THE DANCE
A week later, while the outfit was eating supper, Swing Tunstall burst
yelling into the bunkhouse. He flung his hat on the floor and thudded
into his seat.
"Dance!" he whooped, hammering on the table with his knife and fork.
"Dance! Big dance! Down at the Bend. Next week. Saturday night.
They're a-goin' to have it in the hotel. Hooray!"
"Pass him the beans, quick!" shouted Doubleday. "Get him to eatin'
before the roof pulls loose. When djuh say it was, Swing?"
"Saturday night, next week. Butter, butter, who's got the grease? An'
the canned cow. That's the stuffy. Say, that's gonna be a reg'lar
elephant of a dance, that is. They's a new girl in town--I seen her.
She's stayin' at Mis' Mace's, an' she's as pretty as a royal flush.
Miss Kate Saltoun her name is, an' she's from the Bar S down on the
Lazy River."
"We'll all go," announced Doubleday.
"You bet we will," said Giant Morton. "Swing, where's that necktie o'
mine yuh borried last week?--yes, the red one. You know the one I
mean. You wanted it so's yuh could make a hit with that hash-slinger
at the hotel. Can't fool me, yuh old tarrapin. Where is it?"
"I'll git it for yuh later," gurgled Tunstall, his mouth full. "I
don't guess I lost it. Ca'm yoreself. Giant, ca'm yoreself. What's a
necktie?"
"Don't guess yuh've lost it! Well, I like that! I paid a dollar six
bits for that necktie down at the Chicago Store. There ain't another
like it in the territory. Ragsdale said so himself. You gimme that
necktie or I'll pizen yore bronc."
"Goin' to de Bend to-morrow?" inquired Telescope of Loudon, when they
were riding the range the day before the dance.
"I don't guess so. I don't feel just like dancin'. Don't enjoy it
like I used to. Gettin' old, I guess."
"I'm goin', but not to de dance een de hotel. I'm goin' to de dance
hall, un I weel play de pokair, too. Ah, I weel have de good tam. W'y
not you come wit' me?"
"Maybe I will. See how I feel to-morrow. I'm goin' to pull my freight
next week sometime. Got an engagement in Farewell in five weeks or so,
an' I want to find the little hoss before then."
"We'll fin' heem, you un me. I am ready any tam you say."
That evening Scotty Mackenzie halted Loudon on his way to the bunkhouse.
"Goin' to the dance, Tom?" queried Scotty.
"I'm goin' to the Bend, but no dance in mine."
"Say, you make me sick! Dorothy'll be at that dance, an' yuh'll hurt
her feelin's if yuh don't go. She'll think yuh don't want to dance
with her or somethin'."
"I can't help what she thinks, can I? I don't have to go to that
dance."
"Yuh don't have to, o' course not, but yuh got to think o' other folks.
Why, only day before yesterday when I was at the Bend she was askin'
after yuh, an' I told her yuh'd shore see her at the dance."
"Yuh did, did yuh? All right, I'm goin' to the Bend to-morrow with the
rest o' the boys, but I've got a little poker game in mind. The dance
is barred, Scotty."
"Oh, all right. Have it yore own way. I'm only tryin' to help yuh
out. Say, Tom, y'ain't still thinkin' o' goin' away, are yuh? Yuh can
have that bay like I said, an' another pony, too, if yuh like. Yuh
see, I want yuh to stay here at the Flyin' M. I'm hard up for men now,
an'----"
"Say," interrupted Loudon, on whom a great light had suddenly dawned,
"say, is that why yo're so anxious to have me go see Miss Burr, huh?
So I'll fall in love with her, an' stay here, huh? Is that it?"
"Why, Tom, o' course not," denied Scotty, indignantly. "I wasn't
thinkin' o' such a thing."
"I ain't none so shore, Scotty. It sounds just like yuh."
"Well, it ain't like me nohow. Yo're wrong, Tom, all wrong as usual.
Suit yoreself about the dance, suit yoreself. I got nothin' more to
say. Here's a letter come for yuh to-day."
Scotty handed the letter to Loudon and departed, offended dignity in
the set of his shoulders. The pose was assumed, and Loudon knew it.
When next they met, Scotty would reopen his favourite issue as usual.
"Now how did he guess it?" wondered Scotty, gloomily, kicking the
pebbles on his way to the office. "How did he guess the truth, I'd
like to know? An' he's goin' away after all! The best man in the
outfit! I got to do somethin', that's a cinch."
Poor Scotty! So must Machiavelli have felt when one of his dearest
schemes was upset by some clever Florentine.
Left alone, Loudon tore open the letter. It ran:
Dere frend lowden Id uv rote sooner only Ive been sick fele bad stil
sene things fur a weak but I can rite now anyhow. Wel, after you an
Mackenzy lef in the afternoon Block an the uther fellar rid in. I noed
the uther fellar what stole yore hoss cause he looked just like you sed
hed look but the hoss he was ridin wasnt yore hoss he was sumbuddy
elses hoss I dunno whoos yet. Wen I sene Block an him I had it all
fixed up with the marshul to arest the uther fellar but the hoss wasnt
yourn it was a bawlface pinto so the marshal couldnt arest him without
a warant. Block an him rode away on the trail to Farewel. Block tride
to find out bout you an Scotty and that drummer told him how you an
Scotty had rid back to the Bend. Wel, I knoked the drummer down an
stepped on his face an throwed him into the waterin-troff an kiked him
three times roun the house. I'm lookin out for yore hoss wen I see him
I'll let you noe hopin this fines you like it leeves me yore frien Dave
Sinclair.
Dave Sinclair was the landlord of the hotel in Rocket. Loudon re-read
the letter and swore whole-heartedly. To miss Rufe Cutting by a few
hours! Riding a bald-faced pinto, was he? What had he done with
Ranger? Loudon went to the bunkhouse in a brown study.
Scotty alone of the Flying M outfit elected to remain at the ranch the
night of the dance. All the others raced into town before sunset. At
the ford of the Dogsoldier they met the Seven Lazy Seven boys from
beyond the Government Hills. Doubleday greeted Dawson, the Seven Lazy
Seven foreman, with a long wolf-howl. Whooping and yelling, the riders
squattered across the creek and poured into Paradise Bend, the
wild-eyed ponies rocketing like jack-rabbits.
It was an expansive evening in the Bend. The corrals were full of
ponies bearing on their hips the brands of the Two Bar, TVU, Double
Diamond K, Wagonwheel, and half-a-dozen other ranches. In the hotel
corral where the Flying M outfit unsaddled, Loudon saw horses belonging
to the Barred O and the T up-and-down, which ranches were a score of
miles southwest of Rocket.
The men of the various outfits circulated rapidly from saloon to
saloon. By midnight many would be drunk. But there were several hours
before midnight.
Loudon and Telescope left their comrades lining up at the hotel bar and
gravitated to the Three Card. Here they found Jim Mace and Marshal Dan
Smith, who hailed them both with marked cordiality. They drank
together, and Jim Mace suggested a little game. Telescope's eyes began
to gleam, and Loudon perceived that his friend was lost to him for that
evening. Loudon was in no mood for poker, so the three prevailed upon
a gentleman from the Barred O to make a fourth, and retired to an empty
table in the corner of the room. Loudon remained standing at the bar,
regarding the rows of bottles on the shelves and gloomily pondering the
exigencies of life.
"Cards no good," he reflected. "Dancin' the same. Nothin' goes good
no more. Even licker don't taste like it used to. Guess I better have
another an' make shore."
He had another. After a time he felt better, and decided to look in at
the dance. From the open windows of the hotel issued sounds of
revelry--the shuffle and pound of boot-leather and the inspiring
strains of the "Arkansaw Traveller" played by two fiddlers sitting on a
table.
Loudon, his hat pulled forward, leaned his chest against a windowsill
and peered over the fat shoulders of Mrs. Ragsdale and a freighter's
wife, who were enjoying the festivities with such zest that the chairs
they sat in were on the point of collapse.
Kate Saltoun and Dorothy Burr were dancing in the same set. Dawson of
the Seven Lazy Seven was Kate's partner, and Pete O'Leary swung
Dorothy. Loudon was struck by the fact that Kate was not smiling. Her
movements, likewise, lacked a certain springiness which was one of her
salient characteristics.
"Somebody must 'a' stepped on her toe," decided Loudon. "Bet she don't
dance with Dawson again."
She didn't. Marshal Dan Smith, perspiring and painfully conscious of a
hard shirt and a forest-fire necktie, was her next partner. Loudon
wondered why he had not hitherto perceived the marked resemblance
between Dan Smith and a jack-rabbit. He found himself speculating on
Kate's reasons for breaking her engagement. As he looked at Kate, her
extreme beauty, contrasted with that of the other girls in the room,
was striking.
"Kate is certainly a heap good-looker."
Mrs. Ragsdale and the freighter's wife turned sharply and stared
open-mouthed at Loudon. Not till then did that young man realize that
he had voiced aloud his estimate of Kate Saltoun. He fled hurriedly,
his skin prickling all over, and dived into the kindly darkness behind
the corral.
"Now I have done it!" he mourned, bitterly, squatting on the ground.
"Those old tongue-wagglers heard me, an' they'll tell her. I seen it
in their faces. What'll she think o' me. Luck! There ain't no such
thing. If all the rocks was tobacco an' all the grass
cigarette-papers, I'd be there without a match."
From the hotel drifted thinly the lilt of "Buffalo Girls." A bevy of
convivial beings in the street were bawling "The Days of Forty-Nine."
Across the discordant riot of sound cut the sudden clipping drum of a
galloping pony.
"Injuns!" shouted a voice. "Injuns!"
Loudon sprang up and dashed around the corral. In the flare of light
from the hotel doorway a dusty man sat a dustier horse. The man was
hatless, his dark hair was matted with dirt and sweat, and his eyes
were wild.
"Injuns!" cried the dusty man. "Injuns on Hatchet Creek! I want help!"
In thirty seconds there was a fair-sized group surrounding the
horseman. In a minute and a half the group had become a crowd. Up
bustled Marshal Dan Smith followed by Telescope Laguerre, Jim Mace, and
the gentleman from the Barred O. Loudon, first on the scene, was
jammed against the rider's stirrup.
"Gents," the dusty man was saying, "my three pardners are a-standin'
off the war-whoops in a shack over by Johnson's Peak on Hatchet Creek.
There's more'n a hundred o' them feather-dusters an' they'll have my
pardners' hair if yuh don't come a-runnin'."
"Johnson's Peak!" exclaimed Jim Mace. "That's fifty mile away!"
"All o' that," assented the dusty man, wearily, without turning his
head. "For God's sake, gents, do somethin', can't yuh? An' gimme a
fresh hoss."
Already three quarters of his hearers were streaking homeward for their
Winchesters and saddles. The men from the ranches were the last to
move away. No need for them to hurry. The few who had brought rifles
to the Bend had left them with their saddles at the various corrals.
Within half an hour the dusty man, mounted on one of the marshal's
ponies, was heading a posse composed of every available man in Paradise
Bend. Only the marshal and two men who were sick remained behind.
The posse, a column of black and bobbing shapes in the starlight, loped
steadily. Many of the ponies had travelled twenty and thirty miles
that day, and there were fifty more to pass under their hoofs. The
average cow-horse is a hardy brute and can perform miracles of work
when called upon. Secure in this knowledge, the riders fully intended
to ride out their mounts to the last gasp.
Doubleday and Dawson rode stirrup to stirrup with the man from Hatchet
Creek. Tailing these three were Loudon, Telescope Laguerre, the Barred
O puncher, and Jim Mace.
"How'd yuh get through, stranger?" queried Doubleday.
"I dunno," said the dusty man. "I jus' did. I had to. It was make or
break. Them war-whoops chased me quite a spell."
"You was lucky," observed Dawson.
"Yo're whistlin' I was. We was all lucky when it comes to that. We
was at the shack eatin' dinner when they jumped us. S'pose we'd been
down the creek where our claims is at, huh?"
"Yo're hair would shore be decoratin' a Injun bridle," admitted Dawson.
"But I didn't know there was gold on Hatchet Creek."
"We got four claims," said the dusty man, shortly.
"Gettin' much?"
"We ain't millionaires yet."
"No, I guess not," whispered Jim Mace to Loudon. "I'll gamble that
gravel don't assay a nickel a ton. Been all through them hills, I
have. I know Hatchet like I do the Dogsoldier. There's no gold there."
"This prospector party says different," muttered Loudon.
"You'll see," sniffed Jim Mace. "Gold on the Hatchet! He's loco!
You'll see."
"It's a good thing, stranger," Dawson was saying, "yuh hit the Bend
when we was havin' a dance. There ain't more'n fifty or sixty men
a-livin' reg'lar in the place."
"Well," said the dusty man, "I did think o' headin' for Fort Yardley.
But them feather-dusters was in between, so it was the Bend or nothin'.
Oh, I knowed I was takin' chances, what with no ranches in between, an'
the little hoss liable to go lame on me an' all. It's a long ride,
gents. Say, seems like we're a-crawlin' an' a-crawlin' an' gittin'
nowheres."
"We're a-gittin' some'ers right lively," corrected Doubleday. "If yore
pardners have plenty o' cartridges they'll be a-holdin' out all right
when we git there. Don't yuh fret none, stranger."
"I ain't--only--only--well, gents, there was a roarin' passel o' them
Injuns."
"Shore, shore, but we'll strike the Hatchet near Tepee Mountain 'round
sun-up, an' from Tepee to Johnson's Peak ain't more'n twenty
miles--less, if anythin'."
In the keen light of dawn the pyramidal bulk of Tepee Mountain loomed
not six miles ahead. When the sun rose the posse had skirted its base
and was riding along the bank of Hatchet Creek.
And now the dusty man began to display signs of a great nervousness.
He fidgeted in his saddle, examined and tried the lever action of his
rifle, and gloomily repeated many times that he believed the posse
would arrive too late. As they passed above a cut bank, the dusty man,
riding near the edge, dropped his Winchester. The piece slipped over
the edge and splashed into the water fifteen feet below. Swearing, the
dusty man rode back to where the bank was lower and dismounted.
"Don't wait for me!" he shouted, wading upstream. "I'll catch up."
The posse rode onward. Some of the horses were staggering with
fatigue. All of them were jaded and dripping with sweat. Suddenly
Telescope Laguerre rode from the line and vaulted out of his saddle.
He landed on his hands and knees and remained in that position, his
head thrust forward, his eyes blazing with excitement.
"What's eatin' Telescope?" demanded Doubleday.
"Tom! Tom! Come here! Queeck!" shouted the half-breed.
"Say!" snorted Doubleday. "What is this, anyway? Do you fellers know
there's some Injuns up here a piece?"
But Loudon had joined Telescope and neither of the two gave the
slightest heed to the outraged Doubleday.
"Look!" exclaimed Laguerre, as the tail of the column passed. "Look!
Yore hoss she come out o' de wood here! See!"
"My hoss! You mean Ranger?" Loudon stared, thunderstruck, at the
hoofmarks of two horses.
"Yore hoss, Ranger! Ah, once I see de hoss-track I know heem again!
Las' tam you shoe de hoss you shoe heem all 'roun'. Dees ees hees
track. No man was ride heem. She was de led hoss. Feller ride odder
hoss. See! Dey come out de wood un go dees way."
Telescope waved a hand over the way they had come.
"How old are the tracks?" queried Loudon, breathlessly.
"Mabbeso four day. No use follow dem. We lose 'em on de hard groun'."
"Telescope, I got an idea somethin's wrong. I dunno what, but these
tracks comin' in here thisaway, an' that fellah with the Injun story--I
guess now they hitch somehow. I tell yuh I dunno how"--as Telescope
opened his mouth to speak--"an' I may be wrong, but I'm goin' back
after that party from Hatchet Creek."
Loudon swung into his saddle and spurred his mount. The animal
responded gamely, but a pitifully slow lope was the best speed it could
shake out of its weary legs. Laguerre's pony was in worse case. The
short halt had stiffened his knees slightly and he stumbled at every
other step. The two men lolloped jerkily downstream. Rounding a sharp
bend, they came in sight of the cut bank where the dusty stranger had
dropped his gun. Neither man nor horse was visible.
"By gar!" exclaimed Laguerre. "By gar!"
Just then his horse stumbled for the last time, fell on its knees, and
rolled over on its side. Laguerre flung himself clear and bounced to
his feet. The pony struggled up, but Laguerre did not remount. He
dragged his rifle from the scabbard and ran forward on foot to rejoin
his comrade. Loudon was leaning over the saddlehorn examining the spot
where the dusty man had left his horse.
"Ground's kind o' hard," said Loudon, "but it looks like he'd headed
for that flat."
"He go dere all right!" exclaimed Laguerre, excitedly. "Come on, Tom!"
Running awkwardly, for cow-country boots are not fashioned for rapid
locomotion, Laguerre led the way toward a broad meadow fifty yards
away. Once in the meadow the trail was easier to follow. The meadow
was at least a quarter-mile wide, and woods bordered it on three sides.
The trail led straight across it, and on into the forest. The trees
did not grow thickly, and Laguerre, his eyes on the ground, threaded
his way in and out between the trunks at an ankle-straining trot. He
had excellent wind, had Telescope Laguerre. Loudon was forced to
employ spurs and quirt in order to keep up with him.
Four hundred yards deep in the forest they saw ahead an opening in the
trees. A minute later they charged into a large meadow. In the middle
of the meadow was an ancient shack, doorless, the roof fallen in,
flanked by a corral which gave evidence of having been recently
repaired.
"Somethin' movin' in that corral," said Loudon, and dragged out his gun.
Then, in half a watch-tick, a man on a chestnut horse flashed across
the open space between the corral and the shack. Loudon and Laguerre
swung to one side, but the man did not immediately reappear on the
other side of the shack. A few steps farther and they saw him. He was
riding directly away from them and was within fifty yards of the forest.
The fugitive was a long two hundred yards distant, but they recognized
his back without any difficulty. He was the dusty man from Hatchet
Creek, and his horse was Loudon's Ranger.
"Look out for the hoss!" cried Loudon, as Laguerre flung up his rifle.
The rifle cracked spitefully once and again. The rider, with a
derisive yell, disappeared among the trees. Laguerre dropped his
rifle-butt, and began to utter strange and awful oaths in a polyglot of
French and English. Loudon sheathed his six-shooter, kicked his feet
out of the stirrups, and calmly rolled a cigarette.
"No use a-cussin', Telescope," he observed. "He's done gone."
Pht-bang! a rifle spat from the distant wood. Loudon's horse gave a
convulsive sidewise leap, dropped with a groan and rolled half over,
pinning Loudon to the ground. Laguerre, flat on his stomach, was
firing at the thinning smoke-cloud under the trees. But there were no
more shots from the forest.
"Say, Telescope," called Loudon, "when yuh get plumb through would yuh
mind pullin' this cayuse off o' my legs?"
Still cursing, Laguerre levered up the body of the dead pony with the
barrel of his rifle, and Loudon wriggled free. He endeavoured to stand
on his feet, but sat down abruptly.
"What's de matter?" inquired Laguerre. "Bullet hit you, too?"
"No," replied Loudon, gingerly feeling his right ankle, "my foot feels
funny."
"Mabbeso de leg broke," suggested Laguerre. "Mabbeso dat feller she
try anudder shot. Better you be behin' de log-house."
He picked up his rifle, helped Loudon to stand erect, and passed an arm
around his waist. So, hopping on one foot, Loudon reached the shelter
of the shack wall. Laguerre eased him to the ground and skipped nimbly
down past the corral.
"Mabbeso I geet dat feller," he called over his shoulder. "Be back
soon."
Laguerre returned in five minutes.
"Dat feller she geet clean away," he said, disconsolately. "Nevair
touch heem. By gar! Eef I not have run so hard, I shoot better. Geet
heem shore den."
"Pull my boot off, will yuh, Telescope?" requested Loudon, extending
his leg.
Laguerre pulled. Loudon gritted his teeth. The pain was sharp,
nauseating.
"It's no good," said Loudon, thickly. "Got to cut the boot off."
Laguerre whipped out his knife and slit the leather from instep to top.
Gently he removed the boot. Loudon peeled off the sock. The ankle was
badly swollen.
"Wiggle de toe," commanded Laguerre.
Loudon wriggled his toes and was able to move his ankle slightly, not
without a deal of pain, however. He noted with thankfulness that the
pain was continuous, and not stabbing as it is when a bone is involved.
"Bone's all right," he observed, cheerfully. "Only a sprain, I guess."
"Dat ees good," said Laguerre. "I geet de odder hoss."
He strode to the dead horse and stripped off saddle and bridle.
"Say," said Loudon, "I can do that while yo're goin' for the hoss.
We'll have to leave 'em here, anyway."
"No, not dees treep, my frien'," Laguerre said, carrying saddle and
bridle toward the corral. "Dat feller she leave Dan Smeet's hoss on de
odder side de corral. Hoss she pretty tire', but she carry you all
right."
On his hands and knees Loudon crawled to the corral and peered between
the bars. The corral was a large one. Till recently the grass had
grown thickly within it. But that grass had been nibbled to the roots,
and the marks of shod hoofs were everywhere. From a spring near the
shack a small stream ran through one corner of the corral.
"Slick," said Loudon. "Couldn't have been better, could it?"
"No eet could not," agreed Laguerre. "She feex up dees ole corral
fine. Dat Ranger hoss she been here mabbeso four day. She have de
grass. She have de watair. She all ready fresh w'en dat feller she
come. Un how can we follow wit' de tire' pony? Oh, she have eet
figure all out. For w'y? Can you tell me dat, Tom?"
"I dunno. It shore is too many for me."
He painfully made his way to the spring, drank, and then soaked his
sprained ankle in the icy stream till Laguerre came to help him into
the saddle.
On the bank of the Hatchet they found Laguerre's pony lying where it
had fallen. The animal was not dead. It was sound asleep.
"Hear dat?" said Laguerre, late in the afternoon.
Loudon listened. From afar off came a buzzing murmur. It grew louder
and louder.
"The boys are some het up," observed Loudon.
The posse straggled into view. The boys were "het up." They were all
talking at once. Evidently they had been talking for some time, and
they were full of their subject. At sight of Loudon and his bootless
leg the clamour stilled.
"Hit bad, Tom?" called Doubleday.
"Hoss fell on me," explained Loudon. "Yuh don't have to say nothin',
Doubleday," he added, as the foreman dismounted beside him. "I know
just what happened."
"Oh, yuh do, do yuh?" snorted Doubleday, wrathfully. "I might 'a'
knowed there was somethin' up when that gent an' you fellers didn't
catch up. An' us ridin' our heads off from hell to breakfast! Why,
we'd be combin' this country yet only we met some o' the cavalry from
Fort Yardley an' they said there ain't been an Injun off the
reservation for a month. They shore give us the laugh. ----! That's
his hoss! Did yuh get him?"
"We did not. The fellah got away nice as yuh please on my hoss
Ranger--yep, the hoss Rufe Cutting stole in the Bend. Gimme the
makin's, somebody, an' I'll tell yuh what happened."