THE PROMISE
Ferguson heard loud talking and laughter in the bunkhouse when he
passed there an hour after his departure from the Radford cabin in Bear
Flat. It was near sundown and the boys were eating supper. Ferguson
smiled grimly as he rode his pony to the corral gate, dismounted,
pulled off the bridle and saddle, and turned the animal into the
corral. The presence of the boys at the bunkhouse meant that the wagon
outfit had come in--meant that Leviatt would have to come in--if he had
not already done so.
The stray-man's movements were very deliberate; there was an absence of
superfluous energy that told of intensity of thought and singleness of
purpose. He shouldered the saddle with a single movement, walked with
it to the lean-to, threw it upon its accustomed peg, hung the bridle
from the pommel, and then turned and for a brief time listened to the
talk and laughter that issued from the open door and windows of the
bunkhouse. With a sweep of his hands he drew his two guns from their
holsters, rolled the cylinders and examined them minutely. Then he
replaced the guns, hitched at his cartridge belt, and stepped out of
the door of the lean-to.
In spite of his promise to Mary Radford to the effect that he would
return to prove to her that he was not the man who had attempted to
kill her brother he had no hope of discovering the guilty man. His
suspicions, of course, centered upon Leviatt, but he knew that under
the circumstances Mary Radford would have to be given convincing proof.
The attempted murder of her brother, following the disclosure that he
had been hired by Stafford to do the deed, must have seemed to her
sufficient evidence of his guilt. He did not blame her for feeling
bitter toward him; she had done the only thing natural under the
circumstances. He had been very close to the garden of happiness--just
close enough to scent its promise of fulfilled joy, when the gates had
been violently closed in his face, to leave him standing without,
contemplating the ragged path over which he must return to the old life.
He knew that Leviatt had been the instrument that had caused the gates
to close; he knew that it had been he who had dropped the word that had
caused the finger of accusation to point to him. "Stafford didn't hire
you to do it," Mary Radford had said, ironically. The words rang in
his ears still. Who had told her that Stafford had hired him to shoot
Radford? Surely not Stafford. He himself had not hinted at the reason
of his presence at the Two Diamond. And there was only one other man
who knew. That man was Leviatt. As he stood beside the door of the
lean-to the rage in his heart against the range boss grew more bitter,
and the hues around his mouth straightened more grimly.
A few minutes later he stalked into the bunkhouse, among the men who,
after finishing their meal, were lounging about, their small talk
filling the room. The talk died away as he entered, the men adroitly
gave him room, for there was something in the expression of his eyes,
in the steely, boring glances that he cast about him, that told these
men, inured to danger though they were, that the stray-man was in no
gentle mood. He dropped a short word to the one among them that he
knew best, at which they all straightened, for through the word they
knew that he was looking for Leviatt.
But they knew nothing of Leviatt beyond the fact that he and Tucson had
not accompanied the wagon to the home ranch. They inferred that the
range boss and Tucson had gone about some business connected with the
cattle. Therefore Ferguson did not stop long in the bunkhouse.
Without a word he was gone, striding rapidly toward the ranchhouse.
They looked after him, saying nothing, but aware that his quest for
Leviatt was not without significance.
Five minutes later he was in Stafford's office. The latter had been
worrying about him. When Ferguson entered the manager's manner was a
trifle anxious.
"You seen anything of Radford yet?" he inquired.
"I ain't got anything on Radford," was the short reply.
His tone angered the manager. "I ain't askin' if you've got anything
on him," he returned. "But we missed more cattle yesterday, an' it
looks mighty suspicious. Since we had that talk about Radford, when
you told me it wasn't him doin' the rustlin' I've changed my mind a
heap. I'm thinkin' he rustled them cattle last night."
Ferguson looked quizzically at him. "How many cattle you missin'?" he
questioned.
Stafford banged a fist heavily down upon his desk top. "We're twenty
calves short on the tally," he declared, "an' half a dozen cows. We
ain't got to the steers yet, but I'm expectin' to find them short too."
Ferguson drew a deep breath. The number of cattle missing tallied
exactly with the number he had seen in the basin down the river. A
glint of triumph lighted his eyes, but he looked down upon Stafford,
drawling:
"You been doin' the tallyin'?"
"Yes."
Ferguson was now smiling grimly.
"Where's your range boss?" he questioned.
"The boys say he rode over to the river lookin' for strays. Sent word
that he'd be in to-morrow. But I don't see what he's got to do----"
"No," returned Ferguson, "of course. You say them cattle was rustled
last night?"
"Yes." Stafford banged his fist down with a positiveness that left no
doubt of his knowledge.
"Well, now," observed Ferguson, "an' so you're certain Radford rustled
them." He smiled again saturninely.
"I ain't sayin' for certain," returned Stafford, puzzled by Ferguson's
manner. "What I'm gettin' at is that there ain't no one around here
that'd rustle them except Radford."
"There ain't no other nester around here that you know of?" questioned
Ferguson.
"No. Radford's the only one."
Ferguson lingered a moment. Then he walked slowly to the door. "I
reckon that's all," he said. "To-morrow I'm goin' to show you your
rustler."
He had stepped out of the door and was gone into the gathering dusk
before Stafford could ask the question that was on the end of his
tongue.