CHAPTER XVIII
FOOLISH HABITS
A sharp noise of running feet leaped from the dust of the street andclattered through the doorway; the two turned. A swarthy man, broad ofshoulder, was the first, and afterward appeared Nash.
"Conklin?" called Deputy Glendin, and swept the room with his startledglance. "Where's Conklin?"
He was not there; only a red stain remained on the floor to show wherehe had lain.
"Where's Conklin?" called Nash.
"I'm afraid," whispered Bard quickly to the girl, "that it was more thana game of suppose."
He said easily to the other two: "He had enough. His share of troublecame to-night; I let him go."
"Young feller," growled Glendin, "you ain't been in town a long while,but I've heard a pile too much about you already. What you mean bytakin' the law into your own hands?"
"Wait," said Nash, his keen eyes on the two, "I guess I understand."
"Let's have it, then."
Still the steady eyes of Nash passed from Sally Fortune to Bard and backagain.
"This feller bein' a tenderfoot, he don't understand our ways; maybe hethinks the range is a bit freer than it is."
"That's the trouble," answered Glendin, "he thinks too damned much."
"And does quite a pile besides thinkin'," murmured Nash, but too low forthe others to hear it.
He hesitated, and then, as if making up his mind by a great effort:"There ain't no use blamin' him; better let it drop, Glendin."
"Nothin' else to do, Steve; but it's funny Sally let him do it."
"It is," said Nash with emphasis, "but then women is pretty funny inlots of ways. Ready to start, Bard?"
"All ready."
"S'long, Sally."
"Good-night, Miss Fortune."
"Evenin', boys. We'll be lookin' for you back in Eldara to-morrow night,Bard."
And her eyes fixed with meaning on Nash.
"Certainly," answered the other, "my business ought not to take longerthan that."
"I'll take him by the shortest cut," said Nash, and the two went out totheir horses.
They had difficulty in riding the trail side by side, for though theroan was somewhat rested by the delay at Eldara it was impossible tokeep him up with Bard's prancing piebald, which sidestepped at everyshadow. Yet the tenderfoot never allowed his mount to pass entirelyahead of the roan, but kept checking him back hard, turning toward Nashwith an apology each time he surged ahead. It might have been merelythat he did not wish to precede the cowpuncher on a trail which he didnot know. It might have been something quite other than this which madehim consistently keep to the rear; Nash felt certain that the secondpossibility was the truth.
In that case his work would be doubly hard. From all that he had seenthe man was dangerous--the image of the tame puma returned to him againand again. He could not see him plainly through the dark of the night,but he caught the sway of the body and recognized a perfecthorsemanship, not a Western style of riding, but a good one no matterwhere it was learned. He rode as if he were sewed to the back of thehorse, and, as old William Drew had suggested, he probably did otherthings up to the same standard. It would have been hard to fulfil hispromise to Drew under any circumstances with such a man as this; butwith Bard apparently forewarned and suspicious the thing became almostimpossible.
Almost, but not entirely so. He set himself calmly to the problem; onthe horn of his saddle the lariat hung loose; if the Easterner shouldturn his back for a single instant during all the time they weretogether old Drew should not be disappointed, and one thousand cashwould be deposited for the mutual interest of Sally Fortune and himself.That is to say, if Sally would consent to become interested. To thesilent persuasion of money, however, Nash trusted many things.
The roan jogged sullenly ahead, giving all the strength of his gallant,ugly body to the work; the piebald mustang pranced like a dancing masterbeside and behind with a continual jingling of the tossed bridle.
The masters were to a degree like the horses they rode, for Nash keptsteadily leaning to the front, his bulldog jaw thrusting out; and Bardwas forever shifting in the saddle, settling his hat, humming a tune,whistling, talking to the piebald, or asking idle questions of thethings they passed, like a boy starting out for a vacation. So theyreached the old house of which Nash had spoken--a mere, shapeless, blackheap huddling through the night.
In the shed to the rear they tied the horses and unsaddled. In thesingle room of the shanty, afterward, Nash lighted a candle, which heproduced from his pack, placed it in the centre of the floor, and theyunrolled their blankets on the two bunks which were built against thewall on either side of the narrow apartment.
Truly it was a crazy shack--such a building as two men, having thematerials at hand, might put together in a single day. It was hardlybased on a foundation, but rather set on the slope side of the hill, andaccordingly had settled down on the lower side toward the door. Not anold place, but the wind had pried and the rain warped generous cracksbetween the boards through which the rising storm whistled and sang andthrough which the chill mist of the coming rain cut at them.
Now and then a feeling came to Anthony that the gale might lift thetottering old shack and roll it on down the hillside to the floor of thevalley, for it rocked and swayed under the breath of the storm. In a wayit was as if the night was giving a loud voice to the silent struggle ofthe two men, who continued pleasant, careless with each other.
But when Nash stepped across the room behind Bard, the latter turned andwas busy with the folding of his blankets at the foot of his bunk, hisface toward the cowpuncher and when Bard, slipping off his belt, fumbledat his holster, Nash was instantly busy with the cleaning of his owngun.
The cattleman, having removed his boots, his hat, and his belt, wasready for bed, and slipped his legs under the blankets. He stooped andpicked up his lariat, which lay coiled on the floor beside him.
"People gets into foolish habits on the range," he said, thumbing thestrong rope curiously, and so doing, spreading out the noose.
"Yes?" smiled Bard, and he also sat up in his bunk.
"It's like a kid. Give him a new toy and he wants to take it to bed withhim. Ever notice?"
"Surely."
"That's the way with me. When I go to bed nothin' matters with me exceptthat I have my lariat around. I generally like to have it hangin' on anail at the head of my bunk. The fellers always laugh at me, but I can'thelp it; makes me feel more at home."
And with that, still smiling at his own folly in a rather shamefacedway, he turned in the blankets and dropped the big coil of the lariatover a nail which projected from the boards just over the head of hisbunk. The noose was outermost and could be disengaged from the nail by asingle twist of the cowpuncher's hand as he lay passive in the bunk.
On this noose Bard cast a curious eye. To cityfolk a piece of rope is aharmless thing with which one may make a trunk secure or on occasionconstruct a clothes line on the roof of the apartment building, or inthe kitchen on rainy Mondays.
To a sailor the rope is nothing and everything at once. Give a seamaneven a piece of string and he will amuse himself all evening makinglashings and knots. A piece of rope calls up in his mind the stout lineswhich hold the masts steady and the yards true in the gale, thecomfortable cable which moors the ship at the end of the dreary voyage,and a thousand things between.
To the Westerner a rope is a different thing. It is not so much a usefulmaterial as a weapon. An Italian, fighting man to man, would choose aknife; a Westerner would take in preference that same harmless piece ofrope. In his hands it takes on life, it gains a strange and sinisterquality. One instant it lies passive, or slowly whirled in a carelesscircle--the next its noose darts out like the head of a striking cobra,the coil falls and fastens, and then it draws tighter and tighter,remorselessly as a boa constrictor, paralyzing life.
Something of all this went through the mind of Bard as he lay watchingthe limp noose of the cowboy's lariat, and then he no
dded smiling.
"I suppose that seems an odd habit to some men, but I sympathize withit. I have it myself, in fact. And whenever I'm out in the wilds andcarry a gun I like to have it under my head when I sleep. That's evenqueerer than your fancy, isn't it?"
And he slipped his revolver under the blankets at the head of his bunk.