Chapter XIII
A Friendly Enemy
"Law sakes, Miss Bertie Lee, yo' suppah done been ready an hour. Hit suream discommodin' the way you go gallumphin' around. Don't you-all nevahgit tired?"
Aunt Becky was large and black and bulgy. To say that she was fat failsentirely of doing her justice. She overflowed from her clothes in wavesat all possible points. When she moved she waddled.
Just now she was trying to be cross, but the smile of welcome on thebroad face would have its way.
"Set down an' rest yo' weary bones, honey. I'll have yo' suppah dished upin no time a-tall. Yore paw was axin' where is you awhile ago."
"Where's dad?" asked Miss Bertie Lee Snaith carelessly as she flung hergloves on a chair.
"He done gone down to the store to see if anything been heerd o' themvilyainous killers of Mr. Webb."
When Bertie Lee returned from washing her hands and face and giving atouch or two to her hair, she sat down and did justice to the friedchicken and biscuits of Aunt Becky. She had had a long day of it and sheate with the keen appetite of youth.
Her father returned while she was still at the table. He was a big sandyman dressed in a corduroy suit. He was broad of shoulder and his legswere bowed.
"Any news, dad?" she asked.
"Not a thing, Lee. I reckon they've made their get-away. They must haveslipped off the road somewhere. The wounded one never could have traveledall night. Maybe we'll git 'em yet."
"What will you do with them, if you do?"
"Hang 'em to a sour apple tree," answered Wallace Snaith promptly.
His daughter made no comment. She knew that her father's resentment wasbased on no abstract love of law and order. It had back of it no feelingthat crime had been committed or justice outraged. The frontier was inits roistering youth, full of such effervescing spirits that life was thecheapest thing it knew. Every few days some unfortunate was buried onBoot Hill, a victim of his own inexpertness with the six-shooter. Thelonghorned cattle of Texas were wearing broad trails to the north and thenorthwest and such towns as Los Portales were on the boom. Chap-cladpunchers galloped through the streets at all hours of the day andnight letting out their joyous "Eee-yip-eee." The keys of Tolleson's andhalf a dozen other gambling places had long since been lost, for thedoors were never closed to patrons. At games of chance the roof was thelimit, in the expressive phrase of the country. Guns cracked at theslightest difference of opinion. It was bad form to use the word"murder." The correct way to speak of the result of a disagreement was torefer to it as "a killing."
Law lay for every man in a holster on his own hip. Snaith recognized thisand accepted it. He was ready to "bend a gun" himself if occasion calledfor it. What he objected to in this particular killing was the personalaffront to him. One of Webb's men had deliberately and defiantly killedtwo of his riders when the town was full of his employees. The man hadwalked into Tolleson's--a place which he, Snaith, practically ownedhimself--and flung down the gauntlet to the whole Lazy S M outfit. It wasa flagrant insult and Wallace Snaith proposed to see that it was avenged.
"I'm going duck-hunting to-morrow, dad," Lee told him. "I'll likely be upbefore daylight, but I'll try not to disturb you. If you hear merummaging around in the pantry, you'll know what for."
He grunted assent, full of the grievance that was rankling in his mind.Lee came and went as she pleased. She was her own mistress and he made noattempt to chaperon her activities.
The light had not yet begun to sift into the sky next morning when Leedressed and tiptoed to the kitchen. She carried saddlebags with her andinto the capacious pockets went tea, coffee, flour, corn meal, a flask ofbrandy, a plate of cookies, and a slab of bacon. An old frying-pan and asmall stew kettle joined the supplies; also a little package of "yerb"medicine prepared by Aunt Becky as a specific for fevers.
Lee walked through the silent, pre-dawn darkness to the stable andsaddled her pony, blanketing and cinching as deftly as her father couldhave done it. With her she carried an extra blanket for the wounded man.
The gray light of dawn was beginning to sift into the sky when shereached the camp of the fugitives. Prince came forward to meet her. Shesaw that the fire was now only a bed of coals from which no smoke wouldrise to betray them.
The girl swung from the saddle and gave a little jerk of her head towardClanton.
"How is he?"
"Slept like a log all night. Feels a heap better this mo'nin'. Wants toknow if he can't have somethin' to eat."
"I killed a couple of prairie plover on the way. We'll make some soup forhim."
The girl walked straight to her patient and looked down at him withdirect and searching eyes. She found no glaze of fever in the ones thatgazed back into hers.
"Hungry, are you?"
"I could eat a mail sack, ma'am."
She stripped the gauntlets from her hands and set about making breakfast.Jim watched her with alert interest. He was still weak, but life thismorning began to renew itself in him. The pain and the fever had gone andleft him at peace with a world just emerging from darkness into a rosilyflushed dawn. Not the least attractive feature of it was this stunning,dark-eyed girl who was proving such a friendly enemy.
Her manner to Billie was crisp and curt. She ordered him to fetch andcarry. Something in his slow drawl--some hint of hidden amusement inhis manner--struck a spark of resentment from her quick eye. But towardJim she was all kindness. No trouble was too much to take for hiscomfort. If he had a whim it must be gratified. Prince was merely aservant to wait upon him.
The education of Jim Clanton was progressing. As he ate his plover brothhe could not keep his eyes from her. She was so full of vital life. Thecolor beat through her dark skin warm and rich. The abundant blue-blackhair, the flashing eyes, the fine poise of the head, the little jauntyswagger of her, so wholly a matter of unconscious faith in her place inthe sun: all of these charmed and delighted him. He had never dreamed ofa girl of such spirit and fire.
It was inevitable that both he and Billie should recall by contrastanother girl who had given them generously of her service not long since.There were in the country then very few women of any kind. Certainlywithin a radius of two hundred miles there was no other girl so popularand so attractive as these two. Many a puncher would have been willing tobreak an arm for the sake of such kindness as had been lavished uponthese boys.
By sunup the three of them had finished breakfast. Billie put out thefire and scattered the ashes in the river. He went into a committee ofways and means with Lee Snaith just before she returned to town.
"You can't stay here long. Some one is sure to stumble on you just as Idid. What plan have you to get away?"
"If I could get our horses in three or four days mebbe Jim could make outto ride a little at a time."
"He couldn't--and you can't get your horses," she vetoed.
"Then I'll have to leave him, steal another horse, and ride through toWebb for help."
"No. You mustn't leave him. I'll see if I can get a man to take a messageto your friends."
A smile came out on his lean, strong face. "You're a good friend."
"I'm no friend of yours," she flashed back. "But I won't have my fatherspoiling the view by hanging you where I might see you when I ride."
"You're Wallace Snaith's daughter, I reckon."
"Yes. And no man that rides for Homer Webb can be a friend of mine."
"Sorry. Anyhow, you can't keep me from being mighty grateful to mylittlest enemy."
He did not intend to smile, but just a hint of it leaped to his eyes. Sheflushed angrily, suspecting that he was mocking her, and swung her ponytoward town.
On the way she shot a brace of ducks for the sake of appearances. Thecountry was a paradise for the hunter. On the river could be found greatnumbers of ducks, geese, swans, and pelicans. Of quail and prairiechicken there was no limit. Thousands of turkeys roosted in the timberthat bordered the streams. There were times when the noise of pigeonsreturning to their night hau
nt was like thunder and the sight of themalmost hid the sky. Bands of antelope could be seen silhouetted againstthe skyline. As for buffalo, numbers of them still ranged the plains,though the day of their extinction was close at hand. No country in theworld's history ever offered such a field for the sportsman as theSouthwest did in the days of the first great cattle drives.
Miss Bertie Lee dismounted at a store which bore the sign
SNAITH & McROBERTGeneral Merchandise
Though a large building, it was not one of the most recent in town. Itwas what is known as a "dugout" in the West, a big cellar roofed over,with side walls rising above the level of the ground. In a country wheretimber was scarce and the railroad was not within two hundred miles, asod structure of this sort was the most practicable possible.
The girl sauntered in and glanced carelessly about her. Two or threechap-clad cowboys were lounging against the counter watching another buya suit of clothes. The wide-brimmed hats of all of them came offinstantly at sight of her. The frontier was rampantly lawless, butnowhere in the world did a good woman meet with more unquestioningrespect.
"What's this hyer garment?" asked the brick-red customer of the clerk,holding up the waistcoat that went with the suit.
"That's a vest," explained the salesman. "You wear it under the coat."
"You don't say!" The vaquero examined the article curiously anddisdainfully. "I've heard tell of these didoes, but I never did see onebefore. Well, I'll take this suit. Wrap it up. You keep the vestproposition and give it to a tenderfoot."
No cowpuncher ever wore a waistcoat. The local dealers of the Southwesthad been utterly unable to impress this fact upon the mind of the Easternmanufacturer. The result was that every suit came in three parts, one ofwhich always remained upon the shelf of the store. Some of the supplymerchants had several thousand of these articles de luxe in their stock.In later years they gave them away to Indians and Mexicans.
"Do you know where Jack Goodheart is?" asked Lee of the nearest youth.
"No, ma'am, but I'll go hunt him for you," answered the puncher promptly.
"Thank you."
Ten minutes later a bronzed rider swung down in front of the Snaith home.Miss Bertie Lee was on the porch.
"You sent for me," he said simply.
"Do you want to do something for me?"
"Try me."
"Will you ride after Webb's outfit and tell him that two of his men arein hiding on the river just below town. One of them is wounded and can'tsit a horse. So he'd better send a buckboard for him. Let Homer Webb knowthat if dad or Sanders finds these men, the cottonwoods will be bearing anew kind of fruit. Tell him to burn the wind getting here. The men are ina cave on the left-hand side of the river going down. It is just belowthe bend."
Jack Goodheart did not ask her how she knew this or what difference itmade to her whether Webb rescued his riders or not. He said, "I'll be onthe road inside of twenty minutes."
Goodheart was a splendid specimen of the frontiersman. He was the bestroper in the country, of proved gameness, popular, keen as an Italianstiletto, and absolutely trustworthy. Since the first day he had seen herJack had been devoted to the service of Bertie Lee Snaith. No dog couldhave been humbler or less critical of her shortcomings. The girl despisedhis wooing, but she was forced to respect the man. As a lover she had nouse for Goodheart; as a friend she was always calling upon him.
"I knew you'd go, Jack," she told him.
"Yes, I'd lie down and make of myself a door-mat for you to trample on,"he retorted with a touch of self-contempt. "Would you like me to do itnow?"
Lee looked at him in surprise. This was the first evidence he had evergiven that he resented the position in which he stood to her.
"If you don't want to go I'll ask some one else," she replied.
"Oh, I'll go."
He turned and strode to his horse. For years he had been her faithfulcavalier and he knew he was no closer to his heart's desire than when hebegan to serve. The first faint stirrings of rebellion were moving inhim. It was not that he blamed her in the least. She was scarcelynineteen, the magnet for the eyes of all the unattached men in thedistrict. Was it reasonable to suppose that she would give her love to apenniless puncher of twenty-eight, lank as a shad, with no recommendationbut honesty? None the less, Jack began to doubt whether eternal patiencewas a virtue.