THE OUTLAW
What did it all mean, wondered the boy, as he waited with his
revolver at cock for the next move in the strange proceeding. Why
should the man shoot once at him, and then evidently try to attract
his attention? And why, after attracting his attention, had he
immediately mounted his horse and disappeared? Had someone else
fired the shot? The boy scanned every visible foot of canyon, and of
the rims of its high walls, but no living, moving thing met his gaze.
It was growing rapidly darker, now. Evidently the sun had set, for
there was no streak of light even along the very top of the opposite
wall. He debated what he should do. He certainly didn't want to
spend the night cramped up in the uncomfortable niche, neither did he
want to expose himself to a possible shot from the rims. He was not
afraid, but he had no desire to be potted without any chance of
shooting back. He remembered that he had thought he heard a cry when
he first stooped over the water to drink. In thinking it over he was
almost certain it had been a cry. What had that cry to do with the
shot? He remembered to have heard that the bad lands was the home of
numerous desperadoes and outlaws, but he had heard, also, that unless
they were molested they remained on friendly terms with outsiders,
and especially with ranchers whose property bordered on their domain.
He wondered if it were possible that Kid Owens or Bill Harmon had
broken jail and joined the outlaws. Either one of them might have
taken a shot at him in revenge, but if so, why had they tried to
attract his attention afterward?
Connie gave it up as he found his thoughts travelling in circles. He
would wait till dark, slip from his uncomfortable perch, get a drink
of water, and then--he was undecided whether to follow his horse in
hope of overtaking him, or to hit the back-trail and try to make the
Round Seven on foot. "If I only had shoes or moccasins instead of
these doggoned high heeled boots," he muttered, eyeing the offending
foot gear with disfavor. Minutes passed that seemed hours to the boy
in his cramped position, and with his mouth and throat parched with
thirst. It looked tantalizingly near--that pool of water, and it was
with an effort that he forced himself to remain where he was until
darkness came.
Suddenly he heard a sound. Someone was coming up the canyon. He
could hear the click and scrape of horse's feet on the rock floor.
Gun in hand he waited. The sounds grew louder, and presently he made
out the form of a horse and rider moving slowly toward him. The man
was very close now, and Connie could see that he was leading a
riderless horse--his horse! At the lower edge of the pool the rider
drew up, and looked carefully about him. Connie noted that the butt
of a six-gun protruded from a holster at the man's belt, and that the
stalk of a rifle peeped from beneath the stirrup leather at the back
of his leg. Suddenly, the man called: "Hey, there! Hey you, Round
Seven!"
"Right here!" answered the boy, in a firm voice. "And you might as
well know I've got you covered!"
"Oh, that's all right," answered the man. "I ain't a-goin to make no
gun-play. But, where be you?"
For answer Connie scrambled from his niche and faced the man not ten
feet distant, still keeping him covered with his revolver.
"You kin put up yer gun," grinned the man, "I done all the shootin' I
aim to do a while back."
"Yes, and you blame near got me, too. What's the idea?"
"No, I didn't blame near git you, neither. If I'd wanted to got you
I'd done it, jest as easy as shootin' where I did. I dropped that
pill right where I wanted to drop it, an' no wheres else, an' it's a
darn good thing fer you I did."
"For me!" exclaimed the boy, in surprise, as he returned the gun to
its holster, "What do you mean--a good thing for me?"
"Well, if I hadn't, you'd prob'ly be dead by now, or leastwise layin'
on the rocks some wheres doubled up with a bellyache that would of
got you before mornin'. Don't you know that there spring is pizen?"
"Poison!" cried Connie, a sudden chill at his heart, as he thought of
how near he had come to drinking from it.
"Yes, pizen--gyp water, some says, but others claims its arsenic.
Don't make no difference what name you call it by it'll kill you jest
as quick. I was a watchin' you from the rim, an' when I seen you was
goin' to drink, I yelled till I like to bust a lung. Thought first
you heerd me, but you stuck down yer head agin, an' I done the only
thing I could think to do--I dropped a rifle pill jest as clost as I
dasted to."
Connie, who had been staring down at the water in a sort of
fascinated horror as the man talked, stepped quickly to his side, and
reaching up took the gloved hand that rested on the horn of the
saddle. "You did the right thing," he said, gravely, "At just the
right time. And that's what I call a man. But, how did you know
that water was poison? And how do you tell poison water from water
that ain't?"
"That's easy," answered the man, "Don't never drink no water yer
horse won't drink, an' yer safe. When you seen yer horse stand there
pawin' an' thrashin' the water around with his nose, you'd ort to
know'd the water was pizen."
"I thought he wasn't thirsty."
"I've hear'n tell how you come from Alasky, same as Wilson. An'
likewise I've read how dogs is used up there fer to git over the
country instead of horses. It's be'n a middlin' hot day, an' it
you'd savvied horses, you'd know'd doggone well yer horse would of
be'n dry enough to of drunk any water that was fit to drink."
"Anybody ought to have known that," agreed Connie, sheepishly, "Gee,
I was a fool!"
"Oh, I don't know," answered the man, "That ain't exactly the way
you're figgered in these parts. Take me, or any of the boys from
around here an' dump us up there in Alasky with a bunch of dogs to
git over the ground with, an' we'd most likely pull more foolisher
plays than what you done."
"There's no such thing as poison water up there," said the boy, "I
wasn't thinking about it. But, isn't there any water around here
that isn't poison? I sure am thirsty!"
For answer the man reached behind him, loosened a pack string that
held his yellow slicker in place, and thrusting his hand beneath the
folds of the slicker, drew out a can of tomatoes, which he proceeded
to open with his knife: "Here," he said, handing the tin to Connie,
"Drink this. It's better'n water when yer dry, an' handier to carry."
Eagerly Connie gulped down the juice and the soft red pulp. When the
can was half emptied, he offered it to the other.
"I ain't dry," said the man, "Finish her up, an' we'll git a-goin'.
Guess I'm the party yer huntin' fer, an' I'll go 'long peaceable.
You kin take my guns if it'll make you feel any better."
Connie tossed away the empty can and stared at him in astonishment:
"What in thunder do you mean? I ain't hunting for anybody. I was
hunting Round Seven horses. I ran onto the bunch back there on the
bench and when they headed down this coulee I took after them, but I
guess they gave me the slip somewhere."
"They wouldn't of come very fer down into the bad lands. They run up
some side coulee, an' doubled back on you. But, it don't make no
partic'lar difference, fer as that goes. I'll go 'long with you
anyhow. I'd ruther you'd git the money than anyone else, on account
of what you done fer my brother."
Connie laughed: "I guess you're talking to the wrong person. I don't
know anything about this money. And I told you I wasn't hunting for
anybody. And I don't know anything about your brother."
"No, I ain't talkin' to no wrong person. I know who you be, all
right. Yer the Round Seven Kid--that's what folks calls you around
here. They took you fer a joke at first, but sense you've cleaned
out Bob Harmon an' his gang an' run Curry off the crick, an' them
other fake nesters, they've begun to set up an' take notice. John
Grey, the sheepman, he's my brother. The Round Seven's be'n tryin'
to bust him, an' they'd of got him this year, sure. John was on his
last legs when you come along. An' what do you do? Do you give him
the last push that would shoved his nose in under? You don't. You
reaches out an' sets him on his feet agin. You loans him a team,
gives him back more hay than what the Round Seven cattle et up. An'
then you digs down in yer pocket an' loans him the money to lamb out
his band. An' yer men's got orders to keep the cattle off'n his
sheep range. Dick Grey's my name. I'm outlawed, an' I be'n hidin'
out fer the last six months in the bad lands. But I slip over an'
see John now an' then, an' Samuels, an' Campbell, an' kind of keep
posted. So, bein' as things is, I'd ruther you'd git the five
hundred dollars' reward that's on me, than anyone else."
Again Connie laughed: "You're out of luck, if you expect me to take
you in. I ain't looking for any reward money. So the best thing for
you to do is to turn around and beat it, and I'll go on back home."
The man shook his head: "It's this way," he said. "I'm tired of
bein' on the run. I'm broke. I'm outlawed so I can't git a job on
no cow-outfit. The only way I could keep goin' would be to turn into
a real outlaw an' start in runnin' off horses. I guess I could git
away with it, all right--but I don't aim to do it."
"Are you a cow-hand?" asked the boy, abruptly.
"I ain't never worked at nothin' else."
"All right, you come right along with me to the ranch. I don't know
why you were outlawed. You don't look to me like a crook. Anyway,
after what you did for me, I'm willing to take a chance. If you want
to work, I'll give you a job."
"I ain't no crook, neither. They's plenty of 'em that knows me will
tell you the same thing. It was a frame-up to git my claim. But, I
ain't a-goin' to git you in bad--not after what you done fer John, I
ain't."
Connie reached for his bridle reins, and mounted: "You come with me,"
he ordered. "We'll go to the ranch, an' get something to eat, and
then you can tell me about it. If it's true that you're the victim
of a frame-up, I'll stand back of you with every dollar I've got!
And before we get through with it, someone's goin' to get hurt!"
"I'll go along an' tell you about it," agreed the man, "But, that's
the end of it. I ain't goin' to git you mixed up in it. The PU.'s a
big outfit. They'd bust you. An' you can't buck Major Hogan. He's
a big man around these parts."
"Yes, and the bigger they are the harder they fall--don't forget
that. If we've got the right on our side we don't need to be afraid
of 'em no matter who they are. And as for busting me, I'll take a
chance on that. Believe me, if they try that game, they'll know
they've be'n somewhere! It'll cost 'em a half a dozen outfits the
size of the PU. Where would I be now if you hadn't dropped that
bullet right under my nose?"
The Round Seven ranch house lay dark in its little grove of
cottonwoods and willows as the two riders topped the rim of Eagle and
descended into the valley of the creek.
After putting up the horses, Connie led the way to the kitchen where
he proceeded to "rustle" a cold lunch. He had just got nicely
started when the door of the cook's room opened and Walt Jones
appeared, bare-footed, and with one strap of his suspenders a-dangle.
He stood for a moment in the doorway, blinking from one to the other
of the marauders.
"Hello, Walt," grinned Grey.
"Hello, Dick." The cook advanced into the room. "You two chase
yerselves out of here an' don't come back till you hear me yelp," he
ordered.
"Go on back to bed, Walt," Connie answered, "We can find all we want."
"Yes, an' mess up my kitchen till _I_ won't never be able to find
what _I_ want no more!" As he talked the cook had laid a fire in the
big stove, liberally drenched the wood and kindlings with kerosene,
touched a match to it, and already the flames were roaring up the
stove pipe. "Go on, git! Things is comin' to a pretty pass when a
man wakes up in the middle of the night an' finds his kitchen full of
outlaws an' coffee-coolers clawin' around amongst the grub. Clear
out, now, an' give me room to move around, an' in a few minutes I'll
holler."
Connie laughed and led the way to the living room where, after
removing spurs and chaps, Grey lighted his pipe and tilted his chair
against the wall. Connie, similarly divested of riding gear,
regarded the man thoughtfully for a few moments. "It's like this,
Dick," he began, abruptly: "If I'm going to work and straighten this
trouble out, I've got to know the facts in the case just as they
happened."
Grey nodded: "It won't take long to tell 'em. I've rode fer the PU.
fer the last five er six years an' a couple of years ago I filed on a
homestead on the crick jest below the PU. fences. It run along till
about six months ago, an' one day the Major was out to the ranch.
You know he's manager of the PU. as well as Injun agent. Some says
it's agin the law to be both. I don't know. Anyways he hunted me up
an' asks me what I'm aimin' to do with that claim. I told him I
aimed to prove up on it when the time come an' start me a little
outfit of my own. That didn't suit him none whatever. It don't
never suit no big outfit fer to have nesters comin' into the country.
They want to hog the hull State of Montany. 'How long you helt it?'
he says, "Bout a year an' a half," I tells him. 'You've had it long
enough so you kin prove up by buyin' in fer a dollar an' a quarter an
acre,' he says. I told him I know'd that, but I aimed to take the
hull five years to prove up, an' save the two hundred dollars it
would cost me to buy it in. 'You'll buy it in now,' he says. 'I'll
put up the money, an' when you git yer patent I'll give you another
two hundred fer it.' I told him I didn't aim to sell it, an' he got
mad an' cussed around an' threatened what he'd do to me if I didn't
sell out to the PU. I let him go an' when he'd got through I quit
the outfit, an' then I up an' told him a few. We had it backward an'
forward fer a while, until he up an' called me a name I won't take
off'n no man livin', I don't care if he's manager of an' outfit, an'
Injun agent er what he is. So I hauled off an' pasted him one that
blacked both his eyes, an' then I throw'd the kak on my cayuse an'
fogged it. I come down here to John's fer a few days, but I don't
like to be around sheep much, so I drifted over an' helped Mike
Campbell an' Samuels with their stock, just grub-linin', sort of,
till the round-up started when I aimed to hit the IX. outfit fer a
job.
"Well, I was ridin' one day south of the reservation, when I come
onto a PU. mare an' a young colt. The colt was so lame he couldn't
put one fore foot to the ground, so I dobbed my rope onto him an'
throwed him to see what was the matter. He'd run a mean sliver right
up into the frog an' I was workin' on it when I looks up, an' there
set the Major an' a couple of his cow-hands lookin' at me. 'Caught
in the act!' I says, sort of grinnin' up at 'em, an' quick as a
flash, the Major he turns to the boys an' he orders 'em to make a
ride down Cow Crick. Then he rides right up to where I'm workin'
with my knife on that sliver. I didn't say nothin' an' he didn't
neither till I'd finished an' turned the colt loose. Then he says:
'I guess you'll sell me that claim, now, won't you?' he says. 'No,'
says I. 'I won't. Not now, nor no other time.' 'All right,' he
says, 'Suit yerself. If you don't you'll do time fer horse stealin'.
Take yer pick.' 'Horse stealin'?' I says, 'You know blame well I
wasn't doin' no horse stealin'. I seen that colt would die or be
stiffened up fer life if that sliver wasn't got out, so I done it.
An' you know blame well that's the truth--you've set there an'
watched me do it fer the last fifteen minutes. An' besides, them
other boys seen it, too.' The Major, he laughs: 'What they saw,' he
says, 'from where we pulled up our horses, was you with an unbranded
colt on the ground, and a PU. mare runnin' circles around you
whinnerin' her head off. I took good care to get the boys out of the
way before they saw any more. They saw just enough to put you behind
the bars--an' no more.'
"I couldn't hardly believe a man would be that ornery. Here was me
workin' to save one of his colts, an' him usin' it agin me to make me
sell him my claim, or go to the pen! I seen in a minute that what he
said was true. Them boys was square, all right, an' not bein' clost
enough to see what was goin' on, they'd swear to what they seen--an'
any jury would convict a man on that, 'special, when the Major could
prove I had a grudge agin him an' had blacked his eyes. I seen I was
in bad, an' I was mad clean through.
"You see, the Major, he'd git the claim now, no matter which way
things went. If I agreed to buy it in an' sell it to him, he'd have
it, an' if I didn't he'd outlaw me, an' I wouldn't dare to show up to
do my assessment work an' 'stablish residence, an' then it would go
back to the Government an' he'd git someone else to file that would
sell to him.
"Right then was the only time I ever wanted to shoot a man, but I
helt onto myself--even draw'd my gun an' unloaded it an' put the
cartridges in my pocket. I was afraid he'd say somethin' that would
make me lose my head fer a second--an' I know'd that if I had to stop
to load up my gat, I'd have time to git my right senses back before I
done somethin' I'd be sorry fer. It wound up by me lightin' in an'
tellin' him an earful, an' then we rode off in opposite directions.
"To make his play right good, the Major got some of his cow-hands to
hair-brand three or four PU. colts with my horse brand. I don't
reckon the boys know'd it was my brand. I never used it because I
never had nothin' but a saddle horse an' I always had a bill of sale
fer it. But I had recorded the brand when I filed the claim, an' the
Major know'd it. They was his colts an' I guess the boys figgered if
he wanted 'em hair-branded that was his business. Anyhow, after he'd
done that he sent fer the sheriff an' took him out on the range an'
show'd him these colts, an' the two boys told how they seen me with a
PU. colt throw'd. The Major posted a two hundred an' fifty dollar
reward, an' the State, or County, or Stock Association or someone put
up another two-fifty, an' I was outlawed. I hit fer the bad lands,
an' I be'n there ever since. But, I'm through. I'm broke, an' it's
come, like I told you, to where I either got to turn horse-thief to
live, or give myself up. An' I don't aim to turn horse-thief."
The cook thrust his head into the room and announced supper, and all
through the meal Connie pondered. When it was finished, and they
were once more in the living room, the boy grinned: "We'll turn in,
now," he said. "It's nearly one o'clock."
"I guess I'll jest hit out," said Grey. "If the sheriff should
happen to come along an' find me here, it would git you in bad fer
harborin' an outlaw."
"That's your room in there," answered the boy, ignoring the other's
words. "In the morning we'll get busy and straighten this thing
out--or start in on it, anyway."
Grey shook his head: "I can't figger no way out. They got too good a
case. Them hair-branded colts was what cinched it."
"Yes," answered the boy, "That's exactly what did cinch it--_for us_.
If the Major had had sense enough to have made out his case on the
evidence he had when you and he parted that day, things would have
looked pretty bad. But, the way it is, now we've got everything our
way. You see, I spent a year in the Mounted, and I learned a few
things about crooks. One thing I learned was that it's just as
dangerous for a crook to over-play his hand, as it is for him to get
careless and underplay it. That's why a crook has got the hardest
job in the world. He's got one thin line to travel on--and that's
all. And it takes more brains than most men have got, to find that
line, and to travel it. The trouble with Major Hogan, is: He
overplayed his hand!"