The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

  CHAPTER XX

  BULL MALVEY

  Malvey, when not operating a machine gun for Mexican bandits, wasusually busy evading a posse on the American side of the border.Needless to say, he knew the country well--and the country knew himonly too well. He had friends--of a kind--and he had enemies of everydescription and color from the swart, black-eyed Cholas of Sonora tothe ruddy, blue-eyed Rangers of Texas. He trusted no man--and no manwho knew him trusted him--not even The Spider, though he could havesent Malvey to the penitentiary on any one of several counts.

  Malvey had no subtlety. He simply knew the game and possessed atremendous amount of nerve. Like most red-headed men, he roderough-shod and aggressively to his goal. He "bulled" his way through,when more capable men of equal nerve failed.

  Riding beside him across the southern desert, Young Pete could not helpnoticing Malvey's hands--huge-knuckled and freckled--and Pete surmisedcorrectly that this man was not quick with a gun. Pete also noticedthat Malvey "roughed" his horse unnecessarily; that he was a goodrider, but a poor horseman. Pete wondered that desert life had nottaught Malvey to take better care of his horse.

  As yet Pete knew nothing of their destination--nor did he care. It wasgood to be out in the open, again with a good horse under him. Theatmosphere of The Spider's saloon had been too tense for comfort. Petesimply wanted to vacate Showdown until such time as he might returnsafely. He had no plan--but he did believe that Showdown would knowhim again. He could not say why. And it was significant of YoungPete's descent to the lower plane that he should consider Showdown safeat any time.

  Pete was in reality never more unsafe than at the present time. Whilespace and a swift pony between his knees argued of bodily freedom, hefelt uneasy. Perhaps because of Malvey's occasional covert glance atBlue Smoke--for Pete saw much that he did not appear to see. Petebecame cautious forthwith, studying the lay of the land. It was a badcountry to travel, being so alike in its general aspect of butte andarroyo, sand and cacti, that there was little to lay hold upon as alandmark. A faint line of hills edged the far southern horizon andthere were distant hills to the east and west. They journeyed acrossan immense basin, sun-smitten, desolate, unpromising.

  "Just plain hell," said Malvey as though reading Pete's thought.

  "You act like you was to home all right," laughed Pete.

  Malvey glanced quickly at his companion, alive to an implied insult,but he saw only a young, smooth-cheeked rider in whose dark eyes shoneneither animosity nor friendliness. They jogged on, neither speakingfor many miles. When Malvey did speak, his manner was the least bitpatronizing. He could not quite understand Pete, yet The Spider hadseemed to understand him. As Pete had said nothing about the troublethat had driven him to the desert, Malvey considered silence on thatsubject emanated from a lack of trust. He wanted to gain Pete'sconfidence--for the time being at least. It would make it that mucheasier to follow The Spider's instructions in regard to Pete's horse.But to all Malvey's hints Pete was either silent or jestinglyunresponsive. As the journey thinned the possibilities of Pete'scapture, it became monotonous, even to Malvey, who set about planninghow he could steal Pete's horse with the least risk to himself. Asidefrom The Spider's instructions Malvey coveted the pony--a far betterhorse than his own--and he was of two minds as to whether he should notkeep the pony for his own use. The Concho was a long cry fromShowdown--while the horse Malvey rode had been stolen from a moreimmediate neighborhood. As for setting this young stranger afoot inthe desert, that did not bother Malvey in the least. No posse wouldride farther south than Showdown, and with Pete afoot at Flores'srancho, Malvey would be free to follow his own will, either to Blake'sranch or farther south and across the border. Whether Pete returned toShowdown or not was none of Malvey's affair. To get away with thehorse might require some scheming. Malvey made no further attempt todraw Pete out--but rode on in silence.

  They came upon the canon suddenly, so suddenly that Pete's horse shiedand circled. Malvey, leading, put his own pony down a steep andwinding trail. Pete followed, fixing his eyes on a far green spot atthe bottom of the canon, and the thin thread of smoke above the treesthat told of a habitation.

  At a bend in the trail, Malvey turned in the saddle: "We'll bush downhere. Friends of mine."

  Pete nodded.

  They watered their horses at the thin trickle of water in the canon-bedand then rode slowly past a weirdly fenced field. Presently they cameto a rude adobe stable and scrub-cedar corral. A few yards beyond, andhidden by the bushes, was the house. A pock-marked Mexican greetedMalvey gruffly. The Spider's name was mentioned, and Pete wasintroduced as his friend. The horses were corralled and fed.

  As Pete entered the adobe, a thin, listless Mexican woman--Flores'swife--called to some one in an inner room. Presently Flores's daughterappeared, supple of movement and smiling. She greeted Malvey as thoughhe were an old friend, cast down her eyes at Pete's direct gaze, andstraightway disappeared again. From the inner room came the sound of asong. The young stranger with Malvey was good-looking--quite worthchanging her dress for. She hoped he would think her pretty. Most menadmired her--she was really beautiful in her dark, Southern way--andsome of them had given her presents--a cheap ring, a handkerchief fromOld Mexico, a pink and, to her, wonderful brush and comb. BocaDulzura--or "pretty mouth" of the Flores rancho--cared for no man, butshe liked men, especially when they gave her presents.

  When she came from her room, Malvey laughingly accused her of "fixingup" because of Pete, as he teased her about her gay rebosa and hercrimson sash. She affected scorn for his talk--but was naturallypleased. And the young stranger was staring at her, which pleased herstill more.

  "This here hombre is Pete," said Malvey. "He left his other name tohome." And he laughed raucously.

  Pete bowed, taking the introduction quite seriously.

  Boca was piqued. This young caballero did not seem anxious to knowher--like the other men. He did not smile.

  "Pete," she lisped, with a tinge of mockery in her voice. "Pete hasnot learned to talk yet--he is so young?"

  Malvey slapped his thigh and guffawed. Pete stood solemnly eying himfor a moment. Then he turned to the girl. "I ain't used to talkin' towomen--'specially pretty ones--like you."

  Boca clapped her hands. "There! 'Bool' Malvey has never said anythingso clever as that."

  "Bool" Malvey frowned. But he was hungry, and Flores's wife waspreparing supper. Despite Boca's pretty mouth and fine dark eyes,which invited to conversation, Pete felt very much alone--very much ofa stranger in this out-of-the-way household. He thought of his chumAndy White, and of Ma Bailey and Jim, and the boys of the Concho. Hewondered what they were doing--if they were talking about him--andGary. It seemed a long time since he had thrown his hat in the cornerand pulled up his chair to the Concho table. He wished that he mighttalk with some one--he was thinking of Jim Bailey--and tell him justwhat there had been to the shooting. But with these folks . . .

  The shadows were lengthening. Already the lamp on Flores's table waslighted, there in the kitchen where Malvey was drinking wine with theold Mexican. Pete had forgotten Boca--almost forgotten where he wasfor the moment, when something touched his arm. He turned a startledface to the girl. She smiled and then whispered quickly, "It is that Ihate that 'Bool' Malvey. He is bad. Of what are you thinking, senor?"

  Pete blinked and hesitated. "Of my folks--back there," he said.

  Boca darted from him as her mother called her to help set the table.Pete's lips were drawn in a queer line. He had no folks "backthere"--or anywhere. "It was her eyes made me feel that way," hethought. And, "Doggone it--I'm livin'--anyhow."

  From the general conversation at the table that evening Pete gatheredthat queer visitors came to this place frequently. It was a kind ofisolated, halfway house between the border and Showdown. He heard thename of "Scar-Face," "White-Eye," "Sonora Jim," "Tio Verdugo," a rareassortment of border vagabonds known by name to the cowboys
of the highcountry. The Spider was frequently mentioned. It was evident that hehad some peculiar influence over the Flores household, from therespectful manner in which his name was received by the whole family.And Pete, unfamiliar with the goings and comings of those men, theirquarrels, friendships, and sinister escapades, ate and listened insilence, realizing that he too had earned a tentative place among them.He found himself listening with keen interest to Malvey's account of amachine-gun duel between two white men,--renegades and leaders inopposing factions below the border,--and how one of them, shot throughand through, stuck to his gun until he had swept the plaza of enemysharp-shooters and had then crawled on hands and knees to the othermachine gun, killed its wounded operator with a six-shooter, and turnedthe machine gun on his fleeing foes, shooting until the Mexicans of hisown company had taken courage enough to return and rescue him. "Andhe's in El Paso now," concluded Malvey, "at the hospital. He writ toThe Spider for money--and The Spider sure sent it to him."

  "Who was he fightin' for?" queried Pete, interested in spite of himself.

  "Fightin' for? For hisself! Because he likes the game. You don'twant to git the idea that any white man is down there fightin' just tohelp a lot of dirty Greasers--on either side of the scrap."

  A quick and significant glance shot from Boca's eyes to her mother's.Old Flores ate stolidly. If he had heard he showed no evidence of it.

  "'Bull' Malvey! A darn good name for him," thought Pete. And he felta strange sense of shame at being in his company. He wondered ifFlores were afraid of Malvey or simply indifferent to his raw talk.And Pete--who had never gone out of his way to make a friend--decidedto be as careful of what he said as Malvey was careless. Pete hadnever lacked nerve, but he was endowed with considerable caution--afact that The Spider had realized and so had considered him worth thetrouble of hiding--as an experiment.

  After supper the men sat out beneath the vine-covered portal--Malveyand Flores with a wicker-covered demijohn of wine between them--andPete lounging on the doorstep, smoking and gazing across the canon atthe faint stars of an early evening. With the wine, old Flores'smanner changed from surly indifference to a superficial politenesswhich in no way deceived Pete. And Malvey, whose intent was plainly toget drunk, boasted of his doings on either side of the line. He hintedthat he had put more than one Mexican out of the way--and he slappedFlores on the back--and Flores laughed. He spoke of raids on thehorse-herds of white men, and through some queer perversity inspired inhis drink, openly asserted that he was the "slickest hoss-thief inArizona," turning to Pete as he spoke.

  "I'll take your word for it," said Pete.

  "But what's the use of settin' out here like a couple of dam' buzzardswhen the ladies are waitin' for us in there?" queried Malvey, and beleered at Flores.

  The old Mexican grunted and rose stiffly. They entered the 'dobe,Malvey insisting that Pete come in and hear Boca sing.

  "I can listen out here." Pete was beginning to hate Malvey, with thecold, deliberate hatred born of instinct. As for old Flores, Petedespised him heartily. A man that could hear his countrymen called "adirty bunch of Greasers," and have nothing to say, was a pretty poorsort of a man.

  Disgusted with Malvey's loud talk and his raw attitude toward Boca,Pete sat in the moon-flung shadows of the portal and smoked and gazedat the stars. He was half-asleep when he heard Boca tell Malvey thathe was a pig and the son of a pig. Malvey laughed. There came thesound of a scuffle. Pete glanced over his shoulder. Malvey had hisarm around the girl and was trying to kiss her. Flores was watchingthem, grinning in a kind of drunken indifference.

  Pete hesitated. He was there on sufferance--a stranger. After all,this was none of his business. Boca's father and mother were alsothere . . .

  Boca screamed. Malvey let go of her and swung round as Pete steppedup. "What's the idee, Malvey?"

  "You don't draw no cards in this deal," snarled Malvey.

  "Then we shuffle and cut for a new deal," said Pete.

  Malvey's loose mouth hardened as he backed toward the corner of theroom, where Boca cringed, her hands covering her face. Suddenly thegirl sprang up and caught Malvey's arm, "No! No!" she cried.

  He flung her aside and reached for his gun--but Pete was too quick forhim. They crashed down and rolled across the room. Pete wriggled freeand rose. In a flash he realized that he was no match for Malvey'sbrute strength. He had no desire to kill Malvey--but he did not intendthat Malvey should kill him. Pete jerked his gun loose as Malveystaggered to his feet, but Pete dared not shoot on account of Boca. Hesaw Malvey's hand touch the butt of his gun--when something crasheddown from behind. Pete dimly remembered Boca's white face--and theroom went black.

  Malvey strode forward.

  Old Flores dropped the neck of the shattered bottle and stood gazingdown at Pete. "The good wine is gone. I break the bottle," saidFlores, grinning.

  "To hell with the wine! Let's pack this young tin-horn out where hewon't be in the way."

  But as Malvey stooped, Boca flung herself in front of him. "Pig!" sheflamed. She turned furiously on her father, whose vacuous grin fadedas she cursed him shrilly for a coward.

  Listless and heavy-eyed came Boca's mother. Without the slightesttrace of emotion she examined Pete's wound, fetched water and washedit, binding it up with a handkerchief. Quite as listlessly she spoketo her husband, telling him to leave the wine and go to bed.

  Flores mumbled a protest. Malvey asked him if he let the women run theplace. Boca's mother turned to Malvey. "You will go," she saidquietly. Malvey cursed as he stepped from the room. He could faceBoca's fury, or face any man in a quarrel, but there was something inthe deathlike quietness of the sad-eyed Mexican woman that chilled hisblood. He did not know what would happen if he refused to go--yet heknew that something would happen. It was not the first time thatFlores's wife had interfered in quarrels of the border outlawssojourning at the ranch. In Showdown men said that she would as soonknife a man as not. Malvey, who had lived much in Old Mexico, had seenwomen use the knife.

  He went without a word. Boca heard him speak sharply to his horse, asshe and her mother lifted Pete and carried him to the bedroom.