Raiders of Spanish Peaks Page 18

  “No go—Nelson,” he rasped, as if half strangled. His face had turned a dirty white. “I savvy…. You put up a job ——”

  “Drop yore hand! … Now get up…. Stiff, damn yu! … Turn about. Now get yore pack an’ fork yore hawse. Yu’re shore through with the Peak Dot.”

  “Don’t be too—sure, Nelson,” hoarsely replied Gaines as he brushed the dust and dirt off his clothes.

  “Wal, I am shore. An’ I advise yu to shet up, unless yu have somethin’ to say to yore pards.”

  “Nig, you an’ Juan fetch your hawses an’ mine over to the cabin. We’re packin’ to leave this —— —— —— flathead tenderfoot outfit,” ordered Gaines. “Do we get robbed out of our wages?”

  “Wal, yu were paid Saturday,” drawled Laramie. “An’ considerin’ everythin’ I reckon yu’ll still be ahaid.”

  Gaines gave Laramie a piercing glance, as if recognizing in him now a character he had mistaken or had repudiated.

  “You bet your sweet life I will,” he hissed, with a passionate gesture.

  “Ride off the range, then, before yu dangle at the end of a rope,” said Laramie, in his soft cool voice, as if he were advising a thoughtless young man.

  Here the rider’s face blanched to the very lips. The tone as much as the content of Laramie’s drawling speech rang the iron creed of the range. Although his brazen effrontery upheld him that shot went home. He stalked away with his two comrades, and the horses.

  Lonesome bawled after them. “Three of a kind! I’ll bet I see you-all stretch hemp!”

  “Like you damn near did, you measly two-bit rustler,” yelled Gaines, with a harsh haw-haw.

  Lonesome whipped out his gun, but before he could level it Laramie seized his arm.

  “Leggo!” bawled Lonesome. “You’re breakin’ my arm.” He relinquished the weapon to his friend, and cupping both hands around his mouth he yelled in stentorian voice.

  “Sure, Chess, I was a two-bit rustler once. But you’re the real sneakin’ breed—the two-faced breed! An’ —— —— ——, if you don’t get off this range you’ll swing.”

  “Thet’ll do, Lonesome,” said Laramie, dragging him around. “Yu’re shore drunk. Where’d yu get yore likker?”

  Here Neale Lindsay made himself manifest again.

  “We didn’t fight it out,” he cried, resentfully. “You hit me below the belt.”

  “Whoop! Lemme at him, Laramie!” shouted Lonesome.

  “See heah. If yu two don’t shake hands pronto I’ll fire the both of yu,” declared Laramie. “Think it over.”

  Whereupon Laramie turned to a tall light-haired young man, Wind River Charlie, who stood staring after the discharged riders.

  “Charlie, where yu standin’?”

  “On one foot, boss,” replied Charlie, with a grin. He had clear yellow eyes, the direct gaze of which did not waver, and under the fine fuzzy beard his tanned face appeared to struggle with a smile.

  “Wal, hadn’t yu better get down both feet—on this heah side of the fence?”

  “I reckon I’d better, if it ain’t too late, Nelson,” slowly replied Charlie.

  “It’s never too late—when a man’s honest. Declare yoreself right heah before what’s left of the outfit.”

  Wind River Charlie spent an undecided moment with his yellow eyes sweeping over the silent riders. Then they came back to Laramie.

  “Nelson, I ain’t double-crossin’ nobody when I say thet I never had any idee what the deal was here. I was ridin’ a grub-line an’ pretty low-down.”

  “Wal, yu found out pronto what Arlidge was, didn’t yu?”

  “I had a hunch, but never knowed for sure. He kept me doin’ odd jobs. I never made no long drives.”

  “Ahuh. Thet ain’t declarin’ yoreself as free as I’d like, Charlie.”

  “Sorry. Best I can do, ’cept I’d be sure glad to stay on if you’ll keep me.”

  “Wal, we’ll talk about it again. Where’s Archie Hill an’ Slim?”

  “Archie’s doin’ cook chores this week. An’ Slim has been keepin’ mighty scarce.”

  “Fork yore hawses, boys,” concluded Laramie. “Tracks, saddle Wingfoot for me. I’ll want a word with Archie. Then we’ll ride out an’ count what calves air left.”

  “Boss, look!” suddenly ejaculated Lonesome, pointing. “Chess an’ his pards slopin’…. There, he’s lookin’ back. Shakin’ his fist! I reckon you let him off too easy.”

  “I reckon so, Lonesome, but it shore was a close shave,” replied Laramie, watching the three dark, sinister riders vanish down under the trees. “He’s in company thet fits him—a nigger an’ a greaser.”

  Three hours later Laramie wended a thoughtful way alone up to the ranch-house. His interview with Archie Hill had been favorable, but failure of Lonesome and Tracks to return with Slim Red occasioned him uneasiness. It was not impossible that Gaines had paid his parting respects to Slim, and that that was what had detained the boys.

  One thing, however, cheered Laramie on his slow ride up the winding road. He espied Lindsay working in the garden below. The movements of the Easterner betrayed both energy and satisfaction. Laramie rejoiced. In something like three months Lindsay had become a new man. Laramie soliloquized that Colorado might be infested with rustlers, horse-thieves, skunks, coyotes, and other vermin, but it was good for something.

  When about to dismount before the wide gateway Laramie was halted by hearing his name called in low, trilling accents. Then he espied halfway down the stone wall a little hand waving from one of the small iron-barred windows. Laramie rode down even with this window, from which the hand had protruded, and peered in.

  Lenta’s pretty, tearful, woebegone face greeted him.

  “Laramie, I’m locked in,” cried Lenta, resentfully.

  “Wal, wal!” ejaculated the rider. “Dog-gone! This is too bad. How come?”

  “Dad! He’s shut me in like I was a kid! And I had a date with Slim…. Oh, I am wild.”

  “So I see. But to be honest, lass, I’m shore relieved.”

  “Laramie dear, sneak around into the court and let me out,” pleaded Lenta.

  “But, child, we put locks on all the doors. An’ shore yore dad kept the key.”

  “Oh yes…. Then get a pole or pick-handle and bend this iron-bar. I’ve busted two chairs on it. I can almost squeeze out now.”

  “Ump-umm. I wouldn’t dare do it, Lenta.”

  “Laramie, don’t you love me any more?” she asked, reproachfully.

  “Wal, I reckon I do. An’ thet’s why I’m shore glad yu’re locked in.”

  “Laramie, I’ll be awfully nice to you, if you’ll let me out,” returned the girl, seductively, with both little brown hands held out between the bars.

  “I cain’t do it, Lenta,” replied Laramie.

  “Please. Dear old Laramie! I—I’ll kiss you as often as you want.”

  “Wal, thet’s shore a temptin’ prospect, lass. But I don’t care to lose my job an’ yore sister’s trust.”

  “Laramie, it won’t take much more to make Hallie fall into your arms,” whispered this provocative and bewildering little lady. “She’s leaning to you now. Only she doesn’t know it. She’d be lost without you. And I can make her see it!”

  Laramie was mute for the moment. Never had he encountered such a minx as Lenta Lindsay. The alluring thing she hinted rendered him weak. No wonder she had the riders out of their heads! How bewitching the pleading face!

  “Come, Laramie. Be a good fellow. I’ll do something terrible if I don’t get out.”

  “No. I reckon yu will if yu do get out.”

  “Then send Lonesome. He’ll help me.”

  “Lenta, I’m sorry to inform yu thet Lonesome is drunk.”

  “Drunk!” cried Lenta, aghast.

  “Shore. An’ fightin’, too.”

  “The bow-legged little liar! He swore he’d never drink again. For my sake!”

  “Wal, it’s all on yore account thet he’s drunk. An�
� rarin’ to kill some one. I had to tell him how I saw yu carryin’ on. An’ thet was the last straw for Lonesome. Yu see, lass, he believed in yu.”

  “Laramie! You gave me away?” flashed Lenta, in passionate amaze.

  “I reckon I did. Lonesome’s like a brother to me. An’ I ——”

  “You squealed! About how you sneaked up on me— and—Slim? …” Lenta choked with emotion.

  Laramie began to be sorry he had made promises to Lonesome.

  “Yes, I squealed, Lenta. I reckon I’d never have done it if I’d any idee how crazy Lonesome is about yu. For now he’s goin’ plumb to hell.”

  “Oh!”

  “An’ I fear he’s not the only one.”

  “I don’t care a—a—damn,” returned Lenta, in a voice that denied the content of her words. “But for you to be a squealer! You—Laramie Nelson—whom Hallie and I thought the most wonderful man! … Oh, you—you four-flusher—you two-bit range-rider—you big calf-brander—you bluff of a Southern gentleman…. I hate you! … I’ll make Hallie hate you…. Run—you coward—run from a girl and the truth ——”

  Laramie did not run exactly, but he surely spurred his horse out of earshot of that choked, furious voice. He dismounted before the gate and wiped his hot face. His ears tingled, his cheeks burned. There was a riot within his breast.

  “My Gawd! what a little wildcat!” he ejaculated. “Whew! … who’d a thought it of thet little baby-eyed lass?”

  Then through his chaotic mind whirled the thunderbolts of her words. Truth! He was all that she had called him. But until this very moment he had never realized that he had been idiot enough to believe he might win Hallie Lindsay. What jackasses men were! The moment they met a woman, regardless of her class or position, they immediately surrendered to a monstrous egoism and believed they could get her. It must have been some kind of instinct. He was glad Lenta had flayed him back to his senses. Perhaps he had better ride away from Spanish Peaks Ranch before ——

  “Laramie, what’s the matter?” called a voice that made him jump. Hallie Lindsay stood in the door of her office, watching him. The day was hot and she was dressed in some flimsy white stuff that revealed her beautiful form. A rich color tinged with gold had displaced the former pearly paleness of her face. Her wonderful gray eyes, intent and grave, regarded him thoughtfully, almost with a sweet doubtfulness.

  “Aw—nothin’, Miss Hallie,” replied Laramie, suddenly beset by a totally different army of emotions. He dropped Wingfoot’s bridle and slowly plodded through the gate.

  “Don’t call me Miss Hallie,” she said, with a surprising petulance.

  “Wal, what shall I call yu?” demanded Laramie, helplessly. She had used his first name for the first time. Laramie! Verily he was on a downhill grade.

  “My name is Harriet.”

  “But I cain’t pronounce thet.”

  “It certainly is a very difficult name,” she rejoined, dryly. “I hate it, myself…. Everybody calls me Hallie.”

  Laramie stared up at her. “Do yu reckon yu’re givin’ me permission to call yu thet?”

  “I reckon I am,” she laughed, and averted her eyes momentarily while a spot of red appeared in her cheeks.

  “Thanks. I’m shore proud,” replied Laramie, somewhat recovering his dignity. There was less of aloofness about her.

  “I heard Lenta call you,” went on Harriet.

  “Wal! … An’ yu heahed how she ended up?”

  “Yes. Isn’t she a perfect little devil?”

  “Yu heahed it all?”

  “I think so. My window is open. It’s a still day. And she certainly spoke clearly.”

  “Aw!” expelled Laramie, heavily. He could no longer look up at her.

  “I am glad you are loyal, Laramie. Lenta would turn the heads of most men. She is a distracting, terrible child.”

  “Wal, she’s no child…. An’ I reckon my haid was already turned.”

  “Oh, I see,” she returned, hastily. “Laramie, come in and make your report. I know something has happened.”

  Laramie felt that he dared not enter that office—to be alone with Hallie until he had gotten hold of himself.

  “Nothin’ much come off about the ranch,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t lie to me,” she retorted, impatiently. “Of late I have suspected you of deliberately deceiving me. To spare my feelings, father acknowledged. Because I’m a tenderfoot! You and your riders treat me with less—less respect and confidence that you show Lenta.”

  This was the truth. Laramie could not deny it. He stood there like a fool, bareheaded, running a hand round his sombrero.

  “Yu cain’t always tell the truth to a—a lady.”

  “Laramie, until father gets fully well and capable, I am boss of this ranch.”

  “Shore I know thet…. An’ I wish yu’d discharge me.”

  “Nonsense! I wouldn’t do that,” she replied, disconcerted and startled. Laramie conceived an idea that he had a certain hold on her. “You are—wholly satisfactory. What would I—we do without you? … But I insist that I won’t be treated as if I were a little girl.”

  “Wal, yu are a little girl so far as innocence an’ softness are concerned,” drawled Laramie, finding himself once more.

  “But I—I mean business,” she insisted, blushing in confusion or anger. “What has happened to upset you?”

  “Wal, if I’m upset yu can gamble it’s not the ranch business thet’s to blame,” he said, coolly.

  “Very well.”

  “Lonesome is drunk.”

  “Drunk!”

  “But thet didn’t upset me…. An’ he picked a fight with Neale. Then Chess Gaines busted into it. Lonesome lammed him one an’ Gaines pulled a gun. I had to interfere…. Wal, I discharged Gaines. An’ his pards Nigger Johnson an’ Juan Mendez went with him. I reckon I can swear by the rest of the outfit.”

  “Well!—And you declared you had nothing to report.”

  “Reckon it’s not much compared to what’s goin’ to happen about this heah ranch,” he returned, pessimistically.

  They fell silent a moment. Laramie felt her eyes upon him and he shifted uneasily on his feet.

  “There’s a rider coming,” suddenly broke out Harriet, descending the steps.

  Laramie jerked out of his trance to espy Lonesome astride a sweaty horse, riding up the last stretch of the road. A mere look at Lonesome told Laramie some untoward event had made him forget the rôle he was playing. Even at a distance he appeared stern and grim.

  “Oh, it’s Lonesome,” ejaculated Harriet.

  “Shore is, an’ I’ll bet a double-eagle Lenta will waylay him.”

  As the rider reached a level and turned toward the ranch-house a sweet, high-pitched, excited voice pierced the warm air.

  “Lonesome! Oh, Lonesome—here—here!”

  Harriet whispered hurriedly to Laramie: “If he’s drunk he’ll let her out.”

  “Not much,” replied Laramie.

  Lonesome halted, and appeared to be collecting his wits. Laramie saw him grow wary.

  “Here I am, Lonesome,” cried Lenta.

  At last Lonesome located the imprisoned girl, but it was a long moment before he replied.

  “Whash masser?”

  “I’m locked up. Dad locked me up,” wailed Lenta.

  “Aw! Show you’re in callaboos?”

  “Ride over here to the window.”

  “Me. Ump-umm.”

  “Lonesome dear.”

  “Not much. Not atall. No, b’gosh!”

  “Won’t you let me out?”

  “I should smile not.”

  “Lonesome! … Do you want me locked up?” begged Lenta, appealingly.

  “Shore do. Great idee. You auch be behind bars forever. Dangerous female.”

  “Lonesome, I do think heaps of you. I’ll promise ——”

  “You won’t promise me nothin’,” interrupted Lonesome.

  “You bet I won’t, you drunken cow-puncher!” flash
ed Lenta, surrendering to rage. “What are your promises worth? You swore you’d quit drinking for me.”

  “Shore. An’ you swored you’d never kiss nobody but me…. Haw! Haw!”

  “I would have kept it. Now I’ll kiss every damn rider on the ranch.”

  “Nope. Not me or Slim Red.”

  “Yes, Slim Red! I’m going to meet him right now if I have to tear this wall down,” shrieked Lenta.

  “Tear away, Mish Lindshay,” taunted Lonesome, riding on.

  “You faithless hombre!”

  “You flirtin’ jade!”

  Lonesome came riding on, reeling in his saddle. Lenta’s final cry peeled out on deaf ears. Then the rider espied Laramie, and a moment later, when he reached the gateway, Harriet came into his view. Lonesome rode in and tumbled out of the saddle. An observer of experience would have noted that he was far from being drunk. Still he deceived Miss Lindsay, who fixed him with grave, disapproving eyes.

  “Mish Hallie, gotta report Slim Red—bad hurt,” said Lonesome.

  “Hurt!—How? When? What has happened?” exclaimed Harriet, startled.

  “Hawse piled him up.”

  “Oh!—Is it—serious?”

  “Reckon. He’s gotta have doctor pronto.”

  “I’m sorry…. Laramie, will you take charge of this,” replied Miss Lindsay, soberly, and hurried back into her office.

  Lonesome dropped his bridle, and with a significant jerk of head for Laramie to follow he tramped into the court. A moment later Laramie entered their room behind him and closed the door. Lonesome tore off his chaps and then began to divest himself of a wet and grimy shirt.

  “So they got the kid locked in?” he queried, coolly.

  “Shore have. She nailed me same as she did you,” replied Laramie, eyeing his friend thoughtfully.

  “Sort of tickles me. She’s locoed the outfit.”

  “Me too. But thet youngster will do somethin’ bad yet.”

  “Yet! Say, pard, she’s done it already.”

  “Aw, Lonesome—not bad.”

  “Wal, bad fer me, anyhow. Laramie, this bluff I’m throwin’ ain’t so good. I may hang on till we get back from La Junta.”

  “Ahuh. What’s on yore mind, boy?” drawled Laramie.