THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN
During the few first days of his connection with the Two Diamond
Ferguson had reached the conclusion that he would do well to take
plenty of time to inquire into the situation before attempting any
move. He had now been at the Two Diamond for two weeks and he had not
even seen Radford. Nor had he spoken half a dozen words with Stafford.
The manager had observed certain signs that had convinced him that
speech with the stray-man was unnecessary and futile. If he purposed
to do anything he would do it in his own time and in his own way.
Stafford mentally decided that the stray-man was "set in his ways."
The wagon outfit had departed,--this time down the river. Rope Jones
had gone with the wagon, and therefore Ferguson was deprived of the
companionship of a man who had unexpectedly taken a stand with him in
his clash with Leviatt and for whom he had conceived a great liking.
With the wagon had gone Leviatt also. During the week that had elapsed
between the clash at the bunkhouse and the departure of the wagon the
range boss had given no sign that he knew of the existence of Ferguson.
Nor had he intimated by word or sign that he meditated revenge upon
Rope because of the latter's championship of the stray-man. If he had
any such intention he concealed it with consummate skill. He treated
Rope with a politeness that drew smiles to the faces of the men. But
Ferguson saw in this politeness a subtleness of purpose that gave him
additional light on the range boss's character. A man who held his
vengeance at his finger tips would have taken pains to show Rope that
he might expect no mercy. Had Leviatt revealed an open antagonism to
Rope, the latter might have known what to expect when at last the two
men would reach the open range and the puncher be under the direct
domination of the man he had offended.
There were many ways in which a petty vengeance might be gratified. It
was within the range boss's power to make life nearly unbearable for
the puncher. If he did this it would of course be an unworthy
vengeance, and Ferguson had little doubt that any vengeance meditated
by Leviatt would not be petty.
Ferguson went his own way, deeply thoughtful. He was taking his time.
Certain things were puzzling him. Where did Leviatt stand in this
rustling business? That was part of the mystery. Stafford had told
him that he had Leviatt's word that Radford was the thief who had been
stealing the Two Diamond cattle. Stafford had said also that it had
been Leviatt who had suggested employing a gunfighter--had even gone to
Dry Bottom with the manager for the purpose of finding one. And now
that one had been employed Leviatt had become suddenly antagonistic to
him.
And Leviatt was in the habit of visiting the Radford cabin. Of course
he might be doing this for the purpose of spying upon Ben Radford, but
if that were the case why had he shown so venomous when he had seen
Ferguson sitting on the porch on the evening of the day after the
latter had been bitten by the rattler?
Mary Radford had told him that Leviatt was her brother's friend. If he
was a friend of the brother why had he suggested that Stafford employ a
gunfighter to shoot him? Here was more mystery.
On a day soon after the departure of the wagon outfit he rode away
through the afternoon sunshine. Not long did his thoughts dwell upon
the mystery of the range boss and Ben Radford. He kept seeing a young
woman kneeling in front of him, bathing and binding his foot. Scraps
of a conversation that he had not forgotten revolved in his mind and
brought smiles to his lips.
"She didn't need to act so plum serious when she told me that I didn't
know that I had any right to set there an' make pretty speeches to her.
. . . She wouldn't need to ask me to stay at the cabin all night. I
could have gone on to the Two Diamond. I reckon that snake bite wasn't
so plum dangerous that I'd have died if I'd have rode a little while."
As he came out of a little gully a few miles up the river and rode
along the crest of a ridge that rose above endless miles of plains, his
thoughts went back to that first night in the bunkhouse when the outfit
had come in from the range. Satisfaction glinted in his eyes.
"I reckon them boys didn't make good with her. An' I expect that some
day Leviatt will find he's been wastin' his time."
He frowned at thought of Leviatt and unconsciously his spurs drove hard
against the pony's flanks. The little animal sprang forward, tossing
his head spiritedly. Ferguson grinned and patted its flank with a
remorseful hand.
"Well, now, Mustard," he said, "I wasn't reckonin' on takin' my spite
out on you. You don't expect I thought you was Leviatt." And he
patted the flank again.
He rode down the long slope of the rise and struck the level, traveling
at a slow lope through a shallow washout. The ground was broken and
rocky here and the snake-like cactus caught at his stirrup leathers. A
rattler warned from the shadow of some sage-brush and, remembering his
previous experience, he paused long enough to shoot its head off.
"There," he said, surveying the shattered snake, "I reckon you ain't to
blame for me bein' bit by your uncle or cousin, or somethin', but I
ain't never goin' to be particular when I see one of your family
swingin' their head that suggestive."
He rode on again, reloading his pistol. For a little time he traveled
at a brisk pace and then he halted to breathe Mustard. Throwing one
leg over the pommel, he turned half way around in the saddle and swept
the plains with a casual glance.
He sat erect instantly, focusing his gaze upon a speck that loomed
through a dust cloud some miles distant. For a time he watched the
speck, his eyes narrowing. Finally he made out the speck to be a man
on a pony.
"He's a-fannin' it some," he observed, shading his eyes with his hands;
"hittin' up the breeze for fair." He meditated long, a critical smile
reaching his lips.
"It's right warm to-day. Not just the kind of an atmosphere that a man
ought to be runnin' his horse reckless in." He meditated again.
"How far would you say he's off, Mustard? Ten miles, I reckon you'd
say if you was a knowin' horse."
The horseman had reached a slight ridge and for a moment he appeared on
the crest of it, racing his pony toward the river. Then he suddenly
disappeared.
Ferguson smiled coldly. Again his gaze swept the plains and the ridges
about him. "I don't see nothin' that'd make a man ride like that in
this heat," he said. "Where would he have come from?" He stared
obliquely off at a deep gully almost hidden by an adjoining ridge.
"It's been pretty near an hour since I shot that snake. I didn't see
no man about that time. If he was around here he must have heard my
gun--an' sloped." He smiled and urged his pony about. "I reckon we'll
go look around that gully a little, Mustard," he said.
Half an hour later he rode down into the gully. After going some
little distance he came across a dead cow, lying close to an
overhanging rock rim. A bullet hole in the cow's forehead told
eloquently of the manner of her death.
Ferguson dismounted and laid a hand on her side. The body was still
warm. A four-months' calf was nudging the mother with an inquisitive
muzzle. Ferguson took a sharp glance at its ears and then drove it off
to get a look at the brand. There was none.
"Sleeper," he said quietly. "With the Two Diamond ear-mark. Most
range bosses make a mistake in not brandin' their calves. Seems as if
they're trustin' to luck that rustlers won't work on them. I must have
scared this one off."
He swung into the saddle, a queer light in his eyes. "Mustard, old
boy, we're goin' to Bear Flat. Mebbe Radford's hangin' around there
now. An' mebbe he ain't. But we're goin' to see."
But he halted a moment to bend a pitying glance at the calf.
"Poor little dogie," he said; "poor little orphan. Losin' your
mother--just like a human bein'. I call that mean luck."
Then he was off, Mustard swinging in a steady lope down the gully and
up toward the ridge that led to the river trail.