Cabin Fever Page 6

  CHAPTER SIX. BUD TAKES TO THE HILLS

  In a little village which he had glimpsed from the top of a hill Budwent into the cluttered little general store and bought a few blocks ofslim, evil smelling matches and a couple of pounds of sliced bacon, aloaf of stale bread, and two small cans of baked beans. He stuffedthem all into the pocket of his overcoat, and went out and hunted up along-distance telephone sign. It had not taken him more than an hour towalk to the town, for he had only to follow a country road that branchedoff that way for a couple of miles down a valley. There was a postoffice and the general store and a couple of saloons and a blacksmithshop that was thinking of turning into a garage but had gone no furtherthan to hang out a sign that gasoline was for sale there. It was allvery sordid and very lifeless and altogether discouraging in the drizzleof late afternoon. Bud did not see half a dozen human beings on his wayto the telephone office, which he found was in the post office.

  He called up San Francisco, and got the chief of police's office on thewire, and told them where they would find the men who had robbed thatjewelry store of all its diamonds and some other unset jewels. Also hementioned the car that was stolen, and that was now stalled and waitingfor some kind soul to come and give it a tow.

  He speedily had all the attention of the chief, and having thoughtout in advance his answers to certain pertinent questions, he did notstutter when they were asked. Yes, he had been hired to drive the earsouth, and he had overheard enough to make him suspicious on the way. Heknew that they had stolen the car. He was not absolutely sure thatthey were the diamond thieves but it would be easy enough to find out,because officers sent after them would naturally be mistaken for firstaid from some garage, and the cops could nab the men and look into thatgrip they were so careful not to let out of their sight.

  "Are you sure they won't get the car repaired and go on?" It wasperfectly natural that the chief should fear that very thing.

  "No chance!" Bud chuckled into the 'phone. "Not a chance in the world,chief. They'll be right there where I left 'em, unless some car comesalong and gives 'em a tow. And if that happens you'll be able to trace'em." He started to hang up, and added another bit of advice. "Say,chief, you better tell whoever gets the car, to empty the gas tank andclean out the carburetor and vacuum feed--and she'll go, all right!Adios."

  He hung up and paid the charge hurriedly, and went out and down acrooked little lane that led between bushes to a creek and heavy timber.It did not seem to him advisable to linger; the San Francisco chief ofpolice might set some officer in that village on his trail, just as amatter of precaution. Bud told himself that he would do it were he inthe chief's place. When he reached the woods along the creek he ran,keeping as much as possible on thick leaf mold that left the leastimpression. He headed to the east, as nearly as he could judge, and whenhe came to a rocky canyon he struck into it.

  He presently found himself in a network of small gorges that twistedaway into the hills without any system whatever, as far as he could see.He took one that seemed to lead straightest toward where the sun wouldrise next morning, and climbed laboriously deeper and deeper into thehills. After awhile he had to descend from the ridge where he foundhimself standing bleakly revealed against a lowering, slaty sky thatdripped rain incessantly. As far as he could see were hills and morehills, bald and barren except in certain canyons whose deeper shadowstold of timber. Away off to the southwest a bright light showedbriefly--the headlight of a Santa Fe train, he guessed it must be. Tothe east, which he faced, the land was broken with bare hills that felljust short of being mountains. He went down the first canyon that openedin that direction, ploughing doggedly ahead into the unknown.

  That night Bud camped in the lee of a bank that was fairly well screenedwith rocks and bushes, and dined off broiled bacon and bread and a canof beans with tomato sauce, and called it a meal. At first he was notmuch inclined to take the risk of having a fire big enough to keep himwarm. Later in the night he was perfectly willing to take the risk, butcould not find enough dry wood. His rainproofed overcoat became quitesoggy and damp on the inside, in spite of his efforts to shield himselffrom the rain. It was not exactly a comfortable night, but he worriedthrough it somehow.

  At daylight he opened another can of beans and made himself two thickbean sandwiches, and walked on while he ate them slowly. They tastedmighty good, Bud thought--but he wished fleetingly that he was backin the little green cottage on North Sixth Street, getting his ownbreakfast. He felt as though he could drink about four cups of coffee;and as to hotcakes--! But breakfast in the little green cottage recalledMarie, and Marie was a bitter memory. All the more bitter because hedid not know where burrowed the root of his hot resentment. In a strongman's love for his home and his mate was it rooted, and drew therefromthe wormwood of love thwarted and spurned.

  After awhile the high air currents flung aside the clouds like curtainsbefore a doorway. The sunlight flashed out dazzlingly and showed Budthat the world, even this tumbled world, was good to look upon. Hisinstincts were all for the great outdoors, and from such the sun bringsquick response. Bud lifted his head, looked out over the hills to wherea bare plain stretched in the far distance, and went on more briskly.

  He did not meet any one at all; but that was chiefly because he did notwant to meet any one. He went with his ears and his eyes alert, and wasnot above hiding behind a clump of stunted bushes when two horsemen rodedown a canyon trail just below him. Also he searched for roads and thenavoided them. It would be a fat morsel for Marie and her mother to rollunder their tongues, he told himself savagely, if he were arrested andappeared in the papers as one of that bunch of crooks!

  Late that afternoon, by traveling steadily in one direction, he topped alow ridge and saw an arm of the desert thrust out to meet him. A scoopedgully with gravelly sides and rocky bottom led down that way, andbecause his feet were sore from so much sidehill travel, Bud went down.He was pretty well fagged too, and ready to risk meeting men, if therebyhe might gain a square meal. Though he was not starving, or anywherenear it, he craved warm food and hot coffee.

  So when he presently came upon two sway-backed burros that showed thesweaty imprint of packsaddles freshly removed, and a couple of horsesalso sweat roughened, he straightway assumed that some one was makingcamp not far away. One of the horses was hobbled, and they were alleating hungrily the grass that grew along the gully's sides. Camp wasnot only close, but had not yet reached suppertime, Bud guessed from thewell-known range signs.

  Two or three minutes proved him right. He came upon a man just drivingthe last tent peg. He straightened up and stared at Bud unblinkingly fora few seconds.

  "Howdy, howdy," he greeted him then with tentative friendliness, andwent on with his work. "You lost?" he added carefully. A man walkingdown out of the barren hills, and carrying absolutely nothing in theway of camp outfit, was enough to whet the curiosity of any one who knewthat country. At the same time curiosity that became too apparentmight be extremely unwelcome. So many things may drive a man into thehills--but few of them would bear discussion with strangers.

  "Yes. I am, and I ain't." Bud came up and stood with his hands in hiscoat pockets, and watched the old fellow start his fire.

  "Yeah--how about some supper? If you am, and you ain't as hungry as youlook--"

  "I'll tell the world I am, and then some. I ain't had a square mealsince yesterday morning, and I grabbed that at a quick-lunch joint. I'mopen to supper engagements, brother."

  "All right. There's a side of bacon in that kyack over there. Get it outand slice some off, and we'll have supper before you know it. We will,"he added pessimistically, "if this dang brush will burn."

  Bud found the bacon and cut according to his appetite. His host gotout a blackened coffeepot and half filled it with water from a dentedbucket, and balanced it on one side of the struggling fire. He remarkedthat they had had some rain, to which Bud agreed. He added gravely thathe believed it was going to clear up, though--unless the wind swung backinto the storm quart
er. Bud again professed cheerfully to be in perfectaccord. After which conversational sparring they fell back upon thelittle commonplaces of the moment.

  Bud went into a brush patch and managed to glean an armful of nearlydry wood, which he broke up with the axe and fed to the fire, coaxing itinto freer blazing. The stranger watched him unobtrusively, critically,pottering about while Bud fried the bacon.

  "I guess you've handled a frying pan before, all right," he remarked atlast, when the bacon was fried without burning.

  Bud grinned. "I saw one in a store window once as I was going by," heparried facetiously. "That was quite a while back."

  "Yeah. Well, how's your luck with bannock? I've got it all mixed."

  "Dump her in here, ole-timer," cried Bud, holding out the frying panemptied of all but grease. "Wish I had another hot skillet to turn overthe top."

  "I guess you've been there, all right," the other chuckled. "Well, Idon't carry but the one frying pan. I'm equipped light, because I've gotto outfit with grub, further along."

  "Well, we'll make out all right, just like this." Bud propped the handleof the frying pan high with a forked stick, and stood up. "Say, myname's Bud Moore, and I'm not headed anywhere in particular. I'm justtraveling in one general direction, and that's with the Coast at myback. Drifting, that's all. I ain't done anything I'm ashamed of orscared of, but I am kinda bashful about towns. I tangled with a coupleof crooks, and they're pulled by now, I expect. I'm dodging newspapernotoriety. Don't want to be named with 'em at all." He, spread hishands with an air of finality. "That's my tale of woe," he supplemented,"boiled down to essentials. I just thought I'd tell you."

  "Yeah. Well, my name's Cash Markham, and I despise to have folks getfunny over it. I'm a miner and prospector, and I'm outfitting for a tripfor another party, looking up an old location that showed good prospectsten years ago. Man died, and his wife's trying to get the claimrelocated. Get you a plate outa that furtherest kyack, and a cup.Bannock looks about done, so we'll eat."

  That night Bud shared Cash Markham's blankets, and in the morninghe cooked the breakfast while Cash Markham rounded up the burros andhorses. In that freemasonry of the wilderness they dispensed withcredentials, save those each man carried in his face and in his manner.And if you stop to think of it, such credentials are not easily forged,for nature writes them down, and nature is a truth-loving old dame whowill never lead you far astray if only she is left alone to do her workin peace.

  It transpired, in the course of the forenoon's travel, that Cash Markhamwould like to have a partner, if he could find a man that suited. Oneguessed that he was fastidious in the matter of choosing his companions,in spite of the easy way in which he had accepted Bud. By noon they hadagreed that Bud should go along and help relocate the widow's claim.Cash Markham hinted that they might do a little prospecting on their ownaccount. It was a country he had long wanted to get into, he said, andwhile he intended to do what Mrs. Thompson had hired him to do, stillthere was no law against their prospecting on their own account. Andthat, he explained, was one reason why he wanted a good man along.If the Thompson claim was there, Bud could do the work under thesupervision of Cash, and Cash could prospect.

  "And anyway, it's bad policy for a man to go off alone in this part ofthe country," he added with a speculative look across the sandy wastethey were skirting at a pace to suit the heavily packed burros. "Caseof sickness or accident--or suppose the stock strays off--it's bad to bealone."

  "Suits me fine to go with you," Bud declared. "I'm next thing to broke,but I've got a lot of muscle I can cash in on the deal. And I know theopen. And I can rock a gold-pan and not spill out all the colors, ifthere is any--and whatever else I know is liable to come in handy, andwhat I don't know I can learn."

  "That's fair enough. Fair enough," Markham agreed. "I'll allow you wageson the Thompson job' till you've earned enough to balance up with theoutfit. After that it'll be fifty-fifty. How'll that be, Bud?"

  "Fair enough--fair enough," Bud retorted with faint mimicry. "If I wasall up in the air a few days ago, I seem to have lit on my feet, andthat's good enough for me right now. We'll let 'er ride that way."

  And the twinkle, as he talked, was back in his eyes, and the smileyquirk was at the corner of his lips.