"Pretty damn mess yore blasted Injun has got us into," he began. "What's the idea, shootin' strangers up thisaway?"
The marshal's eyes grew frosty and his jaw stiffened. "See here, Raven," he said, and his tone had an edge, "if yu think any yeller-skinned thief can pull a gun on me an' get away with if yu got another guess comin'. O' course"--and there was a suspicion of a sneer--"I didn't know he was a friend o' yores."
"Friend nothin'," the saloon-keeper replied testily. "He buys cows, pays a good price, an' saves me the trouble an' expense o' drivin' 'em to the rail-head. But it ain't that I'm thinkin' of. That hombre can raise more'n hundred men. S'pose he comes back an' stands the town up, what yu goin' to do?"
"Yo're scarin' me cold," Green said sarcastically. "Me? I should run like hell, o' course. Anythin' else yu wanta say to me?"
Raven shook his head, and for some time after Green had gone sat there deep in thought, inwardly cursing the new marshal and himself for having appointed him. It was becoming all too evident that this saturnine, self-reliant young puncher was not likely to "come to heel," and that--despite Raven's assertion to the contrary--he had quite a good notion of his responsibilities. Although he had given him the position, Raven knew he could not take it away without a very good excuse, and the fracas with Moraga, far from furnishing that, had only made the marshal more popular. When at length he got up there was an ugly expression on his face.
* * *
From the bunk-house of the Box B, Rusty watched the approach of a horseman along the trail, which, emerging from the thicket of spruce and cottonwood, zigzagged across the open stretch in front of the ranch. Presently the visitor was sufficiently near to be identified.
"The Vulture, huh?" murmured the cowboy. "I'm damned if he don't look like it too."
And, in fact, Raven, with his dark slouched hat, and long black coat-tails flapping in the light breeze, presented quite a resemblance to the bird he had been named after. He pulled up opposite the bunk-house.
"Andy around?" he asked curtly.
"I reckon," came the equally short reply.
Raven nodded and rode up to the ranch-house, a large one-storied log-building with a wide, roofed-in porch. His hail brought Bordene to the door.
" 'Lo, Seth," he greeted. "Get down an' spoil yore thirst. Takin' exercise to pull yore weight down, huh?"
The saloon-keeper joined in the laugh--though his contribution was a mere dry cackle--as he hoisted his spare body out of the saddle and climbed stiffly down.
He declined the drink, but accepted a cigar, and when this was alight to his satisfaction, he shot a sly glance at his host.
"Yu got a nice place here, Andy," he began, his eye taking in the solid, spacious bunk-house, barns, and corrals, and beyond them the level miles of grass, burnt brown and dead-looking by the summer heat, but, as he well knew, still the best of feed for cattle. Moreover, among the cottonwoods through which he had ridden was a little stream which later became a deep pool, worth in itself a small fortune in that arid land. "Yore range must mighty near reach the Double S."
"Our eastern line is their western," Andy told him, wondering what was coming. Was Raven about to make him an offer for the ranch? If so, he was doomed to disappointment; Andy would not have sold for twice the value.
Seth nodded reflectively. "Yore dad musta sunk a lot o' coin in it," he said. "This cattle business is a costly one, as I'm afindin' out; the 88 just eats money, spite of all Jevons can do to keep down expenses; which explains why I'm here."
Andy began to comprehend. "Yu want that five thousand I owe yu, is that it, Seth?" he asked.
"Partly, my boy, partly," the other assented. "I'm hatin' to press yu just now, but bein' up against it myself--" He paused a moment and went on, "Unfortunately, Andy, that ain't all; there's what yore old man had too."
"Dad? He owed yu some?" Bordene cried.
Satisfaction flickered for an instant in the visitor's eyes. He nodded and produced a paper. "Yu can see for yourself," he said.
The young rancher took the document and stared at it amazedly. It was a note of hand for fifteen thousand dollars, written out and signed by his father. Carelessly done by one who trusted others, the amount was in figures only and there was nothing to show that a deft stroke of the pen had trebled the indebtedness. For a moment he looked at it in stunned silence; it was a heavy blow, but he had enough of his sire in him to take it without wincing. He handed back the note, and said quietly:
"That's good enough, Seth. I dunno why Dad didn't tell me, but there it is. I'm payin' it, o' course, but yu'll have to wait a few weeks till I've sold the herd I'm roundin' up. I was goin' to make her a thousand strong, but it'll have to be fifteen hundred. There'll be a buyer waitin', an' I reckon they'll turn me in thirty thousand; that'll put things straight."
"Suits me," Raven returned. "I ain't aimin' to rush yu. When yu reckon to drive?"
"Soon as I can get the extra cows--say two-three days," the young man told him.
"Comin' along to-night to win some o' that dinero back?" the saloon-keeper smiled.
Bordene shook his head. "I gotta hustle," he said. "Wait till I'm outa debt an' I'll have yore hide."
The visitor nodded agreement. "Well, s'long, Andy, an' good luck with the drive," he said.
Jogging leisurely back to Lawless he gave vent to a sneering chuckle. On the assumption that old Bordene would not tell his son all his business, he had put up a bluff, and it had come off. It had been easy. "Pie like mother made," he muttered, his covetous eyes sweeping the fine grazing over which he was passing.
CHAPTER X
The marshal and his deputy, after a day of ferreting in the Tepee Mountain region, turned their horses' heads towards home. They had discovered nothing; the black was still peacefully grazing in the little valley and there were no new hoof-prints. The wind was rising and getting colder.
"Well, we ain't done much, but I reckon we'll call it a day," Green remarked. "I wanted for yu to know where that cache is in case someone takes a chance at me an' gets away with it."
They were now nearing the broad cattle-trail which led north. In the fading light they saw a cloud of dust slowly approaching from the direction of Lawless.
"Herd a-comin'," Barsay announced. "I guess it'll be young Bordene."
"Yeah," the marshal agreed, and scanned the sky with distrust. "There's a storm a-comin' too. I'm for beddin' down with Andy to-night. We got all o' twenty miles to cover, an' the bosses is tired."
"Yo're whistlin'," Pete agreed. "Gee, they're gettin' a wiggle on that herd. I'm thinkin' Andy has seen that storm too."
"An' he wants them cows good an' tired before they beds down--they won't be so easy scared then," the marshal opined.
In fact, the herd was now coming on at a good gait, and very soon the shrill cries of the cowboys and the loud bellowing of the beasts could be heard. Beneath the smother of choking dust the cattle, a compact dark mass, came on at a clumsy trot. Ahead of them a single horseman whose right hand went to his gun when he discerned the two shadowy men waiting in the trail. The marshal held up his hand palm outwards, the Indian peace sign.
"'Lo, Bordene, we ain't holdin' yu up for nothin' 'cept a meal," he called out. "Lawless shore seems a long ways off. so we're aimin' to throw in with yu for the night."
"Glad to have yu, gents," the young man replied, riding aside to let the herd pass. "Fact is, I got a sorta feelin' we might have trouble an' two more men'd be plumb useful."
They sat and watched the cattle go lumbering by, the thud of thousands of hoofs shaking the ground beneath them. The horse-wrangler with the remuda followed, and the chuck-wagon, drawn by a team of mules, and driven by a dust-choked and vituperative cook, brought up the rear.