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  Alonzo was the first of the riders to come again into view. He had lassoed a mule and was running with it out into the open. Sue had forgotten the vaquero. He bestrode a racy black horse, without saddle or bridle. There appeared to be a broad strap around his horse. He had hold of the lasso and was handling the mule roughly. Presently he hauled it to a stop and cautiously closed in on it. Suddenly the mule wheeled swiftly, to kick with a violence and viciousness that made Sue gasp. Then she heard the half-breed yell, evidently for help. Manerube hove in sight next, waving his arms.

  “What … we … want … one mule? Let go! Help us drive!” came in a faint roar to Sue’s ears.

  “Aha!” chuckled Sue. “Ora, your great horse wrangler is not happy.”

  All the riders came into sight and clustered around Manerube. The Mexican somehow dexterously released the mule he had captured, yet restrained the lasso. Manerube waved his arms to emphasize the harangue he was giving the riders. There were other waving arms that attested to a loss of temper, if nothing more. Then Manerube led three riders down to the base of the slope up which the mules had gone. Melberne took the remaining men up the central slope. When both groups had climbed about halfway up their respective ridges, the wise old mule led his band along the wall, and, taking to a slope between those being ascended by his pursuers, he ran down to the level again. The riders halted, manifestly bewildered.

  Sue let out a peal of laughter that was most offensive to the sentimental Ora.

  “They’ll never catch those mules … not while that old fellow leads,” declared Sue. “Oh, what fun! I wouldn’t miss this for worlds.”

  Ora rode down the slope and out into the park. Sue had a desire to follow, but she did not want to lose any of the ridiculous chase. So she stood her ground and watched.

  Plain it was that Manerube’s plan had been to get behind the band of mules and drive them down the cañon into the trap. Easy to plan but vain to achieve, was Sue’s contention. Three times as many riders would have been necessary to accomplish this. But the chasers kept on chasing, and grew more violent as the game progressed. Always the gray mule led down an unguarded ridge to run up another. Fast and furious grew the riding of Manerube. He did not spare his horse. It seemed to Sue that here Utah and Alonzo did not live up to their reputations as great riders. Sue did not blame them. Here were a lot of fools chasing a wise old mule.

  Once several of the riders got quite close to the mules along the base of the wall. It happened that when the mules charged down a ridge Captain Bunk on his white horse appeared ascending that ridge. For some reason, perhaps the steepness of the slope, he did not see them until they were right upon him. Above the trample of hoofs Sue heard his yell. His horse wheeled in fright and plunged down. Despite her concern for his safety Sue suffered a spasm of glee. The tenderfoot seafaring man made a grotesque figure trying to hang onto his horse. Twice he was unseated, but lurched back into the saddle. The mules caught up with him, and no doubt the roar of their hoofs, their snorts and whistles, increased his terror to the extent that he swerved his horse away from them, over the steep bank, and went sliding down into the brush, out of sight.

  The running up and down these ridges apparently left the mules as fresh as ever, but such hard work began to tell on the horses. Manerube’s last effort was to collect all the riders in one group and run the mules without trying to head them. This worked well so far as it went. The horses, even though tired, soon overtook the mules on the level run beneath the wall, and also on the open ground at the foot of the ridges. But the mules could not be headed or turned; they ran right back up one of the slopes.

  At last Sue saw the riders give up. Whereupon she rode down from her station and up the cañon toward the scene of this ludicrous and vain chase. When she turned the curve of the cañon, she espied the men in the narrow level where the brook ran. They had halted, manifestly in hot argument. Ora had already joined them. Sue loped her horse the remaining distance, keen to hear and see what was going on. The horses were heaving, and wet with sweat.

  Alonzo grinned at her as she rode up, showing his white teeth. Utah sat his horse solemnly as a judge. Manerube was raving in a rage. His tawny hair stood up; his face was hot and sweaty; his eyes glared. At the moment they happened to be fixed upon Captain Bunk. The sailor was a spectacle to excite both mirth and sympathy. His clothes had been torn to shreds; his face was scratched and bloody.

  “Why didn’t you turn them back?” shouted Manerube angrily. “That was our one chance.”

  “Mate, I took this berth to hunt wild horses, not to be run down by a wild ass,” declared Bunk with most peculiar significance.

  But Manerube was obviously too thick or too chagrined to catch the covert slur flung at him. Sue did not miss it. And as she met her father’s twinkling eyes, she was delighted to see that neither Bunk’s wit nor the general humor of the whole chase had been lost upon him. He winked at Sue. Loughbridge, however, was inclined to be sour-faced. Then as Manerube directed his tirade upon Tway Miller that worthy burst into an astonishing sputter, the meaning of which did not require correctly enunciated speech.

  “That damned gray mule made fools of us,” Manerube fumed as he dismounted.

  “Wal, he shore did,” agreed Melberne.

  “I’ll fix him,” declared the rider, and, snatching a rifle from Utah’s saddle sheath, he faced the slope. Perhaps five hundred yards up, right out in the open, stood the gray leader in front of his band.

  “Kill him, Manerube!” shouted Loughbridge.

  “I should smile I will,” announced Manerube as he looked at the mechanism of the rifle, then threw a shell into the chamber.

  Sue had stiffened on her horse. Surely Manerube would not murder this wise old guardian of the band. But as the rider leveled the rifle Sue saw the dark grim passion on his face and in that moment she likewise saw the nature of the man.

  “Dad!” she cried poignantly. “Don’t let him shoot! Oh, don’t!”

  With a sweep of his long arm her father struck up the leveled rifle just as it was discharged.

  “What the hell!” Manerube ejaculated harshly, whirling to face Melberne.

  In that instant Melberne’s humor left him. Sue sustained another kind of thrill, one that struck a chill on her heart.

  “Manerube, let the old mule go,” said Melberne tersely. “He shore outwitted us, an’ I won’t see him shot.”

  But Manerube’s fury had not yet cooled. Jerking away, he again looked up to locate the mules. They had disappeared.

  “Say, man, who’s runnin’ this heah outfit?” demanded Melberne with voice still calm, yet edged as by ice. He took the rifle away from Manerube. “I’m allowin’ for temper, because that old gray devil was shore exasperatin’. But cool off now, if you want to get along with me … Jim, I reckon we might as well rustle for camp.”

  “But, Mel, if we killed thet gray leader, we’d trap the rest,” complained Loughbridge.

  “Mebbe we would, as Utah said. I’ve dealt with mules all my life an’ I’m tellin’ you we cain’t catch this bunch. We haven’t enough riders. I shore knew that first off.”

  * * * * *

  They rode back to camp with the westering sun behind them. Sue felt particularly pleased with the day. What a splendid man her father was! In times of stress he seemed so different, such an anchor, more a Texan then. She shivered a little as she recalled things she had been told about him long ago. She felt gratified at Manerube’s discomfiture, and not a little pleased at Ora’s peevishness. Both Utah and Alonzo had let Sue know, without a word, that Manerube’s methods had not inspired them.

  The horses, campward bound, were full of spirit and eagerness. They made short work of the miles. Sue rode the whole distance at a swinging lope. When they reached camp, the sun had just set. The campfire was smoking. Sue rode to her tent, and quickly turned her pony loose. Kicking off spurs and chaps, she wipe
d the dust from her face and brushed back her disheveled hair. Then she hurried out with a ravenous appetite.

  Manerube passed her without even seeing her. His face seemed strangely pale. How different he looked from the rider ranting in temper about the failure to capture the mules! It struck Sue so forcibly that she turned instinctively to gaze after him. Manerube appeared to be striding aimlessly away from the campfire.

  Then Sue espied a wonderful shiny horse, almost black, standing with head down. Her father had just helped a rider to get out of the saddle. Sue halted with a start.

  Melberne half supported a tall lithe man whose back was toward Sue. His garb showed rough travel. He could not walk without support. Loughbridge was talking somewhat excitedly as he walked beside Melberne. Utah strode on the other side. The others present appeared much concerned.

  Sue ran forward, and reached her father just as he carefully let the stranger down under a cottonwood.

  “Never … mind … me,” said the man in a husky whisper. “Look after … Brutus … my horse.”

  “Wal, stranger, we’ll shore have a care for you both,” replied her father in his hearty way.

  Utah folded a blanket to slip under the man’s head, raising it. Sue saw piercing dark eyes, and a black ragged beard of many days’ growth. Something seemed to stop her heart. But it was not the pain in those eyes or the pallid lined brow. Sue recognized a man she had never before seen.

  Chapter Eight

  Melberne drew up the blanket that Utah had spread over the stranger. “Reckon you’re Chane Weymer,” he affirmed, rather than asked.

  Sue did not need to see the man nod affirmation of his identity. Yet the weary action seemed to set a ringing in her ears. Venturing closer, she dropped upon one knee beside her father.

  “Are you hurt anywheres?” Melberne went on solicitously, with his big hands passing gently over Weymer.

  “No … just starved … worn out,” came the whispered reply.

  “A-huh. So I reckoned,” said Melberne, and looked up to tell one of the riders to fetch Mrs. Melberne.

  “Wal, I shore knew you was Chess Weymer’s brother the minute I laid eyes on you. Didn’t you reckon that way, Sue?”

  Chane Weymer gave a slight start and would have sat up but for Melberne’s restraining hand. The weariness seemed momentarily galvanized out of him. “Chess! Do you … know him?” he asked huskily.

  “Shore do. He’s in my employ, an’ a fine lad. Isn’t he, Sue?”

  It was then the piercing eyes flashed upon Sue and seemed to be penetrating to her very heart. “Yes … Dad,” she replied.

  “Where … is he?” queried Weymer, his searching gaze going back to Melberne.

  “Wal, he was heah. But I sent him to the railroad with the wagon. He’ll be back aboot tomorrow.”

  The weary face of Weymer underwent a singular transfiguration. Those falcon eyes, dark as an Indian’s, shone with a beautiful light. They met Sue’s, and a smile seemed to open them, showing the man’s soul. Then they closed, and he whispered something inaudibly that Sue interpreted as, “Little Boy Blue.”

  At that moment Mrs. Melberne came bustling into the group, her comely face wearing an expression of concern.

  “Is … he hurt?” she inquired breathlessly.

  “No, Mary. He’s starved. Now I reckon he ought not eat much or anythin’ heavy. A little warm milk with bread, or some soup.”

  “Seems like he has some fever,” replied Mrs. Melberne, with her hand on Weymer’s face. “An’ see how he’s twitching … Make a bed for him … right here … an’ put him in it. I’ll look after him.”

  “Shore that’s good,” Melberne responded heartily, as if both glad and relieved. “I’ll fetch blankets. An’ say, Utah, will you take charge of Weymer’s horse? Feed him a little grain … very little … an’ mix it in some warm water.”

  They left Sue kneeling there, uncertain what to do, strangely influenced by something that was not all sympathy. Chess Weymer’s brother had come. It seemed a simple, natural, anticipated event, yet its culmination held a significance that was not made clear by his presence. Suddenly Sue felt a thrill of gladness for Chess. Then, on the instant, Chane Weymer’s eyes opened to meet hers.

  “Can I do anything for you?” she asked a little hurriedly.

  “Who are … you?” he returned curiously, his voice again a husky whisper.

  “Sue Melberne. He’s my father,” replied Sue with a motion of her hand toward the campfire.

  “Do you … know Chess?”

  “Indeed I do. We’re great friends,” she said, feeling a warmth steal to her cheeks.

  “Well.” The single whispered word was expressive enough to cause Sue to drop her eyes and be relieved that her father returned with his arms full of blankets.

  “Shore we’ll have a bed in a jiffy,” he said. “Sue, help me fold them. Reckon there ought to be three doubled to go under him. He’s been sleepin’ on the hard ground, if he’s slept at all.”

  Sue helped her father make the bed.

  “Now, Weymer, let me lift you over,” he said.

  “I’m not … quite helpless,” was the reply. And Weymer edged himself over into the bed, where Melberne covered him.

  “Shore you’re not. But you’re tuckered out … Sue, stay with him until your mother comes. I’ve got work to do before dark.”

  Again Sue found herself alone with this brother of Chess Weymer’s. The fact was disturbing. She did not feel natural. She had an unaccountable shyness, almost embarrassment.

  “You’re kind people,” whispered Weymer. “My bad luck … seems broken … a fellow can never … tell.”

  “Tell what?” asked Sue.

  “When there’s … no hope left. Maybe there’s always hope.”

  “You mean hope of life … during such terrible experience as you must have had?”

  “Yes … of life … and happiness,” he whispered dreamily. “Always, both have seemed just beyond the horizon … for me … I’ll never be hopeless again.”

  “Your strength left you,” Sue said earnestly. “But of course there’s always hope for any man … if he … But here comes Mother with something for you to eat.”

  It fell fatefully to Sue’s lot to help Mrs. Melberne feed this newcomer, who was so weak he could not sit up without support. The practical motherly woman bade Sue hold him while she lifted spoon and cup to his lips. Thus Sue found herself kneeling beside Chess Weymer’s brother, with her arms around his shoulders. Pity and kindliness actuated her, the same as these feelings prompted Mrs. Melberne in her gentle motherly way, but there was something else. Chane Weymer’s shoulder touched Sue’s heaving breast as she knelt beside him. Of all the moments of Sue’s life, these endless few were the most astounding and inexplicable.

  Weymer might have been nearly starved, but the fact was he could not swallow much, though he tried hard. Soon he lay back on the folded pillow, with whispered thanks, and closed his eyes.

  “It’s sleep he needs now more than food,” declared Mrs. Melberne as she rose from her knees. “Sue, stay beside him a little till he falls off. If he doesn’t sleep, then I’ll sit up with him. He might need medicine. But if he sleeps, he’ll be better tomorrow an’ can eat.”

  Then for the third time Sue found herself alone with the man who called his brother Little Boy Blue. In a few moments indeed he was fast asleep. Then Sue’s stultified emotions seemed to be released.

  Dusk stole softly down through the rustling cottonwoods. She heard the clink of riders’ spurs and the thud of hoofs. A mournful coyote barked out in the valley. The sweet fragrance of burning wood blew over her. And the moon, topping the mountain, cast a pale glow down upon the encampment. It lightened the face of the sleeping man. Sue did not want to gaze at him, yet she was powerless to resist it. The dark disheveled head, the ragged black beard, gave some
thing of wildness to this stranger’s presence. He was breathing deeply, as one in heavy slumber.

  Sue peered around about her. Darkness had set in; the campfire blazed, casting a circle of light, through which the riders passed to and fro on their errands. Her position was in the shadow of the cottonwoods. Someone was singing a song. She heard her father’s deep voice. Sue edged noiselessly closer to her charge, so that she could see him better. She suffered a sense of something akin to shame, yet she bent to look at him closely.

  In the moon-balanced shadow his face lay upturned, and it seemed to have a sad cast, level noble brow burdened with pain, dark hollows where the eyelids shut, blank spaces, yet how compelling, and stern lines that faded in the ragged beard. Sue drew back, strangely relieved, though why she could not tell. But that face held something that did not mock her interest in the wild rider.

  A sound of wagon wheels rolling down the hard slope back of camp disturbed Sue’s reverie. It did not occur to her, in her thoughtful state, what that sound signified, until she heard someone yell out that Jake and Chess were back.

  “Oh, I’m glad,” murmured Sue with a quick glance at the still face of the sleeper. Chess’ return afforded her some unexplained relief, while at the same time it stirred in her as vague a reluctance to have him find her watching over his brother. Sue could not see that there was any more needful to do, and therefore she rose hastily and went to her tent, intending to go to bed. Once in the dark confines of her tent, however, she sat motionlessly, lost in thought.

  Sometime later, how soon she had no idea, she heard quick footsteps rustling the dry leaves outside, and then an eager voice calling her name.

  “Hello, Chess! You back? I’m sure glad,” she replied.

  “Oh, Sue. Chane has come,” he went on, his low voice betraying deep feeling.

  “Yes, I know,” replied Sue.

  “Are you in bed?” he queried.

  “No. But I was just going.”

  “Please come out. I want to tell you something,” he begged.