the man joined them after spreading his saddle
blanket to dry. "Your eyes are swollen almost shut and your lip is
bleeding!"
"Yes," answered the cowboy with a contortion of the stiff, swollen lip
that passed for a smile. "I rounded the bend in a coulee down yonder
an' run plumb against a hard projection."
"They certainly are hard--I have run against those projections myself,"
grinned Endicott. "You see, we had what you might call ringside seats,
and I noticed that it didn't take you very long to come back with some
mighty stiff projecting yourself."
"Yes. Him pastin' me between the eyes that way, I took as an
onfriendly act, an' one I resented."
"That wallop you landed on his chin was a beautiful piece of work."
"Yes, quite comely." The cowboy wriggled his fingers painfully. "But
these long-horns that's raised on salt-horse an' rawhide, maintains a
jaw on 'em that makes iron an' granite seem right mushy. I didn't
figure I'd recount the disturbance, aimin' to pass it off casual
regardin' the disfigurin' of my profile. But if you-all witnessed the
debate, I might as well go ahead an' oncork the details. In the first
place, this warrior is a deputy that's out after Win."
The Texan glanced sharply at Bat who became suddenly seized with a fit
of coughing, but the face of the half-breed was impassive--even sombre
as he worked at the blanket. "It's all owin' to politics," continued
the cowpuncher, rolling and lighting a cigarette. "Politics, an' the
fact that the cow country is in its dotage. Choteau County is growin'
effeminate, not to say right down effete when a lynchin', that by
rights it would be stretching its importance even to refer to it in
conversation, is raised to the dignity of a political issue. As
everyone knows, a hangin' is always a popular play, riddin' the
community of an ondesirable, an' at the same time bein' a warnin' to
others to polish up their rectitude. But it seems, from what I was
able to glean, that this particular hangin' didn't win universal
acclaim, owin' to the massacre of Purdy not bein' deplored none."
Once more the half-breed emitted a strangling cough, and Tex eyed him
narrowly. "Somethin' seems to ail your throat."
"_Oui_, A'm swal' de piece tabac'."
"Well just hang onto it 'til it gets a little darker an' we'll have
supper," said the Texan, dryly, and resumed.
"So there was some talk disparagin' to the lynchin', an' the party
that's in, holdin' its tenure by the skin of its teeth, an' election
comin' on, sided in with public opinion an' frowned on the lynchin',
not as a hangin', you onderstand, but because the hangin' didn't
redound none to their particular credit--it not being legal an'
regular. All this is brewed while the dance is goin' on, an' by
breakfast time next mornin', there bein' a full quorum of Republican
war chiefs on hand, they pulls a pow-wow an' instructs their deputies
to round up the lynchers. This is done, barrin' a few that's flitted,
the boys bein' caught unawares. Well, things begun lookin' serious to
'em, an' as a last resort they decided to fall back on the truth. So
they admits that there ain't no lynchin'. They tells how, after they'd
got out on the bench a piece they got to thinkin' that the demise of
Purdy ain't a serious matter, nohow, so they turned him loose. 'Where
is he, then?' says a county commissioner. 'Search us,' replies the
culprits. 'We just turned him loose an' told him to _vamoose_. We
didn't stick around an' herd him!'" Again Bat coughed, and the Texan
glared at him.
"Maybe a drink of water would help them lacerated pipes of yourn," he
suggested, "an' besides it's dark enough so you can start supper
a-goin'."
"But," said Endicott, "won't that get the boys all into serious trouble
for aiding and abetting a prisoner to escape? Accessories after the
fact, is what the law calls them."
"Oh Lord," groaned the Texan inwardly. "If I can steer through all
this without ridin' into my own loop, I'll be some liar. This on top
of what I told 'em in Wolf River, an' since, an' about Purdy's
funeral--I dastn't bog down, now!"
"No," he answered, as he lighted another cigarette. "There comes in
your politics again. You see, there was twenty-some-odd of us--an'
none friendless. Take twenty-odd votes an' multiply 'em by the number
of friends each has got--an' I reckon ten head of friends apiece
wouldn't overshoot the figure--an' you've got between two hundred an'
three hundred votes--which is a winnin' majority for any candidate
among 'em. Knowin' this, they wink at the jail delivery an' cinch
those votes. But, as I said before, hangin' is always a popular
measure, an' as they want credit for yourn, they start all the deputies
they got out on a still-hunt for you, judgin' it not to be hard to find
a pilgrim wanderin' about at large. An' this party I met up with was
one of 'em."
"Did he suspect that we were with you?" asked Alice, her voice
trembling with anxiety.
"Such was the case--his intimation bein' audible, and venomous. I
denied it in kind, an' one word leadin' to another, he called me a
liar. To which statement, although to a certain extent veracious, I
took exception, an' in the airy persiflage that ensued, he took umbrage
to an extent that it made him hostile. Previous to this little
altercation, he an' I had been good friends, and deemin', rightly, that
it wasn't a shootin' matter, he ondertook to back up his play with his
fists, and he hauled off an' smote me between the eyes before I'd
devined his intentions. Judgin' the move unfriendly, not to say right
downright aggressive, I come back at him with results you-all noted.
An' that's all there was to the incident of me showin' up with black
eyes, an' a lip that would do for a pin cushion."
All during supper and afterward while the half-breed was washing the
dishes, the Texan eyed him sharply, and several times caught the flash
of a furtive smile upon the habitually sombre face.
"He knows somethin' mirthful," thought the cowboy, "I noticed it
particular, when I was flounderin' up to my neck in the mire of
deception. The old reprobate ain't easy amused, either."
Alice retired early, and before long Endicott, too, sought his
blankets. The moon rose, and the Texan strolled over to the grazing
horses. Returning, he encountered Bat seated upon a rock at some
distance from camp, watching him. The half-breed was grinning openly
now, broadly, and with evident enjoyment. Tex regarded him with a
frown: "For a Siwash you're plumb mirthful an' joyous minded. In fact
I ain't noticed any one so wrapped up in glee for quite a spell.
Suppose you just loosen up an' let me in on the frivolity, an' at the
same time kind of let it appear where you put in the day. I mistrusted
my packin' a pair of purple ones wouldn't give you the whoopin' cough,
so I just sauntered over an' took a look at the cayuses. Yourn's be'n
rode 'til he's sweat under the blanket--an' he ain't soft neither."
"_Oui_, A'm fol' 'long we'n you make de ride. A'm t'ink mebbe-so two
better'n wan."
"Well, I was weaned right young, an' I don't need no governess. After
this you----"
The half-breed shrugged: "A'm tink dat tam way back in Las Vegas dat
dam' good t'ing ol' Bat fol' 'long, or else, ba Goss, you gon' to hell
for sure."
"But that's no sign I've always got to be close-herded. Did you sneak
up near enough to hear what the short-horn said?"
"_Oui_, A'm hear dat. She mak' me laugh lak' hell."
"Laugh! I didn't see nothin' so damn hilarious in it. What do you
think about Purdy?"
"A'm tink dat dam' bad luck she no git keel." The half-breed paused
and grinned: "De pilgrim she mak' de run for nuttin', an' you got to
ke'p on lyin' an' lyin', an bye-m-bye you got so dam' mooch lies you
git los'. So far, dat work out pret' good. De pilgrim gon' ke'p on de
run, 'cause he no lak' for git stretch for politick, an' you git mor'
chance for make de play for de girl."
"What do you mean?" The Texan's eyes flashed. "I just knocked the
livin' hell out of one fellow for makin' a crack about that girl."
"_Oui_, A'm know 'bout dat, too. Dat was pret' good, but nex' tam dat
better you start in fightin' fore you git knock clean across de coulee
firs'. A'm lak dat girl. She dam' fine 'oman, you bet. A'm no lak'
she git harm."
"See here, Bat," interrupted the Texan, "no matter what my intentions
were when I started out, they're all right now."
"_Oui_, A'm know dat, 'bout two day."
"It's this way, I be'n thinkin' quite a bit the last couple of days
there ain't a thing in hellin' around the country punchin' other folks'
cattle for wages. It's time I was settlin' down. If that girl will
take a long shot an' marry me, I'm goin' to rustle around an' start an
outfit of my own. I'll be needin' a man about your heft an' complexion
to help me run it, too--savvy?"
The half-breed nodded slowly. "_Oui_, all de tam A'm say: 'Some tam
Tex she queet de dam' foolin', an' den she git to be de beeg man.' I
ain' tink you git dis 'oman, but dat don' mak' no differ', som' tam you
be de beeg man yet. Som' nodder 'oman com' 'long----"
"To hell with some other woman!" flared the Texan. "I tell you I'll
have that girl or I'll never look at another woman. There ain't
another woman in the world can touch her. You think you're wise as
hell, but I'll show you!"
The half-breed regarded him gloomily: "A'm tink dat 'oman de pilgrim
'oman."
"Oh, you do, do you? Well, just you listen to me. She ain't--not yet.
It's me an' the pilgrim for her. If she ties to him instead of me,
it's all right. She'll get a damn good man. Take me, an' all of a
sudden throw me into the middle of _his_ country, an' I doubt like hell
if I'd show up as good as he did in mine. Whatever play goes on
between me an' the pilgrim, will be on the square--with one deck, an'
the cards on the table. There's only one thing I'm holdin' out on him,
an' that is about Purdy. An' that ain't an onfair advantage, because
it's his own fault he's worryin' about it. An' if it gives me a better
chance with her, I'm goin' to grab it. An' I'll win, too. But, if I
don't win, I don't reckon it'll kill me. Sometimes when I get to
thinkin' about it I almost wish it would--I'm that damned close to
bein' yellow."
Bat laughed. The idea of the Texan being yellow struck him as
humorous. "I'm wonder how mooch more beeg lie you got for tell, eh?"
Tex was grinning now, "Search me. I had to concoct some excuse for
getting 'em started--two or three excuses. An' it looks like I got to
keep on concoctin' 'em to keep 'em goin'. But it don't hurt no
one--lyin' like that, don't. It don't hurt the girl, because she's
bound to get one of us. It don't hurt the pilgrim, because we'll see
him through to the railroad. It don't hurt you, because you don't
believe none of it. An' it don't hurt me, because I'm used to it--an'
there you are. But that don't give you no license to set around an'
snort an' gargle while I'm tellin' 'em. I got trouble enough keepin'
'em plausible an' entangled, without you keepin' me settin' on a cactus
for fear you'll give it away. What you got to do is to back up my
play--remember them four bits I give you way back in Los Vegas? Well,
here's where I'm givin' you a chance to pay dividends on them four
bits."
Bat grinned: "You go 'head an' mak' you play. You fin' out I ain't
forgit dat four bit. She ain' mooch money--four bit ain'. But w'en
she all you got, she wan hell of a lot . . . _bien_!"