AT THE EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD
Ferguson strode into the manager's office and dropped heavily into a
chair beside the desk. He was directly in front of the open door and
looking up he could see the men down at the bunkhouse congregated
around the bodies of Leviatt and Tucson.
The end that he had been expecting for the past two days had come--had
come as he knew it must come. He had not been trapped as they had
trapped Rope Jones. When he had stood before Leviatt in front of the
bunkhouse, he had noted the positions of the two men; had seen that
they had expected him to walk squarely into the net that they had
prepared for him. His lips curled a little even now over the thought
that the two men had held him so cheaply. Well, they had learned
differently, when too late. It was the end of things for them, and for
him the end of his hopes. When he had drawn his guns he had thought of
merely wounding Leviatt, intending to allow the men of the outfit to
apply to him the penalty that all convicted cattle thieves must suffer.
But before that he had hoped to induce Leviatt to throw some light upon
the attempted murder of Ben Radford.
However, Leviatt had spoiled all that when he had attempted to draw his
weapon after he was wounded. He had given Ferguson no alternative. He
had been forced to kill the only man who, he was convinced, could have
given him any information about the shooting of Radford, and now, in
spite of anything that he might say to the contrary, Mary Radford, and
even Ben himself, would always believe him guilty. He could not stay
at Two Diamond now. He must get out of the country, back to the old
life at the Lazy J, where among his friends he might finally forget.
But he doubted much. Did men ever forget women they had loved? Some
perhaps did, but he was certain that nothing--not even time--could dim
the picture that was now in his mind: the hill in the flat, the girl
sitting upon the rock beside him, her eyes illuminated with a soft,
tender light; her breeze-blown hair--which he had kissed; which the
Sun-Gods had kissed as, coming down from the mountains, they had bathed
the hill with the golden light of the evening. He had thought then
that nothing could prevent him from enjoying the happiness which that
afternoon seemed to have promised. He had watched the sun sinking
behind the mountains, secure in the thought that the morrow would bring
him added happiness. But now there could be no tomorrow--for him.
Fifteen minutes later Stafford entered the office to find his stray-man
still seated in the chair, his head bowed in his hands. He did not
look up as the manager entered, and the latter stepped over to him and
laid a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"I'm thankin' you for what you've done for me," he said.
Ferguson rose, leaning one hand on the back of the chair upon which he
had been sitting. The manager saw that deep lines had come into his
face; that his eyes--always steady before--were restless and gleaming
with an expression which seemed unfathomable. But he said nothing
until the manager had seated himself beside the desk. Then he took a
step and stood looking into Stafford's upturned face.
"I reckon I've done what I came here to do," he said grimly. "I'm
takin' my time now."
Stafford's face showed a sudden disappointment.
"Shucks!" he returned, unable to keep the regret from his voice.
"Ain't things suited you here?"
The stray-man grinned with straight lips. He could not let the manager
know his secret. "Things have suited me mighty well," he declared.
"I'm thankin' you for havin' made things pleasant for me while I've
been here. But I've done what I contracted to do an' there ain't
anything more to keep me here. If you'll give me my time I'll be
goin'."
Stafford looked up at him with a sly, significant smile. "Why," he
said, "Leviatt told me that you'd found somethin' real interestin' over
on Bear Flat. Now, I shouldn't think you'd want to run away from her!"
The stray-man's lips whitened a little. "I don't think Mary Radford is
worryin' about me," he said steadily.
"Well, now," returned Stafford, serious again; "then I reckon Leviatt
had it wrong."
"I expect he had it wrong," answered the stray-man shortly.
But Stafford did not yield. He had determined to keep the stray-man at
the Two Diamond and there were other arguments that he had not yet
advanced which might cause him to stay. He looked up again, his face
wearing a thoughtful expression.
"I reckon you remember our contract?" he questioned.
The stray-man nodded. "I was to find out who was stealin' your
cattle," he said.
Stafford smiled slightly. "Correct!" he returned. "You've showed me
two thieves. But a while ago I heard you say that there was two more.
Our contract ain't fulfilled until you show me them too. You reckon?"
The stray-man drew a deep, resigned breath. "I expect that's right,"
he admitted. "But I've told you where you can find them. All you've
got to do is to ride over there an' catch them."
Stafford's smile widened a little. "Sure," he returned, "that's all
I've got to do. An' I'm goin' to do it. But I'm wantin' my range boss
to take charge of the outfit that's goin' over to ketch them."
"Your range boss?" said Ferguson, a flash of interest in his eyes,
"Why, your range boss ain't here any more."
Stafford leaned forward, speaking seriously. "I'm talkin' to my range
boss right now!" he said significantly.
Ferguson started, and a tinge of slow color came into his face. He
drew a deep breath and took a step forward. But suddenly he halted,
his lips straightening again.
"I'm thankin' you," he said slowly. "But I'm leavin' the Two Diamond."
He drew himself up, looking on the instant more his old indomitable
self. "I'm carryin' out our contract though," he added. "If you're
wantin' me to go after them other two men, I ain't backin' out. But
you're takin' charge of the outfit. I ain't goin' to be your range
boss."
An hour later ten of the Two Diamond men, accompanied by Stafford and
the stray-man, loped their horses out on the plains toward the river.
It was a grim company on a grim mission, and the men forbore to joke as
they rode through the dust and sunshine of the afternoon. Ferguson
rode slightly in advance, silent, rigid in the saddle, not even
speaking to Stafford, who rode near him.
Half an hour after leaving the Two Diamond they rode along the crest of
a ridge of hills above Bear Flat. They had been riding here only a few
minutes when Stafford, who had been watching the stray-man, saw him
start suddenly. The manager turned and followed the stray-man's gaze.
Standing on a porch in front of a cabin on the other side of the flat
was a woman. She was watching them, her hands shading her eyes.
Stafford saw the stray-man suddenly dig his spurs into his pony's
flanks, saw a queer pallor come over his face. Five minutes later they
had ridden down through a gully to the plains. Thereafter, even the
hard riding Two Diamond boys found it difficult to keep near the
stray-man.
Something over two hours later the Two Diamond outfit, headed by the
stray-man, clattered down into a little basin, where Ferguson had seen
the cabin two days before. As the Two Diamond men came to within a
hundred feet of the cabin two men, who had been at work in a small
corral, suddenly dropped their branding irons and bolted toward the
cabin. But before they had time to reach the door the Two Diamond men
had surrounded them, sitting grimly and silently in their saddles.
Several of Stafford's men had drawn their weapons, but were now
returning them to their holsters, for neither of the two men was armed.
They stood within the grim circle, embarrassed, their heads bowed,
their attitude revealing their shame at having been caught so easily.
One of the men, a clear, steady-eyed fellow, laughed frankly.
"Well, we're plum easy, ain't we boys?" he said, looking around at the
silent group. "Corraled us without lettin' off a gun. That's what I'd
call re-diculous. You're right welcome. But mebbe you wouldn't have
had things so easy if we hadn't left our guns in the cabin. Eh, Bill?"
he questioned, prodding the other man playfully in the ribs.
But the other man did not laugh. He stood before them, his
embarrassment gone, his eyes shifting and fearful.
"Shut up, you damn fool!" he snarled.
But the clear-eyed man gave no attention to this outburst. "You're Two
Diamond men, ain't you?" he asked, looking full at Ferguson.
The latter nodded, and the clear-eyed man continued. "Knowed you right
off," he declared, with a laugh. "Leviatt pointed you out to me one
day when you was ridin' out yonder." He jerked a thumb toward the
distance. "Leviatt told me about you. Wanted to try an' plug you with
his six, but decided you was too far away." He laughed
self-accusingly. "If you'd been half an hour later, I reckon you
wouldn't have proved your stock, but we loafed a heap, an' half of that
bunch ain't got our brand."
"We didn't need to look at no brand," declared Stafford grimly.
The clear-eyed man started a little. Then he laughed. "Then you must
have got Leviatt an' Tucson," he said. He turned to Ferguson. "If
Leviatt has been got," he said, "it must have been you that got him.
He told me he was runnin' in with you some day. I kept tellin' him to
be careful."
Ferguson's eyelashes twitched a little. "Thank you for the
compliment," he said.
"Aw, hell!" declared the man, sneering. "I wasn't mushin' none!"
Stafford had made a sign to the men and some of them dismounted and
approached the two rustlers. The man who had profanely admonished the
other to silence made some little resistance, but in the end he stood
within the circle, his hands tied behind him. The clear-eyed man made
no resistance, seeming to regard the affair in the light of a huge
joke. Once, while the Two Diamond men worked at his hands, he told
them to be careful not to hurt him.
"I'm goin' to be hurt enough, after a while," he added.
There was nothing more to be done. The proof of guilt was before the
Two Diamond men, in the shape of several calves in the small corral
that still bore the Two Diamond brand. Several of the cows were still
adorned with the Two Diamond ear mark, and in addition to this was
Ferguson's evidence. Therefore the men's ponies were caught up,
saddled, and the two men forced to mount. Then the entire company rode
out of the little gully through which the Two Diamond outfit had
entered, riding toward the cottonwood that skirted the river--miles
away.
A little while before sunset the cavalcade rode to the edge of the
cottonwood. Stafford halted his pony and looked at Ferguson, but the
stray-man had seen enough tragedy for one day and he shook his head,
sitting gloomily in the saddle.
"I'm waitin' here," he said simply. "There'll be enough in there to do
it without me."
The clear-eyed man looked at him with a grim smile.
"Why, hell!" he said. "You ain't goin' in?" his eyes lighted for an
instant. "I reckon you're plum white!" he declared. "You ain't aimin'
to see any free show."
"I'm sayin' so-long to you," returned Ferguson. "You're game." A
flash of admiration lighted his eyes.
The clear-eyed man smiled enigmatically. "I'm stayin' game!" he
declared grimly, without boast. "An' now I'm tellin' you somethin'.
Yesterday Leviatt told me he'd shot Ben Radford. He said he'd lied to
Ben about you an' that he'd shot him so's his sister would think you
done it. You've been white, an' so I'm squarin' things for you. I'm
wishin' you luck."
For an instant he sat in the saddle, watching a new color surge into
the stray-man's face. Then his pony was led away, through a tangle of
undergrowth at the edge of the cottonwood. When Ferguson looked again,
the little company had ridden into the shadow, but Ferguson could make
out the clear-eyed man, still erect in his saddle, still seeming to
wear an air of unstudied nonchalance. For a moment longer Ferguson saw
him, and then he was lost in the shadows.