Nan of Music Mountain

  CHAPTER I

  FRONTIER DAY

  Lefever, if there was a table in the room, could never be got to siton a chair; and being rotund he sat preferably sidewise on the edge ofthe table. One of his small feet--his feet were encased in tight,high-heeled, ill-fitting horsemen's boots--usually rested on thefloor, the other swung at the end of his stubby leg slowly in the air.This idiosyncrasy his companion, de Spain, had learned to tolerate.

  But Lefever's subdued whistle, which seemed meditative, alwaysirritated de Spain more or less, despite his endeavor not to beirritated. It was like the low singing of a tea-kettle, which, howeverunobtrusive, indicates steam within. In fact, John Lefever, who wasbuilt not unlike a kettle, and whose high, shiny forehead was toppedby a pompadour shock of very yellow hair, never whistled except whenthere was some pressure on his sensibilities.

  The warm sun streaming through the windows of the private office ofthe division superintendent at Sleepy Cat, a railroad town lyingalmost within gunshot of the great continental divide, would easilyhave accounted for the cordial perspiration that illumined Lefever'sforehead. Not that a perspiration is easily achieved in the highcountry; it isn't. None, indeed, but a physical giant, which Lefeverwas, could maintain so constant and visible a nervous moisture in theface of the extraordinary atmospheric evaporation of the mountainplateaus. And to de Spain, on this occasion, even the glistening beadson his companion's forehead were annoying, for he knew that he himselfwas properly responsible for their presence.

  De Spain, tilted back in the superintendent's chair, sat nearLefever--Jeffries had the mountain division then--his elbows restingon the arms of the revolving-chair, and with his hands he grippedrather defiantly the spindles supporting them; his feet were crossedon the walnut rim of the shabby, cloth-topped table. In this attitudehis chin lay on his soft, open collar and tie, his sunburnt lips wereshut tight, and above and between his nervous brown eyes were twolittle, vertical furrows of perplexity and regret. He was looking atthe dull-finish barrel of a new rifle, that lay across Lefever's lap.At intervals Lefever took the rifle up and, whistling softly, examinedwith care a fracture of the lever, the broken thumb-piece of which layon the table between the two men.

  From the Main Street side of the large room came the hooting andclattering of a Frontier Day celebration, and these noises seemed notto allay the discomfort apparent on the faces of the two men.

  "It certainly is warm," observed Lefever, apropos of nothing at all.

  "Why don't you get out of the sun?" suggested de Spain shortly.

  Lefever made a face. "I am trying to keep away from that noise."

  "Hang it, John," blurted out de Spain peevishly, "what possessed youto send for _me_ to do the shooting, anyway?"

  His companion answered gently--Lefever's patience was noted even amongcontained men--"Henry," he remonstrated, "I sent for you because Ithought you could shoot."

  De Spain's expression did not change under the reproach. His bronzedface was naturally amiable, and his mental attitude toward ill luck,usually one of indifference, was rarely more than one of perplexity.His features were so regular as to contribute to this undisturbedexpression, and his face would not ordinarily attract attention butfor his extremely bright and alive eyes--the frequent mark of anout-of-door mountain life--and especially for a red birthmark, low onhis left cheek, disappearing under the turn of the jaw. It was merelya strawberry, so-called, but an ineradicable stamp, and perhaps to aless preoccupied man a misfortune. Henry de Spain, however, even attwenty-eight, was too absorbed in many things to give thought to thisoften, and after knowing him, one forgot about the birthmark in theman that carried it. Lefever's reproach was naturally provocative. "Ihope now," retorted de Spain, but without any show of resentment, "youunderstand I can't."

  "No," persisted Lefever good-naturedly, "I only realize, Henry, thatthis wasn't your day for the job."

  The door of the outer office opened and Jeffries, the superintendent,walked into the room; he had just come from Medicine Bend in his car.The two men rose to greet him. He asked about the noise in thestreet.

  "That noise, William, comes from all Calabasas and all Morgan'sGap," explained Lefever, still fondling the rifle. "The Morgansare celebrating our defeat. They put it all over us. We werechallenged yesterday," he continued in response to the abruptquestions of Jeffries. "The Morgans offered to shoot us offhand,two hundred yards, bull's-eye count. The boys here--Bob Scott and someof the stage-guards--put it up to me. I thought we could trim them byrunning in a real gunman. I wired to Medicine Bend for Henry. Henrycomes up last night with a brand-new rifle, presented, I imagine,by the Medicine Bend Black Hand Local, No. 13. This is the gun,"explained Lefever feebly, holding forth the exhibit. "The lever," headded with a patient expletive, "broke."

  "Give me the gun, John," interposed de Spain resignedly. "I'll lay iton the track to-night for a train to run over."

  "It was a time limit, you understand, William," persisted Lefever,continuing to stick pins calmly into de Spain. "Henry got to shootingtoo fast."

  "That wasn't what beat me," exclaimed de Spain curtly. And taking upthe offending rifle he walked out of the room.

  "Nor was it the most humiliating feature of his defeat," murmuredLefever, as the door closed behind his discomfited champion. "What doyou think, William?" he grumbled on. "The Morgans ran in a girl toshoot against us--true as there's a God in heaven. They put up NanMorgan, old Duke Morgan's little niece. And what do you think? Sheshot the fingers clean off our well-known Black Hand scout. I neverbefore in my life saw Henry so fussed. The little Music Mountain skirtsimply put it all over him. She had five bull's-eyes to Henry's threewhen the lever snapped. He forfeited."

  "Some shooting," commented Jeffries, rapidly signing letters.

  "We expected some when Henry unslung his gun," Lefever went on withoutrespecting Jeffries's preoccupation. "As it is, those fellows havecleaned up every dollar loose in Sleepy Cat, and then some. Money?They could start a bank this minute."

  Sounds of revelry continued to pour in through the street window. TheMorgans were celebrating uncommonly. "Rubbing it in, eh, John?"suggested Jeffries.

  "Think of it," gasped Lefever, "to be beaten by an eighteen-year-oldgirl."

  "Now that," declared Jeffries, waking up as if for the first timeinterested, "is exactly where you made your mistake, John. Henry isyoung and excitable----"

  "Excitable!" echoed Lefever, taken aback.

  "Yes, excitable--when a girl is in the ring--why not? Especially atrim, all-alive, up-and-coming, blue-eyed hussy like that girl ofDuke Morgan's. She would upset any young fellow, John."

  "A girl from Morgan's Gap?"

  "Morgan's Gap, nothing!" responded Jeffries scornfully. "What's thatgot to do with it? Does that change the fire in the girl's eye, thecurve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, John, or the color ofher cheek?" Lefever only stared. "De Spain got to thinking about thegirl," persisted Jeffries, "her eyes and neck and pink cheeks rattledhim. Against a girl you should have put up an old, one-eyed scout likeyourself, or me, or Bob Scott.

  "There's another thing you forget, John," continued Jeffries, signingeven more rapidly. "A gunman shoots his best when there's somebodyshooting at him--otherwise he wouldn't be a gunman--he would be justan ordinary, every-day marksman, with a Schuetzenverein medal and arooster feather in his hat. That's why you shoot well, John--becauseyou're a gunman, and not a marksman."

  "That boy can shoot all around me, Jeff."

  "For instance," continued Jeffries, tossing off signatures now with arubber stamp, and developing his incontestable theory at the sametime, "if you had put Gale Morgan up against Henry at, say fivehundred yards, and told them to shoot _at_ each other, instead ofagainst each other, you'd have got bull's-eyes to burn from de Spain.And the Calabasas crowd wouldn't have your money. John, if you want towin money, you must study the psychological."

  There was abundance of raillery in Lefever's retort: "That's why youare rich, Jeff?"

&nb
sp; "No, I am poor because I failed to study it. That is why I am atSleepy Cat holding down a division. But now that you've brought Henryup here, we'll keep him."

  "What do you mean, keep him?" demanded Lefever, starting in protest.

  "What do I mean?" thundered Jeffries, who frequently thundered evenwhen it didn't rain in the office. "I mean I need him. I mean the timeto shoot a bear is when you see him. John, what kind of a fellow is deSpain?" demanded the superintendent, as if he had never heard of him.

  "Henry de Spain?" asked Lefever, sparring innocently for time.

  "No, Commodore George Washington, General Jackson, Isaac Watts deSpain," retorted Jeffries peevishly. "Don't you know the man we'retalking about?"

  "Known him for ten years."

  "Then why say 'Henry' de Spain, as if there were a dozen of him? He'sthe only de Spain in these parts, isn't he? What kind of a fellow ishe?"

  Lefever was ready; and as he sat in a chair sidewise at the table,one arm flung across the green baize, he looked every inch hisdevil-may-care part. Regarding Jeffries keenly, he exclaimed withemphasis: "Why, if you want him short and sharp, he's a man with asoft eye and a snap-turtle jaw, a man of close squeaks and short-armshots, always getting into trouble, always getting out; a man thatcan wheedle more out of a horse than anybody but an Indian; coax moreshots out of a gun than anybody else can put into it--if you want himflat, that's Henry, as I size him."

  Jeffries resumed his mildest tone: "Tell him to come in a minute,John."

  De Spain himself expressed contemptuous impatience when Lefever toldhim the superintendent wanted him to go to work at Sleepy Cat. Hedeclared he had always hated the town; and Lefever readily understoodwhy he should especially detest it just now. Every horseman's yellthat rang on the sunny afternoon air through the open windows--andfrom up the street and down there were still a good many--was one ofderision at de Spain's galling defeat. When he at length consented totalk with Jeffries about coming to Sleepy Cat, the interview was of apositive sort on the one side and an obstinate sort on the other. DeSpain raised one objection after another to leaving Medicine Bend, andJeffries finally summoned a show of impatience.

  "You are looking for promotion, aren't you?" he demanded threateningly.

  "Yes, but not for motion without the 'pro,'" objected de Spain. "Iwant to stick to the railroad business. You want to get me into thestage business."

  "Temporarily, yes. But I've told you when you come back to thedivision proper, you come as my assistant, if you make good runningthe Thief River stages. Think of the salary."

  "I have no immediate heirs."

  "This is not a matter for joking, de Spain."

  "I know that, too. How many men have been shot on the stages in thelast six months?"

  "Why, now and again the stages are held up, yes," admitted Jeffriesbrusquely; "that is to be expected where the specie shipments arelarge. The Thief River mines are rotten with gold just now. But youdon't have to drive a stage. We supply you with good men for that, andgood guards--men willing to take any kind of a chance if the pay isright. And the pay is right, and yours as general manager will beright."

  "I have never as yet generally managed any stage line," remarked deSpain, poking ridicule at the title, "no matter how modest anoutfit."

  "You will never learn younger. There is a fascination," declaredJeffries, ignoring the fling, and tilting his chair eloquently back togive ease and conviction to his words, "about running a good stageline that no railroad business can ever touch. There is, of course,nothing in the Rocky Mountains, for that matter in the UnitedStates--nothing, I guess, in the world--that approaches the ThiefRiver line in its opportunities. Every wagon we own, from the lightestto the heaviest, is built to order on our particular specifications bythe Studebaker people." Here Jeffries pointed his finger sharply at deSpain as if to convict him of some dereliction. "You've seen them! Youknow what they are."

  De Spain, bullied, haltingly nodded acquiescence.

  "Second-growth hickory in the gears," continued Jeffries encouragingly,"ash tongues and boxes----"

  "Some of those old buses look like ash-boxes," interposed de Spainirreverently.

  But Jeffries was not to be stopped: "Timkin springs, ball-bearingaxles--why, man, there is no vehicle in the world built like a ThiefRiver stage."

  "You are some wagon-maker, Jeff," said de Spain, regarding himironically.

  Jeffries ignored every sarcasm. "This road, as you know, owns theline. And the net from the specie shipments equals the net on anordinary railroad division. But we must have a man to run that linethat can curb the disorders along the route. Calabasas Valley, deSpain, is a bad place."

  "Is it?" de Spain asked as naively as if he had never heard ofCalabasas, though Jeffries was nervily stating a fact bald andnotorious to both.

  "There are a lot of bad men there," Jeffries went on, "who are badsimply because they've never had a man to show them."

  "The last 'general' manager was killed there, wasn't he?"

  "Not in the valley, no. He was shot at Calabasas Inn."

  "Would that make very much difference in the way he felt about it?"

  Jeffries, with an effort, laughed. "That's all right, Henry! Theywon't get you." Again he extended his finger dogmatically: "If Ithought they would, I wouldn't send you down there."

  "Thank you."

  "You are young, ambitious: four thousand a year isn't hanging fromevery telegraph-pole; it is almost twice what they are paying me."

  "You're not getting shot at."

  "No man, Henry, knows the hour of his death. No man in the highcountry knows when he is to be made a target--that you wellunderstand. Men are shot down in this country that have no more ideaof getting killed than I have--or you have."

  "Don't include me. I have a pretty good idea of getting killed rightaway--the minute I take this job."

  "We have temporized with this Calabasas outfit long enough," declaredJeffries, dropping his mask at last. "Deaf Sandusky, Logan, and thatsquint-eyed thief, Dave Sassoon--all hold-up men, every one of them!Henry, I'm putting you in on that job because you've got nerve,because you can shoot, because I don't think they can get you--andpaying you a whaling big salary to straighten things out along theSpanish Sinks. Do you know, Henry--" Jeffries leaned forward andlowered his tone. Master of the art of persuading and convincing, ofhammering and pounding, of swaying the doubting and deciding theundecided, the strong-eyed mountain-man looked his best as he held theyounger man under his spell. "Do you know," he repeated, "I suspectthat Morgan Gap bunch are really behind and beneath a lot of thisdeviltry around Calabasas? You take Gale Morgan: why, he trains withDave Sassoon; take his uncle, Duke: Sassoon never is in trouble butwhat Duke will help him out." Jeffries exploded with a slight butforcible expletive. "Was there ever a thief or a robber driven intoMorgan's Gap that didn't find sympathy and shelter with some of theMorgans? I believe they are in every game pulled on the Thief Riverstages."

  "As bad as that?"

  Jeffries turned to his desk. "Ask John Lefever."

  De Spain had a long talk with John. But John was a poor adviser. Headvised no one on any subject. He whistled, he hummed a tune, if hishat was on he took it off, and if it happened to be off, which wasunusual, he put it on. He extended his arm, at times, suddenly, as ifon the brink of a positive assertion. But he decided nothing, andasserted nothing. If he talked, he talked well and energetically; butthe end of a talk usually found him and de Spain about where theybegan. So it was on this trying day--for Lefever was not able whollyto hide the upsetting of his confidence of victory, and hishumiliation at the now more distant yells from the Calabasas andMorgan Gap victors.

  But concerning the Morgans and their friends, Lefever, to whomJeffries had rudely referred the subject at the close of his talk withde Spain, did abandon his habitual reticence. "Rustlers, thieves,robbers, coiners, outlaws!" he exclaimed energetically.

  "Is this because they got your money to-day, John?" asked de Spain.

  "N
ever mind my money. I've got a new job with nothing to do, andplenty of cash."

  De Spain asked what the job was. "On the stages," announced Lefever."I am now general superintendent of the Thief River Line."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means that I act for the reorganization committee in buyingalfalfa for the horses and smokeless pipes for the guards. I am to beyour assistant."

  "I'm not going to take that job, John."

  "Yes, you are."

  "Not if I know it. I am going back to Medicine Bend to-night." Lefevertook off his hat and twirled it skilfully on one hand, humming softlythe while. "John," asked de Spain after a pause, "who is that girlthat shot against me this afternoon?"

  "That," answered Lefever, thinking, shocked, of Jeffries's words, "wasNan Morgan."

  "Who is she?"

  "Just one of the Morgans; lives in the Gap with old Duke Morgan, heruncle; lived there as long as I can remember. Some shot, Henry."

  "How can she live in the Gap," mused de Spain, "with an outfit likethat?"

  "Got nowhere else to live, I guess. I believe you'd better change yourmind, Henry, and stay with us."

  "No," returned de Spain meditatively, "I'm not going to stay. I've hadglory enough out of this town for a while." He picked up his hat andput it on. Lefever thought it well to make no response. He was chargedwith the maintenance and operation of the stage-line arsenal at SleepyCat, and spent many of his idle moments toying with the firearms. Hebusied himself now with the mechanism of a huge revolver--one that thestage-driver, Frank Elpaso, had wrecked on the head of a troublesomenegro coming in from the mines. De Spain in turn took off his hat,poked the crown discontentedly, and, rising with a loss of amiabilityin his features and manner, walked out of the room.

  The late sun was streaming down the full length of Main Street. Thestreet was still filled with loiterers who had spent the day at thefair, and lingered now in town in the vague hope of seeing a brawl ora fight before sundown--cattlemen and cowboys from the northernranges, sheepmen from the Spider River country, small ranchers andirrigators from the Bear basin, who picked their steps carefully, andspoke with prudence in the presence of roisterers from the SpanishSinks, and gunmen and gamblers from Calabasas and Morgan's Gap. TheMorgans themselves and their following were out to the lastretainer.