Curly Part 28

"And I may marry Curly?"

"Not if you join my outfit. None of my wolves are invited to offer theyr paws in mar'iage with my Curly. Two or three of them young persons proposed theyrselves, and found my gun a whole lot too contagious for comfort."

Jim unbuckled his belt, and let it fall with holster and gun to the ground.

"I cannot accept the loan of that gun," he said, "or any favour from you. I've been hunted, I'm afoot, I'm unarmed, but now, by thunder! look out for yourself, because I'm going to hunt. I shall rob you if I can; I'm at war with you and every man on the stock range, until I've won back my house, my lands, my cattle. Then I'll come for your daughter, but I won't ask for her!"

McCalmont leaned his shoulder against the corral, and laughed at him.

"Wade in!" says he; "good luck, my boy. I mustn't ask you to divulge yo'

plans, but I'm heaps interested."

"My father told me, Captain McCalmont, that all the first Balshannon won he got with the sword. Well, times are changed--we use revolvers now!"

"Only for robbery, my lad, and for murder. I thought as you do once, and reckoned I'd get even with the world. I started with a lone gun, I sure got even, but see the price I paid. My wife was--I cayn't talk of that.

My lil' son was shot. My daughter is herding with thieves--and she's the only thing that I've got left on airth. Come, lad, if I can bear to part with her, and give her up to you, cayn't you give up a little of yo'

fool pride and accept her dowry jest to save the child? Take her away to whar she can stay good--I ask no more of you."

"You want me to run away from Ryan, and let him keep Holy Cross? You want me to live in Ireland on a woman's money? You want to hire Lord Balshannon, with stolen money, to keep your daughter?" Jim spat on the ground. "If you want to give Curly to a filthy blackguard, why don't you marry her to Ryan?"

"You use strong words, seh."

"And mean them!"

McCalmont lowered his eyes, and pawed in the dust with his foot. Just for a moment he stood scratching the dust, then he looked up.

"Onced," he said, very quiet, "I aimed at being a gentleman. I beg yo'

pardon, seh."

"You are a gentleman," says Jim, "that's just the worst of it--you understand things. What on earth makes you want to insult me?"

"It seems to me, Jim, that you might understand, more than you do, that I'm aiming to be yo' friend. Yo're at war with this yere Ryan to get back Holy Crawss, or a fair equivalent, eh, for what you've lost?"

"Go on, sir."

"I'm at war, too, with the breed of swine he belongs to. Would you be satisfied if Ryan paid in cash for yo' home, yo' land, and yo' cattle?

You being an outlaw now, it wouldn't be healthy to live there to any great extent. Will you take cash?"

"Or blood!"

"I have no speshul use fo' blood. I reckon I'd as soon bleed a polecat as a Ryan, if I yearned for blood. What d'you reckon you could buy with blood--sections of peace, chunks of joy? I'd take mine in cash."

"You'll help, sir?"

"For all young Ryan's worth, and then"--McCalmont laid his hands on Jim's shoulders--"you'll take Curly home as yo' wife, eh, partner?"

"If she is willing, sir."

McCalmont's ears went back against his head, he lifted his nose to the west, pointing up wind. There was a sound like the thud of raindrops on dust, a soft pattering which came nearer and stronger. He loosed off the long yell to rouse the three men who were resting by the barn, he told Jim to pick up his gun and help, he jumped for the team horses and led them to the buckboard.

The pattering had grown up out of the distance to a steady rush of sound, the ground had begun to quiver, then to shake, then with a yell of warning, Buck and his sentries came thundering in from the desert.

CHAPTER XX

THE MARSHAL'S POSSE

McCalmont backed his team to the buckboard, lifted the waggon tongue to the ring of the yoke bar, and jumped to hitch on the traces, just as Buck reined all standing to report.

"There's a strong posse," says Buck, "coming out from the Mule Pa.s.s--maybe sixty riders, and they're sh.o.r.ely burning the trail straight for this ranche."

"Were you seen?"

"No, seh!"

"Bowlaigs, Johnny, Steve, yo're mounted, so you'll collect the herd, drive north, and keep wide of the trail! Crazy Hoss, hold this team!

Doc, throw my saddle on that sorrel, and lead north; Buck, make the camp search, and follow, closing all signs 'cept the wheel-track! Jim, help the herders! Git a move on!"

McCalmont had got through with the harnessing while he slung his orders; now he went to work smooth and quiet, pulling on his shaps (leather leg-armour) and buckling his spurs while his cool eye searched the yard.

"Buck," he called, "let the water drain out of that hoss trough. That water wouldn't look natural on an empty ranche."

McCalmont brought Curly in his arms, bedded her down in the rig, drew the ground-sheet over to keep off the sun and dust, and pa.s.sed a las.h.i.+ng across.

After that he locked the door of the cabin, and hung the key on its nail. It was just that thoughtfulness in little plays which made McCalmont loom up great in his business. Two minutes after the first alarm he grabbed the reins, jumped to his seat, and drove off slow from the yard, aiming to show by the tracks that c.o.c.ky Brown's old buckboard had not pulled out in a hurry. Buck and Crazy Hoss stayed to brush out a few spare tracks, put up the slip rails and follow. For all one could see at the little _ranchita_ La Soledad, the owner, c.o.c.ky Brown, had trailed off for supplies to the city, then a couple of riders had happened along shortly after, and read the notice which was left for "Dere Bill" on the door.

McCalmont just poured his whip into the team as Buck came up abreast.

"All set?" he asked.

"All set, seh."

"Can we get behind them hills befo' we're seen by the posse?"

Buck looked back to the boys who were sweating the herd astern. "Yes,"

he shouted, "I reckon. You done right smart, seh, to get Curly out 'n that mess."

"You'll be pleased to know, Buck, that my Curly is engaged to be mar'ied to this du Chesnay colt."

Buck's face went white, but he just spurred along saying nothing. A fold of the ground shut out the ranche behind, a hill barred off the country to the left, and, if the posse could see the dust of the flying outfit, they might well mistake that for one of the whirlwinds which curve around the desert wherever the sun burns strong.

"Buck," says McCalmont, "reach back to the skyline, and see if that posse puts out on our trail from the ranche. At dusk I quit this Grave City road, and strike due east. If yo're delayed, jest roll yo' trail right east for Holy Crawss. In the mawning we round up all the stock we can find thar, and pull out for home. You understand?"

"I understand," says Buck, and swung off for the skyline.