CHAPTER VI
Stanley Mitchell topped the last rise in Morning Gate Pass in the lateafternoon. Cobre Basin spread deep and wide before him, ruddy in the lowsun; Cobre town and mines, on his left, loomed dim and misshapen in thelong dark shadows of the hills.
Awguan, top horse and foreman of Stanley's mount, swung pitapat down thewinding pass at a brisk fox trot. The gallop, as a road gait, is frownedupon in the cow countries as immature and wasteful of equine energy.
He passed Loder's Folly, high above the trail--gray, windowless, andforlorn; the trail dipped into the cool shadows, twisted through the mazydeeps of Wait-a-Bit Canon, clambered zigzag back to the sunlit slope, andcurved round the hillsides to join, in long levels, the wood roads on thenorthern slopes.
As he turned into the level, Stanley's musings were broken in upon by asudden prodigious clatter. Looking up, he became aware of a terror,rolling portentous down the flinty ridge upon him; a whirlwind streak ofbillowed dust, shod with sparks, tipped by a hurtling color yet unknownto man; and from the whirlwind issued grievous words.
Awguan leaped forward.
Bounding over boulders or from them, flashing through catclaw andocatillo, the appearance swooped and fell, the blend disjoined andshaped to semblance of a very small red pony bearing a very small blueboy. The pony's small red head was quite innocent of bridle; the bit wasagainst his red breast, held there by small hands desperate on the reins;the torn headstall flapped rakishly about the red legs. Making the curveat sickening speed, balanced over everlasting nothingness for a moment ofbreathless equipoise, they took the trail.
Awguan thundered after. Stanley bent over, pelted by flying pebbles andfragments of idle words.
Small chance to overhaul the prodigy on that ribbed and splintered hill;Awguan held the sidelong trail at the red pony's heels. They dipped tocross an arroyo; Stan lifted his head and shouted:
"Fall off in the sand!"
"Damnfido!" wailed the blue boy.
Sand flashed in rainbow arches against Awguan's brown face--he shut hiseyes against it; they turned up the hill beyond. A little space aheadshowed free of bush or boulder. Awguan took the hillside below the trail,lowered his head, laid his ears back, and bunched his mighty muscles. Hedrew alongside; leaning far over, heel to cantle, Stan threw his armabout the small red neck, and dragged the red pony to a choking stand.The small blue boy slipped to earth, twisted the soft bridle rein onceand again to a miraculous double half-hitch about the red pony's jaw,and tightened it with a jerk.
"I've got him!" shrieked the blue boy.
The red pony turned mild bright eyes upon brown Awguan, and twitched redvelvet ears to express surprise, and wrinkled a polite nose.
"Hello! I hadn't noticed you before. Fine day, isn't it?" said the ears.
Awguan rolled his wicked eye and snorted. The blue boy shrilled a commentof surprising particulars--a hatless boy in denim. Stanley turned hishead at a clatter of hoofs; Something Dewing, on the trail from town,galloped to join them.
"That was a creditable arrest you made, Mitchell," he said, drawing rein."I saw it all from the top of Mule Hill. And I certainly thought ourLittle Boy Blue was going to take the Big Trip. He'll make a hand!"
The gambler's eyes, unguarded and sincere for once, flashed quizzicaladmiration at Little Boy Blue, who, concurrently with the above speech,quavered forth his lurid personal opinions of the red pony. He was alean, large-eyed person, apparently of some nine or ten years--which lefthis vocabulary unaccounted for; his face was smeared and bleeding,scratched by catclaw; his apparel much betattered by the same reason.
He now checked a flood of biographical detail concerning the red ponylong enough to fling a remark their way:
"Ain't no Boy Blue--damn your soul! Name's Robteeleecarr!"
Dewing and Mitchell exchanged glances.
"What's that? What did he say?"
"He means to inform you," said Dewing, "that his name is Robert E.Lee Carr." His glance swept appraisingly up the farther hill, and hechuckled: "Old Israel Putnam would be green with envy if he had seen thatride. Some boy!"
"He must be a new one to Cobre; I've never seen him before."
"Been here a week or ten days, and he's a notorious character already. Sois Nan-na."
"Nan-na, I gather, being the pony?"
"Exactly. Little Apache devil, that horse is. Robert's dad, one JacksonCarr, is going to try freighting. He's camped over the ridge at HospitalSprings, letting his horses feed up and get some meat on their bones.Here! Robert E. Lee, drop that club or I'll put the dingbats on youinstanter! Don't you pound that pony! I saw you yesterday racing thestreets with the throat-latch of your bridle unbuckled. Serves youright!"
Robert E. Lee reluctantly abandoned the sotol stalk he had been breakingto a length suitable for admonitory purposes.
"All right! But I'll fix him yet--see if I don't! He's got to pack meback up that hill after my hat. Gimme a knife, so's I can cut a saddlestring and mend this bridle." These remarks are expurgated.
He mended the bridle; he loosened the cinches and set the saddle back.Stan, dismounting, made a discovery.
"I've lost a spur. Thought something felt funny. Noticed yesterday thatthe strap was loose." He straightened up from a contemplation of his bootheel; with a sudden thought, he searched the inner pocket of his coat."And that isn't all. By George, I've lost my pocketbook, and a lot ofmoney in it! But it can't be far; I've lost it somewhere on my boy chase.Come on, Dewing; help me hunt for it."
They left the boy at his mending and took the back track. Before they hadgone a dozen yards Dewing saw the lost spur, far down the hill, lodgedunder a prickly pear. Stanley, searching intently for his pocketbook, didnot see the spur. And Dewing said nothing; he lowered his eyelids to veila sudden evil thought, and when he raised them again his eyes, which fora little had been clear of all save boyish mischief, were once more tenseand hard.
Robert E. Lee Carr clattered gayly by them and pushed up the hill torecover his hat. The two men rode on slowly; a brown pocketbook upon abrown hillside is not easy to find. But they found it at last, just whereStanley had launched his pursuit of the hatless horseman. It had beenjostled from his pocket in the first wild rush. Stanley retrieved it witha sigh of relief.
"Are you sure you had your spur here?" asked Dewing. "Maybe you lost itbefore and didn't notice it."
"Oh, never mind the spur," said Stan. "I'm satisfied to get my money.Let's wait for Little Boy Blue and we'll all go in together."
"Want to try a little game to-night?" suggested Dewing. "I could use thatmoney of yours. It seems a likely bunch--if it's all money. Pretty plumpwallet, I call it."
"No more for me," laughed Stanley. "You behold in me a reformedcharacter."
"Stick to that, boy," said Dewing. "Gambling is bad business."
It grew on to dusk when Robert E. Lee Carr rejoined them; it was pitchdark when they came to the Carr camp-fire at Hospital Springs, closebeside the trail; when they reached Cobre, supper-time was over.
At the Mountain House Stanley ordered a special supper cooked for him,with real potatoes and cow milk. Dewing refused a drink, pleading hisprofession; and Stanley left his fat wallet in the Mountain House safe.
"Well, I'll say good-night now," said Dewing. "See you after supper?"
"Oh, I'll side you a ways yet. Goin' up to the shack to unsaddle. Alwayslike to have my horse eat before I do. And you'll not see me aftersupper--not unless you are up at the post-office. I'm done with cards."
"I'd like to have a little chin with you to-morrow," said Dewing. "Notabout cards. Business. I'm sick of cards, myself. I'll never be able tolive 'em down--especially with this pleasing nickname of mine. I wantto talk trade. About your ranch: you've still got your wells andwater-holes? I was thinking of buying them of you and going in for thestraight and narrow. I might even stock up and throw in with you--but youwouldn't want a partner from the wrong side of the table? Well, I don'tblame you--but say, Stan, on the level, it's a funny old
world, isn'tit?"
"I'm going to take the stage to-morrow. See you when I come back. I'llsell. I'm reformed about cattle, too," said Stan.
At the ball ground he bade Dewing good-night. The latter rode on to hisown hostelry at the other end of town. Civilization patronized theAdmiral Dewey as nearest the railroad; mountain men favored the MountainHouse as being nearest to grass.
Stanley turned up a side street to the one-roomed adobe house on the edgeof town that served as city headquarters for himself and Johnson. Heunsaddled in the little corral; he brought a feed of corn for brownAwguan; he brought currycomb and brush and made glossy Awguan's sleeksides, turning him loose at last, with a friendly slap, to seek pastureon Cobre Hills. Then he returned to the Mountain House for the delayedsupper.
Meantime Mr. Something Dewing held a hurried consultation with Mr. MayerZurich; and forthwith took horse again for Morning Gate Pass, slipping bydark streets from the town, turning aside to pass Hospital Springs. Wherethe arrest of the red pony had been effected, Dewing dismounted; belowthe trail, a dozen yards away, he fished Mr. Stanley Mitchell's spur fromunder a prickly pear; and returned in haste to Cobre.
After his supper Stanley strolled into Zurich's--The New York Store.
Unknown to him, at that hour brown Awguan was being driven back to hislittle home corral, resaddled--with Stanley's saddle--and led away intothe dark.
Stanley exchanged greetings with the half-dozen customers who lingered atthe counters, and demanded his mail. Zurich handed out two fat letterswith the postmark of Abingdon, New York. While Stanley read them, Zurichcalled across the store to a purchaser of cigars and tobacco:
"Hello, Wiley! Thought you had gone to Silverbell so wild and fierce."
"Am a-going now," said Wiley, "soon as I throw a couple or three drinksunder my belt."
"Say, Bat, do you think you'll make the morning train? It's going on ninenow."
"Surest thing you know! That span of mine can stroll along mighty peart.Once I get out on the flat, we'll burn the breeze."
"Come over here, then," said Zurich. "I want you to take some cash andsend it down to the bank by express--about eight hundred; and some checksbesides. I can't wait for the stage--it won't get there till to-morrownight. I've overdrawn my account, with my usual carelessness, and I wantthis money to get to the bank before the checks do."
Stanley went back to his little one-roomed house. He shaved, bathed, laidout his Sunday best, re-read his precious letters, and dropped off todreamless sleep.
Between midnight and one o'clock Bat Wiley, wild-eyed and raging, burstinto the barroom of the Admiral Dewey and startled with a tale of wrongssuch part of wakeful Cobre as there made wassail. At the crossing ofLargo Draw he had been held up at a gun's point by a single robber onhorseback; Zurich's money had been taken from him, together with someseventy dollars of his own; his team had been turned loose; it had takenhim nearly an hour to catch them again, so delaying the alarm by thatmuch.
Boots and spurs; saddling of horses; Bob Holland, the deputy sheriff, wascalled from his bed; a swift posse galloped into the night, joined at thelast moment by Mr. Dewing, who had retired early, but had been roused bythe clamor.
They came to Largo Crossing at daybreak. The trail of the robber's horseled straight to Cobre, following bypaths through the mountains. Thetracks showed plainly that his coming had been by these same short cuts,saving time while Bat Wiley had followed the tortuous stage road throughthe hills. Halfway back a heavy spur lay in the trail; some onerecognized it as Stanley Mitchell's--a smith-wrought spur, painfullyfashioned from a single piece of drill steel.
They came to Cobre before sunup; they found brown Awguan, dejected andsweat-streaked, standing in hip-shot weariness on the hill near hiscorral. In the corral Stanley's saddle lay in the sand, the blanketssweat-soaked.
Unwillingly enough, Holland woke Stan from a smiling sleep to arrest him.They searched the little room, finding the mate to the spur found on thetrail, but nothing else to their purpose. But at last, bringing Stan'ssaddle in before locking the house, Bull Pepper noticed a bumpyappearance in the sheepskin lining, and found, between saddle skirt andsaddle tree, the stolen money in full, and even the checks that Zurichhad sent.
They haled Stan before the justice, who was also proprietor of theMountain House. Waiving examination, Stanley Mitchell was held tomeet the action of the Grand Jury; and in default of bond--his guiltbeing assured and manifest--he was committed to Tucson Jail.
The morning stage, something delayed on his account, bore him away underguard, _en route_, most clearly, for the penitentiary.