The loot of the Lazy A
fairyland where the moon and stars came down close to the world. Mary
leaned back in the buggy seat and looked at a world she had never seen
before.
“Oh, isn’t it beautiful!” she said simply.
“Yes’m, it is. I never get tired of these hills at night. The rough
edges are all gone. Lotsa nights I just ride into the hills; ride away
back on the ridges. It’s like goin’ away from the rest of the world.
“I’m sorry dad talked like he did. But he’s old, and he hates the
Lazy A. There’s no women at the Star X. Pretty soon our four cowpunchers
will be driftin’ home from town, loaded to the gills with liquor--and it
might not be a nice place for a lady--the Star X ranch. They’re a rough
lot. You’ll be better off at the hotel. I put yore suitcase in the back
of the buggy.”
“It’s a wonder it didn’t get all smashed.”
“And you, too.”
“Yes, that’s true. I’m sorry to have put you to all this trouble, Mr.
Wheeler. I just can’t imagine what would have happened to me, if you
hadn’t met that runaway.”
“Well, it was kinda lucky. About a hundred yards beyond where you was
throwed out, there’s a deep washout. I reckon things would a’ gone to
smash in there. It’s about thirty feet across--and there ain’t no
road.”
“You mean, a deep rut?”
“Yuh might call it a rut, ma’am; it’s about twenty feet deep.”
“Oh!” Mary shuddered. “I’m glad I met you.”
“Well, so am I,” said Dude softly. “And it wasn’t any trouble; so yuh
don’t need to thank me.”
“But you hate the Ault family, you know.”
“I just wonder if I do. It seems like kind of a small thing to do--this
hate. It ain’t never got me anythin’. You and Faith are the only Aults I
know--and I don’t hate either of yuh.”
“Faith?”
“Yeah; Jud Ault’s daughter.”
“The one he turned out of his home?”
“Uh-huh. There’s the lights of Oreana City. I’ll fix yuh up at the
hotel. It ain’t no great place, but it’s all right. You’ll prob’ly go
out to the Lazy A tomorrow.”
They drove up to the hotel. Dude carried her suitcase in and Mary was
able to walk slowly. The proprietor was reading by the light of a smoky
old oil lamp. He stared over his glasses at Mary.
“Give Miss Ault yore best room. Charley,” said Dude. “She’s only goin’
to be here one night.”
“Sure, sure! Miss Ault. Huh! Huh! Yes, ma’am! Looks like old Jud, eh?
Know her any place. Naw, yuh don’t need to register. We never had but
one book, and somebody stole it. I suppose they was collectin’
horse-thieves’ autographs. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
The old man bent double over his stock joke, grabbed the lamp in one
hand, the suitcase in the other and led the way down a narrow hall.
“I’ll put ye in the president’s sweet,” he chuckled. “It’s the only one
that the wash-bowl ain’t cracked.”
Dude watched them turn into a room, and went outside. There was plenty
of noise in the Oreana, so he went over. Klondike, Buck, Heinie and Joe
were decidedly drunk. They goggled at him owlishly, sobering a trifle.
It was rather unusual for Dude to come to town at that time of night.
Buck invited him to have a drink, but he declined.
A sudden notion struck him, and he took Buck by the arm.
“I want to talk to yuh, Buck,” he said.
“Oh, yeah,” Buck held back. “Now lissen to me, Dude. You’ve----”
“Not in here,” whispered Dude. “Come outside.”
“Oh, all right. Shay, now lissen----”
Dude drew him outside the saloon and walked him a few steps up the
sidewalk, where he braced Buck against the wall.
“I know whasha want,” said Buck knowingly. “I didn’ know Klondike was
gonna bust the lines. Oh, it’s an awful thing, ol’-timer. She mush ’a’
been killed. She----”
“You stole that girl, did yuh, Buck?”
“Oh, yesh. Firs’ we had a fight with the Lazy A, and the sheriff shot
Joe in the pants with a sh-shotgun. Oh, ter’ble! Idaho Breen wash in
it, too. Oh, cert’nly! So we tied him up in an old saddle-blanket and
stole the girl. We admit it. Cert’nly, we do. We can’t deny it. ’S too
bad, but it’s done, Dude.”
“Who knows about it, except you four, Buck?”
“Thasall.”
“Did Idaho recognize yuh?”
“’F he did, he’s a good li’l recognizer.”
“Then don’t say anythin’ about it, Buck. They can’t prove it on yuh; so
keep still.”
“You mean that, Dude?” Buck goggled owlishly, pawing at Dude.
“Sure I mean it.”
“Is--is that girl dead?”
“Not hardly, Buck.”
“Oh, my; thash good. Mush obliged, Dude. An’ you ain’t goin’ to fire
ush?”
Dude laughed softly. “No, Buck; I think not. Mebbe I’ll thank yuh
instead. Go back and finish up yore job.”
Buck weaved back to the bar, where the other three boys awaited a
verdict. Buck leaned against the bar, poured out a drink, a vacant sag
to his lower lip.
“Whassa matter?” gurgled Klondike. “What’d Dude want?”
“Sh-h-h-h-h!” Buck sagged back on his heels. “It’s a shecret. Dude says
to keep our mouth shut about it.”
“Zasso?” Heinie nodded solemnly. “Does Dude know about it?”
“Shertenly does,” rather loftily. “Oh, shertenly he does.”
“And he wasn’t awful mad, Buck? Didn’t fire us?”
“Nossir. He--he con-con-congratulated ush.”
“By gosh, dat’s fine!” exploded Joe. “My min’ is relieve, but I’m still
got de li’l duck-shot in de skin.”
“Dude wasn’t drunk?” queried Klondike.
“Jus’ as shober as--as we are,” declared Buck.
“Then it’s all right. Here’s happy days, gents.”
* * * * *
It was early the following morning when Idaho Breen and his three
cowboys rode in to Oreana City. Each man carried a rifle in a scabbard,
and an extra belt of cartridges. The Lazy A was prepared for war. Cleve
Sears, the pudgy sheriff, sighed mournfully when he saw them. He wanted
to be fair with both sides, even if Joe Chevrier did try to kill him
the evening previous. Idaho briskly stated his intentions of going out
to the Star X and demanding the girl and an explanation.
“And you better come along, Cleve,” he said. “It’s yore place to see
that we get a square deal.”
“No-o-up,” the sheriff shook his head. “In the first place, yuh don’t
know they took her. Last night yore outfit staged a battle with the
Star X, which wasn’t noways decisive. If yuh go out there, all heeled
for a scrap--you’ll git it, Idaho. And I’m not goin’ to back yore
play. And I jist want yuh to know that the law ain’t back yuh. If yuh
kill some of the Star X, set to kill somebody. That’s ag’in the law.
If you go out there and git some of yore men killed, yuh ain’t got no
law to back yuh. If yuh kill some of the Star X, all hell can’t save
yuh from bein’ tried for murder. Better do quite a lot of thinkin’
about it, Idaho.”
It was a long speech for Cleve Sears to make, and it left him gasping
for breath. It also left Idaho breathless.
“Are you backin’ the Star X?” demanded Idaho. “You went and used a
shotgun on Joe Chevrier last night, and now yuh want to back their----”
“I’m not backin’ anybody! Chevrier tried to kill one of us; mebbe both.
But that was last night. Yo’re goin’ out there to pick a fight. Well, go
ahead, but remember what I told yuh.”
“But I want to find the girl,” wailed Idaho. “I’m not lookin’ for a war,
Cleve. That girl was stolen, don’tcha see? Why, I’ve got a charge of
horse-stealin’ I can put ag’in the man who took my team. There ain’t no
law against killin’ a horse-thief.”
“Ain’t never been no law ag’in it,” said the sheriff slowly. “At least,
when yo’re sure you’ve got the right man.”
“Well, I don’t think yo’re playin’ square, Cleve.”
Idaho joined his men in front of the Rawhide saloon, where they sat down
to debate over their next move. The sheriff went on up to the hotel
dining-room, where he usually ate his meals. He was just in the act of
making an attack on a platter of ham and eggs, when Mary limped into the
room and sat down.
Cleve Sears was a bachelor, but not feminine-proof. He stared at Mary,
and found it difficult to concentrate on breakfast. She paid no
attention to him, but ordered her breakfast from the hotel proprietor,
who asked her how her “laig” was this morning.
“Much better, thank you,” she smiled.
“Don’t mention it, Miss Ault. Want yer aigs lookin’ up, or blind?”
“I don’t think I know what you mean.”
“Leave ’em as they lay, or turned over, ma’am?”
“Oh, as they lay,” laughed Mary. The man shuffled away to the kitchen.
The sheriff’s breakfast was unfinished, but he hurried outside and
crossed the street to where Idaho and his men were still debating what
to do.
“If yo’re lookin’ for a Miss Ault--she’s eatin’ breakfast in the hotel,”
announced the sheriff.
Idaho blinked rapidly. “Over there? Huh! How’d she git there?”
“I didn’t ask her,” said the sheriff coldly. “I suppose she stayed
there last night. Pers’nally, I think you was drunk and didn’t meet
the train.”
“No such a damn’ thing! I tell yuh--oh, well, I don’t care what you
think.”
They all filed over to the hotel, and on the way they saw Miles Lane
coming down the street. He was greatly surprised at the news and
anxious to see her. The four cowboys stayed in the hotel lobby, while
the sheriff, Idaho and Lane went into the dining-room.
Miles Lane lost no time in introducing himself, and also introduced
Idaho Breen and the sheriff. Mary had finished her breakfast; so Lane
asked her to go to his office with him and Idaho.
“You’ve got yore credentials, ain’t yuh?” asked Idaho. Mary produced
the letter, which Lane glanced through, nodding quickly. He turned to
the sheriff.
“Cleve, I wish you’d get old Judge Mears and bring him to my office. We
don’t exactly need him, but I’d like to have him there when we read the
will.”
The sheriff turned away, and Lane led the way to his office, ignoring
the three cowpunchers, who were anxious to meet the girl. Once inside
the office, Lane closed the door and motioned Mary to a seat. Idaho
lounged against the closed door, looking speculatively at Mary, who
tried to appear at ease.
“This letter says to keep you away from liquor,” said Lane seriously.
“Maybe you understand that.”
“Yes,” said Mary softly.
“I’ll say that Loring was a good picker,” Lane laughed softly. “How much
did he tell you about this deal?”
“Not very much.” Mary glanced at the floor.
“All right. You’d fool anybody, my dear. I was afraid Loring might send
a hard-boiled female.”
“Yuh can’t tell by the label,” laughed Idaho.
“That’s true.” Lane moved closer to Mary and lowered his voice. “I
don’t know how much Loring told you, but you don’t need to know very
much. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. Just do as we say, and
you’ll get your money. Is that plain?”
Mary nodded, not trusting her voice.
“All right. We’ll read that will, as soon as the men get here, and then
you’ll go out to the Lazy A. And remember--you are Mary Ault as long as
you are here. You play square with us, and you’ll get your profit.”
“And if she don’t----” Idaho Breen hesitated.
“We won’t discuss such a remote possibility, Idaho. Now,” Lane became
quizzical, “will you please tell us what happened to you last night?”
“I--I hardly know,” faltered Mary. “A man met me at the train, put me in
a buggy, and the team ran away. Another man found me, after I was thrown
out, and brought me to the hotel. I hurt my ankle, but it is much better
this morning.”
“Would you know these men if you seen ’em?” asked Idaho.
Mary shook her head quickly. “It was quite dark, you see.”
“Hear any names?”
“No--except the man who brought me in. His name was Wheeler.”
“Dude Wheeler, eh?” Idaho laughed harshly.
“That was his name. He was very nice to me.”
Idaho laughed, but dropped the subject, because the sheriff and old
Judge Mears, the district judge, were coming in. The cowboys from the
Lazy A crowded in and listened to Miles Lane read the will of Jud Ault,
in which, with the exception of one dollar, the entire Lazy A property