CHAPTER XX
JOAN
"Them were the days when this was a man's country, which a man couldclimb on his hoss with a gun and a rope and touch heaven and hell in oneday's ridin'. Them good old days ain't no more. I've heard the old mantell about 'em. Now they've got everybody stamped and branded with lawan' order, herded together like cattle, ticketed, done for. That's theway the range is now. The marshals have us by the throat. In the olddays a sheriff that outlived his term was probably crooked and runnin'hand in hand with the long-riders."
"Long-riders?" queried Bard.
"Fellers that got tired of workin' and took to ridin' for their livin'.Mostly they worked in little gangs of five and six. They was calledlong-riders, I guess, partly because they was in the saddle all thetime, and partly because they done their jobs so far apart. They'd rideinto Eldara and blow up the safe in the bank one day, for instance, andfive days later they'd be two hundred and fifty miles away stoppin' atrain at Lewis Station.
"They never hung around no one part of the country and that made it hardas hell to run 'em down--that and because they had the best hosses thatmoney could buy. They had friends, too, strung out all over--squattersand the like of that. They'd drop in on these little fellers and pass'em a couple of twenties and make themselves solid for life. Afterwardthey used 'em for stoppin' places.
"They'd pull off a couple of hold-ups, then they'd ride off to one ofthese squatter places and lay up for ten days, maybe, drinkin' andfeedin' up themselves and their hosses. That was the only way they wasever caught. They was killed off by each other, fighting about thesplit-up, or something like that.
"But now and then a gang held together long enough to raise so much hellthat they got known from one end of the range to the other. Mostly theyheld together because they had a leader who knew how to handle 'em andwho kept 'em under his thumb. That was the way with old Piotto.
"He had five men under him. They was all hell-benders who had ridden therange alone and had their share of fights and killings, which therewasn't one of 'em that wouldn't have been good enough to go leader inany other crew, but they had to knuckle under to old Piotto. He was agreat gunman and he was pretty good in scheming up ways of dodging thelaw and picking the best booty. He had these five men, and then he hadhis daughter, Joan. She was better'n two ordinary men herself.
"Three years that gang held together and got rich--fair rich. They madeit so fast they couldn't even gamble the stuff away. About a thousandtimes, I guess posses went out after Piotto, but they never came backwith a trace of 'em; they never got within shootin' distance. FinallyPiotto got so confident that he started raidin' ranches and carryin' offmembers of well-off ranchers to hold for ransom. That was the easiestway of makin' money; it was also pretty damned dangerous.
"One time they held up a stage and picked off of it two kids who wascomin' out from the East to try their hands in the cattle business. Theywas young, they looked like gentlemen, they was dressed nifty, and theypacked big rolls. So wise old Piotto took 'em off into the hills andheld 'em till their folks back East could wire out the money to save'em. That was easy money for Piotto, but that was the beginnin' of theend for him; because while they was waitin', them two kids seen Joan andseen her good.
"I been telling you she was better'n two common men. She was. Whichmeans she was equal to about ten ordinary girls. There's still a legendabout how beautiful Joan Piotto was--tall and straight and big blackeyes and terrible handy with her gun. She could ride anything thatwalked and she didn't know what fear meant.
"These two kids seen her. One of 'em was William Drew; one of 'em wasJohn Bard."
He turned to Anthony and saw that the latter was stern of face. He hadsurely scored his point.
"Same name as yours, eh?" he asked, to explain his turning.
"It's a common enough name," murmured Bard.
"Well, them two had come out to be partners, and there they was, fallin'in love with the same girl. So when they got free they put their headstogether--bein' uncommon wise kids--and figured it out this way. Neitherof 'em had a chance workin' alone to get Joan way from her father'sgang, but workin' together they might have a ghost of a show. So theydecided to stay on the trail of Piotto till they got Joan. Then they'dgive her a choice between the two of 'em and the one that lost wouldsimply back off the boards.
"They done what they agreed. For six months they stuck on the trail ofold Piotto and never got in hailin' distance of him. Then they come onthe gang while they were restin' up in the house of a squatter.
"That was a pretty night. Drew and Bard went through that gang. Itsounds like a nice fairy-story, all right, but I know old fellers who'llswear it's true. They killed three of the men with their guns; theyknifed another one, an' they killed Riley with their bare hands. Itwasn't no pretty sight to see--the inside of that house. And last of allthey got Piotto, fightin' like an old wildcat, into a corner with hisdaughter; and William Drew, he took Piotto into his arms and busted hisback. That don't sound possible, but when you see Drew you'll know howit was done.
"The girl, she'd been knocked cold before this happened. So while Bardand Drew sat together bindin' up each other's wounds--because they wasshot pretty near to pieces--they talked it over and they seen prettyclear that the girl would never marry the man that had killed herfather. Of course, old Bill Drew, he'd done the killing, but that wasn'tany reason why he had to take the blame.
"They made up their minds that right there and then with the dead menlyin' all around 'em, they'd match coins to see which one would take theblame of havin' killed Piotto--meanin' that the other one would get thegirl--if he could.
"And Bard lost. So he had to take the credit of havin' killed oldPiotto. I'd of give something to have seen the two of 'em sittin'there--oozin' blood--after that marchin' was decided. Because they tellme that Bard was as big as Drew and looked pretty much the same.
"Then Bard, he asked Drew to let him have one chance at the girl,lettin' her know first what he'd done, but jest trustin' to his power oftalk. Which, of course, didn't give him no show. While he was makin'love to the girl she outs with a knife and tries to stick him--nice,pleasant sort she must have been--and Drew, he had to pry the two of 'emapart.
"That made the girl look sort of kind on Drew and she swore that sooneror later she'd have the blood of Bard for what he'd done--either have itherself or else send someone after him to the end of the world. She wasa wild one, all right.
"She was so wild that Drew, after they got married, took her over on thefar side of the range and built that old house that's rottin' therenow. Bard, he left the range and wasn't never seen again, far as Iknow."
It was clear to Anthony, bitterly clear. His father had had a grim scenein parting with Drew and had placed the continent between them. And inthe Eastern states he had met that black-eyed girl, his mother, andloved her because she was so much like the wild daughter of Piotto. Thegirl Joan in dying had probably extracted from Drew a promise that hewould kill Bard, and that promise he had lived to fulfil.
"So Joan died?" he queried.
"Yep, and was buried under them two trees in front of the house. I don'tthink she lived long after they was married, but about that nobodyknows. They was clear off by themselves and there isn't any one can tellabout their life after they was married. All we know is that Drew didn'tget over her dyin'. He ain't over it yet, and goes out to the old placeevery month or so to potter around the grave and keep the grass and theweeds off of it and clean the head-stone."
The candle guttered wildly on the floor. It had burnt almost to the woodand now the remnant of the wick stood in a little sprawling pool ofgrease white at the outer edges.
Bard yawned, and patted idly the blanket where it touched on the shapeof the revolver beneath. In another moment that candle would gutter outand they would be left in darkness.
He said: "That's the best yarn I've heard in a good many days; it'senough to make any one sleepy--so here goes."
And he turned deliber
ately on his side.
Nash, his eyes staring with incredulity, sat up slowly among hisblankets and his hand stole up toward the noose of the lariat. A lightsnore reached him, hardly a snore so much as the heavy intake of breathof a very weary, sleeping man; yet the hand of Nash froze on the lariat.
"By God," he whispered faintly to himself, "he ain't asleep!"
And the candle flared wildly, leaped, and shook out.