CLEAN AS A HOUND'S TOOTH.
Having sent Constable Mahaffy with the team to the railroad for
supplies and a small shipment of furniture, Sergeant Childress slept
in the half-roofed cabin alone, except for the hound. He had been
slumbering for hours when the restless movements and low whining of
the dog awakened him. Where his master was concerned, Poison never
asserted himself without reason. This his owner had learned to
consider, although sometimes he failed to fathom it. Half rising
from out his blankets, he struck a match and looked at his watch.
The hour was nearly one in the morning, and the light of the half
moon poured in through the unfinished portion of the roof.
"Whimpering at the moon, you blithering old alarm clock?" he
demanded; but, as he grew more fully awake, he realized that Poison
was far too wise to be disturbed by Luna, even when she appeared in
all her splendor. Pulling on his corduroys and boots, Childress
slipped a .45 into his belt and went out to investigate, the hound
licking his heels in approval of the move.
His first interest was Silver, picketed up the creek. As he
approached the animal which, with association, was winning his
increasing interest, he heard a whistling snort. The sergeant
recognized in this not a sound of fright or defiance, but the beast's
invitation to its kind. In the moonlight he saw that the horse's
ears were pointing toward the upper rim of the cup in an attitude of
eager listening, and that he pawed the prairie with an impatient
forefoot. The possibility that strays, seeking a change of grass,
had headed into his fertile basin was the first supposition. Under
ordinary circumstances this need not have kept him longer from his
blankets, as their dislodgment could have awaited the daylight. But
he knew the horse bands that ranged thereabouts bore either the
Andress or the Gallegher brand. In view of the double warning that
he was under suspicion, he did not care to have them found on his
newly-acquired property.
Taking up a rope that was looped over the firmly planted post to
which the stallion was picketed, he strode toward the upper basin,
the hound at his heels.
The dozen mares, with their colts, which he had bought and driven in
as the foundation of the Open A herd, were grazing peacefully in the
upper pasture, and his count showed the presence of no outsiders. He
was about to turn back, in the belief that for once the hound had
yielded to canine aversion for moonlight, when his nostrils detected
a foreign odor in the air of the soft Chinook wind that blew.
He sniffed and sniffed again. "Plug cut!" he murmured under his
breath. "Plug cut blazing in a pipe! Somebody's enjoying a smoke up
that ravine."
At this time of night no other human should have been within miles of
the spot. Indeed, at any hour the presence of a stranger in that
side ravine, far removed from any trail, would demand explanation.
As rapidly as possible he got out of the moonlight.
Under cover of the shadows thrown by the creek's cottonwood fringe,
he advanced with cautious, noiseless tread to the edge of the ravine,
which was really a miniature basin connected with the main one by a
narrow gap. There he saw twelve or fifteen horses, most of them
cropping the luxuriant growth underfoot.
At first his eyes discerned no human figure, though the scent of
tobacco could be accounted for only by the presence of man. Then he
detected a movement in the shadows on the far side of the ravine,
near its mouth. The next moment a short, spare figure, which he did
not recognize, stepped into view.
Childress saw the intruder tie a rope around a slender birch, run a
line to its neighbor, and then start across the ravine, paying out
the rope as he progressed. It was evident that he was improvising a
corral for the strange stock in the gully; but why the animals were
there was as much a mystery as the stranger himself.
The sergeant was puzzled as to his procedure. There might be a
plausible and satisfactory explanation for this strange action, in
which case he would regret shooting a trespasser. On the other hand,
he did not wish to be shot down himself, which was possible, if he
stopped to ask questions which might require embarrassing answers.
Moreover, there was that never-fire-first rule of the Mounted. The
short man was coming rapidly toward him, and he had but a moment for
decision.
His shooting hand was reaching for his gun when he recalled the
quieter and most effective method of capture used on himself only a
few days before. His aim with the rope was as sure as that of his
revolver. Not for nothing had he patroled the Cypress Hills in his
younger service days. Silently he adjusted the running knot into a
sizable loop and shook out the strands.
When the oncomer was within a dozen yards of him he made his cast,
the rope cutting through the air with a hiss that was startling in
the nocturnal quiet. It settled over the intruder's shoulders before
he realized what was happening, and a sharp jerk, into which
Childress threw all his strength, drew the noose taut and effectively
pinioned the other's arms, making it impossible for him to draw a
weapon.
With the strike, Childress shouted: "Easy there, stranger, and you
won't hurt yourself!"
The man who had been lassoed made no response, but began to thrash
about in an effort to free himself. Resenting this struggle, Poison
dashed into the open and assailed the captive with ferocious growls.
Not being a man hunter, he refrained from closing in, as he would
have done had the rope held a bear or a cougar, but he aided his
master by diverting the attention of the struggler from the rope.
Childress began to work up on the string hand over hand, as he would
have done had some outlaw horse been at the other end, not for one
instant slackening the tie of the noose. It can't be said that his
lessons in man roping were long past history, considering the way in
which the Lazy G outfit had taken him. In his present effort he was
abetted by the fact that his captive seemed anxious only to get away,
and made no forward rush in attack. He was soon close enough to
throw a fresh loop about the intruder, and then another which
determined the issue of the capture. Reaching out he slipped the
other's gun from its hip holster and was ready for parley.
He turned the pinioned one around until the moon lighted his face,
and then started back in surprised recognition.
"You--O'Hara!" he exclaimed. "What the devil brings you across my
trail?"
He knew the man--scarcely could have forgotten him since some years
before, at no little risk to the integrity of his own hide, he had
saved him from an enraged mob at end of steel on the
Trans-continental railroad.
"I never knowed it was you, pard," the captive said huskily, "or I'd
'a' gone on a scout before tryin' to jam you. Call off your hound
and slack the rope. I'll put you wise to something you'd ought to
know."
Having the full measure of the man he had snared, from past
experience with him, Childress did not hesitate to order Poison to
heel, and then he loosened his lariat.
Duncan O'Hara stretched his arms and rubbed his shoulders and chest,
where the rope had cut. "You shore sprung a surprise snappin' that
string around me, pard. When did you bust off from the straight and
narrow?"
"I don't get that question," declared Childress, "any more than I do
your midnight corral making."
"I mean when did you get outside the law?"
"So far as you're concerned in this deal, I'm not outside the law,"
returned the sergeant. "What's the game?"
O'Hara found a seat on a tree stump and relighted his faithful pipe.
"This here's a plant," he began, "and as pretty a one as a jealous
four-flusher ever worked out. You listen to me and I'll spill it to
you on the level. I ain't forgettin' what you done, pullin' me out
of that skin-tight hole of a necktie party down in the States."
"I'm listening," said Childress shortly. "Give me all of it."
"For a runnin' start then, I've become range boss for the Rafter A
outfit, and I'm wise to everything. They're convinced that you've
been runnin' their stock down to the 'Medicine Line' and gettin' away
with it. Naturally you're too plumb wise to let them get the goods
on you, so Fitzrapp is in for manufacturin' the evidence and puttin'
the hawse-thief brand on you for fair. I'm just drawin' good wages
and takin' bad orders.
"Tom Fitzrapp says," Duncan O'Hara continued, "'Take a bunch of our
two-year-olds and corral them in that there Yankee's ravine. A rope
will do the corralin' trick.' There are the beauties." He gestured
to the shadowy forms of the horses. "All of them rope-wise and
saddle-broke, worth a big roll of anybody's money. I was makin' the
corral with my lariat when you came snooping along at an hour when
you had ought to been doin' nothing more strenuous than snorin'.
Early in the mornin', it's writ on the program, Fitzrapp and
MacDonald and a witness are goin' to swoop down on the Open A cup,
uncover the evidence and nab you dead to rights. You'll get twenty
years, if the old man doesn't shorthorn your term by lendin' you the
loads of his gun."
"Is Maj. MacDonald in this?" Childress asked sharply, recalling the
pleasant ride he had enjoyed with the veteran the morning of their
first and only meeting.
"Not in the plant, I reckon, 'cause he's square and through with
young love. But once he sees the evidence, you can bet your ace
he'll be ready to shoot the lights out of you. 'Twas Tom Fitzrapp
what planned the sanded deck."
"Could expect it of him," muttered the sergeant.
There was admiration in the grin that played about O'Hara's mouth
once the pipe was removed.
"Say, pard, you're packin' a powerful heavy jag o' nerve to hole in
here right under their noses," he declared. "I plumb admire to know
you. But why did you make the doggie break of hobblin' yourself with
that skirt?"
Childress' hand clamped upon O'Hara's lean shoulder roughly. "What
do you mean by 'that' skirt?"
"Why the gal--the major's niece," said the range boss hastily,
cringing under the clutch. "I mean the widow--Lady Ethel. Wasn't
you wise that Fitzrapp had cut her out for hisself? I was scoutin'
from the bluff the day she rid over here. Was too far away to
recognize your face, and never havin' seen you bustin' broncs before
I didn't know you by yore tricks. Not knowin' you was you, I spills
it to his nibs about the girl's little excursion. If it hadn't been
for that, I doubt if he'd have found the nerve to frame this on you.
He's plumb set on marryin' the girl."
"Which he'll never do," Childress murmured under his breath. For
O'Hara's benefit he forced a laugh. "Leave the woman out of this.
If they're going to raid me in the morning, it's time I was getting
shut of the evidence."
"I'll sit in that game and draw cards cheerful," declared O'Hara
eagerly. "The old major has set me nursemaidin' colts and I'm plumb
ready to quit. Here's a picked bunch of hawses, and I present them
to you gratis. Bunch them up with your own and run them across the
line. You can turn them over quick at Crow's Nest, and make a clean
get-away. Hawse thieves ain't goin' to be folks in this here
province for a spell.
"And what's more----" O'Hara hesitated, torn between his native greed
and a desire to do a whole-souled, handsome thing in repaying the
debt he owed. "And what's more," he resumed, with a leer for
conquered avarice, "I'll help you drive them and ask nary a cut of
the clean-up."
Childress stood hesitating, seemingly pondering over this daring
proposal. "I'm not ready to pull up stakes yet," he said finally.
"There's more than one skirt, as you call the ladies fair, in the
Fire Weed country."
"You're still thinkin' of that there widow," said O'Hara, with an air
of conviction. "Forget her. You couldn't never show a pedigree
that'd pass muster."
The sergeant did not mention the possibility that he had been
thinking of Flame Gallegher the last moment. Instead he suddenly
demanded to know how many horses made up the "plant."
"Fifteen--first graders, every one."
Again Childress considered, and this time he seemed to reach a
decision. "It's not a big enough haul. When I clean up I want to do
it proper. We'll drive these long-tails back to their own range
before daylight and I'll bluff it out."
"Then it's yours truly, D. O'Hara for the long scout," said the
professional buster mournfully.
"Not if you really want to square our little account."
"You sure did save my worthlittle hide," admitted O'Hara. "What's
the ante this time?"
"Go back to Rafter A and manage to keep me posted without letting any
of them, not even the widow, know that we're acquainted. They're not
going to stop with this attempt to get me. When I'm ready to strike
hard and for the last time, I'll declare you in on the game and with
a fair share of the pot."
O'Hara had but one objection to offer. If anything went wrong with
the "plant," he had promised to return and advise Fitzrapp, who would
not bring the major to search the basin that comprised the Open A.
In that event Childress would lose the opportunity of appearing
innocent. The buster feared, if he delayed his return until after
the raid had failed, he would himself be under suspicion and his
ability to aid his debtor handicapped.
"We can wipe that difficulty off the slate, old topper," was the
sergeant's quick return. "If you get careless with your mount after
we've driven these horses back to the main band, you'll have to walk
home, won't you? Can't catch a range horse without a rope, and yours
will be carried away on your saddle. It's fifteen miles across the
range to the home ranch, and traveling on shank's mare you can't
possibly cover the distance in time to do any effective warning
that'll bother me."
"I begin to see," said O'Hara without elation, and the cause of his
gloom easily may be surmised by any one who knows why the average
puncher's legs are more or less bowed.
Childress started to saddle Silver, entirely confident that Duncan
O'Hara could be trusted to liquidate his debt along the lines he had
laid down. More than once were his heart throbs of satisfaction at
the opportunity thus presented to foil the trick of one who meant
more to him than a rival for any woman's hand.