CHAPTER IV
KATE USES HER QUIRT
Red-headed Bob Cullison finished making the diamond hitch and proudlycalled his cousin Kate to inspect the packhorse.
"You never saw the hitch thrown better, sis," he bragged, boy-like. "UncleLuck says I do it well as he can."
"It's fine, Bob," his cousin agreed, with the proper enthusiasm in herdark eyes. "You'll have to teach me how to do it one of these days."
She was in a khaki riding skirt, and she pulled herself to the saddle ofher own horse. From this position she gave him final instructions beforeleaving. "Stay around the house, Bob. Dad will call the ranch up thismorning probably, and I want you to be where you can hear the 'phone ring.Tell him about that white-faced heifer, and to be sure to match the goodsI gave him. You'll find dinner set out for you on the dining-room table."
It had been on Wednesday morning that Luck Cullison disappeared from theface of the earth. Before twenty-four hours the gossip was being whisperedin the most distant canyons of Papago County. The riders of the Circle Cknew it, but none of them had yet told either Bob or Kate.
Now it was Friday morning and Kate was beginning to wonder why her fatherdid not call her up. Could it be that Soapy Stone was pulling off histrain robbery at Tin Cup and her father so busy that he could not taketime to ride to a telephone station? She did not like to leave the ranchjust now, even for a few hours, but other business called her away.Sweeney was holding down the fort at the Del Oro against Fendrick'ssheepherders, and his weekly supply of provisions had to be taken to him.Since she wanted to see with her own eyes how things were getting along atthe canyon, she was taking the supplies in person.
It was a beautiful morning, even for Arizona. The soft air was at itswiniest best. The spring rains had carpeted the hills with an unusuallyfine grass, and the summer suns had not yet burnt this to the crisp brownof August. Her young heart expanded with the very joy of life. Oh, howgood it was to be alive in a world of warm sunshine, of blue, unfleckedsky, and of cool, light breezes. Swifts basked on the rocks or darted likearrows for safety, and lay palpitating with suspense. The clear call ofthe quails sounded to right and left of her. To her eager consciousness itwas as if some bath of splendor had poured down overnight upon the oldearth.
She rode from sunlight into shadow and from shadow to sunlight again,winding along the hill trail that took her toward the Del Oro. After hoursof travel she came to the saddle from which one looked down to the gap inthe canyon walls that had been the common watering place of all men'scattle, but now was homesteaded by her father. Far below her it lay, adwarfed picture with detail blurred to a vague impressionistic map. Shecould see the hut, the fence line running parallel to the stream on theother side, some grazing cattle, Sweeney's horse in the corral.
The piteous bleating of a lamb floated to her. Kate dismounted and madeher way toward the sound. A pathetic little huddle of frightened lifetried to struggle free at her approach. The slim leg of the lamb hadbecome wedged at the intersection of several rocks in such a way that itcould not be withdrawn.
Kate pulled the boulder away, and released the prisoner. It looked at herand bleated without attempting to move. She took the soft, woolly creaturein her arms, and examined the wounded limb, all torn and raw from itsefforts to escape. A wound, she recalled, ought to be washed with coldwater and bound. Returning to her horse, she put the little animal infront of the saddle and continued on the trail that led down to theriver.
Sweeney came out from the cabin and hailed her. He was a squat,weather-beaten man, who had ridden for her father ever since she couldremember.
"What in Mexico you got there?" he asked in surprise.
She explained the circumstances under which she had found the lamb.
"And what you aiming to do with it?"
"I'm going to tie up its leg and take it across the river. Some of theC. F. herders are sure to find it before night."
"Sho! What are you fooling with Cass Fendrick's sheep for?" he grumbled.
"It isn't a sheep, but a lamb. And I'm not going to see it suffer, nomatter who owns it."
She was already walking toward the river. Protestingly he followed, andlent a hand at tying up the leg with the girl's handkerchief.
"I'll just ride across and leave it outside the fence," she said.
"Lemme go. I know the river better."
Sweeney did not wait for her assent, but swung to the saddle. She handedhim the lamb, and he forded the stream. At no place did the water comeabove the fetlocks of the horse.
"I'm so glad you know the dangerous places. Be careful you don't drown,"she mocked.
The rider's laughter rang back to her. One of her jokes went a long waywith Sweeney. The danger of the river had been the flimsiest of excuses.What he had been afraid of was that one of Fendrick's herders might belurking in some arroyo beyond the fence. There was little chance that hewould dare hurt her, but he might shout something unpleasant.
In point of fact, Sweeney saw some one disappear into a wash as he reachedthe fence. The rider held up the lamb, jabbered a sentence of bronchoSpanish at the spot where the man had been, put down his bleating burden,and cantered back to his own side of the river without unnecessary delay.No bullets had yet been fired in the Cullison-Fendrick feud, but a"greaser" was liable to do anything, according to the old puncher'snotion. Anyhow, he did not want to be a temptation to anyone with a gun inhis hand.
An hour later, Kate, on the return trip, topped the rise where she hadfound the lamb. Pulling up her pony, to rest the horse from its climb, shegazed back across the river to the rolling ridges among which lay theC. F. ranch. Oddly enough, she had never seen Cass Fendrick. He had cometo Papago County a few years before, and had bought the place from anearlier settler. In the disagreement that had fallen between the two men,she was wholly on the side of her father. Sometimes she had wondered whatmanner of man this Cass Fendrick might be; disagreeable, of course, butafter precisely what fashion.
"Your property, I believe, Miss Cullison."
She turned at sound of the suave, amused drawl, and looked upon a dark,slim young man of picturesque appearance. He was bowing to her with anobvious intention of overdoing it. Voice and manner had the habit of theSouth rather than of the West. A kind of indolent irony sat easily uponthe swarthy face crowned with a black sleek head of hair.
Her instinct told the girl who he was. She did not need to ask herself anylonger what Cass Fendrick looked like.
He was holding out to her the bloodstained kerchief that had been tied tothe lamb's leg.
"I didn't care to have it returned," she told him with cold civility.
"Now, if you'd only left a note to say so, it would have saved me a quiteconsiderable climb," he suggested.
In spite of herself a flicker of amusement lit her eyes. She had a senseof humor, "I did not think of that, and since you have troubled to returnit to me, I can only say thank you."
She held out her hand for the kerchief, but he did not move. "I don't knowbut what I'll keep it, after all, for a souvenir. Just to remind me thatLuck Cullison's daughter went out of her way to help one of CassFendrick's sheep."
She ignored his sardonic mockery. "I don't let live creatures suffer whenI can help it. Are you going to give me my handkerchief?"
"Haven't made up my mind yet. Perhaps I'll have it washed and bring ithome to you."
She decided that he was trying to flirt with her, and turned the head ofher horse to start.
"Now your father has pulled his freight, I expect it will be safe tocall," he added.
The bridle rein tightened. "What nonsense are you saying about myfather?"
"No news, Miss Cullison; just what everybody is saying, that he has goneto cover on account of the hold-up."
A chill fear drenched her heart. "Do you mean the hold-up of the Limitedat Tin Cup?"
"No, I don't." He looked at her sharply. "Mean to say you haven't heard ofthe hold-up of the W.& S. Express Company at Saguache?"
&nb
sp; "No. When was it?"
"Tuesday night. The man got away with twenty thousand dollars."
"And what has my father to do with that?" she demanded haughtily.
A satisfied spleen purred in his voice. "My dear young lady, that is whateveryone is asking."
"What do you mean? Say it." There was fear as well as anger in her voice.Had her father somehow got into trouble trying to save Sam?
"Oh, I'm saying nothing. But what Sheriff Bolt means is that when he getshis handcuffs on Luck Cullison, he'll have the man that can tell him wherethat twenty thousand is."
"It's a lie."
He waved his hand airily, as one who declined responsibility in thematter, but his dark, saturnine face sparkled with malice.
"Maybe so. Seems to be some evidence, but I reckon he can explain thataway--when he comes back. The hold-up dropped a hat with the initialsL. C. in the band, since identified as his. He had lost a lot of money atpoker. Next day he paid it. He had no money in the bank, but maybe hefound it growing on a cactus bush."
"You liar!" she panted, eyes blazing.
"I'll take that from you, my dear, because you look so blamed pretty whenyou're mad; but I wouldn't take it from him--from your father, who ishiding out in the hills somewhere."
Anger uncurbed welled from her in an inarticulate cry. He had come closeto her, and was standing beside the stirrup, one bold hand upon the rein.Her quirt went swiftly up and down, cut like a thin bar of red-hot ironacross his uplifted face. He stumbled back, half blind with the pain.Before he could realize what had happened the spur on her little boottouched the side of the pony, and it was off with a bound. She wasgalloping wildly down the trail toward home.
He looked after her, fingers caressing the welt that burned his cheek.
"You'll pay for that, Kate Cullison," he said aloud to himself.
Anger stung him, but deeper than his rage was a growing admiration. Howshe had lashed out at him because he had taunted her of her father. ByJove, a girl like that would be worth taming! His cold eyes glittered ashe put the bloodstained kerchief in his pocket. She was not through withhim yet--not by a good deal.