CHAPTER VI
THE ORPHAN OBEYS AN IMPULSE
When Sneed promised to try to restrain his men he spoke in good faith,and when he discovered that half of them were missing his anger began torise. But he was helpless now because they were beyond his reach, so hecould only hope that they would not meet the sheriff, not only becauseof the displeasure of the peace officer, but also because good cowboyswere hard to obtain, and he knew what such a meeting might easily developinto.
The foreman knew that Ford's Station bore him and his ranch no love andthat if the sheriff should meet with armed resistance and, possibly,mishap at the hands of any members of the Cross Bar-8, that trouble wouldbe the tune for him and his men to dance to. Angrily striding to andfro in front of the bunk house he gave a profane and pointed lectureto several of his men who stood near, abashed at their foreman's anger. Hesuddenly stopped and looked toward the rocky stretch of land and hurledepithets at what he feared might be taking place in its defiles and amongits rocks and bowlders.
"Fools!" he shouted, shaking his fist at the Backbone. "Fools, to hunta man like that on his own ground, and in the way you'll do it! You can'tkeep together for long, and as sure as you separate, some of you will bemissing to-night!"
Had he been able, he would have seen six cowboys, who were keeping closetogether as they worked their way southward, exploring every arroyo andexamining every thicket and bowlder. Their Colts were in their hands andtheir nerves were tensed to the snapping point.
They finally came to the stage road and, after a brief consultation,plunged into it and scrambled up the opposite bank, where they left one oftheir number on guard while they continued on their search. The guardfound concealment behind a huge bowlder which stood on the edge of thecanyon above the entrance. He lighted a cigarette, and the thin wisps ofpale blue smoke slowly made their way above him, twisting and turning,halting for an instant, and then speeding upward as straight as a rod.It was strong tobacco and very aromatic, and when the wind caught it up infilmy clouds and carried it away it could be detected for many feet.
Five minutes had passed since the searchers had become lost to sightto the south when something moved on the other side of the canyon andthen became instantly quiet as the smoke streamed up. The guard wascleverly hidden from sight, but he felt that he must smoke, for timepassed slowly for him. Again something moved, this time behind a thinclump of mesquite. Gradually it took on the outlines of a man, and he wasintently watching the tell-tale vapor, the odor of which had warned himin time.
Retreating, he was soon lost to sight, and a few minutes later he peeredthrough a thin thicket which stood on the edge of the canyon wall. Ashe did so the guard stuck his head out from the shelter of his bowlderand glanced along the trail. Again seeking his cover he finished hiscigarette and lighted another.
"He won't look again for a few minutes, the fool," muttered the otheras he dropped into the road and darted across it. After a bit of cautiousclimbing he gained the top of the canyon wall and again became lost tosight.
Still the smoke ascended fitfully from behind the bowlder, and theprowler gradually drew near it, at last gaining the side opposite thesmoker. He crouched and slowly crawled around it, his left hand holdinga Colt; his right, a lariat. As the guard again turned to examine thelower end of the canyon his eyes looked into a steady gun, and whilehis wits were rallying to his aid the rope leaped at him and neatlydropped over his shoulders, pinning his arms to his side. It twitched anda loop formed in it, running swiftly and almost horizontally. It whippedover his head and tightened about his throat, while another loop spedafter it and assisted in throttling the puncher. Then the lariat twitchedand whirled and loops ran along it and fastened over the guard's wrists,rapidly getting shorter; and when it ceased, its wielder was brought tothe side of his trussed victim. The bound man was turning purple inthe face and neck and his captor, hastily crowding the guard's ownneck-kerchief into the open, gasping mouth, released the throat clutchof the rawhide and then securely fixed the gag into place.
Roughly dragging his captive to a mass of debris he tore it apart anddragged and pushed the man into it, after which he pushed the rubbishback into place and then ran to the bowlder, where he covered all tracks.Picking up the puncher's revolver he took the cylinder from it and hurledit far out on the plain, throwing the frame across the defile into atangled mass of mesquite. Looking carefully about him, to be sure he hadnot overlooked anything, he disappeared in the direction from which he hadcome.
He again appeared in the canyon, and ran swiftly along it until he came tothe tracks made by the guard's horse, which he followed into an arroyoand where he found the animal hobbled. Loosening the hobbles he threwthem over the horse's neck and sprang into the saddle. He picked hisway carefully until he had reached the level plain, when he canterednorthward, keeping close to the rock wall of the Backbone to avoidbeing seen by the searchers. When he had put a dozen miles behind him heturned abruptly to the east, soon becoming lost to sight behind thescattered chaparrals.
The Orphan, surmounting a rise, looked to the southwest and saw somethingwhich almost caused his hair to rise, and raising hair was not therule with him, which latter is mentioned to give proper emphasis to theseriousness of what he looked upon. He leaped to the ground and saw thatthe cinches were securely fastened, after which he vaulted back into thesaddle, and, instead of offering prayer for success, sent up profanityat the possibility of failure.
Two miles to the southwest of him he saw six horses flattened almost toearth in keeping the speed they had attained and were holding. Back ofthem lurched and rocked and heaved the sun-bleached coach, dull grayand dusty, its tall driver standing up to his work, hatless and withhis arm rapidly rising and falling as he sent the cruel whip cruellyhome. Behind the stage whipped the baggage flap, a huge leathern apronfor the protection of luggage, standing out horizontally because of therush of wind caused by the speed of the coach. It flapped defiantly atwhat so tenaciously pursued it. A thousand yards to the rear, ridingin crescent formation, the horns now far apart and well ahead of thecenter, were five arm- and weapon-waving bronzed enthusiasts whose warpaint could just be discerned by The Orphan's good eyes and field glasses.
As yet, the reason for the lifting hair has not been disclosed, becauseThe Orphan was proud in his belief that he had few nerves and a dormantsympathy, and this scene alone would not have aroused much sympathyin his heart for the driver, and neither would it have changed themalevolent expression which disfigured his face, an expression causedby the remembrance of six cowboys who had searched for him as if he was acowardly, cattle-killing coyote. But the exuberant baggage-flap revealedtwo trunks, three valises and a pile of white cardboard boxes; and as ifthis was not enough for a man adept at sign reading, the door of thecoach suddenly became unfastened and alternately swung open and shut asthe lurching of the coach affected it. And through the intermittentopening he could see a mass of gray and brown and blue.
The Orphan had spent ten years of his life battling against the hardestkinds of odds, and his brain had foresworn long methods of thinkingand had adopted short cuts to conclusions. His mental processes weresharp, quick and acted instantly on his nerves, often completing an actionbefore he became clearly conscious of its need. He forgot the pleasantsheriff and the unpleasant, blundering cowboys who, very probably, werenow engaged in wondering where their companion had gone; and he forgothis determination to return and free that puncher. He asked himself noquestions as to why or how, but simply sunk his spurs half an inch into ahorse that had peculiar and fixed ideas about their use, and that nowbucked, pitched and galloped forward because its rider had suddenlydecided to save those gray and brown and blue dresses.
The Apaches had passed the point immediately south of him and were nowmore to the west, going at right angles to the course he took. Theywere so intent upon gaining yard upon yard that they did not look tothe side--their thoughts were centered on the tall, lanky man who stoodup against the sky and cursed them, and wh
ose hat they had passed milesback. As he turned and stole the look at them which had so pleased him,they only waved guns and wasted cartridges more recklessly, yellingsavagely.
Down from the north charged a brown, a dirty brown horse, and it wascomparatively fresh. It gained steadily, silently, and its gains weremeasured in yards to each minute it ran, since it was coming at a sharpangle. Astride of it and lying along its neck was a man whose spurs andquirt urged it to its uttermost effort. Soon the man straightened up inhis saddle, the horse braced its legs and slid to a stand as a riflearose to the rider's shoulder, and at the shot the animal leaped forwardat its top speed. A puff of smoke flashed past the marksman's head tomingle with the dust cloud in his wake, and the nearest brave, who wasthe last in the crescent, dropped sprawlingly to the ground and rolledrapidly several times. His horse, freed of its burden, ran off at anangle and was soon left behind. The excitement of the chase and the noiseof the hoofbeats of their own horses and of the reports of their ownrifles effectually lost the report of the shot and soon another, andnearest, Apache also plunged to the plain. This time the freed horse shotahead and ranged alongside the wearer of the head-dress, who turned inhis saddle and looked back. His eyesight was good, but not good enoughto see the .50 caliber slug which passed through his abdomen and tore theear of another warrior's horse.
The rider of the horse owning the mutilated ear looked quickly backward,screamed a warning and war-cry all in one and began to shoot rapidly.His surprised companion followed suit as the coach came to a stand, andanother rifle, long silent, took a hand in the dispute with a vim as ifto make up for lost time. The first warrior fell, shot through by bothrifles, and the other, emptying his magazine at the new factor, who wasvery busily engaged in extracting a jammed cartridge, wheeled his ponyabout and fled toward the south, panic-stricken by the accuracy of thenewcomer and terrorized by the awful execution. But the Apache's lastshot nearly cleaned the sheriff's slate, grazing The Orphan's temple andstunning him: a fraction of an inch more to the right would have cheatedthe Cross Bar-8 of any chance of revenge.
Bill, still holding the rifle, leaped to the sand and ran to where hisrescuer lay huddled in the dust of the plain.
"I've got yore smoking," he exclaimed breathlessly, at last getting ridof his mental burden. Then he stopped short, swore, and bent over thefigure, and grasping the body firmly by neck and thigh, slung it overhis shoulders and staggered toward the coach, his progress slow andlaborious because of the deep sand and dust. As he neared his objectivehe glanced up and saw that his passengers had left the stage and weregrouped together on the plain like lambs lost in a lion country.
They were hysterical, and all talked at once, sobbing and wringing theirhands. But when they noticed the driver stumbling toward them with thebody across his shoulders their tongues became suddenly mute with a newfear. Up to then they had thought only of their own woes and bruises, buthere, perhaps, was Death; here was the man who had risked his life thatthey might live, and he might have lost as they gained.
They besieged Bill with tearful questions and gave him no chance toreply. He staggered past them and placed his burden in the scant shadowof the coach, while they cried aloud at sight of the blood-stainedface, frozen in their tracks with fear and horror. Bill, ignoring them,hastily climbed with a wonderful celerity for him, to the high seatand dropped to the ground with a canteen which he had torn from itsfastenings. Pouring its contents over the upturned face he half emptied apocket flask of whisky into The Orphan's mouth and then fell to chafingand rubbing with his calloused, dust-covered hands, well knowing thenature of the wound and that it had only stunned.
Soon the eyelids quivered, fluttered and then flew back and the cruel eyesstared unblinkingly into those of the man above him, who swore in suddenjoy. Then, weak as he was and only by the aid of an indomitable will, thewounded man bounded to his feet and stood swaying slightly as one handreached out to the stage for support, the other instinctively leaping tohis Colt. He swayed still more as he slowly turned his head and searchedthe plain for foes, the Colt half drawn from its holster.
As soon as he had gained his feet and while he was looking about him ina dazed way the women began to talk again, excitedly, hysterically. Theygathered around this unshaven, blood-stained man and tried to thank himfor their lives, their voices broken with sobs. He listened, vaguelyconscious of what they were trying to say, until his brain cleared andmade him capable of thought. Then he ceased to sway and spread his feetfar apart to stand erect. His hand went to his head for the sombrerowhich was not there, and he smiled as he recalled how he had lost it.
"Oh, how can we ever thank you!" cried the sheriff's eldest sister,choking back a nervous sob. "How can we ever thank you for what you havedone! You saved our lives!" she cried, shuddering at the danger nowpast. "You saved our lives! You saved our lives!" she repeated excitedly,clasping and unclasping her hands in her agitation.
"How can we ever thank you, how can we!" cried the girl who had faintedwhen the chase had begun. "It was splendid, splendid!" she cried, swayingin her weakness. She was so white and bruised and frail that The Orphanfelt pity for her and started to say something, but had no chance. Thethree women monopolized the conversation even to the exclusion of Bill,who suddenly felt that his talking ability was only commonplace after all.
Blood trickled slowly down the outlaw's face as he smiled at them andtried to calm them, and the younger sister, suddenly realizing the meaningof what she had vaguely seen, turned to Bill with an imperative gesture.
"Bring me some water, driver, immediately," she commanded impatiently,and Bill hurried around to the rear axle from which swung a small keg ofthree gallons' capacity. Quickly unsnapping the chain from it he returnedand pried out the wooden plug, slowly turning the keg until water beganto flow through the hole and trickle down to the sand. Miss Shields took asmall handkerchief from her waist and unfolded it, to be stopped by Bill.
"Don't spoil that, miss!" he hastily exclaimed. "Take one of mine. Theyain't worth much, and besides, they're a whole lot bigger."
"Thank you, but this is better," she replied, smiling as she regardedthe dusty neck-kerchief which he eagerly held out to her. She wet thebit of clean linen and Bill followed her as she stepped to the side ofthe outlaw, holding the keg for her and thinking that the sheriff wasnot the only thoroughbred to bear the name of Shields. He turned thekeg for her as she needed water, and she bathed the wound carefully,pushing back the long hair which persisted in getting in her way, allthe time vehemently declining the eager offers of assistance from hercompanions. The Orphan had involuntarily raised his hand to stop her,feeling foolish at so much attention given to so trivial a wound and notat all accustomed to such things, especially from women with wonderfuldeep, black eyes.
"Please do not bother me," she commanded, pushing his hand aside. "Youcan at least let me do this little thing, when you have done so much, orI shall think you selfish."
He stood as a bad boy stands when unexpectedly rewarded for some gooddeed, uncomfortable because of the ridiculous seriousness given to hisgash, and ashamed because he was glad of the attention. He tried not tolook at her, but somehow his eyes would not stray from her face, her heavymass of black hair and her wonderful eyes.
"You make me think that I'm really hurt," he feebly expostulated as hecapitulated to her deft hands. "Now, if it was a real wound, why it mightbe all right. But, pshaw, all this fuss and feathers about a scratch!"
"Indeed!" she cried, dropping the stained handkerchief to the groundas she took another from her dress, plastering his hair back with herfree hand. "I suppose you would rather have what you call a real wound!You should be thankful that it is no worse! Why, just the tiniest bitmore, and you would have--" she shuddered as she thought of it and turnedquickly away and tore a strip of linen from her skirt. Straightening upand facing him again she ripped off the trimming and carefully pluckedthe loose threads from it. Folding it into a neat bandage she placed thehandkerchief over the wound after push
ing back the rebellious hair andbound it into place with the strip, deftly patting it here and pushing itthere until it suited her. Then, drawing it tight, she unfastened thegold breast-pin which she wore at her throat and pinned the bandage intoplace, stepping back to regard her work with satisfaction.
"There!" she cried laughing delightedly. "You look real well in a bandage!But I am sorry there is need for one," she said, sobering instantly."But, then, it could have been much worse, very much worse, couldn'tit?" she asked, smiling brightly.
Before The Orphan could reply, Bill saw a break in the conversation, orthought he did, and hastened to say something, for he felt unnatural.
"I got yore smokin', Orphant!" he cried, clambering up to his seat."Leastawise, I had before them war-whoops--yep! Here she is, right sideup and fine and dandy!"
Could he have seen the look which the outlaw flashed at him he would havequailed with sudden fear. Three gasps arose in chorus, and the womendrew back from the outlaw, fearful and shocked and severe. But withthe sheriff's younger sister it was only momentarily, for she quicklyrecovered herself and the look of fear left her eyes. So this, then,was the dreaded Orphan, the outlaw of whom her brother had written! Thisyoung, sinewy, good-looking man, who had swayed so unsteadily on hisfeet, was the man the stories of whose outrages had filled the pages ofEastern newspapers and magazines! Could he possibly be guilty of themurders ascribed to him? Was he capable of the inhumanity which hadmade his name a synonym of terror? As she wondered, torn by conflictingthoughts, he looked at her unflinchingly, and his thin lips wore apeculiar smile, cynical and yet humorous.
Bill leaped to the ground with the smoking tobacco and, blissfullyunconscious of what he had done, continued unruffled.
"That was d----n fine--begging the ladies' pardon," he cried. "Yes sir,it was plumb sumptious, it shore was! And when I tell the sheriff howyou saved his sisters, he'll be some tickled! You just bet he will! AndI'll tell it right, too! Just leave the telling of it to me. Lord, whenI looked back to see how far them war-whoops were from my back hair, andsaw you tearing along like you was a shore enough express train, I justhad to yell, I was so tickled. It was just like I held a pair of deucesin a big jack-pot and drew two more! My, but didn't I feel good! And,say--whenever you run out of smoking again, you just flag Bill Howland'schariot: you can have all he's got. That's straight, you bet! Bill Howlanddon't forget a turn like that, never."
The enthusiasm he looked for did not materialize and he glanced from oneto another as he realized that something was up.
"Come, dears, let us go," said Mary Shields, lifting her skirts andabruptly turning her back on the outlaw. "We evidently have far to go,and we have wasted _so_ much time. Come, Grace," she said to her friend,stepping toward the coach.
Bill stared and wondered how much time had been wasted, since never beforehad he reached that point in so short a time. He had made two miles toevery one at his regular speed.
"Come, Helen!" came the command from the elder, and with a trace ofsurprise and impatience.
"Sister! Why, Mary, how can you be so mean!" retorted the girl with theblack eyes, angry and indignant at the unkindness of the cut, her faceflushing at its injustice. Her spirit was up in arms immediately and shedeliberately walked to The Orphan and impulsively held out her hand, hersister's words deciding the doubts in her mind in the outlaw's favor.
"Forgive her!" she cried. "She doesn't mean to be rude! She is so verynervous, and this afternoon has been too much for her. It was a man'sact, a brave man's act! And one which I will always cherish, for I willnever forget this day, never, never!" she reiterated earnestly. "I don'tcare what they say about you, not a bit! I don't believe it, for youcould not have done what you have if you are as they paint you. I willnot wait for our driver to tell my brother about your splendid act--he,at least, shall know you as you are, and some day he will return it, too."
Then she looked from him to her hand: "Will you not shake hands withme? Show me that you are not angry. Are you fair to me to class me as anenemy, just because my brother is the sheriff?"
He looked at her in wonderment and his face softened as he took the hand.
"Thank you," he said simply. "You are kind, and fair. I do not think ofyou as an enemy."
"Helen! Are you coming?" came from the coach.
He smiled at the words and then laughed bitterly, recklessly, hisshoulders unconsciously squaring. There was no malice in his face,only a quizzical, baffling cynicism.
"Oh, it's a shame!" she cried, her eyes growing moist. She made a gestureof helplessness and looked him full in the eyes. "Whatever you havedone in the past, you will give them no cause to say such things in thefuture, will you? You will leave it all behind you and get work, and notbe an outlaw any more, won't you? You will prove my faith in you, for I_have_ faith in you, won't you? It will all be forgotten," she added,as if her words made it so. Then she leaned forward to readjust thebandage. "There, now it's all right--you must not touch it again likethat."
"You are alone in your faith," he replied bitterly, not daring to look ather.
"Oh, I reckon not," muttered Bill, scowling at the stage as if he wouldlike to unhitch and leave it there. Then seeing The Orphan glance at thehorse which was grazing contentedly, he went out to capture the animal."D----d old hen, that's what she is!" he muttered fiercely. "I don't careif she is the sheriff's sister, that's just what she is! Just a regularingrowing disposition!"
"You are kind, as kind as you are beautiful," The Orphan responded simply."But you don't know."
She flushed at his words and then decided that he spoke in simplesincerity.
"I know that you are going to do differently," she replied as she extendedher hand again. "Good-by."
He bowed his head as he took it and flushed: "Good-by."
She slowly turned and walked toward the coach, where she was received bya chilling silence.
Bill brought the horse to where The Orphan stood lost in thought,unbuckled his cartridge belt and wrapped it around the pommel of thesaddle, the heavy Colt still in the holster. Then he clambered up for hisrifle and tied it to the saddle skirt by the thongs of leather whichdangled therefrom. Looking about him he espied the keg on the sand and,driving home the plug, slung it behind the cantle of the saddle wherehe fastend it by the straps which held the outlaw's "slicker." Jammingthe package of tobacco into the pocket of the garment he stepped backand grinned sheepishly at his generous gifts. He turned abruptly andstrode to the outlaw and shoved out his hand.
"There, pardner, shake!" he cried heartily. "Yore the best man in thewhole d----d cow country, and I'll tell 'em so, too, by God!"
The outlaw came out of his reverie and looked him searchingly in the faceas he gripped the outstretched hand with a grip which made the driverwince.
"Don't be a fool, Bill," he replied. "You'll get yourself disliked ifyou enthuse about me." Then he noticed the additions to his equipmentand frowned: "You better take those things, I can't. The spirit is enough."
"Oh, you borrow them 'til you see me again," replied Bill. "You may need'em," he added as he wheeled and walked to the coach. He climbed to hisseat and wrapped the lines about his hands, cracking the whip as soon ashe could, and the coach lurched on its way to Ford's Station, the drivergrunting about fool old maids who didn't know enough to be glad they werealive.
The Orphan hesitated about the gifts and then decided to take them forthe time. He mounted and rode past the coach door, keeping near to theflank of the last horse, where he listened to Bill's endless talk.
"How is it that you've got a Cross Bar-8 cayuse?" Bill asked at length,too idiotically happy to realize the significance of his question.
The Orphan's hand leaped suddenly and then stopped and dropped to thepommel, and he looked up at the driver.
"Oh, one of their punchers and I sort of swapped," he laughingly replied,thinking of the man under the debris. "Say, if I don't get as far asthe canyon with you, just climb up above on the left hand side near theentrance a
nd release a fool puncher that is covered up under a pile ofrubbish, will you? I came near forgetting him, and I don't want him to diein that way."
As he spoke he saw a group of horsemen swing over a rise and he knew theminstinctively.
"There's the gang now--tell them, I'm off for a ride," he said, droppingback to the coach door, where he raised his hand to his head and bowed.