THE RIDERS
Several days passed before the surgeon would express a definite opinion.
Collie lay, hollow-cheeked and ghastly, in the dim interior of the tent.
His eyes were wide and fixed. Overland came in. Collie recognized him
and tried to smile. Overland backed out of the tent and strode away
growling. The tears were running down his unshaven cheeks. He did not
return until later in the day. Then he asked the surgeon that
oft-repeated question.
"I don't see how he can recover," said the surgeon quietly. "Of course
there's a slim chance. Don't build on it, though."
"If there's a chance, I reckon he will freeze to it," said Overland.
"From what he was ramblin' about when he was off his head, I reckon he's
got somethin' more to live for than just himself."
"Has he any relatives?" queried the surgeon.
"Nope. Except me. But he was expectin' to have, I guess. And I tell you
what, Doc, she's worth gettin' shot up for."
"Too bad! Too bad," muttered the surgeon.
"What's too bad, eh?"
The other shook his head. "If there is any one that he would care to
see, or that would care to see him, you had better write at once."
Overland was stunned. The doctor's word had been given at last, and it
was not a word of hope.
Overland Red bowed to the doctor's opinion, but his heart was
unconquerable. He wrote a long letter to his old-time friend, Brand
Williams, of the Moonstone Ranch. The letter was curiously worded. It
did not mention Louise Lacharme, nor Mrs. Stone, nor the rancher. It
was, in the main, about Mexico and the "old days"; no hint of Collie's
accident was in the page until the very end. The letter concluded with
"But you needn't think you owe me anything for that. I was glad to put
him to the hush because we was pals them days. Collie was shot by
Saunders. The doctor says he will die most likely. He was shot in the
back. It would go bad with Saunders if the Moonstone boys ever heard of
this."
* * * * *
The letter dispatched by Winthrop, Overland Red took courage. He felt
that he himself was holding Collie's life from sinking. His huge
optimism would not admit that his friend _could_ die.
He was leaning back against a rock near the notch and gazing at the
slanting moonlight that spread across the somber canyon walls. A week
had gone since he mailed his letter to Brand Williams, of the
Moonstone, and Collie was still alive. Overland shifted his position,
standing beside him the Winchester that had lain across his knees, and
pulling his sombrero over his eyes. The notch made an excellent
background for an object over the sights of a rifle, even at night, so
long as the moon shone. Gophertown riders would never venture that far
up the cañon with horses. They would tether their ponies at the entrance
and come afoot and under cover. Still, they would have to pass the notch
in any event.
Thus it was that when, some few minutes later, Overland heard the faint
jingle of rein-chains, he grinned. It was celestial music to him.
The sound came again, nearer the notch, and clearer. He remained
motionless gazing at the shadowy opening.
Slowly a shaft of moonlight drew down toward the notch, silvering its
ragged edges. Lower the light slid until it revealed the opening and in
it the figure of a horseman. In the white light Overland could see the
quirt dangling from the other's wrist. The horseman's wide belt
glittered.
"Brand!" called Overland Red softly. The opposite wall took up the name
hesitatingly and tossed it back.
"Brand!" whispered the echoes that drifted to the darkened corners of
the cliff and were lost in voiceless murmurings.
"Brand your own stock," came the answer, low and distinct.
Overland laughed. It was their old-time pun upon the foreman's name. He
got to his feet and approached. "It does me good," he said, extending
his hand.
"How is Collie?" asked Williams, dismounting.
Overland heaved great sigh. "He's floatin' somewhere between here and
the far shore. Mebby he's tryin' to pull through. The doc says the kid
don't seem to care whether he does or not. Did--the little Rose
Girl--tell you anything to--to say to him?"
"When I was leavin' she come out to the gate," said Williams. "She
didn't say much. She only hands me this, and kind of whispered, 'Give
him this. He will understand.'"
And Williams drew a small gray gauntlet from his shirt. Overland took
the glove and tucked it in his pocket.
"Anything doing?" asked Williams.
"Nope. They're overdue to jump us if shootin' Collie was any sign."
"Like old times," said Williams.
"Like old times," echoed Overland. "No trouble findin' your way across?"
"Easy. Followed them automobile tracks clear to the range. We fed up at
the town. The boys gets kind of restless--"
"Boys? Ain't you alone?"
"Hell, no!" replied Williams disgustedly. "I wish I was! I got four
pigeon-toed, bow-legged, bat-eared Moonstoners down in that meadow, just
itchin' mad to cut loose. And they ain't sayin' a word, which is
suspicious. Worryin' across the old dry spot the last three days has
kind of het 'em up. And then hearin' about Collie...."
"How'd you come to have so much comp'ny?" queried Overland.
"I was plumb fool enough to read that letter of yours to 'em. They all
like Collie first-rate. Better than I calculated on. The boss talked
turkey to 'em, but he had to let 'em come. He did everything he could to
hold 'em, knowin' what was in the wind."
"And they quit?"
"Quit? Every red-eyed bat of 'em. Bud and Pars and Billy and Miguel.
Told the boss they quit, because me bein' foreman they would do as I
says, but if they quit I wasn't their foreman any longer, and they would
do as they dum please. They had the nerve to tell me that I could come
along if I was wishful."
"Kind of bad for Stone, eh?"
"The Price boys are holdin' down the ranch. You see, Jack, it hit us
kind of hard, Collie ridin' away one mornin', and next thing your
letter that he was down and pretty nigh out. The boys didn't just like
that."
Overland nodded. "Well, Brand, I guess I'll step down and look 'em
over."
"Only one thing, Jack. I feel kind of responsible for them boys, even if
I ain't their foreman just now. Don't you go to spielin' to 'em and get
'em thinkin' foolish. They're about ready to shoot up a town, if
necessary."
"Been hittin' the booze any?"
"Some. But not bad."
"All right. I don't want to say only 'How!' and thank 'em for Collie. If
I say more than three words after that, you can have my hat."
"It don't take three words, sometimes," said Williams, somewhat
ambiguously.
"Leave it to me," said Overland, still more ambiguously.
* * * * *
Ringed round their little fire in the meadow sat or lay the Moonstone
riders. While crossing the desert Williams had sketched a few of the red
episodes in Overland's early career. These pleased the riders mightily.
They were anxious to meet Red Jack Summers. When Williams did introduce
him, they were rather silent, asking after Collie in monosyllables. They
seemed strangely reticent.
Both Williams and Overland felt an inexplicable tensity in the
situation.
Miguel, the young Mexican vaquero, broke silence. "How long you call it
to this Gophertown place, I think?"
"Thirty miles," said Overland.
"Walkin' backwards--like Miguel's talk," said Billy Dime.
"That's easy," said Bud Light.
"What's easy?" questioned Williams.
"Walkin' backwards," replied the facetious Bud.
"If you don't step on your neck," said Pars Long.
"I'm gettin' cold feet," asserted Bud Light after a silence.
"That disease is ketchin'," said Billy Dime.
"I know it. I been sleepin' next to you," retorted Bud.
Brand Williams glanced across the fire at Overland, who smiled
inscrutably. The undercurrent was unfathomable to Williams, though he
guessed its main drift.
Suddenly Pars Long glanced at the foreman. "Brand," he said quietly, "we
expect you didn't read all of that letter from your friend here. You
said Collie was shot. You didn't say how, which ain't natural. We been
talkin' about it. Where was he hit?"
Overland saw his chance and grasped it with both hands. "In the back,"
he said slowly, and with great intensity.
Followed a silence in which the stamping of the tethered horses and the
whisper of the fire were the only sounds.
Presently Miguel ran his fingers through his glossy black hair. "In the
back!" he exclaimed. "And you needn't to tell that he was run away,
neither."
"In the back?" echoed Billy Dime.
Overland and Williams exchanged glances. "You done it now," said
Williams.
"'Cordin' to agreement," said Overland.
"Make it a wireless," said Billy Dime. "We ain't listenin', anyhow."
"Only thirty miles. What do you say, Brand?"
"Nothin'."
"_As_ usual," ejaculated Dime.
"I say about three to-morrow morning," ventured Pars Long. "Light will
be good about nine. We can do the thirty by nine. A fella would be able
to ride round town then without fallin' over anything."
"What you fellas gettin' at?" queried Williams.
"Gophertown," replied Dime. "You want to come along?"
"Is it settled?" asked the foreman.
The group nodded.
"Well, boys, it would 'a' been _my_ way of evenin' up for a pal."
"Then you're comin', too?"
"Do you think I'm packin' these here two guns and this belt jest to
reduce my shape?" queried Williams in a rather hurt tone.
"Whoop-ee for Brand!" they chorused, and the tethered ponies shied and
circled.
"I never rode out _lookin'_ for trouble," said Williams. "And I never
shied from lookin' _at_ it when it come my way."
"Who said anything about trouble?" queried Billy Dime innocently. "I'm
_dry_. I want a _drink_. I'm goin' over to Gophertown to get it. I'll
treat the bunch."
"Which bunch?"
"Any and all--come stand up and down it."
"We'll be there when you call our numbers, sister. You comin'?" asked
Pars Long, nodding toward Overland.
"Me? Nope.... I'm goin'. I'm goin' to ask you boys to kindly allow me
the privilege of gettin' my drink first and by my lonesome. There will
be a gent there with sore eyes. He got sore eyes waitin' and watchin'
for me to call. I expect to cure him of his eye trouble. After that you
will be as welcome as Mary's little lamb--fried."
"Bur-rie me not on the lo-o-ne prai-ree," sang Bud Light.
"Not while you got the fastest hoss in the outfit," said Williams.
"Collie's hoss is here," said Overland. "I'm ridin' her this trip. I
kind of like the idea of usin' his hoss on this here errand of mercy."
"Three--to-morrow mornin'!" called Billy Dime, as Overland disappeared
in the shadows.
* * * * *
Brand Williams, the taciturn, the silent, stepped from the fire and
strode across the meadow. He paused opposite the Yuma colt and gazed at
her in the moonlight. He jerked up his chin and laughed noiselessly.
"Two-gun Jack Summers on that red Yuma hoss, ridin' into Gophertown with
both hands filled and lookin' for trouble.... God! He was bad enough
when he was dodgin' trouble. Well, I'm glad I'm livin' to see it. I was
commencin' to think they wasn't any more _men_ left in the country. I'm
forty-seven year old. To-morrow I'll be twenty again ... or nothin'."