Partners of Chance Part 23

Uncle Frank's eye was stern. Jimmy hesitated. He had been forbidden to go near Sneed's place; and he knew that all that stood between a harness strap and his small jeans was the presence of Dorothy and Cheyenne. It was pretty tough to have recovered the stolen horses single-handed, and then to take a licking for it.

Little Jim gazed hopefully at his father.

"Why, I was chousin' around up there," he explained, "and I seen dad's hosses, and--and I started 'em down the trail and the whole blame bunch followed 'em. They was travelin' so fast I couldn't cut 'em out, so I just let 'em drift. Filaree and Josh just nacherally headed for the corral and the rest followed 'em in."

Uncle Frank gazed sternly at Jimmy. "Who told you to help your father get his horses?"

"n.o.body."

"Did your Aunt Jane tell you you could go over to the mountain?"

"I never asked her."

"You trot right into the house and stay there," said Uncle Frank.

Little Jim cast an appealing glance at Cheyenne and walked slowly toward the house, incidentally and unconsciously rubbing his hand across his jeans with a sort of antic.i.p.atory movement. He bit his lip, and the tears started to his eyes. But he shook them away, wondering what he might do to avert the coming storm. Perhaps his father would interpose between him and the dreaded harness strap. Yet Jimmy knew that his father had never interfered when a question of discipline arose.

Suddenly Little Jim's face brightened. He marched through the house to the wash bench, and, unsolicited, washed his hands and face and soaped his hair, after which he slicked it down carefully, so that there might be no mistake about his having brushed and combed it. He rather hoped that Uncle Frank or Aunt Jane would come in just then and find him at this unaccustomed task. It might help.

Meanwhile, Cheyenne and his brother-in-law had a talk, outside. Dorothy and Aunt Jane retired to the veranda, talking in low tones. Presently Little Jim, who could stand the strain no longer,--the jury seemed a long time at arriving at a verdict,--appeared on the front veranda, hatless, washed, and his hair fearfully and wonderfully brushed and combed.

"Why, Jimmy!" exclaimed Dorothy.

Jimmy fidgeted and glanced away bashfully. Presently he stole to his Aunt Jane's side.

"Am I goin' to get a lickin'?" he queried.

Aunt Jane shook her head, and patted his hand. Entrenched beside Aunt Jane, Jimmy watched his father and Uncle Frank as they talked by the big corral. Uncle Frank was gesturing toward the mountains. Cheyenne was arguing quietly.

"It ain't just the runnin' off of Sneed's hosses," said Uncle Frank.

"That's bad enough. But I told Jimmy to keep away from Sneed's."

"So did I," declared Cheyenne. "And seein' as I'm his dad, it's up to me to lick him if he's goin' to get licked."

"Sneed is like to ride down some night and set fire to the barns,"

a.s.serted Uncle Frank.

"Sneed don't know yet who run off his stock. And he can't say that I did, and prove it. Now, Frank, you just hold your hosses. I'll ride over to camp and get my outfit together and come over here. Then we'll throw Steve Brown's hosses into your pasture, and I'll see that Sneed's stock is out of here, p.r.o.nto."

"That's all right. But Sneed will trail his stock down here."

"But he won't find 'em here. And he'll never know they was in your corral."

Uncle Frank shook his head doubtfully. He was a pessimist and always argued the worst of a possible situation.

"And before I'll see Jimmy take a lickin'--this trip--I'll ride back and shoot it out with Sneed and his outfit," stated Cheyenne.

"I reckon you're fool enough to do it," said Uncle Frank.

An hour later Bartley and Cheyenne were at the Lawrence ranch, where they changed packs, saddled Filaree and Joshua, and turned the horses borrowed from Steve Brown into Uncle Frank's back pasture.

Little Jim watched these operations with keen interest. He wanted to help, but refrained for fear that he would muss up his hair--and he wanted Uncle Frank to notice his hair as it was.

Aunt Jane hastily prepared a meal and Dorothy helped.

In a few minutes Cheyenne and Bartley had eaten, and were ready for the road. Cheyenne stepped up and shook hands with Jimmy, as though Jimmy were a grown-up. Jimmy felt elated. There was no one just like his father, even if folks did say that Cheyenne Hastings could do better than ride around the country singing and joking with everybody.

"And don't forget to stop by when you come back," said Aunt Jane, bidding farewell to Bartley.

Dorothy shook hands with the Easterner and wished him a pleasant journey, rather coolly, Bartley thought. She was much more animated when bidding farewell to Cheyenne.

"And I won't forget to send you that rifle," said Bartley as he nodded to Little Jim.

Uncle Frank helped them haze Sneed's horses out of the yard on to the road, where Cheyenne waited to head them from taking the hill trail, again.

Just as he left, Bartley turned to Dorothy who stood twisting a pomegranate bud in her fingers. "May I have it?" he asked, half in jest.

She tossed the bud to him and he caught it. Then he spurred out after Cheyenne who was already hazing the horses down the road. Occasionally one of the horses tried to break out and take to the hills, but Cheyenne always headed it back to the bunch, determined, for some reason unknown to Bartley, to keep the horses together and going south.

The road climbed gradually, winding in and out among the foothills. As the going became stiffer, the rock outcropped and the dust settled.

The horses slowed to a walk. Bartley wondered why his companion seemed determined to drive Sneed's stock south. He thought it would be just as well to let them break for the hills, and not bother with them. But Cheyenne offered no explanation. He evidently knew what he was about.

To their right lay the San Andreas Valley across which the long, slanting shadows of sunset crept slowly. Still Cheyenne kept the bunch of horses going briskly, when the going permitted speed. Just over a rise they came suddenly upon an Apache, riding a lean, active paint horse. Cheyenne pulled up and talked with the Indian. The latter grinned, nodded, and, jerking his pony round, rode after the horses as they drifted ahead. Bartley saw the Apache bunch the animals again, and turn them off the road toward the hills.

"Didn't expect to meet up with luck, so soon," declared Cheyenne. "I figured to turn Sneed's hosses loose when I'd got 'em far enough from the ranch. But that Injun'll take care of 'em. Sneed ain't popular with the Apaches. Sneed's cabin is right clost to the res'avation line."

"What will the Indian do with the horses?" queried Bartley.

"Most like trade 'em to his friends."

Bartley gestured toward a spot of green far across the valley. "Looks like a town," he said.

"San Andreas--and that's where we stop, to-night. No campin' in the brush for me while Sneed is ridin' the country lookin' for his stock. It wouldn't be healthy."

CHAPTER XVI

SAN ANDREAS TOWN

A sleepy town, that paid little attention to the arrival or departure of strangers, San Andreas in the valley merely rubbed its eyes and dozed again as Cheyenne and Bartley rode in, put up their horses at the livery, and strolled over to the adobe hotel where they engaged rooms for the night.