Rimrock Trail Page 9

  CHAPTER IX

  CAROCA

  As Sandy had promised, there was a wide-bottomed canyon where great oaksgrew on the flats beside the unfailing stream. The trees were only vastshapes in the starlight, the long grass was wet and clinging, the creekspouted and tore along as Sandy led the way on the mare to a shelvingbench, a place where he had camped once long before and, with hisout-of-doors-man's craft, never forgotten. Molly was tired almost toinsensibility as to what might be going on, soaked and chilled tolimpness. Sandy got her out of the saddle and into a shallow cave in asandy bank. The next thing she knew a fire was leaping and sending lightand warmth into her nook.

  She heard Sandy talking to his mare. Between the range rider and hismount there is always an understanding born of loneliness, closecompanionship and mutual appreciation. Sandy was certain that his poniesunderstood most of what he said, and they were very sure that Sandyunderstood them thoroughly.

  "Used yore brains, you did, li'l' old lady," said Sandy. "Sure did.Can't do much fo' you now. There's a li'l' grain left fo' you an' thebay, an' we'll dry out these blankets a bit. Can't let you stay long orwe'll git all stiffened up, but Chuck Goodwin, down to Caroca, he knowshawses an' he's a pal of mine. He'll fix you with a hot mash an', afterthat, anything on the menu from alfalfy to sugar. The pair of you. Youbay, you, dern me if you ain't a reg'lar goat! A couple o' pie-eatin',grain-chewin', antelope-eyed, steel-legged cayuses, that's what youare!"

  Molly listened drowsily to the affection in his voice. It was nice to bespoken to that way, she thought. Nice to be looked after. Her dad hadbeen fond of her, but his words had lacked the silk, the caress thatsavored the strength, as it did with Sandy. She snuggled into the warmheat-reflecting sand like a rabbit in its burrow.

  "Eat this, Molly, an' we got to be on our way." Sandy was handing her acupful of hot savory stew, made for the trip, warmed up hastily, thebest kind of a meal after their strenuous experience, though Sandybemoaned its quality.

  "Figgered you an' me 'ud eat on the Pullman ter-night," he said. "Butthis snack'll do us no harm. We'll git a cup of coffee in Caroca ifthere's a chance."

  She gulped the reviving food gratefully, strength coming back with thefuel that gave both warmth and motive power. Soon they were jogging ondown the wide trough of the canyon beneath the white, steady stars,through scrub oak and chaparral, the air sweet scented with wild spice,through slopes set with sleeping folded poppies and Mariposa lilies,past cactus groves, columnar, stately, mystic; the mesa slopesreceding, its great bulk dim mass, the twin notches that marked thePass of the Goats hardly discernible against the sky. They crossed awhite road, unfenced but evidently a main source of travel though nowdeserted.

  "County line runs plumb down the middle of the road," announced Sandy."There's the lights of Caroca blinkin' away to the left. Too bad wemissed the train. Sleepy?"

  "Some," she admitted.

  "Me too," lied Sandy companionably.

  Coming down from the mesa he had talked with her about Barbara Redding,how welcome she would make Molly and what she would do for her. Mollyhad listened silently. Only once she had spoken.

  "Why didn't you marry her 'stead of that Redding?" she asked.

  Sandy laughed, whole-heartedly.

  "Don't believe she'd have had me. Never figgered on marryin' anybody.I'm a privateerin' sort of a person, Molly, sailin' under my own colors,that means. I've allus had the saddle itch till Mormon an' Sam an' mesettled down to the ranch. Never had time enough in one place to foolround the gels."

  "Sam says yo're woman-shy?" queried Molly.

  "Mebbe I am. But it ain't the way a dawg is gun-shy. Must be thehorrible example Mormon's set up."

  "Don't you like wimmen?"

  "Sure do. Admire 'em pow'ful. Never met the one I'd want to tie to,that's all, Molly."

  "None of 'em pritty enough?"

  "Pritty? Shucks! Looks don't count so all-fired much. The woman I mostadmired was the wife of ol' Pete Holden, a desert prospector an'drifter, like yore dad, Molly. She was old an' tough an' wiry, like hewas. I don't figger she'd ever have taken a blue ribbon in a beautycontest, but she was like first-grade linoleum, the pattern wore cleanthrough an' the stuff was top quality. She'd drifted with Pete over mostof Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Arizony, Nevada and paht of NewMexico an' Texas, an' she warn't jest his wife, she was his pal an'fifty-fifty partner. Pete said the on'y time he ever knew her to holdout on him was once in the Canyon Pintada when he woke up in the nightand saw her pourin' water out of her canteen into his. Nothin' prittyabout Kate Holden, but she was full woman-size from foot callus to grayha'r, back to back with Pete all the time she wasn't standin' side ofhim."

  "She warn't eddicated?" asked Molly.

  "She was. Some thought it funny, for Pete was no scholar. I've listenedwith him, more'n once when she'd tell us things about plants andinsects, or about the stars, things we'd never dreamed of. They say shec'ud play the pianny an' she sure c'ud sing. Ask Sam about that. ButPete was her man an' she was his woman, so they trailed fine together."

  "I see," said Molly. "She loved him."

  There was a peculiar quality to the tone of the girl's voice. It was notthe first time that Sandy had noticed it, lately wondering a little, notrealizing that his own observation was a recognition based uponresponse. Now he figured that the low softness of her speech was due toher tired condition and a little wave of tenderness swept him, blentwith admiration of her pluck. Saddle-racked, nerve-tried, she had nevermurmured, never mentioned the trials of the trail.

  They entered the little town, once a cattle station, now renamed inmusical Spanish, Caroca,--A Caress--a spot where fruits were grown andshipped and flowers bloomed the year round wherever the water caressedthe earth. Sandy rode the mare into the livery where the last skirmishbetween hoof and rim, iron and rubber tire was being fought, and calledfor "Chuck" Goodwin.

  A stout man came out, not so heavy, not so big as Mormon, but sheathedin flesh with the armor of ease and good living. He peered up at Sandy,then let out a shout.

  "You long-legged, ornery, freckle-faced, gun-packin' galoot, SandyBourke! Light off'n that cayuse, you an' yore lady friend. Where in timedid you-all drop from?"

  "Come across the mesa. Like to git washed across through Paso Cabras,"said Sandy. "Miss Casey, let me make you 'quainted with Chuck Goodwin,one time the best hawss-shoer in the seven Cactus States, now sellin'oil an' gasoline at fancy prices, not to mention machines fo' which heis agent."

  "Got a few oats left fo' yore hawsses, Sandy. Miss, won't you comeinside the office? Where you bound, Sandy?"

  "We was aimin' to catch the seven o'clock train east, makin' fo' NewMexico an' the Redding Ranch, where Miss Casey is to visit fo' a spell,but we found the trail bad an' a cloud-bu'st finally set us back so wequit hurryin' an' loafed in. Chuck, have you got a machine you c'ud rentus, with a driver?"

  "You can have anything I got in the place with laigs or wheels, an'welcome. Goin' to the old Redding Ranch? Give my howdedo to MissBarbara, or Mrs. Barbara as she is now. But--" He looked at the wallclock. "It's a quarter of ten. Yore train's been altered to suit mainline schedules. She don't come through till nine-thirty an' she'sgen'ally late makin' the grade. I ain't heard her whistle yet. Iwouldn't wonder but what you can make it. Not that I'm aimin' none tohurry you."

  The ex-blacksmith reached for the telephone and got his connection.

  "Runnin' twenty minutes late," he announced. "Hop in my car an' we'lljest about make her. She don't do much more'n hesitate at Caroca whenshe's behind time."

  He hurried them out on the street to where a car stood by the curb.Molly and her few belongings got in behind, Sandy mounted with Goodwin.

  "You'll take good care of the hawsses, Chuck?" he said. "I'll probablybe back for 'em myse'f in three-fo' days."

  "Seguro." Goodwin stepped on his starter and the flywheel whirred tosputtering explosions. Another car came limping down the street, flaton both rims of one side, its paint plastered with mud,
one light out,the other dimmed with mire. The driver called to Goodwin.

  "Which way to the depot?"

  Goodwin, his hand on the lever, foot on the clutch, was astounded tohear Sandy hissing out.

  "Don't tell 'em. Scoot ahead full speed." Then, over his shoulder to thegirl, "Crouch down there, Molly." Goodwin was still a man of action andhe knew Sandy Bourke of old. Out came the pedal, the gears engaged andthe car shot ahead, beneath a swinging arc light. Sandy's hat-rim didnot sufficiently shade his face or Molly's action had not been swiftenough. There came a yell and a string of curses from the crippled carwhich backed and turned and followed, its torn treads flapping.

  Goodwin asked no questions of Sandy. If the latter wanted ever to tellhim why he required a quick exit out of Caroca, or why he was followed,he could. If not, never mind. He slid his gears into high and dodgedaround corners recklessly. A red lantern showed ahead in the middle ofthe road. They crashed through a light obstruction of boards andtrestles, overturning the lantern and plowed on over rough stones.

  "I'm mayor," said Goodwin with a grin. "Breakin' my own rules but Ifigger that broken stone'll bother 'em some. We'll chance it."

  They lunged through, regardless of tires and, behind them, the pursuingcar rattled, lurched, skidded. A third tire blew out and as Goodwinswung a corner with two wheels in the air the sheriff's machine smashedviciously across the sidewalk, poking its crumpling radiator into acottonwood.

  "Brazen bulls!" shouted Goodwin. "There she blows! You got to run."

  The depot was ahead, to one side of the road-crossing. The train, itsclanging bell slowing for the stop, ground to a halt, the conductorswinging from a platform to glance at the "clear" board. He waved"ahead" as Sandy and Molly raced up and clambered to the platform fromwhich the trainman had dropped off. Now the latter remounted while thetrain restarted, gathered speed.

  "Where to?" he asked Sandy, surveying the pair of them curiously.

  Sandy did not answer. He was watching four running figures coming downthe street. A star flashed on the breast of one of them, a star dulledwith mud. Goodwin had disappeared. Jordan pulled up, Plimsoll closebehind him, and the depot building shut off Sandy's view.

  "Where to?" asked the conductor again. "Got reservations?"

  "Bound for Boville, New Mexico. On the El Paso and Southwestern. What'sthe charges? No reservations, but we rode fifty mile' across the mesa tomake the train."

  Sandy produced his roll and at the same time he grinned in the light ofthe conductor's lantern. And Sandy's smile was worth much more thanordinary currency. It stamped him bona-fide, certified his character.The conductor's profession made him apt at such endorsements.

  "We take you to Phoenix," he said. "Change there for El Paso. I can giveyou a spare upper for the lady."

  Molly, all eyes, tired though they were, was staring at the PullmanAfro-American, flashing eyes and teeth and buttons at her and even moreat Sandy.

  "Fine!" said Sandy. "Smoker's good enough fo' me. He's got a bed foryou, Molly. See you in the morning."

  He waited, countenancing her while she climbed the short ladder to thealready curtained berth. Molly's system might be aquiver with wonder butshe never showed loss of wits or poise. She might have traveled so ahundred times. Back of the curtain she curled up half-undressed but,even as Sandy registered to himself with a low chuckle: "She neverturned a hair or shied."

  He found the smoking-room empty and rolled cigarettes. Presently theconductor came in to go over his batch of tickets and accounts.

  "Cattle?" he asked Sandy.

  "Yes, sir. Three Star Ranch, nigh to Hereford."

  "Business good these days? Beef's high enough in the city."

  "It's fair in the main," answered Sandy. "Sometimes we seem right happyan' prosperous an' then ag'in," he added with a twinkle in his eyes,"we're jest a jump ahead of the sheriff."

  "Boss," said the porter to the conductor, later, "Ah reckon that's a badman fo' suah. Carryin' two of them six-guns. You figgah he's elopin' wivthat gal?"

  The conductor surveyed his aide disdainfully.

  "You've been seeing too many cheap picture-shows lately, Clem," he said."Eloping with that young girl? I wouldn't hint it to him if I were you.Don't you know a he-man when you see one?"