Sawtooth Ranch Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  LONE ADVISES SILENCE

  Twice in the next week Lone found an excuse for riding over to theSawtooth. During his first visit, the foreman's wife told him that theyoung lady was still too sick to talk much. The second time he went,Pop Bridgers spied him first and cackled over his coming to see thegirl. Lone grinned and dissembled as best he could, knowing that PopBridgers fed his imagination upon denials and argument and remonstranceand was likely to build gossip that might spread beyond the Sawtooth.Wherefore he did not go near the foreman's house that day, butcontented himself with gathering from Pop's talk that the girl wasstill there.

  After that he rode here and there, wherever he would be likely to meeta Sawtooth rider, and so at last he came upon Al Woodruff loping alongthe crest of Juniper Ridge. Al at first displayed no intention ofstopping, but pulled up when he saw John Doe slowing downsignificantly. Lone would have preferred a chat with some one else,for this was a sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued man; but Al Woodruff stayed atthe ranch and would know all the news, and even though he might give itan ill-natured twist, Lone would at least know what was going on. Alhailed him with a laughing epithet.

  "Say, you sure enough played hell all around, bringin' Brit Hunter'sgirl to the Sawtooth!" he began, chuckling as if he had some secretjoke. "Where'd you pick her up, Lone? She claims you found her atRock City. That right?"

  "No, it ain't right," Lone denied promptly, his dark eyes meeting Al'sglance steadily. "I found her in that gulch away this side. She wasin amongst the rocks where she was trying to keep outa the rain. BritHunter's girl, is she? She told me she was going to the Sawtooth.She'd have made it, too, if it hadn't been for the storm. She got asfar as the gulch, and the lightning scared her from going any farther."He offered Al his tobacco sack and fumbled for a match. "I never knewBrit Hunter had a girl."

  "Nor me," Al said and sifted tobacco into a cigarette paper. "Bob, hedrove her over there yesterday. Took him close to all day to make thetrip--and Bob, he claims to hate women!"

  "So would I, if I'd got stung for fifty thousand. She ain't that kind.She's a nice girl, far as I could tell. She got well, all right, didshe?"

  "Yeah--only she was still coughing some when she left the ranch. Shelike to of had pneumonia, I guess. Queer how she claimed she spent thenight in Rock City, ain't it?"

  "No," Lone answered judicially, "I don't know as it's so queer. Shenever realised how far she'd walked, I reckon. She was plumb crazywhen I found her. You couldn't take any stock in what she said. Say,you didn't see that bay I was halter-breaking, did yuh, Al? He jumpedthe fence and got away on me, day before yesterday. I'd like to catchhim up again. He'll make a good horse."

  Al had not seen the bay, and the talk tapered off desultorily to afinal "So-long, see yuh later." Lone rode on, careful not to lookback. So she was Brit Hunter's girl! Lone whistled softly to himselfwhile he studied this new angle of the problem,--for a problem he wasbeginning to consider it. She was Brit Hunter's girl, and she had toldthem at the Sawtooth that she had spent the night at Rock City. Hewondered how much else she had told; how much she remembered of whatshe had told him.

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a round leather pursewith a chain handle. It was soiled and shrunken with its wetting, andthe clasp had flecks of rust upon it. What it contained Lone did notknow. Virginia had taught him that a man must not be curious about thepersonal belongings of a woman. Now he turned the purse over, tried torub out the stiffness of the leather, and smiled a little as he droppedit back into his pocket.

  "I've got my calling card," he said softly to John Doe. "I reckon Ihad the right hunch when I didn't turn it over to Mrs Hawkins. I'llask her again about that grip she said she hid under a bush. I neverheard about any of the boys finding it."

  His thoughts returned to Al Woodruff and stopped there. Determinedstill to attend strictly to his own affairs, his thoughts persisted inplaying truant and in straying to a subject he much preferred not tothink of at all. Why should Al Woodruff be interested in the exactspot where Brit Hunter's daughter had spent the night of the storm?Why should Lone instinctively discount her statement and liewhole-heartedly about it?

  "Now if Al catches me up in that, he'll think I know a lot I don'tknow, or else----" He halted his thoughts there, for that, too, was aforbidden subject.

  Forbidden subjects are like other forbidden things: they have a way ofmaking themselves very conspicuous. Lone was heading for the Quirtranch by the most direct route, fearing, perhaps, that if he waited hewould lose his nerve and would not go at all. Yet it was importantthat he should go; he must return the girl's purse!

  The most direct route to the Quirt took him down Juniper Ridge andacross Granite Creek near the Thurman ranch. Indeed, if he followedthe trail up Granite Creek and across the hilly country to Quirt Creek,he must pass within fifty yards of the Thurman cabin. Lone's time waslimited, yet he took the direct route rather reluctantly. He did notwant to be reminded too sharply of Fred Thurman as a man who had livedhis life in his own way and had died so horribly.

  "Well, he didn't have it coming to him--but it's done and over withnow, so it's no use thinking about it," he reflected, when the roofs ofthe Thurman ranch buildings began to show now and then through the thinranks of the cottonwoods along the creek.

  But his face sobered as he rode along. It seemed to him that thesleepy little meadows, the quiet murmuring of the creek, even the softrustling of the cottonwood leaves breathed a new loneliness, anemptiness where the man who had called this place home, who had clungto it in the face of opposition that was growing into open warfare, hadlived and left life suddenly--unwarrantably, Lone knew in his heart.It might be of no use to think about it, but the vivid memory of FredThurman was with him when he rode up the trail to the stable and thesmall corrals. He had to think, whether he would or no.

  At the corral he came unexpectedly in sight of the Swede, who grinned aguileless welcome and came toward him, so that Lone could not ride onunless he would advertise his dislike of the place. John Doe, plainlyglad to find an excuse to stop, slowed and came to where Swan waited bythe gate.

  "By golly, this is lonesome here," Swan complained, heaving a greatsigh. "That judge don't get busy pretty quick, I'm maybe jumping myjob. Lone, what you think? You believe in ghosts?"

  "Naw. What's on your chest, Swan?" Lone slipped sidewise in thesaddle, resting his muscles. "You been seeing things?"

  "No--I don't be seeing things, Lone. But sometimes I been--like I_feel_ something." He stared at Lone questioningly. "What you think,Lone, if you be sitting down eating your supper, maybe, and you feelsomething say words in your brain? Like you know something talks toyou and then quits."

  Lone gave Swan a long, measuring look, and Swan laughed uneasily.

  "That sounds crazy. But it's true, what something tells me in mybrain. I go and look, and by golly, it's there just like the wordstell me."

  Lone straightened in the saddle. "You better come clean, Swan, andtell the whole thing. What was it? Don't talk in circles. What wordsdid you feel--in your brain?" In spite of himself, Lone felt as he hadwhen the girl had talked to him and called him Charlie.

  Swan closed the gate behind him with steady hands. His lips werepressed firmly together, as if he had definitely made up his mind tosomething. Lone was impressed somehow with Swan's perfect control ofhis speech, his thoughts, his actions. But he was puzzled rather thananything else, and when Swan turned, facing him, Lone's bewildermentdid not lessen.

  "I'll tell you. It's when I'm sitting down to eat my supper. I'm justreaching out my hand like this, to get my coffee. And something saysin my head, 'It's a lie. I don't ride backwards. Go look at mysaddle. There's blood----' And that's all. It's like the words gofar away so I can't hear any more. So I eat my supper, and then I getthe lantern and I go look. You come with me, Lone. I'll show you."

  Without a word Lone dismounted and followed Swan into
a small shedbeside the stable, where a worn stock saddle hung suspended from across-piece, a rawhide string looped over the horn. Lone did not askwhose saddle it was, nor did Swan name the owner. There was no need.

  Swan took the saddle and swung it around so that the right side wastoward them. It was what is called a full-stamped saddle, with thepopular wild-rose design on skirts and cantle. Much hard use andoccasional oilings had darkened the leather to a rich, red brown,marred with old scars and scratches and the stains of many storms.

  "Blood is hard to find when it's raining all night," Swan observed,speaking low as one does in the presence of death. "But if somebody isbleeding and falls off a horse slow, and catches hold of things andtries like hell to hang on----" He lifted the small flap that coveredthe cinch ring and revealed a reddish, flaked stain. Phlegmatically hewetted his finger tip on his tongue, rubbed the stain and held up hisfinger for Lone to see. "That's a damn funny place for blood, when aman is dragging on the ground," he commented dryly. "And somethingelse is damn funny, Lone."

  He lifted the wooden stirrup and touched with his finger the rowelmarks. "That is on the front part," he said. "I could swear in courtthat Fred's left foot was twisted--that's damn funny, Lone. I don'tsee men ride backwards, much."

  Lone turned on him and struck the stirrup from his hand. "I think youbetter forget it," he said fiercely. "He's dead--it can't help him anyto----" He stopped and pulled himself together. "Swan, you take afool's advice and don't tell anybody else about feeling words talk inyour head. They'll have you in the bug-house at Black-foot, sure asyou live." He looked at the saddle, hesitated, looked again at Swan,who was watching him. "That blood most likely got there when Fred waspacking a deer in from the hills. And marks on them old oxbow stirrupsdon't mean a damn thing but the need of a new pair, maybe." He forceda laugh and stepped outside the shed. "Just shows you, Swan, thatimagination and being alone all the time can raise Cain with a fellow.You want to watch yourself."

  Swan followed him out, closing the door carefully behind him. "Bygolly, I'm watching out now," he assented thoughtfully. "You don'ttell anybody, Lone."

  "No, I won't tell anybody--and I'd advise you not to," Lone repeatedgrimly. "Just keep those thoughts outa your head, Swan. They're badmedicine."

  He mounted John Doe and rode away, his eyes downcast, his quirtslapping absently the weeds along the trail. It was not his business,and yet---- Lone shook himself together and put John Doe into a lope.He had warned Swan, and he could do no more.

  Halfway to the Quirt he met Lorraine riding along the trail. She wouldhave passed him with no sign of recognition, but Lone lifted his hatand stopped. Lorraine looked at him, rode on a few steps and turned."Did you wish to speak about something?" she asked impersonally.

  Lone felt the flush in his cheeks, which angered him to the point ofspeaking curtly. "Yes. I found your purse where you dropped it thatnight you were lost. I was bringing it over to you. My name's Morgan.I'm the man that found you and took you in to the ranch."

  "Oh." Lorraine looked at him steadily. "You're the one they callLoney?"

  "When they're feeling good toward me. I'm Lone Morgan. I went back tofind your grip--you said you left it under a bush, but the world'splumb full of bushes. I found your purse, though."

  "Thank you so much. I must have been an awful nuisance, but I was soscared--and things were terribly mixed in my mind. I didn't even havesense enough to tell you what ranch I was trying to find, did I? Soyou took me to the wrong one, and I was a week there before I found itout. And then they were perfectly lovely about it and broughtme--home." She turned the purse over and over in her hands, looking atit without much interest. She seemed in no hurry to ride on, whichgave Lone courage.

  "There's something I'd like to say," he began, groping for words thatwould make his meaning plain without telling too much. "I hope youwon't mind my telling you. You were kinda out of your head when Ifound you, and you said something about seeing a man shot and----"

  "Oh!" Lorraine looked up at him, looked through him, he thought, withthose brilliant eyes of hers. "Then I did tell----"

  "I just wanted to say," Lone interrupted her, "that I knew all the timeit was just a nightmare. I never mentioned it to anybody, and you'llforget all about it, I hope. You didn't tell any one else, did you?"

  He looked up at her again and found her studying him curiously."You're not the man I saw," she said, as if sue were satisfying herselfon that point. "I've wondered since--but I was sure, too, that I hadseen it. Why mustn't I tell any one?"

  Lone did not reply at once. The girl's eyes were disconcertinglydirect, her voice and her manner disturbed him with their judicialcalmness, so at variance with the wildness he remembered.

  "Well, it's hard to explain," he said at last. "You're strange to thiscountry, and you don't know all the ins and outs of--things. Itwouldn't do any good to you or anybody else, and it might do a lot ofharm." His eyes flicked her face with a wistful glance. "You don'tknow me--I really haven't got any right to ask or expect you to trustme. But I wish you would, to the extent of forgetting that you saw--orthought you saw--anything that night in Rock City."

  Lorraine shivered and covered her eyes swiftly with one hand. Hiswords had brought back too sharply that scene. But she shook off theemotion and faced him again.

  "I saw a man murdered," she cried. "I wasn't sure afterwards;sometimes I thought I had dreamed it. But I was sure I saw it. I sawthe horse go by, running--and you want me to keep still about that?What harm could it do to tell? Perhaps it's true--perhaps I did see itall. I might think you were trying to cover up something--only, you'renot the man I saw--or thought I saw."

  "No, of course I'm not. You dreamed the whole thing, and the way youtalked to me was so wild, folks would say you're crazy if they heardyou tell it. You're a stranger here, Miss Hunter, and--your father isnot as popular in this country as he might be. He's got enemies thatwould be glad of the chance to stir up trouble for him. You--justdreamed all that. I'm asking you to forget a bad dream, that's all,and not go telling it to other folks."

  For some time Lorraine did not answer. The horses conversed withsundry nose-rubbings, nibbled idly at convenient brush tips, andwondered no doubt why their riders were so silent. Lone tried to thinkof some stronger argument, some appeal that would reach the girlwithout frightening her or causing her to distrust him. But he did notknow what more he could say without telling her what must not be told.

  "Just how would it make trouble for my father?" Lorraine asked at last."I can't believe you'd ask me to help cover up a crime, but it seemshard to believe that a nightmare would cause any great commotion. Andwhy is my father unpopular?"

  "Well, you don't know this country," Lone parried inexpertly. "It'sall right in some ways, and in some ways it could be a lot improved.Folks haven't got much to talk about. They go around gabbling theirheads off about every little thing, and adding onto it until you can'trecognise your own remarks after they've peddled for a week. You'vemaybe seen places like that."

  "Oh, yes." Lorraine's eyes lighted with a smile. "Take a moviestudio, for instance."

  "Yes. Well, you being a stranger, you would get all the worst of it.I just thought I'd tell you; I'd hate to see you misunderstood by folksaround here. I--I feel kinda responsible for you; I'm the one thatfound you."

  Lorraine's eyes twinkled. "Well, I'm glad to know one person in thecountry who doesn't gabble his head off. You haven't answered any ofmy questions, and you've made me feel as if you'd found a dangerous,wild woman that morning. It isn't very flattering, but I think you'rehonest, anyway."

  Lone smiled for the first time, and she found his smile pleasant. "I'mno angel," he disclaimed modestly, "and most folks think I could beimproved on a whole lot. But I'm honest in one way. I'm thinkingabout what's best for you, this time."

  "I'm terribly grateful," Lorraine laughed. "I shall take great carenot to go all around the country te
lling people my dreams. I can seethat it wouldn't make me awfully popular." Then she sobered. "MrMorgan, that was a _horrible_ kind of--nightmare. Why, even last nightI woke up shivering, just imagining it all over again."

  "It was sure horrible the way you talked about it," Lone assured her."It's because you were sick, I reckon. I wish you'd tell me as closeas you can where you left that grip of yours. You said it was under abush where a rabbit was sitting. I'd like to find the grip--but I'mafraid that rabbit has done moved!"

  "Oh, Mr Warfield and I found it, thank you. The rabbit had moved, butI sort of remembered how the road had looked along there, and we hunteduntil we discovered the place. Dad has driven in after my otherluggage to-day--and I believe I must be getting home. I was only outfor a little ride."

  She thanked him again for the trouble he had taken and rode away. Loneturned off the trail and, picking his way around rough outcroppings ofrock, and across unexpected little gullies, headed straight for theford across Granite Creek and home. Brit Hunter's girl, he wasthinking, was even nicer than he had pictured her. And that she couldbelieve in the nightmare was a vast relief.