Partners of Chance Part 28

An early supper, and the three men forgathered outside the cabin and smoked and talked until long after dark. Cheyenne had told Scott of the happenings since leaving Antelope, and jokingly he referred to San Andreas and Bartley's original plan of staying there awhile.

Bartley nodded. "And now that the smoke has blown away, I think I'll go back and finish my visit," he said.

Cheyenne's face expressed surprise and disappointment. "Honest?" he queried.

"Why not?" asked Bartley, and it was a hard question to answer.

After all, Bartley had stuck to him when trouble seemed inevitable, reasoned Cheyenne.

Now the Easterner felt free to do as he pleased. And why shouldn't he?

There had been no definite or even tentative agreement as to when they would dissolve partners.h.i.+p. And Bartley's evident determination to carry out his original plan struck Cheyenne as indicative of considerable spirit. It was plain that Sneed's unexpected presence in San Andreas had not affected Bartley very much. With a tinge of malice, born of disappointment, Cheyenne suggested to Bartley that the man he had knocked out, back of the livery barn, would no doubt be glad to see him again.

Bartley turned to Joe Scott. "He's trying to 'Out-West' me a bit, isn't he?"

Scott laughed heartily. "Cheyenne is getting tired of rambling up and down the country alone. He wants a pardner. Seems he likes your company, from what he says. But you can't take him serious. He'll be singin' that everlastin' trail song of his next."

"He hasn't sung much, recently."

Cheyenne bridled and snorted like a colt. "Huh! Just try this on your piano." And seemingly improvising, he waved his arm toward the burro corral.

One time I had a right good pal, Git along, cayuse, git along; But he quit me cold for a little ranch gal, Git along, cayuse, git along.

And now he's took to pitchin' hay On a rancho down San Andreas way; He's done tied up and he's got to stay; Git along, cayuse, git along.

"I was just learnin' him the ropes, and he quit me cold," complained Cheyenne, appealing to Scott.

"He aims to keep out of trouble," suggested Scott.

"I ain't got no friends," said Cheyenne, grinning.

"Thanks for that," said Scott.

Cheyenne reached in his pocket and drew out the dice. His eyes brightened. He rattled the dice and shot them across the hardpacked ground near the doorstep. Then he struck a match to see what he had thrown. "I'm hittin' the road five minutes after six, to-morrow mornin'," he declared, as he picked up the dice.

CHAPTER XIX

DORRY COMES TO TOWN

At six, next morning, Bartley and Scott were on their way to San Andreas, Bartley riding Dobe and Scott hazing two pack-burros. They took a hill trail, which, Scott explained, was shorter by miles than the valley road which Cheyenne and Bartley had taken to the gulch. Cheyenne was forced to stay at the miner's cabin until Scott returned with the pack-saddle and outfit left in the livery. Scott was after supplies and tobacco.

At first Cheyenne had thought of going along with them. But he reconsidered. He did not care to risk being arrested in San Andreas for having disturbed the peace. If the authorities should happen to detain him, there would be one broken head, one broken lamp, and possibly five or six witnesses as evidence that he had been the aggressor in the saloon. Sneed and his men would swear to anything, and the owner of the saloon would add his bit of evidence. Bartley himself was liable to arrest for a.s.sault and battery should Hull lodge a complaint against him. Incidentally, Hull had been found by the stableman, curiously roped and tied and his lower jaw somewhat out of plumb.

Bartley and Scott arrived in San Andreas about noon, saw to their stock and had dinner together. Bartley engaged a room at the hotel. Scott bought supplies. Then, unknown to Bartley, Scott hunted up the town marshal and told him that the Easterner was a friend of his. The town marshal took the hint. Scott a.s.sured the marshal that, if Sneed or his men made any trouble in San Andreas, he would gladly come over and help the marshal establish peace. Cheyenne's name was not mentioned.

An hour later Scott appeared in front of the hotel with his burros packed. Bartley, loafing on the veranda, rose and stepped out.

"If you got time," said Scott, "you might walk along with me, out to the edge of town."

Bartley wondered what Scott had in mind, but he agreed to the suggestion at once.

Together they trudged through the sleepy town until they reached the open.

"I guess you can find your way back," said Scott, his eyes twinkling.

"And, say, it's a good idea not to pack a shootin'-iron--and let folks know you don't pack one."

"I think I understand," said Bartley.

"Ride over to my camp, any time, and if I'm not there, just make yourself to home." And the big miner turned and started his burros toward the hills.

"Give my regards to Cheyenne," called Bartley.

The miner nodded.

On his way back through town, Bartley wondered why the miner had asked him to take that walk. Then suddenly he thought of a reason. They had been seen in San Andreas, walking and talking together. That would intimate that they were friends. And a man would have to be blind, not to realize that it would be a mistake to pick a quarrel with Scott, or one of his friends. Joe Scott never quarreled; but he had the reputation of being a man of whom it was safe to step around.

With his sleeves rolled up, sitting in the quiet of his room, Bartley spent the afternoon jotting down notes for a story. He thought he had experienced enough adventure to make a good beginning. Of course, the love element was lacking, yet he thought that might be supplied, later.

He had a heroine in mind. Bartley laid down his pencil, and sat back, shaping daydreams. It was hot in the room. It would be cooler down on the veranda. Well, he would finish his rough sketch of Cheyenne, and then step down to the veranda. He caught himself drowsing over his work.

He sat up, scribbled a while, nodded sleepily, and, finally, with his head on his arms, he fell asleep.

The rattle of wagon wheels wakened him. A ranch team had just pulled up to the hitch-rail in front of the hotel and a small boy was tying the horses. The boy's hat seemed familiar to Bartley. Then Bartley heard a voice. Suddenly he was wide awake. Little Jim was down there, talking to some one. Bartley rose and peered down. Little Jim's companion was Dorothy. Bartley could not see her face, because of her wide hat-brim.

Stepping back into the room, Bartley picked up his pencil and, leaning out of the window, started it rolling down the gentle slope of the veranda roof. It dropped at Dorothy's feet. She started and glanced up.

Bartley waved a greeting and disappeared from the window.

Decently clothed, and, imagining that he was in his right mind, he hastened downstairs.

Little Jim expressed no surprise at seeing Bartley, but the youngster's eyes were eager.

He shook hands, like a grown-up. "Got that twenty-two, yet?"

"Haven't seen one, Jimmy. But I won't forget."

"There's a brand-new twenty-two over to Hodges' store, in the window,"

declared Little Jim.

"That so? Then we'll have to walk over and look at it."

"I done _looked_ at it already," said Little Jim.

"Well, then, let's go and price it."

"I done priced it. It's twelve-fifty."

"Well, what do you say to going over and buying it?"