The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

  CHAPTER XII

  IN THE PIT

  The round-up was over. A trainload of Concho steers was on its wayEast, accompanied by four of the Concho boys. The season had been agood one and prices were fair. Bailey was feeling well. There was noobvious reason for his restlessness. He had eaten a hearty breakfast.The sky was clear, and a thin, fragrant wind ran over the high mesa, awind as refreshing as a drink of cold mountain water on a hot day.Suddenly it occurred to Bailey that the deer season was open--that "thehunting winds were loose." Somewhere in the far hills the bucks wererunning again. A little venison would be a welcome change from afairly steady diet of beef.

  Bailey saddled up, and hung his rifle under the stirrup-leather. Hetucked a compact lunch in his saddle-pockets, filled a _morral_ withgrain and set off in the direction of the Blue Range.

  Once on the way and his restlessness evaporated. He did not realizethat deer-hunting was an excuse to be alone.

  Jim Bailey, however, was not altogether happy. He was worried aboutYoung Pete. The incident at the round-up had set him thinking. TheT-Bar-T and the Concho men were not over-friendly. There were certainquestions of grazing and water that had never been definitely settled.The Concho had always claimed the right to run their cattle on the BlueMesa with the Blue Range as a tentative line of demarcation. TheT-Bar-T always claimed the Blue as part of their range. There had beensome bickering until the killing of Annersley, when Bailey promptlyissued word to his men to keep the Concho cattle north of thehomestead. He had refused to have anything to do with the raid, nordid he now intend that his cattle should be an evidence that he hadeven countenanced it.

  Young Pete had unwittingly stirred up the old enmity. Any untoward actof a cowboy under such circumstances would be taken as expressive ofthe policy of the foreman. Even if Pete's quarrel was purely apersonal matter there was no telling to what it might lead. The rightor wrong of the matter, personally, was not for Bailey to decide. Hisduty was to keep his cattle where they belonged and his men out oftrouble. And because he was known as level-headed and capable he heldthe position of actual manager of the Concho--owned by an Easternsyndicate--but he was too modest and sensible to assume any such title,realizing that as foreman he was in closer touch with his men. Theytold him things, as foreman, that as manager he would have heardindirectly through a foreman--qualified or elaborated as that officialmight choose.

  As he jogged along across the levels Bailey thought it all over. Hewould have a talk with Young Pete when he returned and try to show himthat his recent attitude toward Gary militated against the Concho'sunprinted motto: "The fewer quarrels the more beef."

  Halfway across the mesa there was what was known as "The Pit "; acircular hole in the plain; rock-walled, some forty or fifty yards indiameter and as many yards deep. Its bottom was covered with fine,loose sand, a strange circumstance in a country composed of tufa andvolcanic rock. Legend had it that the Pit was an old Hopi tank, orwater-hole--a huge cistern where that prehistoric tribe conserved therain. Bits of broken pottery and scattered beads bore out this theory,and round the tank lay the low, crumbling mounds of what had once beena village.

  The trail on the Blue ran close to the Pit, and no rider passing itfailed to glance down. Cattle occasionally strayed into it and if weakwere unable to climb out again without help from horse and rope. AsBailey approached, he heard the unmistakable bark of a six-shooter. Heslipped from his horse, strode cautiously to the rim, and peered over.

  Young Pete had ridden his horse down the ragged trail and was at themoment engaged in six-gun practice. Bailey drew back and sat down.Pete had gathered together some bits of rock and had built a targetloosely representing a man. The largest rock, on which was laid asmall round, bowlder for a head, was spattered with lead. Pete, quiteunconscious of an audience, was cutting loose with speed and accuracy.He threw several shots at the place which represented the vitals of histheoretical enemy, punched the shells from his gun, and reloaded. Thenhe stepped to his horse and led him opposite the target and some twentyfeet from it. Crouching, he fired under the horse's belly. The horsebucked and circled the enclosure. Pete strode after him, caught himup, and repeated the performance. Each time Pete fired, the horsenaturally jumped and ran. Patiently Pete caught him up again. Finallythe animal, although trembling and wild-eyed, stood to the gun. Petepatted its neck. Reloading he mounted. Bailey was curious to see whatthe boy would do next. Pete turned the horse and, spurring him, flungpast the target, emptying his gun as he went. Then he dismounted andstriding up to within ten yards of the man-target, holstered his gunand stood for a moment as still as a stone itself. Suddenly his handflashed to his side. Bailey rubbed his eyes. The gun had not comefrom the holster, yet the rock target was spattered with five moreshots. Bailey could see the lead fly as the blunt slugs flattened onthe stone.

  "The young son-of-a-gun!" muttered Bailey. "Dinged if he ain'tshootin' through the open holster! Where in blazes did he learn thatbad-man trick?"

  Thus far Pete had not said a word, even to the horse. But now that hehad finished his practice he strode to the rock-target and thrust hishand against it. "You're dead!" he exclaimed. "You're plumbsalivated!" He pushed, and the man-target toppled and fell.

  "Ain't you goin' to bury him?" queried Bailey.

  Pete whirled. The color ran up his neck and face. "H'lo, Jim."

  "How'd you know it was me?" Bailey stood up.

  "Knowed your voice."

  "Well, come on up. I was wonderin' who was down there settin' off thefireworks. Didn't hear you till I got most on top of you. You suregot some private shootin'-gallery."

  Pete led his pony up the steep trail and squatted beside Bailey. "Howlong you been watching me, Jim?"

  "Oh, jest since you started shooting under your hoss. What's the idea?"

  "Nothin', jest practicin'."

  "You must 'a' been practicin' quite a' spell. You handle thatsmoke-wagon like an ole-timer."

  "I ain't advertisin' it."

  "Well, it's all right, Pete. Glad I got a front seat. Never figuredyou was a top-hand with a gun. Now I'm wise. I know enough not tostack up against you."

  Pete smiled his slow smile and pushed back his hat. "I reckon you'reright about that. I never did no shootin' in company. Ole JoseMontoya always said to do your practicin' by yourself, and then nobodyknows just how you would play your hand."

  Bailey frowned and nodded. "Well, seein' as I'm in on it, Pete, I'dkind of like to know myself."

  "Why, I'm jest figurin' that some day mebby somebody'll want to hang myhide on the fence. I don't aim to let him."

  "Meanin' Gary?"

  "The same. I ain't _lookin'_ for Gary--even if he did shoot down PopAnnersley--nor I ain't tryin' to keep out of his way. I'm ridin' thiscountry and I'm like to meet up with him 'most any time. That's all."

  "Shucks, Pete! You forget Gary. He sure ain't worth gettin' hung for.Gary ain't goin' to put you down so long as you ride for the Concho.He knows somebody 'd get him. You jest practice shootin' all youlike--but tend to business the rest of the time and you'll live longer.You can figure on one thing, if Gary was to get you he wouldn't live toget out of this country."

  "You're handin' me your best card," said Pete. "Gary killed Annersley.The law didn't get Gary. And none of you fellas got him. He's ridin'this here country yet. And you was tellin' me to forget him."

  "But that's different, Pete. No one saw Gary shoot Annersley. It wasnight. Annersley was killed in his cabin--by a shot through thewindow. Anybody might have fired that shot. Why, you were thereyourself--and you can't prove who done it."

  "I can't, eh? Well, between you and me, Jim, I _know_. One of Gary'sown men said that night when they were leavin' the cabin, 'It must 'a'been Steve that drilled the ole man because Steve was the only puncherwho knowed where the window was and fired into it.'"

  "I didn't know that. So you aim to even up, eh?"

  "Nope. I jest a
im to be ready to even up."

  Bailey strode back to his horse. "I'm goin' up in the hills and lookfor a deer. Want to take a little pasear with me?"

  "Suits me, Jim."

  "Come on, then."

  They mounted and rode side by side across the noon mesa.

  The ponies stepped briskly. The air was like a song. Far away theblue hills invited exploration of their timbered and mysterioussilences.

  "Makes a fella feel like forgettin' everything and everybody--but jestthis," said Pete, gesturing toward the ranges.

  "The bucks'll be on the ridges," remarked Bailey.