Kitabı oku: «The Coming of the Law», sayfa 11

“That’s so,” they chorused, and fell silent, regarding him with a new interest.

“But what are you goin’ to do with the cuss?” queried one man.

“We have a sheriff in Dry Bottom, I expect?” questioned Hollis.

Grins appeared on the faces of several of the men; the prisoner’s face lighted.

“Oh, yes,” said one; “I reckon Bill Watkins is the sheriff all right.”

“Then we’ll take him to Bill Watkins,” decided Hollis.

The grins on the faces of several of the men grew. Norton laughed.

“I reckon you ain’t got acquainted with Bill yet, Hollis,” he said. “Bill owes his place to Dunlavey. There has never been a rustler convicted by Watkins yet. I reckon there won’t ever be any convicted–unless he’s been caught stealin’ Dunlavey’s cattle. Bill’s justice is a joke.”

Hollis smiled grimly. He had learned that much from Judge Graney. He did not expect to secure justice, but he wished to have something tangible upon which to work to force the law into the country. His duty in the matter consisted only in delivering the prisoner into the custody of the authorities, which in this case was the sheriff. The sheriff would be held responsible for him. He said this much to the men. There was no other lawful way.

He was not surprised that they agreed with him. They had had much experience in dealing with Dunlavey; they had never been successful with the old methods of warfare and they were quite willing to trust to Hollis’s judgment.

“I reckon you’re just about right,” said one who had spoken before. “Stringin’ this guy up would finish him all right. But that wouldn’t settle the thing. What’s needed is to get it fixed up for good an’ all.”

“Correct!” agreed Hollis; “you’ve got it exactly. We might hang a dozen men for stealing cattle and we could go on hanging them. We’ve got no right to hang anyone–we’ve got a law for that purpose. Then let us make the law act!”

The prisoner had stood in his place, watching the men around him, his face betraying varying emotions. When it had been finally agreed to take him to Dry Bottom and deliver him over to the sheriff he grinned broadly. But he said nothing as they took the rope from around his neck, forced him to mount a horse and surrounding him, rode out of the cottonwood toward the Circle Bar ranchhouse.

CHAPTER XVIII
THE TENTH DAY

Dusk had fallen by the time Greasy had been brought to the bunkhouse, and Mrs. Norton had lighted the kerosene lamps when Norton and Hollis, assured of the safety of the prisoner, left the bunkhouse and went into the house for supper. Potter had washed the dust of travel from him and when Norton and Hollis arrived he was seated on the porch, awaiting them. Mrs. Norton greeted them with a smile. Her eyes expressed gratitude as they met Hollis’s.

“I am so glad you were in time,” she said. “I told Neil not to do it, but he was determined and wouldn’t listen to me.”

“You might have tried ‘bossing’ him,” suggested Hollis, remembering his range boss’s words on the occasion of his first meeting with Norton’s wife. He looked straight at Norton, his eyes narrowing quizzically. “You know you told me once that – ”

“Mebbe I was stretchin’ things a little when I told you that,” interrupted Norton, grinning shamelessly. “If a man told the truth all the time he’d have a hard time keepin’ ahead of a woman.”

“‘Woman–she don’t need no tooter,’” quoted Hollis. “It has taken you a long time to discover what Ace has apparently known for years. And Ace is only a bachelor.”

Norton’s eyes lighted. “You’re gettin’ back at me for what I said to you the day before yesterday–when you stopped off at Hazelton’s,” he declared. “All the same you’ll know more about women when you’ve had more experience with them. When I told you that I’d been ‘bossed,’ I didn’t mean that I’d been bossed regular. No woman that knows just how much she can run a man ever lets him know that she’s bossin’ him. Mebbe she’ll act like she’s lettin’ him have his own way. But she’s bossin’ him just the same. He sort of likes it, I reckon. At least it’s only when a man gets real mad that he does a little bossin’ on his own account. And then, like as not, he’ll find that he’s made a big mistake. Like I did to-day about hangin’ Greasy, for instance.”

Hollis bowed gravely to Mrs. Norton. “I think he ought to be forgiven, Mrs. Norton,” he said. “Day before yesterday he presumed to lecture me on the superiority of the married male over the unmarried one. And now he humbly admits to being bossed. What then becomes of his much talked of superiority? Shall I–free and unbossed–admit inferiority?”

Mrs. Norton smiled wisely as she moved around the table, arranging the dishes. “I couldn’t decide that,” she said, “until it is explained to me why so many men are apparently so eager to engage a boss.”

“I reckon that settles that argument!” gloated Norton.

Had this conversation taken place two months before Hollis might have answered, Why, indeed, were men so eager to engage a boss? Two months before he might have answered cynically, remembering the unhappiness of his parents. That he did not answer now showed that he was no longer cynical; that he had experienced a change of heart.

Of course Mrs. Norton knew this–Norton must have told her. He could appreciate the subtle mockery that had suggested the question, but he did not purpose to allow Norton to sit there and enjoy the confusion that was sure to overtake him did he attempt to continue the argument with Mrs. Norton. He was quite certain that Norton anticipated such an outcome.

“Perhaps Norton can answer that?” he suggested mildly.

“I ain’t no good at guessin’ riddles,” jeered Norton. “But I reckon you know–if you wanted to tell.”

But Hollis did not tell, and the conversation shifted to other subjects. After supper they went out upon the porch. A slight breeze had sprung up with the dusk, though the sky was still cloudless. At ten o’clock, when they retired, the breeze had increased in velocity, sighing mournfully through the trees in the vicinity of the ranchhouse, though there was no perceptible change in the atmosphere–it seemed that the wind was merely shifting the heat waves from one point to another.

“A good, decent rain would save lots of trouble to-morrow,” said Norton as he and Hollis stood on the porch, taking a last look at the sky before going to bed.

“Do you really think Dunlavey will carry out his threat?” questioned Hollis. “Somehow I can’t help but think that he was bluffing when he said it.”

“He don’t do much bluffin’,” declared Norton. “At least he ain’t done much up to now.”

“But there is plenty of water in the Rabbit-Ear,” returned Hollis; “plenty for all the cattle that are here now.”

Norton flashed a swift glance at him. “That’s because you don’t know this country,” he said. “Four years ago we had a dry spell. Not so bad as this, but bad enough. The Rabbit-Ear held up good enough for two months. Then she went dry sudden. There wasn’t water enough in her to fill a thimble. I reckon you ain’t been watchin’ her for the last day or so?”

Hollis admitted that he had not seen the river within that time. Norton laughed shortly.

“She’s dry in spots now,” he informed Hollis. “There ain’t any water at all in the shallows. It’s tricklin’ through in some places, but mostly there’s nothin’ but water holes an’ dried, baked mud. In two days more, if it don’t rain, there won’t be water enough for our own stock. Then what?”

“There will be water for every steer on the range as long as it lasts,” declared Hollis grimly. “After that we’ll all take our medicine together.”

“Good!” declared Norton. “That’s what I expected of you. But I don’t think it’s goin’ to work out that way. Weary was ridin’ the Razor Back this mornin’ and he says he saw Dunlavey an’ Yuma and some more Circle Cross guys nosin’ around behind some brush on the other side of the creek. They all had rifles.”

Hollis’s face paled slightly. “Where are the other men–Train and the rest?” he inquired.

“Down on Razor Back,” Norton informed him; “they sneaked down there after Weary told me about seein’ Dunlavey on the other side. Likely they’re scattered by now–keepin’ an eye out for trouble.”

“Well,” decided Hollis, “there isn’t any use of looking for it. It finds all of us soon enough. To-morrow is the tenth day and I am sure that if Dunlavey carries out his threat he won’t start anything until to-morrow. Therefore I am going to bed.” He laughed. “Call me if you hear any shooting. I may want to take a hand in it.”

They parted–Hollis going to his room and Norton stepping down off the porch to take a turn down around the pasture to look after the horses.

Hollis was tired after his experiences of the day and soon dropped off to sleep. It seemed that he had been asleep only a few minutes, however, when he felt a hand shaking him, and a voice–Norton’s voice.

“Hollis!” said the range boss. “Hollis! Wake up!”

Hollis sat erect, startled into perfect wakefulness. He could not see Norton’s face in the dark, but he swung around and sat on the edge of the bed.

“What’s up?” he demanded. “Have they started?”

He heard Norton laugh, and there was satisfaction in the laugh. “Started?” he repeated. “Well, I reckon something’s started. Listen!”

Hollis listened. A soft patter on the roof, a gentle sighing of the wind, and a distant, low rumble reached his ears. He started up. “Why, it’s raining!” he said.

Norton chuckled. “Rainin’!” he chirped joyously. “Well, I reckon it might be called that by someone who didn’t know what rain is. But I’m tellin’ you that it ain’t rainin’–it’s pourin’! It’s a cloud-burst, that’s what it is!”

Hollis did not answer. He ran to the window and stuck his head out. The rain came against his head and shoulders in stinging, vicious slants. There was little lightning, and what there was seemed distant, as though the storm covered a vast area. He could dimly see the pasture–the horses huddled in a corner under the shelter that had been erected for them; he could see the tops of the trees in the cottonwood grove–bending, twisting, leaning from the wind; the bunkhouse door was open, a stream of light illuminating a space in which stood several of the cowboys. Some were attired as usual, others but scantily, but all were outside in the rain, singing, shouting, and pounding one another in an excess of joy. For half an hour Hollis stood at the window, watching them, looking out at the storm. There was no break anywhere in the sky from horizon to horizon. Plainly there was to be plenty of rain. Convinced of this he drew a deep breath of satisfaction, humor moving him.

“I do hope Dunlavey and his men don’t get wet.” he said. He went to his trousers and drew forth his watch. He could not see the face of it and so he carried it to the window. The hands pointed to fifteen minutes after one. “It’s the tenth day,” he smiled. “Dunlavey might have saved himself considerable trouble in the future if he had placed a little trust in Providence–and not antagonized the small owners. I don’t think Providence has been looking out for my interests, but I wonder who will stand the better in the estimation of the people of this county–Dunlavey or me?”

He smiled again, sighed with satisfaction, and rolled into bed. For a long time he lay, listening to the patter of the rain on the roof, and then dropped off to sleep.

CHAPTER XIX
HOW A RUSTLER ESCAPED

When Hollis got out of bed at six o’clock that same morning he heard surprising sounds outside. Slipping on his clothes he went to the window and looked out. Men were yelling at one another, screeching delightful oaths, capering about hatless, coatless, in the rain that still came steadily down. The corral yard was a mire of sticky mud in which the horses reared and plunged in evident appreciation of the welcome change from dry heat to lifegiving moisture. Riderless horses stood about, no one caring about the saddles, several calves capered awkwardly in the pasture. Norton’s dog–about which he had joked to Hollis during the latter’s first ride to the Circle Bar–was yelping joyously and running madly from one man to another.

Norton himself stood down by the door of the bunkhouse, grinning with delight. Near him stood Lemuel Train, and several of the other small ranchers whose stock had grazed for more than two weeks on the Circle Bar range without objection from Hollis. They saw him and motioned for him to come down, directing original oaths at him for sleeping so late on so “fine a morning.”

He dressed hastily and went down. They all ate breakfast in the mess house, the cook being adjured to “spread it on for all he was worth”–which he did. Certainly no one left the mess house hungry. During the meal Lemuel Train made a speech on behalf of himself and the other owners who had enjoyed Hollis’s hospitality, assuring him that they were “with him” from now on. Then they departed, each going his separate way to round up his cattle and drive them back to the home ranch.

The rain continued throughout the day and far into the night. The dried, gasping country absorbed water until it was sated and then began to shed it off into the arroyos, the gullies, the depressions, and the river beds. Every hollow overflowed with it; it seemed there could never be another drought.

Before dawn on the following day all the small ranchers had departed. Several of them, on their way to their home ranches, stopped off at the Circle Bar to shake hands with Hollis and assure him of their appreciation. Lemuel Train did not forget to curse Dunlavey.

“We ain’t likely to forget how he stood on the water proposition,” he said.

After Train had departed Norton stood looking after him. Then he turned and looked at Hollis, his eyes narrowing quizzically. “You’ve got in right with that crowd,” he said. “Durned if I don’t believe you knowed all the time that it was goin’ to rain before Dunlavey’s tenth day was over!”

Hollis smiled oddly. “Perhaps,” he returned; “there is no law, moral or otherwise, to prevent a man from looking a little ahead.”

After breakfast Hollis gave orders to have Greasy prepared for travel, and an hour later he and the range boss, both armed with rifles, rode out of the corral yard with Greasy riding between them and took the Dry Bottom trail.

The earth had already dried; the trail was hard, level, and dustless, and traveling was a pleasure. But neither of the three spoke a word to one another during the entire trip to Dry Bottom. Greasy bestrode his horse loosely, carelessly defiant; Norton kept a watchful eye on him, and Hollis rode steadily, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the trail.

At ten o’clock they rode into Dry Bottom. There were not many persons about, but those who were gave instant evidence of interest in the three by watching them closely as they rode down the street to the sheriff’s office, dismounted, and disappeared inside.

The sheriff’s office was in a little frame shanty not over sixteen feet square, crude and unfinished. There were a front and back door, two windows–one in the side facing the court house, the other in the front. For furniture there were a bench, two chairs, some shelves, a cast iron stove, a wooden box partly filled with saw-dust which was used as a cuspidor, and a rough wooden table which served as a desk. In a chair beside the desk sat a tall, lean-faced man, with a nose that suggested an eagle’s beak, with its high, thin, arched bridge, little, narrowed, shifting eyes, and a hard mouth whose lips were partly concealed under a drooping, tobacco-stained mustache. He turned as the three men entered, leaning back in his chair, his legs a-sprawl, motioning them to the chairs and the bench. They filed in silently. Greasy dropped carelessly into one of the chairs, Norton took another near him, but Hollis remained standing.

“You are the sheriff, I suppose?” inquired the latter.

The official spat copiously into the wooden box without removing his gaze from the three visitors.

“Yep,” he returned shortly, his voice coming with a truculent snap. “You wantin’ the sheriff?”

Hollis saw a swift, significant glance pass between him and Greasy and he smiled slightly.

“Yes,” he returned quietly; “we want you. We are delivering this man into your custody.”

“What’s he done?” demanded the sheriff.

“I charge him with stealing two of my steers,” returned Hollis. “Several of my men discovered him at work the day before yesterday and – ”

“Hold on a minute now!” interrupted the sheriff. “Let’s git this thing goin’ accordin’ to the law.” He spat again into the wooden box, cocked his head sideways and surveyed Hollis with a glance in which there was much insolence and contempt. “Who might you be?” he questioned.

“My name is Hollis,” returned the latter quietly, his eyes meeting the other’s steadily. “I own the Circle Bar.”

“H’m!” The sheriff crossed his legs and stuck his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, revealing a nickle-plated star on the lapel of the latter. “H’m. Your name’s Hollis, an’ you own the Circle Bar. Seems I’ve heard of you.” He squinted his eyes at Hollis. “You’re Jim Hollis’s boy, ain’t you?” His eyes flashed with a sudden, contemptuous light. “Tenderfoot, ain’t you? Come out here to try an’ show folks how to run things?”

Hollis’s face slowly paled. He saw Greasy grinning. “I suppose it makes little difference to you what I am or what I came out here for,” he said quietly; “though, if I were to be required to give an opinion I should say that there is room for improvement in this county in the matter of applying its laws.”

The sheriff laughed harshly. “You’ll know more about this country after you’ve been here a while,” he sneered.

“Mebbe he’ll know more about how to run a law shebang, too,” dryly observed Norton, “after he’s watched Bill Watkins run her a little.”

“I don’t reckon anyone ast you to stick your gab in this here affair?” demanded the sheriff of Norton.

“No,” returned Norton, drawling, “no one asked me. But while we’re handin’ out compliments we might as well all have a hand in it. It strikes me that when a man’s runnin’ a law shop he ought to run her.”

“I reckon I’ll run her without any help from you, Norton!” snapped the sheriff.

“Why, sure!” agreed the latter, his gaze level as his eyes met the sheriff’s, his voice even and sarcastic. “But I’m tellin’ you that this man’s my friend an’ if there’s any more of them compliments goin’ to be handed around I’m warnin’ you that you want to hand them out soft an’ gentle like. That’s all. I reckon we c’n now proceed.”

The sheriff’s face bloated poisonously. He flashed a malignant glance at Hollis. “Well,” he snapped, “what’s the charge?”

“I have already told you,” returned Hollis. “It is stealing cattle.”

“How stealin’ them?” demanded the Sheriff truculenty.

“Changing the brand,” Hollis informed him. He related how Ace and Weary had come upon the prisoner while the latter was engaged in changing his brand to the Circle Cross.

“They see him brandin’?” questioned the sheriff when Hollis had concluded.

Hollis told him that the two men had come upon Greasy after the brand had been applied, but that the cattle bore the Circle Bar ear-mark, and that Greasy had built a fire and that branding irons had been found in his possession–which which he had tried to hide when discovered by the Circle Bar men.

“Then your men didn’t really see him doin’ the brandin’?” questioned Watkins.

Hollis was forced to admit that they had not. Watkins smiled sarcastically.

“I reckon you’re runnin’ a little bit wild,” he remarked. “Some of your stock has been rebranded an’ you’re chargin’ a certain man with doin’ it–only you didn’t see him doin’ it.” He turned to Greasy. “What you got to say about this, Greasy?” he demanded.

Greasy grinned blandly at Hollis. “This guy’s talkin’ through his hat,” he sneered. “I ain’t allowin’ that I branded any of his cattle.”

Watkins smiled. “There don’t seem to be nothin’ to this case a-tall–not a-tall. There ain’t nobody goin’ to be took into custody by me for stealin’ cattle unless they’re ketched with the goods–an’ that ain’t been proved so far.” He turned to Hollis. “You got anything more to say about it?” he demanded.

“Only this,” returned Hollis slowly and evenly, “I have brought this man here. I charge him with stealing my cattle. To use your term–he was caught ‘with the goods.’ He is guilty. If you take him into custody and bring him to trial I shall have two witnesses there to prove what I have already told you. If you do not take him into custody, it is perfectly plain that you are deliberately shielding him–that you are making a joke of the law.”

Watkins’s face reddened angrily. “Mebbe I’m makin’ a joke of it – ” he began.

“Of course we can’t force you to arrest this man,” resumed Hollis, interrupting Watkins. “Unfortunately the government has not yet awakened to the fact that such men as you are a public menace and danger. I did not expect you to arrest him–I tell you that frankly. I merely brought him here to see whether it were true that you were leagued with Dunlavey against the other ranchers in the country. You are, of course. Therefore, as we cannot secure justice by appealing to you we will be forced to adopt other means.”

The sheriff’s right hand dropped to his gun-holster. He sneered, his lips writhing. “Mebbe you mean – ” he began.

“I ain’t lettin’ this here situation get beyond my control,” came Norton’s voice, cold and even, as his six-shooter came out and was shoved menacingly forward. “Whatever he means, Watkins, he’s my friend an’ you ain’t runnin’ in no cold lead proposition on him.” He smiled mirthlessly.

Watkins’s face paled; his right hand fell away from the pistol holster. There was a sound at the door; it swung suddenly open and Dunlavey’s gigantic frame loomed massively in the opening.

“I’m looking for Greasy!” he announced in a soft, silky voice, looking around at the four men with a comprehending, appreciative smile. “I was expecting to find him here,” he added as his gaze sought out the prisoner, “after I heard that he’d been nabbed by the Circle Bar men.”

Norton smiled coldly. “He’s here, Bill,” he said evenly. “He’s stayin’ here till Mr. Hollis says it’s time for him to go.”

He did not move the weapon in his hand, but a certain glint in his eyes told Dunlavey that the pistol was not in his hand for mere show. The latter smiled knowingly.

“I’m not interfering with the law,” he said mockingly. “And I certainly ain’t bucking your game, Norton.” He turned to Watkins, speaking with broad insinuation: “Of course you are putting a charge against Greasy, Watkins?” he said.

They all caught the sheriff’s flush; all saw the guilty embarrassment in his eyes as he answered that he had not. Dunlavey turned to Hollis with a bland smile.

“Have you any objection to allowing Greasy to go now, Mr. Hollis?”

Hollis’s smile was no less bland as his gaze met Dunlavey’s. “Not the slightest objection, Mr. Dunlavey,” he returned. “I congratulate you upon the manner in which you have trained your servants!” He ignored Dunlavey and smiled at Norton. “Mr. Norton,” he said with polite mockery, “I feel certain that you agree with me that we have no wish to contaminate this temple of justice with our presence.”

He bowed with mock politeness as he strode to the door and stepped down into the street. Norton followed him, grinning, though he did not sheath his weapon until he also was in the street.

As they strode away from the door they turned to see Dunlavey looking out after them, his face wreathed in a broad smile.

“There is plenty of law in Union County, Mr. Hollis,” he said, “if you know how to handle it!”