The Boss of the Lazy Y

  CHAPTER X

  NEW ACQUAINTANCES

  Calumet had been in no hurry, though maintaining its steady chop-trotfor most of the distance, Blackleg had set him down in Lazette in alittle over two hours.

  Something had happened to Calumet. He had carefully considered thephenomenon all the way over from the Lazy Y; he considered it now as hesat sideways in the saddle before the rough board front of the Red DogSaloon. Betty had faith in him. That was the phenomenon--the unheardof miracle. No one else had ever had faith in him, and so it was a newexperience and one that must be thoroughly pondered if he was to enjoyit. And that he was enjoying it was apparent. Though he faced the RedDog Saloon he did not see it. He kept seeing Betty as she looked aftershe had given him the money. "I know you will do the right thing," shehad said, or something very like that. It made no difference what herwords had been. What she meant was that she had faith in him. And hereyes had said that she expected him to justify that faith.

  But would he? He didn't know. For the first time in his life he wasafflicted with indecision over the possession of money. In the olddays--the Durango days--which now seemed to be far behind him, thethousand dollars in his pocket would have served to finance a briefholiday of license and drinking and reckless play with gamblingdevices. But now it was different--something within him had called--orwas calling--a halt. He told himself that it was because he had acuriosity to follow this strange, freakish plan of Betty's to the end.

  Some other emotion was calling just as strongly for him to do with themoney as he had always done with money. And so indecision afflictedhim. Humor likewise. He rarely felt in this mood. Not for years hadhe felt like laughing. Was he the Calumet Marston who, a week before,had set out on his homeward journey filled with bitterness--looking fortrouble? Had he been at the Lazy Y a day or a year? It was a day--twodays--but it seemed more like the longer time. At least the time hadwrought a change in him. It was ludicrous, farcical. In spite of histreatment of Betty she had faith in him! Wasn't that just like awoman? There was nothing logical in her. She had taken him on trust.The whole business was in the nature of a comedy and suddenly yieldingto his feelings he straightened in the saddle and laughed uproariously.

  He did not laugh long, and when he sobered down and with an effortbrought his mind back to the present, he became aware of the Red Dog,saw a young cowpuncher seated on the board sidewalk in front of thebuilding, his back resting against it, laughing in sympathy with him.

  Calumet was disconcerted for a moment. His eyes narrowed truculently.But then, as the oddness of the situation struck him he laughed again.But this time as he laughed he took stock of the young cowpuncher, whowas again laughing with him.

  The puncher was young--very young; not more than twenty-one or two.There was a week's growth of beard on his face. A saddle reposed byhis side. In spite of his laughter something about him spokeeloquently of trouble. Calumet felt a sudden interest in him. Any manwho could laugh when the world was not doing well with him must be madeof good stuff. But Calumet's interest was cynical and it brought asneer to his lips as he ceased laughing and sat loosely in the saddleregarding the puncher.

  "I reckon you ain't got no objections to tellin' me what you'relaughin' at?" he said coldly.

  "Mebbe you'd put me wise to the same thing," said the other. "I'msettin' here, puttin' in a heap of my time tryin' to figger out who gotthe most of the six months' wages which I had with me when I strucktown yesterday--an' not makin' a hell of a lot of progress--when youmosey up here an' begin to laugh your fool head off. At nothin', sofar's I can see. Well, that's what I was laughin' at. Ketch my drift?"

  "Meanin' that I'm nothin', I reckon?"

  "Meanin' that you was laughin' at it," said the puncher with adeprecatory smile. "I ain't lookin' for trouble--I'm it!"

  Calumet's eyes twinkled. This was a very discerning young man."Cleaned out, I reckon," he said. "You look old enough to _sabe_ thatplayin' with a buzz saw is mild amusement compared with buckin' agambler's game."

  "Got singed yourself, I reckon," said the puncher wearily. "You knowthe signs. Well, you've hit it. They'd have got my saddle, too,only--only they didn't seem to want it. There's still charity in theworld, after all--some guys don't want everything. So I'm considerin'the saddle a gift. It's likely, though, that they thought that if theyleft me the saddle I'd go right out an' rustle me another job an' earnsome more coin an' come back an' hand that over, too. But they've gotme wrong. Your little Dade Hallowell has swore off. He ain't nevergoin' to get the idea again that he's a simon-pure, dyed-in-the-woolcard sharp."

  "Another job? Then you're disconnected at present?"

  "I'm free as the water. Ugh!" he shivered. "I couldn't even wash myface in it this mornin'. Water's a weak sister after last night." Hisexpression changed. "I reckon you're in clover, though. Any man whichcan laugh to hisself as you was laughin', certainly ain't botherin' hishead about much."

  This quick turn of the conversation brought Calumet's thoughts back toBetty. "Looks is deceivin'," he said. "I've got a heap of burden onmy mind. I've got a thousand dollars which is botherin' meconsiderable."

  The puncher sat erect, his eyes bulging.

  "You've got a thousand!" he said "Oh, Lordy! An' you're botherin'about it?"

  "It ain't none of your business, of course," said Calumet. "An' Ireckon I'm tellin' you about it so's you'll feel mean about losin' yourown. But mebbe not. Mebbe I'm tellin' you about it because I've gotsomethin' else in mind. When I first seen you I was filled clear tothe top with doubt. If you had my thousand what would you do with it?"

  "Meanin' that if I had your thousand an' was in your place?"

  "I reckon."

  "That would depend," said the puncher, cautiously. "If I'd robbed aman, or held up a stage coach, or busted a bank, I'd be burnin' thebreeze out of the country. But if I'd earned it honest I'd blow myselfproper, beginnin' by settin' 'em up to a fool guy which had give allhis coin to some card sharps yesterday."

  "None of them things fill the bill," said Calumet. "This thousand wasgive to me by a woman. I'm to buy things with it--horses, wagon,lumber, hardware, an' such truck."

  "Shucks," said the puncher, disappointedly. Over his face settled aglum expression. "Then you ain't got no right to spend it--foranything but what she told you about. You'd be worse'n a thief tosquander that money."

  Calumet looked keenly at him. "I reckon you're more'n half right.You've settled a thing in my mind. If you're hangin' around here whenI get through buyin' them things I'll be settin' them up to you. IfI've got anything left." He abruptly broke off and urged his ponyabout, leaving the puncher to look after him speculatively.

  Two hours later he returned, driving two horses which were hitched to awagon of the "prairie-schooner" variety. The wagon was loaded withlumber and sundry kegs, boxes and packages. Calumet's pony trailed it.

  The puncher was still where Calumet had left him--apparently he had notmoved. But when he saw Calumet halt the horses in front of him andjump out of the wagon he got to his feet. He met Calumet's gaze with asober, interested smile.

  "That wagon of yours is speakin' mighty loud of work," he said. "Backin Texas I used to be counted uncommon clever with a saw an' hammer.If you can rassle them two statements around to look them in the faceyou can see what I'm drivin' at."

  "What do you think you are worth to a man who ain't got no authority todo any hirin'?" said Calumet.

  "Ain't you the boss?" said Dade, disappointedly.

  "The boss is a woman. If you're wantin' to work you can come along.You'll have to take your chance. Otherwise--"

  "I'll go you," said the puncher. He threw his saddle into the wagon."You said somethin' about a drink," he added, "if you had anythingleft. I'm hopin'--"

  Calumet hesitated.

  "Just one," said Dade. "Mebbe two. Not more than three--or four. Ifyour ranch is far--"

  "Twenty miles."

>   "About two, then," suggested Dade. "You wouldn't feel satisfied toknow that it was here an' you left it."

  "Well, then, get a move on you," growled Calumet. He followed Dadeinto the Red Dog.

  It was quiet in the barroom. Three men sat at a table near the centerof the room, laughing and talking. They looked up with casual interestas Dade and Calumet entered, favored them with quick, appraisingglances, and then resumed their talk and laughter. Behind the bar theproprietor waited, indolently watching.

  "I'll take red-eye," said Dade; "the same that made me think I was asure enough gambler last night. Did you ever notice," he added,turning to Calumet, who was filling his glass, "what a heap ofconfidence whisky will give a man? Take me, last night. Things waslookin' rosy. Them gamblers looked like plumb easy pickin'. The morewhisky I drank the easier they looked, until--"

  "Have another drink," invited the proprietor, for it was at one of histables that Dade had played. His smile was bland and his manner suaveand smooth. He shoved a bottle toward Dade. At the same time helooked with interest upon Calumet.

  "Stranger here, I reckon?" he said. "I seen you loadin' a heap ofstuff into your wagon. What's your ranch?"

  "The Lazy Y."

  The proprietor started and peered closer at Calumet. "That's oldMarston's place, ain't it?" To Calumet's slow nod, he continued:"Betty Clayton's runnin' it now. They say old Marston was the meanestold coyote that ever--"

  Calumet's gaze was level and direct, and the proprietor shrank underits cold malignance. Calumet leaned forward. "You're talkin' to theold coyote's son right now," he said. "An' you can speak right outloud in meetin' an' say that you was gassin' through your hat!"

  The proprietor paled, then reddened. "I'm beggin' your pardon," hesaid. "I reckon--you see--there's been talk--"

  "Sure," said Calumet. He smiled. It was the smile of reluctanttolerance. "Just talk," he added. "But it won't be healthytalk--hereafter."

  "Have another drink," invited the proprietor, and he pulled ahandkerchief from a pocket and wiped the sudden perspiration from hisforehead. Then he retreated to the far end of the bar, from whence hetried to appear unconcerned.

  Dade finished his drink and set the glass down. But he was visiblyexcited.

  "Betty Clayton," he said, looking sharply at Calumet. "Has she got agranddad named Malcolm Clayton, an' a brother Bob?"

  "That's her." Calumet returned Dade's sharp glance. "What's eatin'you? Know her? Know Bob? Know Malcolm?"

  "Know them!" said Dade. "Why, man, they was neighbors of mine inTexas!"

  Calumet's eyes narrowed. A pulse of some strong emotion was revealedin his face, but it was instantly subdued. "That's joyful news--foryou. So you know her? It's likely she'll be glad to see you."

  Dade was mystified by his tone. "I reckon I ain't gettin' this thingjust right," he said. "You told me Betty was runnin' the ranch, an'you tell this man that you're the son of the man that owns it. I don'tsee--"

  Calumet smiled saturninely. "Take another drink," he advised. Heshoved the bottle toward Dade. "This is your fourth. Then we'll behittin' the breeze to the Lazy Y. Betty'll be lonesome without me."He laughed raucously, filled his glass and drank its contents. Then heturned from the bar and walked toward the door. Half way to it, Dadefollowing him, he halted, for the voice of a man who sat at a tablereached him.

  "Aw, Taggart," it said loudly, "you're crowdin' the ante a little,ain't you?" The speaker laughed. "They tell me that Betty Claytonain't no man's fool. An' here you say--" The rest of it was drownedin a laugh that followed, the other two men joining the speaker.

  "Stuck on me, I tell you!" said another voice, and Calumet, half turnedtoward the table, saw the speaker's face. It was the face of anegotist--the vain, sensuous visage of a man in whom the animalinstincts predominated--the face of the rider that Calumet had seen onthe hill in the valley on the day of his return--the face of the manwho had shot at him. The man was good-looking in a coarse, vulgar way,and dissipated, gross, self-sufficient. Calumet's eyes narrowed withdislike as he looked at him. There was interest in his glance, too,for this was his father's enemy--his enemy. But after the first lookhis face became inscrutable. He turned to see Dade standing besidehim. Dade was rigid, pale; his body was in a half-crouch and there wasan expression of cold malignance on his face. Quickly Calumet placedboth hands on the young man's shoulders and shoved him back against thebar, thrusting his own body between him and Taggart.

  "Easy there," he warned in a whisper. "He's my meat."

  Dade caught the mirthless smile on his lips and looked at himcuriously, his attitude still belligerent.

  "He's talkin' about Betty, the damned skunk!" he objected. His voicewas a low, throaty whisper and it did not carry to the table where thethree men sat.

  "He was sure talkin' about her," said Calumet inexpressively. "An'I'll admit that any man who talks that way about a woman is what you'vecalled him. But it's my funeral," he added, his voice suddenly coldand hard, "an' you ain't buttin' in, whatever happens. Buy yourselfanother drink," he suggested; "you look flustered. I'm havin' a talkwith Taggart."

  He left Dade standing at the bar looking at him wonderingly, and madehis way slowly to the table where Taggart sat. Taggart was drinkingwhen Calumet reached his side, and Dade stood tense, awaiting theexpected clash.

  But none came. Calumet's grin as he nodded to Taggart was almostfriendly, and his voice was soft, even--almost gentle.

  "I heard one of these man call you Taggart," he said. "I reckon you'refrom the Arrow?"

  Taggart leaned back in his chair and insolently surveyed hisquestioner. What he saw in Calumet's face made his own pale a little.

  "I'm Taggart," he said shortly--"Neal Taggart. What you wantin' of me?"

  Calumet smiled. "Nothin' much," he said. "I thought mebbe you'd liketo know me. We're neighbors, you know. I'm Marston--Calumet Marston,of the Lazy Y."

  The color receded entirely from Taggart's face, leaving it with a queerpallor. He abruptly shoved back his chair and stood, his eyes alertand fearful as his right hand stole slowly toward the butt of thepistol at his hip. Calumet's right hand did not seem to move, butbefore Taggart could get his weapon free of its holster he saw thesombre muzzle of a forty-five frowning at him from Calumet's hip and hequickly drew his own hand away--empty.

  "Shucks," Calumet's voice came slowly into the silence that hadfallen--slowly and softly and with apparently genuine deprecation. "IfI'd known that you was goin' to get that excited I'd have broke thenews different. I don't know what you're gettin' at, trying to dragyour gun out that way. I was hopin' we'd be friends. We ought to, youknow, bein' neighbors."

  "Friends?" Taggart stepped back a pace and looked at Calumetincredulously, his eyes searching for signs of insincerity. He saw nosuch signs, for if Calumet had emotion at this minute it was too deepto be uncovered with a glance. But he knew from Taggart's perturbationthat the latter knew him to be the man he had shot at that day in thevalley.

  Obviously, he had not then had any suspicion as to his identity--hissurprise showed that he had not. And his half-fearful, puzzled looksat Calumet indicated to the latter that he was wondering whetherCalumet recognized him as the man who had done the shooting.

  Calumet's smile was cordial, inviting, even slightly ingratiating, andwatching him closely Taggart was convinced that he was not recognized.Also he was certain that Calumet could not have learned anything of thetrouble between their parents. Yet Betty knew, and if Betty hadn'ttold him there must be something between them--dislike or greed onBetty's part--and a smile appeared on his face as he remembered that hehad heard his father say that Calumet had been vicious and unmanageablein his youth. He must be at odds with Betty.

  And Betty--well, a shyster lawyer in Las Vegas had told Taggartsomething about a will which old Marston had made, in which Betty hadbeen named as beneficiary of the property in case Calumet failed toagree to certain specifications, and Tagg
art was ready to believe thatBetty would not hesitate to bring about an open clash with Calumet inorder to gain control of the ranch. This thought filled Taggart with asavage exultation. He and his father had made very little progress intheir past attacks on the Lazy Y, and if it were possible to setCalumet against Betty there might come an opportunity to drive a wedgewhich would make an opening--the opening they had long sought for. Atall events he would have considered himself a fool if he failed to takeadvantage of this opportunity to ingratiate himself into the goodnature of this man.

  "Well, that's right, I reckon," he said. "There ain't no reason that Iknow of why we shouldn't be friends. I'm right glad to see you." Hestuck out his right hand, but it appeared that Calumet did not noticeit, for he laughed as he replaced the pistol in its holster.

  "Same here," he said. "If you're passin' the Lazy Y any time, drop inan' visit. I'm fixin' her up a few--enough so's I can live in the oldshack."

  Taggart had noted with a lowering frown Calumet's omission of theproffered handshake, but the cordial good nature of the smile on thelatter's face was unmistakable, and he grinned in reply.

  "I'll sure do that," he said.

  "I'll be right glad to have you," said Calumet. "Come tomorrow--in theafternoon--any time."

  "You reckonin' on bein' the boss now?" questioned Taggart.

  Some emotion flickered Calumet's eyelashes. "You've said somethin',"he returned; "nobody's runnin' me." He turned and walked to Dade, whohad been watching him with wrath and astonishment.

  "Drinkin'?" suggested Taggart. "Have a drink, old man," he said, withcelluloid good fellowship.

  Calumet turned with a grin. "Me an' my friend has got to the end ofour capacity," he said. "He's workin' for me an I ain't settin' him abad example. The next time, if you're in the humor, I'll be glad todrink all you can buy." He waved a hand behind him, with the other hewas pushing Dade before him toward the door. "So-long," he said, as heand Dade went out.

  Taggart laughed as he turned to his companions, who had said nothingduring the conversation.

  "Friends!" he said; "he's green an' due for a shock!"

  Either Taggart or the proprietor had made a mistake in their estimateof Calumet. For at the instant Taggart had sneered at Calumet to hisfriends, the bartender, who had come in while Taggart and Calumet hadbeen talking, leaned over to listen to the proprietor.

  "In Taggart's place," said the proprietor, "I'd be mighty careful ofthat man. Friend, eh? Well, mebbe. But you noticed that he didn'toffer to shake hands with Taggart. An' he wouldn't drink. Reached hiscapacity! He had four in here. Sober as a judge! Did you notice hiseyes? They fair made me shiver when he looked at me when I was talkin'about his old man. I'm goin' to be damn careful about my palaver afterthis. Friend! Well, if I wasn't his friend I'd be damn careful not torile him!"

  Outside Dade halted, white hot with rage.

  "I reckon I ain't got no job with you, you white-livered--"

  The muzzle of Calumet's forty-five, magically produced, it seemed, soquickly did it show in his hand, was making an icy ring against Dade'sthroat, and the words, the epithet for which he had hesitated, remainedunspoken. Metallic, venomous and filled with a threat of death cameCalumet's voice.

  "You sufferin' fool!" he said, the words writhing through his lips, hiseyes blazing. "It's my game, do you hear? An' if you gas another wordabout it I'll tear you apart!"

  "He was blackguardin' Betty," objected Dade, his face ashen, but hisspirit still undaunted. "He was blackguardin' her an' you made friendswith him. I'd have salivated him if I'd thought you wasn't goin' to.I'm goin' back there now an'--"

  Calumet stepped back a pace and cocked his six-shooter. "I reckon Ican't make you understand that it's my game," he said coldly. "Walkbackwards when you go in," he directed; "I don't want to plug you inthe back."

  Dade started and looked intently at Calumet. "You mean that it ain'tended between you an' him?" he demanded.

  "Some people would have tumbled to that long ago," jeered Calumet."But kids--kids take longer to _sabe_ a thing. I'm glad you're overit," he added. He sheathed his pistol. "I reckon we'll be goin'," hesaid. "Betty'll begin to believe I'm lost."

  Dade followed him to the wagon, meekly enough now that he had receivedunmistakable proof that Taggart was Calumet's "game," and shortlyafterward the wagon pulled out of Lazette and struck the trail towardthe Lazy Y.