Nan’s ankle was pretty sore the next morning, but she insisted on
dressing, and Len carried her out to breakfast. Sailor had already eaten
his breakfast, and was down at the stable.
Len told her about the boys going out to look for Hashknife, and that he
was anxious to find out whether anything serious had happened. Little
Larry was down at the stable with Sailor, who was saddling a burro for
him to ride. They could hear Larry’s high-pitched voice as he gave
expert advice on the matter.
“He’s a lovable little fellow,” said Nan. “This ranch will be wonderful
for him, Len.”
“Then you don’t mind havin’ him here, Nan?”
“Oh, I love it.”
“I wondered if yuh would. Where do yuh want to sit this mornin’? You
can’t do much movin’ around, yuh know, and I’d kinda like to ride to
town and see if they found Hartley.”
“On the front porch. Don’t hurry on my account, Len.”
“Well, I won’t be gone long.”
He carried her out on the porch and made her comfortable in a rocker,
stacking up some old magazines beside her.
“Len,” she said seriously, “you are awful good to me.”
“Mebby I am and mebby I ain’t,” he said brusquely. “See you later.”
Larry came up to see her after a while, his face flushed, clothes dusty.
“Me and the mule got along great,” he told her, with a triumphant note
in his voice. “Sailor says I rode him to a frazzle. Sailor’s makin’ over
a saddle for me. Well, I’ve got to get back to work, I s’pose.”
“What kind of work, Larry?” she asked.
“Cuttin’ wood for Whisperin’.”
“You should call him Mr. Taylor, Larry.”
“I did--once. Then he said we was well enough acquainted to call each
other by our first names. What was all this about Mr. Hartley bein’
missin’?”
“Nobody seems to know, Larry.”
“Gee, I hope he’s all right. Me and him are waitin’ for the big wind to
come along, so we can fly a kite. When yore ankle gets better you can
help us.”
“All right, Larry. Perhaps your father will help, too.”
Larry thought a while.
“Mebby. It’s funny to think of him bein’ my father. Do you like him?”
“Why do you ask that, Larry?”
“Well, I guess he likes you.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“He told me that the boss was a nice lady. He wouldn’t say that unless
he liked you, would he?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. I hope he likes me, Larry.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’ve got to cut some wood.”
It was after twelve o’clock when Whispering beat the dinner gong, and
Sailor came up from the stable with Larry. Whispering asked Nan whether
they should carry her to the table or serve her meal out there. She
decided in favour of eating on the porch.
It was Sailor who brought the tray out there. Nan held it, while Sailor
brought out a small table.
“You carried my message to Mr. Baggs, didn’t you, Sailor?” she asked,
still holding the tray in both hands.
“No, ma’am, I didn’t,” he said. “Couldn’t find him last night, and I
plumb forgot to tell yuh this mornin’.”
The tray slipped from Nan’s fingers, struck on her two knees and went
upside down on the porch, the dishes clattering down the steps. Her arms
fell limply to her sides and she sagged back in her chair, her face
turning white.
“My golly!” blurted Sailor. “Whatsa matter? Yore ankle?”
For several moments Nan did not speak, while Sailor watched her
anxiously. Hearing the crash of the dishes, Whispering and Larry came
running out.
“I reckon her ankle hurt,” said Sailor.
“You prob’ly stepped on it!” snorted Whispering.
“Aw, I wasn’t near her. She----”
“It’s all right,” whispered Nan painfully. “Oh, I’m sorry about the
dishes.”
“Shucks, that’s all right,” assured Whispering. “I’ll load up another
bunch for yuh.”
Nan shook her head wearily.
“No, don’t do that, Whispering; I’m not hungry now.”
“I know how yuh feel,” he said. “I had a sprained leg once. Them pains
shore do shoot through. You jist take it easy, and when yuh get hungry
I’ll fix up a snack for yuh.”
They went back to the dining-room, leaving Nan to stare out at the
hills, wondering what would happen next. She knew that Baggs would watch
for her to leave Lobo Wells, and when she did not appear at the station
he would have her arrested.
Several times Whispering came out to the porch, anxious to prepare a
meal for her, but she had no appetite. Her eyes ached from watching the
road to Lobo Wells, and when she did see a cloud of dust, presaging the
approach of a rider, she clenched her hands and swore she would be game,
while cold chills raced up and down her spine.
She recognised Len at a distance, but the other rider was not familiar,
until they came in through the big gate, when she recognised the huge
figure of Ben Dillon, the sheriff. She gripped the arms of her chair and
watched them ride up to her and dismount. The sheriff was coming for
her, she knew. Len’s face seemed very grave, as he said:
“Ben, you’ve met Miss Singer, ain’t yuh?”
“Howdy,” said the sheriff. “I ain’t never had the pleasure.”
Nan couldn’t speak. Their faces seemed blurred.
“You remember sendin’ Sailor Jones to town last night?” asked the
sheriff.
“Hey!” blurted Len quickly. “She’s fainted, Ben.”
“By God, that’s what she’s done, Len! What do yuh do for----”
Len picked her up in his arms and carried her into the house, placing
her on the couch.
“What’s the hell’s been goin’ on now?” wailed Whispering.
“Get some cold water!” snapped Len.
Len bathed her face with cold water, which revived her in a few moments.
Her mind was clear again, and she waited for the sheriff to say or do
something, but he walked from the room with Len. Out on the porch he
said:
“She ain’t in no shape to talk, Len. Personally, I don’t think Sailor
had anythin’ to do with it, but Breezy said that Sailor was along about
that time, and I jist wanted to kinda find out if she knew what time he
got home.”
“I told yuh she didn’t, Ben. Sailor never went up to the house after he
got back. It was only a little while before Stevens and Breezy came
bustin’ out, lookin’ for Hashknife. Anyway, Sailor wouldn’t bushwhack
anybody, and yuh say that Hartley was bushwhacked.”
“Hartley never said anythin’--it was Breezy. Sleepy told him. I saw
Hartley this mornin’, and he shore had a close call. It’s got me all
balled up. If you can tell me why anybody would try to shoot his head
off with a shotgun I’ll put in with yuh. Why, the man is a stranger
around here.”
“Yeah, that’s true, Ben. Kinda funny. First off they kill Prentice; then
they try to kill Amos Baggs. Now they ambush Hartley. Who will be next?
What did Hartley say?”
“Grinned like a danged fool. I asked him if he wasn’t scared, and he
said he shore was--scared to death.”
Len smiled and rubbed his chin.
“Yuh say they threw him off the bridge?”
“Yeah. Prob’ly thought he was dead.”
“Hm-m-m. I wonder if Hartley has any idea who done it, Ben?”
“I asked Stevens the same question, and he said he didn’t. I told
Hartley I was goin’ to try and find out who shot him, and he said he’d
be much obliged if I could. Sometimes he makes me so damn mad, with his
grinnin’--but yuh can’t help likin’ him, Len. And he ain’t a man I’d
choose for a fight.
“Packs his gun pretty low,” nodded Len, “and them eyes of his are pretty
steady, even when he grins with his mouth.”
“How’s the boy, Len?”
“Fine.”
“Well, I’ll be driftin’ back. Sorry I bothered Miss Singer, Len; but
this deal is gittin’ me up in the air.”
“That’s all right, Ben.”
Len Ayres watched him ride away, and then went back into the house. Nan
was curled up on the couch.
“Where is the sheriff?” she asked.
“Oh, he went back to town, Nan. He said he was sorry to bother yuh, but
there was a few things he wanted to know. Last night somebody tried to
kill Hartley on the road between here and town. Shot him off his horse
and threw him in the river. Sailor was the only man along the road at
that time. Breezy Hill knew what time Sailor left town, and the sheriff
wanted to see if you had any idea what time Sailor got back here to the
ranch. I guess he didn’t believe me.”
“But I didn’t see Sailor after he got back last night,” said Nan
wearily.
“That’s what I told him. Do yuh feel better, Nan?”
“Much better.”
“Ankle pretty sore, ain’t it? I’ll betcha. Mebby I better take yuh to
the doctor, Nan.”
“Well, that--yes, Len, that would give me a chance to talk with Mr.
Baggs. He expected me this morning. Sailor never delivered my message to
him. I guess he wasn’t able to find Mr. Baggs.”
“Shore. But I’ll tell yuh what we’re goin’ to do, Nan: we’re goin’ to
take yore case away from Baggs. I don’t trust him. We’ll demand the will
and all the papers and turn ’em over to another lawyer. Jist cut Mr.
Baggs off at the pockets.”
Nan stared at him rather wildly. The idea was good, but the consequences
might be terrible. She thought quickly.
“I--I don’t know whether I could stand the ride, Len,” she said weakly.
“This ankle is awful sore. Maybe you better have the doctor come out
here.”
“Whatever yuh want to do, Nan. Shall I bring Baggs out?”
“We--we’ll let him--I’ll be all right in a few days. You just tell him I
got hurt, will you, Len?”
“Oh, shore.”
After Len left the room Nan wiped the perspiration off her brow and
offered up a prayer for this short respite. If Len explained her
condition to Baggs it might save her for a few more days.