CHAPTER XXX
THE FUNERAL--AND AFTER
The funeral had been set for the following afternoon, but preparationswere going forward all morning. In spite of the brief notice that hadgot abroad of Hawk's death, men from many directions were riding intotown that morning to help bury him. A reaction of sentiment concerningthe Falling Wall raid was making itself felt; its brutal ferocity wasbeing more openly criticized and less covertly denounced. Hawk'spersonal popularity had never suffered among the cowboys and the cowboyfollowing. He had been known far and wide for open-handed generosityand blunt truthfulness--and these were traits to silence or to softenreprobation of his fitful and reckless disregard for the propertyrights of the big companies. He was a freebooter with most of thevirtues and vices of his kind. But the crowd that morning in SleepyCat was assembling to pay tribute to the man--however far gone wrong.His virtues they were, no doubt, willing to bury with him; the memoryof his vices would serve some of them when they might need a lawlessprecedent.
Up to the funeral hour the numerous bars of Sleepy Cat were points ofinterest for the drinking men. In front of these, reminiscences of thedead man held heated sway. Some stories pulled themselves togetherthrough the stimulus of deep drinking, others gradually went to piecesunder its bewildering effects, but as long as a man could remember thathe was talking about Abe Hawk or the Falling Wall, his anecdotes weretolerated.
Nor were all the men that had come to town to say good-by to Abe, linedup at the bars. Because Tenison had insisted that it should, Hawk'sbody lay during the morning at the Mountain House in the first bigsample room opening off the hotel office. All that the red-facedundertaker could do to make it presentable in its surroundings had beendone at Harry Tenison's charge. Laramie's protests were ignored:"You're a poor man, Jim," declared Tenison, "and you can't pay anybills now for Abe. He thought more of you than he did of any man inthe world. But most of his money he left here with me, upstairs anddown. Abe was stiff-necked as hell, whether it was cards or cattle,you know that. And it's only some of his money--not mine--I'm turningback to him. That Dutchman," he added, referring with a contemptuousoath to the unpopular undertaker of Sleepy Cat, "is a robber, anyhow.The only way I'll ever get even with him is that he'll drink most of itup again. I played pinochle with that bar-sinister chap," continuedTenison, referring to the enemy by the short and ugly word, "all onenight, and couldn't get ten cents out of him--and he half-drunk atthat. What do you know about that?
"Jim," Tenison changed his tone and his rambling talk suddenly ceased,"you've not told me rightly yet about Abe."
Laramie looked up: "Why, Harry," he said quietly, "I told you where Ifound him that night--he got out of the creek at Pride's Crossing."
Tenison shook his head: "But what I want to know is what went on beforehe got to Pride's Crossing."
"Well, I started with him that night for town."
"That's what you said before," objected Tenison with an impatientgesture. "What you didn't say is what I want to hear."
"Harry, I won't try to give you a long line of talk. I can't tell itall--and I don't want to try to fool you. There's another name in thestory that I don't feel I've got a right to bring in--that's all. Someday you'll hear it."
Neither Lefever nor Sawdy could get any more out of Laramie. He showedthe strain of sleeplessness and anxiety. Sawdy kept the crowd away byanswering all questions himself--mostly with an air of reserve, backedby intimations calculated to lead a man to believe he was reallyhearing something, and counter-questions skilfully dropped into thegravity of the occasion. Those who could not be put off by Sawdy wereturned over to Lefever, who could hypnotize a man by asking questions,and send him away satisfied, but vacantly speculative as to whether hewas crazy or Lefever was.
To Lefever also were referred the men arranging the details of thefuneral. Not till two o'clock was the word given for the procession tomove from the Mountain House, but for two hours before that,horsemen--peers of any in the world--dashed up and down Main Streetbefore keen-eyed spectators, on business if possible, but always ondisplay.
Stage drivers and barnmen from Calabasas and Thief River mingled withcowboys from the Deep Creek country--for Hawk himself had, yearsbefore, driven on the Spanish Sinks line. From the barn at Sleepy Catthese men brought out and drafted the old Wells-Fargo stage coach thatAbe had driven on the first trip to the Thief River mines. Six of thebest horses in the barn were to pull it in the procession. Thesehorses were driven by the oldest man in service on the Calabasas run,mounted on the near wheel horse with the driver's seat on the box emptyand covered with wreaths of flowers. Old-time Indians from theReservation who had known Hawk when he first went into the Falling Wallcountry, were down to see him buried; they rode behind the cowboys.
At two o'clock the roundhouse whistle blew a long blast. It was takenup by the engines in the yard and those of an overland train pullingout; and the procession, long and picturesque, moved from the hotel.Laramie, Tenison, Lefever and Sawdy rode abreast, behind the hearse,and as the procession moved down Main Street, the cowboys chanted thesongs of the bunkhouse and the campfire, the range and the round-up.
"My God!" exclaimed Carpy when it was all over, "if Sleepy Cat could dothat much for a thief, what would it do for an honest man?" With Sawdyand Lefever, the doctor sat at a table in the billiard room of theMountain House. Tenison and Laramie sat near them.
"Not what they did for Abe," averred John Lefever promptly, "and don'tyou forget it. But I don't call Abe Hawk a thief--never. Abe was afreebooter born out of time and place. He called himself a thief--hewasn't one. He hadn't the first instincts of one--no secrecy, no darknight stuff, no lying. He never denied a raid if he made one. Andnever did worse when the big cattlemen protested, than to tell them togo to hell. He had a bunch of old Barb's calves branded along with hisown one year: 'Well, you're the coolest rustler in the Falling Wall,' Isays to him. 'They're my share of Barb's spring drop,' was all hesaid. You know he lent Barb all his savings one year--that was when heused to save money, before his wife died. He never got a red cent ofit back, never even asked for it. But when he wanted money he'd driveoff some of Barb's steers. Yes, Abe stole cattle, I admit; yet I don'tcall him a thief--not today, anyway," said John, raising his glass."Why, if Abe Hawk owed a man a hundred dollars he'd pay him if he hadto steal every cow in the Falling Wall to do it. But take a hoof froma poor man!" he went on, freshened, "The poor men all used to run toAbe when Dutch Henry or Stormy Gorman branded their calves. They'dyell fire and murder. And Abe would make the blamed thieves drivetheir calves back! You know that, Jim." Lefever between breaths threwthe appeal for confirmation across at Laramie who sat moodily listeningand trying without success to interest himself in a drink that stooduntouched before him.
Laramie made no response. "Have it your own way, John," nodded Carpytolerantly, "have it your own way. But whatever they say against oldBarb, the man ain't livin' that can say a word against his girl--notwhile I'm in hearing. And I'll tell you, you could have knocked meover with a feather when I seen her this afternoon and she bound toride in that procession behind Abe Hawk."
"What do you mean?" asked Lefever.
"I mean riding to the graveyard," insisted Carpy.
"What are you talking about?" demanded Lefever, to bring out the story."You never saw it."
"I'll tell you what I saw." Only those who knew Laramie well couldhave told how keenly he was listening. "I drove down Hill Street,"said the doctor, "just after the funeral started, and sat there, quiet,to one side, waiting for it to pass; a doctor's got no business aroundfunerals. Right then, Kate Doubleday pulled up close to me onhorseback. She was just from the trail, that was sure; her horseshowed the pace and the girl was excited--I seen that when she spoke tome. 'Doctor'--then she hesitated. 'Is that Abe Hawk's funeral?' 'Itis,' I says. She looked at it and kept looking at it. The tail-end ofthe procession was passing Hill Street. I noticed the girl bite herlip; she was
as restless as her horse. 'Doctor,' she says, hesitatingjust the same way the second time, 'do you think people would think itawfully strange if I--rode to the cemetery with them?'
"I never was more dashed in my life. 'Well,' I says, 'I expect theywould, Kate.' 'I feel as if I ought to do it,' she says. 'Don't do itfor the fun of the thing, Kate. The boys wouldn't like that.' 'Oh,'she says, looking at me mighty hard. 'I've got the best of reasons fordoing it.' 'Then,' says I, 'do it, no matter what they think or don'tthink. That's what Abe Hawk would 'a' done!' 'I'm such a coward,' shesays, but I want to tell you there was fire in her words. 'Go ahead,'says I. 'Doctor, will you ride with me?' 'Hell!' says I, 'I neverwent to a funeral in my life.' 'Will you ride to this one with me? Ican't ride alone; all the rest are men.' 'Dog gone it! Come over tothe barn,' says I, 'till I get a horse.'
"That's the way it happened.
"When we got to the graveyard we kept back to one side. All the same,she saw the whole thing. But just the minute the boys turned from thegrave, away we went down the hill lickety-cut. We took the backstreets till we struck the divide road, and she turned for home. Whenwe stopped there, she says: 'Doctor, tell me the truth: Did Abe Hawkdrown?' 'No,' I says, 'he didn't drown. I reckon he strained himself.Anyway, one of his wounds opened up. The old man bled to death."
Laramie felt no inclination that night to go home. In his depression,he could think only of Kate Doubleday and reflect that the years werepassing while he faced the future without an aim, and life without anoutlook.
It was not the first time this conviction had forced itself on him.And it was getting harder and harder, he realized, to shake it off.But tonight, talk served in some degree as an anodyne, and he sat withthe idlers late. The one bit of news that did stir him in his torporwas that Kate Doubleday had had at least the feeling to appear at thefuneral of the man who, though rightly regarded as her father's enemy,had, Laramie knew, let go his own life, without a thought, to save hers.
This was the last reflection on his mind before he went to sleep thatnight. It was the first when he woke. Late in the morning he wassitting in Belle Shockley's at breakfast when McAlpin walked in.
"Jim," exclaimed the excitable barn boss, "I got a word this morningfrom the Falling Wall."
Laramie regarded him evenly, but did not speak till McAlpin lookedinquiringly toward Belle: "No secrets here, Mac," he said briefly.
"Probably couldn't keep 'em from a woman if you tried," returnedMcAlpin, grinning. He pointed calmly toward the kitchen: "If we're allalone here----"
"Go ahead," intervened Belle impatiently, "we are."
"Punk Budd brought the stage from the Reservation this morning. Comingdown the Turkey he met Van Horn. They had a bunch of Barb's boys withthem driving in some cattle."
"Whose cattle?"
"Punk says when he run into 'em they was roundin' up yours."
"Was Punk sober?" asked Laramie.
"He sure was," replied McAlpin.
Belle, with folded arms, stood in the archway immovable as a statue;McAlpin sat in silence; Laramie, continuing his breakfast, looked onlyat his plate. The silence grew heavy, but two of the three had noreason to break it and the third did not choose to.
Laramie, at length, took up his coffee, and, drinking slowly, finishedthe cup. Setting this down, he wiped his lips and looked at McAlpin.
"Much obliged, Mac," he said, laying down his napkin.
McAlpin regarded him inquiringly: "What you going to do about it, Jim?"he demanded, when he saw Laramie would say no word.
Laramie pushed back his chair: "What would you do?"
McAlpin spoke seriously: "I'm askin' you."
"I can tell better after I know more about it, Mac."
The barn boss evidently thought Laramie was taking the news tooquietly. He was for violent measures but Laramie calmed him. "Ifthey've got any of my cattle, they won't run away," said he, "and theywon't blow up. They'll keep, and I'll get them back--every hoof. I'mriding home this morning, anyway, so I'll be over after my horse in aminute."
McAlpin went away somewhat disappointed. Laramie only laughed when hetalked it over with Belle: "So long as they don't burn my place, I canstand it," he said, philosophically.
Nevertheless, he felt disturbed at McAlpin's news--not for itssubstance so much as for what it might note in renewed warfare.Getting his horse, he followed the railroad right of way out of townand struck out upon open country toward the north. He had no intentionof taking the direct road home; that had long become dangerous, and herode along abandoned cattle trails. At times he struck, swiftly andstraight, across open country, at times disappeared completely infavoring canyons, and emerging again, headed winding draws up to thedivide--any ground that carried him in his general direction was goodground.
He tried always to be thinking just what the other fellow must bethinking as to favorable points to pick a man off--the fellow patientlywaiting with a rifle day after day in ambush for him. And not havinggone home of late twice by the same route, he meant to keep the otherfellow continually guessing. Today, he was somewhat handicapped, inthat he was riding in broad daylight instead of in the dawn or in thetwilight when the uncertain light made it more difficult with the finesights of a Winchester or Savage to cover a distant man.
This hazard, however, called only for a little more precaution, whichLaramie did not begrudge to the pride of disappointing an enemy. Atpoints in his route where the main road could not well be avoided, herode faster and with quickened circumspection. The Double-draw bridgehe could not avoid without a long and difficult detour. Moreover,there, or beyond, he might expect to intercept the raiding party, andthis was his business.
He did, however, approach the Double-draw bridge with an uncertaintyand a caution not reflected in the pace which he rode toward it; buthis horse was under close control and his rifle carefully in hand.
Despite his misgivings, no enemy was sighted. Only a flight of bankswallows, disturbed by the footfalls of his horse, darted noisily fromtheir nests under the south bridge abutment and scattered twenty waysin the sunshine. Spurring freely, as they flew away, Laramie gallopedbriskly across the bottoms and up the hill. Skirting the long trailtoward home, he rode on without meeting a living soul or hearing theunwelcome singing of a bullet.
In fact, things were too quiet; the silence and the absence of any sortof life as he approached his ranch were a surprise. The few head ofcattle and horses he usually met, when riding home along the creek,were nowhere to be seen. Evidently the raid had been made. To surveythe whole scene without exposing himself, Laramie rode out of thetangle along the creek bottom and took the first draw that would bringhim out among the southern hills. As he emerged from the narrow gorge,his eyes turned in the direction of the house. But where the houseshould be he saw above the green field, only a black spot with littlepatches of white smoke drifting lazily up from it into the stillsunshine.