say--merely blinked at the match, which burned Dude’s fingers before
he dropped it.
“I--I don’t think I’m hurt--much,” she said, as he scratched another
match. She managed to sit up and he braced her with one arm. “I guess
I’m--I’m badly shaken,” she admitted.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you are. But how did yuh happen to be up here, all alone
with a runaway team?”
“Why, I don’t know exactly. The driver fell off, you see.”
“Yeah, I see--that much,” Dude Wheeler was lighting several matches, so
he might get a better look at this girl.
“Who was the driver?” he asked. Mary shook her head. “I don’t know. I
just came in on the train tonight, you see.”
“In on the train,” echoed Dude. He looked closer at her. “Say, are you
Miss Ault?”
“Why--er--yes,” said Mary, turning her eyes away.
The matches burned out, and Dude did not light another.
“I see,” he said slowly. He got to his feet and stood there, gazing
across the hills. “Yo’re a long ways from the Lazy A,” he said. “I
dunno what--I wonder--that was a Lazy A team. You don’t know who the
driver was?”
“No, I have no idea who he was. They just put me in the buggy, and the
team ran away.”
“I see. I’m Jack Wheeler, Miss Ault. Folks call me ‘Dude.’”
“Oh, what a queer name!”
“We own the Star X outfit.”
“Isn’t that nice? I--I think I’ve hurt my ankle, Mr. Wheeler.”
“I reckon you got off lucky, if that’s all.”
He helped her to her feet, but she was unable to walk.
“I dunno,” said Dude slowly. “It’s a long ways to the Lazy A. I hadn’t
ought to take yuh to the Star X, but it’s the nearest place. Can yuh
stand alone until I get my bronc?”
Mary clung to the brush, while he led his horse up to her.
“You can’t straddle no horse in that skirt,” he told her.
“No, I suppose not,” admitted Mary. “What will we do?”
“And if I set yuh sideways on that saddle and got on behind yuh, we’d
prob’ly both get throwed off, because that bronc ain’t broke to pack
double. I reckon there’s just one thing to do.”
He swung her up in his arms, lifted her to the saddle and got up with
her, lifting her in his arms as he got into the saddle.
“But you can’t carry me in your arms,” she protested.
“This is all the evidence in the world against yore idea,” he said, as
he rode off through the hills. “If you can stand it, I shore can, Miss.
I’ll try and not hurt yore ankle.”
* * * * *
Klondike Evans had landed just off the road, and just hard enough to
daze him for a minute or more. When he recovered sufficiently to realize
what had happened, the team was far away; too far for him to even hear
it. He was walking circles in the road, when Buck Wing, Joe Chevrier and
Heinie Moriarity came galloping up the road, leading Klondike’s horse.
They drew up and considered Klondike, who was still half-speechless from
hitting the ground so hard.
“What in hell happened?” panted Buck. “Where’s the team?”
“Gone,” Klondike puffed heavily and flapped his arms helplessly.
“Th-throwed me out! Line busted. I dunno what happened next.”
“My Gawd!” blurted Heinie piously. “She’ll be kilt!”
“Already killed, I’ll betcha!” exploded Buck. “Git on yore bronc,
Klondike! We’ve got to head ’em off.”
“Head ’em off?” Klondike lurched to his horse and climbed into the
saddle. “Head nothin’! They’re miles away and goin’ strong. I couldn’t
even check ’em.”
But no one was listening to him; they were spurring ahead as fast as
their horses could run.
“Watch for her along the road!” yelled Buck.
Their horses never slackened their run, until they reached the big gate
of the Star X, where they found the buggy, almost wrapped around one of
the gate-posts. It was the end of the road. Inside the yard were the two
horses. One had lost all its harness except the collar and limped badly.
The other seemed to be all right.
The boys dropped off their horses, cold sober now, and searched all
around. But there was no sign of the girl. Sadly they mounted and
rode back toward town, going slowly, searching both sides of the road
carefully, afraid of finding the girl dead.
“They’ll hang us,” wailed Klondike. “I’ll betcha they will.”
“You get ’bout feefty shot in de hin’side, and you not scare from hang,”
declared Joe, who rode standing up in his stirrups. “She’s sure kill
h’all de joy for you.”
“That was a fool thing to do,” complained Buck.
“This is a nice time to think about it,” retorted Klondike. “It sounded
good when we was drunk. Anyway, it was yore idea, Buck.”
“Originally, Klondike. You was the one that suggested ridin’ a circle
and comin’ back to the depot, yuh remember. Don’t lay it all onto me.”
“She was a danged pretty girl, too,” said Klondike. “I got a good look
at her.”
“Sure; and pulled all on one line.”
“Aw, let up on him, Buck,” said Heinie. “We’re all to blame. Dude will
fire all of us for this, anyway; so we might as well go to town, get
drunk and take our medicine. If there ever was four bigger fools, I’d
like to see what they look like.”
* * * * *
Cultus Collins walked from the depot and engaged a room at the Oreana
hotel, after which he went to the Oreana saloon. The sheriff and Miles
Lane were at the bar, talking with the bartender, who was explaining
the argument between the Lazy A and the Star X. They nodded to Cultus,
who sat down at a table and picked up a newspaper.
“I wasn’t here to see the fun,” laughed Lane. “Lucky that no one was
hurt, except Joe Cheerier. Those few shot probably won’t hurt him much.
Do you know if Miss Ault came in tonight?”
“I think so,” said the sheriff. “Idaho was there to meet her, and I saw
his outfit go out of town on the run. Just got a flash of the buggy, and
I think the girl was in it. Idaho was drivin’ a half broke team.”
“Joe Chevrier said he had been stung by forty bees,” laughed the
bartender. “He didn’t get much sympathy.”
Lane turned to Cultus. “Have a drink with us, stranger?”
Cultus dropped the paper and came up to the bar.
“My name is Jones,” he said. “Jones of Oklahoma.”
“Mine is Lane.” The lawyer introduced Cultus to the rest. “Did you come
in on the train tonight?”
“Yeah,” nodded Cultus.
“Was there a lady got off here?” “Yeah. I think her name was Ault. I
talked with her a little.”
“A niece of old man Ault, who died a while back,” said the sheriff.
Cultus squinted at his glass. He had a letter of introduction to a dead
man, it seemed.
“She inherited the Lazy A ranch,” offered the sheriff.
“She didn’t say anythin’ about it,” said Cultus thoughtfully. “A nice
sort of a girl, it seemed to me.”
“She’ll be rich.” The sheriff backed against the bar, holding his glass.
“That Lazy A is worth a mint of money.”
“Cattle?” asked Cultus.
“Gold. The old man could have sold out for a million, but he hated holes
in the ground. Queer old jigger, Ault was.”
“Have you ever been here before?” asked Lane curiously.
Cultus shook his head, “No, this is my first trip. Kinda lookin’ over
the cattle crop for a Chicago packer.”
“Oh, I see. You----”
Lane’s question was interrupted by the entrance of Idaho Breen. He was
hatless, a smear of blood across his mouth and a livid scratch across
over his right eye. He spat angrily and lurched against the bar.
“Give me a drink!” he snorted, “Here, gimme that bottle!”
Idaho grasped the bottle and took a heavy swig; so heavy that the
bartender gasped. It was probably the biggest drink ever taken in
the Oreana. Idaho slammed the bottle back on the bar, wiped the back
of his hand across his lips and tried to blink the tears out of his
eyes.
“That’s what I’d call a snifter,” observed the sheriff.
“Sa-a-ay!” Idaho pounded on the bar with both hands, as though to give
force to his statement. “A-a-a-ahem-m-m-m! I was assaulted by several
men a while ago. They hog-tied me in a dirty blanket and left me out
back of the depot. The agent happened to find me. My team’s gone--the
girl’s gone!”
“You was?” exclaimed the sheriff. “Whatcha know--say, I seen yore buggy
team go up the street just after the train came in.”
“My buggy team?” choked Idaho. “Are yuh sure?”
“Yeah. It was goin’ kinda fast, but I’m sure I seen a woman in it,
Idaho.”
“Yuh did, eh?” Idaho struck the top of the bar with his fist. “It was
that damn’ Star X outfit! They laid for me and stole the girl! They
never left town!”
“Who was the girl they stole?” asked Cultus. Idaho glared at him. “Who
are you?”
“This is Jones of Oklahoma,” said the sheriff. “Mr. Jones, this is Mr.
Breen, foreman of the Lazy A.”
“The girl they stole,” said Idaho, not offering Cultus his hand, “was
the new owner of the Lazy A outfit.”
“The girl we spoke about,” said the sheriff. “The one that came in on
the train with you.”
“Oh, yeah--that one.”
“Was you there?” asked Idaho quickly. “Didja see her git off the train?
Who met her, eh? What’d they look like?”
Cultus grinned widely. “I dunno. It was kinda dark, and I didn’t pay
much attention.”
“It has been over an hour since the train came in,” said Lane, looking
at his watch. “Have you----?”
“I have!” rasped Idaho. “With a dirty blanket over my head, and part of
it in my mouth. I thought I was goin’ to have to stay all night.”
“Just why would the Star X steal that girl?” asked Cultus.
“Because they hate the Lazy A!” snorted Idaho. “We had a regular battle
in the street tonight. Nobody got killed. I suppose both sides were too
drunk to shoot straight. They’d do anythin’--them dirty coyotes. I’m
goin’ out to the Star X and get that girl.”
“Think about it a while,” advised the sheriff. “Them boys won’t eat
her. In spite of yore opinion of the Star X, they ain’t cannibals.
They was all drunk, Idaho; and their idea of a good joke would be to
steal the owner of the Lazy A.”
“Dirty cow-thieves!” Idaho was very mad, indeed.
“That’s a killin’ statement,” said the sheriff. “Don’t let Dude Wheeler
hear yuh say it.”
“Bad medicine?” asked Cultus.
“Bad enough to resent a statement like that.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that, Idaho,” said Lane.
“Well, by God, I found fifty-three Lazy A cow-hides in----”
“We know that,” interrupted the sheriff.
Idaho reached for the bottle and took another drink, as a cowboy came
in. He was from one of the small ranches south of Oreana. He nodded
pleasantly to everyone.
“I was wonderin’ if any of the Lazy A gang were in town,” he grinned.
“The Star X outfit are down in the Rawhide.”
“Down in the Rawhide?” asked Idaho. “How long have they been down
there?”
“Well, I dunno. I heard the bartender tell ’em that the Lazy A thought
they’d run ’em out of town, and the Star X boys said they hadn’t never
left town.”
Idaho glared thoughtfully. The taste of the blanket was in his mouth,
and he spat disgustedly.
“Did the agent see the girl get off the train?” asked Lane.
Idaho shook his head. “He said he didn’t.”
“I reckon that Jones of Oklahoma is the only one that’s sure she ever
came,” observed the sheriff.
“I saw _a_ girl get off,” corrected Cultus.
Miles Lane cleared his throat softly. “If I were in your place, Idaho,
I’d go home and sleep on it. I don’t think that girl is in any danger
of being hurt, and you can’t do a thing tonight.”
“That’s good advice,” nodded the sheriff. “Tomorrow mornin’, if the girl
ain’t showed up, I’ll go with yuh to the Star X.”
“Yeah, and I’ll take my whole gang,” flared Idaho. “I’ve got to hire a
horse to ride home on.” He stamped out of the saloon, and they heard him
going down the rickety sidewalk, heading for the livery stable.
Cultus went back to the hotel, puzzling over what had become of Mary.
He could have described the two men who met her at the train, but
decided not to. He could identify Buck Wing and Klondike Evans any
time, and Cultus wanted to know more of things before he told anybody
what he knew.
* * * * *
Dude Wheeler saw the wreck of the Lazy A buggy, when he rode through
the gate, with Mary in his arms. In the dim starlight he could see the
two horses down near a corral; so he decided that the runaway team had
cut back to the road which they had followed to the ranch gate.
He drew up at the porch of the ranchhouse and dismounted, still carrying
Mary in his arms.
“Your arms must be paralyzed,” she said.
“Not exactly,” he laughed. “Yo’re not as light as yuh was when I first
picked yuh up. How’s the ankle feelin’?”
“Why, it seems numb, but there is little pain.”
“That’s good.” He picked her up and they went in the house.
The Star X living-room was a commodious place, rough finished, with a
huge fireplace on one side. The floor was strewn with Navajo rugs, and
many of the chair-seats and backs were of cow-hide, untanned. It was a
typical man’s abode. At one side of the front door was a gun-rack,
filled with rifles. Loose cartridges, a heavy Colt revolver, coil of
spot-cord rope, packages of tobacco, and some dog-eared magazines were
scattered over the rough table top in the center of the room.
On the floor in front of the fireplace was the skin of a grizzly bear,
while over the mantle was a huge elk head, with magnificent antlers.
Mary gazed around the room, after Dude had placed her in their easiest
chair.
“I’ll get some hot water,” said Dude. “Mebbe some liniment will help it
out. You take it easy, and I’ll fix yuh up fine.”
Mary watched the tall, straight-backed cowboy leave the room, and sank
back in her chair with a sigh, wondering what would happen next. Her
life had been adventurous indeed since she had met Cultus Collins. She
had no idea just what she was to do in Oreana City. Thinking it over
calmly was impossible for her. She was an impostor. And whether she
could carry out the deception remained to be seen.
Someone had entered the room behind her and she turned to see Eph
Wheeler, clad in an old red undershirt, overalls and a pair of mismated
woolen socks. The old man’s sparse hair was standing straight up, and
his face appeared very thin in the lamplight. He squinted closely at
her, glanced toward the kitchen, where Dude was noisily poking wood in
the stove, and then came a little closer to her.
“Just who might you be?” he asked curiously. “I thought I must be
dreamin’ when I heard a woman’s voice out here.”
“I am Mary Ault,” said Mary bravely.
The old man’s mouth opened, but he did not speak. He rubbed his right
hip with his right elbow, frowned at the lamp, shifted his feet.
“Mind sayin’ that again?” he asked.
Mary repeated the name. The old man nodded. Dude came in from the
kitchen, saw his father, and stopped short.
“Did we wake yuh up, Dad?” he asked.
The old man did not reply; he was too interested in Mary.
“This is Miss Ault,” said Dude.
“That’s what she said. Where’d you pick her up?”
Dude explained about the runaway and how he had found Mary. He was
unable to tell who had been driving the team, and Mary did not know.
“It’s a Lazy A rig,” said Dude. “Blue buggy with red wheels. It’s
wrapped around one of our gate-posts. The horses are down by the corral.
I can’t imagine what a Lazy A rig would be doin’ out here.”
“My suitcase was in it,” said Mary. Dude walked out, and came back in
a few moments, carrying the suitcase, which was none the worse for the
runaway. The old man sat down and watched Mary, while she soaked her
swollen ankle in hot water.
“So Jud Ault was yore uncle, eh?” he remarked. “Know him?”
“No,” said Mary. She hadn’t the slightest idea who Jud Ault was.
“He was a dirty old pup.”
Mary flinched. She was evidently not related to a saint.
“He turned his own daughter out,” continued the old man. “But he was a
dirty old pup long before that.”
“Dad, I don’t reckon she cares to know all this,” said Dude softly.
“Well, she ought to. Anyway, she might as well hear it from me, ’cause
she’s goin’ to hear it sooner or later.”
“That liniment will take a lot of the soreness out,” said Dude. “I’ll
soak a bandage and----”
“It seems to me yore takin’ a lot of pains with an Ault,” said the old
man. Dude flushed, but did not reply.
“Been packin’ a Winchester for ’em for years; now yo’re wrappin’ up
their ankles.”
Mary laughed, because she did not realize how serious had been the
hatred between the two ranches.
“What is a Winchester?” she asked.
“A gun,” said Dude. His hand trembled slightly and he spilled a little
of the liniment.
“Do all men carry guns out here?” she asked. Dude looked up at her, his
eyes serious.
“Most of ’em do.”
“Tell me about Jud Ault turning his daughter out.”
“It’s true.” Dude did not look up at her. “She married a gambler. Some
say he was also a lawyer, but he didn’t practice law here. Old Jud Ault
wouldn’t speak to her again. She lives in Oreana City, with her little
boy.”
“And he didn’t leave her anything when he died?”
“A dollar.”
“And the ranch is worth a million, they say,” growled the old man.
“Yo’re sure lucky.”
“I--I didn’t know much about it,” faltered Mary.
“Lane sent for yuh, I reckon. He made out Jud Ault’s will.”
“Yes,” said Mary, because she didn’t know what else to say.
Dude finished bandaging the ankle and took the water back to the
kitchen.
“Are you thinkin’ of stayin’ here tonight?” asked the old man.
“Why, I--I don’t know,” said Mary.
“I guess you’ll go back to town.”
Dude came back and the old man turned to him. “Yuh better harness up the
team and take her back to the hotel, Dude.”
They looked at each other for several moments.
“That might be the best thing to do,” said Dude slowly then. “I’ll hitch
up the team.”
He went out, softly closing the door behind him. Mary curled up on the
big chair, her chin in her hand. She did not like the old man, who
filled his pipe and smoked noisily.
“You’ll sell the Lazy A, won’t yuh?” he asked, not unkindly.
Mary shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t know, Mr. Wheeler.”
“Runnin’ a cow-ranch ain’t no woman’s job,” he sucked heavily on his
pipe. “Of course, you might marry a cow-man.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Yo’re a queer sort of a girl. That’s about all most girls think about!”
“Do you know much about girls?”
“Hmph! Well, don’t they?”
“Do they?”
Eph Wheeler threw his pipe on the table, with a grunt of disgust. “I’m
glad yo’re goin’ back to town! I hate an argument.”
“And you start them yourself.”
“I do not!” The old man drew himself up angrily, his eyes flashing. “I
never--say, I dunno what this is all about. I wish Dude would hurry with
that team. You make me mad. Aults always made me mad. You remind me of
Jud Ault.”
Mary laughed openly at him, and he stalked from the room, swearing under
his breath. He did not put in an appearance, when Dude carried her out
to the buggy, and Dude did not mention him until they were well on their
way to Oreana City.
The moon was up now, and the hills were bathed in a silver glow; blue in
the depths, and silver, where the moonlight brushed the ridges: a mystic
fairyland where the moon and stars came down close to the world. Mary
leaned back in the buggy seat and looked at a world she had never seen
before.
“Oh, isn’t it beautiful!” she said simply.
“Yes’m, it is. I never get tired of these hills at night. The rough
edges are all gone. Lotsa nights I just ride into the hills; ride away
back on the ridges. It’s like goin’ away from the rest of the world.
“I’m sorry dad talked like he did. But he’s old, and he hates the
Lazy A. There’s no women at the Star X. Pretty soon our four cowpunchers
will be driftin’ home from town, loaded to the gills with liquor--and it
might not be a nice place for a lady--the Star X ranch. They’re a rough
lot. You’ll be better off at the hotel. I put yore suitcase in the back
of the buggy.”
“It’s a wonder it didn’t get all smashed.”
“And you, too.”
“Yes, that’s true. I’m sorry to have put you to all this trouble, Mr.
Wheeler. I just can’t imagine what would have happened to me, if you
hadn’t met that runaway.”
“Well, it was kinda lucky. About a hundred yards beyond where you was
throwed out, there’s a deep washout. I reckon things would a’ gone to
smash in there. It’s about thirty feet across--and there ain’t no
road.”
“You mean, a deep rut?”
“Yuh might call it a rut, ma’am; it’s about twenty feet deep.”
“Oh!” Mary shuddered. “I’m glad I met you.”
“Well, so am I,” said Dude softly. “And it wasn’t any trouble; so yuh
don’t need to thank me.”
“But you hate the Ault family, you know.”
“I just wonder if I do. It seems like kind of a small thing to do--this
hate. It ain’t never got me anythin’. You and Faith are the only Aults I
know--and I don’t hate either of yuh.”
“Faith?”
“Yeah; Jud Ault’s daughter.”
“The one he turned out of his home?”
“Uh-huh. There’s the lights of Oreana City. I’ll fix yuh up at the
hotel. It ain’t no great place, but it’s all right. You’ll prob’ly go
out to the Lazy A tomorrow.”
They drove up to the hotel. Dude carried her suitcase in and Mary was
able to walk slowly. The proprietor was reading by the light of a smoky
old oil lamp. He stared over his glasses at Mary.
“Give Miss Ault yore best room. Charley,” said Dude. “She’s only goin’
to be here one night.”
“Sure, sure! Miss Ault. Huh! Huh! Yes, ma’am! Looks like old Jud, eh?
Know her any place. Naw, yuh don’t need to register. We never had but
one book, and somebody stole it. I suppose they was collectin’
horse-thieves’ autographs. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
The old man bent double over his stock joke, grabbed the lamp in one
hand, the suitcase in the other and led the way down a narrow hall.
“I’ll put ye in the president’s sweet,” he chuckled. “It’s the only one
that the wash-bowl ain’t cracked.”
Dude watched them turn into a room, and went outside. There was plenty
of noise in the Oreana, so he went over. Klondike, Buck, Heinie and Joe
were decidedly drunk. They goggled at him owlishly, sobering a trifle.
It was rather unusual for Dude to come to town at that time of night.
Buck invited him to have a drink, but he declined.
A sudden notion struck him, and he took Buck by the arm.
“I want to talk to yuh, Buck,” he said.
“Oh, yeah,” Buck held back. “Now lissen to me, Dude. You’ve----”
“Not in here,” whispered Dude. “Come outside.”
“Oh, all right. Shay, now lissen----”
Dude drew him outside the saloon and walked him a few steps up the
sidewalk, where he braced Buck against the wall.
“I know whasha want,” said Buck knowingly. “I didn’ know Klondike was
gonna bust the lines. Oh, it’s an awful thing, ol’-timer. She mush ’a’
been killed. She----”
“You stole that girl, did yuh, Buck?”
“Oh, yesh. Firs’ we had a fight with the Lazy A, and the sheriff shot
Joe in the pants with a sh-shotgun. Oh, ter’ble! Idaho Breen wash in
it, too. Oh, cert’nly! So we tied him up in an old saddle-blanket and
stole the girl. We admit it. Cert’nly, we do. We can’t deny it. ’S too
bad, but it’s done, Dude.”
“Who knows about it, except you four, Buck?”
“Thasall.”
“Did Idaho recognize yuh?”
“’F he did, he’s a good li’l recognizer.”
“Then don’t say anythin’ about it, Buck. They can’t prove it on yuh; so
keep still.”
“You mean that, Dude?” Buck goggled owlishly, pawing at Dude.
“Sure I mean it.”
“Is--is that girl dead?”
“Not hardly, Buck.”
“Oh, my; thash good. Mush obliged, Dude. An’ you ain’t goin’ to fire
ush?”
Dude laughed softly. “No, Buck; I think not. Mebbe I’ll thank yuh
instead. Go back and finish up yore job.”
Buck weaved back to the bar, where the other three boys awaited a
verdict. Buck leaned against the bar, poured out a drink, a vacant sag
to his lower lip.
“Whassa matter?” gurgled Klondike. “What’d Dude want?”
“Sh-h-h-h-h!” Buck sagged back on his heels. “It’s a shecret. Dude says
to keep our mouth shut about it.”
“Zasso?” Heinie nodded solemnly. “Does Dude know about it?”
“Shertenly does,” rather loftily. “Oh, shertenly he does.”
“And he wasn’t awful mad, Buck? Didn’t fire us?”
“Nossir. He--he con-con-congratulated ush.”
“By gosh, dat’s fine!” exploded Joe. “My min’ is relieve, but I’m still
got de li’l duck-shot in de skin.”
“Dude wasn’t drunk?” queried Klondike.
“Jus’ as shober as--as we are,” declared Buck.
“Then it’s all right. Here’s happy days, gents.”
* * * * *
It was early the following morning when Idaho Breen and his three
cowboys rode in to Oreana City. Each man carried a rifle in a scabbard,
and an extra belt of cartridges. The Lazy A was prepared for war. Cleve
Sears, the pudgy sheriff, sighed mournfully when he saw them. He wanted
to be fair with both sides, even if Joe Chevrier did try to kill him
the evening previous. Idaho briskly stated his intentions of going out
to the Star X and demanding the girl and an explanation.
“And you better come along, Cleve,” he said. “It’s yore place to see
that we get a square deal.”