The loot of the Lazy A
over his right eye. He spat angrily and lurched against the bar.
“Give me a drink!” he snorted, “Here, gimme that bottle!”
Idaho grasped the bottle and took a heavy swig; so heavy that the
bartender gasped. It was probably the biggest drink ever taken in
the Oreana. Idaho slammed the bottle back on the bar, wiped the back
of his hand across his lips and tried to blink the tears out of his
eyes.
“That’s what I’d call a snifter,” observed the sheriff.
“Sa-a-ay!” Idaho pounded on the bar with both hands, as though to give
force to his statement. “A-a-a-ahem-m-m-m! I was assaulted by several
men a while ago. They hog-tied me in a dirty blanket and left me out
back of the depot. The agent happened to find me. My team’s gone--the
girl’s gone!”
“You was?” exclaimed the sheriff. “Whatcha know--say, I seen yore buggy
team go up the street just after the train came in.”
“My buggy team?” choked Idaho. “Are yuh sure?”
“Yeah. It was goin’ kinda fast, but I’m sure I seen a woman in it,
Idaho.”
“Yuh did, eh?” Idaho struck the top of the bar with his fist. “It was
that damn’ Star X outfit! They laid for me and stole the girl! They
never left town!”
“Who was the girl they stole?” asked Cultus. Idaho glared at him. “Who
are you?”
“This is Jones of Oklahoma,” said the sheriff. “Mr. Jones, this is Mr.
Breen, foreman of the Lazy A.”
“The girl they stole,” said Idaho, not offering Cultus his hand, “was
the new owner of the Lazy A outfit.”
“The girl we spoke about,” said the sheriff. “The one that came in on
the train with you.”
“Oh, yeah--that one.”
“Was you there?” asked Idaho quickly. “Didja see her git off the train?
Who met her, eh? What’d they look like?”
Cultus grinned widely. “I dunno. It was kinda dark, and I didn’t pay
much attention.”
“It has been over an hour since the train came in,” said Lane, looking
at his watch. “Have you----?”
“I have!” rasped Idaho. “With a dirty blanket over my head, and part of
it in my mouth. I thought I was goin’ to have to stay all night.”
“Just why would the Star X steal that girl?” asked Cultus.
“Because they hate the Lazy A!” snorted Idaho. “We had a regular battle
in the street tonight. Nobody got killed. I suppose both sides were too
drunk to shoot straight. They’d do anythin’--them dirty coyotes. I’m
goin’ out to the Star X and get that girl.”
“Think about it a while,” advised the sheriff. “Them boys won’t eat
her. In spite of yore opinion of the Star X, they ain’t cannibals.
They was all drunk, Idaho; and their idea of a good joke would be to
steal the owner of the Lazy A.”
“Dirty cow-thieves!” Idaho was very mad, indeed.
“That’s a killin’ statement,” said the sheriff. “Don’t let Dude Wheeler
hear yuh say it.”
“Bad medicine?” asked Cultus.
“Bad enough to resent a statement like that.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that, Idaho,” said Lane.
“Well, by God, I found fifty-three Lazy A cow-hides in----”
“We know that,” interrupted the sheriff.
Idaho reached for the bottle and took another drink, as a cowboy came
in. He was from one of the small ranches south of Oreana. He nodded
pleasantly to everyone.
“I was wonderin’ if any of the Lazy A gang were in town,” he grinned.
“The Star X outfit are down in the Rawhide.”
“Down in the Rawhide?” asked Idaho. “How long have they been down
there?”
“Well, I dunno. I heard the bartender tell ’em that the Lazy A thought
they’d run ’em out of town, and the Star X boys said they hadn’t never
left town.”
Idaho glared thoughtfully. The taste of the blanket was in his mouth,
and he spat disgustedly.
“Did the agent see the girl get off the train?” asked Lane.
Idaho shook his head. “He said he didn’t.”
“I reckon that Jones of Oklahoma is the only one that’s sure she ever
came,” observed the sheriff.
“I saw _a_ girl get off,” corrected Cultus.
Miles Lane cleared his throat softly. “If I were in your place, Idaho,
I’d go home and sleep on it. I don’t think that girl is in any danger
of being hurt, and you can’t do a thing tonight.”
“That’s good advice,” nodded the sheriff. “Tomorrow mornin’, if the girl
ain’t showed up, I’ll go with yuh to the Star X.”
“Yeah, and I’ll take my whole gang,” flared Idaho. “I’ve got to hire a
horse to ride home on.” He stamped out of the saloon, and they heard him
going down the rickety sidewalk, heading for the livery stable.
Cultus went back to the hotel, puzzling over what had become of Mary.
He could have described the two men who met her at the train, but
decided not to. He could identify Buck Wing and Klondike Evans any
time, and Cultus wanted to know more of things before he told anybody
what he knew.
* * * * *
Dude Wheeler saw the wreck of the Lazy A buggy, when he rode through
the gate, with Mary in his arms. In the dim starlight he could see the
two horses down near a corral; so he decided that the runaway team had
cut back to the road which they had followed to the ranch gate.
He drew up at the porch of the ranchhouse and dismounted, still carrying
Mary in his arms.
“Your arms must be paralyzed,” she said.
“Not exactly,” he laughed. “Yo’re not as light as yuh was when I first
picked yuh up. How’s the ankle feelin’?”
“Why, it seems numb, but there is little pain.”
“That’s good.” He picked her up and they went in the house.
The Star X living-room was a commodious place, rough finished, with a
huge fireplace on one side. The floor was strewn with Navajo rugs, and
many of the chair-seats and backs were of cow-hide, untanned. It was a
typical man’s abode. At one side of the front door was a gun-rack,
filled with rifles. Loose cartridges, a heavy Colt revolver, coil of
spot-cord rope, packages of tobacco, and some dog-eared magazines were
scattered over the rough table top in the center of the room.
On the floor in front of the fireplace was the skin of a grizzly bear,
while over the mantle was a huge elk head, with magnificent antlers.
Mary gazed around the room, after Dude had placed her in their easiest
chair.
“I’ll get some hot water,” said Dude. “Mebbe some liniment will help it
out. You take it easy, and I’ll fix yuh up fine.”
Mary watched the tall, straight-backed cowboy leave the room, and sank
back in her chair with a sigh, wondering what would happen next. Her
life had been adventurous indeed since she had met Cultus Collins. She
had no idea just what she was to do in Oreana City. Thinking it over
calmly was impossible for her. She was an impostor. And whether she
could carry out the deception remained to be seen.
Someone had entered the room behind her and she turned to see Eph
Wheeler, clad in an old red undershirt, overalls and a pair of mismated
woolen socks. The old man’s sparse hair was standing straight up, and
his face appeared very thin in the lamplight. He squinted closely at
her, glanced toward the kitchen, where Dude was noisily poking wood in
the stove, and then came a little closer to her.
“Just who might you be?” he asked curiously. “I thought I must be
dreamin’ when I heard a woman’s voice out here.”
“I am Mary Ault,” said Mary bravely.
The old man’s mouth opened, but he did not speak. He rubbed his right
hip with his right elbow, frowned at the lamp, shifted his feet.
“Mind sayin’ that again?” he asked.
Mary repeated the name. The old man nodded. Dude came in from the
kitchen, saw his father, and stopped short.
“Did we wake yuh up, Dad?” he asked.
The old man did not reply; he was too interested in Mary.
“This is Miss Ault,” said Dude.
“That’s what she said. Where’d you pick her up?”
Dude explained about the runaway and how he had found Mary. He was
unable to tell who had been driving the team, and Mary did not know.
“It’s a Lazy A rig,” said Dude. “Blue buggy with red wheels. It’s
wrapped around one of our gate-posts. The horses are down by the corral.
I can’t imagine what a Lazy A rig would be doin’ out here.”
“My suitcase was in it,” said Mary. Dude walked out, and came back in
a few moments, carrying the suitcase, which was none the worse for the
runaway. The old man sat down and watched Mary, while she soaked her
swollen ankle in hot water.
“So Jud Ault was yore uncle, eh?” he remarked. “Know him?”
“No,” said Mary. She hadn’t the slightest idea who Jud Ault was.
“He was a dirty old pup.”
Mary flinched. She was evidently not related to a saint.
“He turned his own daughter out,” continued the old man. “But he was a
dirty old pup long before that.”
“Dad, I don’t reckon she cares to know all this,” said Dude softly.
“Well, she ought to. Anyway, she might as well hear it from me, ’cause
she’s goin’ to hear it sooner or later.”
“That liniment will take a lot of the soreness out,” said Dude. “I’ll
soak a bandage and----”
“It seems to me yore takin’ a lot of pains with an Ault,” said the old
man. Dude flushed, but did not reply.
“Been packin’ a Winchester for ’em for years; now yo’re wrappin’ up
their ankles.”
Mary laughed, because she did not realize how serious had been the
hatred between the two ranches.
“What is a Winchester?” she asked.
“A gun,” said Dude. His hand trembled slightly and he spilled a little
of the liniment.
“Do all men carry guns out here?” she asked. Dude looked up at her, his
eyes serious.
“Most of ’em do.”
“Tell me about Jud Ault turning his daughter out.”
“It’s true.” Dude did not look up at her. “She married a gambler. Some
say he was also a lawyer, but he didn’t practice law here. Old Jud Ault
wouldn’t speak to her again. She lives in Oreana City, with her little
boy.”
“And he didn’t leave her anything when he died?”
“A dollar.”
“And the ranch is worth a million, they say,” growled the old man.
“Yo’re sure lucky.”
“I--I didn’t know much about it,” faltered Mary.
“Lane sent for yuh, I reckon. He made out Jud Ault’s will.”
“Yes,” said Mary, because she didn’t know what else to say.
Dude finished bandaging the ankle and took the water back to the
kitchen.
“Are you thinkin’ of stayin’ here tonight?” asked the old man.
“Why, I--I don’t know,” said Mary.
“I guess you’ll go back to town.”
Dude came back and the old man turned to him. “Yuh better harness up the
team and take her back to the hotel, Dude.”
They looked at each other for several moments.
“That might be the best thing to do,” said Dude slowly then. “I’ll hitch
up the team.”
He went out, softly closing the door behind him. Mary curled up on the
big chair, her chin in her hand. She did not like the old man, who
filled his pipe and smoked noisily.
“You’ll sell the Lazy A, won’t yuh?” he asked, not unkindly.
Mary shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t know, Mr. Wheeler.”
“Runnin’ a cow-ranch ain’t no woman’s job,” he sucked heavily on his
pipe. “Of course, you might marry a cow-man.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Yo’re a queer sort of a girl. That’s about all most girls think about!”
“Do you know much about girls?”
“Hmph! Well, don’t they?”
“Do they?”
Eph Wheeler threw his pipe on the table, with a grunt of disgust. “I’m
glad yo’re goin’ back to town! I hate an argument.”
“And you start them yourself.”
“I do not!” The old man drew himself up angrily, his eyes flashing. “I
never--say, I dunno what this is all about. I wish Dude would hurry with
that team. You make me mad. Aults always made me mad. You remind me of
Jud Ault.”
Mary laughed openly at him, and he stalked from the room, swearing under
his breath. He did not put in an appearance, when Dude carried her out
to the buggy, and Dude did not mention him until they were well on their
way to Oreana City.
The moon was up now, and the hills were bathed in a silver glow; blue in
the depths, and silver, where the moonlight brushed the ridges: a mystic