Curly Part 4

The hold-up was squatting back on his heels, looking out across the desert. "Don Rex," said he, "I had a warning sent to Sheriff Bryant that I was coming down to lift all yo' hawsses. My wolves tracked Bryant's rider to Lordsburgh, where he wired to you. You came running, and had all yo' hawsses rounded up convenient for me, in the stable-yard of this house. I thank you, seh."

"My good man, I'll bet you an even thousand dollars," said the patrone, "that you don't lift a hoof of my haw--_remuda_."

"It's a spawtin' offer, and tempts me," answered the outlaw. "Oblige me by taking my gun from the ground here and firing three shots in the air."

The patrone took the gun, and at his third shot saw a man ride out from behind the bastion on our right. McCalmont waved to him, and he came, putting a silk mask over his face as he rode, then halted in front of us, shy as a wolf, gun ready for war.

"Young man," said McCalmont, "repeat to these gentlemen here the whole of yo' awdehs fo' the day. Leave out the names of the men."

"You're giving us dead away!" said the rider, threatening McCalmont with his gun. "You mean that?"

"I mean what I say."

"Ah! Excuse me, McCalmont," said the patrone, "your--er--pistol, I think."

"Thanks, seh." McCalmont took the gun. "Repeat the awdehs!" he said.

"These gentlemen are our friends."

"Well, you knows best," came the voice from behind the mask. "Three men to cover your approach to Holy Cross, and if there's trouble, to shoot Balshannon and Chalkeye. They're covered now. The wall of the stable court by the South-west Bastion to be mined with dynamite, and touched off at ten p. m. prompt; ten riders to get in through the breach in the wall, and drive out the bunch of horses; one man with an axe to split all the saddles in the harness-room, then join the herders."

"Leave out," said McCalmont, "all detail for pointing, swinging, and driving the herd. Go on."

"At one minute to ten, before the wall is blown away, ten riders are to make a bluff at attacking the main gate, and keep on amusing the garrison until the men with the naphtha cans have fired the private house.

"Rendezvous for all hands at Laguna by midnight, where we catch remounts, and sleep until daybreak, with a night herd of two, and one camp guard. At dawn we begin to gather cattle, while the horse wrangler and two men drive the _remuda_ east. Rendezvous at Wolf Gap."

Lord Balshannon laughed aloud. "And how about poor old Bryant's posse of men?" he asked.

"Sheriff Bryant," said the Captain, "allows that he's to catch us in a sure fine trap, five miles due west of Lordsburgh. And now," he called to the mounted robber, "tell the boys that all awdehs are cancelled, that I'm supping to-night at Holy Crawss, and that the boys will wait for me at the place we fixed in case of accidents."

The man rode off hostile and growling aloud, while Balshannon stood watching to see which way he went.

"McCalmont," said he, and I took note of just one small quiver in his voice, "may I venture to ask one question?"

"A hundred, seh."

"You seem to know the arrangement of my house--its military weakness.

How did you learn that?"

The outlaw stood up facing him, and took from the breast of his shirt a folded paper. Balshannon and I spread it open, and found a careful plan of Holy Cross. At the foot of the paper there was a memorandum signed "George Ryan."

"I may tell you," said the robber, "that if I succeeded in burning yo'

home, stealing yo' hawsses, and running yo' cattle, Mr. George Ryan proposed to pay my wolves the sum of ten thousand dollars."

"Carry out your plans," the patrone was pleased all to pieces. "I'd love to fight your wolves. I've got some dynamite, too! Think of what you're losing!"

"Lose nothing!" said the robber. "I'll collect fifty thousand dollars compensation from Ryan!" He stooped down and gathered his son in his arms.

"And now, will you have us for guests in yo' home? Say the word, and we go."

Balshannon lifted his hat and made a little bow, much polite. "My house," he answered in Spanish, "is yours, senor!"

CHAPTER V

BACK TO THE WOLF PACK

Being given to raising fowls, I'm instructed on eggs a whole lot. Killed young, an egg is a sure saint, being a pure white on the outside, and inwardly a beautiful yellow; but since she ain't had no chance to go bad she's not responsible. But when an egg has lingered in this wicked world, exposed to heat, cold, and other temptations, she succ.u.mbs, being weary of her youth and shamed of virtue. So she partic.i.p.ates in vice to the best of her knowledge and belief. Yes, an old egg is bad every time, and the more bluff she makes with her white and holy sh.e.l.l, the more she's rotten inside, a whited sepulchre.

I reckon it's been the same with me, for at Holy Cross I was kept good and fresh by the family. Sh.e.l.l, white, and yolk, I was a good egg then, with no special inducements to vice. Now I know in my poor old self what an uphill pull it is trying to reform a stale egg.

In those days, when I thought I was being good on my own merits, I had no mercy on bad eggs like poor McCalmont, however much he tried to reform. Balshannon took me aside, and wanted to know if he could trust this robber.

"So far as you can throw a dawg," said I.

That night the lady fed alone, and we dined in the great hall, the patrone at the head of the table, McCalmont and Curly on one side, the padre and me on the other. Curly's ankle being twisted, and wrapped up most painful in wet bandages, the priest allowed that he couldn't ride away with his father, but had better stay with us.

Curly shied at that. "I won't stay none!" he growled.

But McCalmont began to talk for Curly, explaining that robbery was a poor vocation in life, full of uncertainties. He wanted his son to be a cowboy.

"If he rides for me," says I, "he'll have to herd with my Mexicans.

They're greasers, but Curly's white, and they won't mix."

"I'd rather," says McCalmont, "for Arizona cowboys are half-wolf anyways, but this outfit is all dead gentle, and good for my cub."

Then the boss offered wages to Curly, and the priest took sides with him. So Curly kicked, and I growled, but the boy was left at Holy Cross to be converted, and taught punching cows.

As to McCalmont, he rode off that night, gathered his wolves, and jumped down on Mr. George Ryan at the Jim Crow Mine, near Grave City. He wanted "compensation" for not getting any plunder out of Holy Cross, so he robbed Mr. Ryan of seventy thousand dollars. The newspapers in Grave City sobbed over poor Mr. Ryan, and howled for vengeance on McCalmont's wolves.

Curly read the newspaper account, and was pleased all to pieces. Then he howled all night because he was left behind.

It took me some time to get used to that small youngster, who was a whole lot older and wiser than he looked. He had a room next to my quarters, where he camped on a bed in the far corner, and acted crazy if ever I tried to come in. Because he insisted on keeping the shutters closed, that room was dark as a wolf's mouth--a sort of den, where one could see nothing but his eyes, glaring green or flame-coloured like those of a panther. If he slept, he curled up like a little wild animal, one ear c.o.c.ked, one eye open, ready to start broad awake at the slightest sound. Once I caught him sucking his swollen ankle, which he said was a sure good medicine. I have seen all sorts of animals dress their own wounds that way, but never any human except little Curly. As to his food, he would eat the things he knew about, but if the taste of a dish was new to him, he spat as if he were poisoned. At first he was scared of Lady Balshannon, hated the patrone, and surely despised me; but one day I saw him limping, attended by four of our dogs and a brace of cats, across to the stable-yard. I sneaked upstairs to the roof and watched his play.

There must have been fifty ponies in the yard, and every person of them seemed to know Curly, for those who were loose came crowding round him, and those who were tied began whickering. Horses have one call, soft and low, which they keep for the man they love, and one after another gave the love-cry for Curly. He treated them all like dirt until he came to Rebel, an outlaw stallion. Once Rebel tried to murder a Mexican; several times he had pitched off the best of our broncho busters; always he acted crazy with men and savage with mares. Yet he never even snorted at Curly, but let that youngster lead him by the mane to a mounting-block; then waited for him to climb up, and trotted him round the yard tame as a sheep.

"Curly!" said I from the roof. And the boy stiffened at once, hard and fierce. "Curly, that horse is yours."

"I know that!" said Curly; "cayn't you see fo' yo'self?"

The dogs loved Curly first, then the horses, and next the Mexican cowboys, but at last he seemed to take hold of all our outfit. He thawed out slowly to me, then to the patrone and the old priest; afterwards even to Lady Balshannon. So we found out that this cub from the Wolf Pack was only fierce and wild with strangers, but inside so gentle that he was more like a girl than a boy. He was rather wide at the hips, bow-legged just a trace, and when his ankle healed we found he had a most tremendous grip in the saddle, the balance of a hawk. Yes, that small, slight, delicate lad was the most perfect rider I've seen in a world of great hors.e.m.e.n. The meanest horse was tame as a dog with Curly, while in tracking, scouting, and natural sense with cattle I never knew his equal. Yet, as I said before, he was small, weak, badly built--more like a girl than a boy. With strangers he was a vicious young savage; with friends, like a little child. He did a year's work on the range with me, and that twelve months I look back to as a sort of golden age at Holy Cross.

We were raising the best horses and the finest cattle in Arizona; prices were high, and the patrone was too busy to have time for cards or drink over at Grave City; and even the lady braced up enough to go for evening rides.

And then the Honourable James du Chesnay rode home to us from college.