A Texas Ranger - William MacLeod Raine (people reading books txt) 📗
- Author: William MacLeod Raine
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“You’re the one best bet in riders, Mr. Briscoe. It’s a pleasure to watch you,” he said frankly.
Jed’s narrowed eyes drifted to him. “Oh, hell!” he drawled with insolent contempt, and turned on his heel.
From the clump of firs a young woman was descending, and Jed went to meet her.
“You rode splendidly,” she told him with vivid eyes. “Were you hurt when you were jammed again the wagon? I mean, does it still hurt?” For she noticed that he walked with a limp.
“I reckon I can stand the grief without an amputation. Arlie, I got something to tell you.”
She looked at him in her direct fashion and waited.
“It’s about your new friend.” He drew from a pocket some leaves torn out of a magazine. His finger indicated a picture. “Ever see that gentleman before?”
The girl looked at it coolly. “It seems to be Mr. Fraser taken in his uniform; Lieutenant Fraser, I should say.”
The cattleman’s face fell. “You know, then, who he is, and what he’s doing here.”
Without evasion, her gaze met his. “I understood him to say he was an officer in the Texas Rangers. You know why he is here.”
“You’re right, I do. But do you?”
“Well, what is it you mean? Out with it, Jed,” she demanded impatiently.
“He is here to get a man wanted in Texas, a man hiding in this valley right now.”
“I don’t believe it,” she returned quickly. “And if he is, that’s not your business or mine. It’s his duty, isn’t it?”
“I ain’t discussing that. You know the law of the valley, Arlie.”
“I don’t accept that as binding, Jed. Lots of people here don’t. Because Lost Valley used to be a nest of miscreants, it needn’t always be. I don’t see what right we’ve got to set ourselves above the law.”
“This valley has always stood by hunted men when they reached it. That’s our custom, and I mean to stick to it.”
“Very well. I hold you to that,” she answered quickly. “This man Fraser is a hunted man. He’s hunted because of what he did for me and dad. I claim the protection of the valley for him.”
“He can have it— if he’s what he says he is. But why ain’t he been square with us? Why didn’t he tell who he was?”
“He told me.”
“That ain’t enough, Arlie. If he did, you kept it quiet. We all had a right to know.”
“If you had asked him, he would have told you.”
“I ain’t so sure he would. Anyhow, I don’t like it. I believe he is here to get the man I told you of. Mebbe that ain’t all.”
“What more?” she scoffed.
“This fellow is the best range detective in the country. My notion is he’s spying around about that Squaw Creek raid.”
Under the dusky skin she flushed angrily. “My notion is you’re daffy, Jed. Talk sense, and I’ll listen to you. You haven’t a grain of proof.”
“I may get some yet,” he told her sulkily.
She laughed her disbelief. “When you do, let me know,”
And with that she gave her pony the signal to more forward.
Nevertheless, she met the ranger at the foot of the little hill with distinct coldness. When he came up to shake hands, she was too busy dismounting to notice.
“Your heart must be a good deal better. I suppose Lost Valley agrees with you.” She had swung down on the other side of the horse, and her glance at him across the saddle seat was like a rapier thrust.
He was aware at once of being in disgrace with her, and it chafed him that he had no adequate answer to her implied charge.
“My heart’s all right,” he said a little gruffly.
“Yes, it seems to be, lieutenant.”
She trailed the reins and turned away at once to find her father. The girl was disappointed in him. He had, in effect, lied to her. That was bad enough; but she felt that his lie had concealed something, how much she scarce dared say. Her tangled thoughts were in chaos. One moment she was ready to believe the worst; the next, it was impossible to conceive such a man so vile a spy as to reward hospitality with treachery.
Yet she remembered now that it had been while she was telling of the fate of the traitor Burke that she had driven him to his lie. Or had he not told it first when she pointed out Lost Valley at his feet? Yes, it was at that moment she had noticed his pallor. He had, at least, conscience enough to be ashamed of what he was doing. But she recognized a wide margin of difference between the possibilities of his guilt. It was one thing to come to the valley for an escaped murderer; it was quite another to use the hospitality of his host as a means to betray the friends of that host. Deep in her heart she could not find it possible to convict him of the latter alternative. He was too much a man, too vitally dynamic. No; whatever else he was, she felt sure he was not so hopelessly lost to decency. He had that electric spark of self-respect which may coexist with many faults, but not with treachery.
A bunch of young steers which had strayed from their range were to be driven to the Dillon ranch, and the boss of the rodeo appointed France and Fraser to the task.
“Yo’ll have company home, honey,” he told his daughter, “and yo’ll be able to give the boys a hand if they need it. These hill cattle are still some wild, though we’ve been working them a week. Yo’re a heap better cowboy than some that works more steady at the business.”
Briscoe nodded. “You bet! I ain’t forgot that day Arlie rode Big Timber with me two years ago. She wasn’t sixteen then, but she herded them hill steers like they belonged to a milk bunch.”
He spoke his compliment patly enough, but somehow the girl had an impression that he was thinking of something else. She was right, for as he helped gather the drive his mind was busy with a problem. Presently he dismounted to tighten a cinch, and made a signal to a young fellow known as Slim Leroy. The latter was a new and tender recruit to Jed’s band of miscreants. He drew up beside his leader and examined one of the fore hoofs of his pony.
“Slim, I’m going to have Dillon send you for the mail to-day. When he tells you, that’s the first you know about it. Understand? You’ll have to take the hill cut to Jack Rabbit Run on your way in. At the cabin back of the aspens, inquire for a man that calls himself Johnson. If he’s there, give him this message: ‘This afternoon from Bald Knob.’ Remember! Just those words, and nothing more. If he isn’t there, forget the message. You’ll know the man you want because he is shy his trigger finger and has a ragged scar across his right cheek. Make no mistake about this, Slim.”
“Sure I won’t.”
Briscoe, having finished cinching, swung to his saddle and rode up to say good-by to Arlie.
“Hope you’ll have no trouble with this bunch. If you push right along you’d ought to get home by night,” he told her.
Arlie agreed carelessly. “I don’t expect any trouble with them. So-long, Jed.”
It would not have been her choice to ride home with the lieutenant of rangers, but since her father had made the appointment publicly she did not care to make objection. Yet she took care to let Fraser see that he was in her black books. The men rode toward the rear of the herd, one on each side, and Arlie fell in beside her old playmate, Dick. She laughed and talked with him about a hundred things in which Steve could have had no part, even if he had been close enough to catch more than one word out of twenty. Not once did she even look his way. Quite plainly she had taken pains to forget his existence.
“It was Briscoe’s turn the other day,” mused the Texan. “It’s mine now. I wonder when it will be Dick’s to get put out in the cold!”
Nevertheless, though he tried to act the philosopher, it cut him that the high-spirited girl had condemned him. He felt himself in a false position from which he could not easily extricate himself. The worst of it was that if it came to a showdown he could not expect the simple truth to exonerate him.
From where they rode there drifted to him occasionally the sound of the gay voices of the young people. It struck him for the first time that he was getting old. Arlie could not be over eighteen, and Dick perhaps twenty-one. Maybe young people like that thought a fellow of twenty-seven a Methusaleh.
After a time the thirsty cattle smelt water and hit a bee line so steadily for it that they needed no watching. Every minute or two one of the leaders stretched out its neck and let out a bellow without slackening its pace.
Steve lazed on his pony, shifting his position to ease his cramped limbs after the manner of the range rider. In spite of himself, his eyes would drift toward the jaunty little figure on the pinto. The masculine in him approved mightily her lissom grace and the proud lilt of her dark head, with its sun-kissed face set in profile to him. He thought her serviceable costume very becoming, from the pinched felt hat pinned to the dark mass of hair, and the red silk kerchief knotted loosely round the pretty throat, to the leggings beneath the corduroy skirt and the flannel waist with sleeves rolled up in summer-girl fashion to leave the tanned arms bare to the dimpled elbows.
The trail, winding through a narrow defile, brought them side by side again.
“Ever notice what a persistent color buckskin is, Steve?” inquired France, by way of bringing him into the conversation. “It’s strong in every one of these cattle, though the old man has been trying to get rid of it for ten years.”
“You mustn’t talk to me, Dick,” responded his friend gravely. “Little Willie told a lie, and he’s being stood in a corner.”
Arlie flushed angrily, opened her mouth to speak, and, changing her mind, looked at him witheringly. He didn’t wither, however. Instead, he smiled broadly, got out his mouth organ, and cheerfully entertained them with his favorite, “I Met My Love In the Alamo.”
The hot blood under dusky skin held its own in her cheeks. She was furious with him, and dared not trust herself to speak. As soon as they had passed through the defile she spurred forward, as if to turn the leaders. France turned to his friend and laughed ruefully.
“She’s full of pepper, Steve.”
The ranger nodded. “She’s all right, Dick. If you want to know, she’s got a right to make a doormat of me. I lied to her. I was up against it, and I kinder had to. You ride along and join her. If you want to get right solid, tell her how many kinds of a skunk I am. Worst of it is, I ain’t any too sure I’m not.”
“I’m sure for you then, Steve,” the lad called back, as he loped forward after the girl.
He was so sure, that he began to praise his friend
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