CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE DOPE
Traveling lightly, Lance had covered a hundred and fifty miles in fourdays, through country where trails were few and rough. He had madewide detours, had slept on the ground in his slicker, had eaten baconand bannocks cooked in the small frying pan which he carried in thesack with his meager rations. He had missed altogether the Devil'sTooth outfit, and was swinging back now by way of the Lava Beds, whereTom had said that they were going. It was because Tom had named thatas his destination that Lance had ridden elsewhere to find him; goodreasoning, but so far unproductive of results.
Four days, and he had not heard from Mary Hope, had learned nothingconclusive, either for or against the Devil's Tooth. Some clues he hadgleaned, some evidence that strengthened his suspicions, but nothingto make him feel that the trip had been worth the hardship.
Without knowing just why, he had ridden out expecting to learn thebest or the worst and have done with nagging suspicion. It had seemedto him that Fate meant to be kind, that his destiny and Mary Hope'spointed the way to happiness. Now he was beginning to doubt. How washappiness possible, if the outlaw blood of the Lorrigans ran at highpressure through the veins of his family? He did not know to acertainty that it did, but until he knew that it did not he couldnever marry Mary Hope. He had to know. It had been pure madness, goingto her as he had gone. While his horse plodded up the hill to wherethe lava outcroppings began, Lance meditated gloomily on the madnessthat had driven him to her. He had felt so sure of himself and hisfuture, so much the master of his destiny and hers! Yet, even while hewooed her tempestuously he had known that it was madness, that Troublewas reaching even then to pluck him by the sleeve. Mary Hope and herstern, Scotch integrity linked to the blackened Lorrigan name thatmight soon stand on the roster of the State's prison? It wasimpossible, inconceivable. He had been a hound to say to her what hehad said.
True, when her mother was stricken he had been there to help her, tocomfort her. But it would be small comfort to Mary Hope when the stormbroke over the Devil's Tooth.
"And I said Fate was with us--I said nothing could hurt her! And itwill hurt her all her life."
His sweaty horse paused to breathe, heaving a great sigh, lookingdiscouragedly at the climb yet before him. Lance came to himself andswung off, giving the horse an apologetic slap on the shoulder. "Youought to kick me cold, Sorry, for making you pack my hulking carcaseup this hill. Why didn't you stop at the bottom?"
Sorry looked at him, waited for Lance to take the lead, and climbedafter him more briskly. He was a big-boned, well-muscled animal, buttwo hundred pounds had been a heavy load to carry up hill, and he wasglad to be rid of it.
At the top Lance did not remount. The thickly strewn flat rocks madetreacherous footing, and more than one man had taken a nasty fallbecause he had chosen to ride that mile of lava when he should havewalked. It was somewhere along this stretch of rock outcropping thatShorty had broken his knee so that he would never ride again to theround-up.
Lance was walking along with his head down, brooding over his trouble,when he fancied he heard a faint halloo. Sorry stopped and craned hishead. But Lance could see nothing save the barren stretch of lava andthe monotonous wilderness beyond, with mountains in the far backgroundand the Black Rim stretching grim on the left of him. He started on,thinking that perhaps some animal or bird was responsible for thesound. But he had gone but a short distance when it came again, moredistinctly because he was half listening for it.
He waited, made a guess at the location of the person who shouted, andturned that way, changing the reins from his right hand to his leftand pulling his holstered six-shooter within easy reach of his hand.This was not the country, his was not the errand, for carelessness,and Lance was taking no risk.
As he walked his eyes roved continually over the brown expanse ofrocks and stunted juniper that formed the Lava Beds. Behind him cameSorry, his worn shoes slipping now and then on a smooth rock, his headbobbing patiently, close to Lance's shoulder. As so often happens, itwas the horse that first discovered the object of their search. Hepulled away from the direct line, looking and looking at what Lance,keen-eyed though he was, mistook for a black rock with a juniper bushgrowing beside it.
Lance turned that way, focussed his glasses upon the object and sawwhat had happened. A horse had fallen with its rider, the two lyingtogether, the man pinned under the horse. A black horse which herecognized, and a big, red-faced cowpuncher with gray eyes that didnot twinkle. While Lance looked, the man lifted his head, seemed to bestaring straight into Lance's face, opened his mouth and contorted hispain-racked face in a shout. It was strange to have the sound reachLance's ears thinned and weakened by distance, while the glassesbrought the injured man so close that he could see the wild look ofentreaty in his eyes. Lance put up the glasses and began running, withSorry stumbling and slipping behind him.
"I been here since morning," the big cowpuncher chattered feverishlywhen Lance came up to him. "I'm fixed, all right! I was dozing and Ididn't jump and he caught me when he fell. I guess his leg is broke,but so is mine, fur's that goes. I come down hard on a rock and Iguess I broke some ribs or something. Hurt like hell for a fewhours--it ain't so bad now. Look out when you go to make him gitup--if he rolls on me it's all off. I guess it's all off, anyway, butI don't want to be squashed to death."
Lance bit his lip. It was hard to hear the man talking, talking, inthat rapid, headlong fashion, while his leg lay under the full weightof the black horse and the sun blazed on his uncovered head. It washard to see his shirt all blood-soaked on the left side where he hadfallen across an uptilted, thin-edged rock.
The horse, too, was in sorry state. A weed-grown crevice had cheatedhim with its semblance to sound footing, and he lay with front legbroken, groaning a little now and then while the man talked andtalked. And while he examined the two it seemed to Lance that Fate waspointing, and saying that here, too, was one of the inscrutableinstruments by which he worked out the destinies of men. A slipperyrock, a man riding that way half asleep--
"I'll have to shoot this horse, I'm afraid," Lance said pityingly."His leg is broken--it's the most merciful thing I can do. And if Itry to lift him off you while he's alive he may struggle--"
"Sure thing! Go on and shoot him! I woulda done it myself if youhadn't come along purty soon. I knowed it would be all off with usboth if we had to lay out all night, so I was going to finish us bothoff, when I seen you. Thought I'd take a gambling chance tilldark--but the sun has been baking me to a crisp--"
"It's all right--I'll get you to a ranch. We'll fix you up, so don'tthink about the finish." A little of the color had left Lance's face.Shooting a horse was to him next thing to shooting a human. He had todo it, though. There was no other way.
He took the horse by the cheek-piece of the bridle, spoke to himgently, turned the head a little away from him so that the horse couldnot look him in the eyes. "Poor old fellow, it's all I can do foryou," he muttered when he pulled his gun from the holster.
"Maybe you better do the same for me," said the man, still speaking inthe rapid tone which told of fever. "You ain't able to heave him offme, are you?"
"Sure, I'm able to. Lie still, now, and grit your teeth, old man. Itmay hurt, when I lift him off your leg. I'll raise him up and put arock under, and pull you out. Can you stand that?"
"Me? Hell, yes. Ain't I been standing pain since before daylight? Me,I can stand anything if I have to!"
Yet he fainted when Lance took him by the shoulders and pulled himfree, and Lance used half the water in the canteen on the saddle inbringing him back to consciousness. When the fellow opened his eyes,Lance remembered that he had half a pint of whisky in his coat pocket,and offered it to the injured one.
"Golly, that's a life-saver!" he ejaculated when he had taken twoswallows. He reached down and felt his crushed leg, grimacing at thepain of returning circulation.
"She's busted all right. Busted _right_, if I'm any judge. And myside--things are all
busted up in there. I know it. Say, oldtimer, howdo you figure you're going to get me outa here? Do you know it's allof ten miles to the nearest ranch? I've got a map of the whole countryin my coat pocket. I'll show yuh if you don't know. You're a stranger,I guess. I don't recollect seeing yore horse before. I always knowhorses. What's his brand?"
Lance did not say. He himself was wondering how he was going to getthe man out of there. If the fellow thought he was a stranger, allthe better. Still, it did not matter much. Already the whisky waswhipping the man's brain to quicker action, loosening his tongue thathad already been set wagging by fever.
"Think you can stand it to ride?" he asked solicitously. "I can heaveyou into the saddle, if you can stand being moved. I'd ride to thenext ranch and bring a wagon--but the country's too rough. A rigcouldn't get within five miles of here."
"You're right. Not even Belle Lorrigan's buckboard could make itacross that canyon on beyond. Say, speaking of the Lorrigans--" hehesitated, then plunged recklessly on. "I'm going to pass you somedope I've got on that outfit. The chances are I'm done for. The way myinsides feel--and you do something for me, will you? If I cash in, youturn in this dope. We may as well 'tend to this business right now,before I tackle the job of riding."
Lance stood looking down at him while he fumbled in his pocket, pulledout a small leather notebook and some papers.
"I'm a stock detective, see. My name's Burt Brownlee. I was just aboutready to turn in the dope and have the whole outfit pulled. Well, it'sall here. They been rustling right and left, see. But they'recute--they're _damn_ cute. We been trying to work up the case on theoutside, and it seemed like somebody in the Black Rim was sendingstock out, and so I've been working on this end. Now here's the data.I followed 'em, and I've got the dope. I know now how they work it,and my evidence and this dope here, that can be verified later on whenthe time comes, will put the whole bunch over the road, see. They'reoutlaws--always have been--but they won't be by the time they get outathe pen."
"You better keep that," Lance cut in gruffly. "Man, that's nothing youwant to be gabbling to a stranger. Shut up, and let me put you on myhorse."
"No, I want to tell yuh," Burt insisted with all the obstinacy of aman half crazy with pain and whisky. "I want to tell yuh, and I'mgoing to tell yuh! Get down here and listen. Here's a map, and here'sthe brands they worked, and here's how they worked 'em. And here's thedates."
On one knee Lance kneeled and listened, his jaws set hard together.Fast as the man talked the thoughts of Lance flew ahead, snatched atthe significance of every detail, every bit of evidence. Some thingspuzzled Burt Brownlee, but Lance knew the answer to the puzzle whileBurt talked and talked. Finally he laid his hand over the finelytraced maps that showed secret trails, unguessed, hidden little drawswhere stolen stock had been concealed, all the fine threads that wouldweave the net close around the Lorrigans.
"Here, put that stuff up. This is not getting you to a doctor, andthis can wait. Put it up."
"No, you take it. And if I don't pull through, you turn it in. Youkeep it. I don't want to be found dead with that dope on _me_--youcan't tell who might get hold of it." He thrust the papers and thebook eagerly into Lance's unwilling hand.
"No-o, you can't tell who might get hold of it," Lance admitted,biting his lip. "Well, let me take your riding outfit off this horseand then we'll go."
While he pulled saddle and bridle off the dead horse, Burt Brownleetalked and talked and talked. He wanted more whisky, which Lancepromised him he should have when he was ready to get on the horse. Hetold further evidence against the Devil's Tooth, told how he hadfollowed Tom for two days only to see him later at the ranch where hehad returned while Burt had for a time lost the trail. On that trip,he said, he would have gotten the full details of one "job" had he notturned off to follow Tom Lorrigan.
While he worked Lance listened stoically. When he was ready to starthe led Sorry close, lifted the fellow as tenderly as he could, saw himfaint again with the pain, and somehow got him on the horse while hewas still unconscious. Burt Brownlee was a big man, but he was not ofgreat weight. Lance bound him to the saddle with his own riata,revived him with a little more whisky, and started for Conley's, wholived nearest.
It was ten miles to Conleys, as riders guessed the distance. Lancewalked and led Sorry, and tried to hold Burt Brownlee in the saddle,and listened to his rambling talk, and gave him more whisky when heseemed ready to die. During certain intervals when Burt seemed lucidenough to realize his desperate condition, Lance heartened him withassurance that they were almost there.
On the way into the canyon Burt Brownlee suffered greatly on the steeptrail, down which the horse must go with forward joltings that rackedterribly the man's crushed side. The whisky was gone; he had finishedthe scanty supply at the canyon's crest, because he begged for it sohard that Lance could not steel himself to refuse. At the bottom Lancestopped Sorry, and put an arm around Burt. Lance's face was setmasklike in its forced calm, but his voice was very tender, with thedeep, vibrant note Mary Hope loved so ardently.
"Lean against me, old man, and rest a minute. It's pretty tough going,but you're game. You're dead game. You'll make it. Wait. I'll stand onthis rock--now lean hard, and rest. Ho, there's no whisky--water willhave to do you, now. I've a little in my canteen, and when you'verested--"
"I'm going," said Burt, lurching against Lance's steady strength."You're a white man. That Lorrigan dope--don't forget what I toldyou--turn it in--"
Lance's mouth twisted with sudden bitterness. "I won't--forget," hesaid. "I'll turn it--in."
"I'm--a goner. Just--stand and let me--lean--"
Lance stood, and let him lean, and with his handkerchief he verygently dried Burt's cold, perspiring face. It seemed an endless timethat he stood there. Now and then Burt clutched him with fingers thatgripped his shoulders painfully, but Lance never moved. Once, whenSorry turned his head and looked back inquiringly, wondering why theydid not go on, Lance spoke to the horse and his voice was calm andsoothing. But when it was all over, Lance's underlip was bleeding atthe corner where he had bitten into it.
He walked into Conley's yard an hour after that, his face drearilyimpassive, a dead man lashed to the saddle. He asked for paper and apen, and in a firm, even handwriting he described tersely the mannerof Burt Brownlee's death, told where the dead horse and the saddlewould be found, and as an afterthought, lest there be trouble inlocating the spot, he drew a sketch of that particular part of theLava Beds. He signed the statement, and had the excited Conleys,shaking man and half hysterical wife, sign also as witnesses. Hismatter-of-fact treatment of the affair impressed them to the point ofreceiving his instructions as though they were commands which must onno account be disobeyed in any particular.
"I'll be back and tell the coroner. He'll want to see the horse andsaddle, perhaps. Mr. Conley, you can find them without any trouble. Ifhe wants an inquest, tell him I'll be on hand. Thank you, Mrs.Conley,--no, I'll not wait for anything to eat. I'm not hungry. I mustget home. Good-by--sorry I can't do any more for you."
He mounted Sorry, pricked him into a gallop, and presently disappearedaround a bend of the trail that led in the direction of the Devil'sTooth ranch.