"Time to improve myself?" she teased.
"Nothing could improve you in my eyes, Chita," he said, honestly. "To me you are perfect."
"If Margaret Cullis hadn't taught me that it was vulgar I should say 'Rats' to that."
"Please--don't."
"I wont," she promised. "And now you must run along. You know your orders never said anything about spending two hours at the Billings ranch this afternoon. What will your detachment think?"
"They'll think I'm a fool if I don't stay all afternoon and ride back to the post in the cool of the night."
"And get court martialed when you get there. Boots and saddles for you, Lieutenant Samuel Adams King!"
"Yes, sir!" he cried, clicking his heels together and saluting.Then he seized her hand and kissed it.
"Don't!" she whispered, snatching it away. "Here comes Luke."
"I don't care if the World's coming."
"That's because you don't know what it is to be joshed by a bunch of cow punchers," she told him. "Say, why when it comes to torture, Victorio and Geronimo and old Whoa could have gone to school to some of these red necks from the Pan Handle."
"All right, I wont embarrass you. Good-bye and good luck, and don't forget the message I brought from Mrs. Cullis. She wants you to come and spend a week or so with her."
"Tell her I thank her heaps and that I'll come the first chance I get. Good-bye!"
She watched him walk away, tall, erect, soldierly; trim in his blue blouse, his yellow striped breeches, his cavalry boots, and campaign hat--a soldier, every inch of him and, though still a boy, a veteran already.
And she sighed--sighed because she did not love him, sighed because she was afraid that she would never love him. Lines of bitterness touched the corners of her mouth and her eyes as she thought of the beautiful and priceless thing that she had thrown away--wasted upon a murdering savage--and a flush of shame tinged her cheeks.
Her painful reveries were interrupted by the voice of Luke Jensen.
"I jest been ridin' the east range, Miss," he said.
"Yes? Everything all right?"
"I wouldn't say thet it was an' I wouldn't say thet it wasn't, " he replied.
"What's wrong?"
"You recollect thet bunch thet always hung out near the head o' the coulee where them cedars grows out o' the rocks?"
"Yes, what about them?"
"They's about half of 'em gone. If they was all gone I'd think they might have drifted to some other part o' the range; but they was calves, yearlin's, and some two an' three year olds still follerin' their mothers in thet bunch; an' a bunch like thet don't scatter fer no good reason."
"No. What do you make of it, Luke?"
"If the renegades warn't all c'ralled I'd say Apaches."
"'Kansas' reported another bunch broken up that ranges around the Little Mesa," said Wichita, thoughtfully. "Do you reckon it's rustlers, Luke?"
"I wouldn't say it was an' I wouldn't say it wasn't."
"What does 'Smooth' say?"
"He allows they just natch'rally drifted."
"Are you riding the east range every day, Luke?"
"Most days. Course it takes me nigh onto a week to cover it, an' oncet in a while 'Smooth' sends me somers else. Yistiddy, he sent me plumb down to the south ranch- me an' 'Kansas'."
"Well, keep your eyes open for that bunch, Luke--they might have drifted."
"Well, I wouldn't say they would of and I ,wouldn't say they wouldn't of."
Sixteen - THE JACK OF SPADES
LUIS MARIEL, profiting by the example of the Americanos, stood up to "Dirty" Cheetim's bar and drank cheap whiskey.
'Wot you doin', Kid?' asked Cheetim. "Nothing," replied Luis.
"Want a job, or hev you still got some dinero left?"
"I want a job," replied Luis. "I am broke."
"You got a hoss, ain't you?"
"Si, Senor."
"Come 'ere," he motioned Luis to follow him into the back room.
There Luis saw a tall man with sandy hair sitting at a table, drinking.
"Here's a good kid fer us," said Cheetim to the sandy haired man. "He aint been up here long; an' nobody don't know him, an' he don't know nobody."
"Does he savvy U. S.?" demanded the man. "Si, Senor," spoke up Luis. "I understand pretty good. I speak it pretty good, too."
"Can you keep your mouth shut?"
"Si, Senor."
"If you don't, somebody'll shut it for you," said the man, drawing his forefinger across his throat meaningly. "You savvy?"
"What is this job?" demanded Luis.
"You aint got nothin' to do but herd a little bunch o' cattle an' keep your trap closed. If anyone asks you any questions in United States you dcn't savvy; and if they talk Greaser to you, why you don't know nothin' about the cattle except that a kind old gentleman hired you to ride herd on 'em."
"Si, Senor."
"You get thirty five a month an' your grub--twenty five fer ridin' herd an' the rest fer not knowin' nothin'. How about it?"
"Sure, Senor, I do it."
"All right, you come along with me. We'll ride out, an' I'll show you where the bunch is," and the sandy haired man gulped down another drink and arose.
He led Luis north into the reservation, and at last they came to a bunch of about fifty head grazing contentedly on rather good pasture.
"They aint so hard to hold," said the sandy haired man, "but they got a hell of a itch to drift east sometimes. They's a c'ral up thet draw a ways. You puts 'em in there nights and lets 'em graze durin' the day. You wont hev to hold 'em long." He took a playing card from his pocket -- the jack of spades--and tore it in two. One half he handed to Luis. "When a feller comes with tother half o' this card, Kid, you let him hev the cattle. Savvy?"
"Si, Senor."
"Oncet in a while they may a couple fellers come up with some more critters fer you. You jest let 'em drive 'em in with your bunch. You don't hev to say nothin' nor ask no questions. Savvy?"
"Si, Senor."
"All right. Let' em graze til sundown; then c'ral 'em and come down to the Hog Ranch fer the night. You kin make down your bed back o' the barn. The Chink'll feed you. So long, Kid."
"Adios, Senor." Luis Mariel, watching the tall, sandy haired man ride away, tucked his half of the jack of spades into the breast pocket of his shirt, rolled a cigarette, and then rode leisurely among the grazing cattle, inspecting his charges.
He noted the marks and brands, and discovering that several were represented, concluded that Cheetim and the sandy haired man were collecting a bunch for sale or shipment. Impressed by the injunction to silence laid upon him, and being no fool, Luis opined that the cattle had come into their possession through no lawful processes.
But that they had been stolen was no affair of his. He had not stolen them. He was merely employed to herd them. It interested him to note that fully ninety percent of the animals bore the Crazy B brand on the left hip, a slit in the right ear, and a half crop off the left, the remainder being marked by various other brands, some of which he recognized and some of which he did not.
The Crazy B brand he knew quite well as it was one of the foremost brands in that section of Arizona. He had tried to get work with that outfit when he had brought the pinto stallion up from the border for El Teniente King. At that time he had talked with Senor Billings, who had since been killed by Apaches; but he had been unable to secure employment with him. Later he had learned that the Billings ranch never employed Mexicans, and while knowledge of this fact aroused no animosity within him neither did it impose upon him any sentiment of obligation to apprise the owners of the brand of his suspicion that someone was stealing their cattle.
Luis Mariel was far from being either a criminal or vicious young man. He would not have stolen cattle himself, but it was none of his business how his employers obtained the cattle that he was hired to herd for them. Since he had come up from Mexico he had found means of livelihood through many and various odd employments, sometimes as laborer, sometimes as chore boy, occasionally in riding for some small cow outfit, which was the thing of all others that he liked best to do. It was the thing that Luis Mariel loved best and did best.