CHAPTER XXXI
AN ENCOUNTER
Kate awoke the morning after Hawk's funeral with a confused sense ofhaving consorted with her father's enemies; and of trying to justifyherself for having done what she had felt compelled to do to answer hersense of self-respect.
And all this before anyone had accused her. But being extremelydubious as to how her father would take her conduct, she was not onlyill at ease until she should meet him, but glad he had been away. Andit was something of a shock to her that morning to find his bedroomdoor closed; it meant that during the night he had unexpectedly comehome.
After her breakfast she walked down to the corral to talk to Bradleyabout the saddle horses. Not that she had anything to suggest, butbecause she was nervous. Laramie was intruding more and more into hermind; every time she banished him he returned, frequently bringingsomeone else with him. Between the perplexities and the men that besether, Kate was not happy. And when, after a ramble along the creek, shereturned to the house, she was not surprised to find that her father,coming from the breakfast table, hardly responded to her greeting. Hewas much engrossed in cutting off the end of a cigar as he passed herand in walking to the fireplace to find a match.
But the matches were not on the mantelpiece, where they belonged, andthis annoyed him. If he said nothing, it did not deceive Kate as tohis feelings. She hastened to hand him the matchbox from the table.He took it without saying a word, but he slammed it back to itsaccustomed place with a silent and ominous emphasis.
She knew it was coming. What surprised her was that she felt nofurther inclination to shrink from the moment of reckoning she dreaded.Doubleday, his cigar lighted, seated himself in his heavy chair besidethe fireplace.
"What kind of a trip had you, father?" Kate, as she asked, made apretense of arranging the papers and magazines on the table.
There was little promise of amiability in her father's answer; "Whatd'y' mean," he asked.
"Did you get your notes extended?"
"Yes." His heavy jaw and teeth, after the word, snapped like a steeltrap. "Did you go to Abe Hawk's funeral?" He flung the question ather like a hammer.
"Were you told I did?" Kate asked.
"Rode to the graveyard with him, didn't you?"
Kate saw there was no use softening her words: "Father," she saidinstantly and firmly, "the night I came out from town in the storm Igot lost. I got on the wrong side of the creek. My horse gave out; Iwas dead with the cold."
Her father flung his cigar into the fire: "What's that got to do withit?" he broke in harshly.
"Just wait a moment."
"I don't want any long-winded story."
"I won't tell any."
"I won't listen to you," he shouted. "Answer my question."
Her eyes kindled: "You may call it whatever you like, but you willlisten to my answer in the way I make it. When I'd given up hope ofsaving my life, and my horse was drifting, he fell into a dugout. Andin the dugout were two men--Abe Hawk and Jim Laramie. They thoughtthere was a party of men with me. They seized me. They got ready tofight. I was at their mercy."
"What dugout?" demanded Doubleday. His husky tone seemed to indicatehe was cooling a little; the question took her off her guard.
"At the old mine bridge."
A flash of cunning lighted her father's eyes. The curtain fellinstantly, but not before Kate had seen. "When they questioned me,"she hurried on, "I told them what had happened. They believed me.They rode with me back to the creek. We swam our horses across. Minecouldn't make the bank. Abe Hawk pulled me out and Laramie saved myhorse. But the bank caved in with Hawk when he pulled me out of thecreek and the next thing I heard, he was dead. I didn't go to hisfuneral except to ride to the cemetery in the procession. Father,could I do any less?" she demanded, wrought up.
Barb's harsh, red features never looked less uncompromising: "D' youexpect me to believe that stuff?" he asked, regarding her coldly. Sheonly eyed him as he eyed her: "D' you expect anybody to believe it?" hecontinued, to drive in his contempt.
Kate turned white. When she spoke, her words were measured: "Oh, no,"she said quietly. "I don't expect you any more to believe anything Isay. Those other men would believe me when they had me at theirmercy--when they might have choked or shot me or thrown me into theFalling Wall canyon--they only believed me. But my own father--hecouldn't believe me----"
Neither appeal nor reproach moved her father; his mind was fixed. VanHorn had been sarcastic over Kate's escapade; Barb's own men werelaughing at him. He interrupted Kate: "Pack up your things," he saidruthlessly.
She faced her father without flinching: "What do you mean?" she asked.
He tossed his head with as little concern as if he were discharging acowboy: "Don't want you around here any longer," he snapped. "Pack up.Get out."
She looked at him in silence. Perhaps, as she turned defiantly awayand walked to her room, she thought of the man that had deserted hermother when she herself was a baby in her mother's arms. At any rate,anger fortified her against the shock. Her preparations were soonmade. A trunk held all she wished to take. She asked Bradley to getup her pony. Bradley was hitched up for a trip to Sleepy Cat and,putting her trunk in the wagon, was on the road ahead of Kate. Shespent a little time in straightening up her room and shortly afterwardsrode down the trail for town.
Absorbed in thoughts tinged with bitterness and anger, she rode towardthe creek as if casting things up again and again in her mind, butreaching no conclusion. When her horse struck the Sleepy Cat road heturned into it because he was used to doing so, not because she guidedhim. In this haphazard way she was jogging on, her eyes fixed onnothing more encouraging than the storm-worn ruts along her way when ashout startled her. Looking up, she saw she was nearing the lower gateof the alfalfa patch and across the road a party of horsemen hadstopped Bradley with the wagon. She recognized Harry Van Horn--hissmart hat, erect figure and scarlet neckcloth would have identified himbefore she could distinguish his features; and he always rode the besthorse. Stone and three of the Texas men were with him. With theexception of Van Horn, they had dismounted, and with their droopinghorses close at hand were stacking their rifles against the gate andyelling at Bradley.
Swinging his hat, Van Horn dashed toward Kate just as she looked upand, whipping out his revolver, pulled his horse to its haunchesdirectly in front of her: "You're held up!" he cried.
The shock on her reverie was sudden and Kate was too confused andfrightened to speak.
"You can't get by without giving up your tobacco, girlie," Van Horn ranon in sing-song raillery. "Shell out!" He held out his left hand forthe spoil and poised his gun high--a picture of life and dash. "Yousee what's happening to Bradley." The cowboys, in great feather, weredragging the old man with mock violence from the wagon.
Kate recovered her breath: "What's it all about?" she asked.
Van Horn put away his gun. He was in very good humor as he glancedover at the boys crowding around Bradley: "They want tobacco," helaughed.
"Oh."
"You know what I want."
Kate regarded his expectancy unmoved: "How should I know?" she asked,chilling her question with indifference.
"Because," he exclaimed, sweeping back with a flourish the brim of hishat, "I want you."
She eyed him without a tremor and responded without hesitation: "Well,I can say you will never get me if that's all you want."
He laughed again: "Talk it over with me, Kate; talk it over."
His eyes, always bright and liquid, were a little inflamed. Stilllaughing, he glanced toward the wagon. The boys were boisterous. Katecould hear Bradley's voice in shrill protest: "What'd I be goin' totown f'r, if I had a bottle?" he was demanding angrily. But, while shelooked and listened, Van Horn slipped quickly from his saddle andcaught her bridle rein: "Come on," he said, at her horse's head, "let'swalk down to the creek, girlie, and talk it all over."
Kate was indignant: "I w
on't walk anywhere----"
"I'll carry you."
She suppressed an angry word: "I'm on my way to town," she exclaimed."Let go my bridle!" She struck her horse. The beast jumped ahead.Van Horn, laughing, held on. But the shock jerked him almost from hisfeet. As he staggered forward, clinging to the rearing animal, thehalf-muffled report of a revolver was heard. Almost like athunderbolt, it changed the situation. One of the Texas men had firedin the air, but no one had seen him fire and the other Texans jumpedlike longhorns. Stone, clapping his hand to his holster, whirled fromthe wagon wheel. Kate, frightened more than ever, struck her horseagain; the bridle was jerked from Van Horn's hand and he turnedsharply. Quickest to grasp what he saw as his eye swept the road, heyelled: "Look out, boys! There's Laramie!"
The words were not out of his mouth when Kate caught sight of a mandown the road leaping from a horse. As the rider touched the ground heslapped his pony's shoulder and the beast dropped flat. The man, riflein hand, threw himself behind the prostrate animal and Kate heard hisbrusque yell to Van Horn and the Texans: "Pitch up!"
It would have been hard to say who was most astonished. Laramieevidently was not expecting an encounter. To dash on horseback intoany five men on foot, of the enemy's camp, was the last thing he wouldbe likely to attempt. If he did attempt it, he would never choose VanHorn or Stone to be of the party. The ground about the scene was flat,or only slightly rolling, with the branch road and its old ruts runningacross it. Caught squarely in the open and without a sagebrush forcover, he had been forced to drop behind his horse for shelter. Lyingflat and covering Van Horn and the men with his rifle, he awaited theunpleasant odds against him.
The situation of the five men in front was even worse. Their rifleswere stacked against the gate hardly a dozen feet away. But to run agauntlet of a dozen feet against Laramie's rifle fire was a feat nonehad stomach for, nor were they ready at a hundred yards to pitrevolvers against it. One of them might get him but they knew it wouldbe after some of the others had practically ceased to be interested inthe result.
The minds of the Texas men were perfectly clear; their hands shot uplike rockets. Stone had taken one big step toward the gate post--hechanged his mind, halted and his hands went up at the very instantLaramie changed _his_ mind, and did not press the trigger against theburly outline darkening the field of his sights. Van Horn, caught,stood helpless and enraged--humiliated in circumstances he leastrelished for humiliation. Everybody's hands were up. His one chance,Van Horn realized, was to use his Colt's against the Winchester behindthe prostrate horse--it was not a living chance and no one knew itbetter than he; his hands moved grudgingly up to his shoulders and hesang out savagely: "What the blazes do you want?"
There was no answer from Laramie. To add to a difficult situation,Kate's horse, nervous from the shouting and catching its mistress's ownfright, jumped and bucked till she was halfway down the road towardLaramie before she could check him. To add to her confusion, wordscame from ahead just loud enough for her to hear: "Pull the blamedbrute to one side, will you?" It was Laramie speaking, she knew. "Ifhe gets between me and that bunch," she heard him say, "I'm a goner."She jerked her horse violently out of the road; Laramie had raised hisvoice and kept right on talking: "Turn your back, Van Horn--you, too,Stone. Shoot up your hands, you Texas--higher!" he called to one ofthe Texans. And with the words not out of his mouth, he leaped as ifon springs to his feet. It seemed as if his rifle covered his enemiesall the time, even while he was doing it.
With his head forward, his elbows high and the Winchester laid againsthis cheek; stepping like a cat, and swiftly and with his eyes fixed onthe men ahead, Laramie walked toward the wagon. In doing so heapproached Kate, whose horse had subsided. Laramie took no note ofher. She only heard his words as he passed: "You'd better get out ofthis." Approaching his prisoners in such a way they could not reacheither the gate or the wagon without crossing his fire, Laramiecompelled Bradley, really nothing loath, to disarm the three cowboys inturn and drop their guns into the wagonbox. Stone, sullen, wasgingerly approached by Bradley, under strict orders to keep out ofreach of his arms. But the old man knew all the tricks of the playbeing staged, even though he was not able to turn them. And whenStone, cursing, was ordered to lower his right arm and hand hisrevolver to Bradley at arm's length, the old man's feet were planted atleast six feet from the foreman for a jump-away in case Stone tried toclinch him and shoot at Laramie from behind Bradley's cover.
But after he was disarmed, Laramie was not through with Stone. Sullenand obdurate, he was ordered to face away, while Bradley from behindsearched his pockets. And the crown of his abasement was reached whenBradley drew from a hip pocket a full flask of whisky. The materialadvantage of the find was not great, but the tactical advantage wasenormous. Behind Stone, Bradley silently but jeeringly held it up asan exhibit for the thirsty Texas men; and to show it was full, uncorkedand with gusto sampled it. Stone was ordered back to his horse.
"How long is this joke, Laramie?" sang out Van Horn, his humor oozing."Can't you frisk a few cowboys in less than all day?"
"When I frisk a pair of cut-throats with them, it's different."
"Well, don't waste your valuable time on me. This is yourinnings--I'll wait for mine."
"Drop your gun to the ground," returned Laramie. "Pick that up, Bill,"he added to Bradley as Van Horn threw his revolver contemptuously fromits holster. He was searched with the same scrupulous care by oldBradley, his morale greatly strengthened by Stone's flask: "I don'tgive a d--n whether you get me or not," he retorted at Van Horn, inanswer to a low threat from his victim.
Laramie having told Van Horn to mount, turned to the Texas men: "Whichone of you boys wants to carry the rifles over to that big cottonwoodfor me?" he asked, pointing toward the creek.
"I do," responded the nearest man, promptly.
"Don't you do it, Tex," called out Stone.
The Texan eyed his foreman: "Why not?" he demanded. "Ain't I beenridin' this country all day with a man squealin' for a drink as loud asI was, an' had his pocket full of it all the time? I'm through with myjob."
Laramie broke in without losing the precious moment: "Who set my houseon fire, Tex?" he demanded.
The Texan nodded in Stone's direction: "Ask him."
"He'd lie, Tex; I'm askin' you."
The rawboned horseman hesitated: "I'll talk that over with you when I'mrested," he drawled.
"Go get your Colt's out of the wagon, Tex." Laramie pointed the way."Pick out the guns of the other two boys and tote them over to thattree with you. The boys'll ride over there after you. Tell Barb I'llgive him twenty-four hours to get every hoof, round or split, thatbelongs to me back to the Falling Wall--failing which I'll be over totalk to him privately. Will you do that, Tex?"
"I sure will."
"These rustlers here," he looked toward Stone and Van Horn, "won't beable to carry messages for awhile. They're ridin' to town with me.Bill," he added, turning to Bradley, "dump their rifles into the wagonand follow on along."
"What's this?" snapped Van Horn with an oath. "Going to town with you!Not on your life."
"You're headed for jail tonight, Harry; that's all. You boys," hespoke to the Texans and gave no heed to the oaths and abuse from VanHorn, "ride down to the cottonwood and get your guns from Tex. There'stwo good trails from here to town and plenty of room on both. TodayI'm riding the Double-draw bridge. If any of you are going to town,take the other trail. Lead off now, you two."
He spoke to Van Horn and Stone, both mounted, and with the two headedfor town, and the Texans started up the road, Laramie climbed into hisown saddle. Not until then did he look around for Kate. She haddisappeared.