A FREE HAND
It was near midnight when Ferguson rode in to the Two Diamond
ranchhouse leading Rope's pony. He carefully unsaddled the two animals
and let them into the corral, taking great pains to make little noise.
Rope's saddle--a peculiar one with a high pommel bearing a silver plate
upon which the puncher's name was engraved--he placed conspicuously
near the door of the bunkhouse. His own he carefully suspended from
its accustomed hook in the lean-to. Then, still carefully, he made his
way inside the bunkhouse and sought his bunk.
At dawn he heard voices outside and he arose and went to the door.
Several of the men were gathered about the step talking. For an
instant Ferguson stood, his eyes roving over the group. Tucson was not
there. He went back into the bunkhouse and walked casually about,
taking swift glances at the bunks where the men still slept. Then he
returned to the door, satisfied that Tucson had not come in.
When he reached the door again he found that the men of the group had
discovered the saddle. One of them was saying something about it.
"That ain't just the way I take care of my saddle," he was telling the
others; "leavin' her out nights."
"I never knowed Rope to be that careless before," said another.
Ferguson returned to the bunkhouse and ate breakfast. After the meal
was finished he went out, caught up Mustard, swung into the saddle, and
rode down to the ranchhouse door. He found Stafford in the office.
The latter greeted the stray-man with a smile.
"Somethin' doin'?" he questioned.
"You might call it that," returned Ferguson. He went inside and seated
himself near Stafford's desk.
"I've come in to tell you that I saw some rustlers workin' on the herd
yesterday," he said.
Stafford sat suddenly erect, his eyes lighting interrogatively.
"It wasn't Ben Radford," continued Ferguson, answering the look.
"You'd be surprised if I told you. But I ain't tellin'--now. I'm
waitin' to see if someone else does. But I'm tellin' you this: They
got Rope Jones."
Stafford's face reddened with anger. "They got Rope, you say?" he
demanded. "Why, where--damn them!"
"Back of the ridge about fifteen miles up the crick," returned
Ferguson. "I was ridin' along the edge of the plateau an' I saw a man
down there shoot another. I got down as soon as I could an' found
Rope. There wasn't nothin' I could do. So I planted him where I found
him an' brought his horse back. There was two rustlers there. But
only one done the shootin'. I got the name of one."
Stafford cursed. "I'm wantin' to know who it was!" he demanded. "I'll
make him--why, damn him, I'll----"
"You're carryin' on awful," observed Ferguson dryly. "But you ain't
doin' any good." He leaned closer to Stafford. "I'm quittin' my job
right now," he said.
Stafford leaned back in his chair, surprised into silence. For an
instant he glared at the stray-man, and then his lips curled scornfully.
"So you're quittin'," he sneered; "scared plum out because you seen a
man put out of business! I reckon Leviatt wasn't far wrong when he
said----"
"I wouldn't say a lot," interrupted Ferguson coldly. "I ain't
admittin' that I'm any scared. An' I ain't carin' a heap because
Leviatt's been gassin' to you. But I'm quittin' the job you give me.
Ben Radford ain't the man who's been rustlin' your cattle. It's
someone else. I'm askin' you to hire me to find out whoever it is.
I'm wantin' a free hand. I don't want anyone askin' me any questions.
I don't want anyone orderin' me around. But if you want the men who
are rustlin' your cattle, I'm offerin' to do the job. Do I get it?"
"You're keepin' right on--workin' for the Two Diamond," returned
Stafford. "But I'd like to get hold of the man who got Rope."
Ferguson smiled grimly. "That man'll be gittin' his some day," he
declared, rising. "I'm keepin' him for myself. Mebbe I won't shoot
him. I reckon Rope'd be some tickled if he'd know that the man who
shot him could get a chance to think it over while some man was
stringin' him up. You ain't sayin' anything about anything."
He turned and went out. Five minutes later Stafford saw him riding
slowly toward the river.
As the days went a mysterious word began to be spoken wherever men
congregated. No man knew whence the word had come, but it was
whispered that Rope Jones would be seen no more. His pony joined the
remuda; his saddle and other personal effects became prizes for which
the men of the outfit cast lots. Inquiries were made concerning the
puncher by friends who persisted in being inquisitive, but nothing
resulted. In time the word "rustler" became associated with his name,
and "caught with the goods" grew to be a phrase that told eloquently of
the manner of his death. Later it was whispered that Leviatt and
Tucson had come upon Rope behind the ridge, catching him in the act of
running off a Two Diamond calf. But as no report had been made to
Stafford by either Leviatt or Tucson, the news remained merely rumor.
Ferguson had said nothing more to any man concerning the incident. To
do so would have warned Tucson. And neither Ferguson nor Miss Radford
could have sworn to the man's guilt. In addition to this, there
lingered in Ferguson's mind a desire to play this game in his own way.
Telling the men of the outfit what he had seen would make his knowledge
common property--and in the absence of proof might cause him to appear
ridiculous.
But since the shooting he had little doubt that Leviatt had been
Tucson's companion on that day. Rope's scathing words--spoken while
Miss Radford had been trying to revive him--. "You're a hell of a
range boss," had convinced the stray-man that Leviatt had been one of
the assailants. He had wondered much over the emotions of the two when
they returned to the spot where the murder had been committed, to find
their victim buried and his horse gone. But of one thing he was
certain--their surprise over the discovery that the body of their
victim had been buried could not have equalled their discomfiture on
learning that the latter's pony had been secretly brought to the home
ranch, and that among the men of the outfit was one, at least, who knew
something of their guilty secret. Ferguson thought this to be the
reason that they had not reported the incident to Stafford.
There was now nothing for the stray-man to do but watch. The men who
had killed Rope were wary and dangerous, and their next move might be
directed at him. But he was not disturbed. One thought brought him a
mighty satisfaction. He was no longer employed to fasten upon Ben
Radford the stigma of guilt; no longer need he feel oppressed with the
guilty consciousness, when in the presence of Mary Radford, that he
was, in a measure, a hired spy whose business it was to convict her
brother of the crime of rustling. He might now meet the young woman
face to face, without experiencing the sensation of guilt that had
always affected him.
Beneath his satisfaction lurked a deeper emotion. During the course of
his acquaintance with Rope Jones he had developed a sincere affection
for the man. The grief in his heart over Rope's death was made more
poignant because of the latter's words, just before the final moment,
which seemed to have been a plea for vengeance:
"Ferguson told me to look out. He told me to be careful that they
didn't get me between them. But I wasn't thinkin' that it would happen
just that way."
This had been all that Rope had said about his friend, but it showed
that during his last conscious moments he had been thinking of the
stray-man. As the days passed the words dwelt continually in
Ferguson's mind. Each day that he rode abroad, searching for evidence
against the murderers, brought him a day nearer to the vengeance upon
which he had determined.