FORMING A FRIENDSHIP
At three o'clock in the afternoon Hollis closed his desk and announced
to Potter that he was going to the Circle Bar. Potter watched him with a
fond smile as he went out the door and placed the saddle on his pony,
mounted and rode into the sunshine of the afternoon. The presence of the
troopers in town had created a sensation and most of the town's citizens
were gathered about the court house, curiously watching Dunlavey and
several of his men who had been taken into custody during the early
hours of the morning. Neither Hollis or Norton had been allowed to
participate in the final scene, the little captain informing them curtly
that the presence of civilians at what promised to be a free-for-all
fight was strictly forbidden. And so Norton had returned to the Circle
Bar, while Hollis had gone to Dry Bottom to finish an article for the
next issue of the _Kicker_.
It had been in that bald, gray time between darkness and dawn when Ben
Allen and Hollis, riding at the head of the detail of troopers beside
the dapper little captain, had arrived at the edge of the butte where
Hollis had directed Norton to await his coming.
Norton's only comment upon seeing the troopers had been: "Where in hell
did them come from?"
He told Allen that he had watched where Dunlavey and his men had driven
the cattle, and that he would find them concealed in a narrow defile
between two hills about a mile on the other side of the Rabbit-Ear. He
and Hollis had announced their intention to accompany the troop to the
scene, but had been refused permission by the captain.
The capture of the thieves had been quite a simple matter. In single
file the troopers had descended the slope of the river, crossed a
shallow, and clattered up the other side. A mile dash at a gallop had
brought them to one end of the defile mentioned by Norton, and in a
grove of fir-balsam the captain had deployed his troopers and swooped
suddenly down into the defile, surprising several men, who with
Dunlavey, were busily at work altering the brands on the cattle they had
stolen. There was a fire near the center of the defile, with branding
irons scattered about it.
The stolen cattle bore various brands. There were perhaps a dozen
belonging to the Circle Bar, several from the Pig Pen; others bore the
brands of the Three Bar and the Diamond Dot.
Proof of Dunlavey's guilt had been absolute. He had made some
resistance, but had been quickly overpowered by Allen and the troopers.
Then with their prisoners the troops had returned to Dry Bottom.
Hollis rode slowly toward the Circle Bar. He was tired--dead tired. When
he arrived at the Hazelton cabin the shade on the porch looked so
inviting that he dismounted, tied his pony to one of the slender porch
columns, and seated himself, leaning wearily against the column to which
he had tied his pony.
He sat there long, staring at a clump of nondescript weed that fringed
the edge of the arroyo near the cabin, his thoughts filled with pictures
of incidents that had occurred to him during his stay in the West.
Nellie Hazelton appeared in every one of these pictures and therefore he
smiled often.
He had not liked the country when he had first come here; it had seemed
to offer him no field for the pursuit of his ambition. Certainly the
raising of cattle had never entered into his scheme of things. Yet he
now realized that there was plenty of room in this country for success
in this particular industry; all a man had to do was to keep up his end
until the law came. And now the law had come and he had been partly
responsible for its coming. The realization of this moved his lips into
a grim smile.
He filled and lighted his pipe, smoking placidly as he leaned against
the slender column, his gaze shifting to a clump of dense shrubbery that
skirted the trail within twenty feet of the cabin. He sat quiet, his
long legs stretched out to enjoy the warmth of the sun that struck a
corner of the porch floor. His pipe spluttered in depletion and he
raised himself and looked around for his pony, observing that the animal
was contentedly browsing the tops of some weeds at the edge of the
porch. Then, resigning himself to the sensation of languor that
oppressed him, he knocked the ash from the pipe, filled it again,
lighted it, and resumed his former reclining position.
During the past few days he had given much thought to Dunlavey. He was
thinking of the man now, as his gaze went again to the clump of
shrubbery that skirted the trail.
Some men's mental processes were incomprehensible. Dunlavey was one of
these men. What did the man hope to gain by defying the law? Would there
not be profit enough in the cattle business when conducted honestly?
He felt a certain contempt for the man, but mingled with it was a sort
of grim pity. No doubt Dunlavey felt justified in his actions, for he
had lived here a good many years, no doubt suffering the privations
encountered by all pioneers; living a hard life, dealing heavy blows to
his enemies, and receiving some himself. No doubt his philosophy of life
had been of the peculiar sort practiced by the feudal barons of the Old
World, before civilization had come, carrying its banner of justice,
which, summed up epigrammatically, though ironically, had been "Might is
Right." But might could never be right in this country. Dunlavey must
learn this lesson; he could not hope to--!
Hollis sat suddenly erect, putting aside his pipe and his ruminations at
the same instant, the languor gone from him, his eyes narrowing coldly.
For suddenly, from behind the shrubbery that skirted the edge of the
trail, had appeared the man about whom he had been thinking! It was
evident that he had not come upon Hollis unexpectedly. He reined in his
pony and sat motionless in the saddle, his face white, his eyes alight
with passion.
For an instant neither man spoke. Hollis realized that the great moment
for which he had waited many days had arrived. And it had arrived
unexpectedly. It had arrived to find him tired after his activities of
the night and in no condition for a fight. He drew a deep breath and got
to his feet, a grim smile on his face. He stepped off the porch and
stood by one of the columns, watching Dunlavey closely. As he watched
the grim smile on his face slowly faded, his lips curled bitterly, his
eyes chilled.
"I suppose you've come to collect that thrashing?" he said.
Dunlavey dismounted quickly, his right hand flew to his holster, drawing
his revolver. He came toward Hollis crouching, a cold, merciless glitter
in his eyes.
"Yes, you tenderfoot ---- ----." he snarled.
* * * * *
From the moment of Hollis's arrival at the court house the night before
Ben Allen had been constantly in action. It was late in the morning when
he had returned to the court house with his prisoners. The men who had
been captured with Dunlavey were still with the troopers, there not
being sufficient room at the court house for them. Watkins had been
released and Dunlavey had taken his place in the little room that
answered for a jail. Shortly before noon Allen proceeded to the station,
where he telegraphed to the governor the story of the capture. He had
then deputized a dozen punchers and sent them to the Circle Cross to
round up a thousand of Dunlavey's cattle and hold them until the late
afternoon when, according to Allen's published program, they were to be
sold to the highest bidder. Then, tired and hungry, Allen sought the
Alhambra and ate a hearty meal.
Dry Bottom was swarming with visitors that had come in for the sale. But
by the time Allen had finished eating the exodus had begun. The trail
leading to the Circle Cross ranch was dotted with probable bidders,
curiosity seekers, idlers, and mere residents of the town. Now that the
law had come there were many who discovered that their sympathies had
always been with the men who had championed it. Allen found his way to
the court house strewn with men who halted him to express their good
will. Many people gathered in front of the _Kicker_ office, eager
for a glimpse of Hollis. Those who gathered there before twelve-thirty
saw him seated at his desk, tall, angular, serious of face, absolutely
unaffected by this thing which had caused a sensation. Passing the
_Kicker_ office on his way to the court house, Allen had paused to
look within and shout a greeting to him. Then he had continued on his
way.
Arriving at the court house Allen looked in at Dunlavey to find him
lying on the floor, apparently asleep. Allen did not disturb him. He
went out, threw the saddle on his pony, and rode over to the grove where
the soldiers were quartered, talking long with the captain. At two
o'clock he returned to the court house to be greeted with the news that
Dunlavey had escaped. Allen did not stop to inquire how the escape had
been accomplished. He remounted his pony and raced down to the
_Kicker_ office, fearing that Dunlavey had gone there. Potter
informed him that his chief had departed for the Circle Bar fully an
hour and a half before. He had taken the Coyote trail--Potter had
watched him.
Allen wheeled his pony and returned to the court house. He was met at
the door by Judge Graney. The latter's face was white and drawn with
fear.
"He's gone to kill Hollis!" the judge told him through white, set lips.
"I heard him threaten Hollis this morning and a moment ago a man told me
that he had seen Dunlavey, not over half an hour ago, riding out the
Coyote trail at a dead run!"
Allen's own face whitened. He did not stop to answer but drove the spurs
deep into his pony's flanks and rode furiously down the street toward a
point near the _Kicker_ office where he struck the trail.
The distance to the Circle Bar ranch was ten miles and Dunlavey had a
good half hour's start! He fairly lifted his pony over the first mile,
though realizing that he could not hope to arrive at the Circle Bar in
time to prevent Dunlavey from carrying out his design to kill Hollis.
No, he told himself as he rode, he could not prevent him from killing
Hollis, should he catch the latter unprepared, but he promised himself
that Dunlavey should not escape punishment for the deed.
He had had some hope that Dunlavey would accept his defeat
philosophically. The latter was not the only man he had seen who had
been defeated by the law. Over in Colfax County and up in Wyoming he had
dealt with many such men, and usually, after they had seen that the law
was inevitable, they had resigned themselves to the new condition and
had become pretty fair citizens. He had imagined that Dunlavey would
prove to be no exception, that after the first sting of defeat had been
removed he would meet his adversaries half way in an effort to patch up
their differences. The danger was in the time immediately following the
realization of defeat. A man of the Dunlavey type was then usually
desperate.
So Allen communed with himself as he rode at a head-long pace down the
Coyote trail, risking his neck a dozen times. Not once since he had left
Dry Bottom had he considered his own danger.
He had been riding more than half an hour, and was coming up out of a
little gully when he came upon a riderless pony, and close by it,
browsing near a clump of shrubbery, another. He recognized one of them
instantly as Dunlavey's, and his teeth came together with a snap. He
rode closer to the other pony, examining it. On one of its hips was a
brand--the Circle Bar. Allen's face whitened again. He had arrived too
late. But he would not be too late to wreak vengeance upon Dunlavey.
He dismounted and cautiously approached the brush at the side of the
trail. Parting it, he saw the roof of a cabin. He recognized it; he had
passed it a number of times during his exploration of the country. He
drew back and crept crept farther along in the brush, certain that he
would presently see Dunlavey. But he had not gone very far when he heard
voices and he cautiously parted the brush again and peered through.
He started back in surprise, an incredulous grin slowly appearing on his
face. The incredulity changed to amusement a moment later--when he heard
Hollis's voice!
The young man was seated on the edge of the porch--smoking a pipe! Near
him, seated on a flat rock, his face horribly puffed out, with several
ugly gashes disfiguring it, his eyes blackened, his clothing in tatters,
one hand hanging limply by his side, the fingers crushed and bleeding,
was Dunlavey! Near him, almost buried in the sand, was a revolver.
Allen's smile broadened when he saw Dunlavey's empty holster. Evidently
he had met with a surprise!
While taking in these details Allen had not forgotten to listen to
Hollis as the latter talked to Dunlavey. Apparently Hollis had about
finished his talk, for his voice was singularly soft and even, and
Dunlavey's almost comical air of dejection could not have settled over
him in an instant.
"... and so of course I had to thrash you--you had it coming to you. You
haven't been a man--you've acted like a sneak and a cur all through this
business. You made a thrashing inevitable when you set Yuma on Nellie
Hazelton. You'll have plenty of marks to remind you of the one you gave
me that night." He pointed to his cheek. "I've got even for that. But I
think I wouldn't have trimmed you quite so bad if you hadn't tried to
shoot me a few minutes ago."
He puffed silently at his pipe for a short time, during which Dunlavey
sat on the rock and squinted pathetically at him. Then he resumed:
"I've heard people talk of damned fools, but never, until I met you,
have I been unfortunate enough to come into personal contact with one. I
should think that when you saw the soldiers had come you would have
surrendered decently. Perhaps you know by now that you can't fight the
United States Army--and that you can't whip me. If you've got any sense
left at all you'll quit fighting now and try your best to be a good
citizen."
He smiled grimly as he rose from the porch and walked to where Dunlavey
sat, standing over him and looking down at him.
"Dunlavey," he said, extending his right hand to the beaten man, "let's
call it quits. You've been terribly worked up, but you ought to be over
it now. You ought to be able to see that it doesn't go. I've thrashed
you pretty badly, but you and your men used me up pretty well that night
and so it's an even thing. Let's shake and be friends. If you show signs
of wanting to be a man again I'll withdraw the charge of cattle
stealing which I have placed against you, and I imagine I won't have any
trouble in inducing Allen to call off that auction sale and accept
settlement of the claim against you."
Until now Dunlavey had avoided looking at the outstretched hand. But now
he looked at it, took it and held it for an instant, his bruised and
swollen face taking on an expression of lugubrious self-pity.
"I reckon I've got it in the neck all around," he said finally. "But I
ain't no squealer and I've got----" His gaze met Hollis's and his eyes
gleamed with a reluctant admiration. "By God, you're white! I reckon you
could have tore the rest of me apart like you did my hand." He held up
the injured member for inspection.
Allen's grin could grow no broader, and now he showed his increased
satisfaction with a subdued cackle. He backed stealthily out of the
shrubbery, taking a final glance at the two men. He saw Hollis leading
Dunlavey toward a small water hole at the rear of the cabin; saw him
bathing Dunlavey's injured hand and binding it with his handkerchief.
Then Allen proceeded to his pony, mounted, and departed for the court
house to tell Judge Graney the news that kept his own face continually
in a smile.