In a low voice he proceeded to relate the humiliation of Snub, which was as yet news at the ranch!
Blaynes had heard of it from the gambler, but for once had exercised discretion about the stranger, and kept the knowledge to himself, and none of the Y Z outfit had visited the town save Snap, who did not chatter. Larry punctuated the recital with profane expressions of delight. When Green went on to recite the rescue of Noreen, the boy fell silent. The story ended--and told, as it was, in the baldest way, it did not take long--he said softly: `Yu shore have the luck. I'm speakin' for the job of foreman, early an' prompt.'
`What fool idea yu got in yore head now?' asked his friend. `Well,' replied Larry, `Ain't that the way it allus goes in the story-books? The han'some hero dashes out o' the blazin' ruins, bearin' the slender form o' the heroine, with the tears streamin' down her beautiful face, an--'
`The tears'll be streamin' down yore by no means beautiful face an' yu'll be in good shape to figure as a blazin' ruin yoreself if yu don't stop talkin' drivel,' interrupted Green. `What do yu make o' Snap bein' stood up thataway?' He went on to tell of his own share in the affair.
`Shore is an odd number,' Larry reflected. `Wonder what they split on? Pity he won't talk; but he's square, Snap is; I allus sort o' liked him.'
`There's somethin' or somebody big behind it all,' Green said musingly. `It ain't just a common steal of a few cattle. Trouble is, we ain't got an atom o' proof. Well, it's no good a-worryin'.'
`Not a bit,' responded Larry, and added the entirely irrelevant remark, `Say, Don, I hope yu get her.'
`I hope yu get sense, yu chump,' drawled Green. `Do yu s'pose a girl like that would look twice at me? 'Sides, I ain't got no time for women. When this little tangle is straightened out, I gotta job that looks like keepin' me busy for a long time.'
`If it's one that two can tackle, deal me a hand,' Larry said quickly.
`Thank yu,' said his friend, and meant it.
`Shucks!' came the ready reply. `I can keep my eye on that foreman's job thataway. S'long. It's me for the hay.'
He slid into the gloom, leaving the older man still perched on the rail of the corral. Though he had not known it, the boy's light words had left a sting behind them. The cowpuncher's eyes turned involuntarily to the still-lighted windows of the ranch-house. Was it possible that a girl like that could ever come to care for such a man as he? The idea seemed absurd, and yet he dallied with it. The feel of her arms round his neck, though it had been necessary, and he knew she had hardly been conscious of what she was doing, remained an ever-present memory. The picture of a settled home, with a wife, and perhaps kiddies, was a powerful temptation to one who had spent years of his life as a wanderer, and alone. But he thrust it aside with an almost savage laugh at his own folly.
`I'm gettin' soft,' he muttered. `An' there ain't no moon neither.'
But he looked again at the ranch-house before he turned to seek his pillow.
Chapter IX
THE Frying Pan ranch lay to the west of the Y Z, the two ranges being separated by a narrow strip of broken country difficult to cross. But there were one or two gaps in the barrier in the shape of level stretches, one of them not far from the cabin where Bud had been done to death. For years the desirability of fencing these openings had been admitted by both owners, but nothing had been done, though the line-riders cursed the omission almost daily.
The Frying Pan outfit had been busy for a week or more rounding up a herd to be trail-driven east to the nearest railway point of shipment. The result of their efforts, some five hundred head of cattle, was now gathered on an expanse of good grass only a few miles from the ranch-house, awaiting the final selection. It was a still, dark night, only a few stars were visible, and the animals were settling down contentedly. A lone rider, moving spectral- like on the outskirts of the herd, was intoning monotonously an utterly unprintable ballad. Suddenly came the howl of a coyote, and the rider pulled up and peered into the darkness. The sound seemed to come from ahead of him; a moment later came an answering cry which appeared to emanate from behind him.
`Funny,' he muttered. `Must be a couple of 'em : even a coyote couldn't cover the ground in time. Them sweet accents didn't sound just alike neither. Gimme half a chance, yu prowlin' thieves, an' I'll hang yore grey hides on the fence.'
He loosened his pistol in the holster and rode slowly on. Presently the blurred, indistinct mass of another horseman loomed up in the darkness, and the cowboy's right hand instinctively went to his gun.
`That yu, Lucky?' he asked, and when no answer came, he added, `What's eatin' yu? Ain't afraid yu'll catch cold in yore insides if yu open that hole in yore face, are yu?'
A low chuckle came in response and the blur waved an arm. A faint swish followed, and ere the cowboy could dodge the danger a loop dropped over his shoulders and he was yanked suddenly from his saddle. Even in the act of falling, however, he snatched out his gun and fired two rapid shots into the air. A second later a crashing blow from a pistol-barrel laid him senseless. Other riders instantly appeared out of the gloom.
'Grit a move on,' said one of them. `Cut out as many as we can handle an' start the rest in the other direction. We gotta hustle; we shall have the whole darn crowd here soon, now this blamed fool has given the signal,' and he kicked the unconscious boy viciously in the ribs.
With the expertness of men who knew their job the raiders got to work. A portion of the now uneasy herd was separated from the main bunch and driven in a north-easterly direction. It does not take much to turn a herd of contented cattle into a torrent of mad, unreasoning fear, a fact the rustlers were fully aware of. No sooner were the stolen beasts sufficiently far away than two of the riders returned, and with shouts and flapping saddle-blankets soon stampeded the already scared herd, sending it thundering olindly to the shout. They had barely accomplished this when madly pounding hoofs brought another horseman on the scene.
`Charlie, where in 'ell are yu?' he called. `I heard yore signal. What's up?'
Then he suddenly grasped that something was wrong, and with an oath, he jerked out his gun and fired. The spit of flame stabbed the darkness, and one of the raiders cursed. His companion, dropping his blanket, appeared to lift something from his saddle and raise his arm. Then came a peculiar twang, and the cowboy gasped and almost fell from his horse. But the instinct of a man who spends nearly all his waking hours in the saddle came to his aid, and gripping with weakening knees, he whirled the pony and headed for the ranch.
`He won't never make it,' said one of the raiders. `Did he git yu?'
'Creased my shoulder, blast him ! An' it's bleedin' like blazers, but it can wait; we gotta punch the breeze. C'mon.'
Spurring their mounts in the direction taken by the rest of the band, they vanished in the night.
Meanwhile the gallant little cow-pony, with its almost senseless burden, made unswervingly for home, and as though it understood the need for haste, never slackened speed until it slid to a stop in front of the bunkhouse door. One of those within, hearing the patter of hoof-beats, came out to see who was arriving. His shout brought the others. The senseless form, drooping over the saddlehorn, was lifted down, carried into the bunkhouse and laid on a bench. One of the men raced to fetch the boss.
`Why, it's Lucky, an' he's got an arrow through his shoulder,' cried one. `What in 'ell's doin'?'
Leeming, the owner of the Frying Pan, hurried in. Who is it, an' what's the trouble?' he asked.
`It's Lomas, an' it shore looks as if there's trouble a-plenty,' replied Dirk Iddon, his foreman, who was bending over the wounded man.
Cutting away the shirt and vest, he laid bare the wound, and disclosed the arrow buried to the feathered end in the white flesh, with the vicious barbed point protruding from the back.
`That's a 'Pache war-shaft,' he commented.
With deft tenderness, he snapped the shaft just below the feathers and turning the hurt man on his side, gripped the head of the arrow and drew it gently from the wound, which was then sponged and bandaged with care and thoroughness which would not have discredited a professional healer. Dirk had doctored many hurts, and some community lost a good physician when he ran wild and drifted to the West.
`He's shore livin' up to his name, Lucky is,' remarked he, regarding his handiwork with satisfaction. `Couple o' inches lower down an' it would've been through the lung. As it is, he'll be as good as new in two-three weeks. How the 'ell he stayed on that hoss beats me.'
The sick man's eyes fluttered and opened; he made an effort to sit up, only to sink back wearily. Dirk handed him a tot of whisky, holding it to his lips.
`Tell us what happened, Lucky, if yu can,' he said.
