CHAPTER XIII
LONE TAKES HIS STAND
Lone Morgan, over at Elk Spring camp, was just sitting down to eat hismidday meal when some one shouted outside. Lone stiffened in hischair, felt under his coat, and then got up with some deliberation andlooked out of the window before he went to the door. All this was amatter of habit, bred of Lone's youth in the feud country, and hadnothing whatever to do with his conscience.
"Hello!" he called, standing in the doorway and grinning a welcome toSwan, who stood with one arm resting on the board gate. "She's on thetable--come on in."
"I don't know if you're home with the door shut like that," Swanexplained, coming up to the cabin. "I chased a coyote from Rock Cityto here, and by golly, he's going yet! I'll get him sometime, maybe.He's smart, but you can beat anything with thinking if you don't stopthinking. Always the other feller stops sometimes, and then you gethim. You believe that?"
"It most generally works out that way," Lone admitted, getting anotherplate and cup from the cupboard, which was merely a box nailed with itsbottom to the wall, and a flour sack tacked across the front for acurtain. "Even a coyote slips up now and then, I reckon."
Swan sat down, smoothing his tousled yellow hair with both hands as hedid so. "By golly, my shoulder is sore yet from carrying Brit Hunter,"he remarked carelessly, flexing his muscles and grimacing a little.
Lone was pouring the coffee, and he ran Swan's cup over before henoticed what he was doing. Swan looked up at him and looked awayagain, reaching for a cloth to wipe the spilled coffee from the table.
"How was that?" Lone asked, turning away to the stove. "What-allhappened to Brit Hunter?"
Swan, with his plate filled and his coffee well sweetened, proceeded torelate with much detail the story of Brit's misfortune. "By golly, Idon't see how he don't get killed," he finished, helping himself toanother biscuit. "By _golly_, I don't. Falling into Spirit Canyon islike getting dragged by a horse. It should kill a man. What youthink, Lone?"
"It didn't, you say." Lone's eyes were turned to his coffee cup.
"It don't kill Brit Hunter--not yet. I think maybe he dies with allhis bones broke, like that. By golly, that shows you what could happenif a man don't think. Brit should look at that chain on his wheelbefore he starts down that road."
"Oh. His brake didn't hold, eh?"
"I look at that wagon," Swan answered carefully. "It is somethingfunny about that chain. I worked hauling logs in the mountains, once.It is something damn funny about that chain, the way it's fixed."
Lone did not ask him for particulars, as perhaps Swan expected. He didnot speak at all for awhile, but presently pushed back his plate as ifhis appetite were gone.
"It's like Fred Thurman," Swan continued moralising. "If Fred don'tride backwards, I bet he don't get killed--like that."
"Where's Brit now?" Lone asked, getting up and putting on his hat. "Atthe ranch?"
"Or heaven, maybe," Swan responded sententiously. "But my dog Yack, hedon't howl yet. I guess Brit's at the ranch."
"Sorry I'm busy to-day," said Lone, opening the door. "You stay aslong as you like, Swan. I've got some riding to do."
"I'll wash the dishes, and then I maybe will think quicker than thatcoyote. I'm after him, by golly, till I get him."
Lone muttered something and went out. Within five minutes Swan,hearing hoofbeats, looked out through a crack in the door and saw Loneriding at a gallop along the trail to Rock City. "Good bait. Heswallows the hook," he commented to himself, and his good-natured grinwas not brightening his face while he washed the dishes and tidied thecabin.
With Lone rode bitterness of soul and a sick fear that had nothing todo with his own destiny. How long ago Brit had been hurled into thecanyon Lone did not know; he had not asked. But he judged that it musthave been very recently. Swan had not told him of anything but therunaway, and of helping to carry Brit home--and of the "damn funnything about the chain"--the rough-lock, he must have meant. Too wellLone understood the sinister meaning that probably lay behind thatphrase.
"They've started on the Quirt now," he told himself with foreboding."She's been telling her father----"
Lone fell into bitter argument with himself. Just how far was itjustifiable to mind his own business? And if he did not mind it, whatpossible chance had he against a power so ruthless and so cunning? Anaccident to a man driving a loaded wagon down the Spirit Canyon gradehad a diabolic plausibility that no man in the country could question.Brit, he reasoned, could not have known before he started that hisrough-lock had been tampered with, else he would have fixed it.Neither was Brit the man to forget the brake on his load. If Britlived, he might talk as much as he pleased, but he could never provethat his accident had been deliberately staged with murderous intent.
Lone lifted his head and looked away across the empty miles of sagelandto the quiet blue of the mountains beyond. Peace--the peace ofuntroubled wilderness--brooded over the land. Far in the distance,against the rim of rugged hills, was an irregular splotch of brownwhich was the headquarters of the Sawtooth. Lone turned his wrist tothe right, and John Doe, obeying the rein signal, left the trail andbegan picking his way stiff-legged down the steep slope of the ridge,heading directly toward the home ranch.
John Doe was streaked with sweat and his flanks were palpitating withfatigue when Lone rode up to the corral and dismounted. Pop Bridgerssaw him and came bow-legging eagerly forward with gossip titillating onhis meddlesome tongue, but Lone stalked by him with only a surly nod.Bob Warfield he saw at a distance and gave no sign of recognition. Hemet Hawkins coming down from his house and stopped in the trail.
"Have you got time to go back to the office and fix up my time,Hawkins?" he asked without prelude. "I'm quitting to-day."
Hawkins stared and named the Biblical place of torment. "What yuhquittin' for, Lone?" he added incredulously. "All you boys got a raiselast month; ain't that good enough?"
"Plenty good enough, so long as I work for the outfit."
"Well, what's wrong? You've been with us five years, Lone, and it'ssuited you all right so far----"
Lone looked at him. "Say, I never set out to marry the Sawtooth," hestated calmly. "And if I have married you-all by accident, you can geta bill of divorce for desertion. This ain't the first time a man everquit yuh, is it, Hawkins?"
"No--and there ain't a man on the pay roll we can't do without,"Hawkins retorted, his neck stiffening with resentment. "It's a kindarusty trick, though, Lone, quittin' without notice and leaving a campempty."
"Elk Spring won't run away," Lone assured him without emotion. "She'sbeen left alone a week or two at a time during roundups. I don'treckon the outfit'll bust up before you get a man down there."
The foreman looked at him curiously, for this was not like Lone, whosetone had always been soft and friendly, and whose manner had no hint ofbrusqueness. There was a light, too, in Lone's eyes that had not beenthere before. But Hawkins would not question him further. If LoneMorgan or any other man wanted to quit, that was hisprivilege,--providing, of course, that his leaving was not likely tomenace the peace and security of the Sawtooth. Lone had made it apoint to mind his own business, always. He had never asked questions,he had never surmised or gossiped. So Hawkins gave him a check for hiswages and let him go with no more than a foreman's natural reluctanceto lose a trustworthy man.
By hard riding along short cuts, Lone reached the Quirt ranch anddropped reins at the doorstep, not much past mid-afternoon.
"I rode over to see if there's anything I can do," he said, whenLorraine opened the door to him. He did not like to ask about herfather, fearing that the news would be bad.
"Why, thank you for coming." Lorraine stepped back, tacitly invitinghim to enter. "Dad knows us to-day, but of course he's terribly hurtand can't talk much. We do need some one to go to town for things.Frank helps me with dad, and Jim and Sorry are trying to keep thingsgoing on the ranch. And Swan does what he can, of cou
rse, but----"
"I just thought you maybe needed somebody right bad," said Lonequietly, meaning a great deal more than Lorraine dreamed that he meant."I'm not doing anything at all, right now, so I can just as well helpout as not. I can go to town right away, if I can borrow a horse.John Doe, he's pretty tired. I been pushing him right through--notknowing there was a town trip ahead of him."
Lorraine found her eyes going misty. He was so quiet, and soreassuring in his quiet. Half her burden seemed to slip from hershoulders while she looked at him. She turned away, groping for thedoor latch.
"You may see dad, if you like, while I get the list of things thedoctor ordered. He left only a little while ago, and I was waiting forone of the boys to come back so I could send him to town."
It was on Lone's tongue to ask why the doctor had not taken in theorder himself and instructed some one to bring out the things; but heremembered how very busy with its own affairs was Echo and decided thatthe doctor was wise.
He tiptoed in to the bed and saw a sallow face covered with stubblygray whiskers and framed with white bandages. Brit opened his eyes andmoved his thin lips in some kind of greeting, and Lone sat down on theedge of a chair, feeling as miserably guilty as if he himself hadbrought the old man to this pass. It seemed to him that Brit must knowmore of the accident than Swan had told, and the thought did not add tohis comfort. He waited until Brit opened his eyes again, and then heleaned forward, holding Brit's wandering glance with his own intentgaze.
"I ain't working now," he said, lowering his voice so that Lorrainecould not hear. "So I'm going to stay here and help see you throughwith this. I've quit the Sawtooth."
Brit's eyes cleared and studied Lone's face. "D'ye know--anything?"
"No, I don't." Lone's face hardened a little. "But I wanted you toknow that I'm--with the Quirt, now."
"Frank hire yuh?"
"No. I ain't hired at all. I'm just--_with_ yuh."
"We--need yuh," said Brit grimly, looking Lone straight in the eyes.