Читать книгу Mesquite Jenkins - Clarence E. Mulford - Страница 11

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Mesquite spent the next two days in the saddle and the intervening night in a camp of his own. He chose for the scene of his activity the eastern end of the great basin, beyond the range of the Lazy S and even beyond that of the Ace of Clubs. The two low mountain ridges which roughly bounded the basin on the north and south, although they slanted well off the true course, here drew a little closer together and then flattened out into a high, connecting tableland.

The slope up to the top of this tableland was wild and rocky, cut with arroyos and small cañons, gouged by rainwater gullies, dotted with little hills and pitted with small valleys, some of which were blessed by springs, which made several of them exceedingly rich in grass. The general aspect was one of scraggly bush, its nature varying with the soil, the aridity, and the altitude. Vision was limited except from the tops of the larger hills.

There were cattle in this broken country, but most of them were old and worthless; tough cows barren because of age; old steers, whose stringy meat would daunt even the best of teeth; mean old bulls, range scrubs, that should have been killed off as found and not left to keep an inferior cattle strain alive in the herds below. Their self-banishment was a good thing for the whole range, although at times they went down into the valley.

These outlaws of all kinds were mostly branded; and of really marketable animals Mesquite saw but few, so few that their numbers did not count. These were the facts, and he was gleaning facts, hoping from them to build up a chain of logic from which to draw knowledge, a knowledge that would aid him in the problems he would have to solve. Some of the facts he learned were so significant to his mind that already a working hypothesis was shaping itself.

Why were there practically no valuable cattle in so wild a country, especially when it was generally known that the outfit of the Lazy S, over a period of four years, had been careless and without real interest in its work? Why were there not numbers of Lazy S cattle up in this wild country, cattle of all ages, cattle of the three classes? It seemed as though carelessness on one hand might be offset by carefulness on the other. If the Lazy S was careless, then who was careful? Who gleaned the strays?

What horse tracks he found were so old or obliterated or faint that they told him nothing, except that horses had been in this wild country, shod horses; and here and there the tracks passed around low-hung branches of the higher trees, suggesting a reason for it. Nowhere at such a place could be found tracks that went under limbs low enough to strike a rider. Few things seen by the eyes have as little significance as the majority of men attribute to them. Cause and effect, the oldest and most persistent relationship in the world, is perhaps the generally least recognized or understood.

It was late in the afternoon of his first day of riding that he came to a focussing of the faint horse tracks he had been noticing so much. There was a faint semblance of a path, leading roughly in a northerly direction. His interest quickened, and he followed the little trail, one so faint that often it was only by looking well ahead, when he could, that he could keep it in sight. It led him into one of the small valleys, a mere dip in the ground; but spring water oozed down the slope and kept alive a sturdy patch of grass. As he glanced around the rim his attention was caught by something entirely foreign to nature: a long, horizontal line in the brush. There was no need to investigate it: it was wire.

He rode far enough down the slope to get a better look at the softer ground in the little slough; and the pock-marks were those such as might have been made by cattle the year before. The suspicion of gleaning, awakened by negative evidence, was now acquiring that dignity which positive evidence endows. His suspicious mind flashed back over the trail of reasoning, over the facts and into the problematical; did these gleaners pick up only stray cattle, or were the cattle allowed to wander? Were they, perhaps, deliberately drifted into these wilds? The correct answer to this would be worth almost any effort made to obtain it. That would likely come later, and from another place.

Heretofore his riding had been without any especial alertness so far as his own safety was concerned, but now he recognized the need for a change, and his progress was a little more circumspect.

He followed along the trail, now a little heavier, a little wider and, therefore, plainer to the eye. Another small valley, with a swampy bottom, was reached some time later; and he learned of the wire because his horse almost ran into it. It was junk wire, joined and tied, both barbed and plain, and of several sizes. It also was in better continuity than the first he had seen, entirely circling the hollow except where the trail entered. A loose length, coiled roughly, told of a one-strand gate; and also told that a single horseman could pen his stock and be free to search for more.

Neither camping nor branding appeared to have occurred at either of these small valleys; the entire lack of burned spots or charred wood plainly indicating this.

He pushed on again, along an even plainer trail, and found that it was joined, here and there in low places, by that same kind of trail he had found so difficult to follow earlier in the day. And he became conscious of another fact: this larger trail ran generally upward, through a series of various kinds of depressions. This was curious, for the range of the Ace of Clubs, whose territory he was beginning to approach, lay on much lower ground. He smiled grimly, and then began to look around for a camp spot, for good grazing for his horse. It was nearly dusk before he found one which suited him, and after taking care of his mount and eating a portion of the cold rations he carried, he rolled up in a blanket and went to sleep like a child.

The second day found him again calling upon his own peculiar training: he abandoned this trail and struck from it at right angles. It was as though he regarded it as one spoke, perhaps, to a wheel. It naturally would lead toward the hub; but to follow it might result in being seen, and in arousing suspicions in canny minds entirely too ripe for suspicion. It was a crooked spoke, and its axial line uncertain; but a second spoke would, if followed reasonably far, provide a line of intersection which might indicate the general location of the hub. With the short time at his disposal, approximation would have to suffice.

On his course up the slope of the tableland's benches, he crossed several of those already mentioned faint trails, and they all led downward, and, therefore, toward the trunk line he had quitted; but at last he found one which angled off in the other direction, and he followed it as rapidly as possible. It led him to others, and by noon he reached the main stem and let it be his guide. Finally he came upon fresh horseshoe prints, going in the same direction, and he stopped, dismounted, led his horse from the trail, and climbed to the top of the right-hand hill. For minutes his searching gaze slowly swept the country, gradually acquiring a greater radius; and then it stopped and fixed upon a moving dot, a dot so small that it told him nothing beyond the fact that it was a horseman. A rider, out here, could be no one but one of the gang, and he was heading in the right direction to prove Mesquite's points. Mesquite had obtained his approximation, and by it eliminated nine tenths of the table land and its sloping benches.

Back in the saddle again, he turned and headed for town. He crossed the log bridge west of the Lazy S at twilight, and reached town to find the hotel dining room closed. After a mediocre meal at a lunch room, he drifted into Parsons's Saloon and found the sheriff and his friend the coroner in their accustomed places.

"You found that job yet, Mesquite?" inquired the former, grinning provocatively.

Mesquite shook his head and dropped into a chair.

"Better ask th' sheriff if he's found what he lost!" cried a humorous voice from the rear of the room, where the nightly game of poker was in progress, and a gust of good-natured laughter proved that the jest was enjoyed.

"He ain't lost; he's just mislaid, an' I'll get him," retorted the sheriff. "He ain't th' first feller that ain't been where my hand landed, an' he won't be th' last. It's somethin' to know who he is."

"If you do know," retorted another voice, with just the suggestion of a barb in it. "Seems to me you ain't got much evidence."

"Had enough for th' coroner's jury, as you oughta know, seein' you was on it," replied the peace officer imperturbably.

"Why, any fool would know it was murder," retorted the scoffer; "but as to fixin' it onto somebody, that's different!"

"Yes," said the sheriff reflectively, "that's different." He seemed to become a little doubtful, and changed the subject. "You ain't quittin' yore job, are you, Tommy?" he asked the scoffer, in pretended anxiety.

"Who, me?" quickly asked Tommy. He was very much surprised. "Why?"

"I don't know why. I just asked a plain question."

"Naw, I ain't quittin'. Zeke say anythin'?" asked Tommy, vaguely disturbed, because it was a good job, and good jobs were scarce just then. The Box O had just laid off two men, and he hoped Zeke had no further economies in mind.

"No-o, he didn't say anythin', you might say," drawled the sheriff, and seemed willing to let the subject lie.

"What made you ask me that, then?" demanded Tommy, with more than casual interest.

"I was just thinkin' of somethin', that's all," answered the sheriff.

"There ain't nothin' wrong, is there?" asked Tommy, beginning to squirm.

"I ain't tellin' no perfessional secrets," placidly replied the officer.

"What you mean?" asked Tommy with throbbing curiosity.

"Nothin', I reckon; go on with th' game," said the sheriff, turning his face away to hide its smile; and for the rest of the evening Tommy's lack of interest in poker was noticeable, and his losing streak continued. Thus are the wicked punished by the wise, and retaliation obtained by the subtle. Tommy's scoffing cost him nearly half a month's wages and sent him home to worry for half the remainder of the night.

Mesquite caught the gleam of mirth in the sheriff's eyes and read the satisfaction wreathing the coroner's face. Tommy's unrest supplied what else might be needed to explain the matter, and Mesquite chuckled low in his throat.

The sheriff looked at him, and his lips twitched. This would be a good time to try out the stranger's wits. The answer to the telegram had come from Montana, and the sheriff cleared his throat.

"These Western states think highly of their good citizens," he remarked reflectively. "From California to Missouri, from Texas to Montana, this is so."

"Yeah!" cried a boisterous, bantering voice from the card table. "Utah swears by Brigham Young, an' Missouri brags about Jesse James. Who've we got to cheer for?"

"Charley Lennox, you jackass!" ejaculated a companion. "He oughta have a medal."

"Come on, come on!" growled a player. "Deal 'em; deal 'em! Don't pay so much attention to Haskins. Put in a chip, an' deal!"

Mesquite's cold face softened a little, and he nodded. He was glad that Hopalong Cassidy's answer had been received. And he was glad to make the acquaintance of a man like the sheriff, and hoped that he might, some day, claim him for a steadfast friend.

"That remark about Utah swearin' reminds me of somethin'," said the sheriff, absently toying with the badge on his vest, "somethin' I figger on doin' to-night."

Mesquite looked at him intently, studying the seamed face, and his own eyes brightened as the sheriff opened his coat wide and revealed a deputy sheriff's badge pinned to its lining.

"But you drew four cards!" came Tommy's indignant wail from the poker table. "Judas priest! Look here: three crowned heads, all male, an' they lose to a four-card draw!"

"Santy Claus just clumb down th' chimbly," placidly remarked the lucky winner, pulling in his gains.

"When I got th' best hand, nobody stays," growled Tommy; "but when I got a real good hand, somebody's got a better!"

"Never mind, Tommy; you come in second, anyhow," consoled a companion.

"That shows we're good players, gettin' out when you've got th' best hand," said the dealer, "except when we scare you out an' rake in on a pair of treys. But no foolin', fellers: that makes three times to-night that a four- or five-card draw has made a flush or better. Me, I'm goin' to bust my little pairs from now on, an' wait for Santy Claus."

"Well," growled a man, arising and pushing his solitary chip to the banker, "mebby yo're goin' to wait for Santy Claus, but I'm goin' out lookin' for him—with a gun. I'm through. Good-night."

"Hey, you fellers," called the dealer. "Hey, Haskins; hey, Corbin! Hey, you Mesquite feller! There's room for another pilgrim."

The coroner looked inquiringly at his official friend, smiled at the shake of the head, and slowly arose.

"Goin' to invest," he apologized to Mesquite, and sauntered to the table. "What's th' game?" he asked as he dug down into a pocket.

"Two bits an' a dollar," answered the dealer. "Look out for Tommy: he holds good hands."

"You go to hell," growled Tommy, grinning ruefully. He turned and glanced curiously at the sheriff and slowly picked up his hand.

The sheriff waited until the game held the attention of the players, and Parsons as well, and leaned a little forward.

"Whichever of us two leaves here first," he whispered, "waits at my office." His hand moved inside his coat and then fell to the arm of his chair.

Mesquite nodded quietly, but his face hardened and frost crept into his eyes. He could wear that badge with far more complacency than he had worn the one that Sheriff Peters had pinned on his vest about two years before.

It was not long before Tommy, of the Box O, pushed back his chair and stood up. His remarks to his friends were not complimentary, but they gave as good as they received. He had no chips to cash, and therefore tarried not; but he stopped at the sheriff's side, and looked down inquiringly.

"What'd you mean 'bout me quittin' my job?" he carelessly asked.

"Ride along home, sonny," replied the sheriff. "You'll mebby find out, some day. Things like that usually get known. Ride along home." He stretched and arose. "I'll ride with you far's th' jail."

Tommy became a little apprehensive, but said nothing. He was swiftly running back in his mind for a clue to the sheriff's words, to find out if this short ride with the sheriff was going to be disastrous. He led the way to the tie rack, mounted in silence, and grudged each step of his horse, but at the combination office and jail the sheriff waved his hand and said good-night. Tommy's sigh of relief reached the officer's ears and sent a grin to the leathery face.

Half an hour later Mesquite walked slowly up the street toward the hotel and saw the sheriff sitting on the single low step before his lighted door. The curtains were tightly drawn. Mesquite angled over and paused.

"Gettin' a mite chilly," said the officer. "If you ain't in no hurry, we might as well go inside an' palaver a bit."

"Oh, well, for a few minutes," acquiesced Mesquite. "I'll smoke a couple of cigarettes while yo're finishin' yore pipe."

The door closed behind them, and when it opened again it let out a new deputy sheriff, whose badge lay inside his vest; and who had been told to ride to the Lazy S after breakfast for the job which there awaited him.