The Orphan by Clarence E. Mulford (best books to read now .txt) 📖

bowlder, only wishing to let the Apaches know his position so that they would think the way clear to the northwest, and so innocently give the sheriff a shot at them as they retreated. Dropping the Winchester he took up his Sharps, his pet rifle, with which he had done wonderful shooting, and arose to one knee, supporting his left elbow on the other; between the fingers of his left hand he held a cartridge in order that no time should be lost in reloading. The range was now five hundred yards, and when The Orphan knew the exact range he swore with rage if he missed.

His shot had the effect he hoped it would have, for suddenly there was movement behind the bowlder. A pony’s hip showed for an instant and then leaped from sight as the outlaw reloaded. A cloud of dust arose to the northwest of and behind the bowlder, and a series of close reports sounded from the direction of the sheriff. The Orphan leaped to his feet and dashed out on the plain to where his sight would not be obstructed and saw an Apache, who hung down on the far side of his horse, sweep northward and gallop along the northern trail. He fired, but the range was too great, and the warrior soon dropped from sight over the range of hills. As The Orphan made his way toward the bowlder the sheriff emerged from his shelter and pointed to the west. A pony lay on its side and not far away was the huddled body of its rider.

As they neared each other the outlaw noticed something peculiar about the sheriff’s ear, and his look of inquiry was rewarded. “Stung,” remarked Shields, grinning apologetically. “Just as I shot,” he added in explanation of the Apache’s escape. “Wonder what my wife’ll say?” he mused, nursing the swelling.

The Orphan’s eyes opened a trifle at the sheriff’s last words, and he thought of the war party he had sent north. His decision was immediate: no married man had any business to run risks, and he was glad that he refrained from shooting on sight.

“Sheriff, you vamoose. Clear out now, while you have the chance. Ride west for an hour, and then strike north for Ford’s Station. That buck that got away is due to run into twenty-seven of his friends and relatives that I sent north to meet you. And they won’t waste any time in getting back, neither.”

Shields felt of his ear and laughed softly. He had a sudden, strong liking for his humorous, clever enemy, for he recognized qualities which he had always held in high esteem. While he had waited in the chaparral for the Apaches to break cover he had wondered if the Indians which The Orphan had sent north had been sent for the purpose of meeting him, and now he had the answer. Instead of embittering him against his companion, it increased his respect for that individual’s strategy, and he felt only admiration.

“I saw your reception committee in time to duck,” the sheriff said, laughing. “If they kept on going as they were when I saw them they must have crossed my trail about three hours later. When they hit that it is a safe bet that at least some of them took it up. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll leave both the north and the west alone and take another route home. I have shot up all the war-whoops I care about, so I am well satisfied.”

He suddenly reached down toward his belt, and then looked squarely into The Orphan’s gun, which rested easily on that person’s hip. His hand kept on, however, but more slowly and with but two fingers extended, and disappeared into his chap’s pocket, from which it slowly and gingerly brought forth a package of tobacco and some rice paper. The Orphan looked embarrassed for a second and then laughed softly.

“You’re a square man, Sheriff, but I wasn’t sure,” he said in apology. “So long.”

“That’s all right,” cried the sheriff heartily. “I was a big fool to make a play like that!”

The Orphan smiled and turned squarely around and walked away in the direction of his horse. Shields stared at his back and then rolled a cigarette and grinned: “By George!” he ejaculated at the confidence displayed by his companion, and he slowly followed.

After they had mounted in silence the sheriff suddenly turned and looked his companion squarely in the eyes and received a steady, frank look in return.

“What the devil made you ventilate them sheep herders that way?” he asked. “And go and drive all of them sheep over the bank?”

The Orphan frowned momentarily, but answered without reserve.

“Those sheep herders reckoned they’d get a reputation!” he answered. “And they would have gotten it, too, only I beat them on the draw. As for the idiotic muttons, they went plumb loco at the shooting and pushed each other over the bank. To hell with the herders–they only got what they was trying to hand me. But I’m a whole lot sorry about the sheep, although I can’t say I’m dead stuck on range-killers of any kind.”

The sheriff reflectively eyed his companion’s gun and remembered its celerity into getting into action, which persuaded him that The Orphan was telling the truth, and swept aside the last chance for fair warfare between the two for the day.

“Yes, it is too bad, all them innocent sheep drowned that way,” he slowly replied. “But they are shore awful skittish at times. Well, do we part?” he asked, suddenly holding out his hand.

“I reckon we do, Sheriff, and I’m blamed glad to have met you,” replied the outlaw as he shook hands with no uncertain grip. “Keep away from them Apaches, and so long.”

“Thanks, I will,” responded the arm of the law. “And I’m glad to have met you, too. So long!”

CHAPTER IV
THE SECOND OFFENSE

BILL HOWLAND emerged from the six-by-six office of the F. S. and S. Stage Company and strolled down the street to where his Concord stood. He hitched up and, after examining the harness, gained his seat, gathered up the lines and yelled. There was a lurch and a rumble, and Bill turned the corner on two wheels to the gratification of sundry stray dogs, whose gratification turned to yelps of surprise and pain as the driver neatly flecked bits of hair from their bodies with his sixteen foot “blacksnake.” Twice each week Bill drove his Concord around the same corner on the same two wheels and flecked bits of hair from stray dogs with the same whip. He would have been deeply grieved if the supply of new stray dogs gave out, for no dogs were ever known to get close enough to be skinned the second time; once was enough, and those which had felt the sting of Bill’s leather were content to stand across the street and create the necessary excitement to urge the new arrivals forward. The local wit is reported as saying: “Dogs may come and dogs may go, but Bill goes on forever,” which saying pleased Bill greatly.

As he threw the mail bag on the seat the sheriff came up and watched him, his eyes a-twinkle with humor.

“Well, Sheriff, how’s the boy?” genially asked Bill, who could talk all day on anything and two days on nothing without fatigue.

“All right, Bill, thank you,” the sheriff replied. “I hope you are able to take something more than liquid nourishment,” he added.

“Oh, you trust me for that, Sheriff. When my appetite gives out I’ll be ready to plant. I see your ear is some smaller. Blamed funny how they do swell sometimes,” remarked the driver, loosening his collar.

The sheriff knew what that action meant and hurried to break the thread of the conversation.

“New wheel?” he asked, eying what he knew to be old.

“Nope, painted, that’s all,” the driver replied, grinning. “But she shore does look new, don’t she? You see, Dick put in two new spokes yesterday, and when I saw ’em I says, says I, ‘Dick, that new wheel don’t look good thataway,’ says I. ‘It’ll look like a limp, them new spokes coming ’round all alone like,’ says I. So we paints it, but we didn’t have time to paint the others, but they won’t make much difference, anyhow. Funny how a little paint will change things, now ain’t it? Why, I can remember when––-”

“Much mail nowadays?” interposed the sheriff calmly.

“Nope. Folks out here ain’t a-helpin’ Uncle Sam much. Postmaster says he only sold ten stamps this week. What he wants, as I told him, is women. Then everybody’ll be sendin’ letters and presents and things. Now, I knows what I’m talking about, because––-”

“The Apaches are out,” jabbed the sheriff, hopefully.

“Yes, I heard that you had a soiree with them. But they won’t get so far north as this. No, siree, they won’t. They knows too much, Apaches do. Ain’t they smart cusses, though? Now, there’s old Geronimo–been raising the devil for years. The cavalry goes out for him regular, and shore thinks he’s caught, but he ain’t. When he’s found he’s home smoking his pipe and counting his wives, which are shore numerous, they say. Now, I’ve got a bully scheme for getting him, Sheriff––”

“Hey, you,” came from the office. “Do you reckon that train is going to tie up and wait for you, hey? Do you think you are so d––d important that they won’t pull out unless you’re on hand? Why in h–l don’t you quit chinning and get started?”

“Oh, you choke up!” cried Bill, clambering up to his seat. “Who’s running this, anyhow!” he grumbled under his breath. Then he took up the reins and carefully sorted them, after which he looked down at Shields, whose face wore a smile of amusement.

“Bill Howland ain’t none a-scared because a lot of calamity howlers get a hunch. Not on your life! I’ve reached the high C of rollicking progress too many times to be airy scairt at rumors. Show me the feather-dusters in war paint, and then I’ll take some stock in raids. You get up a bet on me Sheriff, make a little easy money. Back Bill Howland to be right here in seventy-two hours, right side up and smiling, and you’ll win. You just bet you’ll––”

“Well, you won’t get here in a year unless you starts, you pest! For God’s sake get a-going and give the sheriff a rest!” came explosively from the office, accompanied by a sound as if a chair had dropped to its four legs. A tall, angular man stood in the doorway and shook his fist at the huge cloud of dust which rolled down the street, muttering savagely. Bill Howland had started on his eighty-mile trip to Sagetown.

“Damnedest talker on two laigs,” asserted the clerk. “He’ll drive me loco some day with his eternal jabber, jabber. Why do you waste time with him? Tell him to close his yap and go to h–l. Beat him over the head, anything to shut him up!”

Shields smiled: “Oh, he can’t help it. He don’t do anybody any harm.”

The clerk shook his head in doubt and started to return to his chair, and then stopped.

“I hear you expect some women out purty soon,” he suggested.

“Yes. Sisters and a friend,” Shields replied shortly.

“Ain’t you a little leary about letting ’em come out here while the Apaches are out?”

“Not very much–I’ll be on hand when they arrive,” the sheriff assured him.

“How soon are they due to land?”

“Next trip if nothing hinders them.”

“Jim Hawes is comin’ out next trip,” volunteered the clerk.

“Good,” responded the sheriff, turning to go. “Every gun counts, and Jim is a good man.”

“Say,” the agent