CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LONE TAKES HIS STAND
Lone Morgan, over at Elk Spring camp, was just sitting down to eat hismidday meal when some one shouted outside. Lone stiffened in his chair,felt under his coat, and then got up with some deliberation and lookedout of the window before he went to the door. All this was a matter ofhabit, bred of Lone's youth in the feud country, and had nothingwhatever to do with his conscience.
"Hello!" he called, standing in the doorway and grinning a welcome toSwan, who stood with one arm resting on the board gate. "She's on thetable--come on in."
"I don't know if you're home with the door shut like that," Swanexplained, coming up to the cabin. "I chased a coyote from Rock City tohere, and by golly, he's going yet! I'll get him sometime, maybe. He'ssmart, but you can beat anything with thinking if you don't stopthinking. Always the other feller stops sometimes, and then you gethim. You believe that?"
"It most generally works out that way," Lone admitted, getting anotherplate and cup from the cupboard, which was merely a box nailed with itsbottom to the wall, and a flour sack tacked across the front for acurtain. "Even a coyote slips up now and then, I reckon."
Swan sat down, smoothing his tousled yellow hair with both hands as hedid so. "By golly, my shoulder is sore yet from carrying Brit Hunter,"he remarked carelessly, flexing his muscles and grimacing a little.
Lone was pouring the coffee, and he ran Swan's cup over before henoticed what he was doing. Swan looked up at him and looked away again,reaching for a cloth to wipe the spilled coffee from the table.
"How was that?" Lone asked, turning away to the stove. "What-allhappened to Brit Hunter?"
Swan, with his plate filled and his coffee well sweetened, proceeded torelate with much detail the story of Brit's misfortune. "By golly, Idon't see how he don't get killed," he finished, helping himself toanother biscuit. "By _golly_, I don't. Falling into Spirit Canyon islike getting dragged by a horse. It should kill a man. What you think,Lone?"
"It didn't, you say." Lone's eyes were turned to his coffee cup.
"It don't kill Brit Hunter--not yet. I think maybe he dies with all hisbones broke, like that. By golly, that shows you what could happen if aman don't think. Brit should look at that chain on his wheel before hestarts down that road."
"Oh. His brake didn't hold, eh?"
"I look at that wagon," Swan answered carefully. "It is something funnyabout that chain. I worked hauling logs in the mountains, once. It issomething damn funny about that chain, the way it's fixed."
Lone did not ask him for particulars, as perhaps Swan expected. He didnot speak at all for awhile, but presently pushed back his plate as ifhis appetite were gone.
"It's like Fred Thurman," Swan continued moralizing. "If Fred don't ridebackwards, I bet he don't get killed--like that."
"Where's Brit now?" Lone asked, getting up and putting on his hat. "Atthe ranch?"
"Or heaven, maybe," Swan responded sententiously. "But my dog Yack, hedon't howl yet. I guess Brit's at the ranch."
"Sorry I'm busy to-day," said Lone, opening the door. "You stay as longas you like, Swan. I've got some riding to do."
"I'll wash the dishes, and then I maybe will think quicker than thatcoyote. I'm after him, by golly, till I get him."
Lone muttered something and went out. Within five minutes Swan, hearinghoofbeats, looked out through a crack in the door and saw Lone riding ata gallop along the trail to Rock City. "Good bait. He swallows thehook," he commented to himself, and his good-natured grin was notbrightening his face while he washed the dishes and tidied the cabin.
With Lone rode bitterness of soul and a sick fear that had nothing to dowith his own destiny. How long ago Brit had been hurled into the canyonLone did not know; he had not asked. But he judged that it must havebeen very recently. Swan had not told him of anything but the runaway,and of helping to carry Brit home--and of the "damn funny thing aboutthe chain"--the rough-lock, he must have meant. Too well Loneunderstood the sinister meaning that probably lay behind that phrase.
"They've started on the Quirt now," he told himself with foreboding."She's been telling her father----"
Lone fell into bitter argument with himself. Just how far was itjustifiable to mind his own business? And if he did not mind it, whatpossible chance had he against a power so ruthless and so cunning? Anaccident to a man driving a loaded wagon down the Spirit Canyon gradehad a diabolic plausibility that no man in the country could question.Brit, he reasoned, could not have known before he started that hisrough-lock had been tampered with, else he would have fixed it. Neitherwas Brit the man to forget the brake on his load. If Brit lived, hemight talk as much as he pleased, but he could never prove that hisaccident had been deliberately staged with murderous intent.
Lone lifted his head and looked away across the empty miles of sagelandto the quiet blue of the mountains beyond. Peace--the peace ofuntroubled wilderness--brooded over the land. Far in the distance,against the rim of rugged hills, was an irregular splotch of brown whichwas the headquarters of the Sawtooth. Lone turned his wrist to theright, and John Doe, obeying the rein signal, left the trail and beganpicking his way stiff-legged down the steep slope of the ridge, headingdirectly toward the home ranch.
John Doe was streaked with sweat and his flanks were palpitating withfatigue when Lone rode up to the corral and dismounted. Pop Bridgers sawhim and came bow-legging eagerly forward with gossip titillating on hismeddlesome tongue, but Lone stalked by him with only a surly nod. BobWarfield he saw at a distance and gave no sign of recognition. He metHawkins coming down from his house and stopped in the trail.
"Have you got time to go back to the office and fix up my time,Hawkins?" he asked without prelude. "I'm quitting to-day."
Hawkins stared and named the Biblical place of torment. "What yuhquittin' for, Lone?" he added incredulously. "All you boys got a raiselast month; ain't that good enough?"
"Plenty good enough, so long as I work for the outfit."
"Well, what's wrong? You've been with us five years, Lone, and it'ssuited you all right so far----"
Lone looked at him. "Say, I never set out to _marry_ the Sawtooth," hestated calmly. "And if I have married you-all by accident, you can get abill of divorce for desertion. This ain't the first time a man ever quityuh, is it, Hawkins?"
"No--and there ain't a man on the pay roll we can't do without," Hawkinsretorted, his neck stiffening with resentment. "It's a kinda rustytrick, though, Lone, quittin' without notice and leaving a camp empty."
"Elk Spring won't run away," Lone assured him without emotion. "She'sbeen left alone a week or two at a time during roundups. I don't reckonthe outfit'll bust up before you get a man down there."
The foreman looked at him curiously, for this was not like Lone, whosetone had always been soft and friendly, and whose manner had no hint ofbrusqueness. There was a light, too, in Lone's eyes that had not beenthere before. But Hawkins would not question him further. If Lone Morganor any other man wanted to quit, that was his privilege,--providing, ofcourse, that his leaving was not likely to menace the peace andsecurity of the Sawtooth. Lone had made it a point to mind his ownbusiness, always. He had never asked questions, he had never surmised orgossiped. So Hawkins gave him a check for his wages and let him go withno more than a foreman's natural reluctance to lose a trustworthy man.
By hard riding along short cuts, Lone reached the Quirt ranch anddropped reins at the doorstep, not much past mid-afternoon.
"I rode over to see if there's anything I can do," he said, whenLorraine opened the door to him. He did not like to ask about herfather, fearing that the news would be bad.
"Why, thank you for coming." Lorraine stepped back, tacitly inviting himto enter. "Dad knows us to-day, but of course he's terribly hurt andcan't talk much. We do need some one to go to town for things. Frankhelps me with dad, and Jim and Sorry are trying to keep things going onthe ranch. And Swan does what he can, of course, but----"
"I just thought you maybe
needed somebody right bad," said Lone quietly,meaning a great deal more than Lorraine dreamed that he meant. "I'm notdoing anything at all, right now, so I can just as well help out asnot. I can go to town right away, if I can borrow a horse. John Doe,he's pretty tired. I been pushing him right through--not knowing therewas a town trip ahead of him."
Lorraine found her eyes going misty. He was so quiet, and so reassuringin his quiet. Half her burden seemed to slip from her shoulders whileshe looked at him. She turned away, groping for the door latch.
"You may see dad, if you like, while I get the list of things the doctorordered. He left only a little while ago, and I was waiting for one ofthe boys to come back so I could send him to town."
It was on Lone's tongue to ask why the doctor had not taken in the orderhimself and instructed some one to bring out the things; but heremembered how very busy with its own affairs was Echo and decided thatthe doctor was wise.
He tiptoed in to the bed and saw a sallow face covered with stubbly graywhiskers and framed with white bandages. Brit opened his eyes and movedhis thin lips in some kind of greeting, and Lone sat down on the edge ofa chair, feeling as miserably guilty as if he himself had brought theold man to this pass. It seemed to him that Brit must know more of theaccident than Swan had told, and the thought did not add to his comfort.He waited until Brit opened his eyes again, and then he leaned forward,holding Brit's wandering glance with his own intent gaze.
"I ain't working now," he said, lowering his voice so that Lorrainecould not hear. "So I'm going to stay here and help see you through withthis. I've quit the Sawtooth."
Brit's eyes cleared and studied Lone's face. "D'you know--anything?"
"No, I don't." Lone's face hardened a little. "But I wanted you to knowthat I'm--with the Quirt, now."
"Frank hire yuh?"
"No. I ain't hired at all. I'm just--_with_ yuh."
"We--need yuh," said Brit grimly, looking Lone straight in the eyes.