The marshal did not comply--his hands were too busy subduing the evolutions of Nigger, who, having decided objections to bullets whistling past his ears, never failed to register a protest. When the rider had succeeded in calming the black, he looked up into the gun of the man who had given the order. It was Leeson. Despite the threatening weapon, the marshal laughed.
"Why, if it ain't Mister Wild Bill 'Hiccup,'" he said. "Playin' with fire-arms, too. What yu mean, scaring my hoss thataway?"
The man glared at him, his finger itching to pull the trigger. But the marshal had been appointed by Raven, and besides, although his own gun was already out, he had an uneasy feeling that this jeering, confident devil would somehow get the better of him. So he holstered his pistol and said sullenly:
"Didn't know yu. Wondered what yore interest was in our cows, that's all."
"Yore cows?" the marshal repeated.
"Yeah, I'm ridin' for the 88," the man explained.
"Raven's ranch, huh? How far away is it?"
Leeson pointed east and said it was some three miles to the ranch-house.
"Who put yu up to that fool play the other night?" Green asked.
The man flushed. "Some o' the boys," he growled. "It was on'y a joke."
"Well, I hope yu laughed hearty," the marshal said. "So long."
He turned his horse and rode in the direction indicated.
The 88 ranch-house was an unpretentious log building of no great size and somewhat slovenly appearance. The bunk-house and corrals were rough, and conveyed the impression of being temporary structures. The rear of the ranch was protected by the lower slopes of the mountain, a jumbled, precipitous piece of country which made the open range in front the only means of approach. The place appeared to be deserted, but Green's shout of "Hello, the house," brought Jevons to the door. His eyes narrowed when he saw who the visitor was, but he forced an unwilling grin to his lips.
" 'Lo, marshal," he said. "What's brung yu out so far?"
"Just havin' a look round," Green said easily. "New territory to me, you see."
Jevons suddenly remembered his duties as host, "Light an' rest yore saddle," he invited, adding, "That's a good hoss yu got; had him long?"
"Coupla years," Green told him carelessly. "Some folks don't like blacks--claim they're unlucky; me, I ain't fussy."
"Don't care for 'em myself," the foreman said, "Wouldn't own one as a gift."
The room they entered was rudely furnished with the barest necessities and littered with a medley of saddles, bridles, guns, and the various paraphernalia of ranch equipment. Jevons produced a bottle and glasses.
"Yu 'pear to be pretty well fixed here," the guest offered, meaning exactly the opposite. "Raven come out much?"
"The place serves its purpose," the foreman said: and, boastfully, "Seth leaves things to me--must be a'most a month since he drifted over; reckon he finds the Red Ace more comfortable."
"Can't blame him," the marshal agreed. "Yu got some fierce scenery back o' yu; I ain't surprised yo're losin' cows."
"We ain't shy many, an' if folks warn't so soft over warpaints we wouldn't be losin' them," Jevons said pointedly. "My men has orders to shoot any brave pirootin' round this range."
The marshal made a mental note to warn Black Feather, declined a second drink, and asked the nearest way back to Lawless.
"Bear off east an' three-four miles'll bring yu to the drive trail north," Jevons told him.
Until the visitor had become a mere speak on the plain the foreman watched him, his lips twisted into an ugly sneer. "Wonder what yu were after, Mister Man?" he muttered. "I've a hunch yu ain't exactly mother's little helper so far as Seth is concerned, an' that it's goin' to be worth while to keep cases on yu."
Meanwhile the subject of this speculation was proceeding leisurely homewards, his mind busy with the problem he had to solve. That the man masquerading as "Sudden" was one of the refugees in Tepee Mountain he did not believe. The fact that the crimes had been perpetrated at propitious times could not be mere coincidence, the miscreant must have bad inside knowledge. The location of the hidden horse so far from Sweetwater made Lawless the most likely place to look for the owner. He thought of Leeson, who had already adopted one famous alias.
"It don't need much nerve to shoot a fella from cover," he reflected. "If he thought I'd found an' collared the black it might explain his cuttin' loose on me so prompt, an' that shot was meant to hit--he warn't funnin'."
It was late in the afternoon when he reached the town, and putting his horse in the corral, joined his deputy in the little front room of their quarters.
Pete answered the marshal's question as to whether the Indian had returned.
"Sifted in two-three hours back," he said. "Couldn't git a word outa him. Gripes! a clam is one big chatterbox alongside that redskin."
"He's obeyin' orders," Green said, and told of the finding of the black horse and what followed.
"Leeson ain't got the brains," the deputy decided.
"Somebody else may be doin' the plannin'," Green argued.
"Who?" Pete asked unthinkingly, and instantly wanted to kick himself.
The marshal looked at him commiseratingly, "That's the worst o' them hair-trigger tongues," he said. "Fella's gotta say somethin' even when he's got nothin' to say."
This reasoning was too much for the deputy; with a snort of disgust he stamped out of the room. The marshal's smiling glance followed him.
"Tubby, yo're one good little man, white clean through," he apostrophized. "I'm shore glad I met up with yu."
But not for worlds would he have had his friend hear this eulogy.
CHAPTER IX
Unwonted tranquillity reigned in Lawless, and the popularity of the new marshal with the better type of citizen increased daily. Such realized that this steady-eyed, good-humoured young man knew his job and was a very different proposition to the hard-drinking, swaggering ruffians who had previously held the position. The rougher element, though it did not like the officer, feared him, sensing the possibilities of violence beneath the quiet exterior. Naturally there was a good deal of curiosity respecting him. Durley, chatting at his door with Timms, the blacksmith, stated his own opinion.
"He's a man. Give him a square deal an' yu'll get the same. Hello, there's Tonia Sarel; ain't she the prettiest thing that ever happened?"
The girl, who had just emerged from the store on the other side of the street, had stopped to speak with Andy Bordene. Lawless had seen little of the young owner of the Box B since his father had been laid to rest in the little cemetery by the creek, for there had been much to do at the ranch. Tonia's quick eye saw at once the change in him; grief and responsibility had brought manhood. There were lines about the mouth and eyes that she had never seen and a gravity she had not yet known. But it was Andy's old smile that greeted her.
"'Lo, Tonia, what good wind fetched yu in to-day?" he asked.
"A woman's usual excuse--shopping," she smiled. "We've been expecting you at the Double S."
"I know, but I've had stacks to do," he replied. "Dad, dear old boy, hadn't what they call a business head--he was straight himself an' trusted folks. His affairs were in a bit of a mess, an' I'll have to buckle in to put them right."
Tonia nodded. She knew he was telling her that the Box B was not as prosperous as he had expected to find it. Old Bordene, a bluff, out-of-doors specimen of the early pioneer, who regarded a given word binding as a written one, was the kind whose ranch might easily be in difficulties without his realizing it, if people whose promises he had carelessly accepted failed to redeem them.
"If we can do anything, Andy--" she began, and broke off at an exclamation from her companion.