author - "Charles Alden Seltzer"
one a lot of squirmin'. Been followin' us--you reckon?"
They descended the slope of the hill, still talking. Evidently,Sanderson's silence had completely convinced them that they had killedhim.
But halfway down the hill, one of the men, watching the rock nearSanderson as he walked, saw the muzzle of Sanderson's rifle projectingfrom between the two rocks.
For the second time since the appearance of Sanderson on the scene theman discharged his rifle from the hip, and for the second time hemissed the target.
Sanderson, however, did not miss. His rifle went off, and the man fellwithout a sound. The other, paralyzed from the shock, stood for aninstant, irresolute, then, seeming to discover from where Sanderson'sbullet had come, he raised his rifle.
Sanderson's weapon crashed again. The second man shuddered, spunviolently around, and pitched headlong down the slope.
Sanderson came from behind the rock, grinning mirthlessly. He knewwhere his bullets had gone, and he took no precaut
e. Well, put it down and open the door. There's some things I want to say to you."
"What about?" asked Hamlin, suspiciously. Overwhelming every other thought in his mind was the conviction that Davies and Harris had apprised Lawler of what had happened the night before, and that Lawler had come to capture him, single-handed.
"About Ruth."
The wild gleam in Hamlin's eyes began to dull. However, he was still suspicious.
"You seen any of your men this mornin'--Davies or Harris?" he asked.
"Davies and Harris went to town last night. I reckon they didn't get back yet. What's Davies and Harris got to do with me visiting you?"
"Nothin'." There was relief in Hamlin's voice. The muzzle of the rifle wavered; the weapon was withdrawn and the slide closed. Then the door slowly opened, and Hamlin appeared in it, a six-shooter in hand.
"If you're foolin' me, Kane Lawler, I'll sure bore you a-plenty!" he threatened.
"Shucks!" Lawler advanced to the door, ignoring the h
nter's chill had not yet gone out of the air. But then, Willard had earned his ducking.
The girl cleared her throat. "We have had an accident," she informed the rider, her voice a little husky.
At this word he swept his hat from his head and bowed to her. "Why, I reckon you have, ma'am," he said. "Didn't you have no driver?"
"Why, yes," returned the girl hesitatingly, for she thought she detected sarcasm in his voice, and she had to look twice at him to make sure--and then she couldn't have told. "The gentleman on the bank, there, is our driver."
"The gentleman on the bank, eh?" drawled the rider. And now for the first time he seemed to become aware of Willard's presence, for he looked narrowly at him. "Why, he's all wet!" he exclaimed. "I expect he come pretty near drownin', didn't he, ma'am?" He looked again at the girl, astonishment in his eyes. "An' so he drove you into that suck-hole, an' he got throwed out! Wasn't there no one to tell him that Calamity ain't to be trusted?"
start, he noted it and halted his pony after reaching the level to look about him.
There was no sign of any cattle. But he reflected that perhaps a new range had been opened. Thirteen years is a long time, and many changes could have come during his absence.
He was about to urge his pony on again, when some impulse moved him to turn in the saddle and glance at the hill he had just vacated. At about the spot where he had sat--perhaps two hundred yards distant--he saw a man on a horse, sitting motionless in the saddle, looking at him.
Calumet wheeled his own pony and faced the man. The vari-colored glow from the distant mountains fell full upon the horseman, and with the instinct for attention to detail which had become habitual with Calumet, he noted that the rider was a big man; that he wore a cream-colored Stetson and a scarlet neckerchief. Even at that distance, so clear was the light, Calumet caught a vague impression of his features--his nose, especially, which was big, hawk-like.
at first, that the two men were shooting at another man, concealed behind the rock; but the fact that there were only two horses indicated that he had been in error. No man would be foolhardy enough to attempt to cross the desert on foot, and unless a man were a friend he would not be carried upon another man's horse. Therefore, it seemed to be evident that the target at which the men were shooting was not another man.
And now, convinced that the men had cornered an animal of some kind, and that they feared it too greatly to face it openly, the rider laughed loudly and called to the men, his voice freighted with sarcasm.
"Scared?" he said. "Oh, don't be. If you'll back off a little an' give him room, he'll just naturally slope, an' give you a chance to get to your cayuses."
Both men wheeled almost at the same instant. The man at the base of the rock snarled--after the first gasp of astonishment, baring his teeth in hideous mirth and embarrassment; the other man, startled and caught off ba
I've about concluded that he ain't comin'. An' so I come over to Dry Bottom to find a man."
"You've found one," smiled the stranger.
Stafford drew out a handful of double eagles and pressed them into the other's hand. "I'm goin' over to the Two Diamond now," he said. "You'd better wait a day or two, so's no one will get wise. Come right to me, like you was wantin' a job."
He started toward the hitching rail for his pony, hesitated and then walked back.
"I didn't get your name," he smiled.
The stranger's eyes glittered humorously. "It's Ferguson," he said quietly.
Stafford's eyes widened with astonishment. Then his right hand went out and grasped the other's.
"Well, now," he said warmly, "that's what I call luck."
Ferguson smiled. "Mebbe it's luck," he returned. "But before I go over to work for you there's got to be an understandin'. I c'n shoot some," he continued, looking steadily at Stafford, "but I ain't runnin' around the country shootin' men witho
-except as they might have been reminded of the dreary distance from the glitter and the tinsel of the East. The mountains, distant and shining, would have meant nothing to them; the strong, pungent aroma of the sage might have nauseated them.
But Miss Benham had caught her first glimpse of Manti and the surrounding country from a window of her berth in the car that morning just at dawn, and she loved it. She had lain for some time cuddled up in her bed, watching the sun rise over the distant mountains, and the breath of the sage, sweeping into the half-opened window, had carried with it something stronger--the lure of a virgin country.
Aunt Agatha Benham, chaperon, forty--maiden lady from choice--various uncharitable persons hinted humorously of pursued eligibles--found Rosalind gazing ecstatically out of the berth window when she stirred and awoke shortly after nine. Agatha climbed out of her berth and sat on its edge, yawning sleepily.
"This is Manti, I suppose," she said acridly, shov
one a lot of squirmin'. Been followin' us--you reckon?"
They descended the slope of the hill, still talking. Evidently,Sanderson's silence had completely convinced them that they had killedhim.
But halfway down the hill, one of the men, watching the rock nearSanderson as he walked, saw the muzzle of Sanderson's rifle projectingfrom between the two rocks.
For the second time since the appearance of Sanderson on the scene theman discharged his rifle from the hip, and for the second time hemissed the target.
Sanderson, however, did not miss. His rifle went off, and the man fellwithout a sound. The other, paralyzed from the shock, stood for aninstant, irresolute, then, seeming to discover from where Sanderson'sbullet had come, he raised his rifle.
Sanderson's weapon crashed again. The second man shuddered, spunviolently around, and pitched headlong down the slope.
Sanderson came from behind the rock, grinning mirthlessly. He knewwhere his bullets had gone, and he took no precaut
e. Well, put it down and open the door. There's some things I want to say to you."
"What about?" asked Hamlin, suspiciously. Overwhelming every other thought in his mind was the conviction that Davies and Harris had apprised Lawler of what had happened the night before, and that Lawler had come to capture him, single-handed.
"About Ruth."
The wild gleam in Hamlin's eyes began to dull. However, he was still suspicious.
"You seen any of your men this mornin'--Davies or Harris?" he asked.
"Davies and Harris went to town last night. I reckon they didn't get back yet. What's Davies and Harris got to do with me visiting you?"
"Nothin'." There was relief in Hamlin's voice. The muzzle of the rifle wavered; the weapon was withdrawn and the slide closed. Then the door slowly opened, and Hamlin appeared in it, a six-shooter in hand.
"If you're foolin' me, Kane Lawler, I'll sure bore you a-plenty!" he threatened.
"Shucks!" Lawler advanced to the door, ignoring the h
nter's chill had not yet gone out of the air. But then, Willard had earned his ducking.
The girl cleared her throat. "We have had an accident," she informed the rider, her voice a little husky.
At this word he swept his hat from his head and bowed to her. "Why, I reckon you have, ma'am," he said. "Didn't you have no driver?"
"Why, yes," returned the girl hesitatingly, for she thought she detected sarcasm in his voice, and she had to look twice at him to make sure--and then she couldn't have told. "The gentleman on the bank, there, is our driver."
"The gentleman on the bank, eh?" drawled the rider. And now for the first time he seemed to become aware of Willard's presence, for he looked narrowly at him. "Why, he's all wet!" he exclaimed. "I expect he come pretty near drownin', didn't he, ma'am?" He looked again at the girl, astonishment in his eyes. "An' so he drove you into that suck-hole, an' he got throwed out! Wasn't there no one to tell him that Calamity ain't to be trusted?"
start, he noted it and halted his pony after reaching the level to look about him.
There was no sign of any cattle. But he reflected that perhaps a new range had been opened. Thirteen years is a long time, and many changes could have come during his absence.
He was about to urge his pony on again, when some impulse moved him to turn in the saddle and glance at the hill he had just vacated. At about the spot where he had sat--perhaps two hundred yards distant--he saw a man on a horse, sitting motionless in the saddle, looking at him.
Calumet wheeled his own pony and faced the man. The vari-colored glow from the distant mountains fell full upon the horseman, and with the instinct for attention to detail which had become habitual with Calumet, he noted that the rider was a big man; that he wore a cream-colored Stetson and a scarlet neckerchief. Even at that distance, so clear was the light, Calumet caught a vague impression of his features--his nose, especially, which was big, hawk-like.
at first, that the two men were shooting at another man, concealed behind the rock; but the fact that there were only two horses indicated that he had been in error. No man would be foolhardy enough to attempt to cross the desert on foot, and unless a man were a friend he would not be carried upon another man's horse. Therefore, it seemed to be evident that the target at which the men were shooting was not another man.
And now, convinced that the men had cornered an animal of some kind, and that they feared it too greatly to face it openly, the rider laughed loudly and called to the men, his voice freighted with sarcasm.
"Scared?" he said. "Oh, don't be. If you'll back off a little an' give him room, he'll just naturally slope, an' give you a chance to get to your cayuses."
Both men wheeled almost at the same instant. The man at the base of the rock snarled--after the first gasp of astonishment, baring his teeth in hideous mirth and embarrassment; the other man, startled and caught off ba
I've about concluded that he ain't comin'. An' so I come over to Dry Bottom to find a man."
"You've found one," smiled the stranger.
Stafford drew out a handful of double eagles and pressed them into the other's hand. "I'm goin' over to the Two Diamond now," he said. "You'd better wait a day or two, so's no one will get wise. Come right to me, like you was wantin' a job."
He started toward the hitching rail for his pony, hesitated and then walked back.
"I didn't get your name," he smiled.
The stranger's eyes glittered humorously. "It's Ferguson," he said quietly.
Stafford's eyes widened with astonishment. Then his right hand went out and grasped the other's.
"Well, now," he said warmly, "that's what I call luck."
Ferguson smiled. "Mebbe it's luck," he returned. "But before I go over to work for you there's got to be an understandin'. I c'n shoot some," he continued, looking steadily at Stafford, "but I ain't runnin' around the country shootin' men witho
-except as they might have been reminded of the dreary distance from the glitter and the tinsel of the East. The mountains, distant and shining, would have meant nothing to them; the strong, pungent aroma of the sage might have nauseated them.
But Miss Benham had caught her first glimpse of Manti and the surrounding country from a window of her berth in the car that morning just at dawn, and she loved it. She had lain for some time cuddled up in her bed, watching the sun rise over the distant mountains, and the breath of the sage, sweeping into the half-opened window, had carried with it something stronger--the lure of a virgin country.
Aunt Agatha Benham, chaperon, forty--maiden lady from choice--various uncharitable persons hinted humorously of pursued eligibles--found Rosalind gazing ecstatically out of the berth window when she stirred and awoke shortly after nine. Agatha climbed out of her berth and sat on its edge, yawning sleepily.
"This is Manti, I suppose," she said acridly, shov