Valley of Wild Horses Part 35

"All right," replied his father. He forced himself to look up at Pan.

His eyes were warming out of deep strange shadows of pain, of horror.

"Son, I--I was kind of dazed when--when you--the fight come off.... I heard the shots, but I didn't see... Was it you who--who killed Jard Hardman?"

"No, Dad," replied Pan, placing a steady hand on his father's shoulder.

Indeed he seemed more than physically shaken. "But I meant to."

"Then how--who?--" choked Smith.

"Mac New shot him," replied Pan, hurriedly. "Hardman accused him of double-crossing me. Mac called him. I think Hardman tried to draw.

But Mac killed him.... I got Purcell too late to save Mac."

"Awful!" replied Smith, hoa.r.s.ely.

"Pan, I seen Purcell's eyes," spoke up Blinky. "Sh.o.r.e he meant to drop Mac an' you in two shots. But he wasn't quite previous enough."

"I was--too slow myself," rejoined Pan haltingly. "Mac New was an outlaw, but he was white compared to Hardman."

"Wal, it's all over. Let's kinda get set back in our saddles," drawled Blinky. "What'll we do with them stiffs?"

"By George, that's a stumper," replied Pan, sitting down in the shade.

"Huh! Reckon you figger we ought to pack them back to Marco an' give them church services," said Blinky, in disgust. "Jest a couple of two-bit rustlers!"

"Somebody will come out here after their bodies, surely. d.i.c.k Hardman would want to--"

"Mebbe someone will, but not thet hombre," declared Blinky. "But I'm gamblin' Hardman's outfit won't break their necks tellin' aboot this.

Now you jest see."

"Well, let's wait, then," replied Pan. "Wrap them up in tarps and lay them here in the shade."

The trapped wild horses, cracking their hoofs and whistling in the huge corrals, did not at the moment attract Pan or wean him away from the deep unsettled condition of mind. As he pa.s.sed the corral on the way to the camp the horses moved with a trampling roar. The sound helped him toward gaining a hold on his normal self.

The hour now was near sunset and the heat of day had pa.s.sed. A cool light breeze made soft low sound in the trees.

Pan found his father sitting with bandaged head beside the campfire, apparently recovering somewhat.

"Did you take a peep at our hosses?" he asked.

"No, not yet," replied Pan. "I reckon I will, though, before it gets dark."

"We've got a big job ahead."

"That depends, Dad. If we can sell them here we haven't any job to speak of. How about it, Blink?"

"How aboot what?" inquired the cowboy, who had just come up.

"Dad's worrying over what he thinks will be a big job. Handling the horses we've caught."

"Sh.o.r.e thet all depends. If we sell heah, fine an' dandy. The other fellar will have the h.e.l.l. Reckon, though, we want to cut out a string of the best hosses fer ourselves. Thet's work, when you've got a big drove millin' round. Sh.o.r.e is lucky we built thet mile-round corral.

There's water an' feed enough to last them broomies a week, or longer on a pinch."

While they were talking Gus and Charley Brown returned to camp. They were leading the horses that had been ridden by Hardman and Purcell.

"Turn them loose, boys," directed Pan, to whom they looked for instructions.

Presently Gus handed Pan a heavy leather wallet and a huge roll of greenbacks.

"Found the wallet on Purcell an' the roll on Hardman," said Gus.

"Wal, they sh.o.r.e was well heeled," drawled Blinky.

"But what'll I do with all this?" queried Pan blankly.

"Pan, as you seem to forget, Hardman owed your dad money, reckon you might rustle an' hunt up d.i.c.k Hardman an' give it to him. Say, d.i.c.k'll own the Yellow Mine now. Gee! He could spend all this in his own joint."

"Dad, you never told me how much Hardman did you out of," Pan.

"Ten thousand in cash, an' Lord only knows how many cattle."

"So much! I'd imagined.... Say, Dad, will you take this money?"

"Yes, if it's honest an' regular for me to do so," replied Smith stoutly.

"Regular? There's no law in Marco. We've got to make our own laws.

Let it be a matter of conscience. Boys, this man Hardman ruined my father. I heard that from a reliable source at Littleton before I ever got here. Don't you think it honest for Dad to take this money?"

"Sh.o.r.e, it's more than thet," replied Blinky. "I'd call it justice.

If you turned thet money over to law in Marco it'd go to Matthews. An'

you can bet your socks he'd keep it."

The consensus of opinion did not differ materially from Blinky's.

"Dad, it's a long trail that has no turning," said Pan, tossing both wallet and roll to his father. "Here's to your new ranch in Arizona!"

Lying Juan soon called them to supper. It was not the usual cheery meal, though Juan told an unusually atrocious lie, and Blinky made several attempts to be funny. The sudden terrible catastrophe of the day did not quickly release its somber grip.

After supper, however, there seemed to be a lessening of restraint, with the conversation turning to the corrals full of wild horses.

"Wal, let's go an' look 'em over," proposed Blinky.

Pan was glad to see his father able and eager to accompany them, but he did not go himself.

"Come on, you wild-hoss trapper," called Blinky. "We want to bet on how rich we are."

"I'll come, presently," replied Pan.

He did not join them, however, but made his way along the north slope to a high point where he could look down into the second corral. It was indeed a sight to fill his heart--that wide mile-round gra.s.sy pasture so colorful with its droves of wild horses. Black predominated, but there were countless whites, reds, bays, grays, pintos. He saw a blue roan that shone among the duller horses, too far away to enable Pan to judge of his other points. Pan gazed with stern restraint, trying to estimate the numbers without wild guess of enthusiasm.