Shoot-out at Split Rock (2 page)

"This is Jim—^he's aimin' to stay with us a piece," Rogue introduced. "You can put him wise an' make him known to the boys."

"Pleased to," Sandy said, shaking hands.

The outlaw leader left them with a word that he would see them at supper.

Ttco

Rogue was absent from the breakfast table on the following morning, but there was a new arrival in the person of the man Sudden had seen in San Antonio. He grinned cheerfully at the cowboy and, when the meal was over, beckoned him outside.

"So you changed yore mind?" he said.

"You might call it that," was Jim's sardonic reply.

"Well, you done right; San Antonio is shore a-bilin*. The sheriff ain't noways pleased. I'm tellin' you, better wipe that burg off yore list o' health resorts. Aimin' to throw in with Rogue?"

Sudden did not reply at once. Despite the man's apparent friendliness, he did not like him; there was a lurking malignancy in his manner.

"I ain't decided," he said, adding savagely, "What else is there for me to do?"

"Come ridin', that's what."

It was Sandy who had answered the question. Sligh—so the outiaw was called—shrugged disdainful shoulders.

They went off laughing and the other man's eyes followed them sneeringly. "You got a lot to learn, the pair o' you; a hell of a lot," he muttered.

They got their horses and separated, Sandy turning east to set free a man who was eagerly awaiting him, and Sudden heading in the opposite diection.

The exit was easily found, a tunnel-like crack in the rim rock just wide enough to permit the passage of a mounted man. There was little hght, for the cliff overhead appeared to be unbroken and the far end of the opening was masked by a mass of dense scrub. The few tracks showed that this means of entering or leaving the valley was seldom used.

Sandy had already told him that the nearest settlement on this side of the valley was some thirty miles distant, and that the only habitation of importance was the S-E ranch.

"Got a big range, has Sam Eden," the boy had said. "They say he owns a lot o' the land too. Our village belongs to Him but up to now he ain't served no writ of ejectment."

It was a wild bit of country into which Sudden emerged. Every now and then, a fierce-eyed steer would break from a thicket, glare at the rider, and crash back mto the brush. Some of these bore the S-E brand but more were unmarked.

"Sandy was right," Sudden reflected. "Either Eden's outfit is damn careless or he ain't had a proper roundup in years. He can't holler if someone taJtes care o' them mavericks."

As he was riding the rim of a shallow ravme, he heard a startled cry, followed by the beat of galloping hooves. It was a woman's voice and he judged it came from just ahead.

Along the bottom of the ravine, and only a few hundred yards away, a girl was desperately spurring her pony. A short distance behind, two mounted Indians were racing to overtake her. Sudden pulled up, swung his horse round, headed it for the inclined wall of the guUy, and leaned back in the saddle. The long leaping stride of the black soon began to overhaul the poorer animals in front, but Sudden saw he had no time to waste, already the foremost Indian had grabbed the bridle of the girl's pony, and was endeavoring to drag her from the saddle.

She was resisting, striking at the savage with the butt of her quirt, and fearing that the fellow would do her an injury he uttered a shout. Instantly the redskin whirled, dropped his lance, his right hand flashing to the quiver behind his shoulder, and Sudden felt a searing pain at the side of his neck. With incredible speed, the Indian notched a second arrow but ere he could despatch it the white man's revolver roared and the redskin pitched to the groimd. His companion, seeing what had happened, abandoned the girl, flogged his pony savagely up the steep bank of the ravine—which it climbed like a cat—and,

with a whoop of defiance, vanished over the edge. The cowboy followed, but by the time he reached the top the fugitive was half a mile distance on an open plain. When Sudden returned the girl rode to meet him, a grateful smile on her firm lips.

"Thank you," she said, holding out a slim, gauntieted hand. Then, as her frank brown eyes studied this stranger who had so providentially come to her rescue, she saw blood on the collar of his shirt. "But you are hurt," she cried.

"On'y a scratch, mebbe," he smiled. "Might as well make shore allasame."

He rode back down the ravine, swayed easily over in his saddle to pick up the arrow which had grazed him, and examined it closely. Then he returned to scrutinize the contents of the dead brave's quiver. He was grinning when he joined her again.

"Which I'm plumb lucky—that hombre grabbed a hunting shaft in his hurry," he told her.

Seeing that she did not comprehend, he explained that the Indian had both hunting and war arrows with him, and that the flint heads of the latter were dipped in rattie-snake venom, making the least wound dangerous or even fatal. The girl shivered.

"We'll wash and tie up that scratch," she said, and though he protested, had her way.

"I am Carol Eden," she told him. "The S-E ranch house is only about eight miles from here and my father will want to thank you."

"Why, there ain't no need—'* he began, but she cut the protest short.

"He will think there is, and I agree with him. Besides, there may be other Indians about."

This was an unanswerable argument and again Sudden had to give in; he was beginning to realize that here was a young woman who usually got what she wanted.

"You shouldn't be ridin' alone so far from home," Jim said.

"I know it. Dad warned me, but I thought the Indians were quiet now. You see, I have been East, at college, for some time."

"Injuns is never quiet tiU they're like—^him," the young

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man said grimly, with a jerk of his thumb backwards. "Dimno as you can blame 'em much—they've had a pretty raw deal, but redskins is pizen anyways. I'd oughta got that other; I've a himch I'll be seein' him again."

"I hope I don't," the girl said fervently. "I'll never forget that hideous painted face. If you hadn't come ..."

To take her away from the subject he mentioned that he too had recently returned from the East, and she looked at him with a new interest.

She went on to speak of herself. He learned that she was not really an Eden, the rancher having adopted her some years earlier, when the death of her father—his old friend—left her improtected.

"He has been very, very good to me," she finished, sofdy.

But Sudden was not as talkative. He told her his name and that was all. When she ventured a half-question, she received—as she had feared—only a half-answer:

"I'm just takin' a look at the country," he said.

"I'm glad you chose this bit of it today," Carol smiled. "We are near the ranch now; I must prepare for a tongue-lashing from Dad."

"He needn't to know," Sudden pointed out. "Yo're safe now; I can fade—"

"No, I'll take my medicine," she told him, and in mock reproach, "I shall begin to think you don't like your company."

The cowboy's eyes crinkled at the comers. "I could bear to be widi you a whole lot, ma'am," he said gravely.

On the broad, covered porch, which extended along the front of the S-E ranch house two men were sitting. The elder, short, big-shouldered, dressed in range rig, was Sam Eden, owner of the ranch. The other man was of a different type. Baudry was by profession a gambler, though he was now sitting in a bigger game. His expressionless gaze studied the man before him.

"So you are going to take the chance, Sam?" he said.

"Shore I am—nothin' else for it," the rancher replied. "You see, Jethro, I want things clear for Carol—case any-thin' happens to me, sabe?"

"You don't think I'd press her, do you?" Baudry asked.

"No, but yo're mortal too, an* gamblin' ain't the safest callin'," Eden replied bluntly.

"I can take care of myself," Baudry said with a thin smile. "Still, there's a chance. Setting that aside, you know I'm willing to wait?"

"Shore, you've been mighty good lettin' me have the coin, Jethro," the rancher said warmly. "But think of it, man; a hundred thousand acres that, in a few years' time, may be worth as many dollars as I've paid cents for 'em. Wouldn't you wanta feel it really belonged to you?"

Actually the gambler was feeling just that, but his bland features expressed nothing of the greed which possessed him.

"Natural enough, but these big drives are risky they tell me," he rejoined. "You may lose your herd."

"I'm losin' 'em anyway," the cattleman said bitterly, and reading the question in the other's eyes, "Yeah, rustlers, o' course. It's an easy play; the beasts is scattered in the brush an' a lot must be unbranded; our roundups ain't been too thorough the last year or so—I couldn't afford a large outfit—an' what was the use when all you could get for a steer was a few dollars for the hide an' taller? An' for that you gotta drive 'em to a coast town, which cut the profit to near nothin' at all.

"You see, Jethro, durin' the war, the ranches were neglected, the cattle ran wild, an' the natural increase was amazin'. When the fightin' finished, every Texas cattleman found himself with more cows than he could count, an' no market. Now, they tell me, it's different; the East needs beef; the gov'ment wants it to feed the Injuns on the reservations—when they can git the war-whoops to stay on 'em; the northern ranchers have discovered that the buffalo grass on their big plains wiU fatten cows an' they're lookin' for stock. There's a shippin' point at Abilene, Kansas, an' beasts worth Uttle more'n nothin' here wiU fetch as much as fifteen dollars or more apiece."

"Certainly sounds good," the younger man said. "If you can make it."

"I gotta make it, or bust," Eden said grimly. "Anyways, yo're sittin' pretty, Jethro; if I win through, you get yore dinero; if I don't the ranch is yores; you needn't to worry."

"I don't intend to," Baudry assured him, and again a

fleeting smile swept over his pale face. Then he asked casually: "Any news of that son of yours?"

The rancher's brows met in a heavy frown. "I've no son," he said harshly. "When he went from here he stepped outa my life; I'll be glad if youll remember that, Jethro." And, after a pause, "No, I ain't heard nothin'.'*

The other made no comment, but in his eyes there was a gleam of satisfaction.

"When do you expect to start north?'*

"Soon as we can father an' road brand a sizable herd. Hello, who's that with Carol?"

The girl and her companion, having left their mounts at the corral, had suddenly appeared round the end of the ranch house. Baudry rose and bowed to the lady, whose expression did not convey too warm a welcome.

"Dad, this is Mister Green, and I've brought him, much against his wish because I knew you would want to thank him."

In a few words she told the story of her adventure and Sam Eden's face paled beneath its tan as he comprehended the terrible fate she had so narrowly escaped. Impulsively his hand went out.

"Young fella," he said. "If there's anythin' I've got an' you want, name it You couldn't 'a' done me a greater service.**

Sudden gripped the proffered fist. "It don't need speakin* of, seh," he said. "I happened to be handy, an'..."

The rancher realized his feelings; he knew the breed— they would rather be blamed than thanked. He turned to the girl.

"As for you, miss, didn't I tell you—" Eden began stem-

ly.

"Now don't be an old bear; III fess up," she smiled. "Of course you warned me, and I was wrong to go so far, but I didn't think of Indians."

"It ain't on'y them pesky critters," the old man growled. **You might 'a' met up with some o' Rogue's Riders—his hide out is somewhere around." He looked at the cowboy quizzically. "You don't happen to belong to that gang, do you?"

Sudden shook his head, grinned, and repeated the

reply he had given the girl. "I'm from south; havin' a look at the country."

The explanation satisfied the cattleman; he was aware that the range rider was a restless animal, hable to fork his horse and set out, at short notice or none at all, in search of fresh fields. He hked the look of this loose-limbed, competent-appearing stnanger.

At the meal to which they sat down later, Eden reverted to the momentous step he was contemplating," asking the cowboy if he had any experience of trail-driving.

"On'y short distances," Sudden told him. "Never been north, but I hear it ain't no picnic."

The rancher nodded grimly. "Others have done it, an' I'm goin' to," he said. "Like to come along? I can do with a couple more men." He saw the hesitation, and added, "Think it over—we won't be ready yet awhile."

Sudden promised he would do so, and asked the probable size of the herd.

"I'm hopin' for three thousand head," Eden said. "Take some handhn' but I got a good outfit. The pay is thirty a month an' every man gets a share when we sell' the cattle.

The cowboy nodded. He liked the rancher, recognized him as a good specimen of the bluff, straight-forward frontiersmen who, penetrating and settling in the wildest parts of the country, were preparing the way for the civilization which would inevitably follow. Baudry he did not take to, instinct telling him that under the smooth exterior lurked passions by no means in keeping with it. Once or twice he caught him looking at the girl, plain desire in his eyes.

"Miss Carol, of course, wiU remain here," the gambler said.

"Miss Carol, of course, wiU—not," the lady promptly stated.

Her father looked at her in astonishment. "Don't talk fooUsh, girl," he said. "There's no place for a lone woman on a trail drive."

Carol's reply appeared to be irrelevant. "Aren't you taking Peg-leg?"

"Shore I am, we'd do fine without a cook, wouldn't we?"

'Then youTl have to take his wife—Judy won't let him go without her—so I shan't be a 'lone woman,' you see." The rancher's face was clouding up but she did not wait for the storm to burst. "Can't I ride, rope and drive catde as well as the boys?" she asked, and when he nodded a grudging assent, she added, "Well, then, you get a top hand for nothing, and yoif grumble. But of course, you were only teasing; you meant I should go all the time. I must tell Judy."