The Highgrader

  CHAPTER IV

  FUGITIVES FROM JUSTICE

  At the Lodge too an early breakfast was held, though it was five hourslater than the one at the camp. The whole party was down by nine-thirtyand was on the road within the hour. The morning was such a one as onlythe Rockies can produce. The wine of it ran through the blood warm andstimulating. A blue sky flecked with light mackerel clouds stretchedfrom the fine edge of the mountains to the ragged line of hills that cutoff the view on the other side.

  The horses were keen for the road and the pace was brisk. It was notuntil half the distance had been covered that Joyce, who was ridingbeside the captain, found opportunity for conversation.

  "You sat up late, didn't you?"

  "Early," the soldier laughed.

  "How did the savage behave himself?"

  "He went the distance well. We all contributed to the neat little rollhe carried away." Kilmeny smiled as he spoke. He was thinking ofVerinder, who had made a set against the miner and had tried to drivehim out by the size of his raises. The result had been unfortunate forthe millionaire.

  "He has a good deal of assurance, hasn't he?" she asked lightly.

  The captain hesitated. "Do you think that's quite the word? He fitted ineasily--wasn't shy or awkward--that sort of thing, you know--but hewasn't obtrusive at all. Farquhar likes him."

  "He's rather interesting," Joyce admitted.

  She thought of him as a handsome untamed young barbarian, but it wasimpossible for her to deny a certain amount of regard for any virile manwho admired her. The Westerner had not let his eyes rest often upon her,but the subtle instinct of her sex had told her that he was very muchtaken with her. Since Joyce Seldon was the center and circumferenceabout which most of her thoughts revolved, it followed that the youngman had chosen the sure way to her favor.

  Moya Dwight too found that the young fisherman flitted in and out of hermind a good deal. He had told her, with that sardonic smile, that he wasa workingman. Indeed, there had been something almost defiant in the wayhe had said it, as if he would not for a moment accept their hospitalityon false pretenses. But, surely, he was worlds apart from any laborershe had ever seen. Last evening he had been as much at his ease as LordFarquhar himself. A little uncertainty about the use of the spoons andforks had not disturbed him at all. In spite of the soft vocal elisionsof the West, his speech had a dignity that suggested breeding. It wasquite likely he was not a gentleman, according to the code in which shehad been brought up, but it was equally sure there burned in him thatdynamic spark of self-respect which is at the base of all good manners.

  The little town of Gunnison rioted with life. Born and brought up as shehad been in the iron caste of modern super-civilization, Moya found thebarbaric color of the occasion very appealing. As she looked down on thearena from the box her party occupied, the heart of the girl throbbedwith the pure joy of it all. She loved this West, with its picturesquechap-clad brown-faced riders. They were a hard-bitten lot, burned to abrick red by the untempered sun of the Rockies. Cheerful sons of mirththey were, carrying their years with a boyish exuberance that wasdelightful.

  Most of the competitors for the bucking broncho championship had beeneliminated before the arrival of the party from the Lodge. Among thethree who had reached the finals was their guest of the previousevening.

  "Jack Kilmeny will ride Teddy Roosevelt," blared the megaphone man.

  The English officer turned to Farquhar. "Didn't quite catch the name.Sounded like my own."

  "That's what I thought," contributed his sister. A moment later, sheadded: "Why, it's Mr. Crumbs."

  That young man sauntered forward lazily, dragging his saddle by itshorn. He saddled the trembling animal warily, then swung lightly to theseat. The broncho stood for an instant motionless, then humped itselffrom the earth, an incarnate demon of action. As a pitcher, a weaver, asunfisher, this roan had no equal. Its ill-shaped nose and wicked redeyes were enough to give one bad dreams. But the lean-flanked youngminer appeared clamped to the saddle. Lithe and sinuous as a panther, herode with a perfect ease that was captivating. Teddy tried all itstricks. It went up into the air and came down with all four legs stiffas iron posts. It shot forward in a series of quick sharp bucks. Itflung itself against the wall of the arena to crush the leg of thisrider who held the saddle with such perfect poise. But Jack Kilmeny wasequal to the occasion and more. When the brute went over backward, in asomersault, he was out of the saddle and in again before the viciousoutlaw had staggered to its feet. Even the frontier West had never seena more daring and magnificent piece of horsemanship.

  Captain Kilmeny clapped his hands enthusiastically. "Bravo! Well done!"He turned to Moya, who sat beside him. "Finest bit of rough-riding Iever saw. Not one man in a million could have done it."

  "It's all in getting the hang of the thing, you know," drawled Verindercomplacently.

  Moya, who was leaning forward with her dark eyes fixed on the two superbanimals fighting for mastery in the arena, thought both commentscharacteristic. The captain was a sportsman and a gentleman, themillionaire was neither.

  India whispered in the ear of Moya. "He's as broadminded as a crab, justabout."

  The reference was of course to Verinder. "I think we ought to be fair,even to a crab, dear," Miss Dwight answered dryly.

  The battle between the outlaw broncho and its rider was over. Theconfidence of Teddy Roosevelt as well as its strength had been shaken.The bucks of the pony were easy to foresee. Presently they ceased. Thehorse stood with drooping head, foam dripping from its mouth, flanksflecked with sweat stains.

  Kilmeny swung from the saddle, and at the same time Colter stepped intothe arena. He drew Jack aside and whispered in his ear. India, watchingthe rough-rider through field glasses, saw the face of the young mangrow grim and hard. Without the delay of a moment he pushed through thecrowd that gathered to congratulate him and walked out of the groundswith Colter.

  The other two riders who had reached the finals were both experts in thesaddle. One of them, however, had been traveling with a Wild West showand was too soft to hold his own against the bit of incarnate deviltryhe was astride. To save himself he had to clutch at the horn of thesaddle.

  "He's pulling leather," shouted one of the judges, and the man was wavedaside.

  The third cowpuncher made a good showing, but his horse lacked theenergy and spirit of Teddy Roosevelt. The unanimous decision of thejudges was in favor of Kilmeny. But when they sought for him to awardthe prize the new champion was nowhere to be found.

  Moya Dwight felt with genuine disappointment that the man's courtesy hadfailed. She and her friends had applauded his exploits liberally. Theleast he could have done would have been to have made a short call attheir box. Instead, he had ignored them. She resolved to bear herselfmore coldly if they met again.

  The early shadows of sunset were stretching down the rough mountainsides by the time the visitors from the Lodge reached the river canon ontheir homeward way. Soon after this the champion rider and his friendColter passed them on a stretch of narrow road cut in the steep wall ofthe gulch. The leathery face of the latter took them in impassively ashe gave them a little nod of recognition, but the younger man reined infor a few words. He accepted their congratulations with a quiet "Gladyou enjoyed it," but it was plain that he was in a hurry. In his eyesthere was a certain hard wariness that seemed hardly to fit theoccasion. Moya could not avoid the impression that he was anxious aboutsomething. As soon as he well could he put spurs to his horse andcantered after his companion.

  "I don't like your savage as well as I thought I was going to. If hecan't be pleasanter than that you may keep him yourself, Moya," Joyceannounced with a smile.

  It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later that the sound of hard ridingreached them from the rear. Five dusty, hard-bitten men, all armed withrifles and revolvers, drew level with them. The leader threw a crispquestion at Lord Farquhar.

  "Two riders pass you lately?"

  "Yes."

&nb
sp; "One on a big sorrel and the other on a roan with white stockings on thefront feet?"

  "Yes."

  "Say anything?"

  "The younger one stopped for a few words. He is a Mr. Crumbs, camped onthe river just below us."

  The lank man with the rifle across his saddle bow laughed grimly. "Yes,he is--not. His name is Kilmeny--Jack Kilmeny. I'm the sheriff ofGunnison County--and I want him bad."

  "Did you say Kilmeny?" asked the captain sharply.

  "That's what I said--the man that won the broncho busting contestto-day."

  To Moya, looking around upon the little group of armed men, there was amenacing tenseness in their manner. Her mind was groping for anexplanation, but she understood this much--that the law was reaching outfor the devil-may-care youth who had so interested her.

  "What do you want with him? What has he done?" she cried quickly.

  "He and his friend held up the gatekeeper of the fair association andgot away with three thousand dollars."

  "Held up! Do you mean robbed?"

  "That's what I mean--vamoosed with the whole proceeds of the show. Howlong since they passed?"

  "Between a quarter and half an hour," answered Farquhar.

  The sheriff nodded. "All ready, boys."

  The clattering hoofs disappeared in a cloud of dust down the road.

  The rough places of life had been padded for all these young women.Never before had they come so close to its raw, ugly seams. The shadowof the law, the sacredness of caste, had always guarded them.

  India turned upon her brother big dilated eyes. "He said Kilmeny. Whocan the man be?"

  "I don't know." He was silent a moment in frowning thought, struck by anunwelcome idea. "You remember Uncle Archie. He had a son named Jack wholives somewhere in Colorado. D'ye remember he came home when you were alittle kiddie? Stopped at granddad's."

  The girl nodded. "He fought you once, didn't he?"

  The captain nodded. The doubt began to grow into certainty. "Thought Ihad seen his face before. He's our cousin Jack. That's who he is."

  "And now he's a highwayman. By Jove, he doesn't look it," contributedFarquhar.

  "I don't believe it. Such nonsense!" flamed Moya.

  "Fancy! A real live highwayman to supper with us," Joyce reminded themwith sparkling eyes.

  "I'm sure he isn't. There must be a mistake."

  "He was troubled about something, Moya," Lord Farquhar suggested. "Heand his friend were riding fast and plainly in a hurry."

  "Didn't he stop to talk?"

  "He had to do that to avoid suspicion. I could see his mind wasn't onwhat he was saying. The man was anxious."

  "I thought you liked him," Moya charged scornfully.

  Her guardian smiled. "I did, but that isn't evidence that will acquithim in court of being a road agent."

  "He's India's cousin--maybe. How could he be a criminal? Shall we haveto cut her and Captain Kilmeny now?" Miss Dwight demanded hotly.

  The captain laughed, but there was no mirth in his laughter. "You're astanch friend, Miss Dwight. By Jove, I hope you're right about him."

  Deep in her heart Moya was not at all sure. What did she know of him?And why should she care what he was? The man was a stranger to her.Forty-eight hours ago she had never seen him. Why was it that every goodlooking vagabond with a dash of the devil in him drew on her sympathies?She recalled now that he had hesitated when she had mentioned his name,no doubt making up his mind to let her think him other than he was. Thesheriff must know what he was talking about when he said the man was anoutlaw. But the appearance of him pleaded potently. Surely those clearunflinching eyes were not the homes of villainy. Nor could she find itpossible to think his gallant grace of bearing the possession of amiscreant.

  Before the day was out her faith in him had sunk to zero. CaptainKilmeny returned from the camp of the miners with the news that it wasdeserted except for two of the deputies who had stayed to guard itagainst the possible return of the robbers. He brought with him thedetailed story of the hold-up.

  Two masked men on horseback had robbed the treasurer of the GunnisonCounty Fair association as he was driving to the bank to deposit thereceipts of the day. The men had not been recognized, but thedescription of the horses corresponded closely to those ridden byKilmeny and Colter. It was recalled that these two men had disappearedas soon as the bucking broncho contest was over, not half an hour beforethe robbery. This would allow them just time to return to the corral onthe outskirts of the town, where they had left their mounts, and tosaddle so as to meet the treasurer on his way to the bank. It happenedthat the corral was deserted at the time, the boy in charge having leftto see the finals of the contest. Cumulative evidence of guilt lay inthe disappearance from the fishing camp not only of the two mensuspected, but also of their companions, Curly and Mosby.

  "Think he really did it, Ned?" India asked her brother.

  "Can't say, sis. Looks like it," he answered gloomily.

  Of the party at the Lodge only one member was pleased at the turn eventshad taken. Verinder's manner was as openly triumphant as he dared allowit to become. It cried offensively, "I told you so!"