The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland

  CHAPTER XXVI

  ENTERS TROUBLE

  "You'll know her because she has yellow hair and gray, gray eyes and herclothes fit," said Mrs. Horne. "Besides, nobody else will get off."

  "How'll we know they fit her?" Lafe asked. "Suppose they shouldn'thappen to fit her right snug, ma'am, we'll leave her at The Tanks?"

  "She'll be on the last car," said Mrs. Horn "Remember--yellow hair andgray eyes. Judith walks like this."

  With these directions, Mrs. Horn sent Johnson to The Tanks to meet theBurro express. It was called that by the sparse population of the regionin a spirit of levity: a burro will pause to graze on the least excuseand takes joy in lying down with his pack.

  It was twenty-seven miles from the ranch to The Tanks, and Manuel wouldfollow with a buckboard and mule team, since it was manifestly absurd toexpect Mrs. Vining to make the journey horseback. Lafe was much elatedto be chosen for this mission and invited me to accompany him.

  "Miz Horne," said he, "wouldn't send a greenhorn. No, sir; she wantssomebody who'll look like something in decent company. Say, if I get anystronger with ol' Horne, he'd ought to raise me. Don't you reckon?"

  Cheered by the prospect, he began a monologue to his horse, a habit Mr.Johnson had acquired in lonely places. "Doggone your fat head, why can'tyou lift your feet? Hey? Hold still, can't you, till I light thiscigarette? Oh, you needn't look back. You know I'm here all right."

  In early afternoon we crossed a canon on the far side of The Hatter andturned to the left along a mesa. Lafe puckered his eyes, squintedcarefully and said: "Well, I swan. Do you see that?"

  A man was sitting on the skull of a horse and he was counting the topsof the hills. It struck me as a profitless form of endeavor. As weneared him: "No," he remarked, "that's not right. I made it two thousandand three before."

  "Off in your tally, pardner?" Lafe inquired civilly.

  He proceeded, unheeding, with his simple addition. "One thousand andseventy-six, and those five little fellows make--what do they make,now?" He broke off to scratch his head in vexation. He looked at Johnsonbriefly and then stared at me.

  "That fellow there," he said, with a nod at Lafe, "that fellow's crazy.Everybody's crazy out here--all but me."

  He was not an old man, but his hair was grizzled and fell in dirtydisorder to his shoulders. We could see portions of him through hisclothes, and a sleeve of his shirt was not. Yet I began to marvel, forhe spoke with the accent of culture.

  "There used to be three thousand four hundred and eight scrub-cedars onthat big mountain yonder," he confided to me. "I've lost count a bitlately, though. What do you make 'em?"

  "You're short six. Four hundred and fourteen--not four hundred andeight."

  He thanked me and considered this for some minutes. "Perhaps you'reright," he said. "Sometimes when these old rocks take to hopping up anddown, it keeps a man on the move not to lose track of 'em."

  "It must be right hard doing that 'rithmetic all day long?" Johnsonventured.

  "Oh, yes. I get hungry frequently. Have you boys got anything to eat?Well, if you haven't, you'd best be on your way."

  Complying with the suggestion, Lafe turned his horse. "It's that ol'prospector who lives up on the shoulder of The Hatter," he told me.

  It did not seem right to leave him thus. The man was deranged and unfitto be at large. But when I proposed that he accompany us to The Tanks,our acquaintance returned a vehement refusal. We could not fool him, hesaid. The last man who gave him a ride had tried to put him on board atrain, and he had been compelled to knock the fellow on the head with astick of wood. So we left him sitting on the skull, counting the tops ofthe hills. He mentioned carelessly that he would probably see us again.

  There was no mistaking the lady we had come to escort.

  "There she is. Wouldn't she knock you cold?" Lafe whispered.

  Her hair was yellow, and she gave the impression of having been meltedand poured into her pink muslin. Assuredly she was not of our world, andmost certainly her clothes fitted. The conductor, a large individual ofred hair and an aloof expression, closed his left eye slowly at Lafe andstepped aboard. The Burro express crawled away up the valley and we setout for the ranch, Johnson riding close to the buckboard, the better toconverse with Mrs. Vining.

  She began to question about the country and cow work. Everything was"astonishing" or "delightful, really," of course; and no matter what shesaid, there was injected into her speech an indefinable note that seemedto place the listener on a confidential footing, to the exclusion of allothers. Some women have this faculty. The two ignored me utterly. Icoughed once or twice as a faint reminder to Lafe that he was a newlymarried man and that I was prepared to do the civil thing myself, but hetook no notice.

  We had forgotten all about our friend of the mathematical propensities,when he appeared suddenly beside the trail.

  "Hello," he cried, "back already?"

  Mrs. Vining regarded the unkempt figure with composure.

  "Why don't we drive on?" she said. "Drive on, please."

  "Who's that? Who's that, I say?" The prospector advanced on thebuckboard at a shambling trot.

  "Please, please drive on," Mrs. Vining entreated faintly.

  Instead of obeying, the Mexican waited. The prospector came to the wheelof the buckboard and peered hard at Mrs. Vining. She met his gaze in asort of horrified fascination for a moment and then turned completelyabout in her seat, so that her shoulders were to him. Before we couldintervene, he seized her by the arm and commenced to drag her out. Hewas mumbling as he did so.

  "No, I won't go," she screamed. "It wasn't my fault. I won't go. Help!Help me!"

  Lafe spurred almost on top of the fellow and cut at him with a quirt. Hereleased his hold and dodged, and Mrs. Vining sank back into thebuckboard.

  "Hi, you--drive on," Johnson commanded.

  He made no attempt to chastise the prospector. A demented man is notresponsible and is protected of God. Such is the creed of primitivepeoples and to it Lafe held strongly. Manuel whipped the mules and wewent by the mountain prowler amid a shower of sand and pebbles. Heremained in the trail, staring after us. He shouted something andwhirled his arms at a great rate, but when Lafe cantered back, hescurried off among the mesquite like a scared rabbit.

  "What an extraordinary person," said Mrs. Vining, when Johnson overtookus. Her lips were open in a fixed smile and her skin faded yellow underits powder.

  "He's harmless, ma'am," Lafe assured her. "Don't you be scared. He'sjust a bit locoed. We'll go fetch him to-morrow or next day, if you sayso."

  "No, no," she begged. "Leave the poor creature alone."

  I could see her hands tremble in her lap. She seemed distrait all theway home and as soon as Mrs. Horne had done embracing her, she retired.Next morning, however, she was sitting on the porch and called Lafe toher side. They talked there for an hour or two and we could hearJohnson's soft bass laugh. When he joined me in the corrals to catch thehorses, he was looking very pleased with himself.

  Mrs. Vining spent the next three days in minute probing of range life.At least, that is what Lafe told me she found to talk to him about.Apparently Mrs. Horne had little sympathy for this seeking afterknowledge, for she laughed a trifle impatiently and remarked to me thatmen were idiots the world over and it was none of her business.

  She made it her business on the third day.

  "Why don't you leave Lafe alone?" she demanded.

  "Why, my dear Martha, I'm not running after Mr. Johnson."

  "Well, then, what do you find to talk about all the time? It's shameful,Judy."

  "There you go again. One can't be civil to any sort of a man, but thatPuritanical conscience of yours--"

  "Oh, darn," said Mrs. Horne.

  We were treated on succeeding days to the spectacle of Lafe hoveringabout Mrs. Vining like a fly above molasses paper--he knows he ought notto be there at all, but cannot keep away. I am persuaded that a thirdparty could have heard all they said without embarrassment; but
still,there was Hetty. And it interfered with his work, just when he was newto it and should have applied himself whole-heartedly. The entiresuperintendence of the Anvil range fell to him, but Lafe now gave uplong trips. When he did go out, Mrs. Vining went with him on the pretextof familiarizing herself with the country. Lafe began to assume a hintof bravado in his bearing and was evidently flattered that he couldattract a woman of Mrs. Vining's world.

  "Judith," said Mrs. Horne, "if you don't let up on Lafe Johnson, I'lltell his wife, or get Bob to give him his time."

  "His time? What's that?" she asked in amaze. She had just got out of bedand was brushing her yellow hair. They could hear Johnson whistling"Turkey in the Straw" as he went past the house.

  "Fire him." Her friend faced Mrs. Vining squarely. She was intenselyangry. "What do you mean by taking him out on the porch as you did lastnight?"

  "Martha, how dare you say such a thing? You're horribly rude and--andunkind. Why, I never thought--"

  "Of course you didn't," Mrs. Horne went on in a level voice. "You neverdo. And you're going to tell me all that nonsense? Remember, I'm awoman, Judy, and the woman was never born who wouldn't lie about somethings."

  "We're nothing but the most casual friends," said Mrs. Vining warmly.

  Mrs. Horne stopped her with a gesture of passionate impatience. "Whosaid you were anything else? Will nothing sober you? I would havethought that Harry--"

  "You're cruel, Martha. Yes, you are. Will you leave me alone to dress?"

  "Oh, darn!" Mrs. Horne exclaimed.

  From that interview she came straight to me. A party of friends wascoming from the mining town for a few days, she said, and I was to meetthem at The Tanks. Among them would be Mr. Mortimer Peck, a bachelor whomanaged a large copper mine. Also, on my way over, I could go around byHope Canon and leave a letter for Mrs. Johnson. Perhaps I grinned. Atany rate, Mrs. Horne said: "Now, don't try to be clever, but keep yourthoughts to yourself."

  To my everlasting credit, be it said, I did not read that letter,although it was unsealed. Whatever was in it, Hetty seemed dumbfounded.For a moment I feared she would faint. She was not that sort, however.Before I left she was bristling with energy and told me that she wouldbe at the ranch on my return. There was a red spot in each cheek and thelight of battle in her eyes.