At the brow of the hill, which was the western rim of the coulee, Kent
turned and waved a farewell to Val, watching him wistfully from the kitchen
door. She had wanted to go along; she had almost cried to go and help, but
Kent would not permit her--and beneath the unpleasantness of denying her
anything, there had been a certain primitive joy in feeling himself master
of the situation and of her actions; for that one time it was as if she
belonged to him. At the last he had accepted the field glasses, which she
insisted upon lending him, and now he was tempted to take them from their
worn, leathern case and focus them upon her face, just for the meager
satisfaction of one more look at her. But he rode on, oat of sight, for the
necessity which drove him forth did not permit much loitering if he would
succeed in what he had set out to do.
Personally he would have felt no compunctions whatever about letting the
calf go, a walking advertisement of Manley's guilt. It seemed to him a sort
of grim retribution, and no more than he deserved. He had not exaggerated
his sentiments when he intimated plainly to her his hatred of Manley, and
he agreed with her that the fellow was making a despicable return for the
kindness his neighbors had always shown him. No doubt he had stolen from
the Double Diamond as well as the Wishbone.
Once Kent pulled up, half minded to go back and let events shape themselves
without any interference from him. But there was Val--women were so queer
about such things. It seemed to Kent that, if any man had caused him as
much misery as Manley had caused Val, he would not waste much time worrying
over him, if he tangled himself up with his own misdeeds. However, Val
wanted that bit of evidence covered up; so, while Kent did not approve, he
went at the business with his customary thoroughness.
The field glasses were a great convenience. More than once they saved him
the trouble of riding a mile or so to inspect a small bunch of stock.
Nevertheless, he rode for several hours before, just at sundown, he
discovered the cow feeding alone with her calf in a shallow depression near
the rough country next the river. They were wild, and he ran them out of
the hollow and up on high ground before he managed to drop his loop over
the calf's head.
“You sure are a dandy-fine sign-post, all right,” he observed, and grinned
down at the staring VP brand.
“It's a pity you can't be left that way.” He glanced cautiously around him
at the great, empty prairie. A mile or two away, a lone horseman was loping
leisurely along, evidently bound for the Double Diamond.
“Say--this is kinda public,” Kent complained to the calf. “Let's you and
me go down outa sight for a minute.” He started off toward the hollow,
dragging the calf, a protesting bundle of stiffened muscles pulling against
the rope. The cow, shaking her head in a halfhearted defiance, followed.
Kent kept an uneasy eye upon the horseman, and hoped fervently the fellow
was absorbed in meditation and, would not glance in his direction. Once he
was almost at the point of turning the calf loose; for barring out brands,
even illegal brands, is justly looked upon with disfavor, to say the least.
Down in the hollow, which Kent reached with a sigh of relief, he dismounted
and hastily started a little fire on a barren patch of ground beneath a
jutting sandstone ledge. The calf, tied helpless, lay near by, and the cow
hovered close, uneasy, but lacking courage for a rush.
Kent laid hand upon his saddle, hesitated, and shook his head; he might
need it in a hurry, and cinch ring takes time both in the removal and the
replacement--and is vitally important withal. His knife he had lost on the
last round-up. He scowled at the necessity, lifted his heel, and took off
a spur. “And if that darned ginny don't get too blamed curious and cone
fogging over this way--” He spoke the phrase aloud, out of the middle of a
mental arrangement of the chance he was taking.
To heat the spur red-hot, draw it across the fresh VP again and again, and
finally drag it crisscross once or twice to make assurance an absolute
certainty, did not take long. Kent was particular about not wasting any
seconds. The calf stopped its dismal blatting, and when Kent released it
and coiled his rope, it jumped up and ran for its life, the cows ambling
solicitously at its heels. Kent kicked the dirt over the fire, eyed it
sharply a moment to make sure it was perfectly harmless, mounted in haste,
and rode up the sloping side down, which he had come. Just under the top of
the slope, he peeked anxiously out over the prairie, ducked precipitately,
and went clattering away down the hollow to the farther side; dodged around
a spur of rocks, forced his horse down over a wicked jumble of boulders to
level land below, and rode as if a hangman's noose were the penalty for
delay.
When he reached the river--which he did after many windings and
turnings--he got off and washed his spur, scrubbing it diligently with sand
in an effort to remove the traces of fire. When the evidence was at least
less conspicuous, he put it on his heel and jogged down the river bank
quite innocently, inwardly thankful over his escape. He had certainly done
nothing wrong; but one sometimes finds it rather awkward to be forced into
an explanation of a perfectly righteous deed.
“If I'd been stealing that calf, I'd never have been crazy enough to take
such a long chance,” he mused, and laughed a little. “I'll bet Fred thought
he was due to grab a rustler right in the act--only he was a little bit
slow about making up his mind; deputy stock inspectors had oughta think
quicker than that--he was just about five minutes too deliberate. I'll
gamble he's scratching his head, right now, over that blotched brand,
trying to _sabe_ the play--which he won't, not in a thousand years!”
He gave the reins a twitch and began to climb through the dusk to the
lighter hilltop, at a point just east of Cold Spring Coulee. At the top he
put the spurs to his horse and headed straight as might be for the Wishbone
ranch. He would like to have told Val of his success, but he was afraid
Manley might be there, or Polycarp; it was wise always to avoid Polycarp
Jenks, if one had anything to conceal from his fellows.