Читать книгу The Rider of Golden Bar - William Patterson White - Страница 7

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"You hadn't oughta shot the girl's mules," said fat Sam Larder, shaking a reproving head at disconsolate Jack Murray.

The latter endeavored to defend himself. "I was drunk."

"That's no excuse," averred Felix Craft. "You had no business picking a fight with young Riley in the first place. He's a popular lad, that one, and you ain't."

"He made me mad, setting there in the sun joking with that damn Bill Wingo who's gonna be sheriff in my place. Besides, I was drunk."

"I saw the whole affair," said Sam Larder. "Bill pushed Riley off the cracker box and you had to slur Riley about it. Fool caper."

"I never did like Riley," grumbled Jack Murray. "He's a friend of Bill Wingo's and that's enough. I figured by downin' Riley and skippin' out and lettin' that stage hostler know where I was going, Bill Wingo would come pelting after and gimme a chance to settle with him all salubrious and private on the trail somewheres."

Sam Larder bluntly called the spade by its correct name. "Bushwhack him, you mean."

"Well, if I did, it's none of your business," snapped Jack Murray with an evil glance.

"Then why make it our business by coming here bellyaching to me and Craft?" Sam Larder wished to know.

"I came to you because I want my money—sixteen hundred dollars that bandit Bill Wingo stole off me."

"He didn't say anything about any sixteen hundred," said Felix Craft, his eyes beginning to gleam. "Tell us about it."

"Yeah," urged Sam. "Give it a name."

Jack proceeded to give it a name—several names and all profane. When he was calmer he gave a fairly truthful account of the financial transaction between Hazel Walton, Bill Wingo and himself.

"And I'm telling you here and now," he said in conclusion, "that six hundred dollars is too much for that broken-down team of jacks. And a thousand dollars for putting a few holes in Riley Tyler is plumb ridiculous. My Gawd, he'll be out of bed in a month. Wha' t'ell you laughin' at?"

For his hearers were laughing—laughing immoderately. They whooped, they pounded the table, they beat each other on the back till they sank exhausted into their chairs.

Jack demanded again to be told what they were laughing at.

"I'll leave it to anybody if this ain't the funniest thing ever happened in the territory," declared Sam Larder, when he could speak with coherence.

Felix Craft nodded. "Sure is. One on you all right, Jack."

"Aw, hell, you fellers can't make a monkey out of me."

"Bill Wingo seems to have done that pretty thoroughly," said Sam Larder with a fat man's giggle.

"I'm not through with him yet," snarled Jack Murray.

"Where's your sense of humor?" grinned Felix. "If you'll take my advice you'll walk round Bill Wingo like he was a swamp. Ain't you had enough?"

"I want my money back!" squalled the indignant Jack.

Sam Larder kissed the tips of his plump fingers. "The money's gone. Can't do anything about it now. Can we, Crafty?"

"Don't see how."

Jack sat up stiffly, his face red with rage. "You fellers mean to tell me you're gonna let me be robbed of sixteen hundred dollars?"

Felix Craft spread eloquent hands. "What can we do?"

"I thought you were friends of mine," disgustedly.

"We are," Sam hastened to assure him. "If we weren't we'd have called in the sheriff long ago."

"What's the sheriff got to do with it?"

"He's got a warrant for your arrest—for assault and battery, malicious mischief, and assault with intent to kill. Besides, the folks hereabout have got it in for you. I wouldn't be surprised if they hang you—give 'em half a chance."

"I know they would, damn 'em, but as long as they don't see me they can't lynch me, and they ain't likely to see me here in your house, Felix. But I don't like the idea of that warrant."

"I suppose not," said Felix. "A warrant follows you all over while a necktie party generally stays close to home. And no matter what the present sheriff does, I got an idea Bill won't forget that warrant any after he takes office— Yeah, I know, cuss him out by all means, but after all, what are you gonna do about it?"

"I didn't think he'd swear out a warrant," said Jack.

Felix tendered his mite. "There's a reward offered, too."

A warrant was bad enough, but a reward! Many people would be on the lookout to earn such easy money.

Jack Murray felt an odd and sinking sensation in the region of his stomach. "How much is it?"

"Only three thousand dollars."

"Only, huh. Only? Who's puttin' up the cash?"

"Riley Taylor put his name down for a thousand and Hazel's uncle, Tom Walton, added six hundred, and——"

"Why, that sixteen hundred is my own money!" interrupted Jack Murray.

"I expect so," continued Felix. "The other fourteen hundred was made up around the town."

"I suppose you'll tell me you fellers put it up yourselves," said the sarcastic Mr. Murray, who did not expect any such thing.

"Sure we did," said Felix. "We had to. Bill Wingo and Sam Prescott and Wildcat Simms brought the paper round, and we had to sign up. I'll be out a hundred if you're caught, Sam two hundred, Tip a hundred, Rafe the same, and that's the way it went. Even the district attorney chipped in his ante."

Jack Murray was too horrified to speak for a minute. While he wrestled with his thoughts Sam Larder spoke.

"You see, Jack," said he, "we had to sit in. If we hadn't, everybody would have said we sympathized with you, and we couldn't afford that—not with elections coming on. It would never do. Never. You see how it is, I guess."

"Yes, I see," said Jack bitterly. "I see all right. I see you've skun me between you. That damn reward will make me leave the territory for a while."

"Most sensible thing you could do," declared Sam Larder warmly. "We don't want to see you get into any trouble, Jack. You're young. Starting somewhere else won't be a hardship for you a-tall. We'll be sorry to lose you," he concluded thoughtfully.

"You ain't lost me yet," Jack snapped back. "I may pull out for awhile, but I'll be back. You bet I'll be back, and when I do come back I'll sure make Bill Wingo hard to find."

"Don't yell so loud," Sam cautioned him, "or you may have the opportunity sooner than you want it. You hadn't oughta come here, anyhow. You dunno whether you were seen or not."

"And you don't want to get a bad name, I expect," sneered Jack Murray.

"You expect right," Felix Craft said with candid bluntness.

"You see, we ain't been openly connected with any scandal yet," contributed Sam Larder, glancing at the clock, "and while it ain't daylight yet, still—" He paused meaningly.

"You want me to drag it, huh?" growled Jack.

"We-ell, maybe you'd better," admitted Sam.

"If fifty dollars would do you any good, here it is," said Felix, thrusting a hand into his trousers pocket.

Jack Murray spat on the floor. "T'ell with your money. I know who ain't my friends now, all right, and you can gamble I'm a-going right quick. See you later."

So saying, Jack Murray rose and left them. He was careful to close the door quietly. When he was gone, Sam grinned at Felix. The latter broke anew into laughter.

"His own money!" crowed Felix Craft. "His own money offered as a reward! If that ain't——"

But what it was, was drowned in the bellowing cackle of Sam Larder.

Billy Wingo removed his hat and stuck a brown head round the corner of the door jamb. "Hello, Hazel!"

"'Lo, Billy," said Hazel Walton, breaking another egg into the mixture of sugar and shortening in the yellow bowl. "Chase that sprucy chicken out, will you, there's a dear."

Billy did not misunderstand. He had discovered that Hazel called any friend "dear." It was her way of showing her liking, that was all. Nevertheless, the appellation never failed to give him a warm feeling that felt pleasant around his heart. He shooed out the marauding and molting Wyandotte and then sat down on the doorstep and regarded Hazel with approving eyes.

And Hazel Walton was undoubtedly good to look at as she stood there behind the kitchen table, stirring with a great spoon the contents of the yellow bowl. There were dimples in her pretty elbows that matched the one in her cheek. Billy could not see the ones in her elbows, but he knew they were there. Her eyes were downcast. He thought he had never seen such long lashes. The eyebrows were slim and perfect crescents. The round chin was made for the palm of a man's hand. But her hair,—that was what Billy admired most of all. It was so heavy and thick. There was a bit of a wave in it, too. And it always looked neat and tidy. There were never any "scolding locks" at the nape of her neck, as there were on other necks that had come under his eye. But he was not in love with her. Oh, no, not he. After his latest turn-down by Sally Jane, he had made a resolve not to fall in love again, ever. But there was no harm in going to see a girl. How could there be? Quite so.

"Your uncle home?" he asked after a cigarette had been constructed and lit.

"He'll be in for dinner," replied Hazel, with a swift flash of dark eyes. "And there I was hoping all along you had come to see me."

"I came to see you, too."

"Me too is worse, lots worse. Shows what an afterthought I am. Life's an awful thing for a girl."

"I'll bet it is. For you especially. This is the first time I ever came here that some one else wasn't here ahead of me. Usually a feller has to fight his way through a whole herd in order to say good evening to you."

Hazel put her head on one side and looked at him demurely. "They come to see Uncle Tom."

"Which is why they spend all their time talkin' to you."

Hazel smiled. "I feed 'em. I'm a good cook, if I do say it myself. Stay to dinner, William?"

"Not after that," he told her firmly. "I don't want another meal here long's I live."

"Just you let me catch you sloping out before dinner's over and done with, and I'll never speak to you again as long as I live. Besides, I want you to go fill the waterbucket for me in about ten minutes, and after dinner I need some help in the chicken-house, and Uncle is busy this afternoon. So you stay and be mother's li'l helper, Bill, won't you?"

"Putting it thataway," said Bill, "what can a poor man do?" Here he licked his lips cat fashion and added "Is that cake for dinner?"

"Of course not, you simple thing. Here it is half-past eleven and the cake not even mixed yet. I've got a dried-peach pie though. It's outside cooling. And there'll be fried ham, Bill, and corn fritters—the batter's all ready in that blue bowl. Lima beans, too, the last you'll see this year."

"I saw some young ones for another crop on the vines when I came through the garden," said Billy, who was no farmer.

Hazel smiled pityingly. "The frost will kill 'em before they get a chance to ripen. It can't hold off much longer. Do you realize it's nearly October, Bill? We almost had frost last night."

"Winter's coming."

"Election will be here first. Uncle Tom says you're sure to be elected. My, how important you'll be. Will you speak to a feller then, Bill?"

"I might. You never can tell. Seen Riley lately?"—elaborately casual.

"Saw him last Sunday. To look at him now you'd never know he'd been shot, would you? He's coming to dinner to-day—has some business with Uncle Tom."

"Yeah, like the rest of 'em. Fen dubs on the chicken-house. You said I could help you with that, remember."

Hazel nodded. "Here comes Riley now."

"No," said Billy, when Riley, having put his horse in the corral, made as if to step over him. "You stay right here. She's busy. She doesn't want a long, lazy lump like you clutterin' up her nice clean kitchen. Sidown on the step next mine. I don't care how close you sit."

"But I do," returned Riley, seating himself opposite his friend. "Last time I sat next you I lost my tobacco. Good thing my watch wasn't on that side."

"Shucks, that watch!" Bill said scornfully. "It was good maybe when your grandad had it. It must have cost him two dollars easy."

"Alla same, that's a good watch." Riley returned tranquilly. "It only loses thirty minutes a day now since I had it fixed. Say, Hazel, lemme throw this jigger out, will you? He's only sliming round to mooch a bid to dinner."

"I've asked him to stay," smiled Hazel, "but I don't remember saying anything about it to you."

"You didn't. I said I was coming. Here I am. What's fairer than that, I'd like to know? As I was sayin' before you interrupted, I saw you out ridin' last Sunday."

"Did you?" indifferently.

"Yeah—with that nice old Samson man."

"He's not old," Hazel denied vigorously, "and anyway, he's nice."

"He gives her lollypops," Riley confided to Billy, "and sometimes as much as half-a-pound of chalklet creams. Oh, he's a prince."

Hazel stamped a small foot. "It wasn't half-a-pound. It was—it was—" Her voice dwindled away.

"Say a pound," offered Billy, entering into the spirit of the thing, "and that's a generous estimate."

"Almost as generous as Samson," grinned Riley. "Hazel, go easy on the poor old feller. He can't afford to be givin' you expensive presents like that."

"Sure not," slipped in Billy. "Why, I don't believe Samson makes a bit more than fifty per cent on everything he sells."

"You two think you're smart, don't you. He's a nice man, Mr. Samson is, and he spends an evening here quite often."

"He never spends anything else," said Billy.

"Cheap wit," flung back Hazel.

"Almost as cheap as Samson," tucked in Riley.

Hazel's eyes were beginning to sparkle, and Billy seized his opportunity. "Here, here, Riley, stop it! Don't you lemme hear you making any more slurs against Mr. Samson. He's a friend of mine, and——"

"Oh, you!" cried Hazel, instantly regaining her good humor. "You're as bad as Riley, every bit. But you almost did get a rise out of me. I don't like to hear my friends run down."

"I didn't mean it—anything," said Riley, with well-feigned humbleness. "I like Samson, I do, the poor old good-for-nothing lump of slumgullion."

Billy shook a sorrowful head. "Honest, Hazel, I'm ashamed of you, robbing the grave thataway."

"I don't believe he's much over sixty, Bill," said Riley.

"Say sixty-one."

"He's forty-one, if you must know," Hazel said.

"I knew it was getting serious," mourned Billy. "They're exchanging birthdays. We'll have to find us a new girl, Riley."

"Not me. I'm satisfied. I'll stick to the last shout and a li'l beyond. Hazel's only fooling these other fellers. I'll make her the best husband in four counties, and she's the girl that knows it. Don't you, Hazel?"

"I'm not that hard up," replied the girl, with a smile that belied the harshness of her words.

"There, you hear?" chuckled Billy. "Now you'll be good, I guess."

"If you won't have me for the twenty-fourth time hand-running, why not take Bill here? He's a good feller, don't drink much, and he's got a heart of gold and a brand of his own—six horses and one calf at the last round-up. Besides, if all that ain't enough, he's gonna be our next sheriff. What more could a girl want?"

"She'd want him to ask her first," said Hazel, not a whit put out.

Riley turned to Billy in mock surprise. "Ain't you asked her yet, Bill? Shucks, whatsa matter with you? You make me sick, and she don't like it either. G'on—propose. I'm with you. We all are. And she expects it, can't you see? G'on, Tommy Tucker, sing for your supper."

But Tommy Tucker firmly refused to sing. Instead he seized the jibing Mr. Tyler by the ankle and skidded him off the step.

"Ow-wow! You poor flap!" bawled the erstwhile humorist, who had picked up a splinter. "Leggo my leg, or I'll roll you!"

But it was Riley Tyler who was rolled, and rolled thoroughly.

"You boys stop that!" directed Hazel, appearing in the doorway with a bucket. "Acting just like overgrown kids! You ought to be ashamed! Bill, I'll take that bucket of water now, and Riley, how about fetching in an armful of wood for your auntie?"

The two men started to obey, but stopped short in their tracks.

Billy cocked a listening ear. "Wasn't that a shot?"

"Down the draw," responded Riley.

"Near the Hillsville trail," was Hazel's opinion. "There goes another, and another."

"It's no hunter," declared Billy. "I can hear horses galloping."

Within five minutes they three saw a horse come galloping. He was tearing up the draw. The man on his back was half-turned about in the saddle, a rifle at his shoulder. He fired. They could not see what he was firing at. There was a bend in the draw concealing what was behind him.

But they could hear the galloping of the other horses quite plainly. The drum of the racing hoofs grew louder. Three horses swept round the bend in the draw. They were followed by two others. The pursuers uttered a yell as they sighted the house. The pursued fired twice without effect. There was a crackle of shots from the five horsemen. Apparently none took effect on either the pursued or his mount.

Billy regarded the pursued's mount with critical eyes. "That horse is about done."

"Yeah," acquiesced Riley. "Not another mile left in him."

It was but too evident that the horse was in distress. He rolled a little in his stride. Once he stumbled. The rider caught him up with a jerk. The man turned a desperate, determined face toward the house in the draw ahead of him. He was not fifty yards from the house. The draw was wide. He sheered his horse to one side. The animal staggered, crossed his legs and turned a complete somersault. The rider flew from the saddle, turned over in the air and struck hard on his head and right shoulder. The horse lurched to his feet and stood trembling. The man lay still.

The pursuing horsemen were coming along at their tightest licks, but it was Billy and Riley Tyler who were the first to reach the fallen man. Hazel, kilting her skirt in both hands, had run with them.

Billy stooped and turned over the sprawled-out citizen. The man, a square-jawed youngster with a stubby brown mustache, lay breathing heavily. His sun-burnt skin was a little white. Hazel pushed Billy to one side and sat down beside the young fellow.

"Let me," she said quietly, and took his head in her lap. "Riley, get me some water quick and the whisky bottle on the shelf over the fireplace."

Riley darted toward the house.

The five riders dashed up and flung themselves from their saddles. They were Rafe Tuckleton, Jonesy, the Tuckleton foreman, Ben Shanklin and two more of the Tuckleton outfit. Billy faced them, his thumbs hooked in his sagging belt.

"Caught him!" Rafe ejaculated with satisfaction, striding forward, his men at his heels.

"He don't look shot any," said Jonesy.

"Not a hole in him," Billy told them. "He'll be all right in a minute."

Tuckleton laughed harshly. "He's due for a relapse about a minute after that. Jonesy, get your rope. That spruce up there on the flat will be fine."

Hazel uttered a gasp of horror.

"What do you expect to hang him for, Rafe?" demanded Billy.

"Caught him branding one of my calves," was the ugly reply. "Reason enough?"

"I don't believe it!" cried Hazel.

"You know him?" Rafe inquired contemptuously.

"I never saw him before in my life. But he doesn't look like a rustler. He's got a good face."

The Tuckleton outfit was moved to mirth.

"A good face!" yelped the fox-faced Ben Shanklin, slapping his leg. "A good face! That's a fine one!"

"I expect we'll have to turn him loose, boys," Jonesy said sarcastically, returning from his horse, and shaking out the coil of rope.

"Oh, I guess we'll string him up all right," Rafe said with confidence.

"Don't let them, Billy!" begged Hazel.

Billy made instant decision. "'Nds up!"

Which command was backed by a six-shooter trained on the center of Rafe's abdomen. The way the Tuckleton hands flew upward and locked thumbs above the Tuckleton hat was gratifying. But the Tuckleton face was empurpled with rage.

"Of course," remarked Billy, "one of you may hit me, but if I go Rafe goes with me."

"It's all right, boys," Rafe assured his hesitating followers in a voice thick with anger. "Lemme argue this thing."

"There'll be no hanging here," said Billy.

"You bet not!" chimed in the voice of Riley Tyler from a position thirty yards distant on the right.

Riley had returned with the water and whisky. He had been sufficiently thoughtful to bring with him a double-barreled shotgun. He stood, the firearm held level with his hip, the blunt twin muzzles gaping at the Tuckleton outfit.

"Hazel," said Riley, "I wanna borrow this shotgun for a few minutes. I found it leaning inside the door. Ben, I wish you'd come over here and take this water and whisky to the lady. I'm stuck here, sort of."

"You go ahead, Ben," said Billy. "Don't lemme detain you."

Ben went slowly. He plumped whisky and bucket on the ground beside Hazel and then began to sidle casually toward the house.

"You come right back," urged Riley, gesturing with the shotgun. "The best place for you is right beside Jonesy. He's gettin' lonesome for you already, ain't you, Jonesy?"

Jonesy spat upon the ground. Ben slouched back to his comrades. While this byplay had been going on, Tuckleton had been talking at Billy.

"Would you mind repeating all that?" said Billy, when Ben had rejoined the group at Rafe's back. "I didn't catch some of it."

Tuckleton glared, his little eyes hot with rage. "I said that man's a cow thief and we're gonna stretch him!"

"But you said that at first," pointed out Billy. "And I said 'no' then. I haven't changed my mind."

"Since when have you been dry-nursing rustlers?" snarled Rafe.

"I don't know he's a rustler."

"I said he was, didn't I?"

"You said so, sure. But you might be mistaken."

"I don't make mistakes like that. And, anyway, all my boys here saw him branding that calf."

"We sure did," corroborated Jonesy. "Feller had a fire all lit, and was heating a running-iron when we jumped him."

"Did the calf have its mammy along?" was Billy's next question.

No one answered. Billy, however, did not remove his eyes from Rafe's face. The pause was becoming almost embarrassing when the five Tuckletonions made reply with a rush. Two of them said "Yes," and the other three said "No."

"There seems to be a difference of opinion," said Billy. "Don't you know whether the cow was along?"

"She wasn't along," declared Jonesy, sticking to his original assertion.

"But Rafe said she was," said Billy.

"I made a mistake," Rafe hastened to assure him.

Billy nodded in triumph. "Then you do make mistakes. I always knew you did. Funny how you and Jonesy saw things so different and all. Ben didn't see any cow either, and Tim Mullen and Lake did."

"Maybe I made a mistake too," said Lake sullenly, taking his cue from his employer.

"How about you, Tim?" persisted the questioner.

Tim looked furtively from his employer to his foreman and back again before answering.

"Speak up, Tim," directed Billy, "speak up. You did or you didn't. Yes or no?"

"Maybe I made a mistake," was Tim Mullen's final decision.

"They seem to have come over to your point of view, Jonesy," Billy observed dryly. "How about you? Did you make a mistake too?"

But Jonesy was not to be caught. "The cow wasn't along. I oughta know."

"You don't need to be so fierce about it. I was just askin' questions. If this feller had a fire and was heating a running-iron, I suppose he had a calf handy."

"I said we caught him with a calf," insisted Rafe Tuckleton.

"That's right, so you did. Was the calf hog-tied?"

"Naturally."

"And when you saw this stranger and jumped him, I suppose you came boiling along right after him?"

"Sure did." Thus Rafe Tuckleton.

"None of you stopped anywhere, huh?"

"Why, no, of course not. It wouldn't be reasonable, would it, if we were chasin' him, to get off and fiddle around?"

"No, it wouldn't be reasonable," admitted Billy. "Then if none of you got off to turn the calf loose, the calf must still be there—calf, fire and running-iron?"

Rafe looked a little blank at this. So did the others. Jonesy was the first to recover his spirits.

"Unless somebody else turned it loose," suggested Jonesy brightly.

"But the fire and running-iron will still be there."

"Of course they will," Rafe Tuckleton declared heartily. "Of course they will. But it just occurs to me that this man may have had a friend with him we didn't see. And that hog-tied calf and fire and running-iron—that last may have been a cinch ring, Bill—are evidence that'll hang this man. Jonesy, suppose now you ride back to the fork of that split draw south of Saddle Hill, where we saw this man's fire, and see that nobody destroys the evidence before we get there. Ben, I think you'd better go with Jonesy."

"No," said Billy decidedly. "Jonesy and Ben will stay right here."

"Remember," called Riley, "that this Greener is double-barreled."

"But see here—" Rafe began desperately.

"No see about it," interrupted Billy. "You'll all stay right here with us till Tom Walton gets here."

"But suppose somebody destroys the evidence," worried Rafe.

"I don't guess they'll destroy all of it," said Billy cheerfully. "You see, Rafe, we want to go with you to the fork of that split draw south of Saddle Hill."

Rafe's blazing eyes were fairly murderous. His men muttered behind him. But they made no hostile move. They realized that Rafe would never forgive them if they did. He would not be able to.

In the meantime Hazel had been alternately bathing the senseless one's forehead and dribbling drops of whisky between his teeth.

"He's coming round," she said suddenly.

The man opened his eyes, groaned, grunted, and sat up. He blinked his eyes rapidly several times and smiled pleasantly at Hazel.

"That was a jolt I got," said he. "Is there whisky in the bottle?"

He took a long and healthy pull, drove in the cork with the heel of his hand, wiped his lips and then seemed to see Rafe Tuckleton and his men for the first time.

"I seem to remember those bandits giving me the chase of my young life," he remarked, nodding his head. "I don't know why. I don't know why my unknown friend with the six-shooter and my other equally unknown friend with the scatter-gun are holding them up, but I'm glad they're doing it. Still, why? Why all this fuss and these feathers?"

"I don't know either," replied Billy, continuing to watch Rafe Tuckleton and his men like the proverbial hawk, "but we hope to find out. When a couple of friends of mine get here, we aim to find out."