CHAPTER XXIII
THE LAST CROSSING
The rush and thunder of cow ponies as they hammered over the trail andplunged down through the rocks and trees had hardly lost its echoes inthe cliffs when, with a flash of color and a dainty pattering ofhoofs, Chapuli came flying over the top of Lookout Point and dashed upthe river after them. The cowmen had left their horses in the deepravine at the end of the _malpai_ bluffs and were already crouchedbehind the rampart of the rim rocks as close as Indian fighters, eachby some loophole in the blackened _malpai_, with a rifle in his hand.As Hardy crept in from behind, Jeff Creede motioned him to a place athis side greeting him at the same time with a broad grin.
"Hello, sport," he said, "couldn't keep out of it, eh? Well, we needye, all right. Here, you can hold straighter than I can; take my gunand shoot rainbows around the leaders when they start to comeacross."
"Not much," answered Hardy, waving the gun away, "I just came down tokeep you out of trouble."
"Ye-es!" jeered Creede, "first thing I know you'll be down therefightin' 'em back with rocks. But say," he continued, "d'ye noticeanything funny up on that cliff? Listen, now!"
Hardy turned his head, and soon above the clamor of the sheep he madeout the faint "_Owwp! Owwwp!_" of hounds.
"It's Bill Johnson, isn't it?" he said, and Creede nodded significantly.
"God help them pore sheepmen," he observed, "if Bill has got histhirty-thirty. Listen to 'em sing, will ye! Ain't they happy, though?And they don't give a dam' for us--ump-um--they're comin' acrossanyway. Well, that's what keeps hell crowded--let 'er go!"
There was a glitter of carbines against the opposite cliffs where thespare herders had taken to cover, but out on the rocky point where thechute led into the river a gang of Mexicans and two Americans wereleading their wagon cover around a fresh cut of goats and sheep. Onthe sand bar far below the stragglers from the first cut, turned backin the initial rush, were wandering aimlessly about or plodding backto the herd, but the sheepmen with bullheaded persistence werepreparing to try again. Chief among them towered the boss, JasperSwope, wet to the waist from swimming across the river; and as hemotioned to the herders to go ahead he ran back and mounted his muleagain. With a barbaric shout the Mexicans surged forward on thetarpaulin, sweeping their cut to the very edge; then, as the goats settheir feet and held back, a swarthy herder leapt into the midst andtumbled them, sheep and goats alike, into the water. Like plummetsthey went down into the slow-moving depths, some headfirst, somefalling awkwardly on their backs or slipping like beavers on a slide;there was a prolonged and mighty splash and then, one by one the headsbobbed up and floated away until, led by the high-horned goats, theystruck out for the opposite shore. Below, yelling and throwing stonesto frighten them, a line of Mexicans danced up and down along therocky shore, and to keep them from drifting into the whirlpool JasperSwope plunged boldly into the water on his mule.
Sink or swim, the sheep were in the water, and for a minute there wasa tense silence along the river; then, as the goats lined out, a rifleshot echoed from the cliffs and a white column of water rose up beforethe leader. He shook his head, hesitated and looked back, and oncemore the water splashed in his face, while the deep _ploomp_ of thebullet answered to the shot. Fighting away from the sudden stroke thegoat lost his headway and, drifting, fouled those below him; a suddenconfusion fell upon the orderly ranks of the invaders and, like aflock of geese whose leader is killed, they jostled against oneanother, some intent on the farther shore and some struggling to turnback. Instantly a chorus of savage shouts rose up from along theriver, the shrill yells of the cowboys mingling with the whooping andwhistling of the sheepmen, until at last, overcome by the hostileclamor, the timid sheep turned back toward the main herd, drawing withthem the goats. For a minute Jasper Swope fought against them, wavinghis hat and shouting; then, rather than see them drift too far and bedrawn into the clutch of the whirlpool, he whipped his mule about andled them back to the shore.
A second time, calling out all his men to help, the boss sheepmantried to cross the goats alone, intending to hold them on the shorefor a lure; but just as they were well lined out the same carefulmarksman behind the _malpai_ threw water in their faces and turnedthem back. But this time Jasper Swope did not lead the retreat.Slapping his black mule over the ears with his hat he held straightfor the opposite shore, cursing and brandishing his gun.
"You dam', cowardly passel of tail-twisters!" he cried, shaking hisfist at the bluffs, "why don't you come out into the open like men?"
But a grim silence was his only answer.
"Hey, you bold bad man from Bitter Creek, Texas!" he shouted, ridingcloser to the beach. "Why don't you come down and fight me like aman?" His big voice was trembling with excitement and he held hispistol balanced in the air as if awaiting an attack, but JeffersonCreede did not answer him.
"I'll fight you, man to man, you big blowhard!" thundered Swope, "andthere goes my pistol to prove it!" He rose in his stirrups as he spokeand hurled it away from him, throwing his cartridge belt after it."_Now_," he yelled, "you've been sayin' what you'd do; come out ofyour hole, Jeff Creede, I want ye!"
"Well, you won't git me, then," answered Creede, his voice coming coldand impassive from over the rim. "I'll fight you some other time."
"Ahrr!" taunted Swope, "hear the coward talk! Here I stand, unarmed,and he's afraid to come out! But if there's a man amongst you, sendhim down, and if he licks me I'll go around."
"You'll go around anyhow, you Mormon-faced wool-puller!" replied thecowman promptly, "and we're here to see to it, so you might as wellchase yourself."
"No, I like this side," said the sheepman, pretending to admire thescenery. "I'll jest stay here a while, and then I'll cross in spite ofye. If I can't cross here," he continued, "I'll wait for the river tofall and cross down below--and then I'll sheep you to the rocks, youlow-lived, skulkin' murderers! It's a wonder some of you don't shoot_me_ the way you did Juan Alvarez, down there." He waved his handtoward the point where the wooden cross rose against the sky, but noone answered the taunt.
"_Murderers_, I said!" he shouted, rising up in his saddle. "I callyou murderers before God A'mighty and there ain't a man denies it! Oh,my Mexicans can see that cross--they're lookin' at it now--and whenthe river goes down they'll come in on you, if it's only to break evenfor Juan."
He settled back in his saddle and gazed doubtfully at the bluff, andthen at the opposite shore. Nature had placed him at a disadvantage,for the river was wide and deep and his sheep were easy to turn, yetthere was still a chance.
"Say," he began, moderating his voice to a more conciliatory key,"I'll tell you what I'll do. There's no use shooting each other overthis. Send down your best man--if he licks me I go around; if I lickhim I come across. Is it a go?"
There was a short silence and then an argument broke out along thebluff, a rapid fire of exhortation and protest, some urging Creede totake him up, others clamoring for peace.
"No!" shouted Jefferson Creede, raising his voice angrily above theuproar. "I won't do it! I wouldn't trust a sheepman as far as I couldthrow a bull by the tail! You'd sell your black soul for two bits,Jasp Swope," he observed, peering warily over the top of the rock,"and you'd shoot a man in the back, too!"
"But look at me!" cried Swope, dropping off his mule, "I'm stripped tomy shirt; there goes my gun into the water--and I'm on your side ofthe river! You're a coward, Jeff Creede, and I always knowed it!"
"But my head ain't touched," commented Creede dryly. "I've got youstopped anyhow. What kind of a dam' fool would I be to fight overit?"
"I'll fight ye for nothin', then!" bellowed the sheepman. "I'll--" Hestopped abruptly and a great quiet fell upon both shores. From themouth of the hidden ravine a man had suddenly stepped into the open,unarmed, and now he was coming out across the sands to meet him. Itwas Rufus Hardy, dwarfed like David before Goliath in the presence ofthe burly sheepman, but striding over the hard-packed sand with thelithe swiftness of a panther.
<
br /> "_I'll_ fight you," he said, raising his hand in challenge, butSwope's answer was drowned in a wild yell from Creede.
"Come back here, Rufe, you durn' fool!" he called. "Come back, I tellye! Don't you know better than to trust a sheepman?"
"Never mind, now," answered Hardy, turning austerely to the bluff. "Iguess I can take care of myself."
He swung about and advanced to the stretch of level sand where Swopewas standing. "What guarantee do I get," he demanded sharply, "that ifI lick you in a fair fight the sheep will go around?"
"You--lick--me!" repeated the sheepman, showing his jagged teeth in asardonic grin. "Well, I'll tell ye, Willie; if you hit me with thatlily-white hand of yourn, and I find it out the same day, I'll promiseto stay off'n your range for a year."
"All right," replied Hardy, suddenly throwing away his hat. "Younoticed it when I hit you before, didn't you?" he inquired, edgingquickly in on his opponent and beginning an amazing bout of shadowboxing. "Well, _come on_, _then_!" He laughed as Swope struck out athim, and continued his hectoring banter. "As I remember it your headhit the ground before your heels!"
Then in a whirlwind of blows and feints they came together. It was theold story of science against brute strength. Jasper Swope was arough-and-tumble fighter of note; he was quick, too, in spite of hisweight, and his blows were like the strokes of a sledge; but Hardy didnot attempt to stand up against him. For the first few minutes it wasmore of a chase than a fight, and in that the sheepman was at hisworst, cumbered by his wet clothes and the water in his shoes. Timeand again he rushed in upon his crouching opponent, who always seemedin the act of delivering a blow and yet at the moment only sidesteppedand danced away. The hard wet sand was ploughed and trampled withtheir tracks, the records of a dozen useless plunges, when suddenlyinstead of dodging Hardy stepped quickly forward, his "lily-whitehand" shot out, and Jasper Swope's head went back with a jerk.
"You son-of-a-goat!" he yelled, as the blood ran down his face, andlowering his head he bored in upon Hardy furiously. Once more Hardysidestepped, but the moment his enemy turned he flew at him like atiger, raining blows upon his bloody face in lightning succession.
"_Huh_!" grunted the sheepman, coughing like a wood-chopper as hestruck back through the storm, and the chance blow found its mark. Fora moment Hardy staggered, clutching at his chest; but as Swope sprangforward to finish his work he ducked and slipped aside, stumbling likea man about to drop.
A shrill yell went up from the farther shore as Hardy stood swaying inhis tracks, and a fierce shout of warning from the bluff; but JasperSwope was implacable. Brushing the blood from his eyes he steppeddeliberately forward and aimed a blow that would have felled an ox,straight at his enemy's head. It missed; the drooping head snappeddown like Judy before Punch and rose up again, truculently; thenbefore the sheepman could regain his balance Hardy threw his wholestrength into a fierce uppercut that laid Swope sprawling on hisback.
A howl of triumph and derision rose up from the rim of the bluff asthe burly sheepman went down, but it changed to a sudden shout ofwarning as he scrambled back to his feet again. There was somethingindescribably vengeful about him as he whirled upon his enemy, and hishand went inside his torn shirt in a gesture not to be mistaken.
Threw the sand full in his face]
"Look out there, Rufe!" yelled Creede, leaping up from behind his rockpile. "Run! _Jump into the river_!" But instead Hardy grabbed up ahandful of sand and ran in upon his adversary. The pistol stuck for amoment in its hidden sling and as Swope wrenched it loose and turnedto shoot, Hardy made as if to close with him and then threw the sandfull in his face. It was only an instant's respite but as the sheepmanblinked and struck the dirt from his eyes the little cowman wheeledand made a dash for the river. "_Look out_!" screamed Creede, as thegun flashed out and came to a point, and like a bullfrog Hardy hurledhimself far out into the eddying water. Then like the sudden voice ofNemesis, protesting against such treachery, a rifle shot rang out fromthe towering crags that overshadowed the river and Jasper Swope fellforward, dead. His pistol smashed against a rock and exploded, but theman he had set himself to kill was already buried beneath the turbidwaters. So swiftly did it all happen that no two men saw thesame--some were still gazing at the body of Jasper Swope; others werestaring up at the high cliff whence the shot had come; but Jeff Creedehad eyes only for the river and when he saw Hardy's head bob up,halfway to the whirlpool, and duck again to escape the bullets, heleapt up and ran for his horse. Then Bill Johnson's rifle rang outagain from the summit of his high cliff, and every man scrambled forcover.
A Mexican herder dropped his gun suddenly and slipped down behind arock; and his _compadres_, not knowing from whence the hostile firecame, pushed out their carbines and began to shoot wildly; the deepcanyon reverberated to the rattle of thirty-thirtys and the steady_crack_, _crack_ of the rifle above threw the sheep camp intoconfusion. There was a shout as Creede dashed recklessly out into theopen and the sand leapt up in showers behind him, but Bat Wings wasrunning like the wind and the bullets went wide of their mark.
Swinging beneath the mesquite trees and scrambling madly over stonesand bushes he hammered up the slope of Lookout Point and disappearedin a cloud of dirt, but as Hardy drifted around the bend and floatedtoward the whirlpool there was a crash of brush from down the riverand Creede came battering through the trees to the shore. Taking downhis _reata_ as he rode he leapt quickly off his horse and ran out onthe big flat rock from which they had often fished together. At hisfeet the turbid current rolled ponderously against the solid wall ofrock and, turning back upon itself, swung round in an ever-lesseningcircle until it sucked down suddenly into a spiral vortex that spewedup all it caught in the boiling channel below. There in years past thelambs and weaklings from the herds above had drifted to their death,but never before had the maelstrom claimed a man.
Swimming weakly with the current Hardy made a last ineffectual effortto gain the bank; then fixing his eyes upon his partner he resignedhimself to the drag of the whirlpool, staking his life on a singlethrow of the rope. Once the plaited rawhide was wetted it would twistand bind in the _honda_ and before Creede could beat it straight andcoil it his partner would be far out in the centre of the vortex.Planting his feet firmly on the rock the big cowboy lashed the kinksout of his _reata_ and coiled it carefully; then as the first broadswirl seized its plaything and swung him slowly around Creede let outa big loop and began to swing it about his head, his teeth showing ina tense grin as he fixed his eyes upon the mark. At each turn hiswrist flexed and his back swayed with a willowy suppleness but exceptfor that he was like a herculean statue planted upon the point.
The maelstrom heaved and rocked as it swung its victim nearer and likea thing with life seemed suddenly to hurry him past; then as Hardycried out and held up a hand for help the rope cut through the airlike a knife and the loop shot far out across the boiling water. Itwas a long throw, fifty feet from the rock, and the last coil had lefthis tense fingers before the noose fell, but it splashed a circleclean and true about the uplifted hand. For a moment the cowboywaited, watching; then as the heavy rope sank behind his partner'sshoulders he took in his slack with a jerk. The noose tightenedbeneath Hardy's arms and held him against the insistent tug of theriver; and while the whirlpool roared and foamed against his bodyCreede hauled him forth roughly, until, stooping down, he gathered himinto his arms like a child.
"My God, boy," he said, "you're takin' big chances, for a familyman--but say, what did I tell you about sheepmen?"
* * * * *
The Mexicans were still firing random shots along the river whenCreede lifted his partner up on Bat Wings and carried him back toHidden Water. Long before they reached the house they could see Lucystanding in the doorway, and Hardy held himself painfully erect in thesaddle, with Creede steadying him from behind; but when Bat Wingshalted before the _ramada_ Jeff broke rudely in on the play acting bytaking the little man in his arms and depositing h
im on a bed.
"Fell into the river," he said, turning with a reassuring smile toLucy, "but he ain't hurt none--only kinder weak, you know. I reckon alittle hot tea would help some, bein' as we're out of whiskey, andwhile you're brewin' it I'll git these wet clothes off. Yes'm, we'rehavin' a little trouble, but that's only them locoed Mexicans shootin'off their spare ammunition." He dragged up a cot as he spoke and washurriedly arranging a bed when Lucy interposed.
"Oh, but don't leave him out here!" she protested, "put him back inhis own room, where I can take care of him."
"All right," said Creede, and picking him up from his bare cot beneaththe _ramada_ he carried Hardy into the little room where he had livedbefore Lucy Ware came. "I guess your troubles are over for a while,pardner," he remarked, as he tucked him into the clean white bed, andthen with a wise look at Lucy he slipped discreetly out the door.
As she entered with the tea Hardy was lying very limp and whiteagainst the pillow, but after the hot drink he opened his big grayeyes and looked up at her sombrely.
"Sit down," he said, speaking with elaborate exactness, "I want totell you something." He reached out and took her hand, and as hetalked he clung to it appealingly. "Lucy," he began, "I didn't forgetabout you when I went down there, but--well, when Jasper Swope cameout and challenged us my hair began to bristle like a dog's--and thenext thing I knew I was fighting. He said if I licked him he'd goround--but you can't trust these sheepmen. When he saw he was whippedhe tried to shoot me, and I had to jump into the river. Oh, I'm allright now, but--listen, Lucy!" He drew her down to him, insistently."Can't you forgive me, this time?" he whispered, and when she noddedhe closed his heavy eyes and fell asleep.
When he awoke in the morning there was nothing to show for his fiercefight with Swope or his battle with the river--nothing but a greatweariness and a wistful look in his eyes. But all day while the boysrode back and forth from the river he lay in bed, looking dreamily outthrough the barred window or following Lucy with furtive glances asshe flitted in and out. Whenever she came near he smiled, and oftenthe soft light crept into his eyes, but when by chance he touched herhand or she brushed back his hair a great quiet settled upon him andhe turned his face away.
It was Creede who first took notice of his preoccupation and after aseries of unsatisfactory visits he beckoned Lucy outside the door witha solemn jerk of the head.
"Say," he said, "that boy's got something on his mind--I can tell bythem big eyes of his. Any idee what it is?"
"Why, no," answered Lucy, blushing before his searching gaze, "unlessit's the sheep."
"Nope," said Creede, "it ain't that. I tried to talk sheep and hewouldn't listen to me. This here looks kinder bad," he observed,shaking his head ominously. "I don't like it--layin' in bed all dayand thinkin' that way. W'y, that'd make _me_ sick!"
He edged awkwardly over to where she was standing and lowered hisvoice confidentially.
"I'll tell you, Miss Lucy," he said, "I've known Rufe a long time now,and he's awful close-mouthed. He's always thinkin' about somethingaway off yonder, too--but this is different. Now of course I don'tknow nothin' about it, but I think all that boy needs is a littlebabyin', to make him fergit his troubles. Yes'm, that boy's lonely.Bein' sick this way has took the heart out of 'im and made 'im sorryfor himself, like a kid that wants his mother. And so--well," he said,turning abruptly away, "that's all, jest thought I'd tell you." Hepulled down his hat, swung dexterously up on Bat Wings and gallopedaway down the valley, waving his hand at the barred window as hepassed.
Long after the clatter of hoofs had ceased Lucy stood in the shade ofthe _ramada_, gazing pensively at the fire-blasted buttes and thetender blue mountains beyond. How could such rugged hillsides producemen who were always gentle, men whose first thought was always ofthose who loved them and never of fighting and blood? It was a land ofhardships and strife and it left its mark on them all. The Rufus thatshe had known before had seemed different from all other men, and shehad loved him for it, even when all his thought was for Kitty; but nowin two short years he had become stern and headstrong in his ways; hiseyes that had smiled up at her so wistfully when he had first comeback from the river were set and steady again like a soldier's, and helay brooding upon some hidden thing that his lips would never speak.Her mutinous heart went out to him at every breath, now that he laythere so still; at a word she could kneel at his side and own that shehad always loved him; but his mind was far away and he took nothought of her weakness. He was silent--and she must be a woman to theend, a voiceless suppliant, a slave that waits, unbidden, a chip onthe tide that carries it to some safe haven or hurries it out to sea.
With downcast eyes she turned back into the house, going about herwork with the quiet of a lover who listens for some call, and as shepassed to and fro she felt his gaze upon her. At last she looked upand when she met his glance she went in and stood beside his bed.
"What is it you want, Rufus?" she asked, and his face lit up suddenlyas he answered with his eloquent eyes, but he could not speak theword.
"Who am I?" he murmured, musingly, "to ask for all the world?" But heheld close to the little hands and as he felt their yielding hisbreath came hard and he gazed up at her with infinite tenderness.
"Dear Lucy," he said, "you do not know me. I am a coward--it was bornin me--I cannot help it. Not with men!" he cried, his eyes lightingup. "Ah, no; my father was a soldier, and I can fight--but--"
He paused and his vehemence died away suddenly. "Lucy," he beganagain, still clinging to her hands for courage, "you have neverlaughed at me--you have always been gentle and patient--I will tellyou something. You know how I ran away from Kitty, and how when shecame down here I avoided her. I was afraid, Lucy, and yet--well, it isall over now." He sighed and turned restlessly on his pillow. "One dayI met her up the river and she--she called me a coward. Not by theword--but I knew. That was the day before the sheep came in throughHell's Hip Pocket, and even Jeff doesn't know of the fights I had thatnight. I went out yesterday and fought Jasper Swope with my bare handsto wipe the shame away--but it's no use, I'm a coward yet." He groanedand turned his face to the wall but Lucy only sighed and brushed backhis hair. For a minute he lay there, tense and still; then as her handsoothed him he turned and his voice became suddenly soft andcaressing, as she had always liked it best.
"Don't laugh at me for it, Lucy," he said, "I love you--but I'mafraid." He caught her hands again, gazing up wistfully into her eyes,and when she smiled through her tears he drew her nearer.
"Lucy," he whispered, "you will understand me. I have never kissed anyone since my mother died--could--could you kiss me first?"
"Ah, yes, Rufus," she answered, and as their lips met he held hergently in his arms.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE END OF IT ALL
There is a mocking-bird at Hidden Water that sings the songs of allthe birds and whistles for the dog. His nest is in a great cluster ofmistletoe in the mesquite tree behind the house and every morning hepolishes his long curved bill against the _ramada_ roof, preens outhis glossy feathers, and does honor to the sun. For two years, off andon, Hardy had heard him, mimicking orioles and larks and sparrows andwhistling shrilly for the dog, but now for the first time his heartanswered to the wild joy of the bird lover. The world had taken onlight and color over night, and the breeze, sifting in through thebarred window, was sweet with the fragrance of untrampled flowers.
April had come, and the grass; the air was untainted; there was nobraying by the river--the sheep had gone. It had been bought at theprice of blood, but at last there was peace. The dreamy _quah_, _quah_of the quail was no longer a mockery of love; their eggs would not bebroken in the nest but the mothers would lead forth their little ones;even the ground-doves and the poor-wills, nesting in last year'ssheep tracks, would escape the myriad feet--and all because a crazyman, hiding among the cliffs, had shot down Jasper Swope. Without hateor pity Hardy thought of that great hairy fighting-man; the God thatlet him live would judge him dead--and Bil
l Johnson too, when heshould die. The sheep were gone and Lucy had kissed him--these werethe great facts in the world.
They were sitting close together beneath the _ramada_, looking outupon the sunlit valley and talking dreamily of the old days, whensuddenly Hardy edged away and pointed apologetically to the westerntrail. There in single file came Judge Ware in his linen duster, astranger in khaki, and a woman, riding astride.
"There comes father!" cried Lucy, springing up eagerly and waving herhand.
"And Kitty," added Hardy, in a hushed voice. Not since they had comehad he spoken of her, and Lucy had respected his silence. Except forthe vague "Perhaps" with which she had answered Bill Lightfoot'spersistent inquiries he had had no hint that Kitty might come, and yeta vague uneasiness had held his eyes to the trail.
"Tell me, Lucy," he said, drawing her back to his side as the partydipped out of sight in the interminable thicket of mesquites, "whyhave you never spoken of Kitty? Has anything dreadful happened? Pleasetell me quick, before she comes. I--I won't know what to say." Hetwisted about and fixed an eye on the doorway, but Lucy held out arestraining hand.
"It has been a great secret," she said, "and you must promise not totell, but Kitty has been writing a play."
"A play!" exclaimed Hardy, astounded, "why--what in the world is itabout?"
"About Arizona, of course," cried Lucy. "Don't you remember how eagershe was to hear you men talk? And she collected all those spurs andquirts for stage properties! Why, she wrote books and books full ofnotes and cowboy words while she was down here and she's been buriedin manuscript for months. When she heard that you were having theround-up early this year she was perfectly frantic to come, but theywere right in the midst of writing it and she just couldn't getaway."
"They?" repeated Hardy, mystified. "Why who--"
"Oh, I forgot," said Lucy, biting her lip. Then in a lower voice sheadded: "She has been collaborating with Tupper Browne."
"Tupper Browne! Why, what does he know about Arizona?" cried Hardyindignantly, and then, as Lucy looked away, he stopped short.
"Oh!" he said, and then there was a long silence. "Well, Tupper's agood fellow," he remarked philosophically. "But Lucy," he said,starting up nervously as the sound of horses' feet came up from thecreek bed, "you'll--you'll do all the talking, won't you?"
"Talking!" repeated Lucy, pausing in her flight. "Why, yes," shecalled back, laughing. "Isn't that always the woman's part?" And thenshe fell upon Kitty's neck and kissed her. Hardy came forward withless assurance, but his embarrassment was reduced to a minimum byJudge Ware who, as soon as the first greetings were over, broughtforward the mild-mannered gentleman in khaki and introduced him.
"Mr. Shafer," he said, "this is my superintendent, Mr. Hardy. Mr.Shafer represents the United States Forestry Service," he addedsignificantly.
"Ah, then you must bring us good news!" cried Hardy, holding out hishand eagerly.
"Yes," answered the official modestly, but his speech ended with thatword.
"I am convinced," began Judge Ware, suddenly quelling all conversationby the earnestness of his demeanor. "I am convinced that in settingaside the Salagua watershed as a National Forest Reserve, ourPresident has added to the record of his good deeds an act of suchconsummate statesmanship that it will be remembered long after hisdetractors are forgotten. But for him, millions of acres of publicland now set aside as reserves would still be open to the devastation ofunrestricted grazing, or have passed irrevocably into the power of thisinfamous land ring which has been fighting on the floor of Congress todeprive the American people of their rights. But after both houses hadpassed a bill depriving the executive of his power to proclaim ForestReserves--holding back the appropriations for the Forestry Service as athreat--he baffled them by a feigned acquiescence. In exchange forthe appropriations, he agreed to sign the act--and then, after securingthe appropriations, he availed himself of the power still vested inhim to set aside this reserve and many other reserves for our childrenand our children's children--and then, gentlemen, true to his word, hesigned the bill!"
Judge Ware shook hands warmly with Mr. Shafer at the end of thisspeech and wished him all success in protecting the people's domain.It was a great day for the judge, and as soon as Creede and the othercowmen came in with the day's gather of cattle he hastened out to tellthem the news.
"And now, gentlemen," he said, holding up his hand to stop the joyousyelling, "I wish to thank you one and all for your confidence in meand in the good faith of our Government. It called for a high order ofmanhood, I am sure; but in not offering any armed resistance to theincoming of the sheep your loyalty has withstood its supreme test."
"How's that?" inquired Creede, scratching his head doubtfully. Then,divining the abysmal ignorance from which the judge was speaking, heanswered, with an honest twinkle in his eye: "Oh, that's all right,Judge. We always try to do what's right--and we're strong for the law,when they is any."
"I'm afraid there hasn't been much law up here in the past, hasthere?" inquired Mr. Shafer tactfully.
"Well, not so's you'd notice it," replied the big cowboy enigmatically."But say, Judge," he continued, making a point at the old gentleman'slinen duster, "excuse _me_, but that yaller letter stickin' out of yourpocket looks kinder familiar. It's for me, ain't it? Um, thanks; thisdetective outfit back in St. Louie is tryin' to make me out amillionaire, or somethin' like that, and I'm naturally interested." Hetore the letter open, extracted a second epistle from its depths andread it over gravely. "Well, boys," he observed, grinning cheerfullyas he tucked it away in his shaps, "my luck always did run inbunches--_I'm rich_!"
He strode briskly over to the corral, caught up a fresh horse and,riding back to the camp, began to go through his war bag hurriedly. Hewas in the midst of a feverish packing, throwing away socks andgrabbing up shirts, when a gay laugh from the house attracted hisattention. He listened for a moment abstractedly; then he flew at hiswork once more, dumping everything he had out on his bed and stuffingwhat he needed back into his war bag; but when there came a secondpeal of laughter, he stopped and craned his neck.
"Well--I'll--be--dam'd!" he muttered, as he recognized the voice, andthen he flew at his work again, manhandling everything in sight. Hewas just roping his enormous bed, preparatory to depositing it in thebunk-house, when Kitty Bonnair stepped out of the house and cametoward him, walking like a boy in her dainty riding suit. There was agreat noise from the branding pen and as she approached he seemed veryintent upon his work, wrestling with his bundle as if he werehog-tying a bull and using language none too choice the while, butKitty waited patiently until he looked up.
"Why, howdy do, Mr. Creede," she cried, smiling radiantly. "I got anew idea for my play just from seeing you do that work."
The cowboy regarded her sombrely, took a nip or two with his rope'send, jerked the cords tight, and sat down deliberately on the bundle.
"That's good," he said, wiping the sweat from his eyes. "How'stricks?" There was a shadow of irony in his voice but Kitty passed itby.
"Fine and dandy," she answered. "How are you coming?"
"Oh, pretty good," he conceded, rising up and surveying thebattlefield, "and I reckon I ain't forgot nothin'," he addedmeaningly. He kicked his blanket roll, tied his war bag behind thesaddle, and hitched up his overalls regally. "Sorry I ain't goin' tosee more of you," he observed, slipping his six-shooter into hisshaps, "but--"
"What, you aren't _going_?" cried Kitty, aghast. "Why, I came all theway down here to see you--I'm writing a play, and you're the hero!"
"Ye-es!" jeered Creede, laughing crudely. "I'm Mary's little lamb thatgot snatched baldheaded to make the baby laugh."
"You're nothing of the kind," retorted Kitty stoutly. "You're the heroin my play that's going to be _acted_ some day on the stage. You killa Mexican, and win a beautiful girl in the last act!"
"That's good," commented Creede, smiling grimly, "but say, that Mex.will keep, won't he--because I'm due back in St. Louie."
"O
h!" cried Kitty, clasping her hands in despair. "St. Louis! Andwon't I _ever_ see you any more?"
"Well, you might," conceded the cowboy magnanimously, "if you waitaround long enough."
"But I _can't_ wait! I've got to finish my last act, and I came cleardown here, just to hear you talk. You can't imagine how interestingyou are, after living up there in the city," she added naively.
"No," grumbled Creede, picking up his bridle lash, "but say, I've gotto be goin'!" He hooked a boot negligently into the stirrup and lookedback over his shoulder. "Anything else I can do for you?" he inquiredpolitely.
"Oh, you dear Jeff!" cried Kitty ecstatically, "yes! Do come back hereand let me tell you!" He kicked his foot reluctantly out of thestirrup and stalked back, huge and commanding as ever, but with apuzzled look in his eye.
"Bend your head down, so I can whisper it," she coaxed, and brute-likehe bowed at her bidding. She whispered a moment eagerly, added a word,and pushed his head away. For a minute he stood there, thinkingponderously; then very deliberately he pulled his six-shooter out ofhis shaps and handed it over to her.
"All right," he said, "but say"--he beckoned her with an inexorablejerk of the head--"what do _I_ git, now?" He looked down upon her ashe had on the morning they had parted, out behind the corral, and thehot blood leaped into Kitty Bonnair's cheeks at the memory of thatkiss. For a moment she hesitated, twisting her trim boot into theground, then she drew the coveted pistol from her belt and handed itback.
"Well, since you insist," he said, and very sternly he thrust theredeemed weapon back into his shaps. A change came over him as heregarded her; there was an austere tightening of his lips and his eyesglowed with a light that Kitty had never seen before.
"That was a rough deal you gave me, girl," he said, his voice vibrantwith anger, "and I ain't forgotten it. You dropped your rope over myhorns and gave me a little run and then you took your turns and_busted_ me like a wild steer! And then maybe you laughed a little,"he suggested, with a searching glance. "No? Well, it's all right, asfar as I'm concerned--my hide's whole, and I'm rope-wise--but I'lltell you, Miss Kitty, if you'd jest keep this gun of mine and shootsome feller once in a while we'd all enjoy it more." He paused, andas Kitty stood downcast before this sudden censure he smiled tohimself, and a twinkle of mischief crept into his masterful eyes.
"But don't mind a little thing like that, girl," he said, throwing outhis hands largely. "_You_ don't lose no friends by tryin' to educateus a little--ump-umm! Of course I'm kinder sore over that letter, butyou look good to me yet, Kitty!"
"Why--Mr. Creede!" faltered Kitty, looking up.
"That's right," asserted Creede, lowering his voice confidentially,"they was something about you that caught my eye the first time I sawyou." He laughed, showing all his white teeth, and at the same timehis eyes were very grave.
"Come over here," he said, "and I'll tell you what it was. No--I won'tkiss you--come on up close." Wondering at her own acquiescence, KittyBonnair obeyed, and with a mysterious smile he stooped down until hislips were close to her ear.
"You remind me of my girl," he whispered, "back in St. Louie!" Andthen with a great laugh he broke away and leapt triumphantly into thesaddle.
"_Whoop-eee_!" he yelled. "_Watch me fly_!" And spreading his armslike a bird he thundered away down the western trail.
There was a strange stillness about the old ranch house when Kittycame back to it and she wondered vaguely where Lucy and Rufus were,but as she stepped inside the dirt _ramada_ the quiet seemed to layits spell upon her and she halted by the doorway, waiting for a lastglimpse of Jeff as he went up over the western rim. The bawling ofcattle and the shrill yells of the cowboys no longer tempted her tothe _parada_ ground--she was lonely, and there was no one who caredfor her. Yet, somewhere within, she could hear the murmur of voices,and at last when she could endure it no longer she turned and enteredquickly. The big living-room where they had so often sat together wasvacant now, but Hardy's door was open, and as she looked in she sawthem standing together--Lucy with downcast eyes, and Rufus, holdingboth her hands. It was all very innocent and lover-like, but whentheir lips met she turned and fled to her room.
Half an hour later Kitty emerged from her hiding, robed like a woman;there was a new grace about her as she stood before them, a newdignity, and she wore fresh flowers in her hair, forget-me-nots,picked from among the rocks as she rode toward Hidden Water.
"Bless you, my children," she said, smiling and holding out her hands,"I shall die an old maid." And then she kissed them both.
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