Читать книгу The Mystery at Dark Star Ranch - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 3

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“I want to go to Merrivale’s Dark Star Ranch.”

“Yes sirree, stranger!” The driver nodded his bald, sun-burned head and deftly removed from his spattered windshield a sign proclaiming the astonishing fact that the ramshackle Ford was the Gordon Creek Taxi—Ready For Hire! That accomplished, the small, energetic man piled Hal’s baggage into the rear seat.

Hal climbed in after it, managing to find space enough for his own lanky person. While he was settling himself he happened to notice a look of interest on the browned face of the stalwart cowboy standing just opposite the depot.

“Reckon you’ll find it a plumb long ride, stranger,” said the driver, his body half bent at the hood of his car. He was trying to crank it and succeeded after three valiant attempts. Then he rushed around to his wheel, adjusted the spark and nodded apologetically to his passenger. “She’s long-winded in startin’, but she ain’t bad after she gits a-goin’.”

Hal chuckled. “She’s good for the long run, huh? Well, that’s what we want.”

After a deafening roar, the Ford bumped away from the depot and rattled off into the dusty road. Hal saw the flash of a lovely white horse just as they made the turn and looked around to discover that the stalwart cowboy was its rider and was cantering close behind them.

The horseman seemed not to be aware of any scrutiny, but kept his dark, searching eyes on his horse and the road ahead. Hal, a little embarrassed, soon turned his eyes straight ahead and tried to converse with the driver, but the car at the moment seemed to be snorting and clattering more loudly than ever and the man did not hear him.

He soon gave up trying to make himself heard and leaned back in the bulging seat. The sun was almost overhead and it was getting warmer by the minute. Yet, withal, the heat was soothing and the waving buffalo grass was restful to the eye. The rolling prairie was dotted with grazing cattle and off to the west the foothills of the Rockies looked cool and restful under their vast green forests.

The nearest range, called Crosley’s Range by old-timers, stretched its amorphous bulk above Gordon’s Creek and cast great zigzag shadows over the shining fertile fields. Hal watched the scene from under half-closed eyes and found that the almost springless car interfered but little with his desire to take a nap.

He dozed for the greater part of ten miles and awakened to find that the Ford was lumbering along a narrow trail that skirted the range. The noise was as deafening as ever and at frequent intervals the engine sputtered and gasped as if it were not hitting on all cylinders.

Hal straightened up, smoothed out his well-fitting gray suit, and brushed off the film of fine dust that had gathered on his knees.

After a moment he was aware of the white horse and its sturdy rider still behind them. His driver was slowing up just then and bellowing over his shoulder something about having engine trouble.

Hal nodded, uninterested, for he had one of those instinctive urges to keep a prudent eye upon the cowboy. Consequently after a second’s rummaging about in his baggage he brought forth a shaving mirror and held it before him at an angle which enabled him to get an unrestricted view of the horseman.

He kept up this careful scrutiny in the mirror for the next full mile and was then convinced that the “taxi” was being followed for the cowboy was keeping his lovely white horse at a speed with the Ford, yet careful always to keep a distance of at least a hundred feet between them.

The driver had no such luxurious appurtenance on his Ford as a mirror, and Hal knew that he couldn’t possibly be aware of what was going on behind. The man’s mind was obviously occupied with his complaining engine.

He was about to confide his curious discovery to the driver when suddenly he saw in the mirror that the cowboy had reined in his horse toward the right side of the trail and was looking intently toward a nearby butte. The next moment he was sweeping off his wide-brimmed Stetson and making curious gestures with it, swinging his long arm in a sort of half-circle toward the Crosley Range.

Four times he did this with painstaking effort, then put the hat back on his head.

At this moment the “taxi” was making little or no speed and Hal had ample time to watch the whole procedure. Suddenly a shaft of blue smoke rose from about half-way up the butte. Another shaft rose a second later and at that the cowboy waved his hat once more, then turned his horse across the field in the direction of the butte.

Hal watched him, mystified yet fascinated, as the beautiful white horse leaped along toward a deep, grassy coulee alongside the butte. The animal proceeded with perfect ease as if the region were very familiar to him and now and then he would shake his graceful head as if he were neighing with delight.

Hal could hear absolutely nothing however, for at that moment the Ford was emitting queer, raucous sounds that drowned out everything else. Suddenly the noise ceased and the car shook to a standstill like some decrepit old creature shivering with the ague.

“Wa’al now!” the driver whistled. “If she ain’t gone an’ done it at last!”

“Done what?” Hal asked.

“Stalled, doggone it!” He clambered out of the car.

“Whew!” Hal echoed. “I’m glad it’s no more than that. Think you can crank her up again all right?”

“If I can’t, she ain’t the old Lizzie what I thought she was.”

Hal laughed, but when the driver’s bald head bent down before the hood his expression changed and he looked toward the butte with a sudden frown. Signals had been exchanged between the cowboy and some hidden person on that green, tree-covered hill.

Why?