The Orphan Read online

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE SHERIFF STATES SOME FACTS

  The foreman of the Star C impatiently tossed his bridle reins over thepost which stood near the sheriff's door and knocked heavily, brushingthe dust of his ride from him. Quick, heavy steps approached within thehouse and the door suddenly flew open.

  "Hullo, Tom!" Shields cried, shaking hands with his friend. "Come rightin--I knew you would come if we coaxed you a little."

  "You don't have to do much coaxing--I can't stay away, Jim," replied Blakewith a laugh. "How do you do, Mrs. Shields?"

  "Very well, Tom," she answered. "Miss Ritchie, Helen, Mary, this is TomBlake; Tom, Miss Ritchie and James' sisters. They are to stay with us justas long as they can, and I'll see that it is a good, long time, too."

  "How do you do?" he cried heartily, acknowledging the introduction. "Iam glad to meet you, for I've heard a whole lot about you. I hope you'lllike this country--greatest country under the sky! You stay out here amonth and I'll bet you'll be just like lots of people, and not want togo back East again."

  "It seems as though we have always known Mr. Blake, for James has writtenabout you so much," replied Helen, and then she laughed: "But I am notso sure about liking this country, although very unusual things seem totake place in it. The journey was very trying, and it seemed to get worseas we neared our destination."

  "Well, I'll have to confess that the stage-ride part of it is a drawback,and also that Apaches don't make good reception committees. They are alittle too pressing at times."

  "But, speaking seriously," responded Helen, "I have had a reallydelightful time. James has managed to get me a very tame horse afterquite a long search, and I have taken many rides about the country."

  "Wait 'til you see that horse, Tom," laughed the sheriff. "It's warrantednot to raise any devilment, but it can't, for it has all it can do tostand up alone, and can't very well run away."

  "I see that The Orphan delivered my message, contrary to the habits ofmen," remarked the sheriff's wife as she took the guest's hat and offeredhim a seat. "I spoke to James about it several days ago, and asked him tosend you word when he could, for you have not been here for a long time.And the wonderful thing about it is that he remembered to tell The Orphan."

  "Thank you," he replied, seating himself. "Yes, he delivered it allright, it was about the second thing he said. But I just couldn't gethere any sooner, Mrs. Shields. And I was just wondering if I could getover to-night when he told me. When he said 'apricot pie' he looked sortof sad."

  "Poor boy!" she exclaimed. "You must take him one--it was a shame to sendsuch a message by him, poor, lonesome boy!"

  "Well, he ain't so lonesome now," laughed Blake.

  Helen had looked up quickly at the mention of The Orphan's name, and thesheriff replied to her look of inquiry.

  "I sent him out to punch for Blake, Helen," he said quickly. "If he hasthe right spirit in him he'll get along with the Star C outfit; if hehasn't, why, he won't get on with anybody. But I reckon Tom will bringout all the good in him; he'll have a fair show, anyhow."

  "And you never told us about it!" cried Helen reproachfully.

  "Oh, I was saving it up," laughed the sheriff. "What do you think of him,Tom?" he asked, turning to the foreman.

  "Why, he's a clean-looking boy," answered Blake. "I like his looks. Heseems to be a fellow what can be depended on in a pinch, and after allI had heard about him he sort of took me by surprise. I thought he wouldbe a tough-looking killer, and there he was only a overgrown, mischievouskid. But there is a look in his eyes that says there is a limit. But hesurprised me, all right."

  "You want to appreciate that, Miss Ritchie," remarked the sheriff, smilingbroadly. "Anything that takes Tom Blake by surprise must have merit ofsome kind. And he is a good judge of men, too."

  "I do so hope he gets on well," she replied earnestly. "He was a perfectgentleman when he was here, and his wit was sharp, too. And out there onthat awful plain, when he stood swaying with weakness, he looked justsplendid!"

  "Pure grit, pure grit!" cried the sheriff in reply. "That's why I'mbanking on him," he added, his eyes warming as he remembered. "Any fellowwho could turn a trick like that, and who has so much clean-cut courage,must be worth looking after. He's got a bad reputation, but he's plumbwhite and square with me, and I'm going to be square with him. And whenyou know all that I know about him you'll take his reputation as anatural result of hard luck, spunk, and other people's devilment andfoolishness. But he's going to have a show now, all right."

  "What did your men say when they saw him? Do they know who he is?" askedMrs. Shields anxiously.

  Blake laughed: "Oh, yes, they know who he is. They ain't the talking kindin a case like that; they won't say a word to him about what he hasdone. Besides, he was under their roof, eating their food, and that'senough for them. Of course, they were a little surprised, but not half asmuch as I thought they would be. He is a man who gives a good firstimpression, and the boys are all fine fellows, big-hearted, square,clean-living and peaceful. Reputations don't count for much with them,for they know that reputations are gossip-made in most cases. I askedhim to stay, and they haven't got no reason to object, and they won'twaste no time looking for reasons, neither. If there is any trouble atall, it will be his own fault. Then again, they know that he is allsand and that his gunplay is real and sudden; not that they are afraidof him, or anybody else, for that matter, but he is the kind of a manthey like--somebody who can stand up on his own legs and give better thanhe gets."

  "I reckon he fills that bill, all right," laughed the sheriff. "He _can_stand up on his own legs, and when he does he makes good. And as forgunplay, good Lord, he's a shore wizard! I reckoned I could do thingswith a gun, but he can beat me. He ain't no Boston pet, and he ain'tno city tough, not nohow. And I'd rather have him with me in a mix-upthan against me. He's the coolest proposition loose in this part of thecountry at any game, and I know what I'm talking about, too."

  "You promised to tell us everything about him, all you knew," reproachedHelen. "And I am sure that it will be well worth hearing."

  "Well, I was saving it up 'til I could tell it all at once and when youwould all be together," he replied. "There wasn't any use of telling ittwice," he explained as he brought out a box of cigars. "These are thesame brand you sampled last time you were here," he assured his friendas he extended the box.

  "By George, that's fine!" cried the foreman, picking out the blackestcigar he could see. "I could taste them cigars for a whole week, theywas so good. There's nothing like a good Perfecto to make a fellow feellike he's too lucky to live."

  "Oh," said Mrs. Shields. "Then you won't care for the coffee and pie andgingerbread," she sighed. "I'm very sorry."

  Blake jumped: "Lord, Ma'am," he cried hastily, "I meant in the smokingline! Why, I've been losing sleep a-dreaming of your cooking. Every timethe cook fills my cup with his insult to coffee I feel so lonesome thatit hurts!"

  "You want to look out, Tom!" laughingly warned the sheriff, "or you'llget yourself disliked! When I don't care for Margaret's cooking I ain'tfool enough to say so, not a bit of it."

  "You're a nice one to talk like that!" cried his wife. "You are just likea little boy on baking day--I can hardly keep you out of the kitchen. Youbother me to death, and it is all I can do to cook enough for you!"

  After the laugh had subsided and a steaming cup of coffee had been placedat the foreman's elbow, Helen impatiently urged her brother to begin hisstory.

  He lighted his cigar with exasperating deliberateness and then laughedsoftly: "Gosh! I'm getting to be a second fiddle around here. From morningto night all I hear is The Orphan. The first thing that hits me when Icome home is, 'Have you seen The Orphan?' or, 'Have you heard anythingabout him?' The worst offenders are Miss Ritchie and Helen. They pesterme nigh to death about him. But here goes:

  "I reckon I'd better begin with Old John Taylor," he slowly began. "I'vebeen doing some quiet hunting lately, and in the course of it I ran acr
ossOld John down in Crockettsville. You remember him, don't you, Tom? Yes,I reckoned you wouldn't forget the man who got us out of that Apachescrape. Well, I had a good talk with him, and this is what I learned:

  "About twenty years ago a family named Gordon moved into northwesternTexas and put up a shack in one of the valleys. There was three of them,father, mother, and a bright little five-year-old boy, and they broughtabout two hundred head of cattle, a few horses and a whole raft ofbooks. Gordon bought up quite a bit of land from a ranch nearby atalmost a song, and he never thought of asking for a deed--who would,down there in those days? There wasn't a rancher who owned more than aquarter section; you know the game, Tom--take up a hundred and sixtyacres on a stream and then claim about a million, and fight like the verydevil to hold it. We've all done it, I reckon, but there is plenty ofland for everybody, and so there is no kick. Well, he was shore lucky,for his boundary on two sides was a fair-sized stream that never wentdry, and you know how scarce that is--a whole lot better than a gold mineto a cattleman.

  "They got along all right for a while, had a tenderfoot's luck with theircattle, which soon began to be more than a few specks on the plain, and hewas very well satisfied with everything, except that there wasn't noschool. Old man Gordon was daffy on education, which is a good thing tobe daffy over, and he was some strong in that line himself, having been aschool teacher back East. But he took his boy in hand and taught himall he knew, which must have been a whole lot, judging from things ingeneral, and the kid was a smart, quick youngster. He was plumb crazyabout two things--books and guns. He read and re-read all the books hecould borrow, and got so he could handle a gun with any man on the range.

  "About five years after he had located, the ranchman from whom he boughthis range and water rights went and died. Some of the heirs, who were notwhat you would call square, began to get an itching for Gordon's land,which was improved by the first irrigation ditch in Texas. There was agarden and a purty good orchard, which was just beginning to bear fruit.It was pure, cussed hoggishness, for there was more land than anybodyhad any use for, but they must grab everything in sight, no matter whatthe cost. Trouble was the rule after that, and the old man was up againstit all the time. But he managed to hold his own, even though he did losea lot of cattle.

  "His brand was a gridiron, which wasn't much different from the gridironcircle brand of the big ranch. It ain't much trouble to use a running ironthrough a wet blanket and change a brand like that when you know how,and the Gridiron Circle gang shore enough knew how. Their expertness witha running iron would have caused questions to be asked, and probably alynching bee, in other parts of the country, but down there they werepurty well alone. They let Gordon know that he had jumped the range,which was just what they had done, that he didn't own it, and that thesooner he left the country the better it would be for his health. Buthe had peculiar ideas about justice, and he shore was plumb full ofgrit and obstinacy. He knew he was right, that he had paid for the land,and that he had improved it. And he had a lot of faith in the law, notrealizing that he hadn't anything to show the law. And he didn't knowthat law and justice don't always mean the same thing, not by a long shot.

  "Well, one day he went out looking for a vein of coal, which he thoughtought to be thereabouts, according to his books, and it ought to be closeto the surface of a fissure. He reckoned that coal of any quality wouldbe some better than chips and the little wood he owned, so he got busy.But he didn't find coal, but something that made him hotfoot it to hisbooks. When the report came back from the assay office he knew that hehad hit on a vein of native silver, which was some better than coal.

  "It didn't take long for the news to get around, though God Himself onlyknows how it did, unless the storekeeper told that a package had gonethrough his hands addressed to the assay office, and things began tohappen in chunks. He caught three Gridiron Circle punchers shooting hiscows, and he was naturally mad about it and just shot up the bunch beforethey knew he was around. He killed one and spoiled the health of the othertwo for some time to come, which naturally spelled war with a big W. Thenabout this time his wife went and died, which was a purty big additionto his troubles. As he stood above her grave, all broken up, and aboutready to give up the fight and go back East, he was shot at from cover.He didn't much care if he was killed or not, until he remembered that hehad a boy to take care of. Then he got fighting mad all at once, all ofhis troubles coming up before him in a bunch, and he got his gun andwent hunting, which was only right and proper under the circumstances."

  The sheriff flecked the ashes of his cigar into a blue flower pot whichwas gay with white ribbons, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  "I hate to think that it is possible to find a whole ranch of hellionsfrom the owner down," he continued, "but the nature of the owner picks adirty foreman, and a dirty foreman needs dirty men, and there you are.That fits the case of the Gridiron Circle to a T. There was not one whiteman in the whole gang," and he sat in silence for a space.

  "Well, the boy, who was about fifteen years old by this time, took hisgun and went out to find his daddy, and he succeeded. He cut him downand buried him and then went home. That night the shack burned to theground, the orchard was ruined and the boy disappeared. Some people saidthat the kid took what he wanted and burned the house rather than tohave it profaned as a range house by the curs who murdered his dad; andsome said the other thing, but from what I know of the kid, I reckon hedid it himself.

  "Right there and then things began to happen that hurt the ease and safetyof the Gridiron Circle. Cows were found dead all over the range--juglarscut in every case. Three of their punchers were found dead in oneweek--a .5O-caliber Sharps had done it. A regular reign of terror beganand kept the outfit on the nervous jump all the time. They searched andtrailed and searched and swore, and if one of them went off by himselfhe was usually ready to be buried. Ten experienced, old-time cowmen weremade fools of by a fifteen-year-old kid, who was never seen by anybodythat lived long enough to tell about it. When he got hungry, he justkilled another cow and had a porterhouse steak cooked between two othersover a good fire. He ate the middle steak, which had all the juices ofthe two burned ones, and threw the others away. Three meals a day for sixmonths, and one cow to a meal, was the order of things on the ranges ofthe Gridiron Circle. He had plenty of ammunition, because every deadpuncher was minus his belt when found and his guns were broken or gone;and early in the game the boy had made a master stroke: he raided thestorehouse of the ranch one night and lugged away about five hundredrounds of ammunition in his saddle bags, with a couple of spare Colts anda repeating Winchester of the latest pattern, and he spoiled all therest of the guns he could lay his hands on. Humorous kid, wasn't he,shooting up the ranch with its own guns and cartridges?

  "Finally, however, after the news had spread, which it did real quick, aregular lynching party was arranged, and the U-B, which lay about sixtymiles to the east, sent over half a dozen men to take a hand. Then theGridiron Circle had a rest, but while the gang was hunting for him andlaying all sorts of elaborate traps to catch him, the boy was over onthe U-B, showing it how foolish it had been to take up another man'squarrel. By this time the whole country knew about it, and even someEastern papers began to give it much attention. One of the punchers ofthe Gridiron Circle, when he found a friend dead and saw the tracks ofthe kid in the sand, swore and cried that it was 'that d----n Orphan'who had done it, and the name stuck. He had become an outlaw and waslegitimate prey for any man who had the chance and grit to turn thetrick. For ten years he has been wandering all over the range like ahunted gray wolf, fighting for his life at every turn against all kinds ofodds, both human and natural. And I reckon that explains why he is accusedof doing so much killing. He has been hunted and forced to shoot tosave his own life, and a gray wolf is a fighter when cornered. I knowthat I wouldn't give up the ghost if I could help it, and neither wouldanybody else."

  "Oh, it is a shame, an awful shame!" cried Helen, tears of sympathy in hereyes. "
How could they do it? I don't blame him, not a bit! He did right,terrible as it was! And only a boy when they began, too! Oh, it is awful,almost unbelievable!"

  "Yes, it is, Sis," replied Shields earnestly. "It ain't his fault, notby any manner or means--he was warped." And then he added slowly: "But Tomand I will straighten him out, and if some folks hereabouts don't like it,they can shore lump it, or fight."

  "Tell me how you met him, Jim," requested Blake in the interval ofsilence. "I've heard some of it, second-handed, or third-handed, but I'dlike to have it straight."

  "Well," the sheriff continued, "when he came to these parts I didn'tknow anything about him except what I had heard, which was only bad. Hehad a nasty way of handling his gun, a hair-trigger and a nervous fingeron his gun, and he had a distressing way of using one cow to a meal, soI got busy. I didn't expect much trouble in getting him. I knew that hewas only a youngster and I counted on my fifty years, and most of themof experience, getting him. Being young, I reckoned he would be foolhardyand hasty and uncertain in his wisdom; but, Lord! it was just like tryingto catch a flea in the dark. He was here, there and everywhere. WhileI was down south hunting along his trail he would be up north objectingto the sheep industry in ingenious ways and varying his bill of farewith choice cuts of lamb and mutton. And by the time I got down south hewould be--God only knows where, I didn't. I could only guess, and Iguessed wrong until the last one. And then it was the toss of a cointhat decided it.

  "After a while he began to get more daring, and when I say more daring Imean an open game with no limit. He began to prove my ideas about his agemaking him reckless, though he was cautious enough, to be sure. One day,not long ago, he had a run-in with two sheepmen out by the U bend of thecreek, who had driven their herds up on Cross Bar-8 land and over thedead-line established by the ranch. They must have taken him for someCross Bar-8 puncher and thought he was going to kick up a fuss about thetrespass, or else they recognized him. Anyway, when I got on the scenethey were ready to be planted, which I did for them. Then I went afterhim on a plain trail north--and almost too plain to suit me, because itlooked like it had been made plain as an invitation. He had picked outthe softest ground and left plenty of good tracks. But I was some madand didn't care much what I run into. I thought he had driven the wholeblasted herd of baa-baas over that high bank and into the creek, for thenumber of dead sheep was shore scandalous.

  "I followed that cussed trail north, east, south, west and then allover the whole United States, it seemed to me. And it was alwaysgrowing older, because I had to waste time in dodging chaparrals andthings like that that might hold him and his gun. I went picking myway on a roundabout course past thickets of honey mesquite and cactusgardens, over alkali flats and everything else, and the more I fooledabout the madder I got. I ain't no real, genuine fool, and I've hadsome experience at trailing, but I had to confess that I was just aplain, ordinary monkey-on-a-stick when stacked up against a kid that wasonly about half my age, because suddenly the plainness of the traildisappeared and I was left out on the middle of a burning desert toguess the answer as best I could. I knew what he had done, all right,but that didn't help me a whole lot. Did you ever trail anybody that usedpadded-leather footpads on his cayuse's feet, and that went on awalk, picking out the hardest ground? No? Well, I have, and it's no cinch.

  "I got tired of chasing myself back to the same place four times out offive, and I reckons that it wouldn't be very long before he had made hiscircle and got me in front of him. It ain't no church fair to be huntinga mad devil like him under the best conditions, and it's a whole lotless like one when he gets behind you doing the same thing. I didn'tknow whether he had swung to the north or south, so I tossed up a coinand cried heads for north--and it was tails. I cut loose at a lope andhad been riding for some time when I saw something through an openingin the chaparrals to the east of me, and it moved. I swung my glasseson it, and I'm blamed if it wasn't an Apache war party bound north.They were about a mile to the east of me, and if they kept on goingstraight ahead they would run across my trail in about three hours,for it gradually worked their way. I ducked right then and there andstruck west for a time, turning south again until I hit the CimarronTrail, which I followed east. Well, as I went around one side of thechaparral six mad Apaches went around the other, and they hit my trailtoo soon to suit me. I heard a hair-raising yell and lit out in thedirection of Chattanooga as hard as I could go, with a hungry chorus amile behind me.

  "I had just passed that freak bowlder on the Apache Trail when the man Iwas looking for turned up, and with the drop, of course. We reckoned thattwo was needed to stop the war-paints, which we did, him running the gameand doing most of the playing. I felt like I was his honored guest whomhe had invited to share in the festivities. He had plenty of chances tonail me if he wanted to, and he had chipped in on a game that he didn'thave to take cards in; and to help me out. He could have let them getme and they would have thought that I had done all the injury and thatthere wasn't another man on the desert. But he didn't, and I began tothink he wasn't as bad as he was painted."

  Then he told of the trouble between The Orphan and Jimmy of the CrossBar-8, and of the rage which blossomed out on the ranch.

  "That shore settled it for the Cross Bar-8. They wanted lots of gore, andthey got it, all right, when he played five of their punchers againstthe very war party he had sent north to meet me, while I was chasing him.That war party must have found something to their liking, wandering aboutthe country all that time."

  Blake interrupted him: "War party that he sent north to meet you?" heasked in surprise. "How could he do that?"

  "That's just what I said," replied Shields, and then he explained aboutthe arrow. "Any man who could stack a deck like that and use one danger towipe out another ain't going to get caught by an outfit of lunkheads--byGeorge! if he didn't work nearly the same trick on the Cross Bar-8 crowd!Oh, it's great, simply great!"

  The foreman slapped his knee enthusiastically: "Fine! Fine!" he exulted."That fellow has got brains, plenty of them! And he'll make use of themto the good of this country, too, before we get through with him."

  Shields continued: "After he sic'd the chumps of the Cross Bar-8 on theApaches he shore raised the devil on the ranch and I was asked to go outand run things, which I did, or rather thought I would do. Charley and Iand the two Larkin boys laid out on the plain all night, covered up withsand, waiting for him to show up between us and the windows--and the firstthing I saw in the morning was Helen's flower pot here--it used to beMargaret's--setting up on top of a pile of sand under my very nose wherehe had stuck it while I waited for him--and blamed if he hadn't signedhis name in the sand at its base!" He suddenly turned to his sister:"Tell Tom about him calling on you while I was waiting for him out onthe ranch, Helen."

  Helen did so and the way she told it caused the women to look keenly ather.

  Blake laughed heartily: "Now, don't that beat all!" he cried.

  "It don't beat this," responded the sheriff, turning again to Helen. "Tellhim about the stage coach, Sis."

  "Well, I don't know much about the first part of it," she replied. "All Iremember is a terrible ride --oh, it was awful!" she cried, shuddering asshe remembered the tortures of the Concord. "But when we stopped andafter I managed to get out of the coach I saw the driver carrying a man onhis shoulders and coming toward us. He laid his burden down and revivedhim--and he was a young man, and covered with blood." Then she paused:"He was real nice and polite and didn't seem to think that he had doneanything out of the ordinary. Then we went on and he left us."

  The sheriff laughed and leveled an accusing finger at her:

  "You have left out a whole lot, Sis," he said affectionately. "Helen actedjust like the thoroughbred she is, Tom," he continued. "I guess Bill toldyou all about it, for he's aired it purty well. Why, she even lost hergold pin a-helping him!" and he grinned broadly.

  Helen shot him a warning glance, but it was too late; Mary suddenly satbolt upright, her expressi
on one of shocked surprise.

  "Helen Shields!" she cried, "and I never thought of it before! How couldyou do it! Why, that horrid man will show your pin and boast about it toeverybody! The idea! I'm surprised at you!"

  "Tut, tut," exclaimed Shields. "I reckon that pin is all right. He mightfind it handy some day to return it, it'll be a good excuse when he getson his feet. And I'd hate to be the man to laugh at it, or try to take itfrom him. Now, come, Mary, think of it right; it was the first kind acthe had known since he lost his daddy. And that pin is one of my mainstand-bys in this game. I believe that he'll be square as long as hehas it."

  "Well, I don't care, James," warmly responded Mary. "It was _not_ a modestthing to do when she had never seen him before, and he her brother'senemy and an outlaw!"

  "How could I have fastened the bandage, sister dear?" asked Helen, hercomplexion slightly more colored than its natural shade. "It was so verylittle to do after all he had done for us!"

  "Well, Tom and I have some business to talk over, so we'll leave youto fight the matter out among yourselves," the sheriff said, arising."Come to my room, Tom, I want to talk over that ranch scheme with you.You bring the coffee pot and the cigars and I'll juggle the pie andgingerbread," he laughed as he led the way.

  "Oh, Tom!" hastily called Mrs. Shields after good-nights had been said,and just before the door closed; "I promised you a dinner for your boyswhen Helen and Mary came, and if you think you can spare them this comingSunday I will have it then."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Shields," earnestly responded Blake, turning on thethreshold. "It is awful good of you to put yourself out that way, and youcan bet that the boys will be your devoted slaves ever after. If youmust go to that trouble, why, Sunday or any day you may name will do forus. Gosh, but won't they be tickled!" he exulted as he pictured themfeasting on goodies. "It'll be better than a circus, it shore will!"

  "Why, it's no trouble at all, Tom," she replied, smiling at being ableto bring cheer to a crowd of men, lonely, as she thought. "And you willarrange to have The Orphan with them, won't you?"

  "I most certainly will," he heartily replied. "It'll do wonders for him."He glanced quickly at Helen, but she was busily engaged in threading aneedle under the lamp shade.

  "Good night, all," he said as he closed the door.