The Quirt Page 4

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "SHE'S A GOOD GIRL WHEN SHE AIN'T CRAZY"

  When the sun has been up just long enough to take the before-dawn chillfrom the air without having swallowed all the diamonds that spangle bushand twig and grass-blade after a night's soaking rain, it is good toride over the hills of Idaho and feel oneself a king,--and never mindthe crown and the scepter. Lone Morgan, riding early to the Sawtooth tosee the foreman about getting a man for a few days to help replace abridge carried fifty yards downstream by a local cloudburst, would nothave changed places with a millionaire. The horse he rode was the horsehe loved, the horse he talked to like a pal when they were bythemselves. The ridge gave him a wide outlook to the four corners of theearth. Far to the north the Sawtooth range showed blue, the nearermountains pansy purple where the pine trees stood, the foothills shadeddelicately where canyons swept down to the gray plain. To the south wasthe sagebrush, a soft, gray-green carpet under the sun. The sky wasblue, the clouds were handfuls of clean cotton floating lazily. Of thenight's storm remained no trace save slippery mud when his horse strucka patch of clay, which was not often, and the packed sand still wet andsoggy from the beating rain.

  Rock City showed black and inhospitable even in the sunlight. The rockwalls rose sheer, the roofs slanted rakishly, the signs scratched on therock by facetious riders were pointless and inane. Lone picked his waythrough the crooked defile that was marked MAIN STREET on the corner ofthe first huge boulder and came abruptly into the road. Here he turnednorth and shook his horse into a trot.

  A hundred yards or so down the slope beyond Rock City he pulled up shortwith a "What the hell!" that did not sound profane, but merely amazed.In the sodden road were the unmistakable footprints of a woman. Lone didnot hesitate in naming the sex, for the wet sand held the imprintcleanly, daintily. Too shapely for a boy, too small for any one but achild or a woman with little feet, and with the point at the toesproclaiming the fashion of the towns, Lone guessed at once that she wasa town girl, a stranger, probably,--and that she had passed since therain; which meant since daylight.

  He swung his horse and rode back, wondering where she could have spentthe night. Halfway through Rock City the footprints ended abruptly, andLone turned back, riding down the trail at a lope. She couldn't havegone far, he reasoned, and if she had been out all night in the rain,with no better shelter than Rock City afforded, she would needhelp,--"and lots of it, and pretty darn quick," he added to John Doe,which was the ambiguous name of his horse.

  Half a mile farther on he overtook her. Rather, he sighted her in thetrail, saw her duck in amongst the rocks and scattered brush of a smallravine, and spurred after her. It was precarious footing for his horsewhen he left the road, but John Doe was accustomed to that. He jumpedboulders, shied around buckthorn, crashed through sagebrush and sobrought the girl to bay against a wet bank, where she stood shivering.The terror in her face and her wide eyes would have made her famous inthe movies. It made Lone afraid she was crazy.

  Lone swung off and went up to her guardedly, not knowing just what aninsane woman might do when cornered. "There, now, I'm not going to hurtyuh at all," he soothed. "I guess maybe you're lost. What made you runaway from me when you saw me coming?"

  Lorraine continued to stare at him.

  "I'm going to the ranch, and if you'd like a ride, I'll lend you myhorse. He'll be gentle if I lead him. It's a right smart walk fromhere." Lone smiled, meaning to reassure her.

  "Are you the man I saw shoot that man and then fasten him to the stirrupof the saddle so the horse dragged him down the road? If you are,I--I----"

  "No--oh, no, I'm not the man," Lone said gently. "I just now came fromhome. Better let me take you in to the ranch."

  "I was going to the ranch--did you see him shoot that man and make thehorse drag him--_make_ the horse--he _slashed_ that horse with thequirt--and he went tearing down the road dragging--it--itwas--_horrible_!"

  "Yes--yes, don't worry about it. We'll fix him. You come and get on JohnDoe and let me take you to the ranch. Come on--you're wet as a duckedpup."

  "That man was just riding along--I saw him when it lightened. And heshot him--oh, can't you _do_ something?"

  "Yes, yes, they're after him right now. Here. Just put your foot in thestirrup--I'll help you up. Why, you're soaked!" Perseveringly Lone urgedher to the horse. "You're soaking wet!" he exclaimed again.

  "It rained," she muttered confusedly. "I thought it was the ranch--butthey were rocks. Just rocks. Did you _see_ him shoot that man? Why--whyit shouldn't be allowed! He ought to be arrested right away--I'd havecalled a policeman but--isn't thunder and lightning just perfectly_awful_? And that horse--going down the road dragging----

  "You'd better get some one to double for me in this scene," she saidirrelevantly. "I--I don't know this horse, and if he starts running theboys might not catch him in time. It isn't safe, is it?"

  "It's safe," said Lone pityingly. "You won't be dragged. You just get onand ride. I'll lead him. John Doe's gentle as a dog."

  "Just straight riding?" Lorraine considered the matter gravely."Wel-ll--but I saw a man dragged, once. He'd been shot first. It--itwas awful!"

  "I'll bet it was. How'd you come to be walking so far?"

  Lorraine looked at him suspiciously. Lone thought her eyes were the mostwonderful eyes--and the most terrible--that he had ever seen.Almond-shaped they were, the irises a clear, dark gray, the eyeballsblue-white like a healthy baby's. That was the wonder of them. But theirglassy shine made them terrible. Her lids lifted in a sudden stare.

  "You're not the man, are you? I--I think he was taller than you. And hishat was brown. He's a brute--a _beast_! To shoot a man just ridingalong---- It rained," she added plaintively. "My bag is back theresomewhere under a bush. I think I could find the bush--it was where arabbit was sitting--but he's probably gone by this time. A rabbit," shetold him impressively, "wouldn't sit out in the rain all night, wouldhe? He'd get wet. And a rabbit would feel horrid when he was wet--suchthick fur he never _would_ get dried out. Where do they go when itrains? They have holes in the ground, don't they?"

  "Yes. Sure, they do. I'll _show_ you one, down the road here a littlepiece. Come on--it ain't far."

  To see a rabbit hole in the ground, Lorraine consented to mount and ridewhile Lone walked beside her, agreeing with everything she said thatneeded agreement. When she had gone a few rods, however, she began tocall him Charlie and to criticize the direction of the picture. Theyshould not, she declared, mix murders and thunderstorms in the samescene. While the storm effect was perfectly _wonderful_, she thought itrather detracted from the killing. She did not believe in lumping bigstuff together like that. Why not have the killing done by moonlight,and use the storm when the murderer was getting away, or something likethat? And as for taking them out on location and making all those stormscenes without telling them in advance so that they could have dryclothes afterwards, she thought it a perfect outrage! If it were not forspoiling the picture, she would quit, she asserted indignantly. Shethought the director had better go back to driving a laundry wagon,which was probably where he came from.

  Lone agreed with her, even though he did not know what she was talkingabout. He walked as fast as he could, but even so he could not travelthe six miles to the ranch very quickly. He could see that the girl wasburning up with fever, and he could hear her voice growing husky,--couldhear, too, the painful laboring of her breath. When she was not mumblingincoherent nonsense she was laughing hoarsely at the plight she was in,and after that she would hold both hands to her chest and moan in a waythat made Lone grind his teeth.

  When he lifted her off his horse at the foreman's cottage she waswhispering things no one could understand. Three cowpunchers camerunning and hindered him a good deal in carrying her into the house, andthe foreman's wife ran excitedly from one room to the other, askingquestions and demanding that some one do something "for pity's sake, shemay be dying for all you know, while you stand there gawping likefool-hens."

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p; "She was out all night in the rain--got lost, somehow. She said she wascoming here, so I brought her on. She's down with a cold, Mrs. Hawkins.Better take off them wet clothes and put hot blankets around her. And apoultice or something on her chest, I reckon." Lone turned to the door,stopped to roll a cigarette, and watched Mrs. Hawkins hurrying toLorraine with a whisky toddy the cook had mixed for her.

  "A sweat's awful good for a cold like she's got," he volunteeredpractically. "She's out of her head--or she was when I found her. But Ireckon that's mostly scare, from being lost all night. Give her a goodsweat, why don't you?" He reached the doorstep and then turned back toadd, "She left a grip back somewhere along the road. I'll go hunt it up,I reckon."

  He mounted John Doe and rode down to the corral, where two or threeriders were killing time on various pretexts while they waited fordetails of Lone's adventure. Delirious young women of the silk-stockingclass did not arrive at the Sawtooth every morning, and it was rumoredalready amongst the men that she was some looker, which naturallywhetted their interest in her.

  "I'll bet it's one of Bob's girls, come trailin' him up. Mebby anotherof them heart-ballum cases of Bob's," hazarded Pop Bridgers, who readnothing unless it was printed on pink paper, and who refused to believethat any good could come out of a city. "Ain't that right, Loney?Hain't she a heart-ballum girl of Bob's?"

  From the saddle Lone stared down impassively at Pop and Pop'scompanions. "I don't know a thing about her," he stated emphatically."She said she was coming to the ranch, and she was scared of the thunderand lightning. That's every word of sense I could get outa her. Sheain't altogether ignorant--she knows how to climb on a horse, anyway,and she kicked about having to ride sideways on account of her skirts.She was plumb out of her head, and talked wild, but she handled herreins like a rider. And she never mentioned Bob, nor anybody elseexcepting some fellow she called Charlie. She thought I was him, but sheonly talked to me friendly. She didn't pull any love talk at all."

  "Charlie?" Pop ruminated over a fresh quid of tobacco. "Charlie! MebbyBob, he stakes himself to a different name now and then. There ain't anyCharlie, except Charlie Werner; she wouldn't mean him, do yuh s'pose?"

  "Charlie Werner? Hunh! Say, Pop, she ain't no squaw--is she, Loney?" SidSterling remonstrated.

  "If I can read brands," Lone testified, "she's no girl of Bob's. She'sa good, honest girl when she ain't crazy."

  "And no good, honest girl who is not crazy could possibly be a girl ofmine! Is that the idea, Lone?"

  Lone turned unhurriedly and looked at young Bob Warfield standing in thestable door with his hands in his trousers pockets and his pipe in hismouth.

  "That ain't the argument. Pop, here, was wondering if she was anotherheart-ballum girl of yours," Lone grinned unabashed. "I don't know sucha hell of a lot about heart-balm ladies, Bob. I ain't a millionaire. I'mjust making a guess at their brand--and it ain't the brand this littlelady carries."

  Bob removed one hand from his pocket and cuddled the bowl of his pipe."If she's a woman, she's a heart-balmer if she gets the chance. They allare, down deep in their tricky hearts. There isn't a woman on earth thatwon't sell a man's soul out of his body if she happens to think it'sworth her while--and she can get away with it. But don't for any sakecall her _my_ heart-balmer."

  "That was Pop," drawled Lone. "It don't strike me as being any subjectfor you fellows to make remarks about, anyway," he advised Pop firmly."She's a right nice little girl, and she's pretty darn sick." He touchedJohn Doe with the spurs and rode away, stopping at the foreman's gate tofinish his business with Hawkins. He was a conscientious young man, andsince he had charge of Elk Spring camp, he set its interests above hisown, which was more than some of the Sawtooth men would have done in hisplace.

  Having reported the damage to the bridge and made his suggestions aboutthe repairs, he touched up John Doe again and loped away on a purelypersonal matter, which had to do with finding the bag which the girl hadtold him was under a bush where a rabbit had been sitting.

  If she had not been so very sick, Lone would have laughed at her naivemethod of identifying the spot. But he was too sorry for her to beamused at the vagaries of her sick brain. He did not believe anythingshe had said, except that she had been coming to the ranch and had lefther bag under a bush beside the road. It should not be difficult to findit, if he followed the road and watched closely the bushes on eitherside.

  Until he reached the place where he had first sighted her, Lone rodeswiftly, anxious to be through with the business and go his way. Butwhen he came upon her footprints again, he pulled up and held John Doeto a walk, scanning each bush and boulder as he passed.

  It seemed probable that she had left the grip at Rock City where shemust have spent the night. She had spoken of being deceived intothinking the place was the Sawtooth ranch until she had come into it andfound it "just rocks." Then, he reasoned, the storm had broken, and herfright had held her there. When daylight came she had either forgottenthe bag or had left it deliberately.

  At Rock City, then, Lone stopped to examine the base of every rock, evenriding around those nearest the road. The girl, he guessed shrewdly, hadnot wandered off the main highway, else she would not have been able tofind it again. Rock City was confusing unless one was perfectly familiarwith its curious, winding lanes.

  It was when he was riding slowly around the boulder marked "PalaceHotel, Rates Reasnible," that he came upon the place where a horse hadstood, on the side best sheltered from the storm. Deep hoof marksclosely overlapping, an over-turned stone here and there gave proofenough, and the rain-beaten soil that blurred the hoofprints farthestfrom the rock told him more. Lone backed away, dismounted, and, steppingcarefully, went close. He could see no reason why a horse should havestood there with his head toward the road ten feet away, unless hisrider was waiting for something--or some one. There were other bouldersnear which offered more shelter from rain.

  Next the rock he discovered a boot track, evidently made when the riderdismounted. He thought of the wild statement of the girl about seeingsome one shoot a man and wondered briefly if there could be a basis oftruth in what she said. But the road showed no sign of a struggle,though there were, here and there, hoofprints half washed out with therain.

  Lone went back to his horse and rode on, still looking for the bag. Hissearch was thorough and, being a keen-eyed young man, he discovered theplace where Lorraine had crouched down by a rock. She must have stayedthere all night, for the scuffed soil was dry where her body had rested,and her purse, caught in the juniper bush close by, was sodden withrain.

  "The poor little kid!" he muttered, and with, a sudden impulse he turnedand looked toward the rock behind which the horse had stood. Help hadbeen that close, and she had not known it, unless----

  "If anything happened there last night, she could have seen it fromhere," he decided, and immediately put the thought away from him.

  "But nothing happened," he added, "unless maybe she saw him ride out andgo on down the road. She was out of her head and just imagined things."

  He slipped the soaked purse into his coat pocket, remounted and rode onslowly, looking for the grip and half-believing she had not beencarrying one, but had dreamed it just as she had dreamed that a man hadbeen shot.

  He rode past the bag without seeing it, for Lorraine had thrust it farback under a stocky bush whose scraggly branches nearly touched theground. So he came at last to the creek, swollen with the night's stormso that it was swift and dangerous. Lone was turning back when John Doethrew up his head, stared up the creek for a moment and whinniedshrilly. Lone stood in the stirrups and looked.

  A blaze-faced horse was standing a short rifle-shot away, bridled andwith an empty saddle. Whether he was tied or not Lone could not tell atthat distance, but he knew the horse by its banged forelock and itswhite face and sorrel ears, and he knew the owner of the horse. He rodetoward it slowly.

  "Whoa, you rattle-headed fool," he admonished, when the horse snortedand backed a step or two as he ap
proached. He saw the bridle-reinsdangling, broken, where the horse had stepped on them in running. "Brokeloose and run off again," he said, as he took down his rope and widenedthe loop. "I'll bet Thurman would sell you for a bent nickel, thismorning."

  The horse squatted and jumped when he cast the loop, and then stoodquivering and snorting while Lone dismounted and started toward him. Tensteps from the horse Lone stopped short, staring. For down in the busheson the farther side half lay, half hung the limp form of a man.