THE AMAZING MACKENZIE
Doubleday, a squat man with a sharp nose and a sharper eye, evinced no
surprise at his employer's message. He merely swore resignedly on
learning that Mackenzie had not sent in the mail by Loudon, and in the
same breath thanked his Maker that a new man had arrived.
The advent of Loudon was most opportune, according to Doubleday. For,
one "Lanky" having taken a wife and removed to the Sweet River Agency,
the Flying M was a man short.
"Turn yore hoss into the big corral," said Doubleday, when he had
sufficiently condemned the foolishness of Lanky, "an' take yore saddle
over to the bunkhouse. There's three empty bunks. Help yoreself.
Then c'mon over to the little corral an' bring yore rope. Got an
outlaw stallion with a cut hind leg, an' it's a two-man job."
Loudon found favour in the eyes of Doubleday. The former Bar S puncher
did his work easily and well. He proved a better roper than Doubleday,
and he was the equal in horsemanship of "Telescope" Laguerre, the
half-breed buster.
With Laguerre, Loudon struck up an instant friendship.
Telescope--which name was the natural transformation undergone by
Telesphore in a Western climate--was a long lean man, with the straight
black hair and the swarthy complexion of his Indian mother and the
mobile features and facile speech and gestures of his French father.
When Loudon had been at the Flying M three days Telescope suggested
that they ride to town in the evening.
"We weel go to de dance hall," said Laguerre. "Fine woman dere. We
weel dance a leetle, we weel dreenk de w'iskey, un we weel have de good
tam. By gar, I not been to town for two mont. Wat your say, Tom?"
"I'd shore enjoy goin' along, Telescope, but I can't," replied Loudon,
mindful of his promise to Scotty Mackenzie.
"Dat ees all right," said the large-hearted half-breed. "She ees my
treat. I have more as one hundred dollar, un by gar! I wan' for to
spen' eet. You are my frien'. You help me for spen' eet. We weel
burn up de dance hall."
"Oh, I'm not broke," said Loudon. "I'll go with yuh another time."
Laguerre, being wise in his generation, forbore to insist, and rode to
town alone. The cook predicted a three-day orgy.
"Rats!" said Doubleday. "Yuh don't know Telescope. He never gets
drunk. He can't. He sops it up an' he sops it up, an' it don't bother
him a mite. Wish I had his gift. Why, I've seen him tuck away a quart
o' killer inside o' three hours, an' then hop out with his rope an'
fasten on a hoss any leg you tell him. He's a walkin' miracle,
Telescope is, an' he'll be back in the mornin'."
Loudon, oiling his saddle in front of the bunkhouse, glanced casually
at the cook standing in the doorway, and wondered for the twentieth
time where he had seen the man before. On his arrival at the Flying M,
Loudon had sensed that, in a vague way, the cook's face was familiar.
First impressions had taken no concrete form. He could not remember
where or under what circumstances he had seen the cook. But that he
had seen him, he was certain.
The cook's name was Rufe Cutting. Which name, however, was not
enlightening. Idly speculating, Loudon went on with his work. The
cook returned to the kitchen.
Laguerre bore out the statement of Doubleday. He returned while the
men were saddling in the morning. He did not appear in the least
degree wearied. Hurriedly changing his saddle to a fresh horse, he
rode away with Loudon.
"By gar!" exclaimed Laguerre. "I have de fine tam. I dance, I dreenk
de w'iskey, un I play de pokair wit' Pete O'Leary un two odder men un I
tak' deir money. I ween feefty dollar. By gar! I am glad I go to
town, me."
"Yuh shore ought to be," said Loudon. "Fifty dollars. That's right
good hearin'."
"Pete O'Leary she wan' for know 'bout you," continued Laguerre.
"Pete O'Leary asked about me! What did he say, huh?"
"Oh, she not say eet plain. She walk een de watair. But I have been
de scout; I have leeve wit Enjun; I know w'at ees een ees head. She
talk 'bout Lanky quittin' de Flyin' M, un she wan' for know have Scotty
hired new man. She say she see Scotty ride out wit' you, un she know
you name. But I not say much. I tell Pete O'Leary to ask Scotty 'bout
hees business, un I not say eef you work for de Flyin' M or not. For I
tink mabbeso Pete O'Leary she ees not frien' to you."
"Well, he ain't strictly hostyle anyway," said Loudon, and he forthwith
told Laguerre of his meeting with Pete O'Leary and of the latter's
strange actions.
"Dat ees varree fonny," commented Laguerre. "Pete O'Leary she was
expectin' de frien' or de message mabbee. But dat ees not so fonny as
hees askin' 'bout you so moch. She worry 'bout you, un dat ees fonny.
Why she worry eef she hones' man? I tell you, my frien', I do not
trus' dat Pete O'Leary. I would watch heem. I would watch heem varree
sharp."
"Oh, I don't believe it means anythin'," doubted Loudon. "But I'll
keep an eye skinned for him."
"You better, my frien', or mabbeso some tam she skeen you."
A week later Mackenzie returned. That evening, after supper, Doubleday
told Loudon that Scotty wanted to see him. Mackenzie, chair tilted,
feet propped on the table, his hands clasped behind his head, was
staring up at the ceiling when Loudon entered the office. The chair
descended on four legs with a crash, and the ancient arose briskly.
"Stranger," said Mackenzie, his blue eyes no longer frosty, "I was
mistaken. Yo're a gent an' a white man, an' I ain't holdin' out
nothin'. Shake."
Loudon grinned and shook hands. He was satisfied with the other's
apology.
"That's all right," said the puncher. "I knowed yuh mistook me for
somebody else. But I'd shore admire to know, if it ain't private, who
yuh thought I was."
"I don't mind tellin' yuh. I ain't ever talked about it much. Dunno
why. No reason why I shouldn't. Sit down, Loudon, an' I'll tell yuh.
When I first seen yuh there in Main Street that 88 brand on yore hoss
made me suspicious.
"Sam Blakely o' the 88 an' me ain't friends. We had a run-in some
eight years ago over at Virginia City, an' I kind o' left Sam the worse
for wear. I heard later how Sam was yellin' 'round that he'd get even.
Knowin' Sam, I believed it. An' when I seen you ridin' a 88 hoss, I
says to myself, 'Here's Sam done gone an' hired a party to do the
gettin' even.' When yuh wanted to ride for me, I was shore of it.
"So when you got down to fix yore cinches I expected to be plugged the
next second, an' I throwed down on yuh. Yore askin' me to send yore
hoss an' saddle to Johnny Ramsay was what stopped me. I knowed if
Johnny was a friend o' yores you was all right. So I sent yuh on, an'
I trailed yuh clear to the ranch. If you'd turned back I'd 'a' downed
yuh. But yuh didn't turn back.
"Well, after I seen yuh talkin' to Doubleday---- Shore; yuh know that
little hill about half-a-mile south? I was on top of it with a pair of
field glasses--after I seen yuh talkin' to Doubleday, I moseyed south
again to the Cross-in-a-box."
"Two hundred miles!" exclaimed Loudon.
"About that," said Mackenzie, easily, quite as if a four-hundred-mile
ride in ten days were an afternoon jaunt. "Yuh see, I wanted to talk
to Jack Richie. Didn't want to go to the Bar S if I could help it. Me
an' Saltoun never did pull together. He thinks I'm a fool, an' I know
he's crazy.
"Well, I talked with Jack, an' he explained everythin'. Said who yuh
was an' how yuh'd bought yore hoss from the 88 an' how yuh'd creased
Sam Blakely, an' all. That was fine work. Too bad yuh didn't down him
for good. He's a varmint. Worse'n a rattler. Yuh'd ought to 'a'
plugged Marvin, too, after him tryin' to make yuh out a rustler
that-away. A sport like that'll stand shootin' any day. What's the
matter?"
For Loudon was amazedly staring at Mackenzie.
"Four hundred miles both ways," said the puncher, "to see whether a
forty-five-dollar-a-month hand was tellin' the truth!"
"Yuh was more than a hand," rejoined Mackenzie, with a slight smile.
"Yuh was opportunity, with a big O. Yuh see, when yuh asked for a job
I needed a man. I needed him bad. I was shore yuh was out to down me.
But when yuh said yuh knowed Johnny an' I changed my mind about
droppin' yuh, it come to me, provided you was straight, that you was
just the feller for me. You was sent to me, like. You was
Opportunity, see?
"An' I ain't never passed up an opportunity that I ain't been sorry.
I'm kind o' superstitious thataway now, an' I'll go out o' my way to
grab what I think looks like an opportunity. I knowed I couldn't rest
easy till I found out somethin' about yuh. So I done it. An' I'm ----
glad I done it.
"Doubleday tells me yo're the best roper he ever seen, an' yo're a
wonder with the stallions. A good man with stallions is somethin' I've
wished for ever since I owned the Flyin' M. I never had him till you
come. Opportunity! I guess yuh was, an' then a few. Now I don't know
whether yuh care about stayin', but I shore hope yuh will. I'll see
that yuh don't regret it."
"Shore I'll stay," said Loudon. "Them stallions is where I live."
"Then fifty-five a month goes for you from now on."
In this auspicious fashion began Loudon's life at the Flying M. Yet
Loudon was not precisely happy. The cheerfulness induced by the
whole-hearted Burrs had been but temporary. He brooded over his
wrongs, and that is bad for a man. Like all men who believe themselves
hard hit, he did not realize that there are a great many lonesome
ladies in the world, any one of whom will make a man utterly happy.
One young woman had proved to be an arrant flirt, therefore all young
women were flirts, and beauty was a snare and a delusion. So reasoned
Loudon. Surrendering almost wholly to his mood, he rarely took part in
the general conversation in the bunkhouse. The men wondered at his
aloofness, but none essayed to draw him out. His smoldering gray eyes
forbade any such familiarity. When riding the range with Laguerre,
however, Loudon would emerge from his shell, and a strong friendship
swiftly grew up between the two.
One day, nearly two weeks after Mackenzie's return from the
Cross-in-a-box, Loudon was in the blacksmith shop making a set of shoes
for Ranger when Pete O'Leary rode up to the doorway and peered in.
"Hello," said O'Leary, cheerily. "How's tricks?"
"Comin' in bunches," replied Loudon, shortly, and he blew the bellows
vigorously.
"That's good. Hot, ain't it? Well, I got to be weavin' along. So
long."
Loudon walked to the doorway and watched O'Leary till he disappeared
among the cottonwoods fringing the bank of the Dogsoldier.
"Now I'd admire to know," he wondered, "if Pete O'Leary stopped here
just to ask how tricks was. He kind o' looked at yore brand, too,
fellah," he added, addressing Ranger.
Thoughtfully he returned to his work. Five minutes later he whacked
his knee and whistled. Comprehension had at last come to him. He
marvelled that it had not come sooner.
"Now, why didn't I think o' that quicker?" he muttered. "It was that
88 brand on Ranger's hip that made Scotty suspicious. So it was that
brand must 'a' made O'Leary freeze to me when I sifted into the Bend.
'Couldn't Sam come?' Sam Blakely o' the 88! An' I never seen it till
just now."
The moves of an enemy are always interesting. Even more thoughtfully
than before, Loudon pumped the handle of the bellows. Why was Blakely
coming to Paradise Bend? To settle his score with Scotty Mackenzie?
Loudon doubted it. A newly engaged man does not, as a rule, jeopardize
his future happiness by reopening old issues.
Whatever the precise nature of Blakely's purpose might be, it was dark
and Machiavellian in the main. O'Leary's peculiar actions in the Three
Card Saloon evinced as much.
"I don't see how it could have anythin' to do with me," puzzled Loudon.
"Sam couldn't 'a' knowed I was comin' to the Bend. I didn't know
myself till just before I started. Yet here's O'Leary askin' Telescope
about me an' skirmishin' over to see if I am at the Flyin' M. It shore
is a heap mysterious."
Loudon decided to talk it over with Scotty Mackenzie.