Rimrock Trail Read online

  CHAPTER XIII

  A ROPE BREAKS

  The lantern, turned down, dimly illumined the tent and revealed thefigures of three men seated about some sort of rough table. The flap wasdrawn and fastened. Occasionally a figure moved slightly. No passer-bywould have guessed that the three partners were ensconced in the blackmouth of the tunnel, ramparted by the dump heap, watching fordevelopments they were fairly sure would start with darkness. Everylittle while Sandy twitched a line that was attached to a clumsy buteffective rocker he had contrived beneath one of the dummies they hadbuilt from the stuff that Plimsoll had not reclaimed.

  "Don't want to work the blamed thing too much," he said. "Might bu'stit. It's on'y the one figger but I'll be derned if it don't looknatcherul."

  After which they all relapsed into silence, restrained from smoking forfear of a telltale spark or casual fragrance carried by the wind. It wasa dark night, the hillsides stood blurry against a blue-black sky inwhich the stars glittered like metal points but failed to shed muchlight. Later, much later, toward morning, a moon would rise.

  Here and there on the slopes bright spots or glows of fire marked theoccupied claim-sites. From the camp itself there came a murmur thatsometimes swelled louder under the dull flare that hung over the lowerend of the valley; reflection and diffusion from the gasoline lights andacetylene flares used by the owners of the eating-houses, the bars andgambling shacks, all open for business during miners' hours, which meanttwo shifts, of night and day.

  From the mouth of the tunnel the three watched the march of the stars,the wheel of the Big Dipper around its pivot, the North Star; markingtime by the sidereal clock of the heavens, each with a variant emotion.

  Mormon shifted his position more frequently than the others. None ofthem was especially comfortable, but Mormon wanted to keep as limber aspossible, he was afraid of stiffening up, thinking always of hischallenge to Roaring Russell. Slow to anger, Mormon, when his ragemounted was slow of statement. What he said he meant. The insult toMiranda Bailey while under his escort chafed him as a saddle chafes agalled horse. It had to be wiped out at the earliest moment and,singularly enough, the spinster was not particularly prominent in thematter. It was not a personal question; the insult had been offered towomanhood, and Mormon was ever its champion and its victim.

  Sam, cut off from tobacco and melody, bunkered down with his backagainst a frame timber and looked at the tall lean figure of Sandysilhouetted against the stars, wondering why Sandy had stopped soabruptly when the names of Westlake and Molly Casey had been coupled. Itwasn't like Sandy to move or halt without definite purpose, Samreasoned. "I suppose he figgers Molly too much of a kid," he toldhimself. "If these claims pan out she'll be rich. Likewise, so will we."His thoughts shifted to dreams of what he would do when they werewealthy. Very far beyond the purchase of an elaborate saddle and outfit,a horse or two he coveted, the finest harmonica to be bought, he did notgo. That Sandy might have felt a tinge of jealousy toward young Westlakewas furthest from his conjectures.

  As for Sandy, he had lost his mental orientation. Something hadhappened, something was happening within him and he could not tell theprocess nor name it. He was as a man who goes out into the darkness amidrooms and passages with which he considers himself familiar andsuddenly--there comes a door where should be space, or space where thereshould be a window--and he is lost, his senses betray him, for themoment he is completely fogged, all bearings lost, possessed with theblankness that accompanies the flight of self-confidence.

  He could see very plainly in mental vision the picture that Molly hadsent to the Three Star, now framed and given the place of honor on thetable of the ranch-house living-room. The picture of a girl in whoseeyes the fleeting look of womanhood, that Sandy had now and then seenthere and which had thrilled him so strangely, had become permanent.That she was something so vital she could not be dismissed from the lifeof the Three Star, from his own life, by sending her to school whenceshe would return almost a stranger, by making her an heiress, Sandyrecognized. He had deliberately given her his hand to help her out ofthe rut in which he had found her and now, with the swift series oftableaux conjured up by Sam's suggestion of her and Westlake together,lovers, Sandy realized the gap that was widening between Molly and him.If she was out of the rut would she not now regard him as in another ofhis own from which there was no up-lifting?

  To Sandy, Westlake seemed little more than a likable lad, placing him atabout twenty-three or four. He felt immeasurably older, harder, thoughthere were not more than six years between them--seven at the most. Eventhat made him almost twice the age of Molly. With this twist of hisreverie he realized that Molly was no longer to be considered as a girl.Toward the little maid he had poured out protectiveness, affection and,while his vials were emptying, she had crossed the brook. Into what hadhis affection shifted with the changing of Molly to womanhood?

  Sandy Bourke, knight of the roving heel, had never attempted to findsolution for his attitude toward women. It was neither wariness norantipathy. His life, drifting from rancho to rancho, sometimesconsorting with the rougher side of men careless of conventions, hadbeen, in the main, not unlike the life of a hermit, with long periodswhen he rode alone under sun and stars with only his horse for company.

  There were months of this and then came swiftly moving periods ofrelaxation in a cattle town where men unleashed the repressions and letpent-up energies and appetites have full sway. Sandy loved card chanceswhere his own skill might back what luck the pasteboards brought him inthe deal. Drinking bouts, the company of the women with whom many of hisfellows consorted, never appealed to him. His reservations found outletin gambling or in the acceptance of some job where the danger risks ranhigh, where success and self-safety hung upon his coolness, his keensense, his courage and his skill with horse and lariat and gun. A lifeas apart as a sailor's, more lonely, for he was often companionless formonths.

  So far he had never felt lack of anything, least of all lately, with thetwo men he liked best in active partnership with him, with a maturinginterest in the development of his ranch and his grade of cattle bymodern methods. But, to have Molly not come back, or, returning, to haveher wooed and won, entirely absorbed by some one like Westlake, struckhim with a sense of impending loss that amounted to a real pain,difficult of self-diagnosis. Westlake was worthy enough. A good mate forMolly, climbing up the ladder of education and culture to stand wherethe engineer, well-bred, well-mannered, now stood, the two of them to goon together....

  "Shucks!" muttered Sandy. "And he ain't even seen her picture. I musthave been chewin' loco weed."

  "What say?" asked Sam.

  "I'm goin' to take a li'l' look-see," said Sandy. "I reckon they'retryin' to git warmed up an' decide on what they'll do round here. Notellin' how long they may take or what kind of deviltry that camp boozemay work 'em up to. I'm pritty certain no one saw us sneak out of thetent afteh dahk."

  If they had been seen no attempt might be made to dislodge them from theclaims. Sandy did not believe such effort would turn out to be ashooting match,--unless the defenders started it,--but something moreunderhanded. The flinging of a dynamite stick, if the throwers feltcertain of not being caught, was a possibility if enough crude whiskyhad been absorbed. In all probability the crowd of ousted men weremaking themselves conspicuous in the camp during the earlier hours ofthe evening in view of a needed alibi. Nothing might happen untilmidnight and the long vigil was not comfortable. Sandy vanished from thetunnel mouth, sinking to the ground, instantly indistinguishable even toSam and Mormon. There was nothing to tell whether he had gone up-hill ordown. The momentary cessation of the cicadas' chorus was the onlywarning that a human was abroad.

  "Have a chaw?" Mormon whispered presently, after he had changed hispose.

  Sam took the plug tobacco and bit into it gratefully.

  "I sure hate stickin' around, waitin'," he said under his breath. "Allusmakes me plumb nerv'us."

  "Same here," answered Mormon. "Reckon it's that way w
ith most men. Sandydon't show it, 'cept by goin' out on a snoop."

  "He can see, smell an' hear where we'd be deef, dumb an' blind," saidSam. "Wonder what time it is? We've been here all of two hours already'cordin' to them stars."

  "What time does the moon rise?" asked Mormon.

  "'Bout half past three or so. You figgerin' on wrastlin' Roarin' Russellby moonlight, after we git through down here?"

  "I've got a hunch this is goin' to be a busy night, plumb through tillsun-up," said Mormon. "An', when I meet up with Roarin' Russell it ain'tgoin' to be jest a wrastlin match, believe me. It's goin' to be afree-fo'-all exhibition of ground an' lofty tumblin', 'thout rounds,seconds or referee. When one of us hits the ground it'll likely be fo'keeps."

  "I ain't seen you so riled up in a long time, old-timer. An' I'm backin'you fo' winner, at that. Jest the same, me an' Sandy'll do a li'l'refereein' fo' the sake of fair play."

  "I can hear you two gossipin' old wimmin gabbin' clear up to the top ofthe hill an' down to the crick," added a third voice as Sandy glided in,materializing from the darkness.

  "Anythin' doin'?" asked Sam.

  "No, an' there won't be long as you air yo' voices. You play like anangel on that mouth harp of yores, Sam, but you talk like a rasp. Mormonbooms like a bull frawg."

  They settled down again to their watch. The Great Bear constellationdipped down, scooping into the darkness beyond the opposing hill.

  "Pritty close to midnight," said Sam at last. "What's the ..."

  Sandy's grip on his arm checked him, all senses centering intolistening.

  The three stared blankly into the night, while their hands sought gunbutts and loosened the weapons in their holsters. Out of the blacknesscame little foreign sounds that they interpreted according to theirpowers. The tiny clink of metal, the faint thud of horses' hoofs, anexclamation that had barely been above the speaker's breath floated upto them through the stillness. The glow of the lantern showed throughthe tent wall.

  "Two riders," mouthed Sandy so softly that Mormon and Sam swung heads tocatch his words. "Came up the valley t'other side of the crick. Bothcrossed it above the tent. Reckon they're visitin' us. One of 'em'scomin' this way."

  They crouched, breathless now, listening to the soft padded sounds thattold of the approach of man and horse. These ceased. Still they couldsee nothing. Then there came a sharp shrill whistle, answered from thelevels. Followed instantly the thud of galloping ponies going at topspeed, parallel, one between the watchers and the tent as they saw theswift shadow shade the glow for an instant, the other between the tentand the creek. There was a sharp swishing as of something whippingbrush.

  "Yi-yi-yippy!" The cries rang out exultant as the horses dashed by thetunnel. The light in the tent wavered, went out. There was a shout ofsurprise and dismay, a _twang_ like the snapping of a mighty bowstringand then came the whoops of the trio from the Three Star as theyrealized what the attempt had been and how it had failed.

  Two riders, trailing a rope, had raced down the valley hoping to sweepaway the tent, to send its occupant sprawling, its contents scattered ina confusion of which advantage would be taken to chase the three offtheir claims, taken by surprise, made ridiculous.

  Sandy and Sam, searching for a convenient tent site, had happened upon amass of outcrop, overgrown by brush. Over this they had pitched thetent, using the rock for table, propping their dummies about it. Ifdynamite was flung it would find something to work against. They had notanticipated the use of the rope to demolish the canvas any more than thetwo riders had expected to bring up against a boulder. The impact, withtheir ponies spurred, urged on by their shouts to their limit, tore thecinches of one saddle loose, jerked it from the horse and catapulted theunprepared rider over its head, flying through the air to land heavily,while his mount, unencumbered, frightened, went careering off leavingits breathless master stunned amid the sage.

  As the cinches had given way at one end, the line itself had parted atthe other. The second pony had stumbled sidewise, rolling before the manwas free from the saddle. They could hear it thrashing in the willows,the rider cursing as he tried to remount while Sandy ran cat-footed downthe hill, leaving Mormon and Sam to handle the other. If there had beenassistants to the raid they had melted away, willing enough to join in adrive against men yanked from their tent, defenseless, but not at alleager to face the guns of those same men on the alert, the aggressive.

  Mormon and Sam found their man groaning and limp.

  "Don't believe he's bu'sted anything," announced Sam, "'less he's druvhis neck inter his shoulders. Got his saddle, Mormon?"

  "Yep. Want the rope?"

  They trussed their captive with the lariat still snubbed to hissaddle-horn. Down in the willows there was a flash, a report, ascurrying flight punctuated by an oath almost as vivid as the shot.Sandy came up the hill toward them.

  "Miss him?" asked Mormon.

  "It was sure dahk," said Sandy, "and I hated to plug the hawss. So Ionly took one shot to cheer him on his way. He was mountin' at the timean' it was a snapshot. I aimed at the seat of his pants. I w'udn't besurprised but what he's ridin' so't of one-sided. Who you got here? Totehim down-hill. I don't believe they bu'sted the lantern. We'll take alook at him."

  Sandy retrieved the lantern from the collapsed canvas and lit it. Mormonand Sam took the senseless man down to the creek where they attempted torevive him by pouring hatfuls of the icy water on his head. He was ablack-haired chap, sallow of face, clean-shaven. His clothes were thoseof a cowman.

  "Looks a heap like a drowned rat," said Mormon. "It's Sol Wyatt, one ofPlim's riders oveh to his hawss ranch. He got fired from theTwo-Bar-Circle fo' leavin' his ridin' iron to home an' usin' anothehbrand. Leastwise, that's what they suspected. Old Man Penny giv' him thebenefit of the doubt an' jest kicked him out of the corral. If he'd hadthe goods on him he'd have skinned him alive an' put his pelt on thebahn do' fo' a warnin'."

  "The damn fool rode a single-fire saddle fo' a job like that," said Sam."No wonder it bu'sted. He's sniffin', Sandy; what we goin' to do withhim?"

  "Take him up inter camp, soon's he's able to walk an' hand him over toPlimsoll with our compliments. They figgered they'd make us all lookplumb ridiculous with bein' flipped out of the tent. Then they'd havehad the crowd on their side erlong with the la'f, way it usually goes.Don't drown him, Mormon, he don't look oveh used to water, to me."

  Wyatt opened a pair of shifty black eyes to consciousness and the lightof the lantern and immediately closed them again, playing opossum. Samprodded him gently in the ribs.

  "Wake up, Sol," he said. "Come back to earth, you sky-salutin'circus-rider. You sure looped the loops 'fore you lit. Serves you rightfo' usin' a one-cinch saddle. Git up!"

  Wyatt gasped and sat up, grinning foolishly.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "Nothin'," answered Sandy. "Jest nothin'. Who was your buckaroo friendon the otheh end of the rope?"

  "I dunno. Never saw him before to-night."

  "Pal of Jim Plimsoll?"

  "I dunno. Nobuddy I know. Nobuddy you know, I reckon."

  "I'll know him likely next time I run across him," said Sandy. "He'spackin' a saddle brand I put on him." His voice was grimly humorous, herecognized Wyatt's obstinacy as something not without merit. "How's yorehaid?"

  "Some tender."

  "It ain't in first-rate condition or you w'udn't be drawin' pay fromPlimsoll. Yore saddle's here, yore hawss went west. Ef you want to leavethe saddle till you locate the hawss, you can git it 'thout any troubleany time you come fo' it. Or you can pack it with you now. We're goin'up to camp."

  "Figger it's safe to leave yore claims now?" asked Wyatt cheerfully.

  "I don't figger we'll be jumped ag'in befo' mornin'," replied Sandy. "Efwe are, why, we'll have to start the arguments all over."

  "I w'udn't be surprised," said the philosophic Wyatt, gingerly pressinghis head with his fingertips, "but what there is a gen'ral impression'stablished by this time that you three homb
res from the Three Star areright obstinate about considerin' this yore property."

  "You leavin' camp with Plimsoll in the mornin'?" Mormon asked casually.

  "I heard some rumor about his hittin' the sunrise trail," said Wyatt."Ef he goes, I stay. I'm a li'l' fed up on Jim Plimsoll lately. He pullstoo much on his picket line to suit me. Ef he's got a yeller stripe onhis belly, I'm quittin'. Some day he's goin' to git inter a hole that'llsure test his standard. Me, I may be a bit of a wolf, but I'm damned efI trail with coyotes. I'll leave my saddle. Any of you got the makin's?I seem to have lost most everything but my clothes. I shed a gun roundhere somewheres."

  "You can have it when you come back fo' yore saddle, Wyatt," said Sandy."Where was you an' yore unknown pal goin' to repo't back to Plimsoll?"

  Wyatt grinned in the lantern light.

  "Ef we trailed inter his place an' made a bet on the red over to thefaro table he'd sabe everything went off fine an' dandy. He w'udn'tfigger we'd show at all if it didn't come off. An' we w'udn't have."

  "There was one or two mo' staked out in the brush, 'less my hearin'sgone back on me," said Sandy. "Seemed to me I heard 'em makin' theirgetaway. I suppose you don't know their names, either?"

  "No, sir, I sure don't. An' I don't imagine they'll be showin' up atPlimsoll's right off. It was a win-or-lose job. Pay if it was pulledoff. Otherwise, nothin' doin'. You hombres treated me white. There's alot who'd have plugged me full of lead an' death. I was on yore land. Efyou force me to walk into Plimsoll's Place ahead of you I ain'tresistin' none, an' I shall sure admire to watch Plim's face when hesees you-all back of me."

  He took the trail ahead of them, hands in his pockets, his cigaretteglowing. Behind him walked Sandy. Wyatt finished his smoke and startedto hum a tune.

  "Oh, I'm wild an' woolly an' full of fleas, I'm hard to curry below the knees. I'm a wild he-wolf from Cripple Crick, An' this is my night to howl.

  "I ain't got a friend but my hawss an' gun, The last kin shoot an' the first kin run, An' I'm a rovin' son-of-a-gun, An' this is my night to howl."

  "He's a cool sort of a cuss," said Sam to Mormon. "I reckon he's a badactor, but there's sure somethin' erbout the galoot I like. He ain'tover fond of Plimsoll, that's a sure thing, if he is workin' fo' him.Wonder why?"

  "They tell me," replied Mormon, "thet Plimsoll's apt to be fond of theother feller's gal. He ain't satisfied with what he can pick forhimself. T'otheh feller's apple allus has a sweeter core. I w'udn'twondeh but what that was the trouble. Plim ain't got any mo' respect fo'wimmen than hell has fo' fryin' souls."

  "Uh-huh! He w'udn't go round pickin' a scrap with Roarin' Russell ontheir account, fer instance?"

  Mormon paid no attention to the friendly gibe. As they entered thestreet of the camp, largely deserted, though there was every evidence ofcrowds forgetting time in the drinking and gambling shacks, Sandy movedup even with Wyatt and locked arms with him.

  "I ain't goin' ter make no break," said Wyatt. "Here's Plim's. Jest youlet me go in ahead through the door. I've seen you use your guns. Iain't suicidin'."

  They allowed him to go in first, unescorted. Their plans held no furtherreprisal against Wyatt.