The loot of the Lazy A
So the Lazy A boys went behind the Oreana, where they mounted their
horses and headed for home. Idaho tried to find Miles Lane, but the
lawyer was not in evidence. The town had recovered its composure after
the bloodless battle, and there was much speculation as to what would
happen next time the two outfits met.
It was almost time for the train arrival, when Idaho went to the depot.
He went in the waiting room, where the agent told him the train would
be in very soon. Then he went out on the platform and walked around the
corner of the depot, with the intention of changing the position of his
half broke buggy team, which might get frightened at the train. But as
he swung around the corner, three or four men piled upon him, bearing
him down by sheer weight of numbers. An old saddle-blanket was flung
over his head, and inside of two minutes Idaho Breen was trussed up
like a mummy, and dumped unceremoniously behind the depot.
The train ground ponderously up to the station, and when Mary Smith
climbed down the steps, assisted by the gray-haired conductor, she
was met by Buck Wing and Klondike Evans of the Star X. Behind her
came Cultus Collins, apparently paying no attention to her.
“Howdy, Miss,” greeted Buck Wing, a half smile on his face. “Are you
Miss Ault?”
“Why, yes,” said Mary, who was prepared to be “alias anything she was
called.”
Klondike grasped her suitcase and she walked with Buck, who guided her
around to the hitch-rack, where the frightened team was being taken care
of by Heinie and Joe. Mary noted a strong smell of liquor about them.
It seemed settled that Klondike was to do the driving. He got in and
took the lines, while Heinie and Joe clung to the bridles of the rearing
broncos.
“Head for the ranch,” said Buck. “We’ll catch yuh.”
“You’ll go some, if yuh do!” snorted Klondike, surging back on the
lines. The team whirled around, almost upsetting the buggy, and went
up the main street of Oreana City like a pair of racehorses heading
for the wire.
Mary got little view of Oreana City, as she was entirely occupied in
clinging to the seat of the open buggy. The road was far from smooth,
and they went bouncing off the street into a wide sweep of low hills,
gray and blue in the starlight. Klondike clung to the frail lines,
content to keep the running team in the road.
The light buggy meant nothing to the broncos; running, wild, cold-jawed.
A mile or more reeled out behind them. Klondike knew of a bad spot in
the road, where a washout had cut a deep furrow across the highway. To
go into this at top speed would mean a smashup. He shortened his lines,
braced his feet and pulled steadily. But the cold-jawed broncs did not
mind the pull on the straight-bar bits.
Klondike, still half drunk, realized that things were not working out
just right. He shot a glance at the girl beside him, who was clinging
to the seat with both hands, and surged back on the lines again. He
knew the washout was very close now.
_Snap!_ The left line broke and came back, striking Klondike in the
chest, and throwing all the pull on the right line. It swerved the team
to the right, and a wheel went over a mesquite snag, throwing Klondike
off the seat.
Just beyond here an old road turned to the right; an old road, which had
not been used for years. The buggy slewed around, skidded dangerously,
and then straightened up as the frantic team headed up the old road.
Mary was thrown off the seat and down against the dash, but managed
to get back to the seat. Her mind was in a whirl, as she realized
that the driver had been thrown off. She wanted to jump, but realized
the danger. The buggy was careening over the old road, possibly half
a mile from where Klondike had been thrown out, when the team whirled
suddenly, throwing Mary off into a patch of brush, and headed back in
the general direction of the Star X, cutting across country.
The cause of their sudden turn was a lone horseman, who had appeared
suddenly just a few yards ahead of them. The team was almost into him,
when it turned, and Mary narrowly missed being thrown against his horse.
The horse whirled wildly, but he reined it back, dismounted swiftly and
ran over to the girl.
With little difficulty he disentangled her from the bush, which had
broken her fall, and placed her on the ground. It was Dude Wheeler,
cutting across country toward the Star X, his face a mixture of
wonder and astonishment as he scratched a match and looked down into
the frightened eyes of Mary Smith.
“Are yuh hurt?” he asked, when he saw her eyes open. She did not
say--merely blinked at the match, which burned Dude’s fingers before
he dropped it.
“I--I don’t think I’m hurt--much,” she said, as he scratched another
match. She managed to sit up and he braced her with one arm. “I guess
I’m--I’m badly shaken,” she admitted.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you are. But how did yuh happen to be up here, all alone
with a runaway team?”
“Why, I don’t know exactly. The driver fell off, you see.”
“Yeah, I see--that much,” Dude Wheeler was lighting several matches, so
he might get a better look at this girl.
“Who was the driver?” he asked. Mary shook her head. “I don’t know. I
just came in on the train tonight, you see.”
“In on the train,” echoed Dude. He looked closer at her. “Say, are you
Miss Ault?”
“Why--er--yes,” said Mary, turning her eyes away.
The matches burned out, and Dude did not light another.
“I see,” he said slowly. He got to his feet and stood there, gazing
across the hills. “Yo’re a long ways from the Lazy A,” he said. “I
dunno what--I wonder--that was a Lazy A team. You don’t know who the
driver was?”
“No, I have no idea who he was. They just put me in the buggy, and the
team ran away.”
“I see. I’m Jack Wheeler, Miss Ault. Folks call me ‘Dude.’”
“Oh, what a queer name!”
“We own the Star X outfit.”
“Isn’t that nice? I--I think I’ve hurt my ankle, Mr. Wheeler.”
“I reckon you got off lucky, if that’s all.”
He helped her to her feet, but she was unable to walk.
“I dunno,” said Dude slowly. “It’s a long ways to the Lazy A. I hadn’t
ought to take yuh to the Star X, but it’s the nearest place. Can yuh
stand alone until I get my bronc?”
Mary clung to the brush, while he led his horse up to her.
“You can’t straddle no horse in that skirt,” he told her.
“No, I suppose not,” admitted Mary. “What will we do?”
“And if I set yuh sideways on that saddle and got on behind yuh, we’d
prob’ly both get throwed off, because that bronc ain’t broke to pack
double. I reckon there’s just one thing to do.”
He swung her up in his arms, lifted her to the saddle and got up with
her, lifting her in his arms as he got into the saddle.
“But you can’t carry me in your arms,” she protested.
“This is all the evidence in the world against yore idea,” he said, as
he rode off through the hills. “If you can stand it, I shore can, Miss.
I’ll try and not hurt yore ankle.”
* * * * *
Klondike Evans had landed just off the road, and just hard enough to
daze him for a minute or more. When he recovered sufficiently to realize
what had happened, the team was far away; too far for him to even hear
it. He was walking circles in the road, when Buck Wing, Joe Chevrier and
Heinie Moriarity came galloping up the road, leading Klondike’s horse.
They drew up and considered Klondike, who was still half-speechless from
hitting the ground so hard.
“What in hell happened?” panted Buck. “Where’s the team?”
“Gone,” Klondike puffed heavily and flapped his arms helplessly.
“Th-throwed me out! Line busted. I dunno what happened next.”
“My Gawd!” blurted Heinie piously. “She’ll be kilt!”
“Already killed, I’ll betcha!” exploded Buck. “Git on yore bronc,
Klondike! We’ve got to head ’em off.”
“Head ’em off?” Klondike lurched to his horse and climbed into the
saddle. “Head nothin’! They’re miles away and goin’ strong. I couldn’t
even check ’em.”
But no one was listening to him; they were spurring ahead as fast as
their horses could run.
“Watch for her along the road!” yelled Buck.
Their horses never slackened their run, until they reached the big gate
of the Star X, where they found the buggy, almost wrapped around one of
the gate-posts. It was the end of the road. Inside the yard were the two
horses. One had lost all its harness except the collar and limped badly.
The other seemed to be all right.
The boys dropped off their horses, cold sober now, and searched all
around. But there was no sign of the girl. Sadly they mounted and
rode back toward town, going slowly, searching both sides of the road
carefully, afraid of finding the girl dead.
“They’ll hang us,” wailed Klondike. “I’ll betcha they will.”
“You get ’bout feefty shot in de hin’side, and you not scare from hang,”
declared Joe, who rode standing up in his stirrups. “She’s sure kill
h’all de joy for you.”
“That was a fool thing to do,” complained Buck.
“This is a nice time to think about it,” retorted Klondike. “It sounded
good when we was drunk. Anyway, it was yore idea, Buck.”
“Originally, Klondike. You was the one that suggested ridin’ a circle
and comin’ back to the depot, yuh remember. Don’t lay it all onto me.”
“She was a danged pretty girl, too,” said Klondike. “I got a good look
at her.”
“Sure; and pulled all on one line.”
“Aw, let up on him, Buck,” said Heinie. “We’re all to blame. Dude will
fire all of us for this, anyway; so we might as well go to town, get
drunk and take our medicine. If there ever was four bigger fools, I’d
like to see what they look like.”
* * * * *
Cultus Collins walked from the depot and engaged a room at the Oreana
hotel, after which he went to the Oreana saloon. The sheriff and Miles
Lane were at the bar, talking with the bartender, who was explaining
the argument between the Lazy A and the Star X. They nodded to Cultus,
who sat down at a table and picked up a newspaper.
“I wasn’t here to see the fun,” laughed Lane. “Lucky that no one was
hurt, except Joe Cheerier. Those few shot probably won’t hurt him much.
Do you know if Miss Ault came in tonight?”
“I think so,” said the sheriff. “Idaho was there to meet her, and I saw
his outfit go out of town on the run. Just got a flash of the buggy, and
I think the girl was in it. Idaho was drivin’ a half broke team.”
“Joe Chevrier said he had been stung by forty bees,” laughed the
bartender. “He didn’t get much sympathy.”
Lane turned to Cultus. “Have a drink with us, stranger?”
Cultus dropped the paper and came up to the bar.
“My name is Jones,” he said. “Jones of Oklahoma.”
“Mine is Lane.” The lawyer introduced Cultus to the rest. “Did you come
in on the train tonight?”
“Yeah,” nodded Cultus.
“Was there a lady got off here?” “Yeah. I think her name was Ault. I
talked with her a little.”
“A niece of old man Ault, who died a while back,” said the sheriff.
Cultus squinted at his glass. He had a letter of introduction to a dead
man, it seemed.
“She inherited the Lazy A ranch,” offered the sheriff.
“She didn’t say anythin’ about it,” said Cultus thoughtfully. “A nice
sort of a girl, it seemed to me.”
“She’ll be rich.” The sheriff backed against the bar, holding his glass.
“That Lazy A is worth a mint of money.”
“Cattle?” asked Cultus.
“Gold. The old man could have sold out for a million, but he hated holes
in the ground. Queer old jigger, Ault was.”
“Have you ever been here before?” asked Lane curiously.
Cultus shook his head, “No, this is my first trip. Kinda lookin’ over
the cattle crop for a Chicago packer.”
“Oh, I see. You----”
Lane’s question was interrupted by the entrance of Idaho Breen. He was
hatless, a smear of blood across his mouth and a livid scratch across