The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 54

"You sure fixed me up fine, Doc. You was sayin' I could leave here next week?"

"Yes, if you keep on improving--and I can't see why you should not.

And I don't have to tell you to thank Miss Gray for what she has done for you. If it hadn't been for her, my boy, I doubt that you would be here!"

"She sure is one jim-dandy nurse."

"She is more than that, young man." Andover cleared his throat.

"There's one little matter that I thought best not to mention until you were--pretty well out of the woods. I suppose you know that the authorities will want to--er--talk with you about that shooting sc.r.a.pe--that chap that was found somewhere out in the desert. The chief of detectives asked me the other day when you would be around again."

"So, when I git out of here they're goin' to arrest me?"

"Well, frankly, you are under arrest now. I thought it best that you should know it now. In a general way I gathered that the police suspect you of having had a hand in the killing of that man who was found near Sanborn."

"Well, they can wait till h.e.l.l freezes afore I'll tell 'em," said Pete.

"And, meanwhile, you'll also have to--er--wait, I imagine. Have you any friends who might--er--use their influence? I think you might get out on bail. I can't say."

"Nope."

"Then the best thing that you can do is to tell a straight story and hope that the authorities will believe you. Well, I've got to go. By the way, how are you fixed financially? Just let me know if you want anything?"

"Thanks, Doc. From what you say I reckon the county will be payin' my board."

"I hope not. But you'll need some clothing and underwear--the things you had on are--"

Pete nodded.

"Don't hesitate to ask me,"--and Andover rose. "Your friend--er--Ewell--arranged for any little contingency that might arise."

"Then I kin go most any time?" queried Pete.

"We'll see how you are feeling next week. Meanwhile keep out in the sun--but wrap up well. Good-bye!"

Pete realized that to make a fresh start in life he would have to begin at the bottom.

He had ever been inclined to look forward rather than backward--to put each day's happenings behind him as mere incidents in his general progress--and he began to realize that these happenings had acc.u.mulated to a bulk that could not be ignored, if the fresh start that he contemplated were to be made successfully. He recalled how he had felt when he had squared himself with Roth for that six-gun. But the surrept.i.tious taking of the six-gun had been rather a mistake than a deliberate intent to steal. And Pete tried to justify himself with the thought that all his subsequent trouble had been the result of mistakes due to conditions thrust upon him by a fate which had slowly driven him to his present untenable position--that of a fugitive from the law, without money and without friends. He came to the bitter conclusion that his whole life had been a mistake--possibly not through his own initiative, but a mistake nevertheless. He knew that his only course was to retrace and untangle the snarl of events in which his feet were snared. Accustomed to rely upon his own efforts--he had always been able to make his living--he suddenly realized the potency of money; that money could alleviate suffering, influence authority, command freedom--at least temporary freedom--and even in some instances save life itself.

Yet it was characteristic of Pete that he did not regret anything that he had done, in a moral sense. He had made mistakes--and he would have to pay for them--but only once. He would not make these mistakes again. A man was a fool who deliberately rode his horse into the same box canon twice.

Pete wondered if his letter to Jim Bailey had been received and what Bailey's answer would be. The letter must have reached Bailey by this time. And then Pete thought of The Spider's note, advising him to call at the Stockmen's Security; and of The Spider's peculiar insistence that he do so--that Hodges would "use him square."

Pete wondered what it all signified. He knew that The Spider had money deposited with the Stockmen's Security. The request had something to do with money, without doubt. Perhaps The Spider had wished him to attend to some matter of trust--for Pete was aware that The Spider had trusted him, and had said so, almost with his last breath. But Pete hesitated to become entangled further in The Spider's affairs. He did not intend to make a second mistake of that kind.

Monday of the following week Pete was out on the veranda--listening to little Ruth, a blue-eyed baby patient who as gravely explained the mysteries of a wonderful puzzle game of pasteboard cows and horses and a farmyard "most all cut to pieces," as Ruth said, when Doris stepped from the hall doorway and, glancing about, finally discovered Pete in the far corner of the veranda--deeply absorbed in searching for the hind leg of a n.o.ble horse to which little Ruth had insisted upon attaching the sedate and ign.o.ble hind quarters of a maternal cow. So intent were they upon their game that neither of them saw Doris as she moved toward them, nodding brightly to many convalescents seated about the veranda.

"Whoa!" said Pete, as Ruth disarranged the n.o.ble steed in her eagerness to fit the bit of pasteboard Pete had handed to her. "Now, I reckon he'll stand till we find that barn-door and the water-trough. Do you reckon he wants a drink?"

"He looks very firsty," said Ruth.

"Mebby he's hungry, too,"--and Pete found the segment of a mechanically correct haystack.

"No!" cried Ruth positively, taking the bit of haystack from Pete; "wet's put some hay in his house."

"Then that there cow'll git it--and she's plumb fed up already."

"Den I give 'at 'ittle cow his breakfuss,"--and the solicitous Ruth placed the section of haystack within easy reach of a wide-eyed and slightly disjointed calf--evidently the offspring of the well-fed cow, judging from the paint-markings of each.

But suddenly little Ruth's face lost its suns.h.i.+ne. Her mouth quivered.

Pete glanced up at her, his dark eyes questioning.

"There's lots more hay," he stammered, "for all of 'em."

"It hurted me," sobbed Ruth.

"Your foot?" Pete glanced down at the child's bandaged foot, and then looked quickly away.

"Ess. It hurted me--and oo didn't hit it."

"I'll bet it was that doggone ole cow! Let's git her out of this here corral and turn her loose!" Pete shuffled the cow into a disjointed heap. "Now she's turned loose--and she won't come back."

Ruth ceased sobbing and turned to gaze at Doris, who patted her head and smiled. "We was--stockin' up our ranch," Pete explained almost apologetically. "Ruth and me is pardners."

Doris gazed at Pete, her gray eyes warm with a peculiar light. "It's awfully nice of you to amuse Ruth."

"Amuse her! My Gos.h.!.+ Miss Gray, she's doin' the amusin'! When we're visitin' like this, I plumb forgit--everything."

"Here's a letter for you," said Doris. "I thought that perhaps you might want to have it as soon as possible."

"Thanks, Miss Gray. I reckon it's from Jim Bailey. I--" Pete tore off the end of the envelope with trembling fingers. Little Ruth watched him curiously. Doris had turned away and was looking out across the city. A tiny hand tugged at her sleeve. "Make Pete play wif me," said Ruth. "My cow's all broke."

Pete glanced up, slowly slid the unread letter back into the envelope and tucked it into his s.h.i.+rt. "You bet we'll find that cow if we have to comb every draw on the ranch! h.e.l.lo, pardner! Here's her ole head.

She was sure enough investigatin' that there haystack."

Doris turned away. There was a tense throbbing in her throat as she moved back to the doorway. Despite herself she glanced back for an instant. The dark head and the golden head were together over the wonderful puzzle picture. Just why Pete should look up then could hardly be explained by either himself or Doris. He waved his hand boyishly. Doris turned and walked rapidly down the hallway. Her emotion irritated her. Why should she feel so absolutely silly and sentimental because a patient, who really meant nothing to her aside from her profession, should choose to play puzzle picture with a crippled child, that he might forget for a while his very ident.i.ty and those terrible happenings? Had he not said so? And yet he had put aside the letter that might mean much to him, that he might make Little Ruth forget her pain in searching for a dismembered pasteboard cow.

Doris glanced in as she pa.s.sed Pete's room. Two men were standing there, expressing in their impatient att.i.tudes that they had expected to find some one in the room. She knew who they were--men from the police station--for she had seen them before.

"You were looking for Mr. Annersley?" she asked.

"Yes, mam. We got a little business--"

"He's out on the veranda, playing puzzle picture with a little girl patient."

"Well, we got a puzzle picture for him--" began one of the men, but Doris, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng, interrupted him.

"Dr. Andover left word that he does not want Mr. Annersley to see visitors without his permission."

"Reckon we can see him, miss. I had a talk with Doc Andover."