CHAPTER XXII
In the cool of evening, between dark and moonrise, the time when nightis blackest, and shadows hang like a pall over mountain top and crag, asmall group of men might have been seen lounging before old Mother WhiteBlanket's tepee, absorbing the genial warmth that came from hercamp-fire, over which the old squaw hovered close.
In the background, away from the group, yet still with the light of thefire shining full upon him, stood the soft-voiced twin. Suddenly thehawk-like eyes of his grandmother swept the darkness and fastenedthemselves upon his inquisitive face. For an instant they pierced himthrough, then the shrill voice rang out:
"So! It's only the sneak-dog that dare not come near! You get out andhunt your bed!"
"I ain't doin' nothin'!" exclaimed the boy.
"No! An' you'll live doin' nothin', an' die doin' nothin', with a ropeabout your neck, _so_!" She made a quick motion across her throat, andgurgled heinously, letting her blanket fall low upon her skinny, calicocovered shoulders, revealing a long, gaunt throat and stiff wisps ofblack, unkempt hair.
"You don't need to think you can scare _me_," said the boy, movingboldly forward, impelled by fear. "I ain't sneakin' 'round here,neither! You'd better be a little politer er I'll tell the old man onyou when he gets sober again!"
"Hear him!" roared Shorty Smith. "Politer! I reckon the school-ma'am'sinstillin' some mighty high-flutin' notions into your head, ain't she?Politer! Just listen to that onct, will yous! Say, don't no one darebreathe loud when _Mister_ Daniel Harris, _esquire_, comes round!"
"You let your betters alone," rebuked the old woman, shaking a stick atShorty, preliminary to throwing it upon the fire. "My grandson's gotmore in his head than all of you!" Then nodding at the boy who,emboldened, had come up to the fire: "Say what's on your tongue an' gitoff to bed with you!"
The breed boy shook his head. "I ain't got nothin' to tell," he said."Hain't been nowhere except over to Carter's camp awhile. Dave and mepretty near got nabbed by a special officer that's over there."
Shorty Smith raised himself up on his elbow.
"A special _what_!" he demanded, while a sort of stillness swept thecircle.
"A special officer of the _law_," replied the boy, with cool importance."Dave an' me had supper with him. He's a pretty good sort of a feller."
"Nice company you've been in," observed Shorty.
"Your grandmother always said you'd come to some bad end," drawled LongBill. An uneasy laugh went around, then absolute silence prevailed forseveral minutes. The old squaw seemed to be muttering under her breath.Finally she shifted her savage gaze from the outer blackness to thefaces about her camp-fire.
"Turn cowards for one man!" she exclaimed scornfully.
"Well, Harris is in there dead drunk, and what're we goin' to do withouthim, anyhow?" exclaimed Long Bill.
"He might not approve," supplemented Shorty Smith.
"That's right; I ain't wantin' no such responsibility on my shoulders,_just now_," declared the large fellow.
"We'll postpone matters," decided Shorty. "I ain't after suchresponsibility myself, you can bet your life!"
The others agreed by words and grunts. Suddenly the old woman rose toher feet, grasping her dingy blanket together in front with one scrawnyhand, while she outstretched the other, pointing into the night.
"Git out!" she snarled scornfully. "Git to your beds, dogs!"
The men laughed again uneasily.
"Come on, boys," said Shorty Smith. "We'll go an' see if the old man'sleft a drop in his jug." He moved towards the house, followed by theothers. The soft-voiced twin still retained his position by thecamp-fire.
"You git too!" snarled his grandmother.
"I ain't no dog," replied the boy. The squaw grunted. "You told the dogsto go, not me! They won't find any demijohn, neither. I cached it for_you_!"
"Good boy," said his grandmother, patting him upon the head. "Go gitit!"
When Hope and her companions returned that evening a couple of agedIndians hovered over the dying embers of old White Blanket's camp-fire,sociably drinking from a rusty tin cup what the riders naturallysupposed to be tea. The soft-voiced twin, already curled up asleepbeside his brothers, could have told them different, for had he not wonthe old woman's passing favor by his generous act? So he slept well.
So did the "old man" sleep well that night--a heavy drunken stupor. Hehad returned from town that afternoon in his usual condition, aswild-eyed as the half-broken horses that he drove, and for awhile madethings lively about the place. At such times he ruled with a high andmighty hand, and even the little babies crept out of his way as heapproached. He roused up some of the idle breeds and started a pokergame, which soon broke up, owing to a financial deficiency among them.Then he roped a wild-looking stallion and rode off at a mad gait,without any apparent object, toward a peacefully feeding bunch ofcattle. He rode around it, driving the cows and calves into a huddled,frightened group, then left them to recover their composure, riding,still as madly as ever, back to the stables. But the whisky finally gotin its work, and Joe Harris, to the great relief of his Indian wife andfamily, laid himself away in a corner of the kitchen, and peace againreigned supreme.
Hope and Louisa very fortunately missed all the excitement.
The darkness was intense when they rode up to the ranch. Quiet pervadedthe place, and not a light shone from the house.
"These people must go to bed with the chickens," remarked O'Hara.
"Here's some matches, Hope," said Carter, standing beside her on theground when she had dismounted. "Never mind your horses, I'll take careof them. Run right in. Such a place for you! Darker'n a stack of blackcats! I'll stand here by the house till I see a light in your room."
Just then a group of men, led by Shorty Smith, came out of the darkpassage between the kitchen and the other part of the house, and madetheir way toward the stables. The ones in the rear did not see theriders, and were muttering roughly among themselves. They had beenmaking another fruitless search for the cattle-man's whisky, and werenow going to bed.
"Come back here," said Sydney, drawing both girls toward the horseswhich O'Hara was holding. They moved backward under his grasp and waiteduntil the men had passed.
"Hope, you'll either have to change your boarding place or go home,"announced her cousin.
"I'll do neither," replied the girl decisively. "Don't be foolish, Syd,because of a darkened house and a handful of harmless men! I'm not ababy, either. You'll make Larry think I'm a very helpless sort ofperson. Don't believe him, Larry! I'll admit that this isn't always asafe country for men, but there is no place on earth where a woman issurer of protection than among these same wild, dare-devil characters. Iknow what I'm talking about. Home? Well, I guess not! Come on, Louisa.See, she isn't afraid! Are you? Good-night, both of you!"
"Goot-night," called the German girl.
"It's just as she says," explained Carter, as he and O'Hara rodehomeward. "It is perfectly safe for a girl out here, in spite of thetough appearances of things--far safer than in the streets of New Yorkor Chicago. There isn't a man in the country that would dare speakdisrespectfully to a girl. Horse-stealing wouldn't be an instancecompared with what he'd get for that. He'd meet his end so quick hewouldn't have time to say his prayers! That's the way we do things inthis country, you know."
"It's hard to understand this, judging from appearances," said O'Hara."I'm not exactly a coward myself, but I must own it gave me a chill alldown my spine when those tough-looking specimens began to pour out fromthat crack between the buildings. I'd think it would make a girl feelnervous."
"But not Hope," replied Carter. "She's used to it; besides she's notlike other girls. She's as fearless as a lion. You can't scare _her_. Ifshe was a little more timid I wouldn't think about worrying over her,but she's so blame self-reliant! She knows she's as quick as chainlightning, and she's chockful of confidence. For my own part, I wishshe'd never learned to shoot a gun."
"It strikes me she's pretty able to
take care of herself," said O'Hara."If I were you I wouldn't worry over it."
"Well, I want to get her back to the ranch, and I'm going to, too!"said Carter. Then to O'Hara's look of wonder, "I might as well be inHalifax as any real good I can be to her here--in case anything shouldcome up. You see, there's been trouble brewing for months. All these menaround here are down on Livingston, because he's running sheep on therange they had begun to think was their own exclusive property. He's asmuch right to run sheep on government land as they have to run cattle,though sheep are a plumb nuisance in a cow country. These ranchersaround here haven't any use for his sheep at all, and have been pickingat him ever since he came up here."
He then went on to tell what he knew about the shooting at Livingston'scorral.
"I'm pretty certain now that Hope was mixed up in it, though Livingstonis as ignorant as can be in regard to the matter. He's too much astranger to the ways of the country to learn everything in a minute. Itwas funny about you knowing him, wasn't it? He's a fine man, all right,and I hope this outfit won't bluff him out of the country. Harris is atthe bottom of it. If it wasn't for him there wouldn't be any trouble.Now it's my opinion that Hope's trying to stand off the whole outfit forLivingston's sake, and doesn't want him to know it."
O'Hara was silent for a moment, then replied:
"I'm not the fellow to make a fuss because a better man than me turnsup. I knew in a minute he was dead in love with her."
Then he told something to Carter in confidence which caused him to pullhis horse up suddenly in the trail and exclaim: "You don't say!"