Partners of Chance Part 21

Sneed waved his hand toward the east. "My corrals are over there. You're welcome to look my stock over."

"Thanks. This way, you said?"

"Straight ahead."

Cheyenne hesitated, hoping that Sneed would take the lead. But the mountain man merely gestured again and followed Cheyenne through a patch of timber, and across another meadow--and Cheyenne caught a glimpse of the ridge of a cabin roof, and smoke above it. Close to the cabin was a large pole corral. Cheyenne saw the backs of Filaree and Joshua, among the other horses, long before he came to the corral. Yet, not wishing to appear too eager, he said nothing until he arrived at the corner of the fence.

Then he turned and pointed. "Them's my hosses--the gray and the buckskin. I'm mighty glad you caught 'em up."

Sneed nodded. "One of my boys found them in with a bunch of my stock and run them in here."

A few rods from the corral stood the cabin, larger than Cheyenne had imagined, and built of heavy logs, with a wide-roofed porch running across the entire front. On the veranda lay several saddles. Tied to the hitch rail stood two chunky mountain ponies that showed signs of recent hard use.

Cheyenne smiled as he turned toward Sneed. "You got a mighty snug homestead up here, neighbor."

"Tie your horse and step in," invited Sneed.

"He'll stand," said Cheyenne, dismounting and dropping the reins.

Cheyenne was in the enemy's country. But he trusted to his ability to play up to his reputation for an easy-going hobo to get him out again, without trouble. He appeared unaware of the covert suspicion with which Sneed watched his every movement.

"Meet the boys," said Sneed as they entered the cabin.

Cheyenne nodded to the four men who sat playing cards at a long table in the main room. They returned his nod indifferently and went on with their game. Cheyenne pretended an interest in the game, meanwhile studying the visible characteristics of the players. One and all they were hard-boiled, used to the open, rough-spoken, and indifferent to Cheyenne's presence.

Sneed stepped to the kitchen and pulled the coffee-pot to the front of the stove. Finally Cheyenne strolled out to the veranda and seated himself on the long bench near the doorway. He picked up a stick and began to whittle, and as he whittled his gaze traveled from the log stable to the corral, and from there to the edge of the clearing. He heard Sneed speak to one of the men in a low voice. Cheyenne slipped his knife into his pocket and his fingers touched the pair of dice.

He drew out the dice and rattled them. "Go 'way, you snake eyes!" he chanted as he threw the dice along the bench. "Little Jo, where you bushin' out? You sure are bashful!" He threw again. "Roll on, you box-car! I don't like you, nohow! Nine? Nine? Five and a four! Six and a three! Just as easy!"

Sneed came to the doorway and glanced at Cheyenne, who continued shooting c.r.a.ps with himself, oblivious to Sneed's muttered comment.

Sneed turned and stepped in. "Crazy as a hoot owl," he said as one of the card-players glanced up.

Cheyenne picked up the dice and listened. He heard Sneed stepping heavily about the kitchen, and he heard an occasional and vivid exclamation from one of the card-players. He glanced at the distant edge of timber. He shook his head. "Can't make it!" he declared, and again he threw the dice.

One of the cubes rolled off the bench. He stooped and picked it up. As he straightened, he stared. Just at the edge of the timber he saw Little Jim's pony, and Little Jim's black hat. Some one in the cabin pushed back a chair. Evidently the card game was finished.

Then Cheyenne heard Sneed's voice: "Just lay off that game, if you want to eat. Come and get it."

Wondering what Little Jim was up to, Cheyenne turned and walked into the cabin. "Guess I'll wash up, first," he said, gazing about as though looking for the wherewithal to wash. He knew well enough where the basin was. He had noticed it out by the kitchen door, when he rode up to the cabin. Sneed told him where to find the basin. Cheyenne stepped round the cabin. Covertly he glanced toward the edge of the timber. Little Jim had disappeared.

Entering the cabin briskly, Cheyenne took his place at the table and ate heartily.

Lawson, who seemed to be Sneed's right-hand man, was the first to speak to him. "Bill tells me you are huntin' hosses."

"Yep! That little gray and the buckskin, out in your corral, are my hosses. They strayed--"

"Didn't see no brand on 'em," declared Lawson.

"Nope. They never was branded. I raised 'em both, when I was workin' for Senator Steve, over to the Box-S."

"That sounds all right. But you got to show me. I bought them cayuses from a Chola, down in the valley."

Cheyenne suspected that Lawson was trying to create argument and, in so doing, open up a way to make him back down and leave or take the consequences of his act in demanding the horses.

"Honest, they're my hosses," declared Cheyenne, turning to Sneed.

"You'll have to talk to Lawson," said Sneed.

Cheyenne frowned and scratched his head. Suddenly his face brightened.

"Tell you what I'll do! I'll shoot you c.r.a.ps for 'em."

"That's all right, but what'll you put up against 'em?" asked Lawson.

"What did you pay for 'em?" queried Cheyenne.

"Fifty bucks."

"You got 'em cheap. They're worth that much to me." Cheyenne pushed back his chair and, fishing in his jeans, dug up a purse. "Here's my fifty.

As soon as you get through eatin' we'll shoot for the ponies."

Lawson, while finishing his meal, made up his mind that Cheyenne would not get away with that fifty dollars, game or no game; and, also, that he would not get the horses. Cheyenne knew this--knew the kind of man he was dealing with. But he had a reason to keep the men in the cabin.

Little Jim was out there somewhere, and up to something. If any of the men happened to catch sight of Little Jim, they would suspect Cheyenne of some trickery. Moreover, if Little Jim were caught--but Cheyenne refused to let himself think of what might happen in that event.

Cheyenne threw the dice on the table as Lawson got up. "Go ahead and shoot."

"Show me what I got to beat," said Lawson.

"All right. Watch 'em close."

Cheyenne gathered up the dice and threw. Calling his point, he snapped his fingers and threw again. The men crowded round, momentarily interested in Cheyenne's sprightly monologue. Happening to glance through the doorway as he gathered up the dice for another throw, Cheyenne noticed that his horse had turned and was standing, with ears and eyes alert, looking toward the corral.

Cheyenne tossed up the dice, caught them and purposely made a wild throw. One of the little cubes shot across the table and clattered on the floor. Cheyenne barely had time to glance through the kitchen doorway and the window beyond as he recovered the cube. But he had seen that the corral bars were down and that the corral was empty. Quickly he resumed his place at the table and threw again, meanwhile talking steadily. He had not made his point nor had he thrown a seven. Sweat p.r.i.c.kled on his forehead. Little Jim had seen his father's horses and knew that the men were in the cabin. With the rashness of boyhood he had sneaked up to the corral, dropped the bars, and had then flung pine cones at the horses, starting them to milling and finally to a dash through the gateway and out into the meadow.

Cheyenne brushed his arm across his face. "Come on you, Filaree!" he chanted.

Somebody would be mightily surprised when the ownership of Filaree and Joshua was finally decided. Unwittingly, Little Jim had placed his father in a still more precarious position. Sneed and his men, finding the corral empty, would naturally conclude that Cheyenne had kept them busy while some friend had run off the horses. Cheyenne knew the risks he ran; but, above all, he wanted to prolong the game until Little Jim got safely beyond reach of Sneed's men. As for himself--

Again Cheyenne threw, but he did not make his point, nor throw a seven.

He threw several times; and still he did not make his point. Finally he made his point. Smiling, he gathered up his money and tucked it in his pocket.

"I reckon that settles it," he said cheerfully.

Sneed and Lawson exchanged glances. Cheyenne, rolling a cigarette, drew a chair toward them and sat down. He seemed at home, and altogether friendly. One of the men picked up a deck of cards and suggested a game.

Sneed lighted his pipe and stepped to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Cheyenne glanced casually round the cabin, drew his feet under himself, and jumped for the doorway. He heard Sneed drop the dipper and knew that Sneed would pick up something else, and quickly.

Cheyenne made the saddle on the run, reined toward the corral, and, pa.s.sing it on the run, turned in the saddle to glance back. Sneed was in the doorway. Cheyenne jerked his horse to one side and dug in the spurs.

Sneed's rifle barked and a bullet whined past Cheyenne's head. He crouched in the saddle. Again a bullet whistled across the sunlit clearing. The cow-horse was going strong. A tree flicked past, then another and another.