CHAPTER XXIII
AT THE EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD
Ferguson strode into the manager's office and dropped heavily into achair beside the desk. He was directly in front of the open door andlooking up he could see the men down at the bunkhouse congregatedaround the bodies of Leviatt and Tucson.
The end that he had been expecting for the past two days had come--hadcome as he knew it must come. He had not been trapped as they hadtrapped Rope Jones. When he had stood before Leviatt in front of thebunkhouse, he had noted the positions of the two men; had seen thatthey had expected him to walk squarely into the net that they hadprepared for him. His lips curled a little even now over the thoughtthat the two men had held him so cheaply. Well, they had learneddifferently, when too late. It was the end of things for them, and forhim the end of his hopes. When he had drawn his guns he had thought ofmerely wounding Leviatt, intending to allow the men of the outfit toapply to him the penalty that all convicted cattle thieves must suffer.But before that he had hoped to induce Leviatt to throw some light uponthe attempted murder of Ben Radford.
However, Leviatt had spoiled all that when he had attempted to draw hisweapon after he was wounded. He had given Ferguson no alternative. Hehad been forced to kill the only man who, he was convinced, could havegiven him any information about the shooting of Radford, and now, inspite of anything that he might say to the contrary, Mary Radford, andeven Ben himself, would always believe him guilty. He could not stayat Two Diamond now. He must get out of the country, back to the oldlife at the Lazy J, where among his friends he might finally forget.But he doubted much. Did men ever forget women they had loved? Someperhaps did, but he was certain that nothing--not even time--could dimthe picture that was now in his mind: the hill in the flat, the girlsitting upon the rock beside him, her eyes illuminated with a soft,tender light; her breeze-blown hair--which he had kissed; which theSun-Gods had kissed as, coming down from the mountains, they had bathedthe hill with the golden light of the evening. He had thought thenthat nothing could prevent him from enjoying the happiness which thatafternoon seemed to have promised. He had watched the sun sinkingbehind the mountains, secure in the thought that the morrow would bringhim added happiness. But now there could be no tomorrow--for him.
Fifteen minutes later Stafford entered the office to find his stray-manstill seated in the chair, his head bowed in his hands. He did notlook up as the manager entered, and the latter stepped over to him andlaid a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"I'm thankin' you for what you've done for me," he said.
Ferguson rose, leaning one hand on the back of the chair upon which hehad been sitting. The manager saw that deep lines had come into hisface; that his eyes--always steady before--were restless and gleamingwith an expression which seemed unfathomable. But he said nothinguntil the manager had seated himself beside the desk. Then he took astep and stood looking into Stafford's upturned face.
"I reckon I've done what I came here to do," he said grimly. "I'mtakin' my time now."
Stafford's face showed a sudden disappointment.
"Shucks!" he returned, unable to keep the regret from his voice."Ain't things suited you here?"
The stray-man grinned with straight lips. He could not let the managerknow his secret. "Things have suited me mighty well," he declared."I'm thankin' you for havin' made things pleasant for me while I'vebeen here. But I've done what I contracted to do an' there ain'tanything more to keep me here. If you'll give me my time I'll begoin'."
Stafford looked up at him with a sly, significant smile. "Why," hesaid, "Leviatt told me that you'd found somethin' real interestin' overon Bear Flat. Now, I shouldn't think you'd want to run away from her!"
The stray-man's lips whitened a little. "I don't think Mary Radford isworryin' about me," he said steadily.
"Well, now," returned Stafford, serious again; "then I reckon Leviatthad it wrong."
"I expect he had it wrong," answered the stray-man shortly.
But Stafford did not yield. He had determined to keep the stray-man atthe Two Diamond and there were other arguments that he had not yetadvanced which might cause him to stay. He looked up again, his facewearing a thoughtful expression.
"I reckon you remember our contract?" he questioned.
The stray-man nodded. "I was to find out who was stealin' yourcattle," he said.
Stafford smiled slightly. "Correct!" he returned. "You've showed metwo thieves. But a while ago I heard you say that there was two more.Our contract ain't fulfilled until you show me them too. You reckon?"
The stray-man drew a deep, resigned breath. "I expect that's right,"he admitted. "But I've told you where you can find them. All you'vegot to do is to ride over there an' catch them."
Stafford's smile widened a little. "Sure," he returned, "that's allI've got to do. An' I'm goin' to do it. But I'm wantin' my range bossto take charge of the outfit that's goin' over to ketch them."
"Your range boss?" said Ferguson, a flash of interest in his eyes,"Why, your range boss ain't here any more."
Stafford leaned forward, speaking seriously. "I'm talkin' to my rangeboss right now!" he said significantly.
Ferguson started, and a tinge of slow color came into his face. Hedrew a deep breath and took a step forward. But suddenly he halted,his lips straightening again.
"I'm thankin' you," he said slowly. "But I'm leavin' the Two Diamond."He drew himself up, looking on the instant more his old indomitableself. "I'm carryin' out our contract though," he added. "If you'rewantin' me to go after them other two men, I ain't backin' out. Butyou're takin' charge of the outfit. I ain't goin' to be your rangeboss."
An hour later ten of the Two Diamond men, accompanied by Stafford andthe stray-man, loped their horses out on the plains toward the river.It was a grim company on a grim mission, and the men forbore to joke asthey rode through the dust and sunshine of the afternoon. Fergusonrode slightly in advance, silent, rigid in the saddle, not evenspeaking to Stafford, who rode near him.
Half an hour after leaving the Two Diamond they rode along the crest ofa ridge of hills above Bear Flat. They had been riding here only a fewminutes when Stafford, who had been watching the stray-man, saw himstart suddenly. The manager turned and followed the stray-man's gaze.
Standing on a porch in front of a cabin on the other side of the flatwas a woman. She was watching them, her hands shading her eyes.Stafford saw the stray-man suddenly dig his spurs into his pony'sflanks, saw a queer pallor come over his face. Five minutes later theyhad ridden down through a gully to the plains. Thereafter, even thehard riding Two Diamond boys found it difficult to keep near thestray-man.
Something over two hours later the Two Diamond outfit, headed by thestray-man, clattered down into a little basin, where Ferguson had seenthe cabin two days before. As the Two Diamond men came to within ahundred feet of the cabin two men, who had been at work in a smallcorral, suddenly dropped their branding irons and bolted toward thecabin. But before they had time to reach the door the Two Diamond menhad surrounded them, sitting grimly and silently in their saddles.Several of Stafford's men had drawn their weapons, but were nowreturning them to their holsters, for neither of the two men was armed.They stood within the grim circle, embarrassed, their heads bowed,their attitude revealing their shame at having been caught so easily.One of the men, a clear, steady-eyed fellow, laughed frankly.
"Well, we're plum easy, ain't we boys?" he said, looking around at thesilent group. "Corraled us without lettin' off a gun. That's what I'dcall re-diculous. You're right welcome. But mebbe you wouldn't havehad things so easy if we hadn't left our guns in the cabin. Eh, Bill?"he questioned, prodding the other man playfully in the ribs.
But the other man did not laugh. He stood before them, hisembarrassment gone, his eyes shifting and fearful.
"Shut up, you damn fool!" he snarled.
But the clear-eyed man gave no attention to this outburst. "You're TwoDiamond men, ain't y
ou?" he asked, looking full at Ferguson.
The latter nodded, and the clear-eyed man continued. "Knowed you rightoff," he declared, with a laugh. "Leviatt pointed you out to me oneday when you was ridin' out yonder." He jerked a thumb toward thedistance. "Leviatt told me about you. Wanted to try an' plug you withhis six, but decided you was too far away." He laughedself-accusingly. "If you'd been half an hour later, I reckon youwouldn't have proved your stock, but we loafed a heap, an' half of thatbunch ain't got our brand."
"We didn't need to look at no brand," declared Stafford grimly.
The clear-eyed man started a little. Then he laughed. "Then you musthave got Leviatt an' Tucson," he said. He turned to Ferguson. "IfLeviatt has been got," he said, "it must have been you that got him.He told me he was runnin' in with you some day. I kept tellin' him tobe careful."
Ferguson's eyelashes twitched a little. "Thank you for thecompliment," he said.
"Aw, hell!" declared the man, sneering. "I wasn't mushin' none!"
Stafford had made a sign to the men and some of them dismounted andapproached the two rustlers. The man who had profanely admonished theother to silence made some little resistance, but in the end he stoodwithin the circle, his hands tied behind him. The clear-eyed man madeno resistance, seeming to regard the affair in the light of a hugejoke. Once, while the Two Diamond men worked at his hands, he toldthem to be careful not to hurt him.
"I'm goin' to be hurt enough, after a while," he added.
There was nothing more to be done. The proof of guilt was before theTwo Diamond men, in the shape of several calves in the small corralthat still bore the Two Diamond brand. Several of the cows were stilladorned with the Two Diamond ear mark, and in addition to this wasFerguson's evidence. Therefore the men's ponies were caught up,saddled, and the two men forced to mount. Then the entire company rodeout of the little gully through which the Two Diamond outfit hadentered, riding toward the cottonwood that skirted the river--milesaway.
A little while before sunset the cavalcade rode to the edge of thecottonwood. Stafford halted his pony and looked at Ferguson, but thestray-man had seen enough tragedy for one day and he shook his head,sitting gloomily in the saddle.
"I'm waitin' here," he said simply. "There'll be enough in there to doit without me."
The clear-eyed man looked at him with a grim smile.
"Why, hell!" he said. "You ain't goin' in?" his eyes lighted for aninstant. "I reckon you're plum white!" he declared. "You ain't aimin'to see any free show."
"I'm sayin' so-long to you," returned Ferguson. "You're game." Aflash of admiration lighted his eyes.
The clear-eyed man smiled enigmatically. "I'm stayin' game!" hedeclared grimly, without boast. "An' now I'm tellin' you somethin'.Yesterday Leviatt told me he'd shot Ben Radford. He said he'd lied toBen about you an' that he'd shot him so's his sister would think youdone it. You've been white, an' so I'm squarin' things for you. I'mwishin' you luck."
For an instant he sat in the saddle, watching a new color surge intothe stray-man's face. Then his pony was led away, through a tangle ofundergrowth at the edge of the cottonwood. When Ferguson looked again,the little company had ridden into the shadow, but Ferguson could makeout the clear-eyed man, still erect in his saddle, still seeming towear an air of unstudied nonchalance. For a moment longer Ferguson sawhim, and then he was lost in the shadows.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE END OF THE STORY
Two weeks later Ferguson had occasion to pass through Bear Flat.Coming out of the flat near the cottonwood he met Ben Radford. Thelatter, his shoulder mending rapidly, grinned genially at the stray-man.
"I'm right sorry I made that mistake, Ferguson," he said; "but Leviattsure did give you a bad reputation."
Ferguson smiled grimly. "He won't be sayin' bad things about anyoneelse," he said. And then his eyes softened. "But I'm some sorry forthe cuss," he added.
"He had it comin'," returned Ben soberly. "An' I'd rather it was himthan me." He looked up at Ferguson, his eyes narrowing quizzically."You ain't been around here for a long time," he said. "For a manwho's just been promoted to range boss you're unnaturally shy."
Ferguson smiled. "I ain't paradin' around showin' off," he returned."Someone might take it into their head to bore me with a rifle bullet."
Radford's grin broadened. "I reckon you're wastin' valuable time," hedeclared. "For I happen to know that she wouldn't throw nothingworse'n a posy at you!"
"You don't say?" returned Ferguson seriously. "I reckon----"
He abruptly turned his pony down the trail that led to the cabin. Ashe rode up to the porch there was a sudden movement, a rustle, a gaspof astonishment, and Mary Radford stood in the doorway looking at him.For a moment there was a silence that might have meant many things.Both were thinking rapidly over the events of their last meeting atthis very spot. Then Ferguson moved uneasily in the saddle.
"You got that there rifle anywheres handy?" he asked, grinning at her.
Her eyes drooped; one foot nervously pushed out the hem of her skirts.Then she laughed, flushing crimson.
"It wasn't loaded anyway," she said.
The sunset was never more beautiful than to-day on the hill in BearFlat. Mary Radford sat on the rock in her accustomed place andstretched out, full length beside her, was Ferguson. He was lookingout over the flat, at the shadows of the evening that were advancingslowly toward the hill.
She turned toward him, her eyes full and luminous. "I am almost at theend of my story," she said smiling at him. "But," and her foreheadwrinkled perplexedly, "I find the task of ending it more difficult thanI had anticipated. It's a love scene," she added banteringly; "do youthink you could help me?"
He looked up at her. "I reckon I could help you in a real love scene,"he said, "but I ain't very good at pretendin'."
"But this is a real love scene," she replied stoutly; "I am writing itas it actually occurred to me. I have reached the moment when you--Imean the hero--has declared his love for me,--of course (with a blush)I mean the heroine, and she has accepted him. But they are facing aproblem. In the story he has been a cowpuncher and of course has nopermanent home. And of course the reader will expect me to tell howthey lived after they had finally decided to make life's journeytogether. Perhaps you can tell me how the hero should go about it."
"Do you reckon that any reader is that inquisitive?" he questioned.
"Why of course."
He looked anxiously at her. "In that case," he said, "mebbe the readerwould want to know what the heroine thought about it. Would she wantto go back East to live--takin' her cowpuncher with her to show off toher Eastern friends?"
She laughed. "I thought you were not very good at pretending," shesaid, "and here you are trying to worm a declaration of my intentionsout of me. You did not need to go about that so slyly," she told him,with an earnestness that left absolutely no doubt of her determination,"for I am going to stay right here. Why," she added, taking a deepbreath, and a lingering glance at the rift in the mountains where therose veil descended, "I love the West."
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing with sympathy. "I reckon it's apretty good little old country," he said. He smiled broadly. "An' nowI'm to tell you how to end your story," he said, "by givin' you thehero's plans for the future. I'm tellin' you that they ain't what youmight call elaborate. But if your inquisitive reader must know aboutthem, you might say that Stafford is givin' his hero--I'm meanin', ofcourse, his range boss--a hundred dollars a month--bein' some tickledover what his range boss has done for him.
"An' that there range boss knows when he's got a good thing. He'sgoin' to send to Cimarron for a lot of stuff--fixin's an' things forthe heroine,--an' he's goin' to make a proposition to Ben Radford tomake his cabin a whole lot bigger. Then him an' the heroine is goin'to live right there--right where the hero meets the heroine the firsttime--when he come there after bein' bit by a rattler. An' then if anylittle heroes or heroines
come they'd have----"
Her hand was suddenly over his mouth. "Why--why----" she protested,trying her best to look scornful--"do you imagine that I would think ofputting such a thing as that into my book?"
He grinned guiltily. "I don't know anything about writin'," he said,properly humbled, "but I reckon it wouldn't be any of the reader'sbusiness."
THE END.
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