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  CHAPTER VI

  PASO CABRAS

  They did not make butter on the Three Star.

  Since the arrival of Molly an unwilling and refractory cow had beenbrought in from the range and half forced, half coaxed to give the freshmilk that Mormon insisted the girl needed. Until then evaporated milkhad suited all hands. But butter--to go with hot cakes andsage-honey--was an imperative need for the riders. Riders demanded thebest quality in the "found" part of their wages and the three partnerssupplied it. The butter came over weekly from the Bailey ranch to bekept under the spring cover for cooling. Usually the gangling young EdBailey brought it over in the crotchety flivver. When Sandy saw thesparsely fleshed figure of Miranda Bailey seated by the driver he wincedin spirit. This second visitation looked like mere curiosity and gossipand offset the opinion he had begun to form of the spinster--that shewas sound underneath her angularities and mannerisms.

  It was twilight. The three partners and Molly were on the ranch-houseporch after supper, and there was no escape. Sam slid his harmonica intohis pocket silently and Mormon groaned aloud as the rattlebang carchugged up and was braked, shaking all over until the engine was shutoff. Ed Bailey crossed his legs and rolled his cigarette. No one at theThree Star had ever seen him alight from the car, Mormon insisted he ateand slept in it. Miranda nodded at the three partners, who rose as shecame up the steps.

  "You sure need some new clothes, child," she said to Molly. "You got tohave 'em. I heard you was shot," she went on to Sam. "That sling ain'tright. You should have it fixed so yore wrist is higher'n yore elbow.Who's tendin' it?"

  "It's healin' fine," said Sam. "I'm pure-blooded an' my flesh allusheals quick."

  Miranda sniffed.

  "I reckon prohibition helps some," she retorted. "Now then, I come onbusiness. Sandy Bourke, you ain't any of you the legal guardian of thatchild, air you?"

  "Nothin' illegal in what we're doin', I reckon."

  "I didn't ask you that. You-all ain't got papers?"

  With the question she wriggled her eyebrows, shifted her glance andgenerally twisted her features in what Sandy interpreted plainly enoughas a suggestion that Molly should be eliminated from the talk. He didnot agree with the spinster. It was Molly's prime affair and he knewthat she would resent being treated too childishly in regard to her ownconcerns. Sandy had gentled too many high-spirited fillies and colts notto have found out that methods that apply to well-bred quadrupeds aregenerally coefficient with humans. He shook his head slightly at MissBailey's signaling.

  "Jest what's the idea?" he asked. "Some one figgerin' on makin' her stayat the Three Star unpleasant? Fur as jest gossip is concerned, it don'thave any weight with none of us an' there ain't no sense in mentionin'it."

  "'Pears you ain't givin' me over an' above credit for sense," saidMiranda, a bit grimly. "This ain't gossip. Ef you're bound the gel is tosit in with her elders I'll go right ahead. I got a lot of chores to doyet, deliverin' butter, an' the car's actin' up uncertain. Here 'tis. Igot it direct from my brother who's heard the talk that's goin' round.You've run foul of Jim Plimsoll--or he foul of you, which is morelikely. Plimsoll an' Eke Jordan, the sheriff, are like two peas in apod. The sheriff's got the inside of local politicks, so fur. When wewimmen git to votin' this fall things is goin' to be different. Rightnow, he's in. He an' the courts of this county are all striped the sameway. Reg'lar zebras. Penitentiary pattern 'ud match their skins. Mebbesome of 'em ought to be wearin' it.

  "Now for the meat of the nut. They're figgerin' on gettin' control ofthe gel away from you-all. They'll use argymints for the general publicthat she's too young to be keepin' house for three unmarried men,leastwise three men who ain't livin' with their wives." She lookedpointedly at Mormon. "They'll rouse up opinion enough for a change.They'd like to app'int a guardian of their own kidney. Mebbe we canblock that if one of us comes out an' offers to take her. I'd be gladto, for one, an' do the right thing by her."

  Molly walked over to Sandy's chair and stood behind it, her eyeswidening, her breath beginning to come quickly.

  "There's some talk about her father's claims over to Dynamite lookin'up. Party of easterners over that way lately, nosin' around to find outowners, lookin' up assessment work an' so on. Talk of a boom. I reckonPlimsoll's twigged that. Lawyer Feeder, who run for state senator an'whose record's none too dainty, is in cahoots with Jordan an' Plimsoll.Ed heard they figger on goin' before Judge Vanniman, one of their crowd,to get an order of court. She's a minor. They can git her away from you.If we crowd them too hard for them to app'int one of their own ring--an'they're figgerin' on Plimsoll, he claimin' to be her father'spartner--they'll likely have her put in some institution. An' it's goin'to be done right sudden. I w'udn't wonder, from all I hear, but whatthey're over here ter-morrer with a court order. An' you can't fight thecourts 's long as they're in authority, the way you fought JimPlimsoll."

  Molly stepped out, eyes flashing, fists clenched, talking passionately."I won't go with 'em. I'll run away. They can't take me. Jim Plimsoll isa damned liar. You won't let 'em take me?" She turned to Sandy, her armsstretched in appeal.

  "No, Molly, I won't. Will we, boys?"

  "You can bet everything you got an' ever hope to own we won't," saidSam.

  "That goes for me," echoed Mormon, but he scratched his fringe of hairin some perplexity.

  "Talk don't beat an order of the court," said Miranda Bailey. "Mebbe Iseem sort of vinegary to you, child, but I'm not a bad sort. My brotherEd has got somethin' to say in this community an' I'm likely to controla few votes this fall myself. I figger if you came home with me to-daywe c'ud manage to git you placed with us. There's been tattle about youstoppin' here. You're fifteen--an'...."

  "Some folks is jest plumb rotten," flared Molly. "I'm no kid. I ... _oh,if_ Dad was alive!"

  Sandy stood up and slid an arm about her shaking shoulders. She wheeledand buried her head on his shoulder, sobbing.

  "We're powerful obliged to you, Miss Bailey, for what you told us," saidSandy. "I'm right sure you'd give Molly a fine home, but we got otherplans an' we aim to carry 'em out. Plimsoll's a skunk an' I'll block hisgame about the mines ef they amount to anything. Molly's goin' east forher eddication. She's got plenty money to git the best that's goin' an'she's goin' to have it."

  "Then you better git her 'cross the county line before many hours areover." Miranda Bailey recognized something better than mere decision inSandy's voice, she was not the leading suffragist of the county forlack of brains. But there was true regret in her voice as she went on."I'm sorry she don't cotton to the idee of comin' over to our place. Awoman needs a woman's company." At the diplomatic concession to hermaturity Molly gave the spinster a mollified glance. Miss Bailey climbedinto the machine.

  "You aim on takin' her out of the county to the railroad ter-morrer?"she asked. "What school is she goin' to?"

  "We ain't settled all the details," said Sandy. "But we'll do that allright. We'll git ready soon's we can. Meantime, we'll keep our eyespeeled ter-morrer against any order from Hereford."

  "Want to use this car? I'll bring it over early. Ed can drive it."

  The gangling youth for the first time showed an intelligent interest inanything outside of his cigarette.

  "Fo' time's sake, aunt," he said, "'twouldn't be no manner of good if itcome down to a runnin' chase. Nearest depot's fifty mile' across thecounty line. Racin' this car ag'in' the sheriff's 'ud be like matchin' aflea ag'in' a grasshopper. Dern it, she's balked ag'in." He wrestledwith the crank, conquered it and the machine shivered like a hunting dogwhile his aunt adjusted spark and gas. She nodded to him to start andthey moved off, Miranda waving a farewell as she called out, "Goodluck!"

  "Some sport!" announced Sam. "That's the kind of woman you sh'ud havemarried, Mormon."

  Molly, excited now, demanded audience.

  "When do we start?" she asked eagerly. "Will you wait till they come outfrom Hereford?"

  "I got to think out things a bit, Molly," said Sandy. "I fig
ger we'llgit a start on 'em, ef you can git ready. In the mornin'."

  "I haven't got much to take."

  "We'll buy you an outfit."

  "Horseback?"

  Sandy looked at her with puckered eyes.

  "Can't tell you what I ain't sure of myse'f," he drawled. "One thing issure, you got to tuhn in an' git a good rest. Ef we slide out it won'tbe all a pleasure trip. I reckon Plimsoll means business. An' he's suregot the county machinery behind him right now."

  "I can take Grit?"

  "W'udn't want to leave us somethin' to remember you by?" asked Sandy."Somethin' to help make sure you'll come back?"

  "I'd allus come back, to visit Dad," she said. "But Grit...? I don'twant to leave Grit."

  "It 'ud be a hard trip fo' him this way, Molly. I ain't sure about theregulations at them schools. I reckon the best way w'ud be fo' you tomake arrangements fo' him to come on afteh you git there."

  Molly regarded Sandy soberly, her fingers twining through the dog'smane.

  "You'd be good to him--same as you air to me? Oh, I'm jest plumb mean toask you that. I know you w'ud. He's goin' to be jest as lonesome as mefor a bit, ain't you, Grit? He allus slep' with me, cuddlin' up,an'----" She gulped, straightened.

  "Good night," she said. "Come, Grit."

  The three men sat silent for a moment or two after she left.

  "She's sure a stem-winder," said Mormon presently. "How you goin' to fixto git her away, Sandy? Plimsoll'll be hotter'n a bug on a hot griddle."

  "I got a plan warmin' up," said Sandy. "Nearest to the county line iswest through the Cabezas Range. Only two gaps, Paso Cabras, an' theBolsa."

  "But the Bolsa...." started Sam.

  Sandy checked him.

  "I know. Listen! I aim to git to the railroad an' then me an' Molly'llmake for New Mexico."

  "Huh!"

  "You guessed it, Mormon. For the Pecos River an' Boville an' the ReddingRanch. I reckon Barbara Redding'll handle the thing. She'll git Mollyher outfit an' she'll know all about the right schools."

  Mormon brought his hand down on Sam's thigh with a sounding whack.

  "Dern me, ef he ain't the wise ol' son of a gun," he cried delightedly."Sure!"

  "It's the thing," assented Sam, rubbing himself, "but you don't have tobreak my laig over it. Sandy, you sure use yo' brains."

  Barbara Redding, once Barbara Barton of the celebrated Curly O, was abright star in the mutual firmament of the Three Star partners. They hadall worked together on the Curly O in the old days. Sandy had beenforeman there. Once he had rescued Barbara Barton from horse rustlerswith a grudge against her father and once again he had rendered her evengreater service when members of the same crowd kidnapped hertwo-year-old son whom Barbara Redding had brought on a visit to hisgrandfather. Sandy had trailed alone and brought in the "li'l' son of agun," as he styled the youngster. There was little that Barbara Reddingand her husband, wealthy rancher, would not do for Sandy.

  "I've got an itch to give Plimsoll an' his pals a run fo' their money,"went on Sandy. "An' here's the way I figger to do it, in the rough. Seewhat you all think of it."

  Subdued guffaws rose from the porch in through the open window of theroom where Molly Casey lay wide awake, the dog beside her. Presently sheheard the martial strains of Sam's harmonica, cuddled under his bigmustache, played one-handed. He was playing an air that he had dedicatedto Sandy. Vaguely it comforted her.

  "They're _good_," she said to Grit. "An' they've figgered out somethingor they w'udn't be actin' thataway. You an' me got to be game."

  Sandy smoked his cigarette and Mormon lolled in his chair, while Sambreathed out his melody into the night that was very still and veryquiet, with the great white stars burning rayless. The tune swelledtriumphantly.

  Behold El Capitan, Notice his misanthropic stare, Look at his independent air; And match him if you can, He is the champion beyond compare.

  It was a tribute to the strategy of Sandy Bourke, the D'Artagnan of theThree Musketeers of the Range, whereof Mormon was surely Porthos, if Samwas hard to recognize as Aramis. "One for all and all for one" was theirmotto, and neither Mormon nor Sam doubted for an instant that Sandywould win. Sandy, smoking cigarette after cigarette, was not so sure butequally complacent.

  Next morning, breakfast over before the sun was well above the peaks,while desert birds were still rising, twittering shrill welcome to thedawn, Sandy went about humming snatches of cowboy songs just above hisbreath as he oversaw the arrangements for the exodus that was to be; notso much a flight, as a deliberately calculated laying of a trail for thepursuit. So might an old dog fox, sure of his speed and wisdom, trotleisurely across a field in full sight of the pack. Sandy had nointention of waiting until the lawhounds arrived, he needed a startagainst the handicap of high-powered cars. He was in high humor as thebuckboard was greased, a team of buckskins given a special feed and arub-down, and various articles gathered for transportation. Among thesewere a spool of barbed wire and a dozen fence posts.

  "I'm a rollickin', rovin' son of a gun Of a roamin' gambolier;"

  sang Sandy, lights dancing in his gray eyes. Sandy was not old--a littleshort of thirty--but he was generally mature, suggesting deliberation ofmind if not of action. This morning youth was his, rollicking,devil-may-care youth that showed in his walk, the set of his shoulders,his smile.

  His spirit was infectious. Four riders, jumping to his orders, tossedbadinage among one another like a ball. Mormon and Sam, seated on thetop rail of the corral fence, openly admired their partner.

  "Like old times, Mormon?" suggested Sam.

  "Sure is. I reckon we'll have some fun 'fore the day's out. Sandy cancert'nly scheme out the scenarios."

  "The what?"

  "The scenarios," repeated Mormon loftily. "I got that out of a movingpitcher magazine down to Hereford. It's the word fo' the plot of thestory. Sabe?"

  "Huh! I reckon them movin' pitcher shooters 'ud have to move some to gitall that's movin' this trip. Got yore gun oiled up, Mormon? Here'sMolly."

  Molly came out on the porch carrying a small grip packed with her fewbelongings, Grit beside her. Sandy nodded to her, busy givinginstructions to two riders. Mormon and Sam waved and she went over tothem, swinging up to the rail beside them.

  "Jim," said Sandy, "I want you should ride out to'ards Hereford an' hideout atop of Bald Butte. You don't need to stay there any later thannoon. Take a flash-glass with you. If any of the sheriff's crowd comeserlong, any one who looks like he might be servin' papers, sabe, youflash in a message. Make it a five-flash fo' anything suspicious, athree-flash fo' any one shackin' this way, even if you figger they'replumb harmless."

  "Seguro, Miguel." With the slang phrase, Jim, an upstanding young chap,despite his horse-bowed legs, walked over to the bunk-house forflash-mirror and gun, came back to his already caught-up and saddledhorse, turned stirrup and set foot in it, caught hold of mane and horn,beat the quick swirl of his pony sidewise with the fling of leg overcantle and went streaming off for the Bald Butte in a cloud of dust.Sandy called to Buck Perches, oldest of his riders, whose exposed skinmatched the leather of his saddle.

  "Buck, ef any visitors arrives while we're gone, you entertain 'em sameas I w'ud. I w'udn't be surprised but what Jim Plimsoll 'ud be moseyin'erlong, with Sheriff Jordan an' mebbe one or two mo'. Mo' the merrier.They'll be lookin' fo' me an' Miss Molly with some readin' matter that'sgot a seal to the bottom of it. We won't be to home. You'll be the onlyone to home 'cept Pedro an' Joe. They've got their instructions to knownothin'. They ain't supposed to know nothin'. You--you've stayed to theranch to do some fixin' of yore saddle. Started, but come back when yorecinch bu'sted. Sabe? All the rest of the riders is on the range 'tendin'business. When they left, an' when you left with 'em, me an' Mormon an'Sam, with Miss Molly, was all here. So you supposed. Don't let 'em thinkyo're planted to feed 'em info'mation."

  Buck nodded, solemn as an image, his dark eyes twinkling a little.

  "I'm real p
leasant to the sheriff an' sort of indifferent to this herePlimsoll person?" he suggested.

  "Let 'em size up the thing fo' themselves. They'll find Pronto in thecorral, also Sam's roan, which they know is our usual mounts. If theydon't sabe the buckboard's gone, which they probably will, knowin' thisoutfit fairly well, an' the sheriff not bein' a dumbhead; lead up to it.Then you might horn it out of Pedro that he thinks we started erbout teno'clock an' leave it to them to foller trail. It'll be plain enough.We'll take care of the rest. Up to you, Buck, to act natcherul."

  "I'll sure do that. I sabe the play."

  "Then we'll light out soon's we're packed. Mormon, git the grub an'water aboard. Sam, help me with the rest of the truck. Got yore war-bag,Molly?"

  "I haven't said good-by to Dad, or Grit," she said.

  Sandy nodded. "Reckon you'd like to do that alone. Suppose you take Gritwith you to the spring an' then leave him up in yore room."

  "He knows I'm goin'. I told him last night, but he knew it 'thout that."Molly spoke in a monotone. She was pale and her eyes showed lack ofsleep but she had fought the thing out with herself and she was goingto be game. She gave Sandy her grip and walked off toward thecottonwoods. Grit nosed along in her shadow, his muzzle touching herskirt.

  It was a big load for the buckboard with Mormon and Sam in the back seatcrowded by the piled-up baggage, with Sandy driving and Molly besidehim, flushed a little with growing excitement. But the buckskins weresinewed with whalebone and used to desert work. They surged forward atthe word, tightening the tugs in an eager leap and settled down to afast trot, out across the prairie. The riders, with the exception ofBuck, and Jim, who was already close to the butte, which was midwaybetween the ranch and Hereford, loped off, two and two, to their work,not to return until sun-down.

  It was still cool, the dust rose about them in eddies as they crossedthe slowly descending slope of the sink that presently mounted againtoward the far-off range. There was no apparent road, but Sandy chose acompass course between the sage for the first few miles, then skirtedthe mesquite. Sam leaned forward once when the buckskins had been pulleddown to a walk and spoke to Molly.

  "See that notch in the range?" he asked, "oveh to the no'th, where theshadder's blue. That's Paso Cabras, the Pass of the Goats. Some saysit's named 'cause the cliffs is fair lousy with goats, some 'cause on'ya goat can make the climb. County line's five mile' out on the plainbeyond the pass. Railroad two mo', at Caroca."

  "Are we goin' through the pass?" she asked Sandy.

  "Well, I'll tell you this much, Molly. If we sh'ud decide to go that wayan' strike the pass afore the sheriff catches up with us, he'll have tofoller afoot or go clean round the mesa. The Goat's Pass ain't no placefo' an automobeel, nor an airyplane neither. Don't believe there's alevel spot wider'n five foot or bigger than that much square."

  Either Mormon or Sam sat always with neck twisted, watching for aflash-signal from the butte that stood up clearly in the crystalatmosphere, sometimes distorted, changing hue from chocolate to indigo,never seeming to get any farther away, just as the mesa range neverseemed to get any closer. Sometimes Molly relieved them as lookout, buthour after hour passed without sign.

  Close to noon they reached a watering hole, with water none too cool orsweet, but still welcome. There the buckskins were unhitched, rubbeddown and, after they had cooled off, given water and grain. Save forsweat marks, they showed little sign of the grueling trip through thesoft dirt. A strip of lava, half a mile of ancient flow, lay betweenthem and the long up-slope of the desert to the mesa. As they ate lunchin the shadow of some barrel cactus, Sandy suddenly gave a grunt ofsatisfaction, pointing with outstretched forefinger to the butte. Fiveflashes had flickered up. They were repeated. Jim had signaled asuspicious party on their way to Three Star. The sheriff was out withhis papers.

  "We got five hours' staht," said Sandy. "Made close to thirty mile'.They've got thirty-five to make. Take 'em mo'n two hours, countin'questions with Buck. Good enough. See anything of the boys, Sam? Theyought to be showin' up. I told 'em noon."

  "On time," announced Sam. The two riders who had last talked with Sandyrode out of a straggling thicket of cactus and skirted the lava flow.Each led a spare horse, unsaddled.