Langford of the Three Bars Part 10

Couldn't fool him. d.a.m.ned hypocrite!

The errands accomplished to his satisfaction and nothing forgotten, as frequent and close inspection of the list written out by the Scribe proved, his comforter swallowed, lingeringly, and regretfully, he was now riding homeward, drowsy but vastly contented with the world in general and particularly with his own lot therein. It was a sleepy night, cool and soft and still. He could walk his horse all the way if he wanted to. There was no haste. The boys would all be in bed. They would not even wait up for the mail, knowing his, Jim's, innate aversion to hurry. Had he not been so drowsy, he would like to have sung a bit; but it required a little too much effort. He would just plod along.

Must all be in bed at Williston's-no light anywhere. A little short of where the Williston branch left the main trail, he half paused. If it were not so late, he would ride up and give them a hail. But of course they were asleep. Everything seemed still and dark about the premises.

He would just plod along.

"h.e.l.lo, there! Where'd you come from?" he cried of a sudden, and before he had had time to carry his resolve into action.

A man on horseback had drawn rein directly in front of him. Jim blinked with the suddenness of the shock.

"Might ask you the same question," responded the other with an easy laugh. "I'm for town to see the doctor about my little girl. Been puny for a week."

"Oh! Where you from?" asked Jim, with the courteous interest of his kind.

"New man on the X Y Z," answered the other, lightly. "Must be gettin'

on. Worried about my baby girl."

He touched spurs to his horse and was off with a friendly "So long,"

over his shoulder.

Jim rode on thoughtfully.

"Now don't it beat the devil," he was thinking, "how that there cow-puncher struck this trail comin' from the X Y Z-with the X Y Z clean t'other side o' town? Yep, it beats the devil, for a fac'. He must be a ridin' for his health. It beats the devil." This last was long drawn out. He rode a little farther. "It beats the devil," he thought again,-the wonder of it was waking him up,-"how that blamed fool could a' struck this here trail a goin' for Doc."

At the branch road he stopped irresolutely.

"It beats the devil-for a fac'." He looked helplessly over his shoulder.

The man was beyond sight and sound. "If he hadn't said he was goin' for Doc and belonged to the X Y Z," he pondered. He was swearing because he could not think of a way out of the maze of contradiction. He was so seldom at a loss, this braggadocio Jim. "Well, I reckon I won't get any he'p a moonin' here less'n I wait here till that son-of-a-gun comes back from seein' Doc. Lord, I'd have to camp out all night. Guess I'll be a movin' on. But I'm plumb a-foot for an idee as to how that idjit got here from the X Y Z."

He shrugged his shoulders and picked up the fallen bridle-rein. He kept on straight ahead, and it was well for him that he did so. It was not the last of the affair. The old, prosaic trail seemed fairly bristling with ghostly visitants that night. He had gone but a scant quarter-mile when he met with a second horseman, and this time he would have sworn on oath that the man had not been on the forward trail as long as he should have been to be seen in the starlight. Jim was not dozing now and he knew what he was about. The fellow struck the trail from across country and from the direction of Williston's home cattle sheds.

"The devil!" he muttered, and this time he was in deep and terrible earnest.

"Hullo!" the fellow accosted him, genially.

"Too d.a.m.ned pleasant-the whole bunch of em," found quick lodgment in Jim's active brain. Aloud, he responded with answering good-nature, "Hullo!"

"Where ye goin'?" asked the other, as if in no particular haste to part company. If he had met with a surprise, he carried it off well.

"Home. Been to town." Jim was on tenter hooks to be off.

"Belong to the Three Bars, don't you?"

"Yep."

"Thought so. Well, good luck to you."

"Say," said Jim, suddenly, "you don't happen to hang out at the X Y Z, do you?"

"Naw! What d'ye suppose I'd be doing here this time of night if I did?"

There was scorn in his voice and suspicion, too. "Why?" he asked.

"Oh, nothin'. Thought I knew your build, but I guess I was mistaken. So long."

He had an itching desire to ask if this night traveller, too, was in quest of the doctor, but caution held him silent. He had need to proceed warily. He rode briskly along until he judged he had gone far enough to allay suspicion, then he halted suddenly. Very wide-awake was Jim now.

His hand rested unconsciously on the Colt's 45, protruding from his loosely hanging belt. His impulse was to ride boldly back and up to Williston's door, and thus satisfy himself as to what was doing so mysteriously. There was not a cowardly drop in Jim's circulation. But if foul play was abroad for Williston that night, he, Jim, of course, was spotted and would never be permitted to reach the house. It would mean a useless sacrifice. Now, he needed to be alive. There was a crying need for his good and active service. Afterwards-well, it was all in the day's work. It wouldn't so much matter then. He touched spurs lightly, bent his head against the friction of the air and urged his horse to the maddest, wildest race he had ever run since that day long ago, to be forgotten by neither, when he had been broken to his master's will.

Paul Langford dropped one shoe nervelessly to the wolfskin in front of his bed. Though his bachelor room was plain in most respects, plain for the better convenience of the bachelor hands that had it to put to rights every day,-with the exception of a cook, Langford kept no servant,-the wolfskin here, an Indian blanket thrown over a stiff chair by the table, a j.a.panese screen concealing the ugly little sheet-iron stove that stood over in its corner all the year round, gave evidence that his tastes were really luxurious. An oil lamp was burning dimly on the table. The soot of many burnings adhered to the chimney's inner side.

"One would know it was Jim's week by looking at that chimney," muttered the Boss, eyeing the offending chimney discontentedly as he dropped the other shoe. "He seems to have an inborn aversion to cleaning chimneys.

It must be a birthmark, or maybe he was too anxious to get to town to-night. I see I'll have to discipline Jim. I have to stop and think even now, sometimes, who's boss of this shebang, he or I. Sometimes I'm inclined to the opinion that he is. Come to think of it, though,"

whimsically, "I lean to a vague misgiving that I didn't touch that low-down chimney myself last week. We're kind of an ornery set, I'm thinking, every mother's son of us-and I'm the worst of the lot.

Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better for the bunch of us, if one of the boys were to marry and bring his girl to the Three Bars. But I'll be hanged if I know which one I'd care to give up to the feminine gender. Besides, she'd be bossy-they all are-and she'd wear blue calico wrappers in the morning-they all do."

He began pacing the floor in his stocking feet.

"Wish I could get that blamed little girl of Williston's out of my head to-night. Positively red-headed. Well, call it auburn for the sake of politeness. What's the difference? She's a winner, though. Wonder why I didn't know about her before? Wonder if d.i.c.k's in love with her?

Shouldn't wonder. He's plumb daffy on the subject of the old man. Never thought of that before. Or maybe it's Jim. No, she's not his kind." He stopped for a moment at the open window and looked out into the still, starry night "Guess I'll have to let the Scribe commit matrimony, if he's 'willin'.' He's the only one of the bunch-fit."

The sound of galloping hoof-beats on the hard road below came up to him as he stood at the window. A solitary horseman was coming that way and he was putting his horse to the limit, too.

"Who the-deuce," began Langford. "It's Jim's cow pony as sure as I'm a sinner! What brings him home at that pace, I wonder? Is he drunk?"

He peered out indifferently. The hoof-beats rang nearer and nearer, clattered through the stable yards and, before they ceased, two or three revolver shots rang out in rapid succession. Jim had fired into the air to arouse the house.

Springing from his reeking bronco, he ran quickly to the stable and threw wide the door. Here the Boss, the first to gain the outside because already dressed, found him hastily saddling a fresh mount.

Langford asked no question. That would come later. He stepped silently to Sade's stall.

In an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time the rest of the boys came leaping out of the ranchhouse, slamming the door behind them. To be up and doing was the meat they fed upon. In less than ten minutes they were all mounted and ready, five of them, silent, full to the brim of reckless hardihood, prime for any adventure that would serve to break the monotony of their lives. More than that, every fibre of their being, when touched, would respond, a tuneful, sounding string of loyalty to the traditions of the Three Bars and to its young master. Each was fully armed. They asked no question. Yet there could be no doubt of a surprise when the time came for action. They were always prepared, these boys of the most popular ranch outfit west of the river. Right in the face of this popularity, perhaps because of it, they were a bit overbearing, these boys, and held fellowship with any outside the Three Bars a thing not to be lightly entered into. It was a fine thing to work for the Boss, and out of the content accruing therefrom sprang a conservatism like that of the proudest aristocrat of the land.

Langford took the trail first. Jim had said but the one word, "Williston." It was enough. Nothing was to be heard but the rapid though regular pound of hoof-beats on the level trail. It is a silent country, the cow country, and its gravity begets gravity.

Langford, riding slightly in advance, was having a bad time with himself. The keenest self-reproach was stabbing him like a physical pain. His honor-his good honor, that he held so high and stainless-was his word not given by it that the Willistons might count on his sure protection? What had he done to merit this proud boast? Knowing that Jesse Black was once more at liberty, fully realizing of what vast import to the State would be Williston's testimony when the rustlers should be brought to trial, he had sat stupidly back and done nothing.

And he had promised. Would Williston have had the courage without that promise? Why were not some of his cowboys even now sleeping with an eye upon that little claim shack where lived that scholar-man who was not fit for the rough life of the plains, maybe, but who had been brave enough and high-minded enough to lay his all on the white altar of telling what he knew for right's sake. And the girl-

"G.o.d! The girl!" he cried aloud.

"What did you say, Boss?" asked Jim, pounding alongside.

"Nothing!" said Langford, curtly.

He spurred his mare savagely. In the shock of the surprise, and the sting that his neglected word brought him, he had forgotten the girl-Williston's "little girl" with the grave eyes-the girl who was not ten but twenty and more-the girl who had waited for him, whom he had sent on her long way alone, joyously, as one free of a duty that promised to be irksome-the girl who had brought the blood to his face when, ashamed, he had galloped off to the spring-the girl who had closed her door when a man's curious eyes had roved that way. How could he forget?

The little cavalcade swept on with increased speed, following the lead of the master. Soon the sound of shooting was borne to them distinctly through the quiet night.

"Thank G.o.d, boys!" cried Langford, digging in his spurs, once more.

"They are not surprised! Listen! G.o.d! What a plucky fight! If they can only hold out!"