Some minutes later he heard her stirring in the house. The sun grows
hot early on the plains in midsummer. Rock had planted himself on the
porch steps, in the shade, debating his next move. Should he ride on
about his business? Logically, yes. He had a definite task to perform.
It was time he set about it. He was on the ground. This was only an
incident, a happening by the way. Yet his mind was full of this woman
and child, alone on a ranch in the wilderness. The girl had said there
were no other men. But this ranch and equipment spelled men and stock.
It was more than the cabin of a settler striving for a foothold and
security in a virgin land. A woman with a three-year-old baby had no
business alone on a ranch in this waste, without a man in the
background.
That problem--which was more a state of feeling than a problem, Rock
knew--was solved for him in unexpected fashion. He rose at last and
entered the house, specifically to ask her if there was anything else
he could do before he departed.
The girl had the child in a high chair and was giving the youngster her
breakfast. Silently she poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Rock.
When he drank it she said:
“Come outside. I want to talk to you.”
Rock followed her to the porch.
“You told me last night you were a stock hand in search of occupation.
Do you want to go to work for me?”
Rock liked her directness. His mind was quick to grasp possibilities.
Work to Rock meant activity on the range He was next door to the
Maltese Cross. Two birds had been killed before with one stone. Still,
he wasn’t fond of mysteries that involved sudden death. He liked to
know where he was going when he took a new trail.
“I’d as soon ride range here as anywhere,” he said. “It’s immaterial to
me who I work for, so long as it’s my kind of work.”
“Are you one of these stock hands that considers it beneath his dignity
to work for any outfit with less than ten thousand head of cattle?” she
asked, with a comical note of asperity.
“Well, no,” he laughed. “Hardly so finicky as that. If you’ve got a
rider’s job for me, consider me on the pay roll. Only, I’d like to
know, if I’m going to work for you, whether I’m likely to find myself
being buried some morning at sunrise--and why?”
“Wait a minute,” she said. She turned back into the house. In a second
she was back with a hat on and two shiny tin pails.
“Come down to the stable with me, and we’ll talk this over while I
milk. I was in such a state last night that I forgot the cows. Will you
saddle up and bring them in out of the pasture?”
Rock drove two amiable-looking red cows from the far end of a small
pasture to the corral. The girl tied both to the fence and sat down
beside one on a low stool.
“Can you milk?” she asked, with the faintest shadow of a smile.
“Never did,” he answered truthfully.
“It’s considered woman’s work, I suppose,” she replied. “But even the
wild and woolly cowboy, I notice, likes real milk and cream and butter.
I don’t want you to milk cows, though. I’m not running a dairy. I have
about eight hundred cattle scattered around here.”
“Your ranch outfit looks like about eight thousand,” Rock remarked.
“We had more than eight thousand when we came here,” she said. “That is
why the house is big and the stable. My father drove three trail herds
in here from the Pecos. But we lost most of them.”
“Oh, I see,” Rock commented.
“So, as I said, I have about eight hundred cattle on the range. I have
a rider with the Maltese Cross round-up. I need another rider on the
ranch.”
“But if you keep a rep with the Cross,” Rock interpolated, “does it
matter if your stock does scatter considerable? The outfit would brand
the calves and ship your beef as long as you supply a man and a string
of horses.”
“Yes and no,” she said. “I see you know range work. I suppose what you
say is true. Only I have reasons for handling cattle in my own way. But
that’s all beside the point. What you want to know is whether you’ll be
expected to step into a dead man’s boots and take the risk of getting
shot for some reason or other, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Rock admitted. “I have no hankering to inherit a private war
along with a forty-dollar job.”
“It’ll be fifty if you work for me,” she said. “There may be a risk.
Not if you can be around here and work for me, without getting
sentimental and jealous. That was what got Doc killed, I believe. I’m
sure it was.”
Perhaps Rock looked his curiosity and surprise. The girl stood up. She
had worked, as she talked, and finished milking the first cow.
“I had better explain a little,” she said calmly. “As I said, four
years ago we came in here with nearly nine thousand cattle and a dozen
riders in our outfit. I was eighteen then. I had just finished school.
Our first winter here was a bad one--a terrible winter of hard frost
and deep snow and storms. In the spring a round-up out two months
gathered less than five hundred cattle in our brand. Betty was born
that winter, and mamma died. The next summer a horse fell on my father,
injured his back, so that he was a helpless cripple for nearly a year.
Then he died. He left all there was to me and Betty. I have full
control of everything until she comes of age. So I have managed here
ever since. Mostly with one man, sometimes with two.”
* * * * *
So that was that. The dead man was a range rider, not a husband, and
the baby was a sister. She was a level-headed, plucky girl to run a
shoe-string outfit by herself. Yet he suspected that in this man’s
country, men would make it easy for this capable and determined young
person. Rock’s interest quickened.
“Wonder you didn’t sell out and go back to your folk,” he suggested.
“I have none--at least none that I care much about,” she replied. “And
how much would I get for five or six hundred cattle? A few thousand
dollars. The ranch isn’t salable. Who would pay money for a ranch, when
land and water can be had anywhere for taking? Why should I sell out? I
know cattle. This is a new country, a good range. We may not have
another hard winter in a lifetime. It just happened. The old trappers
and the Indians never saw a winter like that. Every four years my
cattle will double. After a while it will make Betty and me
independent. Why should I sell out? What would I do? Go to some town
and be a clerk in a store?”
The vehemence in her voice made Rock smile.
“Oh, you got the right idea,” he admitted. “You’re working on the same
principle that has built up every big outfit in the country. Only, it’s
sort of unexpected in a woman no bigger than a minute.”
“Please understand me clearly,” she said, with a peremptory note in her
curiously musical voice. “I don’t need any sympathy from anybody. I
know what I’m doing, and I’m doing very well here. I want any one who
works for me to work on exactly the same basis as he would work for any
cow outfit. I don’t want any of this ‘That’s all right, little girl,
we’ll see you through,’ business. That’s mostly what got Doc Martin
killed, I suspect. Every man who works for me gets the idea that he’s
in love with me.”
“Why blame ’em for that?” Rock interrupted.
“It embarrasses me. I’ve fired two or three for getting mushy. I don’t
want that sort of thing. Do you think you can ride for me without
getting sentimental--without presently getting the attitude that it’s
your duty and privilege to protect me from every man in the country
except yourself?”
Rock’s amused smile faded.
“Miss---- I don’t think I got your name.” He stopped.
“Nona Parke. The baby’s name is Betty,” she supplied promptly.
“Well, then, Miss Parke,” Rock said a little stiffly, “I can assure you
that if I do draw wages from you I’ll try to earn them without making a
bid either for your gratitude or your affection.”
Nona Parke’s gray eyes rested on his for a second with cool
appraisement.
“You talk like a man with some sense. If you can handle horses and
cattle the way you handle the English language, you ought to be
useful.”
“You’re getting too personal,” Rock said rudely. “Tell me about this
shooting. That’s what I want to know before I decide whether I want to
make myself the same kind of a target. I have ambitions to live and do
well in the world, myself.”
“Now you’re getting offended,” she reproached. “And I’m only trying to
be frank and have things understood. You can’t imagine what a nuisance
men can be sometimes. Doc worked for me ever since dad died. He was a
good man. But he persisted in wanting to love me. I let him go once and
then took him on again. He promised to behave himself. But he wouldn’t.
He was jealous. He couldn’t bear other men coming here to see me. He
stirred up trouble for himself with Elmer Duffy, the boss of the
Seventy Seven outfit. I am fairly sure that Elmer shot Doc yesterday
afternoon.”
She said this reluctantly, but with an earnestness that convinced Rock
she really believed it. To him it seemed rather simple. He had seen men
quarrel over women before.
“Elmer, I suppose, is a victim, too,” Rock commented. “Was he inclined
to be jealous of a good-looking fellow like Doc Martin being in your
company all the time?”
“Yes; that’s about it.” She sighed. “It sounds horrid, but it’s true.
I’m quite sure Duffy was a little afraid of Doc. Doc had a quick
temper, and he was supposed to be rather deadly. I don’t know how he
got that reputation, because I never knew of him having trouble with
anybody in this country.”
“And you think they met and shot it out around the bend?” Rock queried.
“No.” She replied soberly. “I think Doc was ambushed. There was only
one shot. He had been mean and arbitrary with Elmer Duffy the last time
they met. In fact, he threatened him and told him never to set foot on
this ranch when I was here alone.”
“Listen, Miss Parke,” Rock said positively. “I know something about
Elmer Duffy, myself. I’ll confess that I don’t like his style with men
very much. I don’t know what it would be like with women. Elmer belongs
to a family that walks roughshod over people when they feel like it.
But I don’t think he would lay for your man and bushwhack him.”
“I tell you simply what I believe,” she said gravely. “I don’t know.
There is no proof. I wouldn’t breathe this to any one. I only say it to
you because I’m asking you to work for me. I don’t know that I would
even tell you, if you didn’t look so much like Doc that you could
easily be taken for him. If you ride for me, you _may_ fall heir to
whatever bad blood did exist between him and Elmer Duffy. If Doc hadn’t
made an issue of me with this man he would still be alive. I don’t want
to be a bone of contention. I won’t be. I like men well enough until
they get too friendly. If a man works for me, he’s working for me, and
that’s all there is to it. So now you know all about it. And I do need
a rider to take Doc’s place.”
“It was very inconsiderate of him to get himself killed off when you
needed him.” Rock couldn’t forbear the ironic note. “Riders can’t
always be picked up in this country just when you want ’em.”
“You’re brutal.” Nona drew herself up, and her eyes filled. “I liked
Doc. He _was_ nice. He was loyal. It made me sick to see him die like
that. It made me feel guilty, because I was partly the cause. But I
can’t help it that I’m a woman. Can’t you understand? I’m not a callous
beast.”
And Rock knew she was not. He knew he had hurt her with that thrust.
“Well, I’ll guarantee not to afflict you with my admiration if I feel
any,” he smiled. “And it’s a cowpuncher’s nature to be loyal to the
people he works for. If I ever lock horns with Elmer Duffy, it won’t be
for the reason you say your man, Doc, did. No. And I like the looks of
this country. I’d sort of like to linger on this range for a while. So
there doesn’t seem to be any reason why I shouldn’t work for you.”
“All right,” she answered composedly. “If you’ll bunch those horses
that are in the pasture, I’ll show you what ones to saddle. I want you
to go down the river with me after I’ve milked this other cow.”
* * * * *
While Rock gathered a few horses out of the pasture, he saw a rider
cross the flat. The milch cows were in a small corral. Rock bunched the
horses in a larger one and walked through the stable to where Nona
finished her dairymaid’s task. From the door he saw that the man was
Elmer Duffy. Rock’s mind worked fast. He was bound to encounter Duffy
some time, and it might as well be now. Duffy’s business was with Nona
Parke, not with him. But Rock cared nothing for that. He remembered
that he had killed this man’s brother. He was going to live for a time
in Duffy’s immediate neighborhood. If Duffy had taken Mark’s death to
heart and brooded over it, Rock wanted to know and be ready for what
might follow.
But he was hardly prepared for what did happen. He walked straight
toward Duffy. The man’s back was toward him. He was talking to Nona.
She was just rising from her stool. Duffy was in no way excited. His
tone was the habitual slow drawl of the native Texan.
Then Rock spoke.
“Hello, Duffy,” said he.
Duffy wheeled. His arms hung by his sides. There wasn’t the faintest
twitch of the fingers hanging a little below his gun belt, nor any
quick lighting of his slaty eyes, nor the frowning recognition Rock
half expected. True, recognition impended in the man’s attitude. And he
was wary--wary without being hostile.
“Hellow, Doc,” he answered evenly.
“Doc!” A ripple of sardonic amusement stirred in Rock. Duffy thought he
faced Nona Parke’s dead rider. Rock stood perfectly still for a second
or two. The man’s eyes never left his.
“You didn’t expect to see me, did you?” Rock asked.
Surely his voice would establish his identity. Duffy had been in daily
contact with Rock Holloway for two months on trail and had known him
casually the season earlier. But he didn’t know him now. His words
proved that.
“Why, I reckoned I might,” he answered, “seein’ I rode in here. You
didn’t expect me to take what you said serious, did you?”
Rock had a retentive memory.
“About you keeping off this ranch?”
Duffy nodded. Rock could understand his watchfulness.
“Shucks! I’ve changed my mind about caring a whoop whether you come
here, there, or the other place,” Rock said slowly, “so long as you act
white. But there’s something I do want to tell you, Duffy. Up the river
yesterday somebody took a pot shot at me. Nona heard it.”
* * * * *
He looked at her. For a second her face was a study. Would she play up
to his lead? Rock didn’t know himself precisely why he did this, except
that instinctively he took the opening Duffy gave him.
But her words came with sharp emphasis. Her wits were nimble.
“I heard the shot. I didn’t see who fired.”
“I don’t like to be shot at from ambush,” Rock said pointedly.
“You say I’d do that? Did do that?”
A rising inflection put an edge in Duffy’s tone. The tan of his long,
homely face went a brick red.
“I didn’t say so. I said I don’t like to be shot at from ambush.”
Duffy stared at him for a second or two.
“Lissen, Doc Martin.” His tone was flat--squeezed dry of all feeling.
“You don’t like me. You’ve been kinda high-handed with me more’n once.
I don’t suffer with admiration for you, myself. But I’ll tell you this:
if I want you, I’ll take you with an even break. I’m no bushwhacker. If
somebody shot at you, an’ you think it was me, you got another think
comin’. When I shoot at _you_, I’ll be lookin’ you in the eye.”
“I’m inclined to take your word for that, Duffy,” Rock said coolly. “If
you say you didn’t, we’ll let it go at that.”
“The way you’ve acted with me the last few months,” said Duffy, growing
querulous, “I’d as soon shoot it out with you as not. I’m tellin’ you
straight, Martin, but it’s up to you to make the break. I don’t _hunt_
trouble.”
“Nor do I,” Rock assured him truthfully.
“You musta changed your ways mighty sudden, then,” Duffy retorted.
Rock grinned amiably.
“I have,” said he. “I’ve sort of convinced myself I’ve been barking up
the wrong tree, Elmer. I aim to change my ways. Don’t know whether for
better or worse. But if you don’t go gunnin’ for me, I certainly don’t
hanker to pick a fuss with you.”
Duffy eyed him doubtfully. He turned to the girl.
“Do you reckon he means what he says?”
“He always does, so far as I know,” she told him shortly.
“Well, we might as well let it go at that,” Duffy finally said. “Sounds
reasonable.”
“All right. Let her go as she lays.” Rock closed the conversation
abruptly by turning on his heel. He walked back through the stable,
into the larger corral, where he perched himself on the top rail. He
looked down on the sleek backs of Nona Parke’s saddle stock, but his
mind was wholly on the amazing fact that he had practically committed
himself to a dead man’s identity.
He watched Duffy walk up to the house with Nona, carrying the two pails
of milk, saw him stand at the door and talk for a minute. Then he came
back, swung into his saddle, and rode around the stable end. Rock
tightened up a little. The girl had been a restraining influence. Now,
perhaps Duffy would have more to say or do. Long ago Rock had privately
estimated Elmer Duffy as the most dangerous of the Duffy quartet,
chiefly because he was tenacious of an idea or a grievance and inclined
to be moody. But he only looked up at Rock and said:
“You kinda got me goin’. Martin. You’ve changed your tune a heap. You
recollect what you told me last time we talked?”
Rock nodded, with only a hazy idea of what he was supposed to have
said.
“Let’s get down to cases,” Duffy persisted. “Do I understand that
you’ve changed your idea that you got a license to close-herd this girl
of Parke’s, any time another man acts like he wanted to speak to her?”
Rock sifted tobacco into a paper.
“I don’t know as I like your way of putting it,” he said, with a
pretense at being sullen. “But she’s convinced me she aims to be a free
agent. It’s nothing to me who she talks to, from now on. I don’t claim
no special privileges no more. She’s made it clear that she’s able to
look out for herself, as far as men are concerned.”
Duffy ironed out the smile that started to overspread his face.
“It don’t look to me,” he said thoughtfully, “like any man’s got the
inside track with that girl. She sure don’t favor nobody that I know
of. So you were just naturally buildin’ up trouble for yourself, takin’
the stand you did.”
“I guess so,” Rock admitted indifferently. “Anyway, I got something
else besides her on my mind, now. I’d sure like to find out who tried
to pot me yesterday, Duffy. I’d make him hard to catch.”
“Don’t know as I blame you,” Duffy remarked. “But don’t you never think
it was me, Doc. I’ve done told you where I stand. So long.”
* * * * *
Yes, Duffy had made it clear enough where he stood. Still, somebody had
shot Doc Martin. Rock was still pondering on that problem when Nona
came back from the house. She had changed into a pair of overalls and
leather chaps. She wore a beautifully made pair of tan riding boots.
She looked like a slim, capable boy, with her dark hair tucked out of
sight under a felt hat.
“What on earth did you do that for?” she demanded irritably.
“Do what for?” Rock affected ignorance.
“Let him think you were Doc Martin?”
“Well, he was so darned sure of it, for one thing,” Rock answered
thoughtfully. “It struck me as a good chance to feel around and find
out if he did take that crack at Doc. I don’t believe he did. Also, I
think I’ve convinced him that I’m going--as Doc Martin--to mind my own
business so far as you’re concerned.”
“I noticed how you managed to create that impression,” Nona admitted.
“You were very--very----”
“Adroit,” Rock suggested dryly.
“That’s the word.” She smiled.
“You certainly have----”
“I meant to be,” Rock interrupted, frowning. “I value my scalp, and I
never like to scrap over nothing.”
He looked intently at her.
“See here: If people around here persist in taking me for Doc Martin,
why not let it go at that?” he suggested.
“Why do you want to pass for him?” she demanded. “Are you on the dodge
for something?”
Rock shook his head. He didn’t want to explain to her the possibility
of Elmer Duffy starting a blood feud with him over Mark’s death. He had
disarmed Duffy, he thought, in his rôle of Doc Martin, no longer
jealously hostile toward any ambitious male who came wooing Nona Parke.
And Rock was quite willing to chance some unknown enemy of the dead
rider. Pity and wonder had stirred in his breast when he looked at his
double stretched on the bed, and when he helped to bury him. He had a
sense of outrage in a man being murdered from ambush. He was puzzled
about that shooting--curious about the how and why.
“No,” he said. “I have told you my name, and where I came from. I have
nothing to hide. Just the same, I have a notion to play Doc Martin for
a while. I might find out who killed him. Duffy didn’t.”
“Perhaps not. I’d hate to believe it. And, still, I don’t know. It’s
just a feeling. If Elmer Duffy didn’t shoot Doc, I can’t imagine who
would. Doc never quarreled with any one else around here that I know
about, and I think that I would know if he had.”
“Sometimes,” Rock said, and he was thinking of himself when he spoke,
“things that are a long way behind a man crop up. Queer things happen
in the cow country. Well, what about it? Do you want to keep it dark
about Doc being shot and let me play his hand for a while? Or shall I
announce myself to Elmer Duffy and everybody else who takes me for Doc
Martin?”
“Suit yourself,” she said. “You will be taking your own chances.”
“On what?”
“On whatever happens.”
“Oh, well, I don’t mind taking a sporting chance now and then.” Rock
swung lightly off the fence. “What’s the program now, Miss Parke?”
“Rope that sorrel for me and that chunky bay for yourself,” she said
crisply. “And catch me that black pony.”
* * * * *
Nona saddled her horse as soon as Rock, and she had him saddle the
small black horse with an extra rig in the stable. They rode to the
house. The girl swung down, darted in, and came out with a cushion,
which she fastened across the fork of her saddle. Then she called
Betty, and that chubby person toddled forth.
Nona put her on the cushion and swung up to her seat. The child, all
smiles for Rock, rode easily within the protection of her sister’s arm.
The extra horse trotted at the end of Rock’s lead rope, as they set off
down the valley.
“Didn’t she see him?” Rock muttered. “How come she takes me for him?”
Nona shook her head. “I left her shut in the house when we made that
ride yesterday. You can see she takes you for granted.”
Betty undoubtedly did. She prattled away, calling him “Doc.”
“I don’t like to leave her alone much,” Nona explained. “That’s why
we’ve got this extra cayuse. There’s a half-breed family lives down
river a few miles. One of the girls has been nurse for Betty most all
the last year. She’s been away for a while, and I’ve got to get her
back. I’ve carried this child hundreds of miles like this, but it’s too
hard on her and on me. I’ve got to be free to ride when I need to.”
Rock nodded comprehension. He had been wondering how she managed with
the baby.
They traversed long river flats, gray with sage, heavily grassed here
and there, spotted with natural meadows of blue-joint hay. Meadow larks
caroled. In the still pools, where foaming riffles ended, wild ducks
mothered flapping broods. Gray and brown buffalo birds haunted the
berry thickets and fluttered out at their approach. Except for this
wild life, the bottoms were deserted. Few cattle grazed in those
valleys, so hotly scrutinized by a brassy sun. They kept to high ground
and cooler airs. And, just as Rock was beginning to wonder if his day’s
ride should consist of acting solely as Nona’s escort, she pulled up
and pointed to a wide-mouthed draw, opening into the Marias from the
north.
“Ride up that about six or eight miles, then swing west, and circle
back to the ranch,” she said. “My brand is a TL, same as on your horse.
Left rib on cattle. Make a sort of rough estimate of how many you see.
You ought to get in about two or three o’clock. I’ll have some dinner
cooked.”