"COMING EVENTS----"
Johnny entered the draw, found a small clearing, and let Pepper wander,
watching her closely, while he went over his guns again, cleaning them
thoroughly. The afternoon had half gone when he whistled her to him and
rode her down to the rocky pool he had mentioned. Stripping himself,
he removed the saddle and its blanket and, mounting bareback, rode
her into the stream, where he found a place deep enough to swim her.
Crossing and recrossing this several times, he took her out and started
to dress; and no sooner was she free than she trotted to a dry, warm
patch of sand and rolled to her heart's content, grunting with pleasure.
"Now look at what you've done," he grinned. "After me gettin' you all
washed up, you go an' blot yoreself just like a common cayuse. I've
been wastin' sympathy on you--there ain't nothin' th' matter with you.
An' there's somethin' I want to ask you, before I forget it: Was you
ever in a quicksand just like that one? I bet you wasn't. I've crossed
some rivers in my time, an' had cattle bogged in several--but this was
different, somehow. Mebby it's because it wasn't under water; but I
don't know. I was scared we'd bust yore laigs; mebby we didn't because
we pulled you sideways, an' you raised so much h--l when you felt th'
rope tighten, an' heard me call you. Just th' same, I'm sayin' we had
a close call. An' we mustn't forget it. Come here, now, an' let me
throw this saddle on you. We're goin' to town, an' yore goin' to get
robbed till you shines. I'm as stuck-up about you as a gal is over her
first beau."
In a few minutes they were on their way to Gunsight, but they did not
reach the town without incident. They had ridden to Pine Mountain and
Johnny, wishing to see if Squint's saddle had been discovered, hid
Pepper in a dump of brush and scrub timber well back from the trail
and, taking his rifle, crossed the beaten road at a rocky place and
worked his way into the brush on the mountain side. When he had climbed
about eighty feet he reached a little rock shelf and rested a moment.
As he was about to go on he heard hoofbeats down the trail and he
flattened himself behind a tuft of grass growing in a crack. Looking
down the trail he saw a horseman round into sight from the arroyo
leading from East Canyon.
"Smitty," he muttered. "I don't think much of him, an' I reckon he'll
scare. An' mebby if he's scared near to death a few times he'll figger
he ain't wanted around here, an' hit th' trail out. Mebby I'm wrong,
but here's where Mr. Smitty gets a jolt he won't forget. It will be
Number One. Whether or not he gets any more will depend on how he takes
this one. I'm bettin' he don't stalk me for it--here he comes, ridin'
lazy an' tryin' to sing. I ought to be able to come awful close at this
distance, with a rifle layin' on a rock rest."
Mr. Smith, of the Bar H, rode at a walk, singing a song, the words of
which should never appear in print. He had a message to deliver to the
Doc and was in no hurry. His hat, a Mexican sombrero with ultra-fancy
band, and a high crown, which appeared to be even higher because of the
vertical dents which pushed the top into a peak, was tilted rakishly
off-center and looked rather ludicrous to the man on the mountain,
who noted that there appeared to be plenty of hat and horse, but very
little man. When just across a short stretch of rocky trail there rang
out over the rider's head a roar such as only black powder can make,
and the tilted sombrero flew into the air and struck the ground. The
horse and its rider heard the roar at the same instant and each acted
as their instincts prompted. The horse shot forward, clearing a dozen
feet in the jump, sprang back, wheeling in the air, and bolted for
the arroyo it had just left, where it quickly recovered its poise and
stopped to search out succulent grass tufts. Mr. Smith's instincts
seemed to have come to him through generations of acrobatic ancestors,
although he was not aware that any of his family tree claimed any
such accomplishments, at least since they had forsaken arboreal
surroundings. Certainly he never boasted, even in his maddest sprees,
of being in any way gifted in acrobatics. Nevertheless, he performed a
creditable exhibition when the roar smashed against his ears. As the
horse leaped, he grabbed at the pommel, missed it, and in his haste to
jerk his head back from the screaming lead he lost his balance. His
feet left the stirrups, and then came swiftly upward as he pivoted on
the saddle. They swept up past the horse's neck, kept on and described
a half-circle, the saddle as the center. As they went up Mr. Smith's
head went down, and as the horse leaped back and whirled, he was jolted
into a position rarely seen in horseback riding except in exhibitions.
For a moment he stood on his shoulder against the cantle of the saddle
and then turned a pretty, if unintentional, back flip onto the ground,
landing squarely on his hat. The whole thing happened in a flash and
the sound of the shot was still rumbling among the hills when, grabbing
his sombrero, he started on a dead run for the horse and the ranch.
When he reached the animal he leaped into the saddle without touching
the stirrups, and urged a speedy departure, which his spurs obtained.
Johnny rolled over on his back and laughed heartily. Finally he sat
up, put the empty shell in his pocket, reloaded the rifle and went up
the mountain to hide Squint's saddle in a better place, for he now
believed such a precaution necessary. It was more than probable that
Pine Mountain would be searched as soon as the indignant puncher could
lead his friends to the scene of his discomfiture. He found the saddle
where he had left it and carried it to a narrow, shallow split in the
mountain's rocky side and dropped it in, after which dead branches and
grass and rocks covered it and hid it securely. Scrambling back to the
trail he looked cautiously along it and then dashed across and made
his way to his horse, stepping on rock whenever possible. Not long
afterward he rode down the Juniper trail and went to the hotel shed,
where he led Pepper inside and prepared to groom her. He hardly had
begun work when Two-Spot sidled in, and there was wrath in his eyes.
"What you been doin' to that hoss?" he demanded, as his gaze swept over
her. "She looks like she's been rolled in th' river."
"Mebby she has," replied Johnny, rubbing briskly. "She likes a swim as
well as I do--an' we both had one, which is somethin' I can recommend
to you."
"What did you do with them rifle cartridges of Polecat's you was goin'
to give me?" asked Two-Spot, going to work on the other flank.
"I hid 'em," answered Johnny. "Look out she don't hand you a stomachful
of hoof--she don't like strangers."
"Huh!" snorted Two-Spot, "what do _I_ care about strangers? Where'd you
hide 'em?"
"In them sweepin's, under th' manger," replied Johnny. "Wait till after
dark."
"What you figger I'm goin' to do--show everybody that Two-Spot's
startin' an arsenal?" He rubbed for a moment in silence, and then began
to chuckle. "Ol' Chief Smell-Um-Strong had a plumb fine gun--I got a
laugh comin'; you gave th' best one away."
"I'm satisfied," grunted Johnny.
"Dave was on th' prod this noon when I showed up," continued Two-Spot.
"What did you say you was swimmin' in?" he demanded, curiously,
examining one of Pepper's hocks.
"Water," answered Johnny. "What did he say?"
"Mebby it was," observed Two-Spot. "How'd you get out?"
"Swum."
"At th' end of a rope? Why, Dave, he wanted to know where th' this,
that, an' th' other thing I was last night. Reckoned, mebby, I'd got
full of berries an' hibernated. What was you doin' in th' SV valley?"
"What did you tell him?" asked Johnny, grinning.
"Told him that I was rustlin' a passel of cows an' that they went so
fast I had to run to Juniper before I could head 'em off. You must 'a'
had one h--l of a time gettin' out. Shore Pepper ain't hurt?"
"It ain't th' first bath she's had--she's a good swimmer, 'though for
much of it I'd ruther have a cayuse with a bigger barrel. She won't
shrink."
"Why in h--l don't Dave set out th' bottle, like he used to?" growled
Two-Spot. "There ain't no sense in totin' it by th' glass to a crowd of
blotters. They'll hold more liquor than a gopher hole--an' I've broke
my back carryin' water to drown them fellers out when I was a kid. How
long is your rope?"
"Dave's a friend of mine, that's why," answered Johnny. "My capacity is
so limited that ol' Dailey could clean me out after my fourth drink.
Them leather-bellies can drink me into a heap on th' floor, an' never
know they'd been drinkin'."
"Shore," said Two-Spot, chuckling; "yo're a teethin' infant, a reg'lar
suckin' calf--I've seen you put away a dozen an' not bat an eye. An'
it's bad medicine; look at me. How long's that rope?"
"Eighty feet."
"Yo're another. There ain't a man livin' can throw such a rope an'
ketch anythin'. I've seen some good uns, but I've never seen even a
sixty-foot rope. Who fastened to you?"
"Yo're loco--plumb loco," said Johnny. "You want to forget them
hallucernations--somebody might believe 'em."
"'Hallerlucinations'--humph! I'll have to remember that an' throw it at
Dave. Where was you today?"
"Mindin' my own business," retorted Johnny. "What ever put you hangin'
'round a saloon, emptyin' boxes?"
"Whiskey," said Two-Spot "I was smart, like you, an' liked to hold
up my end, drink for drink. Here's some more of that water you swum
in--looks familiar."
"I'm goin' to drag you out to a ranch some of these days," threatened
Johnny, "an' give you a job--an' whale th' skin from yore bones th'
first time I see you takin' a drink. You got brains an' that ranch
needs 'em."
"You can't learn an old dog new tricks," grunted Two-Spot, and then
burst out laughing; "but you can change a wolf inter a skunk if you
goes about it right. He! He! He!" In a few minutes he threw down the
brush and went to the door. "Seein' as how yo're playin' fresh-water
clam, do it yoreself!" he snorted and, dodging the other brush, he
scurried around to Dave's.
* * * * *
Down on the Bar H, Smitty's arrival made a ripple of excitement. Big
Tom was mending a shirt and cursing the clumsiness of his fingers and
the sharpness of the needle, when there came the clatter of hoofs
outside and he looked up to see Smitty leap from the saddle and jump
through the doorway, holding a much-abused Mexican sombrero out at
arm's length. It was trampled and soiled and there was a fuzzy-edged
rip an inch long in the brim where a 550-grain bullet had ploughed
before passing through. Eight years before Smitty had paid twenty-five
dollars for the hat, perhaps entirely too much, and next to his saddle
it was his most prized possession. It had seen hard service, but he
fondly regarded it as being as good as new.
"Lookit my hat!" he cried, jabbing it under the foreman's nose, which
caused the needle to find the finger again.
"D--n th' hat!" growled Big Tom. "Take it away from my nose!"
"Lookit it!" insisted Smitty. "Some coyote shot at me from up on
Pine Mountain an' plumb ruined it! He came so close I could feel th'
slug--cuss it, I _smelled_ it! It fair grazed by nose. Lookit it!"
Big Tom threw the shirt away and took the hat, turning it over in his
hands. "I'd say it was close--plumb close," he admitted. "How far off
was he?"
"Right over my head--couple dozen feet," answered Smitty. "Here! Don't
poke yore blasted finger in it like that! Cuss it, it's bad enough now!
That's more like it. I could feel th' concussion an' smell th' smoke. I
was ridin' along at a walk, when _whango!_ It near stunned me, it was
so close. An' lookit what he done to that hat! There ain't another hat
like that on th' whole range!"
"Yo're right, they throw 'em away long before that," retorted Big Tom,
an idea coming into his head. "Did you pick up his trail?"
"How could I?" indignantly demanded Smitty. "My cayuse fair went wild,
an' before I could get him under control he was clean out of th'
canyon--I tell you I did some highfalutin' riding stickin' to a crazy
hoss among all them rocks."
"How'd you get yore hat? Didn't it go off yore head?"
"Shore it did! I scooped it up as my cayuse wheeled--an' talk about
turnin' on a saddle blanket--that jack rabbit can wheel on a postage
stamp if he's prodded enough. He just simply climbed up straight an'
swapped ends."
"You should 'a' gone back an' stalked that feller," said Big Tom, using
plenty of salt on what he heard. "Or at least rustled to Gunsight to
see who might come ridin' in. Where did all this happen?"
"Right on them benches on th' east end of th' mountain--at that rocky
hump in th' trail. How he ever missed at such close range is more'n _I_
can understand--why, a kid oughta be able to make a hit, every time, as
close as that. An' it was a rifle; th' roar was deafenin'."
"He missed because he wanted to miss," said Big Tom. "One of th' boys
is playin' a joke on you--you know what they've said about that tent.
He come closer than he reckoned on--I'll bet you rocked forward in th'
saddle as he shot."
"Yes, I reckon I did--you know what ridin' is over that hump," Smitty
said. "I remember that when I jerked back as it passed my nose I went
quite a ways--my neck is sore from th' jerk. But I'm tellin' you I
ain't nowise shore it was any joke. An' I says, if it was, it was a
cussed pore one. I'll nat'rally skin any fool _I_ ketches playin' any
more jokes like that on _me_. Cuss it, it skun my nose!"
"A skin fur a skin, huh?" chuckled the foreman. He handed the hat back
to its owner. "There ain't no man on th' range that would miss yore
head, hat or no hat, from them benches. It ain't more than seventy-five
or eighty feet from up there. They aimed to miss you; an' they shaved
it a little too fine, not allowin' for you bobbin' forward. I says it
was one of th' boys. You lay low an' use yore eyes an' ears, an' if
you find out who it was I'll give that fool a dressin' down he won't
forget. A joke's a joke--we all play 'em; but there's such a thing as
ridin' 'em too hard. Did you give th' Doc my message?"
"What message?"
The foreman stared at him and slowly raised his hands. "I'll be
cussed--it was more of a joke than I thought. Didn't I tell you to ride
up there an' tell th' Doc that we wanted to see him tonight? Didn't you
leave here to tell him that, an' for nothin' else?" he demanded, his
voice rising.
"Yeah, I reckon mebby you did," admitted the puncher, uneasily. "You
want to see him tonight, shore."
"I do. Now you fork that cayuse an' get goin'. Good Lord! That bullet
must 'a' hit yore mem'ry." He glanced at his puncher's thigh. "An'
where's yore six-shooter? Did you forget that, somewhere?"
Smitty's hand went to the holster and he cursed heartily. "D--n these
open sheaths! It must 'a' fell out when that jack rabbit did th' fancy
swappin' of ends. Now I got to go get it, but I'm borrowin' a gun to
wear, or I stays here. Somethin' tells me it's unhealthy to go ridin'
around this God-forsaken country without no six-gun."
"Take that spare one of mine, hangin' up over my bunk," offered the
foreman. "She's in good shape. Now, yo're plumb shore you didn't lose
nothin' else, more valuable than earthly belongin's?" he grinned.
"Yo're shore yo're goin' back for yore gun?"
"Shore I am; what you mean?" replied Smitty, suspiciously.
"Nothin' worth mentionin'," smiled Big Tom. "I reckoned mebby you'd
take th' over-mountain trail, seein' as it's shorter."
"Then how could I get my gun?"
"That's what I was wonderin'."
"I'll get it," Smitty assured him. "I'll get it unless yore fool joker
picked it up. Mebby he's a-settin' on it, waitin' to hand it to me, an'
'pologize for missin' me."
"He won't be within miles of here by this time," said Big Tom. "He
dusted quick. If he was jokin' he'd get away _pronto_, an' if he
wasn't, he'd do it quicker. I reckon you'd better climb up on that
bench an' see what you can find--an' empty shell might help us a lot.
But don't forget to see th' Doc, this time. After that you can go to
town an' find out what you can learn. Now get started. An' take good
care of that hat--that ain't no way to treat it, nohow."
Smitty growled, took down the six-shooter, strode out to his horse and
swung into the saddle. "Hope nobody picked it up," he said. "Twenty
dollars is twenty dollars, an' I ain't got th' twenty. Anyway, it's a
better gun than they're makin' nowadays."
"Don't lose that one while yo're pickin' up th' other," laughed the
foreman.
When he was out of sight of the ranch Smitty wheeled sharply and rode
eastward. "I got to get it," he muttered, "or I'll never hear th' last
of it; but there ain't no reason for ridin' through th' canyon an' th'
arroyo, along th' side of th' mountain for no four miles. It was too
cussed close for a joke. An' mebby he aimed to spatter me all over th'
trail. I just can't figger it, nohow. But I'm free to remark that any
more of them jokes will send Smitty dustin' along th' trail, no matter
what way he's pointin' at th' time, an' he won't never come back no
more. Somehow, I just can't help thinkin' of pore Squint. Cuss it, I
can feel it yet!"
Getting near the scene of his discomfiture, Smitty dismounted and
went on a reconnaissance, viewing the benches from every angle, and
after some time he located his gun lying in the grass near the trail.
Returning to his horse he mounted and rode forward, striking into a
dead run as he approached the rocky hump in the trail and, leaning
down, he picked up the weapon as he swept past, no mean feat when the
grass is considered. In a few minutes he pulled his mount to a lope
and soon drew rein at the Doc's door, where he delivered the message,
gossiped for a few minutes, and then went on to town.
The first person he saw was Two-Spot, leaning against the front of
the Palace and who accepted, with alacrity, Smitty's invitation to
drink. Two-Spot saw the condition of the hat before its wearer had
dismounted, and his curiosity burned strongly within him. The puncher
engaged him and Dave in conversation but his efforts at these sources
of information were futile. What knowledge he gained had no bearing on
Johnny. Two-Spot casually remarked that Johnny had been loafing around
most of the afternoon, pestering him and said that he was a nuisance.
Buying another round Smitty sauntered into Dailey's, where he learned
nothing at all. Having taken the census and found that everyone had
been rooted in town all day, he began to accept his foreman's view
of the mystery, and set out for home, burning for an opportunity to
observe his bosom friends and listen to their careless conversation.
But if he had not received any information, he had not given any, and
Two-Spot's curiosity about the hole in the hat was still raging.
"The' doin's on this here range are scandalous," observed Dave's
factotum to Dave, himself. "They're gettin' worse an' worse, an'
somebody's goin' to get hurt afore long. Now I wonder how th' devil
Smitty's hat got abused like that?"
"What makes you think things is gettin' worse?" asked Dave.
"That Greaser tent never come by that hole from bein' used; an' Smitty
was shore askin' a lot of questions; an' Nelson ain't swimmin' hisself
an' that hoss for fun--I know _I_ wouldn't."
"Which is an abidin' sorrer to all them as gets down wind of you,"
said Dave. "Was Nelson's saddle wet?"
"No-o; I reckon it was dry," grudgingly admitted the other.
"Was his clothes wet?" continued Dave.
"No-o-o," more reluctantly admitted Two-Spot.
"You got a head like a toad," contemptuously rejoined the proprietor.
"Trouble with you is, yore imagination is on th' rampage. You got too
much time on yore hands--suppose you 'tend to th' sand boxes? They
ain't been touched in three days."
Two-Spot sighed and obeyed. "Huh!" he grunted, emptying a box into the
road. "Mebby; but I saw somethin' about that hole that reminded me of
some gosh-awful ca'tridges I seen lately. Cuss it--I'd _bet_ on it!"
He chuckled, set down the box, slipped around the side of the saloon
and poked his head in the hotel shed. "Don't she shine, though?" he
remarked in congratulatory tones.
"She does," admitted Johnny, finishing the job.
"Say," said his visitor, "gimme an empty rifle shell."
"What for?"
"I want to keep matches in it. I'll get a cork from Dave an' have a
waterproof matchbox."
"You need it," countered Johnny. "Aimin' to fall in th' crick? You need
that, too."
Two-Spot ignored the insult, the second on that topic within five
minutes. Evidently there must be some real or fancied foundation for
it. "Got one?" he asked.
"I'll save you one," replied Johnny; "but mebby you'll have to wait
quite a spell. I still got them I loaded," he said, truthfully.
"Well there ain't no hurry," admitted Two-Spot. "Thought mebby you had
one in yore clothes."
"I might go out an' shoot one off; but I reckon I won't, seein' that it
ain't goin' to rain for a day or two."
"Don't shoot none for that," replied Two-Spot. "Smitty was in town a
few minutes ago."
"Yes?"
"Uh-huh, he was. He was projectin' around tryin' to find out who
spoiled his twenty-year-old Mex. sun-shade. He was het up about it."
"Don't blame him. Was it spoiled bad?"
"Plumb sufficient. Looks like th' railroad thought it was a tunnel. He
acts like he's got hal--hallerlucerations," grinned Two-Spot.
"But you can't wear them on a hat," reproved Johnny. "That is, not till
after you open th' can, anyhow."
"Huh?" Two-Spot scratched his frowsy head, "mebby not, but that's th'
safest place to tote 'em--on th' outside, leastawise. Did you think
they was like a--a shirt?" he demanded with great sarcasm.
"Mebby; they covers a lot of ignorance. Yo're not goin' out, are you?"
asked Johnny.
"I am," retorted his companion, shuffling toward the door. "You think
yo're d--d smart, don't you? You an' yore hullercations? Well, you can
go plumb to h--l!" and Two-Spot made haste to get around in front of
the saloon, where he refilled the box and carried it inside.
"Cuss it, Dave," he complained, "nobody 'round here treats me like I
deserve!"
"An it's d--d lucky for you that they don't," retorted Dave. "You 'tend
to them boxes, or I'll make a start at treatin' you like you deserves.
What's th' matter with you, anyhow? You've been chucklin' all day like
you've lost what little sense you had. You ought to take somethin' for
them spasms--they're too frequent to do you any good."
Two-Spot sighed and carried out another box. He dropped it and shook
his head. "I don't care a cuss; I'm still bettin' that hole was made
by a Sharp's Special. But what gets me is, how could he perforate
th' brim while that there pinched-up peak waves defiance, an' courts
destruction? You gimme a shot at it, and I'd blow th' hull top off'n
it. But I dassn't think about that, now that I've got a gun; it's so
fascinatin' I'll be takin' a shot at it some of these days--an' I
reckon I'd get more'n a hat. Shucks! that'd be all right; it's only
Smitty." He leaned up against the building and laughed until Dave came
out to see if he could get in one healthy kick, but Two-Spot avoided
him and went back to the box. "Polecat is near Highbank now," he
muttered. "I'd give his gun to read his thoughts! He! He! He!"