The Killer

  CHAPTER IX

  We jogged out to Box Springs by way of the lower alkali flats. It isabout three miles farther that way; but one can see for miles in everydirection. I did not one bit fancy the canons, the mesquite patches, andthe open ground of the usual route.

  I beguiled the distance watching Brower. The animal he rode was ahammer-headed, ewe-necked beast with a disconsolate eye and a half-shedwinter coat. The ex-jockey was not accustomed to a stock saddle. He hadshortened his stirrups beyond all reason so that his knees and hispointed shoes and his elbows stuck out at all angles. He had thrust hisderby hat far down over his ears, and buttoned his inadequate coattightly. In addition, he was nourishing a very considerable grouch,attributable, I suppose, to the fact that his customary dose was justabout due. Tiger could not be blamed for dancing wide. Evening wasfalling, the evening of the desert when mysterious things seem to swelland draw imminent out of unguessed distances. I could not help wonderingwhat these gods of the desert could be thinking of us.

  However, as we drew imperceptibly nearer the tiny patch of cottonwoodsthat marked Box Springs, I began to realize that it would be more to thepoint to wonder what that gang of hoodlums in the bunk house was goingto think of us. The matter had been fairly well carried off up to thatmoment, but I could not hope for a successful repetition. No man couldcontinue to lug around with him so delicious a vaudeville sketch withoutsome concession to curiosity. Nor could any mortal for long wear suchclothes in the face of Arizona without being required to show cause. Hehad got away with it last night, by surprise; but that would be aboutall.

  At my fiftieth attempt to enter into conversation with him, Iunexpectedly succeeded. I believe I was indicating the points ofinterest. You can see farther in Arizona than any place I know, so therewas no difficulty about that. I'd pointed out the range of theChiracahuas, and Cochise's Stronghold, and the peaks of the Galiuros andother natural sceneries; I had showed him mesquite and yucca, and mescaland soapweed, and sage, and sacatone and niggerheads and all the otherknown vegetables of the region. Also I'd indicated prairie dogs andsquinch owls and Gambel's quail and road runners and a couple of coyotesand lizards and other miscellaneous fauna. Not to speak of namingpainstakingly the ranches indicated by the clumps of trees that youcould just make out as little spots in the distance--Box Springs, theO.T., the Double H, Fort Shafter, and Hooper's. He waked up and paid alittle attention at this; and I thought I might get a little friendlytalk out of him. A cowboy rides around alone so much he sort of likes tojosh when he has anybody with him. This "strong silent" stuff doesn't gountil you've used around with a man quite some time.

  I got the talk, all right, but it didn't have a thing to do withtopography or natural history. Unless you call the skate he was ridingnatural history. That was the burden of his song. He didn't like thathorse, and he didn't care who knew it. It was an uncomfortable horse toride on, it required exertion to keep in motion, and it hurt hisfeelings. Especially the last. He was a horseman, a jockey, he'd riddenthe best blood in the equine world; and here he was condemned through nofault of his own to straddle a cross between a llama and a woolly toysheep. It hurt his pride. He felt bitterly about it. Indeed, he fairlyharped on the subject.

  "Is that horse of yours through bucking for the day?" he asked at last.

  "Certain thing. Tiger never pitches but the once."

  "Let me ride him a ways. I'd like to feel a real horse to get the tasteof this kangaroo out of my system."

  I could see he was jumpy, so I thought I'd humour him.

  "Swing on all at once and you're all right," I advised him. "Tiger don'tlike fumbling in getting aboard."

  He grunted scornfully.

  "Those stirrups are longer than the ones you've been using. Want toshorten them?"

  He did not bother to answer, but mounted in a decisive manner thatproved he was indeed a horseman, and a good one. I climbed old crow baitand let my legs hang.

  The jockey gathered the reins and touched Tiger with his heels. I kickedmy animal with my stock spurs and managed to extract a lumbering sort ofgallop.

  "Hey, slow up!" I called after a few moments. "I can't keep up withyou."

  Brower did not turn his head, nor did Tiger slow up. After twentyseconds I realized that he intended to do neither. I ceased urging on myanimal, there was no use tiring us both; evidently the jockey wasenjoying to the full the exhilaration of a good horse, and we wouldcatch up at Box Springs. I only hoped the boys wouldn't do anythingdrastic to him before my arrival.

  So I jogged along at the little running walk possessed by even the mosthumble cattle horse, and enjoyed the evening. It was going on towarddusk and pools of twilight were in the bottomlands. For the moment theworld had grown smaller, more intimate, as the skies expanded. The dustfrom Brower's going did not so much recede as grow littler, moretoy-like. I watched idly his progress.

  At a point perhaps a mile this side the Box Springs ranch the roaddivides: the right-hand fork leading to the ranch house, the left on upthe valley. After a moment I noticed that the dust was on the left-handfork. I swore aloud.

  "The damn fool has taken the wrong road!" and then after a moment, withdismay: "He's headed straight for Hooper's ranch!"

  I envisaged the full joy and rapture of this thought for perhaps half aminute. It sure complicated matters, what with old Hooper gunning on mytrail, and this partner's daughter shut up behind bars. Me, I expectedto last about two days unless I did something mighty sudden. Brower Iexpected might last approximately half that time, depending on how soonRamon _et al_ got busy. The girl I didn't know anything about, nor did Iwant to at that moment. I was plenty worried about my own precious hidejust then. And if you think you are going to get a love story out ofthis, I warn you again to quit right now; you are not.

  Brower was going to walk into that gray old spider's web like a nice fatfly. And he was going to land without even the aid and comfort of hisown particular brand of Dutch courage. For safety's sake, and because ofTiger's playful tendencies when first mounted, we had tied the famousblack bag--which now for convenience contained also the soothingsyrup--behind the cantle of Meigs's old nag. Which said nag I nowpossessed together with all appurtenances and attachments thereuntoappertaining I tried to speculate on the reactions of Old Man Hooper,Ramon, Brower and no dope, but it was too much for me. My head wasgetting tired thinking about all these complicated things, anyhow. I wasaccustomed to nice, simple jobs with my head, like figuring on theshrinkage of beef cattle, or the inner running of a two-card draw. Allthis annoyed me. I began to get mad. When I got mad enough I cussed andcame to a decision: which was to go after Old Man Hooper and all hisworks that very night. Next day wouldn't do; I wanted action right offquick. Naturally I had no plans, nor even a glimmering of what I wasgoing to do about it; but you bet you I was going to do something! Assoon as it was dark I was going right on up there. Frontal attack, youunderstand. As to details, those would take care of themselves as theaffair developed. Having come to which sapient decision I shoved thewhole irritating mess over the edge of my mind and rode on quite happy.I told you at the start of this yarn that I was a kid.

  My mind being now quite easy as to my future actions, I gave thought tothe first step. That was supper. There seemed to me no adequate reason,with a fine, long night before me, why I shouldn't use a little of theshank end of it to stoke up for the rest. So I turned at the right-handfork and jogged slowly toward our own ranch.

  Of course I had the rotten luck to find most of the boys still at thewater corral. When they saw who was the lone horseman approachingthrough the dusk of the spring twilight, and got a good fair look at theensemble, they dropped everything and came over to see about it, headednaturally by those mournful blights, Windy Bill and Wooden. In solemnsilence they examined my outfit, paying not the slightest attention tome. At the end of a full minute they looked at each other.

  "What do you think, Sam?" asked Windy.

  "My opinion is not quite formed, suh," replied Wooden, who was
aTexican. "But my first examination inclines me to the belief that it isa hoss."

  "Yo're wrong, Sam," denied Windy, sadly; "yo're judgment is confused bythe fact that the critter carries a saddle. Look at the animile itself."

  "I have done it," continued Sam Wooden; "at first glance I should agreewith you. Look carefully, Windy. Examine the details; never mind the_toot enscramble_. It's got hoofs."

  "So's a cow, a goat, a burro, a camel, a hippypottamus, and the devil,"pointed out Windy.

  "Of course I may be wrong," acknowledged Wooden. "On second examinationI probably am wrong. But if it ain't a hoss, then what is it? Do youknow?"

  "It's a genuine royal gyasticutus," esserted Windy Bill, positively. "Iseen one once. It has one peculiarity that you can't never fail toidentify it by."

  "What's that?"

  "It invariably travels around with a congenital idiot."

  Wooden promptly conceded that, but claimed the identification notcomplete as he doubted whether, strictly speaking, I could be classifiedas a congenital idiot. Windy pointed out that evidently I had tradedTiger for the gyasticutus. Wooden admitted that this proved me an idiot,but not necessarily a congenital idiot.

  This colloquy--and more like it--went on with entire gravity. The othermen were hanging about relishing the situation, but without a symptom ofmirth. I was unsaddling methodically, paying no attention to anybody,and apparently deaf to all that was being said. If the two old fools hadsucceeded in eliciting a word from me they would have been entirelyhappy; but I knew that fact, and shut my lips.

  I hung my saddle on the rack and was just about to lead the old skate towater when we all heard the sound of a horse galloping on the road.

  "It's a light boss," said somebody after a moment, meaning a horsewithout a burden.

  We nodded and resumed our occupation. A stray horse coming in to waterwas nothing strange or unusual. But an instant later, stirrups swinging,reins flapping, up dashed my own horse, Tiger.