Prairie Flowers Part 22

Cinnabar's face went a shade paler, but he made no reply and the other turned to Jennie. "You go to the house--me an' Cinnabar wants to make medicine."

"You go to the devil!" flashed the girl. "Who do you think you are anyhow? Tryin' to order me around on my own ranch! If you've got anything to say, just you go ahead an' spit it out--don't mind me."

"Kind of sa.s.sy, ain't you? If you was mine, I'd of took that out of you before this--or I'd of broke you in two."

"If I was yourn!" cried the girl contemptuously, "if you was the last man in the world, I'd of et wolf poison before I'd be'n seen on the street with you. I've got your number. I didn't work in the hotel at Wolf River as long as I did, not to be onto your curves. You're a nasty dirty low-down skunk--an' that's the best can be said about you! Now, I guess you know how you stand around here. Shoot off what you got to say, an' then take your dirty hide off this ranch an' don't come back!"

"I guess Cinnabar won't say that," sneered the man, white with rage, "you don't hear him orderin' me off the place, do you--an' you won't neither. What I've got on him'll hold you for a while. You're holdin'

yer nose high--now. But, you wait--you'll pay fer them words you said when the time comes--_an' you'll pay my way!_"

Jennie's face went suddenly white and Cinnabar Joe stepped forward, his eyes narrowed to slits: "Shut up!" he said, evenly, "or I'll kill you."

Purdy glanced into the narrowed eyes of the ex-bartender, and his own glance fell. Cinnabar Joe was a man to be reckoned with. Purdy had seen that peculiar squint leap into the man's eyes once or twice before--and each time a man had died--swiftly, and neatly. The horse-thief laughed, uneasily: "I was only jokin'. What do I care what the women say? Come on over here a piece, an' I'll tell you what I want. You asked me if there was anything you could do."

"Say it here," answered Cinnabar without taking his eyes from the man's face.

Purdy shrugged: "All right. But first let me tell you somethin' fer yer own good. Don't kill me! I've got three pals not so far from here that's in on--well, you know what. I told 'em the whole story--an' if anything happens to me--up you go--see? An' if you try to double-cross me--up you go, too. You git that, do you? Well, here's what you got to do. It ain't much. I've got a boarder fer you. It's a woman. Keep her here fer a week, an' don't let anyone know she's here. Then I'll come an' git her.

That's all!"

"Who is she, an' what you goin' to do with her?"

"That ain't none of yer d.a.m.n business!" snapped Purdy, "an' mind you don't try to bushwhack me, an' don't let no one know she's here, or you'll spend the rest of your life in Deer Lodge--an' me an' Jennie'll run the outfit----"

With a cry Jennie threw herself upon her husband who, unarmed, had launched himself at Purdy. "Joe! Joe! He'll kill you! He's got his guns!" she shrieked, and held on the tighter as Cinnabar struggled blindly to free himself. Purdy vaulted into his saddle and dashed across the creek. Upon the opposite side he jerked his horse to a stand, and with a wave of his hand, indicated the coulee down which he had come: "She's up there a piece on a cayuse tied to a tree. Go get her--she's had a hard ride."

Cinnabar succeeded in freeing himself from his wife's grasp, and dashed for the house. Purdy stopped speaking abruptly and spurring his horse madly, whirled and dashed for the shelter of a cottonwood grove. As he plunged into the thicket a gun cracked behind him, and a piece of bark flew from the side of a tree not a foot from his head. "The d.a.m.n fool! I wonder if he knew I was lyin' about tellin' the others. He sure as h.e.l.l was shootin' to kill--an' he d.a.m.n near called my bluff!"

Working out of the thicket into the mouth of a deep coulee, Purdy rode rapidly into the bad lands.

Three or four miles from the hang-out of the Grimshaw gang, was a rocky gorge that had become the clandestine meeting place of the four who sought to break the yoke of Grimshaw's domination. Unlike the cave, the place was not suited to withstand a siege, but a water-hole supplied moisture for a considerable area of gra.s.s, and made a convenient place to turn the horses loose while the conspirators lay among the rocks and plotted the downfall of their chief. Purdy made straight for this gorge, and found the other three waiting.

"Where in h.e.l.l you be'n?" asked one, "we be'n here sence noon." Purdy eyed the speaker with contempt: "Who wants to know?" he asked and receiving no answer, continued, "where I be'n is my business. Why don't you ask Ca.s.s where he's be'n, sometime? If you fellers are goin' to follow my lead, I'll be boss--an' where I've be'n is my own business."

"That's right," a.s.sented one of the others, in a conciliating tone.

"Don't git to sc.r.a.ppin' amongst ourselves. What we wanted to tell you: the Flyin' A's raid is off."

"Off!" cried Purdy, "what do you mean, off?"

"Ca.s.s told me this noon. The IX rodeo has worked down this side of the mountains, an' it'll be a week before the slope's clear of riders."

Purdy broke into a torrent of curses. The Flying A horse raid, planned for that very night, was to have been the end of Ca.s.s Grimshaw. He was to have been potted by his own men--both Ca.s.s and his loyal henchman, Bill.

After a few moments Purdy quieted down. He rolled a cigarette and as he smoked his brows knitted into a frown. Finally he slapped his leg. "All right, then--he'll take it where he gits it!" The others waited. "It's this way," he explained, "we ain't got time to dope it all today--but be here tomorrow noon. Tonight everything goes as usual--tomorrow night, Ca.s.s Grimshaw goes to h.e.l.l--an' it'll be the Purdy gang then, an' we won't stop at horse-runnin' neither." The men looked from one to the other, uneasily. "It's better this way anyhow," announced Purdy, "we'll b.u.mp him off, an' collect the reward. I know a feller that'll collect it--I've got somethin' on him--he's got to."

"We're all in the gang," muttered the man who had asked Purdy where he had been, "looks like if you had somethin' on someone you'd let us all in."

"Not by a d.a.m.n sight! If I did, what would keep you from double-crossin'

me, an' goin' after him yerselves. All you got to do is be here tomorrow noon--then we'll cut the cards to see who does the trick."

Grumbling dubiously, the men caught up their horses, and scattering approached the hang-out from different directions. As Purdy rode he scowled blackly, cursing venomously the heavens overhead, the earth beneath, and all the inhabitants thereof. "I overplayed my hand when I made Cinnabar sore," he muttered. "But he'll come around in a week.

Trouble is, I've took too much on. Ca.s.s an' Bill'll git theirn tomorrow night, that'll give me time to git organized, an' horn the pilgrim out of his five thousan', an' git it over with by the twentieth when old McWhorter's due fer his lonesome jag, an' then fer three days I'll have my own way with the girl--an' when I've had her fer three days--she'll never go back!" A sudden thought struck him, and he pulled up and gazed toward Red Sand while a devilish gleam played in his narrowed eyes.

"Gawd," he muttered, "drunk as he gits, the shack could burn to the ground--it's every man fer hisself--might's well play safe. An' after that comes Cinnabar's turn--an' another woman's goin' to pay fer bein'

free with her tongue. Then the Wolf River bank. d.a.m.n 'em!" he cried, suddenly, "I'll clean 'em all! I'm smarter'n the whole mess of 'em. I'm a killer! I'm the last of the loboes! Ca.s.s depended on friends, but me--the name of Purdy'll chill their guts!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE Pa.s.sING OF LONG BILL KEARNEY

It was yet dark when the Texan rolled from the blankets at the edge of McWhorter's haystack, and dumped a liberal measure of oats into the blue roan's feed box. While the animal ate, the man carefully examined his outfit by the light of the waning moon. Gun, cinch, bridle, saddle, rope, each came in for its bit of careful scrutiny, and when he had finished he saddled and bridled the horse in the stall and led him out just as the first faint hint of dawn greyed the east. As he swung into the saddle, the horse tried to sink his head, but the Texan held him up, "Not this mornin', old hand," he said, soothingly, "it wastes strength, an' I've got a hunch that maybe I'm goin' to need every pound you've got in you." As if recognizing the voice of a master, the horse gave one or two half-hearted jumps, and stretched into an easy lope. As the coulee began to slant to the bench the man pulled him down to a walk which became a steady trot when the higher level was gained.

The Texan rode with a much lighter heart than he had carried on the previous day. The words of Janet McWhorter had kindled a ray of hope--a hope that had grown brighter with the dawning of the day. He even smiled as he thought of the girl back there in the cabin. "I didn't think there was her like in the world. She's--she's the kind of woman a man dreams about, an' knows all the time they ain't real--they couldn't be. Hair as black an' s.h.i.+ny as the wing of a crow. An' eyes! Sometimes you can see way down into 'em--like deep, clear water an' when they laugh, the surface seems to ripple an' throw back flashes of suns.h.i.+ne. An' there's other times, too. They can look at you hard an' grey--like a man's eyes.

An' they can get black an' stormy--with lightnin' flashes instead of suns.h.i.+ne. There's a woman for some man--an' believe me, he better be _some man_! He'd have to be to get her." The man dreamed a jumbled, rosy dream for a mile or more. "An' she can ride, an' shoot, leastwise she packs a gun--an' I bet she can use it. I've seen these ridin', shootin'

kind--lots of 'em--an' mostly, they don't sort of stack up to what a man would want to marry--makes you kind of wonder if they wouldn't expect the man to rock the cradle--but not her--she's different--she's all girl. After Win's wife--I never expected to see another one--but, shucks--she said there was more--an' she was right--partly--there's one more. I'm goin' to hunt a job over on this side--" his train of thought halted abruptly, and involuntarily, his gaze fastened upon the blue-black peaks of the Judith range to the southward across the river.

His gloved hand smote his leather chaps with a crack that made the blue roan jump sidewise: "I'll be d.a.m.ned if I do!" he exclaimed aloud, "I'll go straight back to Dad Colston! I'll tell him the whole thing--he'll know--he'll understand an' if he'll give me my job back I'll--I'll buy me a mile of cable an' rig up Long Bill's ferry right plumb across to the mouth of Red Sand! I don't want her till I've earnt her--but there ain't no one else goin' to come snoopin' around--not onless he's a better man than I am--an' if he is, he ought to win."

At the edge of the bad lands the Texan pulled up in the shelter of a twisted bull pine that grew from the top of a narrow ridge, and banis.h.i.+ng all thought of the girl from his mind, concentrated upon the work at hand. He knew Purdy for just what he was. Knew his base brutishness of soul--knew his insatiable greed--and it was upon this latter trait that he based his hope. Carefully he weighed the chances.

He knew how Purdy must hate the pilgrim for the shooting back at Wolf River. He knew that the man's unreasoning hate would extend to the girl herself. He knew that Purdy hated him, and that if he found out through Long Bill that he had been with her, the man's hate would be redoubled.

And he knew that even in the absence of any hatred on the part of Purdy, no woman would be safe in his hands. To offset unreasoning hate and b.e.s.t.i.a.l desire was only the man's greed. And greed would be a factor only if Purdy knew of the reward. The fact that Long Bill had ridden one of Purdy's horses added strength to the a.s.sumption that they had been in touch. "A thousan' dollars is too much money for Purdy to pa.s.s up," muttered the Texan as his eyes swept the dead plain. "He knows he'd have to deliver her safe an' unharmed, an' the chances are he'd figure he could make Win sh.e.l.l out a good bit more'n the thousan'. Anyhow, if Long Bill ain't got back across the river yet, I've got two chances of locatin' her instead of one."

The Texan's attention riveted upon a spot less than a quarter of a mile away. Above the edge of a low cutbank, that formed the wall of a shallow coulee a thin curl of smoke rose and was immediately dispersed. So fleeting was the glimpse that he was not sure his eyes had not played him false. Long and intently he stared at the spot--yes, there it was again,--a gossamer wraith, so illusive as to be scarcely distinguishable from the blue haze of early dawn. Easing his horse from the ridge, he worked him toward the spot, being careful to keep within the shelter of a coulee that slanted diagonally into the one from which the smoke rose.

A hundred yards from his objective he dismounted, removed his spurs, and crawled stealthily toward the rim of the cutbank. When within arm's reach of the edge he drew his gun, and removing his hat, wriggled forward until he could thrust his face into a tuft of bunch gra.s.s that projected over the edge.

Not ten feet below him Long Bill Kearney squatted beside a tiny fire and toasted a strip of bacon upon the point of a long knife. Long Bill was alone. A short distance away a cayuse stood saddled and bridled.

Noiselessly the Texan got to his feet and stood looking down at the man by the fire. The man did not move. Grease dripped from the bacon and little tongues of red flame curled upward, licking at the strip on the knife. The strip curled and shrivelled, and slipping from the point, dropped into the fire. Cursing and grumbling, the man fished it out with the knife, and removing the clinging ashes upon his sleeve, conveyed it to his mouth with his fingers. From a greasy paper beside him he drew another strip and affixed it on the point of the knife. As he thrust it toward the fire he paused, and glanced uneasily toward the cayuse which dozed with drooping head and one rear foot resting upon the toe.

Apparently satisfied, he resumed his toasting, but a moment later restlessly raised his head, and scrutinized the lower reach of the coulee. Looking over his shoulder he submitted the upper reach to like scrutiny. Then he scanned the opposite rim while the bacon shrivelled and the little red flames licked at the knife blade. Finally as if drawn by some unseen force he deliberately raised his face upward--and found himself staring straight into the eyes of the Texan who had thrust the gun back into its holster. Seconds pa.s.sed--long tense seconds during which the man's hands went limp, and the knife dropped unheeded into the fire, and the bacon burned to a charcoal in the little red flame.

His lower jaw had sagged, exposing long yellow fangs, but his eyes held with terrible fascination upon the cold stare of the Texan.

"My Gawd!" he muttered, thickly when he could endure the silence no longer, "I--we--thought you was drownded."

"Oh, we did, did we? But we was afraid I wasn't so we went ahead an'

spread those bills. Well, I'm here--do you want that reward?"

The question seemed to inspire Long Bill with a gleam of hope. He struggled to his feet: "Lord, no! Not me, Tex. I just tuck them papers 'long 'cause----"

"Where's the girl?"

"What girl--you mean the pilgrim's woman? I donno--s'elp me--I donno nawthin' 'bout it."

"Where's Purdy?"

"Who? Purdy? Him? I donno. I ain't seen him. I ain't seen him fer--it's goin' on a h.e.l.l of a while. Last time I seen him----"

The sentence was never finished. Lightly as a cat the body of the Texan shot downward and hardly had his feet touched the ground than a gloved fist drove straight into Long Bill's face. The man crashed heavily backward and lay moaning and whimpering like a hurt puppy. Stepping to his side the Texan kicked him in the ribs: "Get up!" he commanded.

With a grunt of pain, the man struggled to a sitting posture. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. He raised a shaky hand to his face and inserting a long black nailed forefinger between his puffed lips, ran it along the inner edge of his gums and drew forth a yellow tooth. Leaning forward he spat out a mouthful of blood, and another tooth clicked audibly upon the rocks. With the other hand he felt gingerly of his side: "You've knocked out my teeth," he snivelled, "an' broke my rib."