PICKING UP THE TRAIL
At about the time that the storm had overtaken Hollis, Potter was
unsaddling his pony at the Circle Bar corral gate. A little later he was
on the wide lower gallery of the ranchhouse washing the stains of travel
from his face and hands. At supper he was taciturn, his face deeply
thoughtful. Had Ten Spot come? What had been the outcome of the meeting?
These questions preyed on his mind and brought furrows into his face.
At supper he caught Norton watching him furtively and he flushed
guiltily, for he felt that in spite of Hollis's order to say nothing to
Norton he should have told. He had already informed Norton that Hollis
intended remaining in Dry Bottom until a later hour than usual, but he
had said nothing about the intended visit of Ten Spot to the
_Kicker_ office. Loyalty to Hollis kept him from communicating to
Norton his fears for Hollis's safety. It was now too late to do anything
if he did tell Norton; whatever had been done had been done already and
there was nothing for him to do but to wait until nine o'clock.
After he finished his meal he drew a chair out upon the gallery and
placing it in a corner from where he could see the Dry Bottom trail he
seated himself in it and tried to combat the disquieting fears that
oppressed him. When Norton came out and took a chair near him he tried
to talk to the range boss upon those small subjects with which we fill
our leisure, but he could not hold his thoughts to these trivialities.
He fell into long silences; his thoughts kept going back to Dry Bottom.
When the rain came he felt a little easier, for he had a hope that
Hollis might have noticed the approach of the storm and decided to
remain in town until it had passed. But after the rain had ceased his
fears again returned. He looked many times at his watch and when Mrs.
Norton came to the door and announced her intention of retiring he
scarcely noticed her. Norton had repeatedly referred to Hollis's
absence, and each time Potter had assured him that Hollis would come
soon. Shortly before nine o'clock, when the clouds lifted and the stars
began to appear, Potter rose and paced the gallery floor. At nine, when
it had become light enough to see quite a little distance down the Dry
Bottom trail and there were still no signs of Hollis, he blurted out the
story of the day's occurrences.
The information acted upon Norton like an electric shock. He was on his
feet before Potter had finished speaking, grasping him by the shoulders
and shaking him roughly.
"Why didn't you say something before?" he demanded. "Why did you leave
him? Wasn't there somebody in Dry Bottom that you could have sent out
here to tell me?" He cursed harshly. "Ten Spot's got him!" he declared
sharply, his eyes glittering savagely. "He'd have been here by this
time!" He was taking a hitch in his cartridge belt while talking, and
before concluding he was down off the gallery floor and striding toward
the corral.
"Tell my wife that I've gone to Dry Bottom," he called back to Potter.
"Important business! I'll be back shortly after midnight!"
Leaving Potter on the porch staring after him he ran to the corral,
roped his pony, threw on a saddle and bridle and mounted with the animal
on a run.
The stars were shining brilliantly now and from the porch Potter could
see Norton racing down the Dry Bottom trail with his pony in a furious
gallop. For a time Potter watched him, then he disappeared and Potter
went into the house to communicate his message to his wife.
The rain had been heavy while it lasted, but by the time Norton had
begun his race to Dry Bottom very little evidence of it remained and the
pony's flying hoofs found the sand of the trail almost as dry and hard
as before the storm. Indeed, there was now little evidence that there
had been a storm at all.
Norton spared the pony only on the rises and in something over an hour
after the time he had left the Circle Bar he drew up in front of the
_Kicker_ office in Dry Bottom, dismounted, and bounded to the door.
It was locked. He placed a shoulder against it and crashed it in,
springing inside and lighting a match. He smiled grimly when he saw no
signs of Hollis; when he saw that the interior was in an orderly
condition and that there were no signs of a conflict. If Ten Spot had
killed Hollis he had done the deed outside the _Kicker_ office.
Norton came out again, pulling the wreck of the door after him and
closing it as well as he could. Then, leaving his pony, he strode toward
the Fashion saloon. As he came near he heard sounds of revelry issuing
from the open door and he smiled coldly. A flashing glance through the
window showed him that Ten Spot was there, standing at the bar. In the
next instant Norton was inside, confronting Ten Spot, his big
six-shooter out and shoved viciously against Ten Spot's stomach.
"What have you done with Hollis, you mangy son-of-a-gun?" he demanded.
Several men who had been standing at the bar talking and laughing fell
silent and looked at the two men, the barkeeper sidled closer, crouching
warily, for he knew Norton.
Ten Spot had spread his arms out on the bar and was leaning against it,
looking at Norton in unfeigned bewilderment. He did not speak at once.
Then suddenly aware of the foreboding, savage gleam in Norton's eyes, a
glint of grim humor came into his own and his lips opened a little,
curling sarcastically.
"Why," he said, looking at Norton, "I don't reckon to be anyone's
keeper." He smiled widely, with a suddenly ludicrous expression. "If
you're talkin' about that tenderfoot noospaper guy, he don't need no
keeper. What have I done to him?" he repeated, his smile growing. "Why,
I reckon I didn't do a heap; I went down to call on him. He was right
sociable. I was goin' to be mean to him, but I just couldn't. When he
left he was sayin' that he'd be right glad to see me again--he'd been
right playful durin' my talk with him. I reckon by now he's over at the
Circle Bar laffin' hisself to sleep over the mean way I treated him. You
just ast him when you see him."
A flicker of doubt came into Norton's eyes--Ten Spot's words had the
ring of truth.
"You went down there to shoot him!" he said coldly, still unconvinced.
"Mebbe I did," returned Ten Spot. "Howsomever, I didn't. I ain't tellin'
how I come to change my mind--that's my business, an' you can't shoot it
out of me. But I'm tellin' you this: me an' that guy has agreed to call
it quits, an' if I hear any man talkin' extravagant about him, me an'
that man's goin' to have a run in mighty sudden!" He laughed. "Someone's
been funnin' you," he said. "When he handed me back my gun after
sluggin'----"
But he was now talking to Norton's back, for the range boss was at the
door, striding rapidly toward his pony. He mounted again and rode out on
the trail, proceeding slowly, convinced that something had happened to
Hollis after he had left Dry Bottom. It was more than likely that he had
lost his way in the storm, and in that case he would probably arrive at
the Circle Bar over some round-about trail. He was now certain that he
had not been molested in town; if he had been some of the men in the
Fashion would have told him about it. Hollis would probably be at the
ranch by the time he arrived, to laugh at his fears. Nevertheless he
rode slowly, watching the trail carefully, searching the little gullies
and peering into every shadow for fear that Hollis had been injured in
some accident and might be lying near unable to make his presence known.
The dawn was just showing above the horizon when he rode up to the
ranchhouse to find Potter standing on the porch--apparently not having
left there during his absence. Beside Potter stood Ed Hazelton, and near
the latter a drooping pony, showing signs of hard riding.
Norton passed the corral gate and rode up to the two men. A glance at
their faces told him that something had gone wrong. But before he could
speak the question that had formed on his lips Hazelton spoke.
"They got him, Norton," he said slowly.
"Dead?" queried Norton sharply, his lips straightening.
"No," returned Hazelton gloomily; "he ain't dead. But when I found him
he wasn't far from it. Herd-rode him, the damned sneaks! Beat him up
so's his own mother wouldn't know him!"
"Wait!" commanded Norton. "I'm going with you. I suppose you've got him
over to your shack?" He caught Hazelton's nod and issued an order to
Potter. "Go down to the bunkhouse and get Weary out. Tell him to hit the
breeze to Cimarron for the doctor. If the doc' don't want to come drag
him by the ears!"
He spurred his pony furiously to the corral gate and in a short time had
saddled another horse and was back where Hazelton was awaiting him.
Without speaking a word to each other the two men rode rapidly down the
Coyote trail, while Potter, following directions, his face haggard and
drawn from loss of sleep and worry, hurried to the bunkhouse to arouse
Weary and send him on his long journey to Cimarron.