"A LAND FAMILIAR"
The following day Pete had a long talk with Sheriff Owen, a talk which
resulted in the sheriff's accompanying Andover and Pete on their desert
journey to Sanborn.
Incidentally Pete gave his word that he would not try to escape. It
was significant, however, that the little sheriff expressed a
preference for the back seat, even before Andover, who had invited him
to make the journey, asked him if he cared to ride in front. The
sheriff's choice was more a matter of habit than preference, for, alone
upon the ample seat of the touring-car, he was shuttled ignominiously
from side to side and bounced and jolted until, during a stop for
water, he informed Andover that "he sure would have to pull leather to
stay with the car."
The surgeon, a bit inclined to show off, did not hesitate to "step on
her," when the going was at all good. And any one familiar with the
road from El Paso to Sanborn is aware of just how good even the best
going is. Any one unfamiliar with that road is to be congratulated.
Pete enjoyed the ride, as it brought him once more into the open
country. The car whirred on and on. It seemed to him as though he
were speeding from a nightmare of brick and stone and clamor into the
wide and sun-swept spaces of a land familiar and yet strange.
They reached Sanborn about noon, having made about one hundred and
fifty miles in something like four hours.
After a wash and a meal at the hotel, they strolled over to the
livery-stable to inspect the horse that Andover thought of buying. A
small crowd had collected at the stables, as the auction was advertised
to take place that afternoon. The sheriff himself started the bidding
on the thoroughbred, followed by the liveryman, who knew about what he
could get for the horse in El Paso. Andover raised his bid, which was
quickly raised in turn by the sheriff. Pete realized that Andover
really wanted the horse and told him quietly to drop out when the
bidding reached two hundred, shrewdly estimating that neither the
liveryman nor the sheriff would go beyond that figure, as neither of
them really wanted the horse save as a speculation. "Then, if you want
him, raise twenty-five, and you get a mighty good horse for a hundred
less than he's worth. I know him. He's no good workin' cattle--but
he's one fine trail horse for straight goin'. And he's as gentle as
your gran'-mother."
The bidding ran to one hundred and seventy-five, when there was a
pause. The sheriff had dropped out. The liveryman, conferring with
his partner, was about to bid when Andover jumped the price to two
hundred and fifty.
"I'm through," said the liveryman.
"Sold to--name, please--sold to Doctor John Andover for two hundred and
fifty dollars," said the auctioneer. Then, after a facetious
dissertation on thoroughbreds as against cow-ponies, Blue Smoke was led
out. Pete's face went red. Then he paled. He had not forgotten that
Blue Smoke was to be sold, but he had taken it for granted that he
would be allowed to reclaim him. Pete stepped over to the sheriff and
was about to enter a protest--offer to pay the board-bill against Blue
Smoke, when the bidding began with an offer of twenty-five dollars.
This was quickly run up to seventy-five when Pete promptly bid one
hundred, which was a fair auction price, although every man there knew
that Blue Smoke was worth more.
"I'm bid one hundred twenty-five," cried the auctioneer, as a young,
bow-legged cowboy raised Pete's bid.
"One-fifty," said Pete without hesitation.
The sheriff glanced at Pete, wondering if he would borrow the money
from Andover to make good his bid. But Pete was watching the
auctioneer's gavel--which happened to be a short piece of rubber
garden-hose. "Third and last chance!" said the auctioneer. "Nobody
want that pony as a present? All right--goin', I say! Goin', I say
_ag'in_! Gone! B' Gosh! at one hundred an' fifty dollars, to that
young gent over there that looks like he could ride him. What's the
name?"
"Pete Annersley."
Several in the crowd turned and gazed curiously at Pete. But Pete's
eyes were upon Blue Smoke--his horse--the horse that had carried him
faithfully so many desert miles--a cow-pony that could "follow a
mountain trail all day and finish, a-steppin' high."
"Much obliged for your advice about the thoroughbred," said Andover as
he stepped close to Pete. "Is that the pony you used to ride?"
"He sure is. Say, Doc, I got the money to pay for him, but would you
mind writin' out a check. I ain't wise to this bankin' business yet."
"Why--no. I'll do that. I--er--of course--I'm a little short myself.
New car--and this horse for my daughter. But I think I can manage.
You want to borrow a hundred and fifty?"
"Say, Doc, you got me wrong! I got the makin's all right, but I don't
jest sabe rollin' 'em." Pete dug into his coat-pocket and fetched up a
check-book. "Same as you paid for your hoss with."
"This is Stockmen's Security. You have an account there?"
"That's what the president was callin' it. I call it dough. I got the
book." And Pete dug into his pocket again, watching Andover's face as
that astonished individual glanced at the deposit to Pete's credit.
"Well, you're the limit!"--and the doctor whistled. "What will you
spring next?"
"Oh, it's _mine_, all right. A friend was leavin' it to me. He's
crossed over."
"I s-e-e. Twenty-four thousand dollars! Young man, that's more money
than I ever had at one time in my life."
"Same here,"--and Pete grinned. "But it don't worry me none."
"I'll make out the check for you." And Andover pulled out his fountain
pen and stepped over to the auctioneer's stand. Pete signed the check
and handed it to the auctioneer.
"Don't know this man," said the auctioneer, as he glanced at the
signature.
"I'll endorse it," volunteered Andover quickly.
"All right, Doc."
And Andover, whose account was as close to being overdrawn as it could
be and still remain an account, endorsed the check of a man worth
twenty-four thousand-odd dollars, and his endorsement was satisfactory
to the auctioneer. So much for professional egoism and six-cylinder
prestige.
Sheriff Owen, who had kept a mild eye on Pete, had noted this
transaction. After Blue Smoke had been returned to the stables, he
took occasion to ask Pete if he were still a partner to the
understanding that he was on his honor not to attempt to escape.
"I figured that deal was good till I got here," said Pete bluntly.
"Just so, son. That's where my figuring stopped, likewise. Too much
open country. If you once threw a leg over that blue roan, I can see
where some of us would do some riding."
"If I'd been thinkin' of leavin' you, it would 'a' been afore we got
here, sheriff."
"So it's 'sheriff' now, and not Jim, eh?"
"It sure is--if you're thinkin' o' lockin' me up. You treated me white
back there in El Paso--so I'm tellin' you that if you lock me up--and I
git a chanct, I'll sure vamose."
Pete's assertion did not seem to displease the sheriff in the least.
To the contrary, he smiled affably.
"That's fair enough. And if I _don't_ lock you up, but let you stay
over to the hotel, you'll hang around town till this thing is settled,
eh?"
"I sure will."
"Will you shake on that?"
Pete thrust out his hand. "That goes, Jim."
"Now you're talking sense, Pete. Reckon you better run along and see
what the Doc wants. He's waving to you."
Andover sat in his car, drawing on his gloves. "I've arranged to have
the horse shipped to me by express. If you don't mind, I wish you
would see that he is loaded properly and that he has food and water
before the car leaves--that is"--and Andover cleared his throat--"if
you're around town tomorrow. The sheriff seems to allow you a pretty
free hand--possibly because I assured him that you were not physically
fit to--er--ride a horse. Since I saw that bank-book of yours, I've
been thinking more about your case. If I were you I would hire the
best legal talent in El Paso, and fight that case to a finish. You can
pay for it."
"You mean for me to hire a lawyer to tell 'em I didn't kill Sam Brent?"
"Not exactly that--but hire a lawyer to _prove_ to the judge and jury
that you didn't kill him."
"Then a fella's got to pay to prove he didn't do somethin' that he's
arrested for, and never done?"
"Often enough. And he's lucky if he has the money to do it. Think it
over--and let me know how you are getting along. Miss Gray will be
interested also."
"All right. Thanks, Doc. I ain't forgittin' you folks."
Andover waved his hand as he swung the car round and swept out of town.
Pete watched him as he sped out across the mesa.
Sheriff Owen was standing in the livery-stable door across the street
as Pete turned and started toward him. Midway across the street Pete
felt a sharp pain shoot through his chest. It seemed as though the air
had been suddenly shut from his lungs and that he could neither speak
nor breathe. He heard an exclamation and saw Owen coming toward him.
Owen, who had seen him stop and sway, was asking a question. A dim
blur of faces--an endless journey along a street and up a narrow
stairway--and Pete lay staring at yellow wall-paper heavily sprinkled
with impossible blue roses. Owen was giving him whiskey--a sip at a
time.
"How do you feel now?" queried the sheriff.
"I'm all right. Somethin' caught me quick--out there."
"Your lungs have been working overtime. Too much fresh air all at
once. You'll feel better tomorrow."
"I reckon you won't have to set up and watch the front door," said
Pete, smiling faintly.
"Or the back door. You're in the Sanborn House--room 11, second floor,
and there's only one other floor and that's downstairs. If you want
any thing--just pound on the floor. They'll understand."
"About payin' for my board--"
"That's all right. I got your money--and your other stuff that I might
need for evidence. Take it easy."
"Reckon I'll git up," said Pete. "I'm all right now."
"Better wait till I come back from the office. Be back about six. Got
to write some letters. Your case--called next Thursday." And Sheriff
Owen departed, leaving Pete staring at yellow wallpaper sprinkled with
blue roses.