CHAPTER XIV
ON THE TRAIL TO THE BLUE
In the shade of the forest that edged the mesa, and just back ofFernando's camp, a Ranger trail cuts through a patch of quaking-asp andmeanders through the heavy-timbered land toward the Blue range, aspruce-clad ridge of southern hills. Close to the trail two saddlehorses were tied.
Fadeaway, riding toward his home ranch on the "Blue," reined up, eyedthe horses, and grinned. One of them was Chinook, the other EleanorLoring's black-and-white pinto, Challenge. The cowboy bent in hissaddle and peered through the aspens toward the sheep-camp. He sawCorliss and Nell Loring standing close together, evidently discussingsomething of more than usual import, for at that moment John Corlisshad raised his broad Stetson as though bidding farewell to the girl,but she had caught his arm as he turned and was clinging to him. Herattitude was that of one supplicating, coaxing, imploring. Fadeaway,with a vicious twist to his mouth, spat. "The cattle business and thesheep business looks like they was goin' into partnership," hemuttered. "Leave it to a woman to fool a man every time. And himpertendin' to be all for the long-horns!" He saw the girl turn fromCorliss, bury her face in her arms, and lean against the tree beneathwhich they were standing. Fadeaway grinned. "Women are all crooked,when they want to be," he remarked,--"or any I ever knowed. If theycan't work a guy by talkin' and lovin', then they take to cryin'."
Just then Corliss stepped to the girl and put his hand on her shoulder.Again she turned to him. He took her hands and held them while hetalked. Fadeaway could see her lips move, evidently in reply. Hecould not hear what was being said, as his horse was restless, frettingand stamping. The saddle creaked. Fadeaway jerked the horse up, andin the momentary silence he caught the word "love."
"Makes me sick!" he said, spurring forward. "'Love,' eh? Well, mebbymy little idea of puttin' Billy Corliss in wrong didn't work, but I'llhand Jack a jolt that'll make him think of somethin' else besides love,one of these fine mornin's!" And the cowboy rode on, out of tune withthe peace and beauty of his surroundings, his whole being centered uponmaking trouble for a man who he knew in his heart wished him no ill,and in fact had all but forgotten him so far as considering him eitheras an enemy or a friend.
Just as he was about to swing out to the open of the mesa near the edgeof the canon, he came upon a Mexican boy asleep beneath the lowbranches of a spruce. Fadeaway glanced across the mesa and, as he hadexpected, saw a band of sheep grazing in the sunshine. His trail randirectly toward the sheep. Beyond lay the canon. He would not ridearound a herd of sheep that blocked his trail, not if he knew it! Ashe drew nearer the sheep they bunched, forcing those ahead to move on.Fadeaway glanced back at the sleeping boy, then set spur to his horseand waved his sombrero. The sheep broke into a trot. He rode back andforth behind them forcing them toward the canon. He beat upon hisrolled slicker with his quirt. The sound frenzied the sheep and theyleaped forward. Lambs, trailing behind, called dolefully to theplunging ewes that trampled each other in their terror. Again thecowboy glanced back. No one was in sight. He wondered, for aninstant, what had become of Fernando, for he knew it was Fernando'sherd. He shortened rein and spurred his pony, making him rear. Thesheep plunged ahead, those in front swerving as they came to thecanon's brink. The crowding mass behind forced them on. Fadeawayreined up. A great gray wave rolled over the cliff and disappearedinto the soundless chasm. A thousand feet below lay the mangledcarcasses of some five hundred sheep and lambs. A scattered few of theband had turned and were trotting aimlessly along the edge of the mesa.They separated as the rider swept up. One terror-stricken lamb,bleating piteously, hesitated on the very edge of the chasm. Fadeawayswung his hat and laughed as the little creature reared and leaped outinto space. There had been but little noise--an occasional frightenedbleat, a drumming of hoofs on the mesa, and they were swept from sight.
Fadeaway reined around and took a direct line for the nearest timber.Halfway across the open he saw the Mexican boy running toward him. Heleaned forward in the saddle and hung his spurs in his pony's sides. Aquick beat of hoofs and he was within the shadow of the forest. Thenext thing was to avoid pursuit. He changed his course and rode towardthe heart of the forest. He would take an old and untraveledbridle-trail to the Blue. He was riding in a rocky hollow when hethought he heard the creak of saddle-leather. He glanced back. No onewas following him. Farther on he stopped. He was certain that he hadagain heard the sound. As he topped the rise he saw Corliss ridingtoward him. The rancher had evidently swung from the Concho trail andwas making his way directly toward the unused trail which Fadeawayrode. The cowboy became doubly alert. He shifted a little in thesaddle, sitting straight, his right hand resting easily on his hip.Corliss drew rein and they faced each other. There was something aboutthe rancher's grim, silent attitude that warned Fadeaway.
Yet he grinned and waved a greeting. "How!" he said, as though he weremeeting an old friend.
Corliss nodded briefly. He sat gazing at Fadeaway with an unreadableexpression.
"Got the lock-jaw?" queried Fadeaway, his pretended heartinessvanishing.
Corliss allowed himself to smile, a very little. "You better ride backwith me," he said, quietly.
Fadeaway laughed. "I'm takin' orders from the Blue, these days," hesaid. "Mebby you forgot."
"No, I haven't."
"And I'm headed for the Blue," continued the cowboy. "Goin' my way?"
"You're on the wrong trail," asserted Corliss. "You've been riding thewrong trail ever since you left the Concho."
"Uhuh. Well, I been keepin' clear of the sheep camps, at that."
"Don't know about that," said Corliss, easily.
Fadeaway was too shrewd to have recourse to his gun. He knew thatCorliss was the quicker man, and he realized that, even should he getthe better of a six-gun argument, the ultimate result would be outlawryand perhaps death. He wanted to get away from that steady,heart-searching gaze that held him.
"Sheep business is lookin' up," he said, with an attempt at jocularity.
"We'll ride back and have a talk with Loring," said Corliss. "Some oneput a band of his sheep into the canon, not two hours ago. Maybe youknow something about it."
"Me? What you dreaming anyhow?"
"I'm not. It looks like your work."
"So you're tryin' to hang somethin' onto me, eh? Well, you want tocall around early--you're late."
"No, I'm the first one on the job. Did you stampede Loring's sheep?"
"Did I stampede the love-makin'?" sneered Fadeaway.
Corliss shortened rein and drew close to the cowboy.
"Just explain that," he said.
"Oh, I don' know. You the boss of creation?"
Corliss's lips hardened. He let his quirt slip butt-first through hishand and grasped the lash. Fadeaway's hand slipped to his holster.Before he could pull his gun, Corliss swung the quirt. The blow caughtFadeaway just below the brim of his hat. He wavered and grabbed at thesaddle-horn. As Corliss again swung his quirt, the cowboy jerked outhis gun and brought it down on the rancher's head. Corliss droppedfrom the saddle. Fadeaway rode around and covered him. Corliss's hatlay a few feet from where he had fallen. Beneath his head a dark oozespread a hand's-breadth on the trail. The cowboy dismounted and bentover him. "He's sportin' a dam' good hat," he said, "or that would 'a'fixed _him_. Guess he'll be good for a spell." Then he reached forhis stirrup, mounted, and loped up the trail.
Old Fernando, having excused himself on some pretext when Corliss rodeinto the camp that morning, returned to find Corliss gone and NellLoring strangely grave and white. She nodded as he spoke to her andpointed toward the mesa. "Carlos--is out--looking for the sheep," shesaid, her lips trembling. "He says some one stampeded them--run theminto the canon."
Fernando called upon his saints and cursed himself for his negligencein leaving his son with the sheep. Nell Loring spoke to him quietly,assuring him that she understood why he had absented himself. "It's
myfault, Fernando, not yours. The patron will want to know why you wereaway. You will tell him that John Corliss came to your camp; that youthought I wanted to talk with him alone. Then he will know that it wasmy fault. I'll tell him when I get back to the rancho."
Fernando straightened his wizened frame. "Si! As the Senorita says, Ishall do. But first I go to look. Perhaps the patron shall not knowthat the vaquero Corlees was here this morning. It is that I ask theSenorita to say nothing to the patron until I look. Is it that youwill do this?"
"What can you do?" she asked.
"It is yet to know. Adios, Senorita. You will remember the oldFernando, perhaps?"
"But you're coming back! Oh! it was terrible!" she cried. "I rode tothe canon and looked down."
Fernando meanwhile had been thinking rapidly. With quaint dignity heexcused himself as he departed to catch up one of the burros, which hesaddled and rode out to where his son was standing near the canon. Theboy shrank from him as he accosted him. Fernando's deep-set eyesblazed forth the anger that his lips imprisoned. He sent the boy backto the camp. Then he picked up the tracks of a horseman on the mesa,followed them to the canon's brink, glanced down, shrugged hisshoulders, and again took up the horseman's trail toward the forest.With the true instinct of the outlander, he reasoned that the horsemanhad headed for the old trail to the Blue, as the tracks led diagonallytoward the south. Finally he realized that he could never overtake therider by following the tracks, so he dismounted and tied his burro. Hestruck toward the canon. A mile above him there was a ford. He wouldwait there and see who came. He made his perilous way down a notch inthe cliff, dropped slowly to the level of the stream, and followed itto the ford. He searched for tracks in the sun-baked mud. With a sighof satisfaction, perhaps of anticipation, he stepped to a clump ofcottonwoods down the stream and backed within them. Scarcely had hecrossed himself and drawn his gun from its weather-blackened holster,when he heard the click of shod hoofs on the trail. He stiffened andhis eyes gleamed as though he anticipated some pleasant prospect. Thecreases at the corners of his eyes deepened as he recognized in therider the vaquero who had set the Concho dog upon his sheep some monthsbefore. He had a score to settle with that vaquero for having shot athim. He had another and larger score to settle with him for--no, hewould not think of his beloved sheep mangled and dead at the bottom ofthe canon. That would anger him and make his hand unsteady.
Fadeaway rode his horse into the ford and sat looking downstream as thehorse drank. Just as he drew rein, the old herder imitated withperfect intonation the quavering bleat of a lamb calling to its mother.Fadeaway jerked straight in the saddle. A ball of smoke puffed fromthe cottonwoods. The cowboy doubled up and slid headforemost into thestream. The horse, startled by the lunge of its rider, leaped to thebank and raced up the trail. A diminishing echo ran along the canonwalls and rolled away to distant, faint muttering. Old Fernando hadpaid his debt of vengeance.
Leisurely he broke a twig from the cottonwoods, tore a strip from hisbandanna, and cleaned his gun. Then he retraced his steps to theburro, mounted, and rode directly to his camp. After he had eaten hetold his son to pack their few belongings. Then he again mounted theburro and rode toward the hacienda to face the fury of the patron.
He had for a moment left the flock in charge of his son. He hadreturned to find all but a few of the sheep gone. He had tracked themto the canon brink. Ah! could the patron have seen them, lying mangledupon the rocks! It had been a long hard climb to the bottom of thecanon, else he should have reported sooner. Some one had driven thesheep into the chasm. As to the man who did it, he knew nothing.There were tracks of a horse--that was all. He had come to report andreceive his dismissal. Never again should he see the Senora Loring.He had been the patron's faithful servant for many years. He wasdisgraced, and would be dismissed for negligence.
So he soliloquized as he rode, yet he was not altogether unhappy. Hehad avenged insult and the killing of his beloved sheep with one littlecrook of his finger; a thing that his patron, brave as he was, wouldnot dare do. He would return to New Mexico. It was well!