"There goes old Palmer himself," Bud exclaimed with some eagerness, as
he and Gelle rode out from behind a low hill and started down the long,
straight stretch beside Palmer's field of grain, fenced and rippling a
green sea of wheat heads. "Now as the rest of the bunch is out of the
way, it will be smooth riding. You know your part, Jelly. You just ride
up to the house and do whatever you damn please, so long as you hold
the cook and Blinker and any of the other men who happen to be home,
right there at the house. I hope they've followed the boys to town,
though. It's the logical thing for them to do unless they're bigger
cowards than I take them to be."
"Say, if you're goin' to sneak up to the stables, you'd better be
drifting right now," Gelle told him. "If there's anybody down around
the corrals, I'll have 'em up to the house before you need their
absence very bad. Don't you worry about that, Bud."
"All right. I did intend to ride past the house and come back the
other way. It's just about as close. But this will do. Give me a few
minutes' start, will you, Jelly?" Bud grinned, waved a hand in casual
farewell and reined his sorrel out of the road and into the tangle of
chokecherry bushes that grew in a shallow gully leading back toward the
river.
Once away from Gelle, however, the grin left his face and a smoldering
purpose glowed in his eyes. He was on enemy soil; if any of Palmer's
men were at home and he were discovered he would probably find himself
dodging leaden slugs before he got away. Midday was not the best hour
for invading an unfriendly man's premises, but he had decided that it
would be safer after all than midnight, when Palmer would be easily
alarmed. Besides, the dogs were chained during the day and turned loose
at dusk. Skookum had told him that: and for what he wanted to find he
needed the broad sunlight.
Straight through the thicket he rode until he reached a barbed-wire
fence extending up the river for a considerable distance. This, Skookum
had told him, was the cow pasture which he would have to cross on foot,
keeping one eye peeled for the big, black bull that had once killed a
man and liked it so well he had been trying ever since to repeat the
performance. Bud tied the sorrel well out of sight, unbuckled his spurs
and hung them on the saddle horn, hitched up his belt and pulled his
gun forward, and crawled through the fence. Skookum had advised him
to pass the house, hide his horse in the bushes and come back up the
river, keeping in the willows on the bank. In that way he would run no
risk of the bull, of which Skookum seemed to be in terror almost as
great as his fear of his grandfather. This was shorter, however, and
Bud remembered how terrible a cross bull can look to a small boy; to a
man it is not so formidable.
This end of the pasture was brushy, full of the twitterings of bird
families, the scurrying of small furred creatures. Blue-bodied flies
poised humming just before his face; great, long-legged mosquitoes sang
a whining chorus around him. He made his way quickly toward the river,
where the bank rose abruptly in a worn sandstone ledge. The pasture
gate was built close against the ledge, and it was this point that held
most of the danger. Some one at the stables might see him--Skookum had
told him that the gate was in sight of the stable, but that the ledge
was mostly hidden by the trees. Bud guessed that he would be obliged
to walk in the open for a few rods, but with Gelle bullying the
cook--or whatever it was he meant to do--even the dogs would have scant
attention for any one moving down by the pasture gate.
Once, when Skookum had ventured into the pasture after a rabbit that
had been caught in a trap and lamed, the black bull had come grumbling
ominously from the bushes. Skookum had scrambled up the ledge out of
reach of the bull and had waited so long in the shade of a jutting rock
that he had gone to sleep. When he awoke the bull was gone, but his
grandfather was coming in at the gate, which was almost as bad, so he
had cowered down out of sight and waited for that threatening presence
to pass. His grandfather had stood for two or three minutes looking
back at the house, while he pretended to be fastening the gate behind
him, and then he had walked on past where Skookum was hiding and had
begun to climb the ledge.
"And--and I didn't tell Butch what--what I done after he--he climbed up
on the ledge," Skookum had declared earnestly to Bud at this point. "I
mean, I never told Butch about me sneakin' along after--after grandpa
went back to--to the house, and lookin' to see what--what grandpa was
doin'. So I--I found all his money--but I never took any. I--I was
scared!" Skookum was very careful to let Bud know what he had _not_
told Butch, since he had promised Butch that he would not tell a soul
the things he had revealed during the quizzing. Skookum believed in the
letter of the law.
"I couldn't see grandpa after he climbed up on the ledge, because
the--the rocks was in the way," he had explained further, and because
he had told Bud so much more, Skookum was now in beatific possession of
Huckleberry, the pinto pony.
"He's a smart kid. I suppose with the wrong training it would develop
into foxiness like his grandfather. He sure described it perfectly,"
Bud made mental comment when, from a safe covert of wild currant
bushes, he surveyed the ledge. He could even recognize the place where
Skookum had scrambled up to get away from the bull, and the rock
jutting out and away from the main outcropping where he had curled up
and gone to sleep. From that point Skookum had drawn what he called
a map, and crude though it was, Bud felt sure that he could find the
place of which the boy had told him in a scared half-whisper.
He did one foolish thing. In crossing the open strip of trampled grass
just inside the gate he nearly stepped on a huge rattlesnake lying
asleep in the hot sunshine. To pass so venomous a thing without killing
it went contrary to all Bud's instincts and training. Rangemen reason
that every rattlesnake left to crawl away may sink its poison fangs
into the next unwary passer-by, and that death may be the result of
some one's carelessness. Bud picked up a rock and sent it straight at
the ugly head, following with other rocks to make absolutely sure of
the job. When the snake was dispatched, he took long steps into the
fringe of concealing bushes and climbed to the rock which Skookum had
described so accurately.
At the house Frank Gelle was holding in his horse, that backed and
circled restively, fighting the tight rein. Gelle himself was insisting
loudly that Palmer had better come out or he'd go drag him out. No use
hiding under the bed, he argued contemptuously. He wanted to talk to
him a minute, and he would stay until he did talk to him, if he had to
sit there 'til his horse starved to death.
"Boss ain't heah nohow!" Black Sam protested, rolling his eyes so that
the whites showed all around. "You Meddalahk boys done plowed up ouah
roof a'ready wif youah bullets, an' Boss he gwine on in to talk to
Mist' Shu'f man. He jes plumb _kain't_ come out, 'cause he ain't heah.
No, suh, ain't pawssible fo' him to come out, nohow."
"I think yo're lyin' to me, Snowball," Gelle declared firmly, and shook
his head. "You gotta prove it."
"Lawsy, Boss, how Ah goin' to prove nothin' like dat air, 'cep'n' you
git off'm dat hawse an' look fo' youahse'f? B-but 'twon't do no good
nohow, Mist' Meddalahk, awnes, it won't! Dat ole house ain't got nobody
into it _atall_. Ain't nobody undah no baid, Boss, Ah swah to goodness
dey ain't. Blinkah, he's somewhah on de place, but he don' count no
moah 'n Ah counts, an' Ah don' count nothin' _atall_." Sam backed
warily toward the kitchen door as Gelle pressed closer. "Blinkah, he
ain't got no sense nohow, Mist' Meddalahk, an' A'm jes' an old black
cook what doan' 'mount to nothin'. Boss, he's in town--leastwise he's
awn de way--yessuh, yo'all kin ride awn aftuh him, Mist' Meddalahk,
suh, an' tawk all you'm a mine to. Yessuh."
Sam was so scared, so plainly and honestly helpless, so anxious to
placate the man he believed a dangerous foe, that Gelle hadn't the
heart to bully him further. At the same time he must give Bud time in
which to make a thorough search. He looked around for Blinker, but
that peculiar fellow was nowhere to be seen.
"Got any coffee?" Gelle demanded for want of something else to hold him
there.
"Yessuh, Boss, Ah got whole pawt uh cawfee, yessuh, Mist' Meddalahk."
"All right, bring me a cup. No sugar, Snowball--"
"Lawsy, Boss, we doan' nevah have no sugah atall! Boss, he buy silk
foah dishrags soon as evah he buy sugah foah cawfee an' sech." Sam
grinned in spite of his terror, showing the strong, even teeth so
characteristic of the negro race. "We got milk, 'cause milk doan' cos'
nawthin'."
"How about buttermilk?" Gelle was better pleased with his task now. He
thought he could keep this up for an hour if necessary.
"Yessuh, Boss, Ah jes' chuhned dis mawnin'. Buttah doan' cos' nawthin',
neithah, an' it saves meat. An' aigs, we got aigs; hens, dey doan'
deman' no wages, Mist' Meddalahk." Sam chuckled with a wry twist to his
big mouth, as if the joke was barbed.
"What wages do you git, Snowball?" Gelle's tone indicated that he was
prepared to be sympathetic.
"Me? What wages do Ah git? Ah doan' _git_. No, suh, Boss, time Ah
wuhks out de cos' of pants an' shuht an' shoes an' hat, Ah doan' _git_!"
"You don't?" Genuine surprise was in Gelle's voice. "Git out! Say,
Snowball, slavery days is over, don't yuh know it? You don't have to
work fer _no_ man that's too damn' stingy to buy sugar fer coffee, an'
runs a sandy like that on yuh fer pay. Judgin' by them garments yo're
draped in now, Snowball, I'd say you must spend as much as five, ten
dollars mebbe, a year on clothes. What wages does ole Palmer claim he
pays you, if it's a fair question?"
"What wages? Wa' now, Mist' Meddalahk, Ah doan' rightly know, suh.
Boss, he claim lak Ah eats moah 'n what Ah kin earn nohow, cookin'. He
talk lak he pay me ten dollah, mebbe. Mist' Meddalahk, suh, Ah wuhk an'
wuhk, an' mos' Ah kin do is eat an' sleep, an' nevah much of dat. Doan'
seem pawssible to git ahaid mo'n one shuht."
Sam wiped a ragged sleeve across his perspiring face, turned and went
into the house, his terror of the Meadowlark man erased from his simple
soul by the note of human understanding and sympathy. He returned
presently with a big tin cup full of cold buttermilk over which Gelle
promptly bent his eager lips.
"Say, Snowball," he remarked, when he came up for air, "our cook at the
Meddalark gits sixty dollars a month. And he _gits_ it--and buys his
own pants and shirts. You're bein' robbed and you don't know it. And
say! Lark buys sugar, five sacks at a lick, and nobody gits the bad eye
for dumpin' three or four spoonsful into his coffee. 'Tain't none of my
business, Snowball, but I hate to see even a coon git the worst of it
like that. Say, here's a dollar. Don't let ole Palmer ketch you with it
though."
Sam's eyes would not stand out farther if he were being choked. He was
too stunned by this munificence to put out his hand for the money,
so Gelle tossed the dollar in his general direction, finished the
buttermilk in one long drink, set the cup down on an upturned barrel
near by and rode back to the gate to meet Bud, who was coming at a
swift gallop. Bud pulled up, his eyes snapping with excitement.
"Go back around the corner of the fence, Jelly, and down the gully
about fifty yards," he directed crisply. "I left that old man Blinker
tied up, and I want you to stand guard over him until I can ride into
town and back. He came up on me before I could get away in the brush,
and all I could do was glom him and bring him out with me. I won't be
gone more than a couple of hours, but it's too hot a day to leave an
old man tied up with ants and mosquitoes and flies raising merry hell
with him. Will you do it, Jelly?"
"Sure, I'll do it. Thank Gawd fer that buttermilk! Say, you ain't
leavin' me out of anything like a scrap, are yuh, Bud? If you are, I'll
pack m' prisoner in under my arm but what I'll go to yore party."
"No--don't think there'll be a word of trouble. I'll be right back,
Jelly, and then we'll both ride in and make merry. We'll have a right."
He was galloping down the road before Gelle could answer him.
Even in his haste Bud took thought of the curiosity he would probably
excite if he came pounding down the hill with his horse in a lather,
and once on the subject of precautions it struck him forcibly that
perhaps Smoky Ford would be just as well off if it failed to see him
at all. At the foot of the hill, therefore, he turned sharply off the
road on a dim trail that meandered up a wash and rounded an elbow of
the bluffside, and so came out at the rear of Delkin's livery stable,
where four Meadowlark horses took their ease in the corral, the sweat
scarcely dried on their backs. The sight of them reminded Bud that
after all he had not been so far behind the boys who were probably
still feeling the thrill of their first cold drinks. Indeed, they had
not been gone on their odorous adventure more than ten minutes when Bud
led his lathered sorrel into a shadowy stall and went burring his spur
rowels down the long stable so lately echoing to the footsteps of those
other Meadowlark riders. With considerable abruptness he pulled open
the screen door and stepped into the office, his eyes flashing quick
glances at the four men who sat there talking about the one big subject.
"Howdy. Glad to see you all here, because you're the men I came after,
and I don't know just how quiet you want to keep this business. I've
found your money--or the bank's money, rather. If you folks will ride
out with me, I'll show you where it's cached. I went on a still hunt
around Palmer's on my way in; saw he was headed for town, so I took
advantage of his absence. His grandson, the one he abused so that
Lark took him away, told me some things that gave a clew to the whole
business. Palmer's gang came down river in a boat, hid under the bank
and then took the loot back up river, and probably sunk the boat after
they were through with it. That's the way I've doped it out, at least.
At any rate, I can show you the stuff, and you can bring it in; but
you'll have to hurry. Unless you can get there, and the stuff is moved
before Palmer goes home, he may discover us. And he'll be leaving
probably--"
"No!" The front legs of Bradley's chair came to the floor with a thump.
"My heavens, but you Meadowlark boys work fast when you get started!
There's those young devils over in the Elkhorn, pulling off a bit of
play-acting to make Palmer's gang give themselves away. And here _you_
come, busting in here with the news--"
"No time for argument," snapped Delkin. "You men come along and bear
witness to this. If we recover the bank's property, you have a right to
be there, anyway. I think those boys over there will keep Palmer and
his men interested for another hour or two, which will give us time.
Bud, are you alone, or did your uncle come with you?"
"Lark's at home. I left Jelly on guard, back there; had to take that
crazy old fellow at Palmer's and tie him up. He came and caught me at
the cache, so there was nothing else to do. I wonder if I can borrow a
fresh horse, Mr. Delkin?"
"By the lord Harry, you can have anything I've got, down to my last
shirt!" As the news took hold of his imagination, Delkin was like
another man. He led the way into the stable and on to the corral,
choosing mounts for his companions and shouting orders to the scurrying
hostler.
Stauffer and Kline, the two other bank directors, ejaculated futile
comments but failed to contribute anything further than their presence
to the venture. There are always men of that type in any gathering.
They have little to say, they never take the initiative, but they do
add the force of numbers--a useful incident at times.
"Better tie on some saddlebags, or take a grain sack or two. You
know that stuff is a bit bulky," Bud reminded them. "There must be
twenty-five or thirty pounds of gold, besides the other currency and
papers. I was in too much of a hurry to go over it, after I'd fully
identified it as belonging to the bank. And we'd better go out the back
way by the trail I came in on. Mr. Delkin, I suppose you know whether
your man here needs a gag, or whether he can be trusted to keep his
mouth shut."
"Say, you don't need to worry about no gag fer _me_, young feller," the
stableman retorted indignantly. "If it's the bank money you're goin'
after, seven hundred and thirty dollars of it belongs t' _me_! I ain't
liable to spill no beans off'n my own plate, I guess."
"You'd be a fool if you did," Bud laughed. "Well, we don't want a
single solitary soul to know we've left town, or that I've been here.
Mr. Delkin, are you ready?"
Five saddled horses, following five men who unconsciously held the
reins in their left hands in preparation for any emergency, walked out
of the doorway and into the hot sunlight that lay on the dim trail
which joined the road at the foot of the grade.
The stableman stood with his back bowed in and his hands on his hips,
teetering up and down on his toes, and watched them go, his jaws
working in absent-minded industry on a tasteless quid of much-chewed
tobacco.
"I golly, looks like I'll git m' money back, after all!" he cackled
gloatingly, and followed the departing horsemen to the doorway, where
he stood staring after them until not even their bobbing heads were
longer visible as they trotted up the trail. When they were gone, he
turned back grinning to his work.