`Green,' he said. `Meet Mr. Leeming, owner of the Frying Pan. Yu heard he's been raided?'
`Blaynes just said somethin' about it; I ain't got no particulars,' replied the puncher, acknowledging the introduction by a nod at the visitor.
`Night before last it happened. Laid out two o' my outfit, an' got away with about a hundred head,' snapped Leeming. `What yu gotta say about it?'
`Tough luck,' said Green, quietly.
`Tough luck?' vociferated Leeming angrily. `Tough luck? That's a helluva note, ain't it? An' yo're the feller that's agoin' to stop the rustlin', huh? Why, it's been worse'n ever since yu took a hand. Seems to me yu ain't no more use than a busted leg.'-
The cowpuncher's face flushed through the tan, his jaws clenched, and his eyes narrowed as he listened to this tirade. Leeming, still stamping up and down the room, had completely lost control of himself, but the object of his abuse was outwardly calm.
`Yu payin' any o' my wages?' he asked.
Like a shot from a gun the simple question, which put him utterly in the wrong, knocked the irate cattleman off his balance. But he was in too vile a temper to recognise this. `What's that gotta do with it?' he stormed.
`Everythin',' replied the puncher coolly. `There's only one man who has the right to bawl me out if I don't do my work an' that's the man who pays me.'
The words were spoken evenly and without a trace of passion, but there was a deadly meaning in the low voice. Leeming stopped his perambulations and looked at him.
`Well, I'm damned if yu ain't got yore nerve,' he said. `For two bits I'd...'
Green slipped his hand into his pocket, produced the coins named and laid them on the table without a word. No challenge could have been more plainly given. Leeming's face became suffused with blood, but before he could speak, Old Simon interposed :
`That's enough,' he said brusquely. `Job, yu gotta remember that yu are in my house, an' speakin' no one o' my outfit, an' I won't stand for it nor ask him to. If yu don't ride that temper o' yores it's goin' to thow yu bad one o' these days.'
For a moment the angry man looked madder than ever and then all at once his face changed and he laughed aloud. `Sorry, Simon,' he said. `Yo're right. I'm a plain damn fool to go off the handle like this. No offence meant to either o' yu. It's my beast of a temper--can't help it--always had it--my old folks used to say that I cussed my nurse before I had any teeth. The Frying Pan boys understand--they just let me shoot off my mouth, an' laugh behind my back, damn rascals.' He looked at Green. `No hard feelin's, I hope?'
`None here,' replied the puncher, with a smile.
And indeed, the change about was so sudden and complete that it could not be otherwise than amusing. Yet one could sense that it was not in any way due to cowardice; Leeming had plenty of pluck and would have pulled his gun and shot it out with the cowboy just as cheerfully as he apologised, and Green understood this, and respected the owner of the Frying Pan the more for it.
`Well, that's all right,' said Simon, obviously relieved at the way things had come out. `Tell him about it, Job.'
Leeming told the story of the raid and Green listened in silence until he had finished. Then came a question.
`Yu say they headed north-east for Big Chief? Then they must 'a crossed the Y Z near the line-house.' He turned to Simon. `Do yu happen to know which of our boys were there night before last?'
`I asked Blaynes the same thing, an' he said Durran an' Nigger--two experienced men,' he explained to Leeming. `I've met 'em,' said Job in a non-committal tone.
`An' yore foreman lost the trail on Sandy Parlour?' pursued the cowpuncher.
`Yes, an' he's a good trailer too, but a desert an' Injuns is a strong combination.'
`Yu can cut out the redskins--they ain't nothin' to do with yore losin' cattle.'
`But my boys saw 'em, an' that arrow through Lucky's shoulder ain't no dream,' protested the cattleman.
'Green reckons it's whites pretendin' to be Injuns to razzle-dazzle us,' explained Simon. `It shore would be an easy play to make.'
`I ain't reckonin', I know it's so,' the puncher said, `but I'm not advertisin' it.'
`Shore,' agreed Leeming. `Anythin' else yu can tell us?'
The other shook his head. `Can't prove nothin',' he said. `Soon as I've got the goods I'll put my cards on the table. All I'm shore of at present is that it ain't just a small gang liftin' a few cows now an' then; they are organised, and there's a big man somewhere pullin' the strings.'
`What makes yu think that?' asked Simon.
`Just one or two things I happened to overhear,' was the reply. `Yu shore o' yore outfit?'
The question was addressed to the owner of the Frying Pan, and he was quick to answer it. `I'll go bail for every one,' he said confidently. `Are yu suggestin'?'
`I'm only askin',' replied Green. `I don't know any of 'em, an' even in the best o' ropes there may be a weak strand. What's yore opinion o' Dexter, of the Double X?'
`Don't like him--dunno why, but I don't,' was the blunt reply. `Yu got anythin' on him?'
`No,' Green had to confess, `but it was some of his men hung me over the cliff--yu heard o' that--joke, I reckon?'
`Shore, an' o' the one yu played on Snub in return,' laughed Leeming. `Silas told me he never saw a man imitate a chunk o' rock as well as Snub did while yu was shavin' his upper lip for him.'
`He did stand awful still, for a fact,' responded the puncher, a twinkle of devilment in his eyes at the memory. `Two more o' that outfit bush-whacked Lunt.'
This was news to the Frying Pan owner. `The hell they did?' he said. `They musta felt pretty shore o' gettin' him; Snap's hands are jest about a shade quicker'n my temper, an' I can't say more than that. What are they after him for?'
`I dunno, but it looks like some of us ain't wanted around here,' Green replied. `Me, I'm aimin' to stay, just the same.' When he had gone, Simon turned to his visitor and said, `How does he strike yu?'
`Well, I'd sooner have him with than against me,' was Job's verdict. `Know anythin' about him?'
`Not a darn thing,' said Simon. `Barton fetched him along after he'd beat up Poker Pete most to death. Said he was huntin' a job. He certainly is wise to his work, but I can't place him. Blaynes thinks he might be in with the rustlers.'
`Which just means that yore foreman don't like him,' said Leeming shrewdly.
`And who is it that our respected foreman does not approve of?' asked a fresh young voice.
`Hello, Miss Norry,' cried Job heartily, turning round to shake hands with the girl. She had just come in from a ride, and her flushed cheeks, dancing eyes, and trim figure were good to look upon. `Hang me if yu don't get prettier every time 1 see yu. When are yu comin' to take charge at the Frying Pan, eh?'
It was an old joke between them. Leeming, a confirmed bachelor, always protested that he was so solely on account of Noreen.
`Not until I'm no longer wanted at the Y Z,' she laughed and added saucily, `I should be afraid of your dreadful temper.' `I've lost it, Norry,' Leeming said.
`What, again?' retorted the girl merrily, and then, `But you haven't answered my question.'
`We were talkin' o' the new hand, Green,' Job explained. `What's yore opinion of him?'
`Since he came to my help when I was in danger, I am naturally prejudiced,' the girl replied soberly. `I think he's a good man. And now, if you two have done talking secrets, I expect supper is about ready. As Cookie says down at the bunkhouse, "Come an' git it."'
Chapter X
VISITORS to Hatchett's Folly were rare and therefore mostly welcome; visitors with plenty of money to spend were rarer still and correspondingly more welcome. So that when Mr. Joe Tarman and his friend and companion, Mr. Seth Laban, rode in, they had no cause to complain of their reception. The first-named, in fact, would have been well received anywhere, for he bore every appearance of prosperity, and he radiated with generosity, thus capturing every loafer in the town at a blow.