Sawtooth Ranch Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  "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 spanglebush and twig and grass-blade after a night's soaking rain, it is goodto ride over the hills of Idaho and feel oneself a king,--and nevermind the crown and the sceptre. Lone Morgan, riding early to theSawtooth to see the foreman about getting a man for a few days to helpreplace a bridge carried fifty yards downstream by a local cloudburst,would not have changed places with a millionaire. The horse he rodewas the horse he loved, the horse he talked to like a pal when theywere by themselves. The ridge gave him a wide outlook to the fourcorners of the earth. Far to the north the Sawtooth range showed blue,the nearer mountains pansy purple where the pine trees stood, thefoothills shaded delicately where canyons swept down to the gray plain.To the south was the sagebrush, a soft, gray-green carpet under thesun. The sky was blue, the clouds were handfuls of clean cottonfloating lazily. Of the night's storm remained no trace save slipperymud when his horse struck a patch of clay, which was not often, and thepacked sand still wet and soggy 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 onthe rock by facetious riders were pointless and inane. Lone picked hisway through the crooked defile that was marked MAIN STREET on thecorner of the first huge boulder and came abruptly into the road. Herehe turned north and shook his horse into a trot.

  A hundred yards or so down the slope beyond Rock City he pulled upshort with a "What the hell!" that did not sound profane, but merelyamazed. In the sodden road were the unmistakable footprints of awoman. Lone did not hesitate in naming the sex, for the wet sand heldthe imprint cleanly, daintily. Too shapely for a boy, too small forany one but a child or a woman with little feet, and with the point atthe toes proclaiming the fashion of the towns, Lone guessed at oncethat she was a town girl, a stranger, probably,--and that she hadpassed since the rain; 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,and Lone turned back, riding down the trail at a lope. She couldn'thave gone far, he reasoned, and if she had been out all night in therain, 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 tohurt yuh at all," he soothed. "I guess maybe you're lost. What madeyou run away 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 thestirrup of the saddle so the horse dragged him down the road? If youare, 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 onJohn Doe and let me take you to the ranch. Come on--you're wet as aducked pup."

  "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 inthe stirrup--I'll help you up. Why, you're soaked!" PerseveringlyLone urged her 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--why it shouldn't be allowed! He ought to be arrested rightaway--I'd have called a policeman but--isn't thunder and lightning justperfectly _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 runningthe boys 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 geton and 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 themost wonderful 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. Buttheir glassy shine made them terrible. Her lids lifted in a suddenstare.

  "You're not the man, are you? I--I think he was taller than you. Andhis hat was brown. He's a brute--a _beast_! To shoot a man justriding along---- It rained," she added plaintively. "My bag is backthere somewhere under a bush. I think I could find the bush--it waswhere a rabbit was sitting--but he's probably gone by this time. Arabbit," she told him impressively, "wouldn't sit out in the rain allnight, would he? He'd get wet. And a rabbit would feel horrid when hewas wet--such thick fur he never _would_ get dried out. Where do theygo when it rains? 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 andride while Lone walked beside her, agreeing with everything she saidthat needed agreement. When she had gone a few rods, however, shebegan to call him Charlie and to criticise the direction of thepicture. They should not, she declared, mix murders and thunderstormsin the same scene. While the storm effect was perfectly _wonderful_,she thought it rather detracted from the killing. She did not believein lumping big stuff together like that. Why not have the killing doneby moonlight, and use the storm when the murderer was getting away, orsomething like that? And as for taking them out on location and makingall those storm scenes without telling them in advance so that theycould have dry clothes afterwards, she thought it a perfect outrage!If it were not for spoiling the picture, she would quit, she assertedindignantly. She thought the director had better go back to driving alaundry 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 girlwas burning up with fever, and he could hear her voice growinghusky,--could hear, too, the painful labouring of her breath. When shewas not mumbling incoherent nonsense she was laughing hoarsely at theplight she was in, and after that she would hold both hands to herchest and moan in a way that 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,and the foreman's wife ran excitedly from one room to the other, askingquestions and demanding that some one do something "for pity's sake,she may be dying fo
r all you know, while you stand there gawping likefool-hens."

  "She was out all night in the rain--got lost, somehow. She said shewas coming here, so I brought her on. She's down with a cold, MrsHawkins. Better take off them wet clothes and put hot blankets aroundher. And a poultice or something on her chest, I reckon." Lone turnedto the door, stopped to roll a cigarette, and watched Mrs Hawkinshurrying to Lorraine 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. ButI reckon that's mostly scare, from being lost all night. Give her agood sweat, why don't you?" He reached the doorstep and then turnedback to add, "She left a grip back somewhere along the road. I'll gohunt 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 silkstocking class did not arrive at the Sawtooth every morning, and it wasrumoured already amongst the men that she was some looker, whichnaturally whetted 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 thethunder and lightning. That's every word of sense I could get outaher. She ain't altogether ignorant--she knows how to climb on a horse,anyway, and she kicked about having to ride sideways on account of herskirts. She was plumb out of her head, and talked wild, but shehandled her reins like a rider. And she never mentioned Bob, noranybody else excepting some fellow she called Charlie. She thought Iwas him, but she only talked to me friendly. She didn't pull any lovetalk at all."

  "Charlie?" Pop ruminated over a fresh quid of tobacco. "Charlie!Mebby Bob, he stakes himself to a different name now and then. Thereain't any Charlie, except Charlie Werner; she wouldn't mean him, do yuhs'pose?"

  "Charlie Werner? Hunh! Say, Pop, she ain't no squaw--is she, Loney?"Sid Sterling 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 inthe stable door with his hands in his trousers pockets and his pipe inhis mouth.

  "That ain't the argument. Pop, here, was wondering if she was anotherheart-ballum girl of yours," Lone grinned unabashed. "I don't knowsuch a hell of a lot about heart-balm ladies, Bob. I ain't amillionaire. I'm just making a guess at their brand--and it ain't thebrand this little lady 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. Theyall are, down deep in their tricky hearts. There isn't a woman onearth that won't sell a man's soul out of his body if she happens tothink it's worth her while--and she can get away with it. But don'tfor any sake call 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." Hetouched John Doe with the spurs and rode away, stopping at theforeman's gate to finish his business with Hawkins. He was aconscientious young man, and since he had charge of Elk Spring camp, heset its interests above his own, which was more than some of theSawtooth men would have done in his place.

  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 girlhad told 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 tofind it, if he followed the road and watched closely the bushes oneither side.

  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 itand found it "just rocks." Then, he reasoned, the storm had broken,and her fright had held her there. When daylight came she had eitherforgotten the bag or had left it deliberately.

  At Rock City, then, Lone stopped to examine the base of every rock,even riding around those nearest the road. The girl, he guessedshrewdly, had not wandered off the main highway, else she would nothave been able to find it again. Rock City was confusing unless onewas perfectly familiar with 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 overturned 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,stepping carefully, went close. He could see no reason why a horseshould have stood there with his head toward the road ten feet away,unless his rider was waiting for something--or some one. There wereother boulders near 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.His search was thorough and, being a keen-eyed young man, he discoveredthe place where Lorraine had crouched down by a rock. She must havestayed there all night, for the scuffed soil was dry where her body hadrested, and her purse, caught in the juniper bush close by, was soddenwith rain.

  "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 outand go on down the road. She was out of her head and just imaginedthings."

  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'sstorm so that it was swift and dangerous. Lone was turning back whenJohn Doe threw up his head, stared up the creek for a moment andwhinnied shrilly. 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 tellat that distance, but he knew the horse by its banged forelock and itswhite face and sorrel ears, and he knew the owner of the horse. Herode toward
it slowly.

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

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