The Coyote Part 18

"From yonder mountains, an' then some," he answered with a sweeping gesture.

"You rode down this morning?"

"I rode down this morning. Down from the toppermost top of the divide with the wind singing in my whiskers an' the birds warbling in my ears." He laughed gayly, for he appreciated her puzzled look. "I was wondering two things," he continued solemnly.

"What might they be?" she asked doubtfully.

"First: Why isn't there more travel on this good road?" he said. "I haven't seen a soul except yourself and a--a party in an automobile.

Now on a road like this----"

"Where did you meet the automobile?" she asked in a voice which he interpreted as eager.

"Two hours an' some minutes back--and up. Near a truck which had had some trouble in the road. Perhaps you heard about it? Turned over on its side in collapse after some free-thinking gents turned their smoke wagons toward it."

It was plain she was interested.

"Did--is the automobile still there?" she inquired with a breathless catch in her voice.

"Oh, no. After some of the pa.s.sengers had had a little disrespectful conversation with me, it went on up the road. Are they scarce around here, ma'am--automobiles?"

"Not exactly," she replied with a frown. "They truck ore and men and supplies to and from the mine every day. The reason you've seen so few people to-day is because it's Sunday."

"Thank you," he said gallantly. "That answers my first question. You remember, I was wondering _two_ things?"

Her lips trembled with a smile, but her eyes flashed with suspicion.

"You will observe, ma'am, that I am not followed by any pack horses or heavily-laden burros," he went on gravely, although his eyes sparkled with good humor. "Nor is there anything much to speak of in this slicker pack on my saddle. I need some new smoking tobacco, some new shaving soap, some new hair cut, a bath, a dinner, and a bed--after I've put up my hoss."

This time the girl laughed, and Rathburn was rewarded by the flas.h.i.+ng gleam of two rows of pearls and eyes merry with mirth. But her reciprocating mood of cheerfulness was quickly spent.

"You are only a mile and a half from High Point," she said hurriedly.

"You can get what you want there."

She retreated into the doorway, and Rathburn saw that the chance interview was at an end.

"_Gracias_, as they say in the desert country," he said, saluting as he turned away. "It means thanks, ma'am."

He looked back as he touched the mustang with his steel and saw her looking after him with a strange look in her eyes.

"That gal looks half like she was scared, hoss," he reflected. "I wonder, now, if she got me wrong. Dang it! Maybe she thought I was trying to flirt with her. Well, maybe I was."

He thrust a hand in a pocket and fingered the two objects he had picked up in the road at the scene of the holdup. Then he pulled his hat a bit forward over his eyes and increased his pace. The town, as he had half expected, came suddenly into sight around a sharp bend in the road.

High Point consisted of some two-score structures, and only a cursory glance was needed to ascertain that it was the source of supplies and rendez-vous for entertainment of the several mines and all the miners and prospectors in the neighboring hills. Several fairly good roads and many trails led into it, and from it there was a main road of travel to the railroad on the edge of the desert in the east.

Before he entered the dusty, single street, lined with small buildings flaunting false fronts, Rathburn recognized the signs of a foothill town where the hand of authority rested but lightly.

He rode directly to the first hotel, the only two-story structure in town, and around to the rear where he put up his horse and left his saddle, chaps and slicker pack in the care of the barn man.

He received instructions as to the location of the best barber shop and speedily wended his way there. He found Sunday was not observed in the barber shop, nor in the resort which adjoined it.

"Any chance to get a bath here?" he asked one of the two barbers with a twinkle in his gray eyes.

He expected a snort of astonishment and a sarcastic reply.

"Sure. Want it first or after?"

Rathburn eyed the barber suspiciously. Was the man poking fun at him?

Well, he was not a stranger to repartee.

"First or after what?" he asked, scowling.

"Your shave and hair cut."

Rathburn laughed. "I'll take it first--if you have it. An' if you have, I'll say this is a first-cla.s.s barber shop."

The barber led the way to a room in the rear of the place with a pleased grin.

An hour or so later Rathburn, with the lower part of his face a shade paler than the upper half, his dark hair showing neatly under his broad-brimmed hat, his black riding boots glistening, and a satisfied smile on his face, sauntered out of the barber shop into the resort next door.

A man was lighting the hanging lamps, and Rathburn looked about through a haze of tobacco smoke at a cl.u.s.ter of crowded gaming tables, a short bar, cigar counter, and at the motley throng which jammed the small room.

He grinned as he read the sign over the cash register:

FREE DRINKS TO-MORROW

"Swiped in broad daylight from the grand old State of Texas," he murmured aloud to himself.

Then he noticed a small restaurant in the rear of the place, separated from the main room by a part.i.tion, the upper part of which was gla.s.s.

He made his way back, pa.s.sed through the door, and took a seat at the counter which afforded him a view of the resort through the gla.s.s. He ordered a substantial meal and, while waiting for it to be served, studied with calculating eyes the scene in the next room.

The men were mostly of the hills--miners const.i.tuting the majority. Of professional gamblers there were many, and there was also a plentiful sprinkling of that despicable species known as "boosters" whose business it is to sit in at the games in the interest of "the house;"

to fleece the victims who occupy the few remaining seats.

But now he saw a man who apparently was not a miner, or a prospector, nor yet a member of the professional gambling tribe. This was a tall man, very dark, sinewy. He wore a gun.

At first Rathburn thought he might be a cow-puncher, for he wore riding boots, and had something of the air and bearing of a cowman; but he finally decided that this cla.s.sification was inaccurate. An officer at one of the mines, perhaps; a forest ranger--no, he didn't wear the regalia of a ranger--Rathburn gave it up as his dinner was put before him on the counter.

He fell to his meal eagerly, for he had had nothing to eat since early morning when he had broken camp high in the mountains to westward.

Steak and French "fries" began quickly to disappear, along with many slices of bread and two cups of steaming coffee. Then Rathburn looked up, and to his surprise saw that the tall, dark man was standing near the gla.s.s, studying him intently out of scowling, black eyes.

Rathburn looked at him coolly and steadily for a few moments and resumed his meal. But the other was inquisitive and Rathburn sensed, without again looking up, that he was being watched. Was this man, then, an aide of Mannix, the deputy? He doubted it.

He finished his meal, paid his score with an added cheery word for the counter jumper, rose, entered the main room of the resort, and walked directly up to the dark man who still was observing him.

"Was you thinking I was an old acquaintance of yours?" he asked pleasantly.