Mavericks

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE MAN-HUNT

  When Jim Yeager separated from Phil after their discovery of Keller'shat and the deductions they drew from it, the former turned his ponytoward the Frying Pan. Daylight had already broken before he came insight of it, but sounds of revelry still issued boisterously from thehouse.

  As he drew near there came to him the squeal of sawing riddles, thehigh-pitched voice of the dance caller in sing-song drawl, the shufflingof feet keeping time to the rhythm of the music. For though a new daywas at hand, the quadrilles continued with unflagging vigor, onesucceeding another as soon as the floor was cleared.

  The cow country takes its amusements seriously. A dance is infrequentenough to be an event. Men and women do not ride or drive from thirty tofifty miles without expecting to drink the last drop of pleasure theremay be in the occasion.

  As Jim swung from the saddle, a slim figure in white glided from theshadow of the wild cucumber vines that rioted over one end of the porch.

  "Well, Jim?"

  The man came to the point with characteristic directness. "He has beenwaylaid, Phyl. We found his hat and the place where they ambushed him."

  "Is he----" Her voice died at the word, but her meaning was clear.

  "I don't think it. Looks like they were aiming to take him prisonerwithout hurting him. They might easily have shot him down, but theground shows there was a struggle."

  "And you came back without rescuing him?" she reproached.

  "Phil and I were unarmed. I came back to get guns and help."

  "And Phil?"

  "He's following the trail. I wanted him to let me while he came back.But he wouldn't hear to it. Said he had to square his debt to Larry."

  "Good for Phil!" his sister cried, eyes like stars.

  "Is Brill still here?" he asked.

  "No. He rode away about an hour ago. He was very bitter at me because Iwouldn't dance with him. Said I'd curse myself for it before twenty-fourhours had passed. He must have Larry in his power, Jim."

  "Looks like," he nodded, and added grimly: "If you do any regrettingthere will be others that will, too."

  She caught the lapels of his coat and looked into his face withextraordinary intensity. "I'm going back with you, Jim. You'll let me,won't you? I've waited--and waited. You can't think what an awful nightit has been. I can't stand it any longer! I'll go mad! Oh, Jim, you'lltake me, I know!" Her hands slipped down to his and clung to them withpassionate entreaty.

  "Why, honey, I cayn't. This is likely to be war before we finish. Itain't any place for girls."

  "I'll stay back, Jim. I'll do whatever you say, if you'll only let mego."

  He shook his head resolutely. "Cayn't be done, girl. I'm sorry, but yousee yourself it won't do."

  Nor could all her beseechings move him. Though his heart was very tendertoward her he was granite to her pleadings. At last he put her asidegently and stepped into the house.

  Going at once to the fiddlers, he stopped the music and stood on thelittle rostrum where they were seated. Surprised faces turned towardhim.

  "What's up, Jim?" demanded Slim, his arm still about the waist of BessPurdy.

  "A man was waylaid while coming to this dance and taken prisoner by hisenemies. They mean to do him a mischief. I want volunteers to rescuehim."

  "Who is it?" several voices cried at once.

  "The man I mean is Larrabie Keller."

  A pronounced silence followed before Slim drawled an answer:

  "Cayn't speak for the other boys, but I reckon I haven't lost anyKellers, Jim."

  "Why not? What have you got against him?"

  "You know well enough. He's under a cloud. We don't say he's a rustlerand a bank robber, but then we don't say he ain't."

  "I say he isn't! Boys, it has come to a show-down. Keller is a member ofthe Rangers, sent here by Bucky O'Connor to run down the rustlers."

  Questions poured upon him.

  "How do you know?"

  "How long have you known?"

  "Who told you?"

  "Why didn't he tell us so himself, then?"

  Jim waited till they were quiet. "I've seen letters from the governor tohim. He didn't come here declaring his intentions because he knew therewould be nothing doing if the rustlers knew he was in the neighborhood.He has about done his work now, and it's up to us to save him beforethey bump him off. Who will ride with me to rescue him?"

  There was no hesitation now.

  Every man pushed forward to have a hand in it.

  "Good enough," nodded Yeager. "We'll want rifles, boys. Looks to me likehell might be a-popping before mo'ning grows very ancient. We'll set outfrom Turkey Creek Crossroads two hours from now. Any man not on handthen will get left behind.

  "And remember--this is a man hunt! No talking, boys. We don't want thenews that we're coming spread all over the hills before we arrive."

  As Jim descended from the rostrum, his roving gaze fell on PhylSanderson standing in the doorway. Her fears had stolen the color evenfrom her lips, but the girl's beauty had never struck him morepoignantly.

  Misery stared at him out of her fine eyes, yet the unconscious courageof her graceful poise--erect, with head thrown back so that he couldeven see the pulse beat in the brown throat--suggested anything butsupine surrender to her terror. Before he could reach her she hadslipped into the night, and he could not find her.

  Men dribbled in to the Turkey Creek Crossroads along as many trails asthe ribs of a fan running to a common centre. Jim waited, watch open,and when it said that seven o'clock had come he snapped it shut and gavethe word to set out.

  It was a grim, business-like posse, composed of good men and true whohad been sifted in the impartial sieve of life on the turbid frontier.Moreover, they were well led. A certain hard metallic quality showed inthe voice and eye of Jim Yeager that boded no good for the man who facedhim in combat to-day. He rode with his gaze straight to the front,toward that cleft in the hills where lay Gregory's Pass. The others fellin behind, a silent, hard-bitten outfit as ever took the trail for thatmost dangerous of all big game--the hidden outlaw.

  The little bunch of riders had not gone far before Purdy, who wasriding in the rear, called to Yeager.

  "Somebody coming hell-to-split after us, Jim."

  It turned out to be Buck Weaver, who had been notified by telephone ofwhat was taking place. A girl had called him up out of his sleep, and hehad pounded the road hard to get in at the finish.

  Jim explained the situation in a few words and offered to yield commandto the owner of the Twin Star ranch. But Buck declined.

  "You're the boss of this _rodeo_, Yeager. I'm riding in the ranksto-day."

  "How did you hear we were rounding-up to-day?" Jim asked.

  "Some one called me up," Buck answered briefly, but he did not think itnecessary to say that it was Phyllis.

  Behind them, unnoticed by any, sometimes hidden from sight by the riseand fall of the rough ground, sometimes silhouetted against the skyline, rode a slim, supple figure on a white-faced cow pony. Once, whenthe fresh morning wind swept down a gulch at an oblique angle, it liftedfor an instant from the stirrup leather what might have been a grayflag. But the flag was only a skirt, and it signalled nothing moredefinite than the courage and devotion of a girl who knew that the menshe loved best on earth were in danger.