On the brow of the hill the horse Lark was riding stepped aside
from the trail, walked to the very edge of the rim and stood there,
gravely looking down into the valley. Where he stood the young grass
was cut and crushed into the loose soil with shod hoofprints closely
intermingled, proof that the slight detour was a matter of habit born
of many pausings there at gaze. Except on pitch-black nights or when he
rode in haste, Lark never failed to stop and drink his fill of the wide
valley below,--in his opinion the most beautiful spot on earth.
Straight down, a good four hundred feet below him, lay the bottomland
known the country over as Meadowlark Basin, where old Bill Larkin had
his stronghold in the old days. Across the wide meadows the Little
Smoky River went whirling past like a millrace, the piled hills crowded
close upon the farther bank. At the head of the Basin, nearly a mile
away, other hills shouldered one another and the rumbling storm clouds
just above; beyond all, the mountains with white peaks and purple
canyons gashed the dark splotches of wooded slopes.
"Is down there--where we're goin'?" The small boy sitting within the
circle of Lark's arms, his small legs spread across the saddle in front
of Lark's long legs, pointed a soft, brown finger toward the valley
below.
"You betchuh." One of Lark's arms snuggled the boy closer.
"Is all them horses--your horses?"
"Bet they are. Ain't they purty down there? Look at all them spraddly
colts, son. Ain't they the purtiest sight you ever saw?"
"O-oh, one colt kicked its--its mamma!" The boy slapped his hands
together and chuckled. "Can--can I have one colt--to ride?"
"Bet you can! Ain't it purty down there? Look at that green patch over
next the river. That's lucerne. And up above there is the spuds, a
different green yet. And that's timothy and clover on beyond. Listen,
son. Hear 'em? Meddalarks and frogs singin' a contest. Frogs is ahead,
got all the best of it so far, 'cause they sing all night and the
meddalarks lays off till daybreak."
"Can--can I have a frog--"
"Have to ask missis frog about that, son. Better shack along and get
home ahead of the storm. See that lightnin' scootin' along up there
among the hills; ain't it purty? Be blowin' rain in our faces if we
don't hurry." Lark twitched the reins and the horse swung back to the
trail that dipped down into a green fold of the encircling hills,
shutting off their view of everything save the ink-black clouds with
greenish-brown lights here and there that were swiftly blotting out the
blue above their heads.
"Tired?" Lark bent his head to look into the flushed face of the
youngster.
The boy shook his head, not wanting to confess. He wriggled one arm
loose and wiped the dusty beads of perspiration from cheeks and brow,
glancing up anxiously into Lark's eyes.
"They--can't find me here, can they?" He looked at the rock walls on
either side with a certain satisfaction in their solid gray, as if they
were put there for his especial protection.
"No," said Lark grimly. "They'll never git yuh away from here, son."
The boy heaved a great sigh and looked at the storm and the narrow
pass and down at the twitching ears of the horse. The hard muscles of
Lark's left arm pressed him close. He sighed again and drooped a bit
in the embrace. It had been a long, hard ride that lasted through the
night and half of the day, and, deny it as he would, he was tired to
the middle of his bones.
At the foot of the steep, narrow pass the horse broke into a shambling
trot, and once he whinnied eagerly. They brought up in a grassless,
hard-packed space between two corrals, and Lark loosened his hold and
swung stiffly from the saddle. His face was drawn and his eyes sunken
as if he too were very tired.
"Well, here we are, son." He grinned and pulled the boy out of the
saddle, setting him on his feet at a safe distance from the horse.
The boy's feet were like wooden clubs. He sat down with unexpected
abruptness in the dirt. Over by the corral a man laughed.
"Still dragging in slick-ears; where did you find this one, Lark?"
Lark eyed the speaker across the saddle he was uncinching.
"In the wrong corral, Bud. Havin' the heart kicked outa him--game
little cuss. Fit to wear our brand. Better take him up to the house
and feed him and put him to bed. Been in the saddle since nine o'clock
last night, Bud."
Bud lounged over to them--a slim, handsome youth with the peculiar,
stilted walk of the cowboy--and bent smiling over the child, gathering
the little body up in his arms.
"Shall I bed him with that broken-legged cougar, or nest him with the
young eagle, or down in the calf corral, or where?" he bantered. "The
Meddalark's about full up with orphan babies right now. How do you
grade this one?"
"Ask maw. Bet she'll know his stall quick enough." He pulled off the
saddle and, with a glance up at the approaching storm, walked to a
near-by shed with the heavy, stamped saddle skirts flapping against his
legs.
A sudden, blinding glare and rending crash of thunder sent the young
fellow scurrying up the path to the one-story ranch house that sprawled
against the hill as if it had backed there for shelter and still
huddled in fear. Great drops of rain like cold molten bullets spatted
into the dust. The young man laughed as he ran, the boy clinging to his
neck with two thin arms. They reached the sagging porch just as another
flash ripped through the clouds and let loose the full torrent of rain.
Turning to look back, he saw Lark almost at his heels, his broad hat
brim flooded with the down-pour. The two halted on the porch and stood
gazing out at the slanted wall of water, the thunder of it on the porch
roof like the deep pounding of surf beating against rocks. Lark stared
up at the high plateau beyond the Basin's rim, and his whimsical mouth
widened in a satisfied smile.
"This'll wash out every track in the country," he yelled above the
uproar. "Needn't have circled through the foothills if I'd known it was
comin'."
Bud looked at him, glanced down at the boy now lying in the slackness
of deep sleep on his shoulder. He shook his head in vague disapproval.
"Stole him, hunh?"
Lark hunched his wet shoulders, glancing sidelong at the flushed face
of the boy.
"Damn' right," he growled. "So would you, Bud--or any man with a
heart in him. Why--damn it, they had 'im out in the field, _workin'_.
Followin' a big, heavy drag around. Made me so darn sore I just swiped
him up into the saddle and rode for the hills." He took off his hat,
tilting it so that the water ran out of the curled brim to the steps.
"You sure as hell annexed a bunch of trouble, Lark. Where was it you
kidnaped him?"
"Got him off the Palmer ranch. Think he's a grandson of the old man.
They'll hunt him, chances are. This rain's a godsend--they'll never
track me home."
Bud grinned to himself and turned, carrying his burden inside and
laying him on a roomy, cowhide-covered couch where the child sprawled
slackly, without a movement of limbs to show he had been disturbed in
his sleep. The two men stood looking down at him.
His light brown hair was curly, with damp rings clinging to his
forehead. His lashes were long and curled up at the ends, his round
face had the deep sun-tan of the prairies. Palmer was called a rich
man, but the boy's overalls were faded and old, each knee a gaping,
ragged-edged hole. His thin elbows stuck out through the ragged sleeves
of a dirty, blue gingham shirt. Lark bent and twitched aside the loose
collar, open for want of a button.
"Look at that," he gritted, exposing a long, greenish-blue mark on the
shoulder. "Old man Palmer ain't paid for that yet, but he's goin' to
some day. The kid won't forget it--I won't _let_ 'im forget. You wait
till he's full-growed."
"They'll come after him, Lark."
"Let 'em." Lark straightened and hitched up his belt. "Just let 'em
try, that's all." His head swung toward a closed door. "Oh, Maw-w!"
Stodgy, flat-footed steps sounded in the next room. The door was pulled
open from the farther side and a queer, goblin creature of the female
sex looked in, smiling and showing just three lonely teeth in the full
expanse of her mouth. Her head would reach to the Bull-Durham tag that
dangled from Lark's breast pocket; a large head, much too large for
so short a woman. The swelling goiter was not pretty to behold, and
her graying hair was combed straight up and twisted into a hard little
biscuit on top of her round head. But Lark's eyes softened wonderfully
at sight of her, and Bud's lips twitched into a quick smile and his
hand reached up automatically to take off his hat.
"What is it, boys? Lark, your coffee'll be ready in a jiffy. I've been
keepin' the kettle on ever since breakfast. My, my, what a rain! If it
don't wash the garden truck all into the river I'll be thankful. My
peas are swimmin' for their lives already."
"Maw, come here." Lark crooked one finger, and the queer little old
woman pattered forward, her face alive with curiosity.
"For the love of Moses!" Maw clasped her hands with a gesture of
amazement. "Bill Larkin, what have you been a doing _now_? I'll bet you
stole that little feller. I can tell by the gloat in your eyes. Who
belongs to him? You never took him away from his mother, did you, Lark?
If you did you must carry him right straight back."
Lark laid his hand on the biscuit of hair and gave it a gentle twist.
"Maw, you shut up and go get into your teeth. Want to scare 'im to
death when he wakes up? What d'you suppose I went and got you fitted
out with teeth for? Does he _look_ like he had a mother? By Jonah, if
he's got a mother she don't deserve him. Looks like an orphant to me,
Maw."
"They'll be hunting him, Lark. You can't drag in boys like you would a
calf; _did_ you steal this child? You look me in the eye, young feller,
and tell the truth."
Lark did not look her in the eye, but he told the truth without
speaking one word. He bent, pulled aside the gingham shirt and pointed.
Maw looked and turned away her head, sucking in her breath audibly as
one does in pain.
"Shall I carry him back where I got him, Maw?"
"No!" Maw shuddered. "The dirty brutes! You fetch him right back into
my room. Buddy, you go get that spring cot out of the lean-to, and
bring in the top mattress off the spare bed in the wing. I'll rustle
bedding myself." She bent and stared hard at the boy's face.
"This looks to me like the boy old Palmer brought home and said he was
Dick's boy. If he is, there'll be a ruckus raised that'll make your old
father's fingers itch in the grave to be up and shooting. Palmer hangs
onto whatever he gets in his clutches, you want to remember that. And
he's got a bad bunch around him."
"Well," Lark's lips tightened, "so've I got a bad bunch around me, Maw.
I can't look back at a time when folks didn't hesitate some before they
tackled the Meddalark outfit."
"The Meddalark never locked horns with old man Palmer yet. Lark, if you
take my advice, you'll send a man up to the old lookout your dad fixed
on the rim. That's the weak point of the whole Basin, Lark, and you
know it. A man could stand up there with a rifle and pick off the whole
bunch down here. There'll be trouble over this boy, sure as you live.
If you got him away from Palmer there'll be shooting, and you better
oil up your six-gun and get ready for it."
"Why, Maw, you danged old outlaw, you!" Lark laughed. "There wasn't any
shootin' when I kidnaped _you_."
"Nobody cared about me, Lark. This is different."
"Yeah," Lark admitted thoughtfully, "mebbe it is."