THE ROAN WITH THE WHITE STOCKINGS
Unerringly rode Healy through the tangled hills toward a saddle in the
peaks that flared vivid with crimson and mauve and topaz. A man of
moods, he knew more than one before he reached the Pass for which he was
headed. Now he rode with his eyes straight ahead, his face creased to a
hard smile that brought out its evil lines. Now he shook his clenched
fist into the air and cursed.
Or again he laughed exultingly. This was when he remembered that his
rival was trapped beyond hope of extrication.
While the sky tints round the peaks deepened to purple with the coming
night he climbed cañons, traversed rock ridges, and went down and up
rough slopes of shale. Always the trail grew more difficult, for he was
getting closer to the divide where Bear Creek heads. He reached the
upper regions of the pine gulches that seamed the hills with wooded
crevasses, and so came at last to Gregory's Pass.
Here, close to the yellow stars that shed a cold wintry light, he
dismounted and hobbled his horse. After which he found a soft spot in
the mossy rocks and fell asleep. He was a light sleeper, and two hours
later he awakened. Horses were laboring up the Pass.
He waited tensely, rifle in both hands, till the heads of the riders
showed in the moonlight. Three--four--five of them he counted. The men
he saw were those he expected, and he lowered his rifle at once.
"Hello, Cuffs! Purdy! That you, Tom? Well, you're too late."
"Too late," echoed little Purdy.
"Yep. Didn't get here in time myself to see who any of them were except
the last. It was right dark, and they were most through before I reached
here."
"But you knew one," Purdy suggested.
Healy looked at him and nodded. "There were four of them. I crept
forward on top of that flat rock just as the last showed up. He was
ridin' a hawss with four white stockings."
"A roan, mebbe," Tom put in quickly.
"You've said it, Tom--a roan, and it looked to me like it was wounded.
There was blood all over the left flank."
"O' course Keller was riding it," Purdy ventured.
"Rung the bell at the first shot," Healy answered grimly.
"The son of a gun!"
"How long ago was it, Brill?" asked another.
"Must a-been two hours, anyhow."
"No use us following them now, then."
"No use. They've gone to cover."
They turned their horses and took the back trail. The cow ponies
scrambled down rocky slopes like cats, and up steep inclines with the
agility of mountain goats. The men rode in single file, and conversation
was limited to disjointed fragments jerked out now and again. After an
hour's rough going they reached the foothills, where they could ride two
abreast. As they drew nearer to the ranch country, now one and now
another turned off with a shout of farewell.
Healy accepted Purdy's invitation, and dismounted with him at the
Fiddleback. Already the first glimmering of dawn flickered faintly from
the serrated range. The men unsaddled, watered, fed, and then walked
stiffly to the house. Within five minutes both of them lay like logs,
dead to the world, until Bess Purdy called them for breakfast, long
after the rest of the family had eaten.
"What devilment you been leading paw into, Brill?" demanded Bess
promptly when he appeared in the doorway. "Dan says it was close to
three when you got home."
She flung her challenge at the young man with a flash of smiling teeth.
Bess was seventeen, a romp, very pretty, and hail-fellow-well-met with
every range rider in a radius of thirty miles.
"We been looking for a beau for you, Bess," Healy immediately explained.
Miss Purdy tossed her head. "I can find one for myself, Brill Healy,
and I don't have to stay out till three to get him, either."
"Come right to your door, do they?" he asked, as she helped him to the
ham and eggs.
"Maybe they do, and maybe they don't."
"Well, here's one come right in the middle of the night. Somehow, I jest
couldn't make out to wait till morning, Bess."
"Oh, you," she laughed, with a demand for more of this sort of chaffing
in her hazel eyes.
At this kind of rough give and take he was an adept. After breakfast he
stayed and helped her wash the dishes, romping with her the whole time
in the midst of gay bursts of laughter and such repartee as occurred to
them.
He found his young hostess so entertaining that he did not get away
until the morning was half gone. By the time he reached Seven Mile the
sun was past the meridian, and the stage a lessening patch of dust in
the distance.
Before he was well out of the saddle, Phyllis Sanderson was standing in
the doorway of the store, with a question in her eyes.
"Well?" he forced her to say at last.
Leisurely he turned, as if just aware of her presence.
"Oh, it's you. Mornin', Phyl."
"What did you find out?"
"I met your friend."
"What friend?"
"Mr. Keller, the rustler and bank robber," he drawled insolently,
looking full in her face.
"Tell me at once what you found out."
"I found Mr. Keller riding a roan with four white stockings and a wound
on its flank."
She caught at the jamb. "You didn't, Brill!"
"I ce'tainly did," he jeered.
"What--what did you do?" Her lips were white as her cheeks.
"I haven't done, anything--yet. You see, I was alone. The other boys
hadn't arrived then."
"And he wasn't alone?"
"No; he had three friends with him. I couldn't make out whether any more
of them were college chums of yours."
Without another word, she turned her back on him and went into the
store. All night she had lain sleepless and longed for and dreaded the
coming of the day. Over the wire from Noches had come at dawn fuller
details of the robbery, from her brother Phil, who was spending two or
three days in town.
It appeared that none of the wounded men would die, though the president
had had a narrow escape. Posses had been out all night, and a fresh one
was just starting from Noches. It was generally believed, however, that
the bandits would be able to make good their escape with the loot.
Her father was absent, making a round of his sheep camps, and would not
be back for a week. Hence her hands were very full with the store and
the ranch.
She busied herself with the details of her work, nodded now and again to
one of the riders as they drifted in, smiled and chatted as occasion
demanded, but always with that weight upon her heart she could not shake
off. Now, and then again, came to her through the window the voices of
Public Opinion on the porch. She made out snatches of the talk, and knew
the tide was running strongly against the nester. The sound of Healy's
low, masterful voice came insistently. Once, as she looked through the
window, she saw a tilted flask at his lips.
Suddenly she became aware, without knowing why, that something was
happening, something that stopped her heart and drew her feet swiftly to
the door.
Conversation had ceased. All eyes were deflected to a pair of riders
coming down the Bear Creek trail with that peculiar jog that is neither
a run nor a walk. They seemed quite at ease with the world. Speech and
laughter rang languid and carefree. But as they swung from the saddles
their eyes swept the group before them with the vigilance of
searchlights in time of war.
Brill Healy leaned forward, his right hand resting lightly on his thigh.
"So you've come back, Mr. Keller," he said.
"As you see."
"But not on that roan of yours, I notice."
"You notice correctly, seh."
"Now I wonder why." Healy spoke with a drawl, but his eyes glittered
menacingly.
"I expect you know why, Mr. Healy," came the quiet retort.
"Meaning?"
"That the roan was stolen from the pasture two nights ago. Do you happen
to know the name of the thief?"
The cattleman laughed harshly, but behind his laughter lay rising anger.
"So that's the story you're telling, eh? Sounds most as convincing as
that yarn about the pocketknife you picked up."
"I'm not quite next to your point. Have I got to explain to you why I do
or don't ride a certain horse, seh?"
"It ain't necessary. We all know why. You ain't riding it because there
is a bullet wound in the roan's flank that might be some hard to
explain."
"I don't know what you mean. I haven't seen the horse for two days. It
was stolen, as I say. Apparently you know a good deal about that roan.
I'd be right pleased to hear what you know, Mr. Healy."
"Glad to death to wise you, Mr. Keller. That roan was in Noches
yesterday, and you were on its back."
The nester shook his head. "No, I reckon not."
Yeager broke in abruptly: "What have you got up your sleeve, Brill? Spit
it out."
"Glad to oblige you, too, Jim. The First National at Noches was held up
yesterday, about half-past three or four, by some masked men. Slim and
Jim Budd were around and recognized that roan and its rider."
"You mean----"
"You've guessed it, Jim. I mean that your friend, the rustler, is a bank
robber, too."
"Yesterday, you say, at four o'clock?"
"About four, yes."
Yeager's face cleared. "Then that lets him out. I was with him yesterday
all day."
"Any one else with him?"
"No. We were alone."
"Where?"
"Out in the hills."
"Didn't happen to meet a soul all day maybe?"
"No; what of it?"
Healy barked out again his hard laugh of incredulity. "Go slow, Jim.
That ain't going to let him out. It's going to let you in."
Yeager took a step toward him, fists clenched, and eyes flashing. "I'll
not stand for that, Brill."
Healy waved him aside. "I've got no quarrel with you, Jim. I ain't
making any charges against you to-day. But when it comes to Mr. Keller,
that's different." His gaze shifted to the nester and carried with it
implacable hostility. "I back my play. He's not only a rustler, he's a
bank robber, too. What's more, he'll never leave here alive, except
with irons on his wrists!"
"Have you a warrant for my arrest, Mr. Healy?" inquired Keller evenly.
"Don't need one. Furthermore, I'd as lief take you in dead as alive. You
cayn't hide behind a girl's skirts this time," continued Healy. "You've
got to stand on your own legs and take what's coming. You're a bad
outfit. We know you for a rustler, and that's enough. But it ain't all.
Yesterday you gave us surplusage when you shot up three men in Noches.
Right now I serve notice that you've reached the limit."
"_You_ serve notice, do you?"
"You're right, I do."
"But not legal notice, Mr. Healy."
At sight of his enemy standing there so easy and undisturbed, facing
death so steadily and so alertly, Brill's passion seethed up and
overflowed. Fury filmed his eyes. He saw red. With a jerk, his revolver
was out and smoking. A stop watch could scarce have registered the time
before Keller's weapon was answering.
But that tenth part of a second made all the difference. For the first
heavy bullet from Healy's .44 had crashed into the shoulder of his foe.
The shock of it unsteadied the nester's aim. When the smoke cleared it
showed the Bear Creek man sinking to the ground, and the right arm of
the other hanging limply at his side.
At the first sound of exploding revolvers, Phyllis had grown rigid, but
the fusillade had not died away before she was flying along the hall to
the porch.
Brill Healy's voice, cold and cruel, came to her in even tones:
"I reckon I've done this job right, boys. If he hadn't winged me, and if
Jim hadn't butted in, I'd a-done it more thorough, though."
Yeager was bending over the man lying on the ground. He looked up now
and spoke bitterly: "You've murdered an innocent man. Ain't that
thorough enough for you?"
Then, catching sight of Cuffs on the porch of the house, Yeager issued
orders sharply: "Get on my horse and ride like hell for Doc Brown! Bob,
you and Luke help me carry him into the house. What room, Phyl?"
"My room, Jim. Oh, Cuffs, hurry, please!" With that she was gone into
the house to make ready the bed for the wounded man.
Healy picked up the revolver that had fallen from his hand, and slid it
back into the holster.
"That's right, boys. Take him in and let Phyl patch up the coyote if she
can. I reckon this time, she'll have her hands plumb full. Beats all how
a decent girl can take up with a ruffian and a scoundrel."
"That will be enough from you, seh," Yeager told him sharply.
Purdy nodded. "Jim's right, Brill. This man has got what was coming to
him. It ain't proper to jump him right now, when he's down and out."
"Awful tender-hearted you boys are. Come to that, I've got a pill in me,
too, but of course that don't matter," Healy retorted.
"If he dies you'll have another in you, seh," Yeager told him quietly,
meeting his eyes steadily for an instant. "Steady, Bob. You take his
feet. That's right."
They carried the nester to the bedroom of Phyllis and laid him down
gently on the bed. His eyes opened and he looked about him as if to ask
where he was. He seemed to understand what had happened, for presently
he smiled faintly at his friend and said:
"Beat me to it, Jim. I'm bust up proper this time."
"He shot without giving warning."
Keller moved his head weakly in dissent. "No, I knew just when he was
going to draw, but I had to wait for him."
The big, husky plainsmen undressed him with the tenderness of women, and
did their best with the help of Aunt Becky, to take care of his wounds
temporarily. After these had been dressed Phyllis and the old colored
woman took charge of the nursing and dismissed all the men but Yeager.
It would be many hours before Doctor Brown arrived, and it took no
critical eyes to see that this man was stricken low. All the supple
strength and gay virility were out of him. Three of the bullets had
torn through him. In her heavy heart the girl believed he was going to
die. While Yeager was out of the room she knelt down by the bedside,
unashamed, and asked for his life as she had never prayed for anything
before.
By this time his fever was high and he was wandering in his head. The
wild look of delirium was in his eyes, and faint weak snatches of
irrelevant speech on his lips. His moans stabbed her heart. There was
nothing she could do for him but watch and wait and pray. But what
little was to be done in the way of keeping his hot head cool with wet
towels her own hands did jealously. Jim and Aunt Becky waited on her
while she waited on the sick man.
About midnight the doctor rode up. All day and most of the night before
he had been in the saddle. Cuffs had found him across the divide, nearly
forty miles away, working over a boy who had been bitten by a
rattlesnake. But he brought into the sick room with him that manner of
cheerful confidence which radiates hope. You could never have guessed
that he was very tired, nor, after the first few minutes, did he know it
himself. He lost himself in his case, flinging himself into the breach
to turn the tide of what had been a losing battle.