Stepsons of Light Part 3

"My friend, Mr. Smith," announced Hales, as Mr. Smith joined them. Mr.

Smith, like the others, wore belt and six-shooter; also, a rifle was strapped under his knee. He was a short and heavy-set man, singularly carefree of appearance, and he now inquired with great earnestness: "Anybody mention grub?"

"Sure," said Bobby. "Let's drift! Only a mile or so."

_We all went to the ranch next day; Brown augured me most all the way; He said cowpunching was only play, There was no work at all.

"All you have to do is ride, It's just like drifting with the tide----"

Lord have mercy, how he lied!

He had a most horrible gall!_

The walling hills were higher now. The canon fell away swiftly to downward plunge, gravel between cut banks. Just above the horse camp it made a sharp double-S curve. Riding across a short cut of shoulder, Bob, in the lead, held up a hand to check the others. He rode up on a little platform to the right, from which, as pedestal, rose a great hill of red sandstone, square-topped and incredibly steep. Bobby waved his hat; a man on foot appeared on the crest of the red hill and zigzagged down the steeps. He wore a steeple-crowned hat and he carried a long rifle in the crook of his arm.

Johnny's eyes widened. He exchanged a glance with Hales; and he observed that Smith and Hales did not look at each other. Yet they had--so Johnny thought--one brief glance coming to them, under the circ.u.mstances.

Hales pitched his voice low.

"You was lying about them bears, of course?"

"Got to keep boys in their place," said Johnny in the same guarded undertone. "If them bears had really been pets do you suppose I'd ever have opened my head about it?"

"It went down easy." Hales grinned his admiration. "You taken one chance though--about his night horse."

"Not being scared, you mean? Well, he hasn't mentioned any horse having a fit. And I reckoned maybe he hadn't kept up any night horse.

Really nothing much for him to do. Except cooking."

"He does seem to have a right smart of company," agreed Hales.

Bob returned with the last comer--a gaunt, brown man with a gift for silence.

"My friend, Mr. Jones," Bob explained gravely. "He stakes his horse on that hilltop. Bully gra.s.s there. And quiet. He likes quiet. He doesn't care for strangers a-tall--not unless I stand good for 'em."

The camp--a single room, some fourteen feet by eighteen, flat roofed, made of stone with a soapstone fireplace--was built in a fenced yard on a little low red flat, looped about by the canon, pleasant with shady cedars, overhung by a red and mighty mountain at the back, faced by a mightier mountain of white limestone. The spring gushed out at the contact of red and white.

The bunch of saddle horses was shut up in the water pen. Preparation for dinner went forward merrily, not without favorable comment from Mr. Smith for Bob's three bearskins, a proud carpet on the floor. Mr.

Jones had seen them before; Hales and Johnny kept honorable silence on that theme. Hales and Mr. Smith set a good example by removing belt and gun; an example followed by Bob, but by neither Johnny nor Mr.

Jones. The latter gentleman indeed had leaned his rifle in the corner beyond the table. But while the discussion of bearskins was most animated, Johnny caught Mr. Jones' eye, and arched a brow. Johnny next took occasion to roll his own eye slowly at the unconscious backs of Mr. Hales and Mr. Smith--and then transferred his gaze, very pointedly, to the long rifle in the corner. Shortly after, Mr. Jones rose and took a seat behind the table, with the long rifle at his right hand.

"Well, Mr. Bob," said Hales when dinner was over, "here's your thirty dollars. You give Smith a bill of sale and get your pardner to witness it. Me, I'm telling you good-by. I'm due to lead Smith's discard pony about forty mile north to-night, and set him loose about daylight--up near the White Oaks stage road. Thank'ee kindly. Good-by, all!"

"Wait a minute, Toad," said Smith briskly. "I'll catch up my new cayuse and side you a little ways. Stake him out in good gra.s.s, some quiet place--like my pardner here." He grinned at Mr. Jones, who smiled, attentive. "I'll hang my saddle in a tree and hoof it back about dark. Safe enough here--all good fellows. And I sure like that bear meat. To say nothing of being full up of myself for society."

"We'll do the dishes," said Johnny. "Bob, you rope me up the gentlest of my hyenas and we'll slip down to Puddingstone presently."

"Well, good luck to you, Mr. Dines," said Hales at the door.

"So long."

"That horse you've got staked out, Mr. Jones," said Johnny, when the others were catching horses, "how about him? I've got a private horse out in the water pen. Shall we swap? Saddles too? You're a little the biggest, but you can let out my stirrups a notch, and I can take up a notch in yours, up on that pinnacle when I go for my new horse and come back--about dark. That way, you might ride down the canon with Bob. I think maybe--if it was important--Bob might not find the horses he wants, and might lay out to-night. And you might tell him you was coming back to camp. But you can always change your mind, you know.

'All you have to do is ride.'"

"This is right clever of you, young man," said Jones slowly.

"It sure is. Your saddle any good?"

"Better'n yours. Enough better to make up for the difference in hosses, unless yours is a jo-darter. My hoss is tired."

"He'll have all fall to rest up. We'd better trade hats, too. Somebody might be watchin' from the hills."

"Them fellows?" Jones motioned toward the water pen with the plate he was drying.

"Scouts, I guess. Decoy ducks. More men close, I judge. Acted like it.

You ought to know."

"It ain't noways customary to send two men after me," said Jones.

Johnny nodded. "You don't know about Smithy yet. Let me wise you up."

He outlined the trustfulness of Smithy. "So he was all labeled up for an outlaw, like a sandwich man. Putting one over on Bobby--him being a boy. Bobby fell for it. And me, just a big kid myself, what show did I have with two big grown men smooth as all that? So they fooled me, too. Smithy said 'Toad' once--notice? Toad Hales. I've heard of Toad Hales. Socorro way. Big mitt man, once. Skunk--but no fighting fool.

Out for the dollar."

"He sees some several. You're takin' right smart of a chance, young fellow."

"I guess I've got a right to swap horses if I want to. Hark! They're ridin' up the canon."

"Well, suh, I'm right obliged to you, and that's a fact."

"I'm not doing this for you exactly. I'm protectin' the Bar Cross. And that's funny, too," said Johnny. "I've just barely signed up with the outfit, and right off things begin to take place in great lumps and gobs. More action in two days than I've seen before in two years.

Here's how I look at it: If anyone sees fit to ride up on you and gather you on the square I've got nothing to say. But I hold no candle to treachery. You're here under trust. I owe it to the Bar Cross--and to you--that you leave here no worse off than you came. I don't know what you've done. If it's mean enough, I may owe it to Johnny Dines to go after you myself later on. But you go safe from here first.

That's my job."

"And I'll bet you'd sure come a-snuffin'. I judge you're a right white man, suh! But it's not so mean as all that, this time. Not even a case of 'alive or dead.' Just 'for arrest and conviction.' So I guess you'll be reasonably safe on the hillside. No money in killing you, or me, or whoever brings my hoss off of that hill. And they'll be counting on gathering you in easy--asleep here, likely."

"That's the way I figured it--that last."

"But how'll you square yourself with the sheriff?"

"I'll contrive to make strap and buckle meet some way. Man dear, I've got to!"

"Well, then--I owe you a day in harvest. Good-by, suh. Jones, he pulls his freight."

Johnny brought his new horse and saddle down from the red hill, unmolested. He cut out what horses he wanted to keep in the branding pen; turned the others loose, his new acquisition with them; and started supper. Mr. Smith joined him at dark; but the horse hunters did not get back. Supper followed, then seven-up and conversation.

Johnny fretted over the non-return of Gifford.

"He talked as if he knew right where to lay his hand on them horses,"

he complained. "Wish I had gone myself. Now in the morning I'll have to be out of here at daylight. That bunch I got in the pen, I got to take them out to gra.s.s, and wait till Bob comes--if the blame little fool sleeps out to-night."

"Oh, he'll be in purty quick, likely."