Читать книгу The Gentle Desperado - Frederick Schiller Faust - Страница 9

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Such was the beginning of Robert’s venture against the cattle rustlers who preyed upon the Larkin Ranch, and all other ranches in the broken range which fenced the desert to the north. The way was long, but the cunning of Oñate took them to every water hole with an unerring instinct as true as that of a wild horse, and the purpose of Robert was not dimmed in its strength and its luster.

So they came to the mountain wall, and as they labored slowly up the incline, he began to appreciate the superior mountaincraft of Pedrillo. For the canyons on either side came to blind walls over which the water poured in a crashing white torrent, and there was no thoroughfare for any creature unequipped with wings. The spur made hard going, but by means of it they wound slowly but securely through the belts of greasewood and cactus; and then through a region of stunted shrubbery, and so up to a level of lofty pines, which closed high above their heads.

While they were still in this region they came to a summit from which Robert had his first view of the Larkin Ranch. It was in a great bowl with an uneven, rolling bottom, edged by the ragged and deeply bitten ranges of hills and mountains. He could hardly guess at the thousands of acres of grazing land which it comprised, but he knew that the sparkling streams of water and the growth of fresh green grass must make an ideal pasturage. He could see, too, that this was a paradise for cattle thieves, for out of the dark mouth of any canyon that split the mountain rim they could swoop down on a scattered group of cows, and drive them away in comparative security.

There was not one such canyon, or two; but a dozen shadowy recesses opened among the heights.

“There are two things which could be done,” said Robert at length. “Either the canyons must be blocked—which is impossible—or else such strength must be here in the valley that cattle rustlers will fear to come down more than they fear riding into fire.”

“Aye, señor,” said the Mexican. “If that could be done—”

And he smiled covertly and looked straight before him, not daring to turn to Robert lest the latter should see the mockery in his eyes.

They came in sight of the ranch house late that afternoon. A noble cluster of trees stood around it, and it extended two large, comfortable wings like welcoming arms. It had grown by fits and starts, according to the whims of the rich rancher who had planned it. The great stables, sheds, and barns lay well away from the house, and the fields through which the two travelers rode were liberally dotted with cattle.

“Surely,” said Robert, growing more and more thoughtful, “the owner of all this land and cattle is rich and untroubled!”

“So one would say, señor,” said the Mexican, “but often as great men grow they carry a growing mortgage with them. So it is here, and the whole world knows that the señorita loses money every year and the banks will not help her any longer.”

“Business is a mysterious thing,” said Robert seriously. “I have tried to understand it before, but I have given up. We must go faster, Pedrillo! I long to see the lady!”

Pedrillo, it must be admitted, was a matchless pedestrian. He could not walk fast, but he never stopped, and though he perspired incessantly, his shadow never grew less.

In the evening they came to the ranch house through the cool cloud of trees that surrounded it, and found Miss Beatrice Larkin walking up and down the long veranda which wound about the irregular front of her house. A tall, spare youth walked beside her. Near the front door an elderly lady looked up from her knitting, from time to time, to watch the growth of the evening shadows dancing among the trees.

“It is the sister of the mother of the señorita,” said Pedrillo, whose eyes were growing round with awe as they approached the mansion.

Robert dismounted and stood at the foot of the steps. Miss Larkin paused with her companion just above him. She was a brown-faced girl, dark from constant exposure to the sun which had faded her hair from brown to almost a straw color. She was small and slender, but a great spirit found expression in her keen eyes and restless gestures. At a little distance it had seemed to Robert that she walked and talked like a man; but when he came closer and saw that Pedrillo had not overpraised her, he lost the power of speech.

“Hello!” said Miss Larkin. “Where did you blow in from, stranger?”

Robert merely stared.

“Well, sonny,” said Miss Larkin, “what’s wrong?”

A lump in Robert’s throat was seriously in the way of his speech but he managed to stammer that he had come from the direction of the desert.

Miss Larkin smiled. Or rather, she grinned, for there was something boyish in her expression.

“I didn’t think you came from the mountains—and Tom Gill,” said she.

That gave Robert a perfect starting point, and he said: “I’ve come about Tom Gill, Miss Larkin. For I hear that you need help—”

“Help? I need an army!” said the girl. “Hold on! Are you Sheriff Matthews’ boy?”

“No. My name is Robert Fernald. I have no help to offer except that of my two hands, you see.”

He spoke with gravity and modesty. Miss Larkin looked keenly and quickly into the fresh face.

“You came to fight Tom Gill. Is that it?” she asked crisply.

“Yes,” said Robert.

Miss Larkin stared. She raised her eyes, and saw Pedrillo in the background, significantly touching his forehead; then she said quickly: “It’s mighty fine of you. Tumble your pack off that horse and—Martha! Martha!”

A voice echoed from the interior of the house and footsteps approached down the hall.

“Show Mr. Fernald to a room. We’ll have a talk after dinner.”

In two minutes Robert was safely out of sight, and sitting rather stunned, in a large, cool, clean room. He felt, somehow, that his entrance had not been very impressive; but at least he was on the ground and afterward he would find his chance for action. In the meantime, there was Beatrice Larkin. He wished that her voice were a little softer, her step a little less briskly swinging, and her eye less commanding. Nevertheless, in spite of these faults—or perhaps even partly on account of them—she filled his mental horizon.

He barely had time to make himself clean and neat—and look to the condition of his automatic—when he was called to dinner. It took a good deal of effort on his part to answer that call, but when he got downstairs, the atmosphere had changed. He was received with gentleness, almost with pity, he thought. And now and again he was vaguely aware of glances meeting behind his back. But all was kindness and hospitality, and Robert was soon quite at home. The only disagreeable feature was the presence of the ranch foreman, who was introduced as Dan Parker. He took Robert’s hand in a grip of iron and looked keenly, quizzically into his eyes. That grip and that stare kept Robert a little flushed for several minutes, but during the rest of the meal, Dan Parker’s head was bowed between his mighty shoulders and he attended exclusively to his food. Miss Larkin was absent-minded and silent, also. Her youthful companion, Fitzroy King, who seemed to be a guest, ventured a remark now and again, but got short answers from Miss Larkin. Only the aunt, Miss Harriet Atkinson, maintained the conversation in a quiet, pleasant voice.

After dinner Miss Atkinson talked for a time with Robert—about himself. He explained to her a few of his ideas. And he told her that he really did not hope to rival Wild Bill, or any others among the truly great; only he hoped that he would be able to do something in a small way. And if he could but meet Tom Gill—

Miss Atkinson listened with wonderful sympathy and understanding; she was sure that her niece was grateful for his help. And perhaps, indeed, he might be the means of lifting the terrible cloud which hung over the ranch.

Robert said good night and went to bed. But after he had passed the door—which was framed with a crack so ample that voices passed easily through it—he heard Miss Atkinson say: “A terribly pathetic case, my dear!”

And he heard Miss Larkin answer: “Sad or crazy. I don’t know which!”

Robert wondered what they were talking about, but he was too sleepy to think things out.

The desert fatigue had left him when the sun rose, and he went downstairs where he met Beatrice Larkin singing as she hurried toward the front door, clad for the day’s riding on the range.

“If I may have just a little minute of your time, Miss Larkin,” said he, “I’d like to know what you could suggest for me to—”

She hardly turned; she merely waved a hand and said vaguely: “Just rest up for a few days, Mr. Fernald!” She was gone, the screen door banging loudly behind her.

So Robert went out, feeling rather dazed and down-hearted, and found Pedrillo. Pedrillo was in the best of spirits. He had found a blackjack game in the bunk house and his capital had increased in consequence. After talking with Pedrillo, it seemed best to Robert that they should ride the range themselves, drifting far toward the northern mountains. One could not tell when they might come on traces of terrible Tom Gill and his men!

Pedrillo got a broncho; young Robert’s armament was increased by a borrowed rifle; and they rode out on the plains. By supper time they returned with nothing gained except a closer knowledge of the land. And so it was the next day and the next. But when Robert came in on the third night, Dan Parker met him.

“There was three hard-boiled gents blew in and said they was looking for you,” he declared. “I said that they wasn’t. They said that they was, and they described you pretty close—you and the Mexican. But I give them the run off the place. Only I got to tell you, sonny, that if any of them three meet up with you—they’ll eat you raw, because they’re pretty mad. And I’ll tell you one more thing. All the time that you’re on this here place, I’m watching you, kid, because I don’t take nothing for granted!”

As he said this, he tapped Robert’s chest with a finger like a rod of iron.

It was very uncomfortable, and the worst of it was that it seemed to leave Robert nothing to say. So he went into the house for supper and that night it occurred to him that his hostess was more than a little weary of his presence. Or was it only that her mind was too much occupied with her own troubles?

For she said at table—where the talk had been rather listless: “If Sheriff Matthews doesn’t bring a hundred men and comb those mountains, I’ll let the world know that he’s a quitter and a coward!”

It was a brief explosion, but it made Robert tinglingly glad that he was not Sheriff Matthews.

So, next morning, he rose with an iron determination to accomplish some definite thing. And, first of all, he hunted out Pedrillo.

“Pedrillo Oñate,” said he, “we’re starting for Tom Gill again today. But we’re going to change things around. Suppose that you were Tom Gill. Suppose you were raiding this ranch. What would you do? Think it out that way, Pedrillo!”

“Ah, señor,” said Pedrillo, “but suppose that I should think right—and suppose—God forbid!—that we should meet Tom Gill!”

“Ah?” cried Robert. “And what under heaven has brought us here, Pedrillo? What was the noble motive that made you—”

“Alas, señor,” sighed Pedrillo, “noble motives will not stop lead bullets!”

“I understand you,” said Robert scornfully. “But even if your first fine purpose is growing weak, Pedrillo, we must keep on, for I have taken an oath that I never shall leave this trail until I find Tom Gill! God is my witness!”

He raised his face and his right hand to the sky—and was well-nigh blinded by the sun.

Pedrillo did not laugh; he was still lost in gloom as they rode across the hills toward the mountains. It was mid-morning before they reached the base of the mountains, and they rested in the saddles, watching two riders drive three or four hundred cows ahead of them.

“We must go to the mountains and live there and hunt there,” said Robert. “We never shall find Tom Gill on the plains! They make their raids by night, and by day Miss Larkin’s men ride everywhere. See, there are two of them even here at the edge of the range!”

“But it is a strange thing, señor,” said Pedrillo, “that Miss Larkin’s punchers should be driving the cows toward the mountains. And look, señor! They are taking the cows at a trot!”

So it was, indeed. Why should they be driving those cows in that direction?

“We’ll ride up and ask,” said Robert.

“My horse is lame, señor!” cried Pedrillo.

Robert turned quickly in the saddle and saw the sickly yellow-greenish color of his companion’s face.

“Pedrillo, you coward!” he cried. “You act as though Gill were riding there!”

“The Virgin of Mercy shield us!” moaned Pedrillo. “But if that is not the gray horse which no man but Tom Gill rides—”

“It could not be!” said Robert, trembling, but trembling not with fear alone. And the next instant a whip cut on Pinto’s flank and sent him bounding forward.

Indeed, it did not take long to tell that these were strange cowpunchers, for when they saw they were approached from the rear, they dashed at the cows, hurried them into a gallop toward the mountain pass which gaped just before them, and then drew from holsters beneath their legs long rifles which flashed brightly in the sun.

So Robert knew, with an excitement that almost stunned him, that whether or not yonder rider on the gray horse were Tom Gill, here were two thieves working in the broad light of day.