Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1358
It developed that Kit had not left any word with her foreman as to the time he could expect her return, so the driver good- naturedly turned off the main road and took the valley thoroughfare down to the Bandon ranch. Lincoln noticed the picturesque bridge and river and ranch house again with poignant feelings. Beautiful as the spot was, it was haunted for Lincoln; something had taken place there that he might never discover and which he ofttimes almost hoped would remain forever a secret. The stage rolled up to the gate with dragging brakes.
“Wal, hyar we are,” the driver called down cheerily.
A lame man, old and gray, appeared from around the house. A woman, evidently the housekeeper, appeared in the kitchen door, turned back, and a moment later opened the door that led out onto the porch. Linc wondered absently where they had been the day he had called. Then he leaped down and, hoisting the baggage that the driver handed to him, carried it onto the porch.
“Here, Linc,” said Kit, “is the rest of our stuff.”
She dismounted from the stage, followed by Lucy. Lucy removed the long coat and veil and shook the dust from them.
“That bag and package belong to Mr. Bradway,” said Kit. They were replaced in the stage.
Lucy turned toward the house, and from the porch called back at him, archly: “Adios, Mr. Bradway. I enjoyed your company very much — what little I saw of you.” Then she picked up two of the bags and entered the house.
“Well, what kind of a speech was that?” queried Kit. “What’s the matter with the girl? Jealous, I suppose.”
“Didn’t strike me that way,” returned the cowboy. “I think she was poking fun at me.”
“All aboard,” called the driver, now a little impatiently, taking up his reins. “We’ve got to get to South Pass before dark.”
“Lincoln, it was a sort of wonderful trip — wasn’t it?”
“I should smile it was,” replied Lincoln. “Good-by, Kit.”
“Good-by. Will you come down to see me soon or shall I have to come to South Pass to find you?” she asked with a sharp glance which revealed that she had not yet recovered from the shock of the cowboy’s revelation.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” replied Lincoln evasively. “I’ve got lots to do. Let’s not be in too much of a hurry about seeing each other again.”
“This is Thursday,” said Kit. “I’ll be over in town not later than Saturday. I’ve got business to settle up there in connection with the sale of the place. Don’t forget what I told you about Emery.”
The driver snapped his whip and once more the stagecoach rolled on. Lincoln looked back vainly to see if Lucy was visible. Kit stood in front of the ranch house, burdened by her parcels and coats, her great eyes shining darkly from her unsmiling face. They passed over the bridge and Lincoln looked no more.
It was sunset by the time they reached the slope of the escarpment. When the long zigzag slope had been surmounted, Lincoln looked back. This was his first view of the Sweetwater Valley at sunset. It was as if he had never seen it before: dusky red and orange banners reached out over the sage; the winding reaches of the river caught some of the last gleams from the dying sun; down in the valley the windows of the ranch houses reflected the level beams with a golden light; above the hills in the west the flattened orb was almost a sinister red. Lincoln suddenly discovered that in these last few hours he had subtly changed. He would never want to live in the valley of the Sweetwater now — not as long as Kit Bandon lived there.
From there on the horses made fast time over the hard road. It was dark when they reached the slope leading down into South Pass, and all over the valley lights were twinkling. The driver trotted his team down across the brawling brook, turning into the main street illuminated by oil lamps, to make his scheduled stop at the hotel. Lincoln climbed down stiffly with his bag and packages, peering about him to see if Thatcher and Vince were awaiting him. They were not in sight. It was the early evening hour but the street was already thronged, and the discordant hum of the mining camp’s night activity had begun. The Nebraskan hurried away toward his lodginghouse. The landlady let him in with a welcoming word and he hurried to his little room to light the lamp.
“Glad to get back, lady,” said Linc. “Seems like I’ve been gone for ages.”
“Well, Mr. Bradway, you weren’t gone so long that word didn’t have time to come back to South Pass about your doings.”
“Yes,” Linc replied. “This place is not the only place where things can happen.”
“Have you talked to anybody?” she asked.
“Not a word with anyone.”
“It’s been tolerable lively here today,” she said crisply. “Bud Harkness rode in on the warpath.”
“Oh, he did?” queried Bradway with quickened interest.
“I didn’t see him, but I talked with those who did. He rode in without saddle or bridle and he didn’t have a coat or a shirt to his back. And I hear that his back was a sight to see! Hargrove and Nesbit were in town with some other cattlemen. I heard they had a secret important meeting and then went out and got drunk. They were having a big gambling game at Emery’s, when Harkness suddenly appeared on a new horse. He had found some clothes and he went into Emery’s holding a gun in each hand. I heard the row from here. Don’t know how many shots. According to reports he ran afoul of Emery and his henchmen, one of whom he killed. I don’t know which. Then he broke up that poker game, crippling Nesbit, and killing Hargrove. After that Harkness was seen to ride out of town up the hill road toward Caspar.”
CHAPTER XI
DEEP IN THOUGHT, Bradway left his lodginghouse and warily walked toward the main street, keeping in the shadow of the buildings. He went around the back way and up to the livery stable. There was a light in Headly’s little office but he did not seem to be in. Lincoln had taken only a few steps in that direction when Vince and Thatcher appeared out of the shadows.
“Howdy, boss,” Vince greeted him. “Shore am glad to see you. I was waitin’ when the stage come in, but I didn’t want to show myself.”
“Hello, Bradway,” spoke up Mel Thatcher. “Reckon I’m just as glad as Vince to see you.”
“What’s all this I hear?” queried Lincoln sharply, but in a low voice. “My landlady tells me there’s been hell a’poppin’ today.”
“There shore was,” said Vince. “Boss, come back in here where we won’t be seen.”
They went into the hay-scented gloom of the livery stable. Vince extinguished his cigarette with his fingertips.
“I hope you fellows didn’t get mixed up in it,” said Lincoln.
“Not so anyone would notice it,” replied Vince. “Mel an’ I was downtown all day snoopin’ around — an’ shore it’s been an important day — an’ we seen Harkness ride in acrost the brook. He was bareback and half-naked. You could see the red stripes all over him. He rode up the hill as far as here. Figgerin’ there was hell to pay, Mel an’ me split up. He stayed downtown an’ I hurried up to Headly’s the back way. I found Harkness up here foamin’ at the mouth. He had learned from Headly about Hargrove and his rancher pards bein’ in town an’ whoopin’ it up. ‘Vince,’ he said, ‘I’m on my way, but I’ve got a little job to do before I slope. I’ve got to hev a gun an’ a hoss an’ some clothes.’ I told him thet he’d come to the right guy. I gave him my shirt an’ my old coat an’ thet new gun you got me an’ the old one you left here an’ I also gave him all the money I had. He made a deal with Headly for a saddle hoss an’ saddle, an’ I’m bound to say Headly was a friend in need. I asked Bud what he was goin’ to do. Boss, you never seen a man burn an’ spit fire like that hombre did. ‘Wouldn’t it be a good idee to wait till after dark?’ I asked him. ‘Wait nothin’. I’m rarin’ to go.’ Then I said, ‘Bud, I guess it’s all right fer me to tell you thet me and Thatcher, soon as we found out about yore bein’ taken prisoner, rode hell fer leather down into the valley an’ were lucky enough to find thet camp near Hargrove’s ranch. We saw them men lead you into the brush and we follered. We sneaked up on the campfire where they had you tied an’ I hate to tell it, Bud, but we saw them beat you.’ ‘The hell you did!’ said Harkness, amazed. ‘Wal, I reckon I couldn’t hev had better witnesses for thet dirty deal. But thet wasn’t nothin’, Vince. They tied me up in a cellar an’ starved me to make me talk. About noon today I slugged a guard an’ ran away, luckily freein’ my hands. I caught a hoss an’ hyar I am.... I’m goin’ to slope. If I stayed hyar I’d lead a bunch of cowboys against them cattlemen an’ you know, Vince, thet would drag you an’ Thatcher in with me. Much obliged fer the good turn yore doin’ fer me. I hope to God somebody will do the same fer you someday. Don’t follow me now an’ get yoreself in trouble.’ He forked his hoss an’ went pilin’ down the street. I reckon thet I’d better take his advice an’ stay out of sight.”
“Are you sure, Vince, that your helping hand in this will not come to light?” asked Linc anxiously.
“Shore I am,” replied Vince. “No one seen me, an’ Headly won’t tell.”
“It’d be a bad thing for us to get mixed up in this,” said Lincoln seriously. “Come on — what happened then?”
Thatcher took up the story. “I was standing in front of Emery’s with some other hombres when Bud came riding down,” he said. “He scattered the gravel all over us as he halted the horse. And if a cowboy ever looked dangerous Harkness sure did then. He pulled two guns and bolted into the hall. The other fellows ran but I had to see what was going to happen next. It seems that Emery and that big black-bearded man of his, Bannister, is his name, were standing right there. I figured afterward that they were keeping curious people out of the gambling den where the big game was going on. ‘Get out of here, cowboy,’ yelled Emery. Bud told him to move pronto. Emery used poor judgment here because evidently he took Bud for a drunken cowboy throwing a bluff and he ordered Bannister to throw him out. That cost Bannister his life and Emery, waking up a little late, ran to the door just in time to save his own life. I learned afterward that Bud’s bullet took him in the rump, making a nasty but not a dangerous wound. The gun shots stopped all the noise in the place and Bud ran into the gambling alcove. I was taking a risk but I had to see that too, so I stuck my head around the door jamb. Harkness yelled at them like a mad man. There were six men in the game and the table was loaded with liquor and money. ‘Hargrove, you —— ! I wouldn’t talk for you before but I’ll talk now,’ cut out Harkness fiercely. ‘If I did steal a few mavericks from you I shore didn’t deserve the outrage you brought upon me. Ranchers like you will have all the cowboys in the valley up in arms. Bad as I was you were worse. When this thing comes out as it is bound to do you and Lee won’t stand very well in this country. Now take this for your part of the dirty work!’ And he shot Hargrove through the heart.”
“So help me heaven, Thatcher, Bud called the turn!” exclaimed Lincoln. “It looks like war!”
“Yes, and that is nothing to what is going to happen,” went on Mel huskily. “Hargrove is a heavy man and he fell over on the table, uptipping it. Glass and money and chips slid off with a crash. The other gamblers made a mad scramble to get away. But Nesbit, as he got up, pulled his gun. That was all he could do before Bud filled him full of lead. They say he hasn’t got very much chance for his life. Then Harkness ran out, mounted his horse and rode out of town.”
“Well, he got even, didn’t he?” exclaimed Bradway, darkly. “I wouldn’t be one to judge him, but you know what this will precipitate, don’t you, Mel?”
“It means war unless the cattlemen lay off the cowboys.”
“Come on, men. Let’s go down and get supper. I’m starved,” said Linc.
They went down the dark cross street, passed the infrequent yellow lights to the restaurant where they usually ate. They ordered huge beefsteaks.
“Vince,” said the Nebraskan, speaking low, “we’ll have to be a little careful about how we get some more hardware for you.”
“I was thinkin’ of thet,” said Vince.
“Guns are easy to buy in this town,” spoke up Thatcher. “All we need is the mazuma.”
“Tomorrow is time enough,” returned Lincoln.
“Boss, heven’t you anything to tell us?” asked Vince.
“Nothing much. The ride over from the Springs passed without incident. At least, the passengers seemed to behave themselves,” added Lincoln with a short laugh.
Conversation was interrupted then by the arrival of their supper. After they had eaten heartily Lincoln said: “I’ve been feeding pretty well lately, and I’m spoiled.”
“What are we going to do now?” asked Thatcher.
“Split up and walk around town and keep our eyes and ears open. What was that cattleman meeting about, do you suppose?”
“I couldn’t find out,” replied Thatcher. “I’ve a hunch the cattlemen have not been having an easy time deciding what steps they are going to take. Some of them would be on the cowboys’ side if they dared open their mouths. Lee is the hardest shelled one of the outfit. It’s a good thing he wasn’t here today or he would have got his, too. That leaves him boss of the rebel cattlemen. There are not enough of them to run the cowboys out of the country. This mess today will make them leery of mistreating any more cowboys. In my opinion a good many of the cattlemen will want to back out now if Lee will let them. It’s a good bet though, that any more meetings they hold will be down in the brush.”
“Well, I’ll sleep on it,” spoke Lincoln thoughtfully. “But I’m inclined to believe that the solution to our own problem is down there in the thick of it.”
“After this row kicked up today a feller’s life won’t be worth two bits if they ketch him snoopin’ around down there,” said Vince.
“We won’t make any false moves. Now you two hombres go around and hear what you can hear. I’ll take a look for myself. In the morning I’ll meet you and we’ll have breakfast. Then I’ll buy some more guns and shells. Here’s some money, Vince: use your head now. This trail is getting pretty hot.”
They went outside and separated. Bradway began to make his way toward the main part of the town. He walked slowly and gave attentive eye and ear to everyone he passed. When he gained the center of the town he backed up in a shadow of a wall and looked about him. The lights from the stores and saloons cast a dim yellow glare over the thoroughfare and upon the crowd surging up and down the street. From where Lincoln stood he could see at least a dozen small groups of men engaged in what appeared to be animated conversation. There was a distinct feeling of excitement and expectation in the air along the street. Pulling his Stetson down over his face and turning up his collar, Lincoln set out to try to learn what they were talking about. A group of men lounged on the hotel steps just above where he stood. Lincoln made his way unobtrusively toward them and when close by paused and stooped to light a cigarette.
“Never been anything like it here,” spoke up one man. “I, for one, think the ranchers have gone too far and gone the wrong way about it.”
“But I tell you, John,” replied another, “all the cattlemen are not in this by a long shot.”
“You can’t tell,” spoke up the third. “Maybe they’re all in it.”
Lincoln strolled on as far as the corner where three more men stood close together talking. He halted again and lazily went through the motions of lighting another cigarette.
“Doc told me he dug a handful of lead out of Nesbit,” said one. “And he said he’d be damned if he didn’t think the man might live.”
“I was told by a witness that Nesbit made a fool move to draw a gun. That hell-bent cowboy,” replied the other, “was addressing himself to Hargrove. Everyone in town is buzzing over that cowboy’s strange talk.”
“Hold it,” whispered the third man, “there’s a cowboy now.”
Bradway kept his back turned and sauntered on. He had been right in his conjecture about the subject of the whole town’s conversation. If the cowboys were not actually in disfavor they certainly were being avoided. Across the street another group of five had congregated — miners and workhands — none with the cut of cattleman about him.
“But what was it all about?” asked one man.
“Didn’t you hear?” spoke up another. “Cowboy run amuck. They say he rode through town without any coat and his back was all bloody where he’d been whipped.”
“Never heard of the like of that. If the ranchers beat him up, what was it for?”
“There’s a lot of things being whispered about town but not out loud.”
The Nebraskan went on, his ears tingling. The killing of a couple of men by a wild cowboy was no unusual procedure any more than was any other shooting event. It was the unprecedented ride of the half-naked cowboy through the town where he was seen by a hundred people that had aroused the wide attention and had given rise to the excited comment.
The next group that Linc came upon stood in front of a lighted window. One of them was a cowboy, red-faced and grim.
“I can’t tell you any more than that,” he rasped out.
“But do you really believe these cattlemen beat that fellow Harkness with whips?”
“You can’t prove it by me,” replied the cowboy curtly and he disengaged himself from the group and walked away.
“That’s the third cowpuncher I’ve heard tonight,” said one of the men. “None of them know anything, but they’re a sore-haided bunch.”
“Wal, hyar’s another,” he said, espying Lincoln. “Say, cowboy, was you around when it come off?”
“No, but I heard about it,” replied Lincoln coldly.
“What’s caused the bad blood between the cowboys and the cowmen?”
“What do you think?” queried Lincoln, curtly.
“I’d be afeered to tell you, cowboy. So mosey along.”
In the street which crossed the center block where Emery’s gambling hall was situated, he listened to learn what he could from half a dozen other groups. There was an intense curiosity and eagerness manifest in the questions asked. But the replies did not confirm anything. The fact of a prominent rancher having been killed and another perhaps mortally wounded apparently did not elicit the sympathies of the town people. Life was cheap and there was a shooting scrape every day or so. The invariable speculation had to do with why that cowboy had been beaten — not with his summary revenge upon the ranchers. Dire punishment for rustling had come slowly into the Sweetwater Valley. The threat had gone abroad that the cattlemen were going to end up by hanging maverick thieves; but here was a cowboy, assertedly caught red-handed in the act of rustling, beaten with whips until the blood ran down his back. What for? What else was behind this affair seemed to be the persistent and unanswered question.
