Sawtooth Ranch Page 14

  CHAPTER XIV

  "FRANK'S DEAD"

  "Frank come yet?" The peevish impatience of an invalid whose horizonhas narrowed to his own personal welfare and wants was in Brit's voice.Two weeks he had been sick, and his temper had not sweetened with thepain of his broken bones and the enforced idleness. Brit was the typeof man who is never quiet unless he is asleep or too ill to get out ofbed.

  Lorraine came to the doorway and looked in at him. Two weeks had settheir mark on her also. She seemed older, quieter in her ways; therewere shadows in her eyes and a new seriousness in the set of her mouth.She had had her burdens, and she had borne them with more patience thanmany an older woman would have done, but what she thought of thoseburdens she did not say.

  "No, dad--but I thought I heard a wagon a little while ago. He must becoming," she said.

  "Where's Lone at?" Brit moved restlessly on the pillow and twisted hisface at the pain.

  "Lone isn't back, either."

  "He ain't? Where'd he go?"

  Lorraine came to the bedside and, lifting Brit's head carefully,arranged the pillow as she knew he liked it. "I don't know where hewent," she said dully. "He rode off just after dinner. Do you wantyour supper now? Or would you rather wait until Frank brings thefruit?"

  "I'd ruther wait--if Frank don't take all night," Brit grumbled. "Ihope he ain't connected up with that Echo booze. If he has----"

  "Oh, no, dad! Don't borrow trouble. Frank was anxious to get home assoon as he could. He'll be coming any minute, now. I'll go listen forthe wagon."

  "No use listenin'. You couldn't hear it in that sand--not till he gitsto the gate. I don't see where Lone goes to, all the time. Where'sJim and Sorry, then?"

  "Oh, they've had their supper and gone to the bunk-house. Do you wantthem?"

  "No! What'd I want 'em fur? Not to look at, that's sure. I want toknow how things is going on this ranch. And from all I can make out,they ain't goin' at all," Brit fretted. "What was you 'n' Lone talkin'so long about, out in the kitchen last night? Seems to me you 'n' himhave got a lot to say to each other, Raine."

  "Why, nothing in particular. We were just--talking. We're all humanbeings, dad; we have to talk sometimes. There's nothing else to do."

  "Well, I caught something about the Sawtooth. I don't want you talkingto Lone or anybody else about that outfit, Raine. I told yuh so once.He's all right--I ain't saying anything against Lone--but the less youhave to say the more you'll have to be thankful fur, mebby."

  "I was wondering if Swan could have gotten word somehow to the Sawtoothand had them telephone out that you were hurt. And Lone was drawing amap of the trails and showing me how far it was from the canyon to theSawtooth ranch. And he was asking me just how it happened that thebrake didn't hold, and I said it must have been all right, because Isaw you come out from under the wagon just before you hitched up. Ithought you were fixing the chain on them."

  "Huh?" Brit lifted his head off the pillow and let it drop back again,because of the pain in his shoulder. "You never seen me crawl out fromunder no wagon. I come straight down the hill to the team."

  "Well, I saw some one. He went up into the brush. I thought it wasyou." Lorraine turned in the doorway and stood looking at himperplexedly. "We shouldn't be talking about it, dad--the doctor saidwe mustn't. But are you _sure_ it wasn't you? Because I certainly sawa man crawl out from under the wagon and start up the hill. Then thehorses acted up, and I couldn't see him after Yellowjacket jumped offthe road."

  Brit lay staring up at the ceiling, apparently unheeding herexplanation. Lorraine watched him for a minute and returned to thekitchen door, peering out and listening for Frank to come from Echowith supplies and the mail and, more important just now, fresh fruitfor her father.

  "I think he's coming, dad," she called in to her father. "I just heardsomething down by the gate."

  She could save a few minutes, she thought, by running down to thecorral where Frank would probably stop and unload the few sacks ofgrain he was bringing, before he drove up to the house. Frank was verymethodical in a fussy, purposeless way, she had observed. Twice he haddriven to Echo since her father had been hurt, and each time he hadstopped at the corral on his way to the house. So she closed thescreen door behind her, careful that it should not slam, and ran downthe path in the heavy dusk wherein crickets were rasping a stridentchorus.

  "Oh! It's you, is it, Lone?" she exclaimed, when she neared the vaguefigure of a man unsaddling a horse. "You didn't see Frank cominganywhere, did you? Dad won't have his supper until Frank comes withthe things I sent for. He's late."

  Lone was lifting the saddle off the back of John Doe, which he hadbought from the Sawtooth because he was fond of the horse. Hehesitated and replaced the saddle, pulling the blanket straight underit.

  "I saw him coming an hour ago," he said. "I was back up on the ridge,and I saw a team turn into the Quirt trail from the ford. It couldn'tbe anybody but Frank. I'll ride out and meet him."

  He was mounted and gone before she realised that he was ready. Sheheard the sharp staccato of John Doe's hoofbeats and wondered why Lonehad not waited for another word from her. It was as if she had toldhim that Frank was in some terrible danger,--yet she had merelycomplained that he was late. The bunk-house door opened, and Sorrycame out on the doorstep, stood there a minute and came slowly to meether as she retraced her steps to the house.

  "Where'd Lone go so sudden?" he asked, when she came close to him inthe dusk. "That was him, wasn't it?"

  Lorraine stopped and stood looking at him without speaking. A vagueterror had seized her. She wanted to scream, and yet she could thinkof nothing to scream over. It was Lone's haste, she told herselfimpatiently. Her nerves were ragged from nursing her dad and fromworrying over things she must not talk about,--that forbidden subjectwhich never left her mind for long.

  "Wasn't that him?" Sorry repeated uneasily. "What took him off againin such a rush?"

  "Oh, I don't know! He said Frank should have been here long ago. Hewent to look for him. Sorry," she cried suddenly, "what _is_ thematter with this place? I feel as if something horrible was just readyto jump out at us all. I--I want my back against something solid, allthe time, so that nothing can creep up behind. Nothing," she addeddesperately, "could happen to Frank between here and the turn-off atthe ford, could it? Lone saw him turn into our trail over an hour ago,he said."

  Sorry, his fingers thrust into his overalls pockets, his thumbs hookedover the waistband, spat into the sand beside the path. "Well, hestarted off with a cracked doubletree," he said slowly. "He mightabusted 'er pullin' through that sand hollow. She was wired up prettygood, though, and there was more wire in the rig. I don't know ofanything else that'd be liable to happen, unless----"

  "Unless what?" Lorraine prompted sharply. "There's too much that isn'ttalked about, on this ranch. What else could happen?"

  Sorry edged away from her. "Well--I dunno as anything would be liableto happen," he said uncomfortably. "'Tain't likely him 'n' Brit'd bothhave accidents--not right hand-runnin'."

  "_Accidents?_" Lorraine felt her throat squeeze together. "Sorry, youdon't mean--Sawtooth accidents?" she blurted.

  She surprised a grunt out of Sorry, who looked over his shoulder as ifhe feared eavesdroppers. "Where'd you git that idee?" he demanded. "Idunno what you mean. Ain't that yore dad callin' yuh?"

  Lorraine ignored the hint. "You _do_ know what I mean. Why did yousay they wouldn't both be likely to have accidents hand-running? Andwhy don't you _do_ something? Why does everyone just keep still andlet things happen, and not say a word? If there's any chance of Frankhaving an--an _accident_, I should think you'd be out looking afterhim, and not standing there with your hands in your pockets justwaiting to see if he shows up or if he doesn't show up. You're alljust like these rabbits out in the sage. You'll hide under a bush andwait until you're almost stepped on before you so much as wiggle anear! I'm getting good and ti
red of this meek business!"

  "We-ell," Sorry drawled amiably as she went past him, "playin'rabbit-under-a-bush mebby don't look purty, but it's dern good lifeinsurance."

  "A coward's policy," Lorraine taunted him over her shoulder, and wentto see what her father wanted. When he, too, wanted to know why Lonehad come and gone again in such a hurry, Lorraine felt all the couragego out of her at once. Their very uneasiness seemed to prove thatthere was more than enough cause for it. Yet, when she forced herselfto stop and think, it was all about nothing. Frank had driven to Echoand had not returned exactly on time, though a dozen things might havedetained him.

  She was listening at the door when Swan appeared unexpectedly beforeher, having walked over from the Thurman ranch after doing the chores.To him she observed that Frank was an hour late, and Swan, whistlingsoftly to Jack--Lorraine was surprised to hear how closely the callresembled the chirp of a bird--strode away without so much as apretence at excuse. Lorraine stared after him wide-eyed, wondering andyet not daring to wonder.

  Her father called to her fretfully, and she went in to him again andtold him what Sorry had said about the cracked doubletree, andpersuaded him to let her bring his supper at once, and to have thefruit later when Frank arrived. Brit did not say much, but she sensedhis uneasiness, and her own increased in proportion. Later she saw twotiny, glowing points down by the corral and knew that Sorry and Jimwere down there, waiting and listening, ready to do whatever was neededof them; although what that would be she could not even conjecture.

  She made her father comfortable, chattered aimlessly to combat herunderstanding of his moody silence, and listened and waited and triedher pitiful best not to think that anything could be wrong. Thesubdued chuckling of the wagon in the sand outside the gate startledher with its unmistakable reality after so many false impressions thatshe heard it.

  "Frank's coming, dad," she announced relievedly, "and I'll go and getthe mail and the fruit."

  She ran down the path again, almost light-hearted in her relief fromthat vague terror which had held her for the past hour. From thecorral Sorry and Jim came walking up the path to meet the wagon whichwas making straight for the bunkhouse instead of going first to thestable. One man rode on the seat, driving the team which walkedslowly, oddly, reminding Lorraine of a funeral procession. Beside thewagon rode Lone, his head drooped a little in the starlight. It wasnot until the team stopped before the bunk-house that Lorraine knewwhat it was that gave her that strange, creepy feeling of disaster. Itwas not Frank Johnson, but Swan Vjolmar who climbed limberly down fromthe seat without speaking and turned toward the back of the wagon.

  "Why, where's Frank?" she asked, going up to where Lone was dismountingin silence.

  "He's there--in the wagon. We picked him up back here aboutthree-quarters of a mile or so."

  "What's the matter? Is he drunk?" This was Sorry who came up to Swanand stood ready to lend a hand.

  "He's so drunk he falls out of wagon down the road, but he don't havewhisky smell by his face," was Swan's ambiguous reply.

  "He's not hurt, is he?" Lorraine pressed close, and felt a hand on herarm pulling her gently away.

  "He's hurt," Lone said, just behind her. "We'll take him into thebunk-house and bring him to. Run along to the house and don'tworry--and don't say anything to your dad, either. There's no need tobother him about it. We'll look after Frank."

  Already Swan and Sorry and Jim were lifting Frank's limp form from therear of the wagon. It sagged in their arms like a dead thing, andLorraine stepped back shuddering as they passed her. A minute latershe followed them inside, where Jim was lighting the lamp with shakingfingers. By the glow of the match Lorraine saw how sober Jim looked,how his chin was trembling under the drooping, sandy moustache. Shestared at him, hating to read the emotion in his heavy face that shehad always thought so utterly void of feeling.

  "It isn't--he isn't----" she began, and turned upon Swan, who wasbeside the bunk, looking down at Frank's upturned face. "Swan, if it'sserious enough for a doctor, can't you send another thought message toyour mother?" she asked. "He looks--oh, Lone! He isn't _dead_, is he?"

  Swan turned his head and stared down at her, and from her face hisglance went sharply to Lone's downcast face. He looked again atLorraine.

  "To-night I can't talk with my mind," Swan told her bluntly. "Notalways I can do that. I could ask Lone how can a man be drunk so hefalls off the wagon when no whisky smell is on his breath."

  "Breath? Hell! There ain't no breath to smell," Sorry exclaimed asunexpectedly as his speeches usually were. "If he's breathin' I can'ttell it on him."

  "He's got to be breathing!" Lone declared with a suppressed fiercenessthat made them all look at him. "I found a half bottle of whisky inhis pocket--but Swan's right. There wasn't a smell of it on hisbreath--I tell you now, boys, that he was lying in the sand between twosagebrushes, on his face. And there is where he got the blow--_behindhis ear_. It's one of them accidents that you've got to figure out foryourself."

  "Oh, do something!" Lorraine cried distractedly. "Never mind now howit happened, or whether he was drunk or not--bring him to his sensesfirst, and let him explain. If there's whisky, wouldn't that help ifhe swallowed some now? And there's medicine for dad's bruises in thehouse. I'll get it. And Swan! Won't you _please_ talk to your motherand tell her we need the doctor?"

  Swan drew back. "I can't," he said shortly. "Better you send to Echofor telegraph. And if you have medicine, it should be on his headquick."

  Lone was standing with his fingers pressed on Frank's wrist. He lookedup, hesitated, drew out his knife and opened the small blade. He movedso that his back was to Lorraine, and still holding the wrist he made asmall, clean cut in the flesh. The three others stooped, stared withtightened lips at the bloodless incision, straightened and looked atone another dumbly.

  "I'd like to lie to you," Lone told Lorraine, speaking over hisshoulder. "But I won't. You're too game and too square. Go and staywith your dad, but don't let him know--get him to sleep. We don't needthat medicine, nor a doctor either. Frank's dead. I reckon he wasdead when he hit the ground."