Add files from ibiblio as of 2025-03-08 13:19:21HEADmain

1 files changed, 8944 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/41447-0.txt b/41447-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c652b21
--- /dev/null
+++ b/41447-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,8944 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41447 ***
+
+                                 CURLY
+
+                      A TALE OF THE ARIZONA DESERT
+
+                            By ROGER POCOCK
+
+                    Author of "A Frontiersman," etc.
+
+
+    Boston
+    Little, Brown, and Company
+
+    _Copyright_, 1904,
+    BY ROGER POCOCK.
+
+    _Copyright, 1905,_
+    BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+    _All rights reserved._
+
+    Published May, 1905.
+
+    Printers
+    S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+   CHAPTER                                         PAGE
+
+        I. APACHES                                    1
+
+       II. LORD BALSHANNON                            9
+
+      III. HOLY CROSS                                16
+
+       IV. THE RANGE WOLVES                          27
+
+        V. BACK TO THE WOLF PACK                     37
+
+       VI. MY RANGE WHELPS WHIMPERING                44
+
+      VII. AT THE SIGN OF RYAN'S HAND                52
+
+     VIII. IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE                 65
+
+       IX. WAR SIGNS                                 69
+
+        X. STORM GATHERING                           78
+
+       XI. THE GUN-FIGHT                             89
+
+      XII. THE CITY BOILING OVER                    106
+
+     XIII. THE MAN-HUNT                             118
+
+      XIV. THE FRONTIER GUARDS                      126
+
+       XV. MOSTLY CHALKEYE                          138
+
+      XVI. ARRANGING FOR MORE TROUBLE               145
+
+     XVII. THE REAL CURLY                           156
+
+    XVIII. THE WHITE STAR                           167
+
+      XIX. A MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT                    184
+
+       XX. THE MARSHAL'S POSSE                      200
+
+      XXI. A FLYING HOSPITAL                        212
+
+     XXII. ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS                       222
+
+    XXIII. A HOUSE OF REFUGE                        234
+
+     XXIV. THE SAVING OF CURLY                      254
+
+      XXV. A MILLION DOLLARS RANSOM                 272
+
+     XXVI. THE STRONGHOLD                           290
+
+    XXVII. A SECOND-HAND ANGEL                      314
+
+
+
+
+CURLY
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+APACHES
+
+
+Back in Old Texas, 'twixt supper and sleep time, the boys in camp would
+sit around the fire and tell lies. They talked about the Ocean which was
+bigger than all the plains, and I began to feel worried because I'd
+never seen what the world was like beyond the far edge of the grass.
+Life was a failure until I could get to that Ocean to smell and see for
+myself. After that I would be able to tell lies about it when I got back
+home again to the cow-camps. When I was old enough to grow a little
+small fur on my upper lip I loaded my pack pony, saddled my horse, and
+hit the trail, butting along day after day towards the sunset, expecting
+every time I climbed a ridge of hills to see the end of the yellow grass
+and the whole Pacific Ocean shining beyond, with big ships riding herd
+like cowboys around the grazing whales.
+
+One morning, somewheres near the edge of Arizona, I noticed my horse
+throw his ears to a small sound away in the silence to the left. It
+seemed to be the voice of a rifle, and maybe some hunter was missing a
+deer in the distance, so I pointed that way to inquire. After a mile or
+so I heard the rifle speaking again, and three guns answered, sputtering
+quick and excited. That sounded mighty like a disagreement, so I
+concluded I ought to be cautious and roll my tail at once for foreign
+parts. I went on slow, approaching a small hill. Again a rifle-shot rang
+out from just beyond the hill, and two shots answered--muzzle-loading
+guns. At the same time the wind blew fresh from the hill, with a whiff
+of powder, and something else which made my horses shy. "Heap bad
+smell!" they snuffed. "Just look at that!" they signalled with their
+ears. "Ugh!" they snorted.
+
+"Get up!" said I; and charged the slope of the hill.
+
+Near the top I told them to be good or I'd treat them worse than a
+tiger. Then I went on afoot with my rifle, crept up to the brow of the
+hill, and looked over through a clump of cactus.
+
+At the foot of the hill, two hundred feet below me, there was standing
+water--a muddy pool perhaps half an acre wide--and just beyond that on
+the plain a burned-out camp fire beside a couple of canvas-covered
+waggons. It looked as if the white men there had just been pulling out
+of camp, with their teams all harnessed for the trail, for the horses
+lay, some dead, some wounded, mixed up in a struggling heap. As I
+watched, a rifle-shot rang out from the waggons, aimed at the hillside,
+but when I looked right down I could see nothing but loose rocks
+scattered below the slope. After I watched a moment a brown rock moved;
+I caught the shine of an Indian's hide, the gleam of a gun-barrel. Close
+by was another Indian painted for war, and beyond him a third lying
+dead. So I counted from rock to rock until I made out sixteen of the
+worst kind of Indians--Apaches--all edging away from cover to cover to
+the left, while out of the waggons two rifles talked whenever they saw
+something to hit. One rifle was slow and cool, the other scared and
+panicky, but neither was getting much meat.
+
+For a time I reckoned, sizing up the whole proposition. While the
+Apaches down below attacked the waggons, their sentry up here on the
+hill had forgotten to keep a look-out, being too much interested. He'd
+never turned until he heard my horses clattering up the rocks, but then
+he had yelled a warning to his crowd and bolted. One Indian had tried to
+climb the hill against me and been killed from the waggons, so now the
+rest were scared of being shot from above before they could reach their
+ponies. They were sneaking off to the left in search of them. Off a
+hundred yards to the left was the sentry, a boy with a bow and arrows,
+running for all he was worth across the plain. A hundred yards beyond
+him, down a hollow, was a mounted Indian coming up with a bunch of
+ponies. If the main body of the Apaches got to their ponies, they could
+surround the hill, charge, and gather in my scalp. I did not want them
+to take so much trouble with me.
+
+Of course, my first move was to up and bolt along the ridge to the left
+until I gained the shoulder of the hill. There I took cover, and said,
+"Abide with me, and keep me cool, if You please!" while I sighted, took
+a steady bead, and let fly at the mounted Indian. At my third shot he
+came down flop on his pony's neck, and that was my first meat. The bunch
+of ponies smelt his blood and stampeded promiscuous.
+
+The Apaches, being left afoot, couldn't attack me none. If they tried to
+stampede they would be shot from the waggons, while I hovered above
+their line of retreat considerably; and if they stayed I could add up
+their scalps like a sum in arithmetic. They were plumb surprised at me,
+and some discouraged, for they knew they were going to have disagreeable
+times. Their chief rose up to howl, and a shot from the waggons lifted
+him clean off his feet. It was getting very awkward for those poor
+barbarians, and one of them hoisted a rag on his gun by way of
+surrender.
+
+Surrender? This Indian play was robbery and murder, and not the honest
+game of war. The man who happens imprudent into his own bear-trap is not
+going to get much solace by claiming to be a warrior and putting up
+white flags. The game was bear-traps, and those Apaches had got to play
+bear-traps now, whether they liked it or not. There were only two white
+folks left in the waggons, and one on the hill, so what use had we for a
+dozen prisoners who would lie low till we gave them a chance, then
+murder us prompt. The man who reared up with the peace flag got a shot
+from the waggons which gave him peace eternal.
+
+Then I closed down with my rifle, taking the Indians by turns as they
+tried to bolt, while the quiet gun in the waggon camp arrested fugitives
+and the scary marksman splashed lead at the hill most generous. Out of
+sixteen Apaches two and the boy got away intact, three damaged, and the
+rest were gathered to their fathers.
+
+When it was all over I felt unusual solemn, running my paw slow over my
+head to make sure I still had my scalp; then collected my two ponies and
+rode around to the camp. There I ranged up with a yell, lifting my hand
+to make the sign of peace, and a man came limping out from the waggons.
+He carried his rifle, and led a yearling son by the paw.
+
+The man was tall, clean-built, and of good stock for certain, but his
+clothes were in the _lo-and-behold_ style--a pane of glass on the off
+eye, stand-up collar, spotty necktie, boiled shirt, riding-breeches with
+puffed sleeves most amazing, and the legs of his boots stiff like a
+brace of stove-pipes. His near leg was all bloody and tied up with a
+tourniquet bandage. As to his boy Jim, that was just the quaintest thing
+in the way of pups I ever saw loose on the stock range. He was knee-high
+to a dawg, but trailed his gun like a man, and looked as wide awake as a
+little fox. I wondered if I could tame him for a pet.
+
+"How d'ye do?" squeaked the pup, as I stepped down from the saddle.
+
+I allowed I was feeling good.
+
+"I'm sure," said the man, "that we're obliged to you and your friends on
+the hill. In fact, very much obliged."
+
+Back in Texas I'd seen water go to sleep with the cold, but this man was
+cool enough to freeze a boiler.
+
+"Will you--er--ask your friends," he drawled, "to come down? I'd like to
+thank them."
+
+"I'll pass the glad word," said I. "My friends is in Texas."
+
+"My deah fellow, you don't--aw--mean to say you were alone?"
+
+"Injuns can shoot," said I, "but they cayn't hit."
+
+"Two of my men are dead and the third is dying. I defer to
+your--er--experience, but I thought they could--er--hit."
+
+Then I began to reckon I'd been some hazardous in my actions. It made me
+sweat to think.
+
+"Well," said I, to be civil, "I cal'late I'd best introduce myself to
+you-all. My name's Davies."
+
+"I'm Lord Balshannon," said he, mighty polite.
+
+"And I'm the Honourable Jim du Chesnay," squeaked the kid.
+
+I took his paw and said I was proud to know a warrior with such heap big
+names. The man laughed.
+
+"Wall, Mister Balshannon," says I, "your horses is remnants, and the
+near fore wheel of that waggon is sprung to bust, and them Apaches has
+chipped your laig, which it's broke out bleeding again, so I reckon----"
+
+"You have an eye for detail," he says, laughing; "but if you will excuse
+me now, I'm rather busy."
+
+He looked into my eyes cool and smiling, asking for no help, ready to
+rely on himself if I wanted to go. A lump came into my throat, for I
+sure loved that man from the beginning.
+
+"Mr. Balshannon," says I, "put this kid on top of a waggon to watch for
+Indians, while you dress that wound. I'm off."
+
+He turned his back on me and walked away.
+
+"I'll be back," said I, busy unloading my pack-horse. "I'll be back," I
+called after him, "when I bring help!"
+
+At that he swung sudden and came up against me. "Er--thanks," he said,
+and grabbed my paw. "I'm awfully obliged, don't you know."
+
+I swung to my saddle and loped off for help.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+LORD BALSHANNON
+
+
+With all the signs and the signal smokes pointing for war, I reckoned I
+could dispense with that Ocean and stay round to see the play. Moreover,
+there was this British lord, lost in the desert, wounded some, helpless
+as a baby, game as a grizzly bear, ringed round with dead horses and
+dead Apaches, and his troubles appealed to me plentiful. I scouted
+around until I hit a live trail, then streaked away to find people. I
+was doubtful if I had done right in case that lord got massacred, me
+being absent, so I rode hard, and at noon saw the smoke of a camp
+against the Tres Hermanos Mountains. It proved to be a cow camp with all
+the boys at dinner.
+
+They had heard nothing of Apaches out on the war trail, but when I told
+what I knew, they came glad, on the dead run, their waggons and pony
+herd following. We found the Britisher digging graves for three dead
+men, and looking apt to require a fourth for his own use.
+
+"Er--good evening," says he, and I began to wonder why I'd sweated
+myself so hot to rescue an iceberg.
+
+"Gentlemen," says he to the boys, "you find some er--coffee ready beside
+the fire, and afterwards, if you please, we will bury my dead."
+
+The boys leaned over in their saddles, wondering at him, but the lord's
+cool eye looked from face to face, and we had to do what he said. He was
+surely a great chief, that Lord Balshannon.
+
+The men who had fallen a prey to the Apaches were two teamsters and a
+Mexican, all known to these Bar Y riders, and they were sure sorry. But
+more than that they enjoyed this shorthorn, this tenderfoot from the
+east who could stand off an outfit of hostile Indians with his lone
+rifle. They saw he was wounded, yet he dug graves for his dead, made
+coffee for the living, and thought of everything except himself. After
+coffee we lined up by the graves to watch the bluff he made at funeral
+honours. Lord Balshannon was a colonel in the British Army, and he stood
+like an officer on parade reading from a book. His black hair was
+touched silver, his face was strong, hard, manful, and his voice
+quivered while he read from the little book--
+
+    "For I am a stranger with Thee,
+    And a sojourner as all my fathers were;
+    O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength
+    Before I go hence, and am no more seen."
+
+I reckon that there were some of us sniffing as though we had just
+caught a cold, while we listened to that man's voice, and saw the
+loneliness of him. Afterwards Dick Bryant, the Bar Y foreman, walked
+straight up to Balshannon.
+
+"Britisher," said he, "you may be a sojourner, and we hopes you are, a
+whole lot, but there's no need to be a stranger. Shake."
+
+So they shook hands, and that was the beginning of a big friendship.
+Then Balshannon turned to the crowd, and looked slowly from face to face
+of us.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said kind of feeble, and we saw his face go grey while
+he spoke, "I'm much obliged to you all for er--for coming. It seems,
+indeed, ah--that my little son Jim and I have made friends and
+er--neighbours. I'm sorry that you should find my camp in such aw--in
+such a beastly mess, but there's some fairly decent whisky in this
+nearest waggon, and er--" the man was reeling, and his eyes seemed
+blind, "when we get to my new ranche at Holy Cross I--I hope
+you'll--friends--aw--and----"
+
+And he dropped in a dead faint.
+
+So long as I stay alive I shall remember that night, the smell of the
+dead horses, the silence, the smoke of our fire going up straight to a
+white sky of stars, the Bar Y people in pairs lying wrapped in their
+blankets around the waggons, the reliefs of riders going out on guard,
+the cold towards dawn. The little boy Jim had curled up beside me
+because he felt lonesome in the waggon. Balshannon lay by the fire, his
+mind straying away off beyond our range. Often he muttered, but I could
+not catch the words, and sometimes said something aloud which sounded
+like nonsense. It must have been midnight, when all of a sudden he sat
+bolt upright, calling out loud enough to waken half the camp--
+
+"Ryan!" he shouted, "don't disturb him, Ryan! He's upstairs dying. If
+you fire, the shock will--Ryan! Don't shoot! Ryan!"
+
+Then with a groan he fell back. I moistened his lips with cold tea. "All
+right," he whispered, "thanks, Helen."
+
+For a long time he lay muttering while I held his hands. "You see,
+Helen," he whispered, "neither you nor the child could be safe in
+Ireland. Ryan killed my father."
+
+He seemed to fall asleep after that, and, counting by the stars, an hour
+went by. Then he looked straight at me--
+
+"You see, dear? I turned them out of their farms, and Ryan wants his
+revenge, so----"
+
+Towards morning I put some sticks on the fire which crackled a lot. "Go
+easy, Jim," I heard him say, "don't waste our cartridges. Poor little
+chap!"
+
+Day broke at last, the cook was astir, and the men rode in from herd. I
+dropped off to sleep.
+
+It was noon before the heat awakened me, and I sat up to find the fire
+still burning, but Lord Balshannon gone. I saw his waggons trailing off
+across the desert. Dick Bryant was at the fire lighting his pipe with a
+coal.
+
+"Wall," said he, "you've been letting out enough sleep through yo' nose
+to run an engine. Goin' to make this yo' home?"
+
+"The camp's moved?"
+
+"Sure. I've sent the Britisher's waggons down to Holy Cross. He bought
+the place from a Mexican last month."
+
+"Is it far?"
+
+"About twenty mile. I've been down there this morning. I reckon the
+people there had smelt Apaches and run. It was empty, and that's why I'm
+making this talk to you. I cayn't spare my men after to-day, and I don't
+calculate to leave a sick man and a lil' boy thar alone."
+
+"I'll stay with them," said I.
+
+"That's good talk. If you-all need help by day make a big smoke on the
+roof, or if it's night just make a flare of fire. I'll keep my outfit
+near enough to see."
+
+"You reckon there'll be Indians?"
+
+"None. That was a stray band, and what's left of it ain't feeling good
+enough to want scalps. But when I got to Holy Cross this morning I seen
+this paper, and some tracks of the man who left it nailed on the door. I
+said nothing to my boys, and the Britisher has worries enough already to
+keep him interested, but you ought to know what's coming, in case of
+trouble. Here's the paper.
+
+     "'GRAVE CITY, ARIZONA,
+
+     "'_3rd February, 1886_.
+
+     "'MY LORD,
+
+     "'This is to tell you that in spite of everything you could do to
+     destroy me, I'm safe in this free country, and doing well. I've
+     heard of the horrible crime you committed in driving the poor
+     people from your estate in Ireland, from homes which we and our
+     fathers have loved for a thousand years. Now I call the holy saints
+     to witness that I will do to you as you have done to me, and to my
+     people. The time will come when, driven from this your new home,
+     without a roof to cover you, or a crust to eat, your wife and boy
+     turned out to die in the desert, you will plead for even so much as
+     a drink, and it will be thrown in your face. I shall not die until
+     I have seen the end of your accursed house.
+
+     "'(Sd.) GEORGE RYAN.'
+
+"These Britishers," said Bryant, "is mostly of two breeds--the lords and
+the flunkeys; and you kin judge them by the ways they act. This Mr.
+Balshannon is a lord, and thish yer Ryan's a flunk. If a real man feels
+that his enemy is some superfluous on this earth, he don't make
+lamentations and post 'em up on a door. No, he tracks his enemy to a
+meeting; he makes his declaration of war, and when the other gentleman
+is good and ready, they lets loose with their guns in battle. This Ryan
+here has the morals of a snake and the right hand of a coward."
+
+"Do I give this paper," said I, "to Mr. Balshannon?"
+
+"It's his business, lad, not ours. But until this lord is well enough to
+fight, you stands on guard."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+HOLY CROSS
+
+
+     EDITOR'S NOTE.--The walls of Holy Cross rise stark from the top of
+     a hill on the naked desert; and in all the enormous length and
+     breadth of this old fortress there is no door or window to invite
+     attack. At each of the four corners stands a bastion tower to
+     command the flanks, and in the north wall low towers defend the
+     entrance, which is a tunnel through the buildings, barred by
+     massive doors, and commanded by loopholes for riflemen. The house
+     is built of sun-dried bricks, the ceilings of heavy beams
+     supporting a flat roof of earth.
+
+     As one enters the first courtyard one sees that the buildings on
+     the right are divided up into a number of little houses for the
+     riders and their families; in front is the gate of the stable
+     court, on the left are the chapel and the dining-hall, and in the
+     middle of the square there is a well. Through the dining-hall on
+     the left one enters the little court with its pool covered with
+     water-lilies, shaded by palm trees, and surrounded by an arcade
+     which is covered by creeping plants, ablaze with flowers. The
+     private rooms open upon this cloister, big, cool, and dark, forming
+     a little palace within the fortress walls. Such is the old Hacienda
+     Santa Cruz which Lord Balshannon had bought from El Señor Don Luis
+     Barrios.
+
+From the beginning I saw no sign and smelt no whiff of danger either of
+Apaches or of Mr. Ryan. When Balshannon was able to ride I gave him
+Ryan's letter, watched him read it quietly, but got nary word from him.
+He looked up from the letter, smiling at my glum face.
+
+"Chalkeye," said he, "couldn't we snare a rabbit for Jim to play with?"
+He and the kid and me used to play together like babies, and Jim was
+surely serious with us men for being too young.
+
+In those days Balshannon took advice from Bryant, our nearest neighbour,
+whose ranche was only one day's ride from Holy Cross. Dick helped him to
+buy good cattle to stock our range, and two thoroughbred English bulls
+to improve the breed. Then he bought ponies, and hired Mexican riders.
+So I began to tell my boss and his little son about cows and ponies--the
+range-riding, driving, and holding of stock; the roping, branding, and
+cutting out; how to judge grass, to find water, to track, scout, and get
+meat for the camp. The boss was too old and set in his ways to learn new
+play, but Jim had his heart in the business from the first, growing up
+to cow-punching as though he were born on the range.
+
+Besides that I had to learn them both the natural history of us cowboys,
+the which is surprising to strangers, and some prickly. Being
+thoroughbred stock, this British lord and his son didn't need to put on
+side, or make themselves out to be better than common folks like me.
+
+After the first year, when things were settled down and the weather
+cool, Lady Balshannon came to Holy Cross, and lived in the garden court
+under the palm trees. She was a poor invalid lady, enjoying very bad
+health, specially when we had visitors or any noise in the house. She
+never could stand up straight against the heat of the desert. On the
+range I was teacher to Jim; but in the house this lady made the kid and
+me come to school for education. We used to race neck and neck over our
+sums and grammar of an evening. I guess I was the most willing, but the
+kid had much the best brains. He beat me anyways.
+
+Sometimes I got restless, sniffing up wind for trouble, riding around
+crazy all night because I was too peaceful and dull to need any sleep.
+But then the boss wanted me in his business, the lady needed me for
+lessons and to do odd jobs, the kid needed me to play with and to teach
+him the life of the stock range; so when I got "Pacific Ocean fever"
+they all made such a howl that I had to stay. Stopping at Holy Cross
+grew from a taste into a habit, and you only know the strength of a
+habit when you try to kill it. That family had a string round my hind
+leg which ain't broken yet.
+
+The boss made me foreman over his Mexican cowboys, and major-domo in
+charge of Holy Cross. In the house I was treated like a son, with my
+own quarters, servants, and horses, and my wages were paid to me in
+ponies until there were three hundred head marked with my private brand.
+Some people with bad hearts and forked tongues have claimed that I stole
+these horses over in Mexico. I treat such with dignified silence and
+make no comment except to remark that they are liars. Anyway, as the
+years rolled on, and the business grew, Mr. Chalkeye Davies became a big
+chief on the range in Arizona.
+
+When the kid was fourteen years old he quit working cows with me, and
+went to college. Balshannon missed him some, for he took to straying
+then, and would go off in the fall of the year for a bear-hunt, in the
+winter to stay with friends, and the rest of the time would hang around
+Grave City. I reckon the desert air made him thirsty, because he drank
+more than was wise, and the need for excitement set him playing cards,
+so that he lost a pile of money bucking against the faro game and monte.
+He left me in charge of his business, to round up his calves for
+branding, and his beef for sale, to keep the accounts, to pay myself and
+my riders, and ride guard for his lady while she prayed for his soul,
+alone at Holy Cross. When Jim wanted money at college he wrote to me. In
+all that time we were not attacked by Indians, Ryans, or any other
+vermin.
+
+Upon the level roof of Holy Cross there was space enough to handle
+cavalry, and a wide outlook across the desert. There we had lie-down
+chairs, rugs, and cushions; and after dinner, when the day's work was
+done, we would sit watching the sunset, the red afterglow, the rich of
+night come up in the east, the big stars wheeling slowly until it was
+sleep-time. But when the boy was at college, and the boss away from
+home, there was only Lady Balshannon and me to share the long evenings.
+
+"Billy," she said once, for she never would call me Chalkeye, "Billy, do
+you know that I'm dying?"
+
+"Yes, mum, and me too, but I don't reckon to swim a river till I reach
+the brink."
+
+"My feet are in the waters, Billy, now."
+
+"I wouldn't hurry, mum. It may be heaven beyond, or it may
+be--disappointing."
+
+"You dear boy," she laughed; "I want to tell you a story."
+
+I lit a cigarette, and lay down at the rugs at her feet. "I can bear it,
+mum."
+
+She lay back in her chair, brushing off the warm with her fan.
+
+"Did my husband ever tell you about a man named Ryan?"
+
+"Not to me--no."
+
+"Well, the Ryans were tenant farmers on the Balshannon Estate, at home
+in Ireland. They were well-to-do yeomen, almost gentlefolk, and George
+Ryan and my husband were at school together. They might have been
+friends to-day, but for the terrible Land League troubles, which set the
+tenants against their landlords. It was a sort of smouldering war
+between the poor folk and our unhappy Irish gentry. It's not for me to
+judge; both sides were more or less in the wrong; both suffered, the
+landlords ruined, the tenants driven into exile. It's all too sad to
+talk about.
+
+"My husband's regiment was in India then; my son was born there. Rex
+used to get letters from poor Lord Balshannon, his father, who was all
+alone at Balshannon, reduced to dreadful poverty, trying to do his duty
+as a magistrate, while the wretched peasants had to be driven from their
+homes. His barns were burnt, twice the house was set on fire, his cattle
+and horses were mutilated in the fields, and he never went out without
+expecting to be shot from behind a hedge. He needed help, and at last my
+husband couldn't bear it any longer. He sent in his papers, left the
+profession he loved, and went back to Ireland. He was so impatient to
+see all his old friends that he wired Mr. George Ryan to meet the train
+at Blandon, and drive with him up to Balshannon House for dinner. Nobody
+else was told that Colonel du Chesnay was coming. Would you believe it,
+Billy, those Land Leaguers tore up the track near Blandon Station,
+pointing the broken rails out over the river! Mr. Ryan was their
+leader, who knew that my husband was in the train. Nobody else knew. No,
+mercifully the train wasn't wrecked. The driver pulled up just in time,
+and my husband left the train then, and walked up through Balshannon
+Park to the house. He found his father ill in bed; something wrong with
+the heart, and sat nursing him until nearly midnight, when the old man
+fell asleep. After that he crept down very quietly to the dining-room.
+He found cheese and biscuits, and went off in search of some ale. When
+he came back he found Mr. Ryan in the dining-room.
+
+"The man was drenched to the skin, and scratched from breaking through
+hedges. He said that the police were after him with a warrant on the
+charge of attempted train-wrecking. He swore that he was innocent, that
+he had come to appeal to Lord Balshannon against what he described as a
+police conspiracy. Rex told him that the old man was too ill to be
+disturbed, that the least shock might be fatal. 'Surrender to me,' said
+Rex, 'and if the police have been guilty of foul play, I'll see that you
+get full justice.'
+
+"At that moment they heard footsteps outside on the gravel, and peeping
+out through the window, Mr. Ryan found that the police had surrounded
+the building. He charged Rex with setting a trap to catch him: he
+pointed a pistol in my husband's face. 'Don't fire!' said Rex, 'my
+father is upstairs very ill, and if you fire the shock may be fatal.
+Don't fire!'
+
+"Mr. Ryan fired.
+
+"The bullet grazed my husband's head, and knocked him senseless. When he
+recovered he found that Ryan had escaped--nobody knows how, and a
+sergeant of the Royal Irish Constabulary told him that the police were
+in hot pursuit. He heard shots fired in the distance, and that made him
+frightened for his father. He rushed out of the room, and half-way up
+the staircase found the old may lying dead. The shock had killed him."
+
+"Lady," I said, "if I were the boss, I'd shoot up that Ryan man into
+small scraps."
+
+"Billy, you've got to save my husband from being a murderer."
+
+"Ryan," said I, "ain't eligible for the grave until he meets up with
+Balshannon's gun."
+
+"Promise me to save my husband from this crime."
+
+"But I cayn't promise to shoot up this Ryan myself. He's Balshannon's
+meat, not mine."
+
+"You must dissuade my husband."
+
+"I'll dissuade none between a man and his kill."
+
+"Oh, what shall I do!" she cried.
+
+"Is your son safe," I asked, "while Ryan lives?"
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+"Didn't your man drive all the people off the Balshannon range, and make
+it a desert?"
+
+"Alas! may he be forgiven!"
+
+"Will Ryan forgive? Is your son safe?"
+
+I sat dead quiet while the lady cried. When a woman stampedes that way
+you can't point her off her course, or she'd mill round into hysterics;
+you can't head her back, for she'd dry up hostile; so it's best to let
+her have her head and run. When she's tired running she'll quit
+peaceful.
+
+I lit a cigarette and began to round up all the facts in sight, then to
+cut the ones I wanted, and let the rest of the herd adrift.
+
+When our Balshannon outfit first camped down in Holy Cross, this Ryan
+began to accumulate with his family in the nearest city--this being
+Grave City--one hundred miles west. Grave City was new then; a yearling
+of a city, but built on silver, and undercut with mines. Ryan took
+Chance by the tail and held on, starting a livery stable, then a big
+hotel, while he dealt in mines and helped poor prospectors to find
+wealth. So Ryan bogged down in riches, the leading man at Grave City,
+with daughters in society, and two sons at college. Only this Ryan was
+shy of meeting up with Lord Balshannon, and I took notice year after
+year that when my boss went to the city Mr. Ryan happened away on
+business. Someone was warning Ryan.
+
+"Lady," said I, so sudden that she forgot to go on crying. "You've
+warned Ryan again and again."
+
+"How do you know that, Billy?"
+
+"It's a hundred-mile ride to Grave City, but it's only sixty to
+Lordsburgh on the railroad. Every time the boss goes to Grave City you
+send off a rider swift to Lordsburgh. He telegraphs from there to Grave
+City."
+
+"Messages to my husband."
+
+"And warnings to Ryan!"
+
+She was struck silent.
+
+"You're saving up Ryan until he gets the chance--to strike."
+
+"Oh, how can you say such things! Besides, Mr. Ryan's afraid, that's why
+he runs away."
+
+"Ryan ain't playing no common bluff with guns. The game he plays ain't
+killing. He wants you--all alive--like a cat wants mice; I don't know
+how, I don't know when--but here are the words he nailed on to the door
+of this house before Lord Balshannon came:--
+
+     "'The time will come when, driven from your home, without a roof to
+     cover you or a crust to eat, your wife and boy turned out to die in
+     the desert, you----'"
+
+"Stop! Stop!" she screamed.
+
+"Promise me, lady, that you'll send no more messages to Ryan."
+
+"It's murder!"
+
+"No, lady, this is a man's game, called war!"
+
+"I promise," she whispered, "I'll send no more warnings."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE RANGE WOLVES
+
+
+That same winter Lord Balshannon came down from Lordsburgh on the
+railroad, by way of Bryant's ranche, and tracked my round-up outfit to
+our camp at Laguna. That was the spot where the patrone and I fought the
+Apache raiders, but since then we had built corrals beside the pool, the
+ring-fences which are used for handling livestock. I had twenty Mexican
+_vaqueros_ with me, branding calves; and the patrone found us all at
+supper.
+
+While we ate he told me the news--how Dick Bryant was elected Sheriff of
+the county; how Mr. Ryan's eldest son had left college and gone into
+business in New York; how three bad men had been lynched by the
+Vigilance Committee at Grave City; and how Low-Lived Joe had shot up two
+Mexicans for being too obstreperous at cards. The boss had always some
+gossip for me at tea-time.
+
+After supper he passed me a cigar. "Chalkeye," said he, "give these boys
+as much sleep as you can. At midnight you pull out of camp for Wolf Gap;
+strike in there at the first streak of dawn, gather the whole of our
+horses, then run them as hard as you can to Holy Cross, and throw them
+into the house."
+
+"Indians?" I asked.
+
+"No, horse rustlers. Bryant gave me the office that some outlaws have
+come down from Utah. They've heard of our half-bred ponies, and they're
+in need of remounts."
+
+"We've only two days' forage at the house."
+
+"After to-morrow let the herd into the home pasture under a strong guard
+by day. Throw them into the house every night, and post a relief of
+sentries on the roof. We mustn't--haw, allow the poor robbers to fall
+into temptation, so see that the men have--er plenty of ammunition."
+
+"These robbers may round up our cattle."
+
+"If they do they will have to drive slow, and Bryant will hold the
+railway-line in force, with troops if necessary, er--Chalkeye!"
+
+"Yessir."
+
+"A friend of mine has turned this gang loose on my stock. There's been
+crooked work."
+
+"Ryan work, sir?"
+
+"What makes you think that?"
+
+"The birds. I want leave to go shoot Ryan."
+
+"Indeed, ah! I've promised my wife not to--er shoot Mr. Ryan." He stood
+up and grabbed my paw. "Chalkeye, we must try to behave like--er
+Christians, for her sake. Now I must be off. You'll find me at Holy
+Cross."
+
+At noon next day I brought our herd to Holy Cross, and watered all the
+horses at the dam below the house. This dam crossed a small hollow
+holding some two or three acres of water, directly under the western
+wall of the Hacienda. Some old trees sheltered the water, and one of
+these had been blown down by a gust of wind. As I drove the _remuda_ to
+the gates, one of the mares got snarled up in the wrecked tree, broke
+her leg, and had to be shot. Then I threw the herd into the
+stable-court, and went to my quarters.
+
+I reckon that I had been thirty-four hours in the saddle, and used up
+five horses, so I wanted much to get my eye down for a little sleep.
+While the _peon_ pulled off my boots I gave orders mixed with yawns to
+my segundo.
+
+"Take charge, Teniente, and report my obedience to El Señor Don Rex.
+Post a guard of four in the gate-house, close the gates, and place a
+relief of sentries on the North-west Bastion. If the sentry sees anybody
+coming, the guard is to call me at once. See that my riders get sleep
+till sundown, then send a couple of them to haul that dead mare from the
+water-hole."
+
+I had not slept an hour when a man from the guard-house came running to
+wake me up. I jumped into my boots, grabbed my gun, and bolted to the
+gates, where Balshannon joined me at the spy-hole.
+
+"Who's coming?" he asked.
+
+"A white man, patrone, and a boy, on the dead run."
+
+"Message from Bryant, eh? Let them in."
+
+I swung the gates wide open, and we stood watching the riders--a
+middle-aged stockman and a young cowboy, burning the trail from the
+north. As they came surging up the approach I reckon their horses smelt
+a whiff of blood from that dead mare beside the water-hole. Horses go
+crazy at the smell of blood, and though the man held straight on at a
+plunging run for the gates, the boy lacked strength to control his mare.
+When she swerved he spurred, then she began to sunfish, throwing one
+shoulder to the ground, and then the other, while she bucked. At this
+the youngster lost his nerve and tried to dismount, the same being the
+shortest way to heaven, for when the mare felt his weight come on one
+stirrup she made a side spring, leaving him in the air, then bolted,
+dragging him by the foot while she kicked the meat from his bones. He
+was surely booked right through to glory but for Balshannon. My boss was
+a quick shooter and accurate, so that his first bullet caught the mare
+full between the eyes, and dropped her dead in her tracks. I raised the
+long yell for my men, as we rushed to get the boy from under her body.
+
+It seemed to me at the time that the elder man never reined, but made a
+clear spring from his galloping horse to the ground, reaching the mare
+with a single jump before she had time to drop. Grabbing her head, he
+swung his full weight, and threw her falling body clear of the boy. When
+we reached the spot he was kneeling beside him in the sand.
+
+"Stunned," he said, "that's all! Seh," he looked up at the patrone, and
+I saw the tears were starting from his eyes. "Seh, you've saved my son's
+life with that shot, I reckon"--his voice broke with a sob--"you've sure
+made me yo' friend."
+
+"Nothing broken, I hope?" said Balshannon.
+
+"No, seh. The stirrup seems to have twisted this foot."
+
+I sent some men for a ground sheet in which the boy could be carried
+without pain. Balshannon sent for brandy.
+
+Still kneeling beside his son, the stranger looked up into the patrone's
+face.
+
+"You are Lord Balshannon?" he asked.
+
+"At your service, my good fellow--well?"
+
+"Do any of yo' greasers speak our language?"
+
+"I fancy not."
+
+"Then I have to tell you, seh, that I am Captain McCalmont, and my
+outfit is the Robbers' Roost gang of outlaws." He was bending down over
+his son.
+
+"I asked no question, my friend," said Lord Balshannon, "we never
+question a guest."
+
+"You make me ashamed, seh. I came with a passel of lies, to prospect
+around with a view to doing you dirt."
+
+Balshannon chuckled, and I saw by the glint in his eye that he was
+surely enjoying this robber. "You'll dine with me?" said he.
+
+Captain McCalmont looked up sharply to see what game the patrone was
+playing.
+
+"You will notice, Captain," said the boss, "that my house is like a
+deadfall trap. Indeed--ah, yes, only one door, you see."
+
+For answer the robber unbuckled his belt and let it fall to the ground.
+"Take my gun," he said. "Do you suppose I daren't trust you, seh?"
+
+A servant had brought the brandy, and McCalmont rubbed a little on his
+son's face, then poured a few drops between his teeth. Presently the lad
+stirred, moaning a little.
+
+"Let's take him to the house," said I.
+
+"No, Mistah Chalkeye Davies," answered the robber, "not until this
+gentleman knows some more, a whole lot more. Here, Curly," he whispered,
+"wake up, bo'."
+
+The lad opened his eyes, clear blue like the sky, and smiled at his
+father. "Air you safe, dad?" he whispered.
+
+"Sure safe."
+
+Curly closed his eyes and lay peaceful.
+
+The hold-up was squatting back on his heels, looking out across the
+desert. "Don Rex," said he, "I had a warning sent to Sheriff Bryant
+that I was coming down to lift all yo' hawsses. My wolves tracked
+Bryant's rider to Lordsburgh, where he wired to you. You came running,
+and had all yo' hawsses rounded up convenient for me, in the stable-yard
+of this house. I thank you, seh."
+
+"My good man, I'll bet you an even thousand dollars," said the patrone,
+"that you don't lift a hoof of my haw--_remuda_."
+
+"It's a spawtin' offer, and tempts me," answered the outlaw. "Oblige me
+by taking my gun from the ground here and firing three shots in the
+air."
+
+The patrone took the gun, and at his third shot saw a man ride out from
+behind the bastion on our right. McCalmont waved to him, and he came,
+putting a silk mask over his face as he rode, then halted in front of
+us, shy as a wolf, gun ready for war.
+
+"Young man," said McCalmont, "repeat to these gentlemen here the whole
+of yo' awdehs fo' the day. Leave out the names of the men."
+
+"You're giving us dead away!" said the rider, threatening McCalmont with
+his gun. "You mean that?"
+
+"I mean what I say."
+
+"Ah! Excuse me, McCalmont," said the patrone, "your--er--pistol, I
+think."
+
+"Thanks, seh." McCalmont took the gun. "Repeat the awdehs!" he said.
+"These gentlemen are our friends."
+
+"Well, you knows best," came the voice from behind the mask. "Three men
+to cover your approach to Holy Cross, and if there's trouble, to shoot
+Balshannon and Chalkeye. They're covered now. The wall of the stable
+court by the South-west Bastion to be mined with dynamite, and touched
+off at ten p. m. prompt; ten riders to get in through the breach in the
+wall, and drive out the bunch of horses; one man with an axe to split
+all the saddles in the harness-room, then join the herders."
+
+"Leave out," said McCalmont, "all detail for pointing, swinging, and
+driving the herd. Go on."
+
+"At one minute to ten, before the wall is blown away, ten riders are to
+make a bluff at attacking the main gate, and keep on amusing the
+garrison until the men with the naphtha cans have fired the private
+house.
+
+"Rendezvous for all hands at Laguna by midnight, where we catch
+remounts, and sleep until daybreak, with a night herd of two, and one
+camp guard. At dawn we begin to gather cattle, while the horse wrangler
+and two men drive the _remuda_ east. Rendezvous at Wolf Gap."
+
+Lord Balshannon laughed aloud. "And how about poor old Bryant's posse of
+men?" he asked.
+
+"Sheriff Bryant," said the Captain, "allows that he's to catch us in a
+sure fine trap, five miles due west of Lordsburgh. And now," he called
+to the mounted robber, "tell the boys that all awdehs are cancelled,
+that I'm supping to-night at Holy Crawss, and that the boys will wait
+for me at the place we fixed in case of accidents."
+
+The man rode off hostile and growling aloud, while Balshannon stood
+watching to see which way he went.
+
+"McCalmont," said he, and I took note of just one small quiver in his
+voice, "may I venture to ask one question?"
+
+"A hundred, seh."
+
+"You seem to know the arrangement of my house--its military weakness.
+How did you learn that?"
+
+The outlaw stood up facing him, and took from the breast of his shirt a
+folded paper. Balshannon and I spread it open, and found a careful plan
+of Holy Cross. At the foot of the paper there was a memorandum signed
+"George Ryan."
+
+"I may tell you," said the robber, "that if I succeeded in burning yo'
+home, stealing yo' hawsses, and running yo' cattle, Mr. George Ryan
+proposed to pay my wolves the sum of ten thousand dollars."
+
+"Carry out your plans," the patrone was pleased all to pieces. "I'd love
+to fight your wolves. I've got some dynamite, too! Think of what you're
+losing!"
+
+"Lose nothing!" said the robber. "I'll collect fifty thousand dollars
+compensation from Ryan!" He stooped down and gathered his son in his
+arms.
+
+"And now, will you have us for guests in yo' home? Say the word, and we
+go."
+
+Balshannon lifted his hat and made a little bow, much polite. "My
+house," he answered in Spanish, "is yours, señor!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+BACK TO THE WOLF PACK
+
+
+Being given to raising fowls, I'm instructed on eggs a whole lot. Killed
+young, an egg is a sure saint, being a pure white on the outside, and
+inwardly a beautiful yellow; but since she ain't had no chance to go bad
+she's not responsible. But when an egg has lingered in this wicked
+world, exposed to heat, cold, and other temptations, she succumbs, being
+weary of her youth and shamed of virtue. So she participates in vice to
+the best of her knowledge and belief. Yes, an old egg is bad every time,
+and the more bluff she makes with her white and holy shell, the more
+she's rotten inside, a whited sepulchre.
+
+I reckon it's been the same with me, for at Holy Cross I was kept good
+and fresh by the family. Shell, white, and yolk, I was a good egg then,
+with no special inducements to vice. Now I know in my poor old self what
+an uphill pull it is trying to reform a stale egg.
+
+In those days, when I thought I was being good on my own merits, I had
+no mercy on bad eggs like poor McCalmont, however much he tried to
+reform. Balshannon took me aside, and wanted to know if he could trust
+this robber.
+
+"So far as you can throw a dawg," said I.
+
+That night the lady fed alone, and we dined in the great hall, the
+patrone at the head of the table, McCalmont and Curly on one side, the
+padre and me on the other. Curly's ankle being twisted, and wrapped up
+most painful in wet bandages, the priest allowed that he couldn't ride
+away with his father, but had better stay with us.
+
+Curly shied at that. "I won't stay none!" he growled.
+
+But McCalmont began to talk for Curly, explaining that robbery was a
+poor vocation in life, full of uncertainties. He wanted his son to be a
+cowboy.
+
+"If he rides for me," says I, "he'll have to herd with my Mexicans.
+They're greasers, but Curly's white, and they won't mix."
+
+"I'd rather," says McCalmont, "for Arizona cowboys are half-wolf
+anyways, but this outfit is all dead gentle, and good for my cub."
+
+Then the boss offered wages to Curly, and the priest took sides with
+him. So Curly kicked, and I growled, but the boy was left at Holy Cross
+to be converted, and taught punching cows.
+
+As to McCalmont, he rode off that night, gathered his wolves, and jumped
+down on Mr. George Ryan at the Jim Crow Mine, near Grave City. He wanted
+"compensation" for not getting any plunder out of Holy Cross, so he
+robbed Mr. Ryan of seventy thousand dollars. The newspapers in Grave
+City sobbed over poor Mr. Ryan, and howled for vengeance on McCalmont's
+wolves.
+
+Curly read the newspaper account, and was pleased all to pieces. Then he
+howled all night because he was left behind.
+
+It took me some time to get used to that small youngster, who was a
+whole lot older and wiser than he looked. He had a room next to my
+quarters, where he camped on a bed in the far corner, and acted crazy if
+ever I tried to come in. Because he insisted on keeping the shutters
+closed, that room was dark as a wolf's mouth--a sort of den, where one
+could see nothing but his eyes, glaring green or flame-coloured like
+those of a panther. If he slept, he curled up like a little wild animal,
+one ear cocked, one eye open, ready to start broad awake at the
+slightest sound. Once I caught him sucking his swollen ankle, which he
+said was a sure good medicine. I have seen all sorts of animals dress
+their own wounds that way, but never any human except little Curly. As
+to his food, he would eat the things he knew about, but if the taste of
+a dish was new to him, he spat as if he were poisoned. At first he was
+scared of Lady Balshannon, hated the patrone, and surely despised me;
+but one day I saw him limping, attended by four of our dogs and a brace
+of cats, across to the stable-yard. I sneaked upstairs to the roof and
+watched his play.
+
+There must have been fifty ponies in the yard, and every person of them
+seemed to know Curly, for those who were loose came crowding round him,
+and those who were tied began whickering. Horses have one call, soft and
+low, which they keep for the man they love, and one after another gave
+the love-cry for Curly. He treated them all like dirt until he came to
+Rebel, an outlaw stallion. Once Rebel tried to murder a Mexican; several
+times he had pitched off the best of our broncho busters; always he
+acted crazy with men and savage with mares. Yet he never even snorted at
+Curly, but let that youngster lead him by the mane to a mounting-block;
+then waited for him to climb up, and trotted him round the yard tame as
+a sheep.
+
+"Curly!" said I from the roof. And the boy stiffened at once, hard and
+fierce. "Curly, that horse is yours."
+
+"I know that!" said Curly; "cayn't you see fo' yo'self?"
+
+The dogs loved Curly first, then the horses, and next the Mexican
+cowboys, but at last he seemed to take hold of all our outfit. He thawed
+out slowly to me, then to the patrone and the old priest; afterwards
+even to Lady Balshannon. So we found out that this cub from the Wolf
+Pack was only fierce and wild with strangers, but inside so gentle that
+he was more like a girl than a boy. He was rather wide at the hips,
+bow-legged just a trace, and when his ankle healed we found he had a
+most tremendous grip in the saddle, the balance of a hawk. Yes, that
+small, slight, delicate lad was the most perfect rider I've seen in a
+world of great horsemen. The meanest horse was tame as a dog with Curly,
+while in tracking, scouting, and natural sense with cattle I never knew
+his equal. Yet, as I said before, he was small, weak, badly built--more
+like a girl than a boy. With strangers he was a vicious young savage;
+with friends, like a little child. He did a year's work on the range
+with me, and that twelve months I look back to as a sort of golden age
+at Holy Cross.
+
+We were raising the best horses and the finest cattle in Arizona; prices
+were high, and the patrone was too busy to have time for cards or drink
+over at Grave City; and even the lady braced up enough to go for evening
+rides.
+
+And then the Honourable James du Chesnay rode home to us from college.
+
+The patrone and his lady were making a feast for their son; the cowboys
+were busy as a swarm of bees decorating the great hall; the padre
+fluttered about like a black moth, getting in everybody's way; so Curly
+and I rode out on the Lordsburgh trail to meet up with the Honourable
+Jim.
+
+"I hate him!" Curly snarled.
+
+"Why for, boy?"
+
+"Dunno. I hate him!"
+
+I told Curly about my first meeting with that same little boy Jim, aged
+six, and him turning his hot gun loose against hostile Indians, shooting
+gay and promiscuous, scared of nothing.
+
+"I hate him," snarled Curly between his teeth. "Last night the lady was
+reading to me yonder, on the roof-top."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"There was a big chief on the range, an old long-horn called Abraham,
+and his lil' ole squaw Sarah. They'd a boy in their lodge like me,
+another woman's kid, not a son, but good enough for them while they was
+plumb lonely. That Ishmael colt was sure wild--came of bad stock, like
+me. 'His hand,' says the book, 'will be up agin every man, and every
+man's hand agin him.' I reckon that colt came of robber stock, same as
+me, but I allow they liked him some until their own son came. Then their
+own son came--a shorely heap big warrior called Isaac--and the old
+folks, they didn't want no more outlaw colts running loose around on
+their pasture. They shorely turned that Ishmael out to die in the
+desert. Look up thar, Chalkeye, in the north, and you'll see this Isaac
+a-coming on the dead run for home."
+
+"Curly," says I, "this young chief won't have no use for old Chalkeye;
+he'll want to be boss on his own home range, and it's time he started in
+responsible to run Holy Cross. At the month's end I quit from this
+outfit, and I'm taking up a ranche five miles on the far side of Grave
+City. Thanks to the patrone, I've saved ponies and cattle enough to
+stock my little ranche yonder. Will you come at forty dollars a month,
+and punch cows for Chalkeye?"
+
+"No, I won't, never. I come from the Wolf Pack, and I'm going back to
+the Wolf Pack to be a wolf. That's where I belong--thar in the desert!"
+
+He swept out his hand to the north, and there, over a rise of the
+ground, I saw young Jim du Chesnay coming, on the dead run for home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+MY RANGE WHELPS WHIMPERING
+
+
+Now that I have won through the dull beginning of this story, I've just
+got to stop and pat myself before going on any further. There were steep
+bits on the trail where I panted for words, rocks where I stumbled,
+holes where I bogged down to the hocks, cross-roads where I curved
+around lost. At the best I'd a poor eye, a lame tongue, and a heap big
+inclination to lie down and quit; so I've done sure fine to keep
+a-going. Ride me patient still, for I'm near the beginning of the
+troubles which picked up Jim, Curly, and me, to whirl us along like a
+hurricane afire. Soon we'll break gait from a limp to a trot, from trot
+to canter, then from lope to gallop.
+
+I suppose I had better explain some about Grave City, and how it got to
+have such a cheerful name. That was away back in 1878, when two
+prospectors, Ed Schieffelin and his brother, pulled out to explore the
+desert down by the Mexican boundary. The boys allowed they'd better take
+their coffins along with them, because if they missed being scalped by
+Apaches, or wiped out by border ruffians, or starved to death, they
+would surely perish of thirst. "The only thing you boys will find is
+your grave."
+
+Well, they called their discovery Grave City, but it was one of the
+richest silver-mines on earth, and a city grew up here in the desert.
+For the first few years it was most surely hot, full of artists painting
+the town red, and shooting each other up with a quick gun. That was the
+time of Mankiller Johnson, Curly Bill, Roosian George, Brazelton of
+Tucson, the robber, and a young gentleman aged twenty-two, called Billy
+the Kid, who wiped out twenty fellow-citizens and followed them rapid to
+a still warmer climate. When these gentlemen had shot each other for
+their country's good, and a great many more died a natural death by
+being lynched, the city got more peaceful. In the second year it was
+burnt, and entirely rebuilt in a fortnight. The first large gambling
+joint was called the "Sepulchre," the first weekly paper was the Weekly
+Obituary, and in the eighth year Mr. Ryan built his hotel--the
+"Mortuary." That was in 1886, the year of the Apache raids, when I went
+with the new patrone to Holy Cross. Twelve years I rode for Balshannon,
+then, Jim being in his eighteenth year, took charge as foreman and
+major-domo of that grand old ranche.
+
+It was the 4th of July, 1900, before I saw that youngster again. We
+gathered at Grave City then to celebrate the birthday of our great
+republic, and it does me good every time to see our flag Old Glory
+waving above the cities of freedom. The Honourable Jim must needs run a
+mare of his at the races, the same, as I told him, being suitable meat
+to bait traps.
+
+I made him an offer for that mare; ten cents for her tail as a fly
+switch, a dollar for her hide, and a five-cent rim-fire cigar if he
+would dispose of the other remains. He raced her, lost one thousand
+dollars, and came to me humble for the money to pay his debts. I told
+him to burn his own paws in his own fire, and be content with his own
+howls.
+
+"They're debts of honour!" says he.
+
+"Debts of dishonour, and you're the Dishonourable James du Idiot.
+There's your travelling pony been standing saddled all day in the
+blazing heat without a feed or a drink. You call yourself a horseman?"
+
+Afterwards we smoothed our fur, and had our supper together. Jim
+promised to be good, go home, do his honest cowboy work, and look after
+the poor lone lady who was dying by inches at Holy Cross.
+
+Yet I was proud of that boy, keen, fierce, stubborn as a wild ass, with
+the air and temper of a thoroughbred, and a laugh which spoiled me for
+preaching. He was smart, too, in a new shirt of white silk, a
+handkerchief round his neck striped cream and rose colour, Mexican
+trousers of yellow leather studded down the seams with lumps of
+turquoise stones in silver settings, big silver spurs, and on his belt
+a silver-mounted 45-Colt revolver. I've got no earthly use for a boy who
+slouches. At supper, while I preached, he called me an old fool for
+caring when he was bad. Then he told me good-bye in the dusk, and set
+off on his hundred-mile trail for Holy Cross.
+
+I rode home thoughtful, and lay long awake in my little dobe cabin at
+Las Salinas, thinking about that boy, whose mother was sick, and his
+father riding to sure destruction, a gambler, a drunkard, hopeless,
+lost--the best friend I ever had in the world. When I woke the faint
+light of dawn shone through the cabin window, and brightened the saddles
+on the wall. Something was touching my face, something cold, so I
+grabbed it quick--a little small hand. Then I heard Curly's low, queer
+laugh. "You, Chalkeye!" he whispered.
+
+He was sitting on the stool beside my bunk, dead weary, covered with
+dust from the trail. Somehow the boy seemed to have got smaller instead
+of growing up, and he sure looked weak and delicate for such a life as
+he led. Twenty years old? He didn't seem fifteen, and yet he spoke
+old-fashioned, heaps wise and experienced.
+
+"Whar you from?" says I, yawning.
+
+"Speak low, and no questions," said Curly in a hard voice, for on the
+range we never ask a guest his name, or where he comes from, or which
+way he goes. When he comes we don't need to tell him any welcome; when
+he goes we say, 'Adios!' for he'll sure have need of an Almighty Father
+out in the desert.
+
+"Chalkeye," says my wolf, "are you alone?"
+
+"Sure."
+
+"No boys over thar in yo' ram pasture?"
+
+"My riders is wolfing in Grave City, but they'll stray back 'fore noon."
+
+"Hide me up in yo' barn fo' the day, then."
+
+"An yo' horse, Curly?"
+
+"Say you won him last night at cyards. We'll hide the saddle."
+
+"Have coffee first?"
+
+"I surely will," and kneeling stiff, weary by the hearth, he began to
+make up a fire.
+
+"There's a notice up for you, Curly. They're offering two thousand
+dollars dead or alive."
+
+"For robbing that Union Pacific train?"
+
+"I reckon."
+
+"Chalkeye, did you ever know me to lie?"
+
+"None, Curly."
+
+"Then you'll believe me. I wasn't there when our wolves got that train.
+I've never done no robberies, ever yet."
+
+"I hope you never may."
+
+"Sometimes I hope so too." He was holding up his hands before the fire.
+"How's the patrone?" he asked, as he put on the coffee-pot to boil.
+
+"Going downhill rapid. He's mortgaged Holy Cross to the last dollar."
+
+"What's his play?"
+
+"Faro and monte--you'll see him bucking the game all night down at the
+Sepulchre. He drinks hard now."
+
+"Pore old--er chap, don't you know! And the lady?"
+
+"Dying out down at the Hacienda. The padre sits with her."
+
+"And the young chief?"
+
+"Do you still hate him?"
+
+"Why should I care?"
+
+"Tell me on the dead-thieving Curly, you do care some what happens to
+Holy Cross? Don't you remember old Ryan inviting yo' wolves to eat up
+the Hacienda?"
+
+"They had stewed Ryan for breakfast afterwards, and he sure squealed!"
+
+"Yesterday I seen a bar keep' who belongs to Ryan go up against young
+Jim and rob him of a thousand dollars over a sure-thing horse race. Any
+day you'll see Ryan's hired robbers running the crooked faro and monte
+games where Balshannon is losing what's left of Holy Cross. Ryan hired
+the range wolves, and they went straight for his own throat, but now the
+town wolves are eating yo' best friends."
+
+"The only friends I have excep' my gang," said Curly. "Why don't you
+shoot up them town scouts, and that Ryan?"
+
+"My gun against a hundred, Curly? No. I tried to get these crooks run
+out of the city, but Ryan's too strong for me. If I shoot him up I'd
+only get lynched by his friends."
+
+"Show me yo' cyards, old Chalkeye--let me see yo' play."
+
+"I aim to turn the range wolves loose in Grave City."
+
+"The range wolves is some fastidious, Chalkeye, and wants clean meat for
+their kill."
+
+"You don't want to save your friends?"
+
+"The boss wolf leads, not me, and he wants good meat. I must point to
+good meat, or he ain't hungry none."
+
+"Ryan has lots of wealth."
+
+"We ate some once, and he's got monotonous."
+
+"How about his son, the millionaire?"
+
+"My wolves would shorely enjoy a millionaire, but--shucks! We'll never
+get so much as a smell at him."
+
+"Cayn't you suggest some plan for checking Ryan?"
+
+"I'll think that over. I cal'late to spend some weeks in Grave City."
+
+"Two thousand dollars dead or alive! Why, lad, you're crazy."
+
+"When I'm disguised you'll never know it's me."
+
+"Disguised? As how?"
+
+"As a woman perhaps, or maybe as a man. I dunno yet."
+
+I went to sniff the morning, and at the door found Curly's horse, loaded
+with an antelope lashed across the saddle.
+
+"I shot you some meat fo' yo' camp," said Curly, throwing coffee into
+the boiling pot. "Now let's have breakfast."
+
+I went out and caught some eggs, then we had breakfast.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+AT THE SIGN OF RYAN'S HAND
+
+
+At the time of Curly's visit I was breaking in a bunch of fool ponies,
+and along in August sold them to the Lawson Cattle Company. Their Flying
+W. Outfit was forming up just then for the fall round-up, so by way of
+swift delivery I took my ponies down by rail to Lordsburgh. Their camp
+was beside the stock-yard, and the little old cow town was surely alive
+with their cowboys, stamping new boots around to get them used, shooting
+off their guns to show how good they felt, filling up with chocolate
+creams and pickles to while the time between meals, sampling the whisky,
+the games, and the druggist's sure-thing medicines, or racing ponies for
+trial along the street.
+
+Now I reckon that the sight and smell of a horse comes more natural to
+me than anything else on earth, while the very dust from a horse race
+gets into my blood, and I can't come near the course without my head
+getting rattled. But from the first whiff of that town I caught the
+scent of something going wrong, for most of the stock-yard was full of
+cattle branded with a cross, and the Holy Cross _vaqueros_ were loading
+them into a train. Moreover, by many a sign I gathered fact on fact,
+that this delivery of Balshannon's cattle was out of the way of
+business, not a shipment of beef to the market, but a sale of
+breeding-stock, which meant nothing short of ruin. I strayed through
+that town feeling sick, refusing to drink with the punchers, or talk cow
+with the cattlemen, or take any interest in life. At the post office I
+met up with Jim, face to face, and he tried to pass by short-sighted.
+
+"Boy," said I, as I grabbed him, "why for air you shamed?"
+
+"Leave me go," he snarled.
+
+"For why, son?"
+
+"'Cause I'm shamed."
+
+"Of yo'self?"
+
+"Shamed of my father. Our breeding-stock is gone to pay his gambling
+debts."
+
+"All of it?"
+
+"What's left is offal. Now you leave me go!"
+
+"Whar to?"
+
+"To follow Balshannon's trail--drink, gambling, shame, death, and a good
+riddance."
+
+"You'll come with me first," says I, "for an oyster stew and some bear
+sign. I ain't ate since sun-up."
+
+He came with me for a stew and the doughnuts, which made him feel some
+better in his heart, and after that I close-herded him until the cattle
+were shipped, through the evening, through the night, and on to
+daybreak. Then I rounded up his greaser cowboys from various gambling
+joints, and pointed him and them for Holy Cross.
+
+"Boy," says I at parting, "you've been at work on the range for long
+months now, and yo' mother is surely sick for the sight of yo' fool
+face. Go home."
+
+"You old Chalkeye fraud," says he, with a grin as wide as the sunrise,
+"you're getting rid of me because you want to have a howling time on
+your lonesome, with all that money you got for your rotten ponies."
+
+It was surely fine sight to see my Jim hit the trail, the silver fixings
+of his saddle and cowboy harness bright as stars, his teeth aflash, his
+eyes a-shining, as he stooped down to give me cheek at parting, and lit
+out with his tail up for home. His riders saluted me as their old chief
+in passing, calling, "Buenas dias señor, adios!" Yes, they were good
+boys, with all their dark skin and their habit of missing the wash-time;
+light-built riders, with big, soft eyes always watchful, grave manners,
+gentle voices, gay laughter, and their beautiful Spanish talk like low
+thunder rolling. They were brave as lions, they were true as steel, and
+foolish only in the head, I reckon. So they passed by me one by one,
+saluting with a lift of the cigarette, a glance of the eye, dressed
+gorgeous in dull gold leather, bright gold straw sombreros,
+rainbow-coloured serapes, spur and gun aflash, reins taut, and horses
+dancing, and were gone in a cloud of dust and glitter away across the
+desert. I was never to see them again.
+
+It made me feel quite a piece wistful to think of Holy Cross down yonder
+beyond the rim of the far grass, for that house had been more than home
+to me, and that range was my pasture where I had grazed for twelve good
+years. I could just judge, too, how Jim was wanting for home swift,
+while the segundo, good old Juan Terrazas, would pray the young lord to
+spare the little horses. "'Tis sixty leagues, and these our horses are
+but children, señor."
+
+"Confound the horses!" says Jim, "let's burn the trail for home. Roll
+your trail, Pedro! _Vamenos!_"
+
+"But the child horses, my lord, grass-fed only, in the hot desert."
+
+    "Roll your tail and roll it high,
+    We'll all be angels by-and-by!"
+
+And Jim would lope along with a glad heart, singing the round-up songs--
+
+    "Little black bull came down the hillside,
+        Down the hillside, down the hillside,
+    Little black bull came down the hillside,
+                Long time ago."
+
+Then he would go on some more happy when he thought of the big tune to
+"Roll, Powder, Roll!"
+
+As I heard afterwards, the outfit was rounding the shoulder of the hill
+about five miles out when, on the ridge beyond, Mr. Jim's bright eye
+took note of something alive.
+
+"A vulture only, my lord," says the segundo, "eating a dead horse."
+
+"A quart of kittens!" says my lord, some scornful. "Call that a
+vulture?" and off he sailed, clattering down a slope of loose rocks.
+"That bird is a man-bird flapping at us for help. Segundo, you've no
+more range of sight than a boiled owl."
+
+The segundo came grumbling along behind, and they curved off across the
+level. "That man has lost his horse," says Jim; "thirsty, I guess, and
+signalling for help. Go back, Terrazas, and tell the men to wait."
+
+"Si, señor," and Terrazas rolled back to the trail.
+
+As Jim got nearer he saw that the man on the hill had signalled nothing,
+but his coat tails were a-flutter in the wind. Now he came all flapping
+from rock to rock down the hillside. "Hello!" Jim shouted.
+
+The stranger squatted down on a rock to wait for him, and sat wiping his
+face on a red handkerchief. He was dressed all in black, a sky-scout of
+sorts, but dusty and making signs as though he couldn't shout for
+thirst. Jim took his half-gallon canteen, ranged up, and dismounted.
+"Curious," he was thinking; "lips not swollen, tongue not black, this
+man ain't thirsty much!"
+
+"My deah young friend," says the preacher between drinks, "you're the
+means under Heaven of my deliverance"--gulp--"from a shocking end."
+
+"Scared you'd have to go to heaven?" asked Jim.
+
+"I was afraid"--gulp--"that I must give up my labours in this vale
+of"--gulp--"for which I was found unworthy."
+
+"Is that so?"
+
+"Seh, I have walked far, and am much exhausted."
+
+Jim looked at the preacher's pants, and saw that a streak of the cloth
+from knee to ankle was dusty none--the same being the mark of the
+stirrup leathers. He could not have walked a hundred yards from his
+horse.
+
+"Stranger," says Jim, "your horse is just on the other side of this
+hill."
+
+"Yes, indeed--but it never lets me get any nearer, and I've chased it
+for miles!"
+
+"I'll catch your horse." Jim swung to his seat, spurred off, circled the
+hilltop, and found the preacher's horse, rein to the ground, unable to
+trot without being tripped at once, dead easy to catch at one jump. This
+parson man was a liar, anyway.
+
+Then something caught Jim's eye, a sort of winking star on a hill-crest
+far to the east. He watched that star winking steady to right and left.
+The thing was a heliograph making talk, as it supposed, to the
+preacher, and Jim watched harder than ever.
+
+He couldn't read the signs, so wondering most plentiful, he spurred up
+to find out if anything more could be seen from the crest of the hill.
+Yes, there lay the railroad, and the town of Lordsburgh, plain as a map.
+This preacher had been sly, and heaps untruthful, so Jim rode back
+leading his horse, but kept the sights he had seen for his own
+consumption.
+
+"I suah thank y'u, seh," says the preacher. "Alas! that I should be so
+po' a horseman. My sacred calling has given me no chances of learning to
+ride like you-all."
+
+Jim watched him swing to the saddle as only a stockman can. You may
+dress a puncher in his last coffin, but no disguise short of that will
+spoil his riding.
+
+"Mebbe," says the preacher, "you can favour me with a few hints on the
+art of settin' a--whoa! hawss! And if you please, we will go more
+gradual 'cause the motion is pitching my po' kidneys up through my neck.
+Whoa! Yow!"
+
+Jim broke away at a trot, sitting side-saddle to enjoy the preacher, who
+jolted beside him like a sack of dogs.
+
+"Stranger," says he, "the trail is where my men are waiting yonder. To
+the left it goes to Lordsburgh, to the right it runs straight to
+Bryant's and on to Holy Cross. Good morning, sir," and he left on the
+dead run.
+
+"My deah young friend," the preacher wailed at him. "Whoa! Whoa, now!
+I've got mislaid! I place myself in yo' hands."
+
+Jim reined.
+
+"Well, where do you want to go?"
+
+"I want to find a wild, a sinful young man by the name of du Chesnay.
+He's the Honourable James du Chesnay. Perhaps you know him?"
+
+"Partly. Well, what's your business with him?"
+
+"I suffer," says the preacher, "from clergyman's sore throat--ahic!
+Permit me, seh, to ride with you while I explain my business."
+
+"As you please." They had gained the trail, and Jim swung into it with
+the preacher, calling back to his riders to keep within range astern.
+
+"Besides," says the preacher, coughing behind his hand, "I am somewhat
+timid--there are so many robbers that I yearn for yo' company for
+protection."
+
+Jim yelled back to his men in Spanish, "Boys, just watch this
+stranger--he's no good. Keep your guns handy, and if he tries to act
+crooked, shoot prompt!"
+
+"Thank you, seh!" says the preacher.
+
+"And now, your business, quick!"
+
+"It appears," the preacher groaned, "that some wicked men have been
+behaving deceitfully in the purchase of a flock of cows from this young
+gentleman."
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"Yes, they paid for his flock with a draft made in favour of Lord
+Balshannon, on the National Bank at Grave City. What a dreadful name for
+a city!--suggestive of----"
+
+"Rats! Go on, man!"
+
+"This draft on the bank from Jabez Y. Stone, who bought yo' cattle, seh,
+you forwarded from Lordsburgh yesterday. It will be presented to-day by
+Lord Balshannon at the bank in Grave City."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Unhappily, my sacred calling has left me quite unfamiliah with the
+carnal affairs of this most wicked country."
+
+"Well, what's wrong? The bank wired yesterday morning that they held
+money to meet this draft. Stone showed me the telegram."
+
+"Up to noon," said the preacher, "there was money in the bank; some
+forty thousand dollars in the name of Jabez Y. Stone, ready to meet yo'
+draft, and pay for the cattle."
+
+"I know that!"
+
+"At noon yesterday that money was withdrawn from the bank."
+
+"Impossible!"
+
+"Jabez Y. Stone had given a previous draft to another man for the money.
+The other man got the plunder--the--ahic!--dross, I mean. Oh that we
+poh mortals should so crave after the dross which perisheth!"
+
+"Don't preach!"
+
+"Oh, my young brother, the little word in season----"
+
+"I wish it would choke you. Now who drew that money?"
+
+"A carnal man--yo' fatheh's mortal enemy--Misteh Ryan."
+
+"Ryan! Ryan!"
+
+"Misteh George Ryan, yessir. To-day yo' father presents a worthless
+paper at the bank in exchange for his breeding cattle. Oh, how grievous
+a thing it is that deceitful men should so deceive themselves, preparing
+for a sultry hereafter. Think of these poh dumb driven cattle, exchanged
+for a bogus draft upon a miserable, miserable bank--how----"
+
+"Luis!" Jim yelled, and his segundo, old Luis Terrazas, came a-flying.
+"Luis, take the men home--I've got to go back to Lordsburgh."
+
+"Stay!" The preacher lifted his hand, brushed back the hat from his
+face, and stared into Jim's eyes. "Chalkeye Davies is yondeh at
+Lordsburgh thar--you can trust him, eh? Send a letter to Chalkeye; ask
+him to wire the sheriff at Albuquerque to hold that thar train of cattle
+pending inquiries."
+
+"I'm going back myself. You stand aside!"
+
+"Seh, if you don't ride straight for Holy Cross, you ain't goin' to see
+yo' mother alive--she's sinking rapid."
+
+"How do you know what's happening at Holy Cross, at Grave City, and at
+Lordsburgh, and all these places a hundred miles apart?"
+
+"Have I said anything, boy, that you cayn't believe?"
+
+"You lied when you said you were thirsty, when you claimed to have
+walked, when you made out you couldn't catch your horse, and couldn't
+ride--you lied, and you're a liar!"
+
+The preacher reached for his hip, and a dozen revolvers covered him
+instant.
+
+"Seh," he said, quite gentle, "my handkerchief is in my hip-pocket;
+observe me blow my nose at yo' remarks."
+
+He trumpeted into his big red handkerchief.
+
+"Why do you make this bluff," says Jim, "at being a preacher, when
+you've been all your life in the saddle?"
+
+"Yo' questions, seh, are personal for a stranger, and the character you
+gave me to yo' greasers was some hasty, and the salute of guns you offer
+makes me feel unworthy. As to your thanks for an honest warning to save
+yo' lost cattle and haste to yo' dying mother----"
+
+Jim flushed with shame.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir."
+
+"And you accept my warning?"
+
+"If you'll prove you forgive me by shaking hands, Mr.----"
+
+"Misteh? Just call me friend--no more. And Jim, when you've been to Holy
+Crawss, yo' natural feelings will call you swift to Grave City, where
+you'll find your father in mortal danger, I feah."
+
+"In mortal danger?"
+
+"Unless," said the stranger, "a mere friend can save him."
+
+Jim looked into this stranger's face, at the tanned hide, seamed and
+furrowed with trouble, the strong hard lips, twisty with a sort of queer
+smile, at the eyes, which seemed to be _haunted_.
+
+"Sir," he said, "I'll do what you tell me."
+
+So he took paper and pencil from his wallet, leaned over the horn of his
+saddle, and made it desk enough for what he had to write.
+
+"Will this do?" says he, passing his letter to the stranger.
+
+"Yes, I reckon. Add, sonny, that Misteh Michael Ryan's private cyar is
+due from the east to-morrow, with the Pacific Express. It's timed to
+reach Grave City at 10:05 p.m. Chalkeye will be thar."
+
+Jim wrote all that down, then looked up, fearful, surprised at this
+preacher knowing so much, then glanced all round to see which man had
+the best horse for his message.
+
+"Onate!" he called.
+
+"Si señor."
+
+"Take this letter, Onate, to Mr. Chalkeye Davies in Lordsburgh. Then
+you'll follow me home."
+
+Onate uncovered, took the letter, and bowed his thanks. "Gracias señor,
+adios!" and curved off swift for Lordsburgh.
+
+Then Jim saw the preacher's eyes boring him through.
+
+"You will shake hands?" he asked.
+
+"With a glad hand," said Captain McCalmont. "Put her thar, boy! I hope
+when we meet up again you'll remember me as a friend."
+
+So the great robber swung his horse, and spurred up back to his hilltop,
+while Jim and the _vaqueros_ burned the trail for home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE
+
+
+It used to be a great sight down at Holy Cross when the _vaqueros_ came
+back from the round-up, serapes flapping in the wind, hats waving, guns
+popping, ponies tearing around, and eating up the ground. And then the
+house folk came swarming out to meet them, the little boys and dogs in a
+shouting heap, the girls bunched together and squealing, the young wives
+laughing, the old mothers, the tottering granddads, all plumb joyful to
+welcome the riders home. So they would mix up, crowd through the gates,
+and on the stable court to see a beef shot for the feast. Presently the
+little boys would come out in the dusk of the evening, bareback to herd
+the ponies through the pasture gate, and scamper back barefoot to the
+house in time for supper. All night long the lamps were alight in the
+great hall, the guitars a-strumming, and young feet dancing, and last,
+at the break of dawn, the chapel bell would call for early mass.
+
+But this was the last home-coming for the folks at Holy Cross, and far
+away across the desert Jim's riders heard the bell--the minute bell
+tolling soft for the dead. The people met them at the gates, but all
+the boys uncovered, riding slow. No beef would be killed that night, no
+lights would shine, no guitars would strum for the dance.
+
+Inside the main gate Jim's servant took his horse, and the lad walked on
+with clashing spurs to meet the old padre at the door of the
+dining-hall.
+
+"Take off your spurs," said the priest, "come softly."
+
+So he followed the padre across the bare, whitewashed dining-hall, and
+on along the cloister of the palm tree court. He heard the death-cry
+keening out of the shadows, the bell tolled, and he went on through the
+dark rooms, until he came to the señora, with women kneeling about the
+bed, and candles lighted at her head and feet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The daybreak was bitter cold when Jim came out into the palm tree court,
+shivering while he watched the little, far-up clouds flushed with the
+dawn.
+
+He felt that something was all wrong in the house, with the hollow
+echoes, every time he moved, crashing back from out of the dark. Then in
+the black darkness of the rooms he saw a lighted candle moving, slow
+through the air.
+
+"Who's there!" he shouted, and at that the light came straight at him
+with something grey behind. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
+Then he saw it was Sheriff Bryant.
+
+"Easy, boy, easy!" says Dick in his slow Texan drawl; "I cal'late, Jim,
+we may as well have coffee, eh, boy?"
+
+So he led Jim into the dining-hall, where he had cooked some coffee on
+the brazier. He set his candle down on the long table, and beside it a
+stick of sealing-wax and a bundle of tape.
+
+"Why, sheriff," says Jim, "what do you want with these?"
+
+"Take yo' coffee, son. It's cold this mawnin'."
+
+Jim fell to sipping his coffee, while old Dick sat crouched down over
+the brazier.
+
+"My old woman's been here this fortnight past," he said, "and I
+collected a doctor of sorts."
+
+"You never sent for father, or for me."
+
+"I had reasons, boy, good reasons. Jim, thar's trouble a-comin', and
+you've got to face it manful."
+
+"Oh, speak out!"
+
+"As I says to my ole woman only yesterday, I'd have loaned the money
+myself to yo' poh mother, only I don't have enough to lend to a dawg."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I couldn't turn the po' lady out of her home, so I got a stay of
+execution from the Court, to give her time to escape. She's done escaped
+now, and I got to act."
+
+"Sheriff!"
+
+"Yes, I'm sheriff, and I'd rather break a laig. But I'm the People's
+servant, Jim, and my awdehs is to seize this hull estate, in the name o'
+the People."
+
+"To seize this house!"
+
+"To turn you and all yo' servants out of Holy Crawss, and put the
+People's seal on the front gate."
+
+"Sheriff, you can't!"
+
+"Boy, take this writ."
+
+Jim took the paper, spread it out, and read--
+
+"Jim," said the sheriff, "we must bury this lady first. Then you want to
+take the best hawss you've got, while I'm not looking, and ride to my
+home. Yo're mo' than welcome thar."
+
+"Who's done this thing?"
+
+"Yo' father's debts."
+
+"Don't beat about the bush--who's done this thing?"
+
+"George Ryan."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WAR SIGNS
+
+
+On Tuesday morning, after I headed Jim for Holy Cross, I had to stay
+over in Lordsburgh, finish my horse deal with the Lawson Cattle Company,
+then get my men back to Grave City by the evening train. I had only
+three cowboys, Monte, Custer, and Ute; nice children, too, when they
+were all asleep, but fresh that morning, full of dumb yearnings for
+trouble, and showing plentiful symptoms of being young. At
+breakfast-time I pointed out some items in the local scenery, a doctor's
+shambles, a hospital, a mortuary, and an adjacent graveyard.
+
+"Now, you kids," says I, "you may be heap big tigers; but don't you get
+wild-catting around too numerous, because I ain't aiming to waste good
+money on yo' funerals."
+
+They said they'd be fearful good, and might they have ten dollars apiece
+for the church offertory? They set off with three pure hearts, and
+thirty dollars.
+
+Now I reckon there were twenty-five Flying W. riders owning the town
+that day, and they began politely by asking my boys if Chalkeye's
+squint was contagious, and whether that accounted for symptoms of mange
+in his ponies.
+
+My boys were dead gentle, and softly answered that Lawson was the worst
+horse-thief in Arizona; that Lawson's foreman was three-parts negro and
+the rest polecat, and that Lawson's riders had red streaks around their
+poor throats because the hang-rope had failed to do them justice.
+
+The Flying W. inquired if my three riders was a case of triplets, or
+only an unfortunate mistake. Then my boys produced their six-guns and
+allowed they'd been whelped savage, raised dangerous, and turned loose
+hostile--and I only arrived just in time to save them from being spoiled
+for further use on earth. I challenged the Flying W. to race their best
+pets against my "mangy" ponies, and both sides agreed to have a drink
+with me, instead of wasting mounted funeral pageants on such a one-horse
+town as little Lordsburgh.
+
+So while I was playing nursemaid, herding all those kids, who should
+roll up the street but young Onate, of Holy Cross, on the dead run with
+a letter from Jim. The more kids, the worse trouble. Well, when I had
+swallowed Jim's letter, I fired off a batch of telegrams and soon had a
+wire back from the Albuquerque sheriff. "Will impound them cattle," says
+he, "pending advices from Bryant." So I sent Onate streaking after
+Bryant, and went on playing at nursemaid until I was plumb scared that
+I'd be sprouting a cap of ribbons. Anyway, I didn't have time to think
+until the evening train pulled into Grave City. By that time my three
+babies were dancing a fandango upon the roof of the car. When the train
+stopped I hauled them down by the legs, petted them some with my boot,
+and told them to go away home. They went, with a bet between them, which
+would be first at my ranch.
+
+Just for the sake of peace and quietness I stayed that night in Grave
+City, and sat around next morning smoking long cigars while I made my
+poor brain think. There were points in Jim's letter, and facts I had
+picked up casual at Lordsburgh, and words of gossip dropped in the
+hotel; but to put them all together would have puzzled a large-sized
+judge. Still, by all the tracks, the signs, the signals, and the little
+smells, I reckoned that Mr. Ryan was mighty near reaching a crisis, and
+apt to break out sudden as dynamite. First, here was Sheriff Bryant with
+two deputies, his wife, and a medicine-man, camped down at Holy Cross.
+Now Bryant would scarcely take deputy-sheriffs down there to nurse a
+sick lady. Had Holy Cross been seized at last for Balshannon's debts?
+That smelt of Ryan.
+
+Secondly, Jim had gone to heaps of trouble gathering all the
+breeding-stock of Holy Cross, for a party named Jabez Y. Stone to steal
+them convenient. Jabez Y. had once been a bar-tender in Ryan's
+hotel--so that smelt of Ryan, too.
+
+Thirdly, here was poor Balshannon being held with a string round his leg
+at the Sepulchre saloon, by the two crookedest gamblers in Arizona, the
+same being Low-Lived Joe and Louisiana Pete. Once, Joe, being gaoled for
+killing a Mexican, Ryan had put up money for a lawyer to get him
+released. So if these two thugs were instructed to hold and skin the
+Dook, that likewise smelt strong of Ryan.
+
+Fourthly, here was young Michael Ryan in his private car from New York,
+burning the rails to reach Grave City by ten o'clock this night. The
+smell of Ryan surely tainted the whole landscape. Now just throw back to
+the words of Ryan's letter which fourteen long years before he had
+nailed upon the door of Holy Cross:--
+
+     "The time will come when, driven from this your new home, without a
+     roof to cover you or a crust to eat, your wife and son turned out
+     to die in the desert, you will beg for even so much as a drink of
+     water, and it will be thrown in your face. I shall not die until I
+     have seen the end of your accursed house."
+
+So this was Ryan's plan--the work of fourteen years; industrious a whole
+lot, and plenty treacherous, but coming surely true. He had waited until
+he knew the lady was mostly dead, then turned her out of Holy Cross to
+die in the desert. The cattle were stolen, Balshannon was tied down for
+slaughter, and Michael would come to see the finish at ten o'clock
+to-night.
+
+I began to reckon up Balshannon's friends, cowboys and robbers mostly,
+scattered anyway across the big range of the desert. They would not hear
+me if I howled for help.
+
+But Ryan was respectable. He was Chairman of the Committee of Public
+Safety which lynched bad men when they became too prevalent with their
+guns. Ryan was our leading citizen, heaps rich, and virtuous no end. The
+Law would side with him, and as to the officers of the law, judges, and
+City Marshal, and the police--they'd got elected because he spoke for
+them. He owned the city, could bring out hundreds of men to take his
+side. What could I do against this Ryan's friends?
+
+I knew that young Curly was hid in Grave City somewheres, and after a
+search I found him. The boy was so disguised he hardly knew himself.
+
+"Chalkeye," says he, "you want a talk?" He looked sort of scared and
+anxious.
+
+"I do."
+
+"If Ryan's folk see you making talk with me, they'll think there's some
+new plot against the white men. Just you watch where I go, and follow
+casual."
+
+He led me to a little room he rented over a barber's shop, and looking
+from the window I noticed that Ryan's hotel was just across the street.
+Curly left the room door open, because he didn't want any spy to use the
+keyhole.
+
+"Now," says he, "make yo' voice tame, or we'll be overheard. Don't show
+yo'self off at that window, but keep your eyes skinned thar, while I
+watch the stairs. What is yo' trouble?"
+
+"Whar are yo' range wolves?"
+
+"They're a whole lot absent," says Curly.
+
+"Cayn't you trust me?"
+
+"I ain't trusting even myself." He looked fearful worried.
+
+"You know that Ryan has seized Holy Cross?"
+
+"This mawning, yes."
+
+"And that Ryan has stolen all their breeding-stock?"
+
+"Yesterday that was."
+
+"And that yo' father dressed himself up as a preacher, and warned Jim?"
+
+"They met up five mile south of Lordsburgh. Yessir."
+
+"And that Balshannon is tied up here?"
+
+"To be butchered this evening. Well?"
+
+"Curly, I want the range wolves to save Balshannon."
+
+"The range wolves has another engagement, seh."
+
+"You know all about this, Curly! Cayn't you trust me to help?"
+
+"We want no help, I reckon."
+
+I turned my tongue loose then, and surely burned young Curly.
+
+"Don't talk so loud, ole Chalkeye, but say some more!" he laughed. "I
+could set around to listen to you all day. Turn yo' wolf loose, for it's
+shorely yo' time to howl."
+
+That dried me up cold and sudden, for I had been acting youthful, and
+Curly had got responsible, maybe elderly with me, the same being
+ridiculous seeing how small the boy was.
+
+"Yo're through with yo' prayers, Chalkeye? Some comforted, eh? You ole
+ring-tailed snorter, cayn't you understand? We ain't going to have you
+mixed up with us range wolves, and branded for an outlaw. We want you to
+keep good, and be a whole lot respectable right along. Then you can stay
+around in this man's town, walk in the open with a proud tail, and show
+the Ryan outfit that Balshannon has one friend who ain't no robber."
+
+Then I understood.
+
+"Now," says Curly, "hear my lil' voice, for I'm goin' to prophesy. You
+know that Ryan reckons to have young Michael here for Balshannon's
+funeral? Suppose this Michael don't transpire to-night? Suppose the
+train comes in with news of a horrible shocking outrage? Suppose them
+mean, or'nary robbers has stole a millionaire? Suppose--well, just you
+wait for Ryan's yell when he hears what's done happened to his petted
+offspring. He'll surely forget there's any Balshannon to kill. Just you
+wait peaceful, and when the town turns out to rescue that poor stolen
+maverick you want to ride in and collect Balshannon."
+
+Opposite in the hotel piazza I watched old Ryan and the City Marshal
+having a mint julep together at one of the tables.
+
+"You hear that hawss?" says Curly, and far off I heard a horse come
+thundering. Soon the rider swung into sight, pitching the dust high,
+until he came abreast of my window, and saw the City Marshal in the
+piazza.
+
+"Marshal," I heard him calling, "the wire to Bisley has been cut."
+
+"Is that so?"
+
+"The City Marshal at Bisley wants your help."
+
+"What's the trouble?"
+
+"You Ryan, your partner Jim Fiskin has been held up on the Mule Pass by
+robbers. Marshal, the message is for you to bring a posse swift to the
+nigh end of the pass, so as the Bisley people can drive the robbers
+under your guns."
+
+"Good," says the Marshal, belting up his gun, "I'll be thar."
+
+"It would be an awful pity," says Curly behind my shoulder, "if our City
+Marshal and his posse of men got called away on a false scent, while
+the wicked robbers up north were stealing a millionaire."
+
+That youngster was wiser than me.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+STORM GATHERING
+
+
+It's a whole lot interesting to see how different sorts of people put up
+a fight. Cat, she spits, and proceeds with claws; dog, he says no
+remarks, but opens up with teeth; horse, he's mighty swift to paw; bull,
+he hooks; bear, he hugs affectionate while he eats your face; Frenchman,
+he pokes with a sword; German, he slashes; Spaniard, he throws his
+knife; nigger, he barbers around with a razor: and all of us have the
+same feelings to express in some heartfelt sudden way. If you're looking
+for trouble with Mr. Cowboy, you want to tame yourself and get pretty
+near absent before he shoots. But at present my mind is set on
+Britishers, which is a complicated tribe, and they sure fight most
+various.
+
+When Mr. Britisher is merely feeling good and wants to loose out his joy
+with a little wholesome scrap, he naturally hates to kill his man first
+lick--that would spoil future sport. So if he's Irish he turns himself
+loose with a club, or if he's Scotch or English he feels for the other
+man with a hard paw. That relieves him, and does no harm. But sometimes
+he feels real warlike. There's nobody special he wants to kill, his
+small home tribe has nothing to spare for burial, and yet he must have
+war. That's why his government keeps proper hunting preserves, well
+stocked with assorted barbarians over seas. Some of these savages are
+sure to be wanting a fight, so Mr. Britisher obliges, and comes along
+hot with rifles and Maxim guns. Savages are plenty, so that if a few get
+spoilt they'll never be missed. "It's good for them," says Mr.
+Britisher, "and it saves the crockery from being smashed at home."
+
+So you see how Mr. Britisher may have his peaceful scrapping with
+another boy, or go play with his savages when they want a licking; but
+he's serious none--just laughs and shakes hands afterwards. But what
+does he do when he feels real awful and dangerous? Civilised folk like
+us Americans, feeling as bad as that, turn loose the guns, and wipe each
+other out to a finish. Other people may prefer swords or battering-rams,
+or a tilt with locomotive engines, or cannon loaded with buffalo horns,
+or dynamite at ten paces; but all that would feel too tame for Mr.
+Britisher. No, he puts on his war paint--black suit and top hat most
+hideous--calls on his lawyer in a frantic passion, and goes to law!
+
+Now look, see how these two families, the du Chesnays and the Ryans,
+went to law. They came of the best fighting-stock on earth; they were
+whole-blooded Irish, but they went to law. The du Chesnays turned the
+Ryans out of their home and country, which was bad. Then the Ryans did
+worse: lay low and waited bitter years, gathered their strength, and
+struck from behind--the cowards! Old Ryan got his enemy corrupted with
+drink and gambling, stole all his cattle, left him helpless to fight,
+then seized the home to try and turn a dying lady into the desert. He
+kept within the law, but there was not an honest card in his whole game.
+It was foul play, and I for one don't blame poor Jim for wanting no more
+law in the fight with Ryan.
+
+And yet I reckon that after the first fifty miles of his trail that day
+Jim's main thoughts were about the dinner he didn't have, and by sundown
+he quit caring who was dead and who was ruined, as he racked on, with
+aching bones and a played horse. It was nigh dark when he raised the
+Toughnut Mine at Grave City against the red of dusk. Around him lay the
+rolling yellow swell of the hot grass, clumps of scorched cactus,
+blistered hills of rock; before him the mine-heads and the roofs with
+sparkling streaks of blue electric lamps. He jockeyed his worn horse
+past the Jim Crow Mine, and the house where my cousins lived, the Misses
+Jameson, then on through scattered suburbs, till swinging round the
+corner into the main street he rolled at a canter for the stable-yard.
+
+Abreast of the Sepulchre saloon he heard his name called, and reined up
+sharp to speak with the small stable-boy from Ryan's "livery," who came
+limping out to meet him through the dust.
+
+"Say, kid"--he leaned over in the saddle, well-nigh falling--"where
+shall I find the Duke?"
+
+The little one-eyed cripple jerked his thumb back at the Sepulchre
+saloon. "The Dook's in thar," he answered.
+
+Jim rolled from the saddle, dropped his rein to the ground, quit his
+horse, brushed past the cripple, and went on without a word. He was so
+stiff he could hardly walk, so dead weary that he reeled against the
+swing-doors trying to get them open. The cripple helped him, and he
+staggered in. The place was crowded, but the clash of his spurs along
+the floor made several punchers turn round lazy, asking him to drink,
+because he belonged to their tribe. Two of the cowboys grabbed him, but
+he broke away, and went on.
+
+Beyond the bar on the right were the gambling-tables, each with its
+crowd of players, and at the third Jim saw Louisiana on a high seat
+watching for Low-Lived Joe, his partner, who dealt the game. Opposite
+them he found his father, then pushed his way through the crowd to
+Balshannon's side. The ivory chips were piled breast high in front of
+him, for play had been high, and the Dook had had a run of luck.
+
+The boy watched his father's face flushed high with excitement, his
+feverish eyes, his twitching lips, and restless fingers at play with the
+round ivory counters which stood for five thousand dollars won since
+supper-time. Opposite he looked up at Louisiana on the high seat, all
+bald-faced shirt and diamonds, guarding his stacks of gold coin with a
+revolver. Low-Lived Joe faced up a card on the deck, and passed some
+chips to Balshannon. The rest of the players had quit to watch the big
+game through.
+
+"Father, I want you," says he.
+
+"Well, Jim," says Balshannon, "what's the trouble?" He never looked up.
+
+But the boy was shaking all over. "Father, come, I want you."
+
+The Dook staked, then rolled a cigarette. "Don't bother me, Jim," says
+he, "you'll spoil the run. We can't do anything, boy, for we've lost
+those cattle."
+
+"Ryan has seized the ranche, the sheriff's there! Come out!"
+
+Balshannon quivered, but Joe shoved him a pile of blue chips.
+
+"So Santa Cruz is gone?" Balshannon drawled, and doubled his stake.
+"Well, how's your mother?"
+
+"Dead!"
+
+Balshannon went grey, the cigarette dropped from his fingers. "Dead,"
+he muttered, "dead." Then he looked up with a sort of queer smile.
+"Anything else?" he asked quite cheerfully.
+
+"Say, Dook," said Louisiana, "I'd hate to see you struck from not
+watching yo' game."
+
+"Thanks, Pete." Balshannon staked out the whole of his winnings, then
+picked up the cigarette, struck a match, and lighted it slowly.
+
+"Come home!" the boy was whispering. "Come home!"
+
+Jim saw the tears rolling down his father's face, and splashing on the
+chips. "What's the use, my boy?" he said very softly. "Would that bring
+your mother back?"
+
+"Come home! Come home!"
+
+"I'm winning back our home!"
+
+Then Low-Lived Joe drew a card, and as the boy went staggering away a
+great yell went up. Balshannon was winning back his home.
+
+Jim says he felt sick when he quit his father, cold down the back, and
+the floor was all aslant and spinning round. Then everything went black,
+and he dropped.
+
+When he woke up he felt much better, lying flat on the floor with iced
+water trickling over his face. That little one-eyed cripple was feeding
+brandy to him.
+
+"Here's luck!" he gulped, "that's all right--where's my hat?"
+
+"Come out," says little Crook, "you need fresh air."
+
+Jim got up, and wriggled loose, because he hated being pawed, then led
+the way out past the three fiddlers and the wheezing old harmonium to
+the door. Outside there was clear blue moonlight. "Where's my horse?"
+says he.
+
+Crook was lighting a cigarette. "Yo' hawss," says he, "is in the stable.
+He's unsaddled, rubbed down, watered and fed, befo' now. I reckon you
+want to be watered and fed yo'self."
+
+"No, kid, I'm not feeling proud enough for that."
+
+"Come on, then," says Crook, "and watch me eat. I'm just a lil' wolf
+inside, and if I cayn't feed I'll howl."
+
+They went to the pie foundry round the corner, and when Jim saw Crook
+eat he surely got ravenous. They both fed tree and severe, then strayed
+back heavy to the street in front of the Sepulchre saloon.
+
+"Sit on yo' tail," says Crook, "and I'll feed you a cigarette." So they
+sat down on the sidewalk, and Jim yawned two yards and a quarter at one
+stretch.
+
+"I cal'late," says Crook, "that yo' goin' to be riding to-night, so I
+had yo' saddle thrown on my buckskin mare."
+
+"I'll be riding my bed on the sleep-trail."
+
+"Riding a hawss, I reckon"--Crook bent forward, pulling up his boot legs
+by the tags--"and me too and the Dook. Our hawsses are waiting for us
+at the back door of this saloon. You understand?"
+
+"I don't," says Jim. "Do you know, youngster, that only this morning I
+buried my mother, then I rode a hundred miles, and if Arizona freezes
+over to-night we'll go skating for all I care."
+
+"Say, if the Dook gets shot up to-night will you be a lord?"
+
+Jim laughed sort of patronising because he liked the youngster's cheek.
+"My father isn't pining for any such thing to-night."
+
+"But suppose he went daid, would you be a lord?"
+
+"I'd be Jim du Chesnay, riding for whatever wages I'm worth. A lord!
+what's the use of that?"
+
+"But it must be fine!"
+
+"It may be good enough for my father, but he's Irish, and he doesn't
+know any better. I'm an American."
+
+"But still you'd be a lord."
+
+"Would my lordship keep my pony from stumbling in front of a stampede of
+cattle? Would it save my scalp from Apaches, or help my little calves
+when the mountain lions want meat? Does my blood protect me from
+rattlesnakes, or Ryans, or skunks?"
+
+"But there's the big land grant yo' people owns over in Ireland."
+
+"It's tied up with entail, whatever that means, and there's no money in
+it, anyway. My tail in the old country doesn't save me from being galled
+in the saddle here, and I'm awfully tired."
+
+"Same here, seh. I'm weary some myself. Yo' gun is loaded?"
+
+Jim pawed his revolver. "Yes."
+
+"Take some more," said Crook, and passed over a handful of cartridges to
+fill Jim's belt. Jim saw that the cripple was armed.
+
+"Why do you talk," says he, "about horses waiting for us, and the need
+of guns, and father getting killed? What's the trouble, my lad?"
+
+"The trouble is that Ryan has hired that gambling outfit to skin the
+Dook to-night. There's men standing round to see he don't leave that
+house alive. Now, look along the street here to the left, across at the
+Mortuary Hotel. You see old Ryan settin' there?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"He's waiting for his son, the millionaire, young Michael. He's due with
+his private cyar at ten o'clock. If Michael comes--if he comes, I
+say--his father reckons to bring him over to call on yo' father here at
+the 'Sepulchre.' That's why the Dook is bein' skinned, and that's why
+Ryan's men are watching to see he don't escape alive."
+
+"But what does Ryan want? He's got our breeding cattle, he's taken
+Holy Cross, my mother's gone--we've nothing left to take."
+
+"You have yo' lives, you and the Dook. Ryan and his outfit allow they'll
+wipe you out when Michael comes."
+
+"Is that all?" Jim laughed. "They're thoughtful and painstaking, anyway.
+By the way, I don't know that my father and I have been shrieking for
+help as yet."
+
+"If you were the kind of people to make a big song when yo're hurt, I
+reckon that we-all would jest leave you squeal."
+
+"And who is we-all? You've acted like a white man to-night, looking
+after my poor roan and me like a little brother. But why should you
+care, young chap? I've never seen you before in my life; I don't even
+know your name."
+
+"My name is Crook; I works at the stable."
+
+"But why should you interfere? You may get hurt. I wouldn't like that,
+youngster."
+
+"Wall, partner"--Crook shuffled a whole lot nervous--"I got a message
+for you from the boys. The Dook's had nothing but greasers working for
+him, and that's rough on us white men, but still he's surely good. He's
+dead straight, he don't wear no frills, and many a po' puncher, broke,
+hungry, half daid of thirst, has been treated like a son at Holy Crawss.
+We don't amount to much--'cept when you want an enemy or a friend--but
+our tribe is right into this fight a whole heap, for them Ryans is
+dirt; and if they comes up agin you to-night I expaict there'll be
+gun-play first."
+
+"Well, kid," said Jim, yawning with a big mouth, "I wish they'd put it
+off until to-morrow."
+
+"Yo' eyes is like boiled aigs. Try a cigarette to keep you awake."
+
+"Can't we get my father away from this house?"
+
+"Not till the train comes in."
+
+"What's that got to do with me?"
+
+"Ask no more questions--wait."
+
+"You say that Michael Ryan's due at ten?"
+
+"If they lets him come."
+
+"Suppose he comes?"
+
+"Then nothing can save yo' father, nothing on airth."
+
+As he spoke the sharp screech of the engine rang out from behind the
+curve, and with all its lights aflash the train rolled in.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE GUN-FIGHT
+
+
+Before supper that evening a passing traveller carried a letter to my
+ranche, and when my boys found out that there was going to be trouble in
+town they surely flirted gravel for fear of arriving too late. I placed
+them at a convenient saloon, explained my plans, made them swear that
+they would not stray. Then I went to Curly's room, and lay low, showing
+no light, but watching the Mortuary Hotel just across the street.
+
+Ryan sat there in his piazza, ruddy and full, broad and bald as a barn,
+a ripe man with a grey chin beard. Yes, he was a cheery old soul,
+popular with the crowd, a power in local politics, well qualified on the
+outside of him for paradise, and in the innards of him for the other
+place. I covered him with my gun, and wondered where he would go to when
+he died. I expect he would be craving then for some of that lager beer
+he sipped so peaceful, and for the palm-leaf fan which he used to brush
+off the heat.
+
+Away off to the right I could see Jim sitting on the sidewalk in front
+of the "Sepulchre." Little Crook was feeding brandy to him, and
+cigarettes to keep him away from sleep. Then the train came rumbling in,
+let out a screech, and stopped. It made me laugh to think what a big
+hurroar there would be presently when the news got wind of that train
+being held up by robbers, and Mr. Michael Ryan led away captive.
+
+Yet there seemed to be no excitement. The usual buses and buggies came
+up from the station, the ordinary crowd of loafers, and then our only
+cab, which crawled to the "Mortuary" to drop one passenger. He was a fat
+young man, dressed most surprising in a stove-pipe hat, a Jew fur coat,
+gloves, and a smart valise. If any of our cowboys had happened around,
+they would have fired a shot for luck to see if he wasn't some new kind
+of bird, but old Ryan came down the steps with a roar of welcome.
+
+"Michael!" he shouted, "where's your palace car? Have you sunk so low as
+to come in a mere cab? Oh, Mike!"
+
+I could hear Mr. Michael explaining that something was wrong with the
+car, so he'd had to leave her at Lordsburgh for repairs. Of course, the
+robbers, not seeing the private car, had concluded that their prey had
+failed to arrive and the train was not worth attacking.
+
+Now Michael had arrived, and after a talk and a drink with his father,
+these two would stroll over to finish the family vengeance on poor
+Balshannon. As far as we had missed getting help from the range wolves,
+so matters were getting mighty serious.
+
+I slipped away to my men.
+
+"Boys," says I, "we got to play at robbers to-night, I reckon, but I
+don't want you-all to get recognised. We may be bucking up against the
+law, and get ourselves disliked if we ain't cautious." So I took a big
+black silk handkerchief and cut it up into strips. "When the shooting
+begins," says I, "just you tie these round your heads to hide yo' homely
+faces. Now get yo' horses and come swift."
+
+I posted the three in the small alley which ran between the "Sepulchre"
+saloon and the post office beyond it. Then I went out to guard
+Balshannon. Being naturally a timid and cautious man, I had a brace of
+revolvers belted on ready for trouble.
+
+Meanwhile young Crook in the front of the house was sitting all doubled
+up with grief at the sight of Michael Ryan.
+
+"Boy," says Jim, "what's the matter?"
+
+"Nothin'."
+
+"How is it, young un, that you know all about my father's affairs and
+mine?"
+
+"I expaict," says that one-eyed cripple, "that working my job at the
+livery I'd oughter know what comes and goes around heah."
+
+"Is that why you're there--to watch?"
+
+Crook went white at that. "You're dreaming," says he, very faint.
+
+"And you're lending me the buckskin running mare for to-night. I've
+heard of that mare. Is that the sort of thing to lend to a stranger?"
+
+"Well, seh, even a hired man may have his private feelings."
+
+"Look here, youngster, I've seen you before, and I remember you now.
+When I saw you once at Holy Cross you had two eyes in your head, and you
+weren't a cripple."
+
+Suddenly Jim snatched away the black pad which was slung over Crook's
+disabled eye. Two good eyes shone out, and over one of them the scar of
+an old wound. Jim laughed at that, but Crook forgot to be lame, starting
+back lithe as a panther and his face dead white.
+
+"Be careful!" he whispered, "there's men passing us! My life ain't worth
+a cent if I'm seen heah in town." He had the sling across his eye again
+and broke out laughing. "I mean the doctor says I got to keep it
+covered, or I'll go blind--and a blind man's life ain't worth one cent
+in the dollar."
+
+"Quit lying! You're posted at the stable to see who comes and goes, one
+eye in a sling and one game leg for disguise. Come here!"
+
+Jim dragged him by the scruff of the neck to the post office, which
+stood next door to the saloon, with only the alley between, and there
+was an old poster notice on the wall:--
+
+     "NOTICE.
+
+     "The Northern Pacific and Wells Fargo Express Companies offer
+     ($2,000) two thousand dollars,
+
+     DEAD OR ALIVE,
+
+     for the four robbers who held up the Northern Pacific Express train
+     at Gold Creek, Deer Lodge County, Montana, on the morning of April
+     3rd, 1899. Descriptions:--
+
+     "Peter, _alias_ Bobby Stark, _alias_ Curly McCalmont, supposed to
+     be son of Captain McCalmont, is five feet six inches in height,
+     slim, fair hair, blue eyes, clean-shaven, soft girlish manner, with
+     a scar over left eye, the result of a knife wound. He is about
+     twenty years of age, but looks not more than fifteen, and was
+     formerly a cowboy, riding for the Holy Cross Outfit in Arizona. He
+     was last seen on or about May 5th, at Clay Flat, in the Painted
+     Desert, with a flea-bitten grey gelding branded x on the near
+     stifle, and two led burros, one of them packed."
+
+Jim turned round sharp on Crook. "You're Curly McCalmont!" says he.
+
+"Come away--yo' risking my neck."
+
+"Do you think I'd sell you for that dirty money?"
+
+"What you seen, others may, and they'd act haidstrong."
+
+"All right, Curly. Don't you forget to walk lame."
+
+"Hist! Heah come the Ryans!"
+
+The two youngsters came hurrying into the saloon, where I stood watching
+Balshannon while he lost the last of his money. Jim clutched me by the
+arm, whispering something, but I did not catch what he said, for Curly
+was making a last play to get Balshannon from the tables.
+
+"You quit," said he, "befo' yo're too late, patrone."
+
+"It's too late now," says Balshannon; "what's the good?"
+
+"It's not too late to save yo' life. Come quick!"
+
+"So," says Balshannon, looking up sort of surprised, "you think you can
+er--_frighten_ me?"
+
+Louisiana was leaning forward across the table. "Look a-here, Crook,"
+says he, "you can play, or you can get right out, but you don't
+interrupt this game." And Curly was hustled aside by Ryan's watchers.
+
+"Now, Joe," the patrone was saying, "let's finish this."
+
+He staked his last chips and lost, then got up with a little sigh,
+thinking, I reckon, of his wife, his ranche, his cattle.
+
+"I'm kind of sorry, Dook," says Louisiana.
+
+"So am I, a little," Balshannon chuckled.
+
+"I think," says the gambler, stacking away his great big heaps of gold
+and silver coin--"I think that----"
+
+"You are fortunate, Pete," Balshannon answered lightly, "I dare not
+think."
+
+"I'm closing the game for to-night," says Louisiana.
+
+"I'm closing the game to-night," says Lord Balshannon.
+
+He took a cigarette-case from his pocket, but found it empty, felt in
+his shabby old clothes for money, then turned away with a queer little
+laugh of his which made me ache.
+
+Outside in the street I heard a hand-bell clang, and took notice through
+the tail of my eye that the room was filling with all the worst men in
+that bad town of ours. There was the Alabama Kid, and beside him Shorty
+Broach, stage robber and thug, Beef Jones, the horse-thief, Gas, a
+tin-horn crook, Thimble-Rig Phipps, and two or three other sure-thing
+gamblers, rollers, and thugs. I went over to the front end of the house,
+where the orchestra were packing up to quit, and there at the far corner
+of the bar were old Ryan and Michael standing drinks to the crowd. Yes,
+the game was being set sure enough. I saw Low-Lived Joe hurry past me
+and speak in a whisper to Ryan, and at that Balshannon's enemy stood out
+to the front of his gang. All the scrubs and skin-game men were
+drifting into that corner behind him, until there must have been perhaps
+thirty gathered, loosing their guns to be ready.
+
+By the faro tables were Jim and Curly trying to get Balshannon out of
+the house, but he broke away, and they followed until he came to the
+inner end of the bar. Then they stood back a little, while he waited to
+be served.
+
+"Here, Bill!" he called out cheerfully.
+
+A bar-keep quit the Ryans and went to serve him. "Well," says he, heaps
+insolent, "what do you want?"
+
+The patrone looked at him smiling. "You seem out of sorts, Bill; have a
+drink with me. I'll take a whisky."
+
+The bar-keep glared at him.
+
+"Oh, by the way," says Balshannon, "I'll have to square up for this
+to-morrow morning."
+
+"Terms cash," says the bar-keep.
+
+"Really?" Balshannon smiled at his ugly face. "Oh, of course--your
+orders, eh? Well, never mind. You're so polite, Bill, that--er--that
+just by way of thanks I'll ask you to accept this little token." He
+chucked him the silver cigarette-case and turned away from the bar.
+
+But I was bull-roaring mad. "Patrone," says I, "patrone, I owe you heaps
+of money. Here, take this!"
+
+But Balshannon laid both his hands upon my shoulders, smiling right into
+my eyes. "Dear friend," he said, "you know I could not take money, even
+from you."
+
+A thick voice was calling from the other end of the bar: "Here,
+bar-keep, you give this man a drink!"
+
+Then the patrone looked round. "Ah, Ryan, eh?" He walked straight up to
+his enemy. "I'll drink with you gladly, Ryan. Suppose we forget the
+past, and try to be good--er--friends, eh?" He held out his hand, but
+Ryan took no notice. "Hello, I see your son is with you, Ryan. Good
+evening, Michael."
+
+Michael just stared at him.
+
+The people who had no interest in the trouble must have seen drawn guns
+before now, because I heard them breaking rapid for cover. The scrub
+which belonged to Ryan was formed up behind him for war, while back of
+Balshannon stood only Jim and Curly with the whole rear part of the room
+behind them empty. The two youngsters seemed to be having baby troubles,
+for Curly was struggling powerful to break away from Jim.
+
+"I got to," he shouted, "I cayn't see to shoot!" Then he jumped clear.
+He had disremembered about being a cripple, he had torn the bandage away
+from his eye, and over the left brow, clear for all men to see, was his
+brand, the knife wound! At that a yell went up from Ryan's crowd, and
+some of his men surged forward, Louisiana and Low-Lived Joe in the lead.
+
+I jumped straight at them with my brace of guns.
+
+"Back!" shouted Ryan, holding them back with both arms. "Back! What's
+your hurry? Wait!"
+
+"Come on!" came Curly's clear high yell. "Two thousand dollars daid or
+alive if you take me! I'm a sure wolf, and it's my night to howl, you
+cowards! I'm Curly McCalmont of the Robbers' Roost! Take me who can!"
+
+Curly had gone plumb crazy, throwing his life away to get Balshannon one
+more chance of escape, but the crooks only saw that the small boy's team
+of guns were quick in his hands to shoot, and felt real glad of Ryan's
+outstretched arms. So came the lull, and I heard the bar-keep clashing
+down bottle and glass beside Balshannon.
+
+"Whisky," says he in a shaky voice, "and yours, Mr. Ryan?"
+
+"Irish," said Ryan, then whispered to his son, who hauled clumsy,
+getting out his silver-plated pop-shooter, a thing more fit for a girl
+than a grown man.
+
+I like to think of my old patrone in those last moments of his life, as
+he stood at the end of the bar, quiet peaceful, facing Ryan. He was a
+tall, straight man, gaunt some, dead weary, but the only clean thing in
+sight. The grey moustache raked up against the red tan of his face, his
+hair was curling silver, his eyes cool blue. He seemed to be amused with
+the Ryans, and as to weapons, he just despised a gun. Then he heard the
+clash of his son's spurs just behind him. "Good-bye," I heard him
+whisper. "God bless you, Jim."
+
+I reckon Jim was crying.
+
+Ryan had swung forward along the bar, and reached for Balshannon's empty
+glass. "Here, take your drink," he shouted, "the drink you begged for!"
+
+Balshannon stepped aside while Ryan filled the glass for him to drink.
+"Thank you," he said. But Ryan snatched the full glass, jumped back,
+swung out his arm--"Take that!" he yelled, and threw the glass straight
+at Balshannon's face.
+
+The patrone took a handkerchief and wiped his face, slow and dainty, but
+the blood was starting where the glass had struck. "I'm sorry," he said,
+"that it should come to this, but as you are not in condition, Mr. Ryan,
+to fight, I must ask you, Mr. Michael Ryan, to oblige me."
+
+"Fight?" yelled Ryan. "Fight a thing like you? Not much! Back, Michael!
+My Lord Balshannon," he sneered, "do you think my son would demean
+himself to fight you?"
+
+"I observe," said Balshannon kindly, "that he seems to be rather warm in
+that fur overcoat."
+
+The crowd broke out laughing, half ready, I felt then to take the
+weaker side against a coward. The patrone was so surely great, so much a
+man, so helpless--death in his eyes, peace on his smiling lips; and the
+Ryans in furs and jewellery looked such curs.
+
+I had stepped back against the wall, facing the middle of the bar. On
+the right was the Ryan gang, on the left Balshannon, behind me the row
+of windows which looked on the alley-way where my men lay hid. I rapped
+soft with my knuckles on the window just at my right hand.
+
+"Say, Chalkeye!" Louisiana was hailing me. "Why don't you stand by the
+Dook? Have you gone back on the Dook?"
+
+"I stand here, Pete," said I, "to see fair play."
+
+Then Ryan broke in on me.
+
+"Boys," he said, "we don't need Chalkeye Davies to judge our play. You
+know me, all of you; you know my record, and what I've done for our
+city. I've not asked you here, citizens, to see murder, or fighting of
+any sort, but to witness an act of justice done by this Lord Balshannon
+on himself."
+
+The crowd kept still, remembering that our leading citizen had acted
+straight for our city, and had a right to be heard.
+
+"Now you shall judge as citizens," said Ryan, "between this man and me.
+For a thousand years my people, the Ryans, had land and homes in
+Oireland, until the Balshannons came over with bloody Cromwell to steal
+our little holdings by force of ar-r-ms. We were overpowered, we were
+forced to pay rent to the tyrants, but we were free men, not slaves; we
+are free men to-day, and we have fought for liberty.
+
+"Look at this last Balshannon, this man who once tried to get me hung on
+a false charge, this cowardly, brutal ruffian, who drove me and all my
+people out of our homes to die in the bitter cold. Think of our women
+starving to death in the snow-drifts--and, if you doubt me, go and ask
+me wife. We were driven, she and I, and all our people, out of the land
+we loved, out of Erin, beggared, hopeless, despairing exiles. Out on the
+black Atlantic we had to bury one of my little children in the
+sea--there stands the murderer! Do you blame me, citizens, for wanting
+vengeance?"
+
+"Dook," says the Alabama Kid, "suppose we hear your side?"
+
+"You'll hear my side," says Lord Balshannon, "from Ryan. This is his
+court--of--er--justice." Then he wiped the running blood from his cheek,
+and yawned behind his hand. Even Ryan's men began to look ashamed of
+such a court.
+
+"Vengeance!" Ryan was howling; "vengeance with the Apaches first--I
+turned them loose on your camp! Vengeance with McCalmont's robbers--I
+turned them loose on your ranche!"
+
+Balshannon swung half round and grasped Curly McCalmont's hand. We saw
+his back shaking with laughter, but when he faced Ryan again he
+straightened his lips. "Excuse me," he said, "go on."
+
+But the crowd remembered how McCalmont's wolves had breakfasted with
+Ryan after that little dinner at Holy Cross. They howled with laughter.
+
+"You may laugh!" yelled Ryan; "laugh, you hounds!" but Balshannon lifted
+his hand, and the crowd were silent.
+
+"Yes, I failed," said Ryan. "I had to wait--I waited--but what I
+couldn't do you did for yourself; yes, you, Balshannon, drinking and
+gambling here while your forsaken wife lay dying yonder! I had only to
+find a few friends to lend you me money, and sharpers to be after
+rooking you of all you borrowed. Yes, that was me vengeance; can you say
+that failed? Where is your big estate? Where are your cattle? Where is
+your wife?"
+
+Balshannon's face had gone dead with pain, but he never flinched.
+
+"And now," Ryan shouted at him, "you beggared gambler, you broken,
+shaking drunkard, you shall finish this vengeance on yourself, which you
+began, which needs no hand of mine! Here!" He ran forward, and jammed a
+long knife into Balshannon's hand. "Finish! Kill yourself, and have
+done, for shure an' you're not fit to live, ye filthy beast!"
+
+Balshannon was reeling, faint, sick, clinging to the bar for support.
+
+"Boys," I shouted, "if Ryan's a man, let him fight. Stand aside, give
+him room, give him a gun. Patrone, take this gun!" I jumped to his side,
+jammed one of my revolvers into his hand, then leapt back to my place by
+the wall. Ryan's tin-horn pets had deserted him; even his son, scared to
+death, had slunk away.
+
+"Help!" Ryan was screaming. "Murther!" But a gun was thrust into his
+hand, and his own hired thugs shoved him forward to fight Balshannon.
+
+"When I call 'Three!'" I shouted, and saw Balshannon stand like a man,
+cool, steady.
+
+"One, two, three!"
+
+Ryan fired and missed before my second call, but at the "Three"
+Balshannon's gun blazed out. I saw a little black hole between Ryan's
+eyes, and he fell forward all in a heap, stone dead.
+
+I reckon that for years I'd been heaps virtuous keeping my quick gun off
+Balshannon's meat, so now I was full of joy because the patrone had
+finished up all the unpleasantness and made peace without loss or
+damage. No grown responsible man had any quarrel left.
+
+But then my youngsters weren't grown up a bit, nor responsible, nor
+anything else, but rattled with a gun-fight too rich for their blood.
+Curly was scared all to pieces, Jim was right off his head, and as to
+my three kids outside the window, they had no sense anyways at their
+best. I ought to have thought of that before; it was too late now.
+
+What matter if young Michael eased his feelings by empting off his toy
+at the patrone? His pellets chipped the ceiling, and did him credit for
+a pious son, but only got a laugh from Balshannon. Michael just went on
+popping ostentatious, so Balshannon showed he bore no malice by throwing
+his own gun on the bar. Then somebody called out for drinks as a sign of
+peace.
+
+But Jim only saw his father being attacked, and he surely never had a
+sense of humour. He turned his wolf-howl loose, and broke his gun-arm
+free from Curly's hold, then started splashing lead at Michael Ryan. I
+saw some fur fly off from the Jew coat, and the next shot dispersed
+young Michael's hat, but the third struck Low-Lived Joe on the shoulder.
+
+Then there was surely war, for Louisiana loved that Joe more than
+anything else on earth, and all his friends lashed out their guns. Curly
+knelt quick below the blast of lead, and Jim leapt sudden behind the end
+of the bar, but in a blaze of flame and rolling smoke I saw Balshannon
+clutch both hands to his heart, then swing half round and fall.
+
+It must have been then that poor Curly fired the two shots which killed
+Louisiana and Beef Jones, the horse thief. It must have been then that
+the window close beside me fell with a crash of glass upon the floor,
+and my three men, all masked, with guns and rifles poured red-hot
+slaughter into the Ryan crowd. That was bad, but I felt grateful then,
+while one by one I shot out the swinging lamps which lit the smoke.
+There were five, making so many shades of deeper gloom, and then dead
+blackness pierced by flaming guns, and at the end of that silence, with
+a patter of running feet, the groan of a dying man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE CITY BOILING OVER
+
+
+Once I remember seeing an old bear roped in the desert by cowboys, and
+dragged by the scruff of his neck into the fierce electric glare of a
+Western city. Some female tourists said he looked dreadful rough, a
+school ma'am squealed out he was dangerous, a preacher allowed he was
+savage, but nobody made excuses for that old bear. Now I reckon that I'm
+just like Mr. Bear, dragged sudden off the range into the indecent light
+of civilization. Nobody is going to make allowances for me if I look
+dreadful rough, and savage, and dangerous. I own up I've no excuse. Bear
+and I were raised outside the prickly fences of your laws, beyond the
+shelter of your respectable customs, exposed to all the heat and cold,
+the light and darkness, the good and the bad of life. Bear, he has teeth
+and claws, as I have horse and gun; but both of us fight or go dead, for
+that is our business. If you're shocked, quit reading; but if you want
+more, read on.
+
+When I knew that Balshannon was due to be shot I set a trap, and all the
+desperadoes at Grave City walked right into it. I had the men picked out
+who would make a good loss, sent out the invitations to them in Ryan's
+name, and had a hand-bell clanged to call them in for the ceremonies. If
+Ryan only played fair there would be no killing, but if he acted foul
+there was going to be a sure enough massacre. Why, it was only right
+that on the death of a great chief like Balshannon servants should go
+with him to the other world. That was all known to my three masked men
+in ambush, and when Ryan acted foul he was sent with Louisiana, Beef
+Jones, and four others, all desperadoes, to wait upon Balshannon--beyond
+the flames and smoke of his funeral honours.
+
+For a naturally cautious and timid man I took fool risks in exposing
+Curly to that danger; but honest range-raised fighters are more than a
+match for the drunken town swabs who had to be dispersed. Besides, my
+youngsters were not the kind to stay put in a place of safety. After the
+fight, if there was one, I knew that the fire-bell would call up the
+whole of the citizens, and the news would spread swifter than flames, of
+masked robbers attacking a saloon right in the middle of their peaceful
+town. They would be displeased, and rather apt to send in their little
+account to me, which made me blush to think of, because I lay myself out
+to be a modest man.
+
+When I got through with shooting out all the lights my men quit firing
+to haul me through the window. Now all four of us were in the
+alley-way, between the saloon and the post office, barred off from the
+main street by a high gate, while our line of escape was open to the
+rear. Being shy of recognition, I tied on a mask, and reloaded my gun,
+planning the next move rapid in my head. Then I called off my men to the
+tail end of the house, posting one to kill anybody who tried to get out
+by my window. I was scheming a raid into the house to rescue Curly and
+Jim, but just for a moment my riders hung back scared.
+
+"Come along, you tigers!" says I. There was no need to risk our lives,
+for through the black silence of the house came a sudden blaze of guns
+and rush of men. Curly and Jim had broken cover at last, so we had only
+to let them come, rolling out head over heels in no end of a hurry. As
+soon as they were clear we handed in lead to the crowd, stampeded them,
+and sprinkled their tails. They were surely discouraged.
+
+The next thing was to mount our horses and reload guns while we rode off
+slow. Jim was shaking all over, Curly was sobbing aloud, Monte, one of
+my boys, was groaning because a bullet had burned his cheek, Ute
+breathing like a gone horse, and Custer making little yelps of joy--all
+of us scary as cats with our nerves on the jump, the same being natural
+after a red-hot fight. We pulled out by the south end of the city.
+
+"Now," said I, "you, Curly, and you, Jim, light out ahead and keep
+a-flying for old Mexico."
+
+Curly howled, "We ain't goin' to leave you!"
+
+I had to make my meaning quick and plain before he knew I was earnest.
+As to Jim, I cut his words dead short--and so they quit me streaking off
+to the south.
+
+"Now, you-all!" I turned to my tigers.
+
+Custer let out his yelp, and Ute grinned ugly, and both of them thought
+all the world of me for getting them into trouble.
+
+"Monte," says I, "go home and fix that wound."
+
+He circled off.
+
+"Well," says I, "if you other two play any more tiger to-night, I'll rip
+your lives out. You got to be plumb good citizens, 'cause them people in
+the 'Sepulchre' have seen about ten masked robbers, which they'll surely
+hunt. So off with them masks quick," and I threw mine in the road.
+
+"Now," says I, "we'll see if the general public is going to help us to
+get them robbers and kill them."
+
+So we three trotted grave and innocent up Main Street, where scores of
+citizens were saddling, mounting, and gathering, the swift men calling
+the laggards. In the lead rode Deputy-Marshal Pedersen, coming on rapid.
+
+"Hello," he called, "you, Chalkeye!"
+
+I swung in beside him. "What's the delay?" says I.
+
+"How many robbers?"
+
+"Ten masked men, come on! They're McCalmont's gang."
+
+Custer and Ute were calling the rest to hustle. "Ten masked robbers,"
+they shouted, "heading down for Naco!"
+
+"Thought you was in the 'Sepulchre'!" says Pedersen.
+
+"I was till I'd shot out the lights," says I; "them crazy idiots there
+were handing out lead at me."
+
+"Where did you see them robbers?"
+
+"In the back street. They wounded my boy Monte, so I had to send him
+home. Say, look at that!"
+
+Ahead on the white road, plain in the moonlight, lay something black, so
+I swung down my arm in passing, and took a grab. "What d'ye make of
+this, eh, Pedersen?"
+
+"A silk mask," says he. "Thanks, Chalkeye--you've got us on the right
+trail, anyways."
+
+"But watch these tracks," say I; "look there--they're quitting the main
+road--swing out!"
+
+Curly and Jim had struck straight south down the road, so I pointed the
+whole pursuit well off to the right, south-west for Naco, and made
+believe I saw another mask among the stones. If dangerous robbers were
+hard to see through the moonshine, that was no fault of mine. If the
+citizens wanted to go riding out by moonlight, I surely gave them heaps
+good exercise.
+
+Meanwhile that Curly was herding Jim down towards the Mexican boundary;
+but both the lads were rattled, and their nerves had gone all to smash.
+Jim had dumb yearnings to go back and eat up citizens, Curly was trying
+to cry with one lip while he laughed with the other. Then Jim told Curly
+not to be a coward, and Curly laughed with the tears rolling down his
+face.
+
+"I wisht I was daid," he howled, "I wisht I was daid. I done murdered
+Beef Jones, and there's his ole hawss a-waiting to take him home. He
+loved that hawss."
+
+"And you a robber!" says Jim, mighty scornful. Jim had only courage, a
+thing which is usual to all sorts of men and beasts, but Curly had
+something bigger--brains, judgment, the lion heart, the eagle sight, the
+woman gentleness, a child's own innocence, and heaven's unselfishness.
+
+"I'm a sure coward," he sobbed.
+
+"Brace up, youngster. I saw you kill both Beef and Louisiana, but now
+you're gone all rotten."
+
+"Between the eyes, I got Pete between the eyes! I seen his eyes goin' up
+all white--the hole between--oh, how I wisht I was daid!"
+
+"Poor little beggar! And one would think this was the first time you'd
+ever seen a gun-fight."
+
+"I never seen one, never until now."
+
+"And you McCalmont's son!"
+
+"You needn't let on to him that y'u seen me--human. Wall," he braced
+himself up, "I'm only a range wolf, so what's the odds, Jim?"
+
+"Well, what's wrong now?"
+
+"Do you know you're outlawed too? Old Chalkeye masked his riders, he
+played robbers, I showed wolf, and you're done branded with the range
+wolves now."
+
+Jim swung round in the saddle, looking back at Grave City, a bad sample
+surely among cities, but still entitled to wave Old Glory high, the flag
+of honest men, of civilisation.
+
+He set his teeth and swung to his trail again.
+
+"If honesty is _that_," says he determinedly, "I'll herd with thieves."
+
+"I don't like the smell of this trail," says Curly, "none. The City
+Marshal is riding up from Bisley with his posse. Let's strike west, then
+circle the town, then north, to father's camp."
+
+"Come on," says Jim, and swung his horse to the west along a small dead
+trail.
+
+"We got to change ourselves," says McCalmont's son, and began to loose
+some parcels tied by the strings to his saddle. "I got some clothes for
+we-all. Here," he passed over an old leather jacket, a straw sombrero,
+and a bottle. "That's cawffee extract," says he, "mixed with a black
+drug. I boiled it strong. You rub it over yo' face and neck and paws,
+then rig yo'self."
+
+Our people, at any gait in the saddle, are broke to eat dinner, drink
+from a bottle, roll a cigarette, or sing a song without being jarred up
+like a tenderfoot. So while they trotted slow Jim stained his hide all
+black like a greaser _vaquero_, then slung on the _charro_ clothes of a
+poor Mexican cowboy.
+
+"Now," says Curly, "you take this moustache and lick the gummy side,
+stick it on yo' lip, and remember yo're a Dago. Say, pull up, they'll
+know that buckskin mare of mine for sure. There ain't another in the
+United States I reckon with white points like her'n. You empty that
+bottle, and black her white stockings, quick."
+
+Curly was changing too, for he pulled up the legs of his overalls, then
+wriggled them down over his long boots. Then he took Jim's cowboy hat,
+and slouched the brim down front like a hayseed boy. He put on a raggy
+old jacket, and bulged his lean cheeks out with pads of wool. He looked
+a farm boy, and when they rode on, sat like a sack of oats.
+
+"It won't work," says Jim, "here's a big outfit of people sweeping right
+down from the north. Our horses are blown, and their snorting will give
+us away."
+
+"Dot vash all righd," says Curly.
+
+"That wouldn't pass for German," says Jim, "not even in a fog."
+
+"Shure," says Curly, "is it me forgettin' me nativity? Amn't I Oirish?"
+
+They had entered the Naco trail by this, and were walking their horses
+up the hill for Grave City. If the silly kids had obeyed my orders we
+should never have seen a hair of them that night. As it was,
+Deputy-Marshal Pedersen and I came with full thirty men on top of them.
+
+I don't profess I knew either the Irish hayseed boy or the _vaquero_,
+until the black horse, a melancholy plug called Jones which I'd lent
+Curly, began to whicker to the grey mare I rode. Pedersen, too, was
+mortal suspicious of that buckskin mare with Jim.
+
+"Black points," says he. "That's so--Crook's had white laigs."
+
+"Shure," says Curly, prompt, "an' is it thim robbers ye'd be afther
+hunting?"
+
+Pedersen reined up.
+
+"They've passed you, eh?" he called.
+
+"Didn't they shoot me," says Curly, "till I'm kilt entoirely? There was
+elivan av thim agin' me and the young feller that was along with me, the
+rapscallions, and thim with black masks on their dirthy faces!"
+
+"How long since?"
+
+"Three minutes gone, yer 'anner; and can any of yez tell me if this is
+the road to Misther Chalkeye Davies?"
+
+Pedersen had spurred on, and we swept after him, leaving Mr. Curly
+McCalmont howling Irish curses because we hadn't pointed him on his
+trail to Las Salinas.
+
+We were scarcely gone when a second outfit of five stragglers came
+rolling down the trail, headed by Shorty Broach, one of the men who had
+been hurt that night in the gun-fight. He always hated Balshannon's
+folks worse than snakes; he was heaps eager now for Curly McCalmont's
+blood; and the two thousand dollars which went along with it. But worse
+than that, this Shorty was a sure plainsman, who never forgot a horse.
+Still he went past with his crowd before he saw anything wrong with that
+black horse I'd lent, or the buckskin mare Jim was riding. Then he
+swung.
+
+"Hold on, boys! Say, I knows that buckskin. That's Crook's buckskin mare
+at the livery--here's Curly McCalmont's mare!"
+
+The riders tried to call Shorty off, told him to soak his head,
+remembered that Crook's buckskin had white stockings, whereas this
+mare's points were black, which made all the difference.
+
+"Them horses is blown, they're run full hard," says Broach; "they've
+been surely chased, and I'm due to inquire more."
+
+On that the riders began to circle around, while Curly slung out Irish
+by the yard about running away from the robbers.
+
+"Shure," says he, "and it's the Chief of the Police no less we're
+talkin' wid."
+
+"Throw up your hands!" says Broach, pointing his gun on Jim, but the
+youngster was busy rolling a cigarette.
+
+"Why is that gringo showing off with a gun?" he asked in Spanish. "He
+looks so foolish, too!"
+
+"You got to account for that buckskin mare," says Broach, but Jim set in
+the cool moonlight and lit his cigarette, taking no notice.
+
+"This greaser is lately an orphan, sorr," says Curly, "an' he's only
+goin' innocent for a dhrunk in Grave City--maning no harr-m at all."
+
+"Where did he get that buckskin?"
+
+"It's the 'pitchfork' mare ye'll be maning, sorr?"
+
+At last Jim knew the brand on the mare he was riding.
+
+"Indade," says Curly, "hasn't she got an Holy Crawss brand on the
+shoulder as well, sorr? Maybe he stole her there."
+
+"If you want to live, Mr. Greaser, you'll account for that buckskin
+mare," Broach threatened again with his gun.
+
+"I understand," says Jim in Spanish, puffing his cigarette at Shorty's
+face. "I took this mare in trade at la Morita Custom House on the Line.
+A Vaquero Americano could not pay the hundred per cent. duty on his
+horse, so I traded with him my Mexican-branded mustang to oblige,
+taking this mare. She's branded 'Holy Cross,' rebranded 'pitchfork.'
+Perhaps the gentlemen will stand aside--I have explained."
+
+"All very well," said Broach in Spanish, which sounded rough like a
+railroad accident, "how do you account for that saddle, Jim du Chesnay's
+silver-mounted saddle?"
+
+"Si Señor, the saddle of my young lord el Señor Don Sant Iago, of Holy
+Cross. The caballero ordered me to bring these, that he might play bear
+before the house of a beautiful lady in Grave City."
+
+"And your own saddle?"
+
+"Alas! I played poker with the Americanos. They have skinned me." Jim
+made a little flourish, twisted the moustache. It came off in his
+fingers!
+
+And with a howl the whole crowd closed in. They had captured Jim du
+Chesnay and Curly McCalmont!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE MAN-HUNT
+
+
+I reckon that civilised folks are trained to run in a rut, to live by
+rule, to do what's expected. If they're chased they'll run, if they're
+caught they surrender. That's the proper thing to do.
+
+Our plainsman, he's a much resourceful animal: he never runs in the rut,
+and he always does exactly what's not expected. Here were Jim and Curly
+surrounded by five men all hot for war. Broach could shoot good, but his
+horse was a plumb idiot when it came to firing. He was scared he would
+miss Jim, and get the counter-jumper who pranced around behind. Of the
+rest, one was a railroad man, and useless at that, one was a carpenter,
+and one was a barber--all of them bad shots. Still, they knew that their
+prisoners could neither fight nor run.
+
+The prisoners did both most sudden, and heaps surprising. While Jim's
+moustache was dropping, Curly's first bullet got Broach's horse in the
+eye, sending him backwards over on top of the man. Jim unhorsed the
+railroad man, the carpenter disabled the barber, and the counter-jumper
+bolted.
+
+That posse was all demoralised, shooting liberal, attracting heaps of
+attention. So another belated outfit of citizens came whooping down the
+road, while at the first sound of battle, the crowd I was with swung
+round at full gallop to share the play. I knew my youngsters were in
+foul bad luck.
+
+Yet in a single evening these two had got to feeling each other's
+thoughts, acting together without talk, partners like the hands of a
+man. They knew that for them it was death to show on the skyline, sure
+good scouting to jump for the lowest ground, and keep the dust a-rolling
+to hide their movements. They struck a gulley, and Jim led over rock and
+cactus, riding slack rein, trusting that buckskin mare. After the first
+five minutes, looking round, he saw the belated outfit along the skyline
+following, and heard the whoops of our crowd closing in on the left.
+
+"I reckon," says Curly, "they'll get us."
+
+"Very awkward," says Jim.
+
+"Say, Curly," he called out, "there's a fence here somewhere on
+Chalkeye's pasture. It's broken where it cuts this arroyo, but just
+'ware wire! Here! 'Ware wire!"
+
+The mare took a stumble, but cleared the fallen wire. The black horse
+just jumped high. Up on the plain above the pursuit was going to be
+checked by my standing fence.
+
+"We're plumb in luck to the lips," says Curly.
+
+And now the rocky hollow widened out, the trail was smooth, the pace
+tremendous. While our citizens behind were having a check betwixt rock
+and wire, Jim struck the further gate of my pasture, and held it wide
+for Curly. Horsemanship had given the partners a mile of gain, but now,
+on level ground, where any fool could ride, our posse gained rapidly,
+for the youngsters had to go moderate and save their horses.
+
+"Down on yo' hawss," says Curly, "you ride too proud," and a spatter of
+blue lead made Jim lie humble. The fool gallopers were right handy for
+war, when sudden the winding valley poured out its fan of débris upon
+the lower plain towards Mexico. Here just below the mouth of the arroyo
+a railroad track swung right across the trail on a high embankment. On
+the nigh side of the embankment ran a waggon trail, climbing a hill on
+the left to cross the track, and that was sure foul luck for Jim and
+Curly, for now they rode out clear against the sky in a storm of lead,
+and began to reckon they was due at the big front door of heaven. Jim
+was all right in a moment, for the buckskin mare just rose to the
+occasion, leapt the rails, and got to cover down the bank beyond; but
+Curly's horse was an idiot. At the sight of the gleaming rails, he
+stopped dead to show himself off, shied, bucked, pawed the full moon,
+fell in heaps, tumbled all over himself, dug a hole in the ground with
+his nose, and timed the whole exhibition to get Curly shot. The
+gallopers were right on to him before he chose to proceed, with flanks
+spurred bloody, down the further bank.
+
+Jim circled back to the rescue. "Hurt?" he called.
+
+Curly lay all of a heap on the saddle. "Shoot!" he howled, and flashed
+on across the plain.
+
+Jim got the gallopers stark against the sky at point-blank range, and
+just whirled in for battle, piling the track with dead and dying horses,
+blocking the passage complete. Then he streaked away to see if Curly had
+gone dead on Jones' back.
+
+Five minutes after that, Deputy-Marshal Pedersen and I came blundering
+into the wreckage. He jumped through somehow, leading eighteen men, but
+I stopped to help a hurt man, and used his rifle to splint his broken
+leg. The fool gallopers were mostly wrung out, and gone home, or left
+afoot by Jim. The good stayers were on ahead, but weary maybe, it being
+late for pleasuring. So I proceeded to have an attack of robbers all to
+myself, with the wounded man's revolver and my own, shooting
+promiscuous. Sure enough, half a dozen of them bold pursuers came
+circling back to find out what was wrong.
+
+When I had turned back with my idiots for home, a ripple spread along
+the grass, an air from the south, then a lifting wind, full strong,
+steady as ice aflow, cold as the wings of Death. Jim fought up wind,
+battling at full gallop until he overtook the little partner, then
+ranged abreast and steadied knee to knee, nursing his mare at a trot.
+The moon slid down flame-red behind the hills, the wind blew a gale, the
+night went black, the sky a sheet of stars.
+
+Jim had quit being tired, for his body was all gone numb and dead, so he
+felt nothing except the throb of hoofs astern. Then he heard a popping
+of guns faint in the rear, and on that saw flashes of signal firing away
+on the right, besides other gun-flames back below Mule Pass. He held his
+teeth from chattering to speak.
+
+"Curly, old chap, they've wired for a posse up from Naco, and the City
+Marshal's men are coming down from Bisley. They're closing in on three
+sides, and we can't escape."
+
+Curly said nothing.
+
+"Say, Curly, you're not hurt?"
+
+"Mosquito bite," said Curly; "look a-here, Jim. If anything goes wrong,
+you'll find the captain at La Soledad to-morrow."
+
+"What captain?"
+
+"My father. I made him swear he'd wait. How's yo' buckskin?"
+
+"Flagging."
+
+"She'll live through all right. Don't you talk any mo'."
+
+"You're losing hope?"
+
+"There's allus hope," said Curly, "but them stars seem nearer to
+we-all."
+
+They were riding through greasewood bushes and long grass, whilst here
+and there stood scattered trees of mesquite. That made bad going for
+horses, but, when they swung aside for better ground, they nearly
+blundered into an arroyo.
+
+Only the dawn grey saved my boys from breaking both their necks in that
+deep gap, but now they had got to lose the sheltering darkness, their
+horses were mighty near finished, and three big outfits of riders were
+closing down all round them. Jim looked up the sky to see if there were
+miracles a-coming, for nothing less was going to be much use. Then the
+Naco people came whirling down on the right, and the black arroyo lay
+broad across their hopes, so they swung north to look for a crossing,
+and were thrown right out of the hunt.
+
+Presently soon my youngsters had another big stroke of luck, because the
+Bisley crowd missed aim, and had to swing in behind with the men from
+Grave City.
+
+"Jim," says Curly, "has they closed in yet?"
+
+"Our wind is covering all three outfits now."
+
+Then came a yell from behind, for in the dawn the hunters had caught
+sight of their meat.
+
+Now close ahead loomed something white like a ghost, and Jim let out a
+screech as it reared up against him sudden. As he shied wide and
+spurred, he saw the ghost some better--a limewashed monument, the
+boundary mark of old Mexico.
+
+"Saved!" he yelled. "They can't follow beyond the Line."
+
+"They cayn't, but they will," says Curly; "fire the grass!"
+
+Jim grabbed a hair from the buckskin's mane, took matches from his
+wallet and bound them into a torch, struck a light to the tip, and held
+it in his paws against the roaring wind. Then he made shift to swing
+himself down till the long grass brushed his fingers. He dropped his
+torch beside a greasewood bush, and cantered on with Curly knee to knee.
+That flicker in the long grass grew to a blazing star, spread with the
+flaws of the wind, swayed its small tongues to lick new clumps and pass
+the word to others just beyond. The bush blazed up with a roar as only
+greasewood can, and flung its burning sticks upon the storm, so that the
+fire spread swift as a man could run over acres of greasewood. To the
+east was mesquite bush, which burns like gun-cotton in a gale of wind.
+But now the draught of the fire had made that gale a scarlet hurricane
+with the stride of a running horse, which flushed the flying cloud wrack
+overhead, and made red day along the mountain flanks.
+
+I reckon that if I'd happened with that outfit of hunters, I should have
+known enough to bear east and circle round the blaze without loss of
+time; but the leaders saw the burning mesquite grove, and tried to
+swing west of trouble. There the arroyo barred them, and before they won
+to the other horn of the fire their horses had gone loco, refusing to
+face the heat. Anyways, they stampeded with their riders, and I reckon
+those warriors never stopped to look back until they had thrown
+themselves safe beyond the railroad. If they had come out for a
+man-hunt, they got that liberal and profuse beyond their wildest
+dreams.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE FRONTIER GUARDS
+
+
+Well up to windward of the range fire, that fool horse Jones came to a
+finish sudden all a-straddle, swaying, nose down, and blood a-dripping.
+So far Curly had just stayed in the saddle from force of habit, but when
+the usual motion stopped between his knees he surely forgot to be alive
+any more, and dropped like a shot bird to grass. As for Jim, he was too
+stiff to dismount, but the buckskin mare lay down with him complete; so
+he rolled from the saddle, and managed to stagger around. He uncinched
+Jones' saddle, eased his mouth of the bit, loosed the mare's girth as
+she lay, then knelt by Curly feeling him over for wounds. He didn't know
+until then that Curly had a bullet in the right arm; but all that side
+was in a mess of dry blood, and when he cut away the coat it began to
+spurt. He plugged up the hole, made a bandage with his handkerchief,
+twisted it up with a stick until the blood quit coming, then rolled
+himself down, dead asleep beside his partner.
+
+The big gale roared overhead; a haze of flying dust; the country to the
+north was a flaming volcano; the sky was a whirl of clouds, all painted
+purple and crimson with the daybreak; but my kids and their horses cared
+nothing more at all for storm or fire. Then the skyline along the east
+began to glow white-hot, burned by the lift of the sun; and stark black
+against that rode a bunch of horsemen. They were coming from La Morita
+Custom House to find out what sort of felons had set the range on fire.
+They were Mexican Frontier Guards.
+
+Their lieutenant told me afterwards that when they saw the played-out
+horses and those two poor kids who lay between them, they thought the
+whole outfit must be dead. They reckoned up Jim for one of their
+countrymen, and surely did everything in their power to act merciful.
+
+Firing the range comes pretty near being a serious thing, causing
+inconvenience to cattle, apt to annoy settlers by burning their homes
+and cooking their wives and families. Naturally that sort of play is
+discouraged, and the Frontier Guards was only acting up to their lights
+in arresting my youngsters. Still, they didn't act haughty and
+oppressive, but sent a rider off to fetch their waggon for the
+prisoners, and meanwhile made camp and boiled them a drink of coffee.
+
+The _teniente_ woke them up, gave them their coffee and told them their
+sins, while the rest of the greasers, talking all at once, explained
+what their officer meant. As to Jim and Curly, they were interested in
+that coffee a whole lot, and ready to excuse the Frontier Guards; but
+the worries and troubles of a pack of greasers only made them tired; so
+they told them not to fuss, and slept through the rest of the sermon.
+When they woke up again, they found themselves in prison.
+
+That calaboose at La Morita is built of the usual adobe, sun-dried
+brick, with a ceiling of cactus sticks laid on beams to carry a couple
+of feet of solid earth. A 'dobe house is the next thing to comfort in a
+climate like ours, where the sun will scorch a man's hide worse than
+boiling water. The Frontier Guards had laid clean hay on the dirt floor,
+and hung an _olla_ of water to cool in the draught, but when my boys
+woke up they were sure puzzled, for the night had fallen, the moon was
+not yet stirring, and the place was surely dark as a wolf's mouth. Stiff
+and sore from hard riding, Jim got up to grope in the darkness, ravaging
+around in search of grub. He found hay and water, but nothing else, so
+thought he must have been changed into a horse, and set up a howl for
+corn. Then he attracted Curly's notice by tumbling over his bed.
+
+"How many laigs have yo' got?" says Curly, "'cause that's ample. Catch
+me some water."
+
+Jim reached down the hanging jar, and Curly drank. "I been waiting hours
+for that," says he; "now sluice my arm."
+
+Jim threw cool water on the wound. "Is it very bad?" he asked.
+
+"It's sure attracting my attention, Jim."
+
+"Can I do anything?"
+
+"Yes, next time you're falling around don't use my laigs--they're
+private. Whar is this place?"
+
+Jim looked up at a window-gap, high in the 'dobe wall, and saw the
+starlight checkered with iron bars; then listening, he heard a muttering
+of Spanish talk, and noticed the door of the cell lined out with a
+glimmer from the guardroom.
+
+"It smells bad, like a trap," said Curly.
+
+"I wonder," says Jim, "what time they feed the animals? I'm starving."
+
+"My two sides," says Curly, "is rubbing together, and I'm sure
+sorrowful. We done got captured somehow."
+
+"I remember now. They gave us coffee. They must have been Frontier
+Guards--so this is La Morita."
+
+"Why did they gather us in? We didn't spoil any greasers."
+
+"No, but we fired the grass."
+
+"It was not their grass--we set fire to Arizona."
+
+"I don't think they mind," says Jim, "whose grass we burned. They've got
+us, and they won't worry about the details. You see, they've got to make
+a play at being useful, old chap, or else their Government would get
+tired and forget to send their wages."
+
+"What will they do to us?"
+
+"Keep us three days to cool, then find us guilty, and send us down to
+Fronteras."
+
+"I remember," says Curly, "when I was riding that year for Holy Cross I
+saw----"
+
+"The little wayside crosses?"
+
+"Yes, everywhere on the Mexican side of the line--the little wooden
+grave signs by the trail."
+
+Curly and Jim sat there in the dark, and thought of the wooden crosses.
+They understood, but I believe it's up against me to explain for folks
+who don't know that country. You see, there used to be only two
+industries in old Mexico, silver mining and stealing, but most of the
+people made a living by robbing each other. Then the great President
+Diaz came along, who had been a robber himself. He called up all the
+robbers he'd known in the way of business, and hired them as a sort of
+Mounted Rangers and Frontier Guards to wipe out the rest of the thieves.
+That made the whole Republic peaceful, but when there were no more
+robbers to shoot, the Rangers and Guards began to feel monotonous, the
+country being plumb depleted of game.
+
+Well, thanks to Diaz, Mexico has gone so tame that life ain't really
+worth living, and the Frontier Guards are scared of being disbanded
+because they're obsolete. Likewise the Mexican people are so humane
+that they don't allow capital punishment, and the Guards feel a heap
+discouraged about what few prisoners they catch. They're fearful pleased
+if they get a thief who doesn't happen to be their own cousin, most
+especially if he's a white man, real game and in season. That's why they
+lash him hands and feet to a horse, trot him off into the desert, and
+take pot shots at him by way of practice. Afterwards they report him for
+'attempted escape.' His relations are allowed to bury him comfortable,
+and put up a cross to his memory. That is why the trails along the
+Mexican frontier are all lined with neat little crosses.
+
+"You reckon," says Curly, "that we'll have little crosses?"
+
+"It's beastly awkward," says Jim, "but we've got to take our medicine."
+
+"And yet I dunno," says Curly, thoughtful about those crosses; "if we
+get spoilt that way, the United States won't be pleased. You see,
+there's a reward out for me, and yo're wanted bad, so Uncle Sam will be
+asking Mexico, and say, 'Why did you shoot my meat?'"
+
+The voices in the guardroom had quit muttering, but now a horseman
+pulled up at the front door.
+
+"_Buenas noches hombre!_"
+
+And somebody answered: "_Buenas tardes señor!_"
+
+Then talk began in Spanish. "Can a feed of corn be bought here for the
+horse? He arrives from Grave City."
+
+"What news of the gringoes?"
+
+"_Muchos._ El Señor Don Rex has been shot."
+
+"Don Rex has been murdered?"
+
+"No, it was a fight. It must be understood that his son, Don
+Santiago----"
+
+"What, El Chico?"
+
+"Yes, El Chico 'Jim,' had a feud against the very rich Señor Ryan. He
+hired ladrones from the north, the Robbers' Roost Gang it is called, to
+murder Señor Ryan. It seems the ladrones wore masks, and they were led
+by a young robber named Curly, for whom great rewards are offered--two
+thousand pesos d'oro, dead or alive."
+
+"What a reward!"
+
+"Yes, El Chico and this Curly led the robbers, and they attacked Señor
+Ryan in the 'Sepulchre' saloon. El Chico killed Señor Ryan himself, and
+wounded Miguel his son. There are many witnesses, and a warrant is out
+against Don Santiago for that murder. I saw the warrant."
+
+"But you say Don Rex was killed?"
+
+"He also; many others were killed in the battle. Curly shot Louisiana
+and another also. Then these ladrones escaped from the city."
+
+"But the population!"
+
+"You judge well, corporal--the population followed. There was riding!"
+
+"And yet these ladrones escaped?"
+
+"So, except El Chico and Curly, the two leaders. The posse caught them
+near Las Salinas."
+
+"And got the great reward--two thousand pesos d'oro!"
+
+"But wait. These two caballeros would not submit, but fought and killed
+a lot more citizens; yes, even escaped. They reached the iron-way which
+runs down towards Bisley, and there again they fought terribly. Then the
+big posse chased them clear through to the boundary-line."
+
+"They were not caught!"
+
+"They fired the desert!"
+
+"Car-r-amba!"
+
+"Yes, stampeded a hundred riders! You must have seen the fire at dawn
+this morning."
+
+"Todos Santos! That was El Chico Santiago disguised as a _vaquero_?"
+
+"Yes, and Curly as a farm boy--you saw them?"
+
+"Man, we've got them here in chains! Two thousand pesos d'oro! _Por
+Dios!_ You have made me rich with your news!"
+
+"In chains, corporal? Then they did not escape after all! They fought
+like caballeros, and now they'll be claimed for extradition, taken back,
+and hanged! _Hombre_, that's no death for caballeros! How did you ever
+take such fighters, corporal?"
+
+"Oh, just arrested them."
+
+"But they fought a hundred Americanos!"
+
+"Yes, yes, but we are Frontier Guards--me and another man; we just
+arrested them, that's all. Two thousand pesos!"
+
+"They fought?"
+
+"Oh, yes, we had to disable one of them; in fact I myself shot him
+through the pistol arm. Then they surrendered, made their bow to force.
+Two thousand golden dollars!"
+
+"Miraculous! Well, señor corporal, may it be permitted to ask where
+forage is sold?"
+
+"Certainly, step this way. I, Pablo Juarez, rich! Two thousand! Santa
+Catalina, thou shalt have candles, a box of candles!"
+
+The voices faded out, and Jim lay back, wiping the sweat from his face.
+"Wheugh"--then he burst out laughing--"the liars," he howled, "the
+gentle, earnest liars! Oh, pat me, Curly, for I'm weak--the lop-eared,
+spavined, sway-backed, cock-eyed liars!"
+
+But Curly was shy of Spanish, and wanted the news. "What liars?"
+
+"Everybody--they're all liars--the whole world--liars! Liars! They
+couldn't leave it to facts, which are bad enough, but they've lied, and
+sworn to lies and perjured themselves with oaths, the thugs, the dirty
+bar-room toughs, selling their souls to that young Ryan--and made a
+remnant sale of themselves for witnesses that I murdered an old man!"
+
+"What, Ryan? It wasn't you who spoiled old Ryan. It was your father in
+honest fighting!"
+
+"Who cares for honesty when there's a millionaire to pay for souls in
+cash? They swear that I hired you and all your robbers to have old Ryan
+murdered, then did the killing myself, and turned loose your gang to
+massacre Ryan's friends--the cowards, the lying cowards!"
+
+"But them boys with masks was Chalkeye's riders, and he just covered
+their faces, Jim, to save them afterwards."
+
+"And who'll believe that? Here's a millionaire to buy the witnesses, the
+lawyers, the judge, the law! The only man who was there and can't be
+bribed is that leary old cow-thief Chalkeye, but he's mixed up with us,
+and likely enough a prisoner by now. Do you think that a Grave City
+court of justice would believe an honest man? No, we're trapped, and
+we're sold, and we're going to be butchered now."
+
+"Well," says Curly in that slow, soft way he had, "I allow it's done you
+good to turn yo' wolf loose, and you've shorely howled; it done me good
+to hear all the cussing said while I lay restin'. That's relieved me a
+lot and made me plumb forgetful of being in pain."
+
+Jim began talking haughty, and wanted to know if Curly liked the notion
+of being hanged.
+
+"That I shorely do," says Curly very soft. "You see, only a while back
+we was going to be taken out sudden and shot--which it was a caution to
+yaller snakes only to think of. That didn't make me happy a lil' bit,
+but now we got more prospects, a slow trial coming, time to turn around
+in, and think out how to escape."
+
+That sobered Jim, but it made him hostile, too. "Youngster, will nothing
+scare you?" he asked; "can't get a whimper out of you even for company's
+sake--you're so beastly selfish."
+
+Curly rolled over, resting his face on his hand. "I was raised that
+way," says he very quiet, "goin' to be shot up or hung most of the time.
+It's a risky thing bein' alive when you come to think of it, eh? We-all
+is mighty or'nary folks in a trifling sort of world, Jim; but I reckon
+it's sure nice being heah. We got sweet range hay to lie on, and hopes
+of a feed in the mawning; the place is sure quiet, but we cayn't
+complain of being dull. As to our lil' worries, I don't fuss about
+crossing a river until I done reached the bank."
+
+"I wish," Jim groaned, "that I'd got half your courage."
+
+"I've suffered some," says Curly, "and I reckon that what you call
+courage is just training. Now you, Jim, you lie down, and think about
+something to eat, and presently yo're goin' to drop off asleep, dreaming
+of good camps where there's feed and water. If that ain't good I'll
+wake you up in the night, so's you'll get two sleeps, which is even
+better'n one."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+MOSTLY CHALKEYE
+
+
+The loss of my near eye has led to a lot of mistakes on my part,
+specially when I mistook the brands on cows and horses, thought they
+belonged to me, and adopted the poor lone critters--I've always been
+fond of animals, anyway. Again, I argue that a person with two eyes had
+ought to see much more truth than I can with only one eye; but I don't
+find that folks are liberal in making allowances. They call me hard
+names instead.
+
+Now that was specially the case over the Ryan inquest. I testified that
+old man Ryan died a natural death, because it would have been completely
+unnatural for Balshannon to miss him at five paces. Moreover, as I saw
+things, Jim never fired at all until Ryan was dead, and only began to
+shoot when he saw young Michael turning loose for battle. Judge
+Sprynkes, Acting Assistant Deputy-Coroner, allowed that I had been a
+whole lot present at the fight, and was entitled to my one-eyed point of
+view; but then, he remarked to the jury that the witness was well known
+to have such a defective vision with regard to cows that the evidence
+was tarnished on the point at issue.
+
+"Judge," says I, "this is a court of justice, and I'd like to see
+everybody getting a fair show. Now, as judge, you're sure incorruptible
+and righteous."
+
+"Come to the point," says Sprynkes.
+
+"But," says I, "if Judge Sprynkes finds that the late Mr. Ryan met his
+death in a fair duel with Balshannon--then----"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Then there's a citizen named Mr. Sprynkes who's apt to be reminded by
+the Ryan estate that he owes a heap of money!"
+
+On that we had considerable rough house, until the judge called the
+meeting to order. Then he remarked, sort of casual, that he knew a
+citizen named Sprynkes who was apt to shoot at sight when he met up with
+a certain notorious horse-thief called Chalkeye Davies.
+
+So my evidence for Jim was set aside, I was pitched out of the court,
+and for the next few days had to keep a wary eye on citizen Sprynkes. He
+was an awful poor sportsman, and mostly always missed; but once I got a
+bullet through my hat. Afterwards Mr. Sprynkes admitted to his friends
+that he preferred a restful landscape and a less bracing climate beyond
+the range of my guns--so he pulled out for Yuma, and I saw his kind face
+no more.
+
+Now I don't want to say anything unkind about Judge Sprynkes, or his
+jury, or his witnesses, in that inquest on Mr. Ryan; but for Jim's sake
+it is needful to point out some facts which were remarkable. Of the
+people who stayed in the "Sepulchre" saloon to attend the gun-fight,
+eight were unable to testify, being dead, three because they had gone to
+hospital, two because they were engaged elsewhere at La Morita, and one,
+which is me, on account of defective vision. Of the rest, the most part
+lit out from Grave City, and totally disappeared. There remained Mr.
+Michael, two bar-tenders, and four other citizens, the only people who
+gave evidence. These witnesses swore on oath that Jim came to the
+gun-fight attended by Curly McCalmont and ten masked robbers. They also
+swore on oath that Jim fired the first shot, killing Mr. Ryan.
+
+The Court returned a verdict that George Ryan came to his death at the
+hands of James du Chesnay, and recommended his arrest upon the charge of
+deliberate wilful murder.
+
+I am not complaining. The Court represented the majesty of the people,
+and that august flag, Old Glory, waving above us. It was a right enough
+Court, even if justice had strayed out and got itself lost for a while.
+I make no complaint, because I reckon that a still mightier Court than
+ours is sitting up above the starry sky to watch over fatherless kids
+who don't get a fair show on earth, to save them as gets desolate and
+oppressed, to vindicate justice upon low-lived swabs, liars, and
+cowards.
+
+I said nothing, but just stayed good and acted responsible, being in a
+minority of one against the entire city. The only time I ventured on any
+remarks was when I happened accidentally to meet up with Mr. Michael.
+He, the Mayor, the City Marshal, and a few friends were taking a drink
+together at the hotel.
+
+"Good morning, Ryan," says I, but I kept my voice all smooth for fear of
+rucking up my temper to no advantage.
+
+"Good morning, sir," says Ryan.
+
+"I come to congratulate you," says I, "on the hearty liberal way you've
+been acting."
+
+"I thank you, Mr. Davies," says he, sort of ironic.
+
+"Don't mention it," says I, "for I ain't done no kindness to you, and I
+don't aim for cash or thanks in what I say."
+
+He reached for his gun, which was hazardous and apt to get fatal, only
+the City Marshal grabbed him before I had to fire.
+
+"Let me be," says Ryan; "this man insults me!"
+
+"No," says I, "that would be impossible. I only congratulate you on the
+whole-hearted generous way you assisted a destitute judge, and them poor
+hungry witnesses."
+
+"Easy, my friend," says the Marshal, "I'm 'most deaf, but if I hear any
+contempts of court----"
+
+"If you're feeling any contempt of court, Mr. City Marshal, you shares
+my emotions. And you, gentlemen," I turned on the crowd, "if you feel
+any shame for the city and for any of the present company, I can only
+say I share that shame most bitter."
+
+The air was getting sultry, with just a faint flicker of guns. "If any
+of you gentlemen," says I, "is feeling unwell for pills, just let him
+step outside with me, and I'll prescribe. If not, excuse me, for I smell
+something dead in this company, and I'm aiming to refresh my nose in the
+open." I paced back, step by step, through the door. "My address," says
+I, "if I live, will be Las Salinas, and there you'll find a man who
+cayn't see to tell the truth, but can see a whole lot to shoot.
+Gentlemen, _adios_!"
+
+So I got my horse, swung to the saddle, and walked him backwards until I
+was out of range, but nobody offered himself up to serve for my target.
+
+I reckon that the funeral ceremonies in honour of the late Mr. Ryan and
+friends made an event in the annals of Grave City. The caskets and
+wreaths, the hearses and carriages, the band and procession, made the
+people feel uplifted with solemn pride and haughty to strangers for a
+full month afterwards. As the Weekly Obituary pointed out in large type,
+the occasion was great, and a city which had flourished for twenty-two
+prosperous years was able to give points to mere mushroom towns like
+Bisley, Benson, and Lordsburgh. The newspapers in those three rival
+burghs made light of the affair in a way which displayed mean envy and a
+nasty, carping spirit.
+
+As for me, I had got myself disliked a whole lot, so I felt it would be
+most decent not to attend the exercises. I had a feeling that if called
+upon to reply to any shooting, I might disturb the harmony which should
+always attend a scene of public grief. Besides that, it fell to me to
+arrange the burial of my old patrone, which it was difficult, the
+preachers, coffins, hearses, carriages, and all the funeral fixtures
+being engaged that day, and likewise also the graveyard. I had to go
+without. Moreover, the cowboys were mostly away at work on the round-up,
+so I only caught eight of my tribe to help me. We laid our friend on a
+blanket, then four of us gripped the corners up to the horns of our
+saddles and rode slow, the other boys coming behind until we got to the
+place where we had dug the grave. There was only one man of us all well
+educated, and that was Monte, who had been raised for a preacher before
+he broke loose to punch cows. Monte was shot in the face, weak, and
+feverish, so I had to feed him whiskey before he felt proud enough for
+his job. He read the service, the rest of us standing round, and when he
+was through we fired a volley before we filled the grave and piled rocks
+to keep off wild animals. That was a proper stockman's funeral, away
+out on a hilltop in the desert, and I reckon the Great Father in heaven
+knew we had done our best in a brave man's honour.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+ARRANGING FOR MORE TROUBLE
+
+
+See what the geography-book says about Arizona--the same size as
+England? Shucks! There's homely ignorance from an office duck who dreams
+he can use a tape-measure to size up a desert. In England, if you wander
+round after dark, you're apt to fall off and get wet in the ocean. But
+you can sure stray off the edge of Arizona without the least chance of a
+wet, because the desert just rolls on more continuous than ever, till
+you're due to die of thirst. There's a practical difference in size,
+which your book theorist wouldn't be apt to survive.
+
+Again, by the books we're a community of sixty thousand pink and white
+citizens, all purely yearning for right and justice. By the facts, we're
+really split up into two herds--the town men, who use the law, and the
+range men, who naturally prefer a six-gun.
+
+I aim politely to say the best I can for the town men. You see, if a
+gentleman feels that he's just got to waltz in and rob the graves of his
+own parents, one may not understand his symptoms, but one has to try and
+think of him charitable. Our town men has mostly been found out acting
+self-indulgent, and been chased around by the police. That's why they
+flocked to Arizona, which is convenient at the Gates of Hades, with the
+Breath of Flame by way of excuse for a climate. There's a sort of
+comfortable, smell-your-future-home feeling about old Arizona which
+attracts such ducks. Anywhere else they would get their necks stretched,
+but in Arizona they can elect judges and police out of their own tribe.
+Then if they happen to indulge in a little bigamy, or thieving, or
+shooting, the lawyers get them off. They love the law which proves them
+up innocent, so you may class them all as law-abiding citizens.
+
+Now as to us plainsmen. The bad side of us is plumb apparent to the
+naked eye, and if there's a good side it's known to our friends, not
+advertised to strangers. We ain't claiming to be law-abiding citizens
+when we know the judge for a sure-thing politician, the lawyers for
+runaway gaol-birds, and the jury all for sale at the rate of a dollar a
+thief. We're lawless, sure enough, until we see the law dealt out by
+honest men.
+
+Are you fed up with one-eyed sermons from a cow-thief? Well, suppose we
+apply the facts.
+
+Here was two boys of our tribe bogged down to their withers in trouble.
+The town men howled for their blood, young Ryan offered plenty wealth
+for their raw scalps, the law claimed them for meat--and every plainsman
+on the range got right up on his hind legs for war. To our way of
+thinking robbery and killing are bad medicine, but innocent, holy joys
+compared with Arizona law. So naturally by twos and threes the punchers
+quit work on the round-up to come and smell at old Grave City and find
+out why she'd got a swollen head. They hung around saloons, projecting
+to see if something had gone wrong with the local breed of whisky; they
+gathered and made war-talk in the street; they came around me, wanting
+to know whether or not to break out and eat that town.
+
+"Boys," says I, "if you-all stalks round with mean eyes and dangerous
+smiles, these here citizens is going to hole up in their cyclone cellars
+and send for the army. We don't want the army messing around our game.
+Just you whirl in now and play signs of peace, and make good medicine.
+Lay low, give yo' ponies a strong feed--and wait for the night."
+
+"Chalkeye," says one of them, "is this to be war?"
+
+"If it was war," I told him, "I'd first send you home to yo' mother. No,
+kid, this is going to be smooth peace, but we're going to knock Grave
+City cold with astonishment. Get plenty ammunition, feed yo' horse, and
+wait my gathering howl for a signal."
+
+It was high noon when Captain McCalmont came straying down into Main
+Street on a "painted" horse. At Ryan's livery stable he allowed he was
+an unworthy minister, wanting water and feed for the piebald pony. At
+the Delmonico pie foundry he let out that he craved for sausages, mashed
+potatoes, and green tea. Then he had a basin of bread-and-milk, while he
+told the dish-slinger a few solemn truths. Apple-pie, says he, was a
+delusion; eating tobacco was a snare; intoxicating drink was only vanity
+on the lips, but raging wild-cats to the inward parts. The proper
+doctrine, says he, is to eschew all evil, but the wicked man leaves out
+that saving syllable _es_, and chews evil all the time.
+
+Then he allowed that a toothpick would do him no harm, paid for his
+meal, and strayed out across the street to where I stood dealing peace
+among the cowboys.
+
+"Little sinners," says he, "I perceive that you have fallen into evil
+company. This Chalkeye man is a pernicious influence, which would
+corrupt the morals of a grizzly bear. Flee from this Chalkeye person."
+
+They wanted to take him into the nearest saloon and enjoy him for the
+rest of the day.
+
+"Kin you dance?" says one of the boys, aiming a gun at his toes. "Whirl
+right in and dance!"
+
+McCalmont walked right at him, eye to eye, and that same cowboy went as
+white as death.
+
+"Shall I abate you," says the preacher, "in the midst of yo' sins? You
+done wrong--you done ate tobacco and chocolate candy mixed, then poured
+on hot cawfee, rye whisky, and an ice-cream soda; and now yo're white as
+a corpse with mixed sins. Go take a pill, my son, and repent before
+yo're sick."
+
+The boys watched that preacher smiling, and went tame as kittens. The
+tone of his voice just froze them up, his smile scraped their young
+bones, his eyes looked death.
+
+"Come, Chalkeye," says he, and led me off into the "Spur" saloon. There
+he threw a glance to Cranky Joe, the bar-keep, and put his finger on
+Mutiny Robertson, a smuggler who sat playing poker. Cranky put someone
+in charge of the bar, Mutiny passed his game to a friend of his, and
+both of them followed meek as sheep, while the preacher led on into the
+backyard. From there we worked round the back street to Ryan's stable,
+McCalmont keeping up his baby-talk for the sake of passing strangers.
+
+"Ah," says he, "my young friends, these deleterious pleasures change
+peaceful stomachs into seats of war; but the sausage soothes, the milk
+assuages, the pie persuades, and b'ar sign is sure good to fill up
+corners. Beware of vanities, and when we get to the stable-yard let
+Mutiny here stand guard in case I'm attacked, while I expound the
+blessedness of simple things. Well, here we are--you Mutiny, fall back,
+you lop-eared mongrel; I'm dying for a chew of 'baccy, and I'd give my
+off lung for a cocktail."
+
+Mutiny stood guard, Cranky hustled off to get liquor.
+
+"I got a line of retreat from here," says Captain McCalmont, "and a
+saddled hawss within reach. No, not that painted plug, but a sure
+crackerjack, which can burn the trail if I'm chased. How's things, you
+Chalkeye?"
+
+"Clouding for storm," says I; "the air's a-crackling."
+
+"Why for?"
+
+I told him about his son, holed up in gaol with Jim at La Morita.
+
+"I been projecting around thar last night"--the Captain was eating my
+plug tobacco like bread. "Was it you sent that doctor to Curly's wound?"
+
+"Sure thing, sir. Why?"
+
+He grabbed my paw. "You're white all through," says he; "that kid is all
+I care for in this world."
+
+"Can they escape?"
+
+"I dropped a crowbar through the window-hole."
+
+"The guards will be full curious when they hear the crowbar thumping."
+
+"That's what's the matter. I sent some Holy Crawss greasers to feed them
+liquor, games, and music--'specially music."
+
+"Will the Frontier Guards miss the big blood money for the sake of a
+flirt at skin games?"
+
+"I reckon they'll watch, and the crowbar's going to be heard. So I made
+a run to see you. Here comes Cranky Joe."
+
+"You trust him?"
+
+"The sight of him makes my fur crawl."
+
+"Here, Captain," says Cranky, offering the cocktail; but the outlaw
+bored him through with a cool eye.
+
+"My name," says he, "is the Reverend Perkins, and don't you forget. Now
+you'll send Mutiny here, and you'll stand on guard yourself. If I get
+captured, a friend of mine is to send your present name and address to
+the penitentiary, where you're wanted most--so here's to your freedom."
+He drank, and we watched the man sneak off. "I turned him out of my
+gang," said the robber, "for being dishonest."
+
+Mutiny strolled in and shook hands. "Old friend," says he, "what can we
+do to help?"
+
+"Watch Joe, and shoot him up quick if he tries to pass that gate."
+
+So Mutiny pulled his gun. "How's all the boys?" he asked.
+
+"You're honing to come back to being a robber?"
+
+"Cayn't," Mutiny groaned, "I've sure repented and turned smuggler now.
+Besides, I'm due to get married, so I'm dead tame and gentle, boss.
+What brought you south?"
+
+"You may inquire, seh."
+
+"Ain't you trusting me?"
+
+"Well, Mutiny, since you want to know, I came down to hold up a train."
+
+"Big plunder?"
+
+"I expaict. It was a carload of birds' teeth, cat feathers, and frawgs'
+tails; but there's too many inquiry agents around, so I missed the
+train."
+
+Mutiny had to laugh, but then he sighed. "If anything goes wrong with my
+girl," says he, "I'll come scratch on yo' door."
+
+"Wall"--the outlaw looked mighty serious--"if she happens to get drowned
+in the desert--perhaps we'll see you come. Now let's to business. Them
+kids at La Morita has to be collected, I reckon."
+
+"Why come to we-all?" says Mutiny,--"ain't the gang handy at rescues?"
+
+"My wolves would jump at the chance; I choked them off."
+
+"For how?"
+
+"Bekase"--the Captain turned his haunted eyes on me--"I don't want them
+po' youngsters mixed in with thieves."
+
+"You wanted me mixed again," says Mutiny through his teeth.
+
+"Sonny"--the outlaw laid his hand on Mutiny's shoulder--"you been a bad
+aig same as me, and we'd be hard to spoil. But these aigs at La Morita
+is new-laid, fresh aigs, so I wan' them to keep."
+
+"You're right, boss."
+
+"Mutiny, I sent you away for yo' good, 'ecause that girl may pull you up
+if anything can on airth. As for me, wall, I don't know as I care what
+becomes of me. I tried to turn good one't--tried mortal hard to run
+straight. I envy every honest man I see. I'm like a crawling snake,
+ambitious for bird wings to fly with; but still I'm no more than snake."
+
+"The kids have a chance all right," says Mutiny.
+
+"They have. A year ago I couldn't have drove my Curly away from the
+gang, but now he's paired with that du Chesnay youngster. Them colts
+won't care for the herd if they can run together, so I've got Curly
+weaned from following me to--to damnation."
+
+"Mutiny," says I, "will you help me to gather in these boys?"
+
+"I shorely will," says Mutiny; "but hadn't we ought to wait until
+they're moved up this way for trial?"
+
+"Wall," says the outlaw, "if I kin get to fight with a small man, I
+don't yearn for anything larger. Whirl in on La Morita, and you're
+fighting Mexico; wait for a move, and you're up against the hull United
+States. I'd rather have a lick at lil' ole Mexico."
+
+I told him that I had a town full of cowboys hard to hold.
+
+"That kind won't keep," says Mutiny; "what's yo' plan?"
+
+"I aimed," says I, "to steal young Ryan, and throw him into La Morita by
+way of consolation for them poor Frontier Guards when they miss their
+plunder."
+
+"Now don't you touch my meat," says Captain McCalmont; "I have to feed
+my little small lambs on him. Now, Misteh Davies."
+
+"Answers to the name of Chalkeye mostly."
+
+"Wall, Chalkeye, this is the second time we meet," he bored into me with
+his eyes; "I understand that Balshannon's will makes you some sort of
+guardian of his colt."
+
+"I reckon he needs a friend."
+
+"Will you be a friend to my son?"
+
+"Not more than I been already."
+
+"Mutiny," says he, "you witness that I, Captain McCalmont, thief, and
+general manager of the Robbers' Roost gang of outlaws, appoints this
+Chalkeye Davies guardian of Curly."
+
+"I witnesses."
+
+"Moreover, I aim to corrupt this Chalkeye by handing him stolen money."
+He passed me a heavy roll of notes worth fifty thousand dollars, which
+is ten thousand pounds by English reckoning. "My friend," he said, "take
+these two kids away out of this country--break them dead gentle, keep
+them clean, make them forget." He gave me a letter. "Read this when
+you're alone."
+
+"You trust me?" I asked.
+
+"You trust yo'self?"
+
+"Mutiny," says I, "you'll help?"
+
+"Poor Mutiny," said the robber, "might help himself."
+
+"On the dead thieving," says Mutiny, "that's so!" Then he grinned at me.
+"Look a-here, Chalkeye, this means that yo' pull out and hit the long
+trail. Now I want a home for my girl. How much will yo' take for yo'
+ranche?"
+
+"I'll see you later, Mutiny, and talk; and now shake hands, McCalmont.
+To-night I'll be on hand like a sore thumb, at La Morita."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE REAL CURLY
+
+
+Throwing back along my trail, I notice that I've mentioned a whole lot
+of points about Curly which made him unusual, different from other boys.
+Remember how he balked and shied at Holy Cross until we allowed him to
+hole up in a den of his own. He was sure wild and scary of railroads,
+towns, or a strange house. Except with his own folks, the Balshannon
+outfit, and me, he was dumb as a bear, and showed wild-eyed fright when
+strangers spoke to him. The meanest horses went tame at a word from him;
+no dog ever barked at him except with tail signals of joy; cats followed
+him around, and any animal who was hurt or in trouble would run to Curly
+for help. Even the deer knew his calls, and would come quite near while
+he spoke to them in that low soft voice of his. That voice never broke
+gruff with manhood, but just stayed sweet, like the sound of running
+water.
+
+He had a strong face, stern as our desert country, tanned, beautiful no
+end, so that one caught one's breath at the very sight of him. His smile
+turned me weak; his voice went through me, and I'm a sure hard case.
+Everybody just had to love that Curly--a born rider, a wonderful scout,
+a dead shot, a dangerous fighter, who bore pain like an Indian, and had
+heaps more sense and courage than Jim his partner.
+
+Why do I say all this? Well, from the first, I saw that Curly youngster
+was undersized and weak, with a narrow chest and wide hips more like a
+girl than a boy. A right proper man is strong, rough, hardy; he ought to
+have a temper and be master, ready to work and fight for his women folk.
+That Curly broke down and sobbed like a girl after the gun-fight, and in
+a hundred soft ways was not a proper man. There were often times when I
+wanted to turn in and lam his head. Then I didn't, but somehow knew that
+Nature had played some scurvy trick on that well-meaning youngster.
+
+Well, Jim was younger than me, so there's some excuse for him. He was
+rough on Curly--hostile and contemptuous when the little partner acted
+feminine. He owned up afterwards he'd behaved like a brute to that poor
+wounded, helpless critter, loving him all the while, but acting coarse;
+that humbled Curly, who weakened under his tongue lash, cried at times,
+and lay for hours sucking the wound on his arm, dumb like a dying
+animal. Both youngsters were surely miserable on the second and third
+days they lay together in prison. It was on the second morning that I
+sent down a doctor from Bisley to fix up Curly's wound.
+
+Late that evening, towards midnight, a crowbar dropped down through the
+window-gap in the wall, and Jim began to labour out a hole for their
+escape. He dug out bricks of 'dobe one by one, and while he worked he
+made poor Curly sing hour after hour, to hide up the sound of the
+crowbar. Shall I tell you one of the songs? It's a cowboy tune for
+smoothing the feelings of driven cattle while they bed themselves down
+for night.
+
+          "Soh, Bossie, soh!
+      The water's handy neah,
+      The grass is plenty heah,
+    An' all the stars a-sparkle
+      Bekase we drive no mo'--
+          We drive no mo'!
+
+      The long trail ends to-day,
+      The long trail ends to-day,
+      The punchers go to play,
+    And all you weary cattle
+      May sleep in peace for sure--
+          Sleep, sleep fo' sure.
+
+      The moon cayn't bite you heah,
+      Nor punchers fright you heah,
+    And you-all will be beef befo'
+      We need you any mo'--
+          We need you mo'!"
+
+When morning broke Jim piled hay on the burrow he'd made in the foot of
+the wall, and lay on top, dead weary to get some sleep. At ten o'clock
+the doctor from Bisley found Curly still singing, light-headed, talking
+nonsense. The patient said he was a bear, so the doctor gave sleep
+medicine, and sat beside him. At noon he fed the boys their dinner and
+went away, but they didn't wake again until supper-time, when the man on
+guard came in.
+
+"What's for supper?" says Curly.
+
+"_Tortillas_, _frijoles_, coffee--same as usual."
+
+"Eat it," says Curly, "'cause I'm only a bear holed up for winter. We
+don't eat in winter anyways."
+
+"Bears have their coffee," says Jim.
+
+"Oh yes, of course," and Curly fed coffee to the winter bear. That
+cleared his head, and he sat up watching Jim at work on the little round
+dishes. The food was _frijoles_, the same being beans, and _tortillas_,
+which is a thin corn-cake, pretty much the same as brown fly-papers,
+warm and damp, but sort of uninteresting to taste. The coffee was in a
+brown earthen pot, fresh from the fire, and mighty encouraging. Those
+three things make the proper feed for Mexicans, the same being simple,
+uninstructed people, knowing no better. When they feast they make a stew
+of red pepper, and take a little meat with it; but that dish is a
+luxury, and hot enough to burn a hole through a brick.
+
+When Jim had eaten everything in sight he started cigarettes, listening
+to a banjo in the guardroom, a growing hum of talk, and the click of
+cups, for some Holy Cross riders were there with a jar of cactus spirit,
+a deck of cards, and other inducements sent in by Captain McCalmont. Jim
+heard them talking war because they'd never been paid off at Holy Cross,
+and had six months' wages coming. They allowed that el Chico their young
+patrone ought to hang, and the guards agreed that such was probable.
+To-morrow the prisoners were going to be collected by the United States
+authorities for trial. Jim looked at his partner for comfort, but saw
+big tears rolling down Curly's face.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of that," says he.
+
+"It cayn't be helped." Curly swept his arm across his face. "You Jim, we
+got to part to-night."
+
+"You wild ass of the desert! What's the matter now?"
+
+"You're goin' through that hole to find yo' liberty, but I stay here."
+
+"Stay, and be hanged to you."
+
+"I got to. How should I be with this wound out there on the range?"
+
+"I'll see to that, youngster. It's only a little way to La Soledad, and
+I'll get you through. It may hurt, but it's not so bad as being hanged."
+
+"I cayn't travel. We're due to be caught and killed. You go alone,
+Jim."
+
+"We go together and live, or we stay together and die. Take your choice,
+Curly."
+
+"Oh, I cayn't bear it--you don't understand!"
+
+"I understand you're a little coward!"
+
+"That's no dream."
+
+"You own to being a coward?"
+
+"Yes. All these years I've tried to play the game, to be a boy, to live
+a boy's life, but now--I'd rather die, and get it finished."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I've been off my haid last night and all to-day. This pain has
+stampeded me, and I'm goin' crazy. To-night the pain is worse. I'll be
+making fool talk, giving myself away, and you'll find me out. It's
+better to own up than to be found out."
+
+"To own up what?"
+
+"Oh, don't be hard on me, Jim! I tried so hard! I was born for a boy, I
+had to be a boy. Don't you see, girls was plumb impossible in a gang of
+robbers!"
+
+"Have you gone mad?"
+
+"Oh, you cayn't understand, and it's so hard to say." Curly lay face
+downwards, hiding a shamed face. "My mother must have made a mistake--I
+wasn't bawn for a boy."
+
+"Good gracious!"
+
+"I had to be raised for a boy--it had to be done. What else was possible
+at the Robbers' Roost?"
+
+"And you're not a boy!"
+
+"God help me, I'm only a girl."
+
+"You, a girl?"
+
+"Oh, don't be hard on me--it ain't my fault! I tried so hard to be a
+man--but I'm crazy with pain--and I wisht I was daid!"
+
+"But I can't believe--it can't be true. Why, I've seen you ride--the
+first horseman in Arizona, scout, cowboy, desperado, wanted for robbery
+and murder--you a girl!"
+
+"Have pity! Don't! Don't talk like that--I'm not so bad as you think--I
+never robbed--I never----"
+
+"You killed men to save my life. Oh, Curly, I'm so sorry I talked like
+that--I take it all back. I must have been _loco_ to call you a
+coward--I wish I'd half your courage! I never knew a woman could be
+brave; my mother wasn't, and all the girls I've known--they weren't like
+you. Oh, the things you've seen me do, the things I've said--treating
+you no better than a boy. Can you ever forgive the way I treated you?"
+
+One little hand stole out and touched him: "Stop--talk no more."
+
+A _vaquero_ was singing for all he was worth in the guardroom, to the
+strum of a guitar, while hands clapped out the time--
+
+    "I could not be so well content,
+          So sure of thee,
+              Señorita,
+              Lolita;
+    But well I know thou must relent
+        And come to me,
+            Lolita!"
+
+Jim set to work to finish his hole in the wall, prying out the 'dobe
+bricks with his crowbar, and he sure wrought furious, timing his strokes
+to the clapping hands, the guitar, and the swinging chorus--
+
+    "The caballeros throng to see
+        Thy laughing face,
+            Señorita,
+            Lolita;
+    But well I know thy heart's for me,
+        Thy charm, thy grace,
+            Lolita!
+
+    "I ride the range for thy dear sake,
+        To earn thee gold,
+            Señorita,
+            Lolita;
+    And steal the gringo's cows to make
+        A ranche to hold
+            Lolita!"
+
+The cactus liquor was getting in its work, the guardroom crowded up all
+it would hold of soldiers, _vaqueros_, customs men, travellers; then
+there was dancing, singing, gambling, squabbling, all the row which
+belongs to a general drunk. Curly was fretted up to high fever, riding
+herd on a bunch of dream cows, and Jim was pouring in his strength on
+the 'dobe bricks. At two in the morning the Frontier Guards began to
+make war talk, wanting to turn the prisoners loose, with a prize for
+the soldier who got first kill with a gun. On that the Holy Cross
+_vaqueros_ proposed to rescue their young patrone, and wipe out the
+Frontier Guards. There was considerable rough house with knife and gun,
+until the guards subdued the _vaqueros_, jumped on their heads, and
+herded them into No. 2 cell as prisoners of war. The _vaqueros_ were
+just moaning for blood, the Guards turned loose to celebrate their
+victory with more drinks, and while the row was enough to drown
+artillery, Jim's crowbar drove a brick which fell outside the wall. Now
+he had only to pry 'dobes loose one by one until the hole was big enough
+to let out prisoners. Sometimes he had to quit and hold his breath while
+the sentry came reeling past along his beat. Once he had to play dead,
+because a drunken sergeant rolled into the cell to give him a drink of
+_meseal_. The sergeant called him brother, hugged him, kissed him,
+cried, and went away. At three o'clock Jim crawled out through the hole
+with his crowbar, lay for the sentry, jumped up behind, clubbed him, and
+got the rifle. Then he dragged Mr. Sentry into the cell, wrapped him in
+Curly's blanket, and made up a dummy to look like himself in case the
+sergeant of the guard should remember to call again.
+
+"Curly," he shook his partner out of sleep. "Curly, the spring time is
+coming--it's time for little bears to come out of hole."
+
+"Yo' gawn all foolish," says Curly, "callin' me a bear. I done forget
+who I am, but I'm too sure sick to be a bear."
+
+"Let's play bear," says Jim, mighty shy; "I'll bet you I'm first through
+this hole!"
+
+The guardroom had gone quiet, the men there being just sober enough not
+to fall off the floor, but the sergeant was droning with the guitar,
+sobbing out the tail end of the old Lolita song--
+
+    "I ride the range for thy dear sake,
+          To win thee gold,
+              S'rita,
+              Lolita,
+    To steal the gringo's cow-ow-ow----"
+
+Curly was first out through the hole, chasing dream bears. "The wind's
+in the west," she said, looking at the big stars above.
+
+"Crawl up the wind," Jim whispered. "We want our horses; where are
+they?"
+
+Curly sat up snuffing at the wind, then pointed. "The hawss smell's
+thar," she said, "but there's a scent of pony-soldiers too--many
+soldiers."
+
+Jim trailed over cat-foot to the stable and looked in through the door.
+A lantern hung in the place, and some of the Frontier Guards sat round a
+box on the hay gambling earnest. If he went off to a distance, and
+handed out a few shots to draw the guard away searching, he reckoned
+there might be time to sneak round and steal a horse before they began
+to stray back. But then there was Curly all delirious with fever, and
+whimpering small wolf calls, so that every dog in the place had started
+to bark. The wolf calls had to be stopped, and a new dream started which
+would keep the little partner good and silent. That is why Jim took a
+handful of dust which he said was salt.
+
+"Come along, Curly," he whispered, "we're going to stalk the buffalo; to
+still hunt the buffalo; we must be fearfully quiet, or we'll never put
+the salt on their tails. Don't you see?"
+
+"But the buffalo's all gawn extinct!"
+
+"Oh, that's all right; it's not their fault, poor things. Come on, and
+we'll salt their tails."
+
+"I'm sort of tired," says Curly right out loud, and Jim went cold with
+fright. He could hear the soldiers squabbling over their game not fifty
+feet away, then the sound of somebody's footsteps rambling over from the
+guard-house. A soldier staggered drunk within two yards of him, and
+rolled in at the stable door.
+
+"Come on, old chap," Jim whispered; "I'm your horse, so climb on my
+back, and we'll travel."
+
+So he put the little partner on his back, and staggered away into the
+desert. He had one cartridge in the gun, no water, only the stars to
+guide him, and at sunrise the Frontier Guards would see his tracks.
+There was no hope.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE WHITE STAR
+
+
+As soon as Captain McCalmont was clear of the city I meandered in a
+casual way around the saloons, taking a drink here, a cigar there,
+passing the word for a meeting of cowboys only. They were to ride out by
+twos and threes for home in the usual way, but the time for the meeting
+was sunset, and the place a slope of hillside beyond Balshannon's grave.
+There we gathered to the number of thirty head, and Mutiny rode into the
+bunch to cut out any strangers who might have strayed with the herd.
+There being no strays, I spoke--
+
+"Boys, you-all knows who was buried here on the hilltop. He was my
+friend, and a sure friend of all range men." Some of the boys uncovered,
+one called--
+
+"Spit it out, ole Chalkeye! When you starts up yo' church, rent me a
+stall!"
+
+"I'll hire yo' ruddy scalp," says I, "instead of lamps. Wall, boys,
+these town toughs has shot out El Señor Don, and they're proposing to
+play their pure fountain of law on two more of our tribe, the same being
+young Jim his son, and little Curly McCalmont."
+
+"Say, Chalkeye, when do you get yo' dividends from Messrs. Robbers,
+Roost, and Co.?"
+
+"Why, Buck, it's on them days when I trusts you with loans of money."
+
+The crowd knew Buck's habit of not paying his debts, and proposed to
+divide up his shirt and pants if he got too obvious with remarks.
+
+"Boys," I went on, "we been letting these town citizens get too much
+happy and animated, throwing dirt in our face. Why, here's down east
+newspapers sobbing obituary notices over the poor cowboy species
+departed. Seems that we-all, and the mammoth, and the dodo, and the
+bison is numbered with the past, and our bones is used to manure the
+crops of the industrious farmer. Does that splash you?
+
+"Dear departed, I appeals to you most sorrowful--ain't it time to show
+signs of being alive? Not being a worker of miracles, I don't aim to
+corrupt yo' morals, I ain't proposing to obliterate the town which
+provides us with our liquor and groceries, I ain't a party to acts of
+violence; but I do propose that we just whirl in to-night and rescue
+them po' kids at La Morita. Of course, in busting the calaboose we may
+have to shoot up a few Mexicans--but it does them good to be taken
+serious at times, and they'd sure hate to be ignored while we stole
+their captives."
+
+Mutiny called out, "Say, now you've got yo' tail up, you ain't
+forgetting to talk."
+
+And on that the boys got riotous--"Rair up some more, ole Chalkeye;
+let's see you paw the moon!"
+
+"You tell the lies, we'll stick to 'em!"
+
+"Who stole Ryan's cows, eh, Chalkeye?"
+
+"Let the old horse-thief turn his wolf loose! Ki-yi-yeou-ou-ou!"
+
+"Loo-loo-loo-Yip! Yow!"
+
+"Girls," says I, "you're gettin' plenty obstreperous. Come on--let's
+roll our tails for old Mexico!"
+
+The boys came yelping, and we trotted the night through, throwing the
+miles behind us.
+
+At three o'clock, to judge by the stars of Orion, we rested our ponies
+near the boundary, at the streak of dawn loped on, and just as the day
+broke hurricaned in a gun-blaze down on La Morita.
+
+I regret to state for your information that the Mexican Frontier Guards
+were too sleepy to play up their side of the game, but surrendered
+abject before they had time to get hurt. Moreover, our youngsters had
+vamoosed through a hole in the wall. So there were no captives to
+liberate, except four measly _vaqueros_, which gave us a red-hot cussing
+at being waked too early for coffee time. We had a sickening miserable
+picnic, a waste of sweat and oratory.
+
+Slow and solemn we gaoled up those soldiers in the calaboose, and
+mounted the sulky _vaqueros_ for a guard to hold them, feeling all the
+time like a batch of widows.
+
+In the stable I found Curly's buckskin mare and my fool horse Jones, the
+pair of which I took when we started for home. As to Jim and Curly, we
+held a council smoke, debating on their fate. The crowd agreed that
+these kids had been my pupils, and would be sure horse-thieves
+naturally. I felt they had gone afoot, but scouting around, I failed to
+find their sign. There was a track of a man with cowboy heels, going
+east, but it seemed to wiggle drunk. I never thought of Jim rolling
+along as he did with Curly on his back, but searched for the tracks of
+the pair running side by side. If I had only been a better scout I might
+have understood the lone track, and followed with horses to mount my
+youngsters for flight. We could have made an easy escape from the
+country, ending all our troubles--but I was a fool.
+
+So soon as my tribe pulled out for home I knew that the Frontier Guards
+would be loose at once like burned-out hornets. To linger in their way
+would be unhealthy, and I had no tracks to follow anyway. So I pulled
+out with the rest, taking all guns and horses, leaving the Guards
+disarmed and afoot lest they should try to act warlike. Further north
+the guns were thrown away, except some retained as mementos, and we used
+the Mexican herd of ponies to cover our tracks where we scattered.
+
+This episode is alluded to by the foolish cowboys as "Chalkeye's
+victory--all talk and run."
+
+A couple of miles to the eastward of La Morita Jim found that his little
+partner weighed a ton. After working all night, and struggling to the
+limit of his strength, he could go no further. The day was breaking; to
+move by daylight meant an extra risk of being seen, and there was
+nothing to be gained by travelling. So he staggered to the nearest
+hilltop, found a good look-out point, then smashed up some local
+rattlesnakes, and laid Curly to rest under a sheltering rock. From there
+he watched what the _Weekly Obituary_ described as "an infamous outrage,
+perpetrated at La Morita by a gang of cowardly ruffians." Not that Jim
+was shocked--indeed, I reckon the lad put up signs of depraved joy. He
+said to the little partner--
+
+"We're sure saved, Curly, from being tracked down by the Guards and
+murdered."
+
+I calculate that one ordinary Arizona day without food and water would
+have finished Curly, but as it happened this was a desert Sabbath, when
+the clouds had a round-up for prayer. I ain't religious; it's no use for
+a poor devil like me to make a bluff at being holy, and if I went to
+church the Big Spirit would say: "Look at this Chalkeye person playing
+up at Me in a boiled shirt--ain't this plumb ridiculous?"
+
+It's no use, because I'm bad, but yet it humbles me down low to watch
+the clouds when they herd together for prayers, flirting their angel
+wings against the sun, lifting their gruff voices in supplication,
+tearing up the sky with their lightnings, sending down the rain of mercy
+to us poor desert creatures. The respectable people hire preachers to
+tell the Big Spirit of their wants, but it's the white clouds of the sky
+that says prayers for us ignorant range folks, for the coyotes, the deer
+and panthers, the bears and cows, the ponies and the cowboys. Then the
+rain comes to save us from dying of thirst, and we cusses around
+ungrateful because it makes us wet.
+
+When the storm broke that morning, the rain roared, the ground splashed,
+the hills ran cataracts, and Jim and Curly got washed out of their camp,
+the same becoming a pool all of a sudden, and were much too wet to go to
+sleep again. Moreover, the fever had left off prancing around in Curly's
+brain, and the cold had eased her wound like some big medicine.
+
+Jim had found a corner under the rock ledge which was perfectly dry. His
+leather Mexican clothes were shrunk tight with rain, the staining ran in
+streaks on his face, his teeth played tunes with the cold.
+
+"El Señor Don Santiago," says Curly, "yo' face has all gawn pinto, and
+it don't look Mexican that a-way in stripes. Maybe yo're changing into
+a sort of half-breed."
+
+"I'm beastly cold," says Jim, grave as a funeral.
+
+"Same here," she laughed. "Don't you think yo' disguise would pass for
+something in the way of striped squir'ls? With a rat in yo' paws you'd
+do for a chipmunk."
+
+"Let me be," says Jim. "How's your wound?"
+
+"Not aching to hurt, just to remind me it's there. How did we get to
+this rock?"
+
+Jim told her about the escape, and how the Frontier Guards had been left
+afoot, and how the storm had come convenient to wash out the raiders'
+tracks as well as his own.
+
+The rain had quit, and the plain was shining like a sea of gold which
+ran in channels between the island groups of purple mountains. So one
+could sure see range after range melting off into more than a hundred
+miles of clear distance, to where the sunshine was hot beyond the
+clouds. That clearness after rain is a great wonder to see, and makes
+one feel very good.
+
+"Talk some more," says Curly, "then I won't be encouraging this wound by
+taking notice of it."
+
+"Shall I lift you here to this dry corner?"
+
+"No; it's sure fighting, moving. Leave me be."
+
+"Curly, how did you get that scar above your eye?"
+
+"Buck handed me that. He's shorely fretful at times. Who's Buck? Why,
+he's second in command of our gang. No, he's a sure man. I'm plenty fond
+of Buck."
+
+"The brute! I'll wring his beastly neck! You love him?"
+
+"Wouldn't you love all yo' brothers, Jim?"
+
+"Oh, brothers--that's all right. But why did the rotten coward make that
+scar?"
+
+"You see, Buck's plenty fond of me, and his emotions is r'aring high,
+specially when--wall, I refused to be Mrs. Buck. It sounded so funny
+that I had to laugh. Then he got bucking squealing crazy, and when he's
+feeling that a-way he throws knives, which it's careless of him."
+
+"He wounded you with a knife? The cur!"
+
+"Oh, but Buck was remorseful a whole lot afterwards, and father shot him
+too. Father always shoots when the boys get intimate. Poor Buck! I
+nursed him until he was able to get around again, and he loves me worse
+than ever. It cayn't be helped."
+
+"So these robbers know that you--that you're a girl?"
+
+"They found me out last year. Yes, it's at the back of their haids that
+I'm their lil sister, and they're allowed to be brothers to me, Jim. Now
+don't you snort like a hawss, 'cause they're all the brothers I've got."
+
+"You're not afraid of them?"
+
+"You cayn't think what nice boys they are. Of course, being robbers,
+they claims to have been hatched savage, and brung up dangerous, pore
+things. Father tells 'em that they has no occasion for vain-glorious
+pride, 'cause their vocation is mean."
+
+"He's dead right, and I'm glad he shoots them!"
+
+"Generally in the laigs. He says he reckons that a tender inducement to
+being good is better than a bullet through the eye. Of co'se thar has to
+be some discipline to chasten they'r hearts, or they'd get acting
+bumptious."
+
+"Humph!"
+
+"But you don't savvy. Father has to press his views on the boys, but
+they'd be much worse if it wasn't for him. He says he's a heaps
+indulgent parent to 'em, and I reckon he shorely is. Father's the best
+man in the whole world. Do you know he only kills when he has to, and
+not for his own honour and glory? Why, he won't rob a man unless he's
+got lots of wealth. Once he was a bad man, but that's a long while ago,
+before I remember."
+
+"Were you always raised as a boy?"
+
+"Allus. He made me learn to ride, and rope, and shoot, from--ever since
+I was weaned. When I got old enough he learned me scouting, cooking,
+packing a hawss, tending wounds, hunting--all sorts of things. I been
+well educated shore enough, more than most boys."
+
+"It's all beastly rot calling him good--McCalmont good!"
+
+"A hawss or a dawg, or a lil' child will run from a bad man, but they
+love my father. Oh, but you don't know how good he is!"
+
+"Well, let it go at that. You wanted to be a robber?"
+
+"Shorely, yes, but he never would let me. It ain't true what that
+sign-paper says up in the city yonder, that I robbed a train. I wasn't
+there at all. You see, father picked up on the home trail with a
+starving man, and helped him. That mean, or'nary cuss went and told Joe
+Beef, the sheriff, that I was in the gang which held up the train.
+That's why I'm due to be hunted and roped, or shot at by any citizen who
+wants two thousand dollars. Of co'se, it's nacheral there should be a
+bounty offered on wolf haids, but I'd like to have a nice wolf-time
+before I'm killed. I never had a chance to get my teeth in, 'cept only
+once. Yes, we stole six hundred head of cattle from the Navajos, and you
+should just have seen the eager way they put out after us. They was
+plenty enthoosiastic, and they came mighty near collecting our wigs."
+
+"It makes me sick to think of you with a gang of thieves."
+
+"Father says that the worst crimes is cowardice, meanness, and cheating.
+The next worse things is banks, railroad companies, lawyers; and that
+young Ryan--'specially Ryan--he says that us robbers is angels compared
+with trash like that."
+
+"That's no excuse."
+
+"Father says that robbery is a sign that the law is rotten, and a proof
+that the Government's too pore and weak to cast a proper shadow. He
+allows we're a curse to the country, and it serves the people right."
+
+"It's bad--you know it's bad!"
+
+"Shore thing it's bad. Do you know what made us bad? All of our tribe
+was cowboys and stockmen once; not saints, but trying to act honest, and
+only stealing cows quite moderate, like ole Chalkeye. Then rich men came
+stealing our water-holes, fencing in our grass, driving our cattle
+away."
+
+"Why didn't you get a lawyer--wasn't there any law?"
+
+"There shorely was. My father's farm was way back in Kansas. His
+neighbour was a big cattle company, which hadn't any use for farms or
+settlers. They turned their cattle into his crops, they shot my brother
+Bill, they wounded father. Then father went to law, and the lawyers
+skinned him alive, and the judge was a shareholder in the Thomas Cattle
+Company--he done gave judgment that we-all was in the wrong. Then father
+appealed to the big Court at Washington, which says he had the right to
+his land and home. So the cattle company set the grass on fire and
+burned our home. Mother was burned to death, and father he went bad. I
+was the only thing he saved from the fire."
+
+"Poor beggar! No wonder he turned robber. I'd have done the same, by
+Jove!"
+
+"He shot Judge Thomson first, then he killed Mose Thomson, and the
+sheriff put out to get him. He got the sheriff. Then he went all through
+Kansas and Colorado, gathering pore stockmen what had been robbed and
+ruined by the rich men's law. They held up pay-escorts, stage coaches,
+banks, the trains on the railroad. That was the beginning of the
+Robbers' Roost."
+
+Jim sat heaps thoughtful looking away across the desert. "Our breeding
+cattle," says he, tallying on his fingers, "then Holy Cross, then
+mother, then father, and now I'm being hunted for a murder I didn't
+commit."
+
+"Now you know," says Curly, "why we robbers played a hand in yo' game."
+
+"I understand. Say, Curly, I take back all I said about it being
+bad--this robbery-under-arms. It's the only thing to do."
+
+"Don't you get dreaming," says Curly, "we-all ain't blind; our eyes is
+open a whole lot wide to truth, and we make no bluff that robbery and
+murder is forms of holiness."
+
+"It's all right for me. I'm a man, and I'm not a coward, either. But,
+Curly, you're not fit for a game like this. I'm going to take you
+away--where you'll be safe."
+
+"And whar to?"
+
+Jim looked at the desert steaming after the rain, hot as flame, reaching
+away all round for ever and ever. He looked at Curly's wound all swollen
+up, her face which had gone gaunt with pain and weakness. They were
+afoot, they were hunted, they had no place to hide.
+
+"Whar do you propose to take me?" says Curly.
+
+"I don't know," says Jim; "perhaps your people aren't so bad after
+all--anyway, they tried to keep you clean."
+
+"And what's the use of that? D'ye think I want to be alone in the hull
+world--clean with no folks, no home? Why should I want to be different
+from my father, and all my tribe? Would I want to be safe while they're
+in danger? Would I want to play coward while they fight? Shucks! Father
+turned me out to grass onced at the Catholic Mission, and them priests
+was shorely booked right through to heaven. What's the use of my being
+thar, while the rest of my tribe is in hell? I dreamt last night I was
+in hell, carrying water to feed it to my wolves; I couldn't get a drop
+for myself--never a drop."
+
+"Curly, I've got to save you--I must--I shall!"
+
+She laughed at him. "You! Do you remember me at Holy Crawss when I
+punched cows for Chalkeye? I might ha' been thar still but for you."
+
+"What on earth do you mean?"
+
+"Jim, I met up with yo' mother, and I didn't want to be bad any more
+when I seen her."
+
+"She thought the world of you."
+
+The poor child broke out laughing, "Oh, shucks!" Then her face went
+bitter. "She said she loved me, eh?"
+
+"She said I was a beastly little cad compared with you. When I got home
+from college she held you up for a holy example, and rubbed my nose in
+it. She was right--but how I cursed you!"
+
+Curly laughed faint and lay back moaning, for the sun had come hot from
+the clouds, and she was burning with pain. "So yo' mother claimed she
+loved me. Well, I know better!"
+
+"Why didn't you stay with her, Curly?"
+
+"I seen her face when she waited for you to come home--you, Jim, and she
+looked sure hungry. What was I to her, when she seen her own son
+a-coming? I waited to see you, Jim; I jest had to see you 'cause you was
+pizen to me. Then I went away 'cause I'd have killed you if I'd seen you
+any mo'."
+
+"Where did you go?"
+
+"Whar I belong, back to the wolf pack. What had I to do with a home, and
+a mother, with shelter, and livin' safe, and bein' loved? I'm only a
+wolf with a bounty on my hide, to be hunted down and shot."
+
+"And you--a girl!"
+
+"No, a mistake!"
+
+Jim pawed out, and grabbed her small brown hand. "You came back," he
+whispered.
+
+"I came back to see if that Ryan was goin' to wipe you out, you and yo'
+people. I came to see you die."
+
+"And saved my life!"
+
+"I reckon," says Curly, "I ain't quite responsible anyways for my
+life--'cause I'm only a mistake--jest a mistake. I feels one way, and
+acts the contrary; I whirl in to kill, and has to rescue; I aims to
+hate--and instead of that I----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"I dunno," she laughed. "Up home at Robbers' Roost we got a lil' book on
+etiquette what tells you how ladies and gentlemen had ought to act in
+heaps big difficulties. It shorely worries me to know whether I'm a lady
+or a gentleman, but it's mighty comfortin' the way that book is wrote. I
+done broke all my wolves outer that book to set up on their tails and
+act pretty. Now, if I had the book I'd know how I'd ought to act in
+regard to you-all."
+
+Jim looked mighty solemn, being naturally about as humorous as a
+funeral. "Am I nothing to you?" he asked, feeling hurt; but she just
+opened one eye at him, smiling, and said nothing.
+
+Presently the pain got so bad that she began to roll from side to side,
+scratching with her free hand at the face of the rock overhead.
+
+"Can't I do something?" says Jim. "It's awful to sit and watch that
+pain. I must do something."
+
+"If you climb to the top of this rock," she said between her teeth,
+"you'd see La Soledad. My father's thar."
+
+"I'll run."
+
+"Why run?" She snatched a small round looking-glass out of the breast of
+her shirt. "You've only to get the sun on this glass and flash the light
+three times upon La Soledad. The man on look-out will see the flash."
+
+"Give me the glass, then."
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Do you know what it means, Jim, if you flash that signal?"
+
+"Rescue for you."
+
+"And for you, Jim? It means that you quit bein' an honest man, it means
+shame, it means death. Us outlaws don't die in our beds, Jim."
+
+"Give me the glass."
+
+"No, Jim. Some time soon, when you and me is riding with the outfit, or
+camped at our stronghold, the army is goin' to come up agin' us--pony
+soldiers, and walk-a-heaps, and twice guns, to take our water-holes, to
+drive away our _remuda_, to block our escape trails, to close in on us.
+Our fires are goin' to be put out, our corpses left to the coyotes and
+the eagles."
+
+"Give me that glass!"
+
+"And my father says that beyond that is the Everlastin' Death."
+
+"Do you think you can frighten me? Give me that glass!" He snatched the
+glass from her hand, scrambled to the top of the rocks, and flashed the
+light three times upon La Soledad.
+
+A white star answered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+A MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT
+
+
+McCalmont was hid up at the _ranchita_ La Soledad, with a sentry out to
+the south-west watching La Morita, a sentry out to the west to keep tab
+on the Bisley trail, a sentry out to the north on the Grave City road,
+and Buck Hennesy, his segundo, riding from point to point with feed and
+water. When anything happened the sentries flashed a signal to Buck, who
+warned the chief. At sunrise McCalmont had news of our raid on La
+Morita, and that made him think for sure that the kids were rescued.
+He'd been riding all night, so he got his eye down quick for a big
+sleep. The storm rolled up, burst, and trailed off to the eastward; the
+sun shone out, lifting white steam from the desert; then came the heat.
+At two o'clock, away southward through the quivering haze, Buck sighted
+the three-flash signal, which means "Help!" He threw back the two-flash,
+"Coming."
+
+So he and the chief loped out, taking a canteen of cold tea, which is
+the proper medicine for thirst, and a led horse each, to bring the
+youngsters in to the little ranche. By four o'clock they had Curly
+bedded down in the shack, supposing herself to be a prairie-dog, and
+wanting to know who'd come and stole her tail. McCalmont nursed her,
+Buck went off to spoil the trail from the hill, and Jim squatted down on
+the doorstep for a feed of pork and beans, with lashings of coffee.
+
+The main outfit of the robbers was camped at Las Aguas, some miles to
+the north-east, and three of them came in at dusk to get their supper
+and relieve the sentries around La Soledad. They were heaps shy when
+they saw what looked like a greaser _vaquero_ sitting in the doorway of
+the cabin. One of them rode right at him.
+
+"Here, you," he shouted. "Git out 'er here _pronto_! Vamoose!"
+
+"_Poco tiempo_," says Jim.
+
+"Who are you, anyways?"
+
+"_Quien sabe?_"
+
+"Wall, ye cayn't stay here, so ye'd best get absent." He pulled his gun
+on Jim's feet. "Now jest you prance!"
+
+Jim laughed at him.
+
+"_Mañana_," he said. Then in English, "You bark a lot, my friend. Whose
+dog are you?"
+
+Then he heard McCalmont's slow, soft drawl. "I sure enjoy to see the
+sire's grit show out in the young colt. Spoke like a man, Jim! And as to
+you, Crazy Hoss, I want you to understand that if you don't learn
+deportment I'll politely lam yo' haid, you, you double-dealing
+foogitive, low-flung, sheep-herdin' son of a lop-eared thug! Hain't you
+got no more sense than a toorist, you parboiled, cock-eyed, spavined,
+broken-down, knock-kneed wreck o' bones? You----!"
+
+With such genteel introductions McCalmont sure spouted burning wrath
+into that robber, scorching holes until he lost his breath.
+
+"The evil communications of this young polecat," says he to Jim, "is
+shorely spoiling my manners. And now, you--you turtle-doves, you'll jest
+get away out of here and cook your supper thar by the barn. You want to
+be mighty quiet too, 'cause my Curly is lying in here wounded. Git over
+now!"
+
+The robbers trailed off grinning, while the chief sat down on the
+doorstep next to Jim.
+
+"The children make me peevish," he said, and began to roll a cigarette
+in his fingers. "Wall, do you remember, Jim? I allowed we'd be better
+friends when we met again."
+
+Jim looked round sharp and sat there studying McCalmont. He didn't look
+bad or dangerous, but just a middle-aged cattle-man of the old long-horn
+desert breed. Our folks are rough and homely; we've got a hard name,
+too, but we stay alive in a country which kills off all but the
+fighters. McCalmont had a cool blue eye, humorous and kind, and grey
+hair straggling down over a face that was tanned to leather. The
+stiff-brimmed cowboy hat was jammed on the back of his head, the white
+silk handkerchief hung loose about his shoulders. He wore a grey army
+shirt, blue overalls, stuffed anyhow into his boots, and a loose belt of
+cartridges, slinging the Colt revolver on his hip. Somehow the youngster
+felt drawn to him, knowing he'd found a friend of the kind that lasts.
+
+"And you were that sky-scout?" says he.
+
+"A most unworthy shepherd! Jest you look at my sheep," says McCalmont.
+
+Jim asked how long it was since they met that day on the range.
+
+"It seems a year to you, eh, lad? That was six days ago, the way I
+reckon time."
+
+"So much has happened--sir--can it be less than a week? I was only a boy
+then--and Curly----"
+
+"My son has struck you serious."
+
+"She has told me everything, sir."
+
+"Yo' goin' to remember to speak of Curly as a boy. He is allooded to as
+a boy, or I get hawstile. You understand that?"
+
+"I understand."
+
+"And now," says McCalmont, "we'll have that buckboard ready in case we
+need to pull out."
+
+There was a buckboard standing in the yard, the same being a four-wheel
+dogtrap, with a springy floor of boards, easy for travel. Jim helped
+McCalmont to stow some cases and a keg of water, fill sacks with sweet
+range hay for Curly's bed, and then cover the whole with a canvas
+ground-sheet.
+
+"You think," says Jim, "that we'll be chased to-night?"
+
+"I dunno, Jim, but it looks to me as that's how the herd is grazing."
+
+When supper was ready they strayed across to the fire and joined issue
+with beef, hot bread, and coffee, the same being taken serious without
+waste of time or talk. We range-folk don't interrupt our teeth with
+aimless discourse. By smoke-time Buck loped off in the dusk to find the
+_remuda_ of ponies out at grass, and the boys had a cigarette while he
+gathered, watered, and drove the ponies home. Then the team for the
+buckboard was caught, harnessed, and tied up with a feed of corn; each
+man roped and saddled his night horse; and Buck, with the three relief
+men, rode out slow, curving away into the starlight.
+
+McCalmont roped a sorrel mare for Jim, then found him a spare saddle, a
+bridle, a blanket, belt, gun, and spurs.
+
+"Now," says he, "jest bed yo'self down, but don't undress. Keep yo'
+hawss to hand, sleep rapid, and in case of alarm jump quick. An outlaw's
+bed, my son, ain't feathered for long sleeps."
+
+Jim lay awake and watched until the day guard came loping in with Buck.
+He saw them rope and saddle their remounts, catch their supper, bed
+down, and smoke the final cigarette. It all felt homely and good to be
+with cowboys again, to have his blanket on the dust, his horse and gun
+beside him, to know he was free and moderately safe, to look up drowsy
+at a great white sky of stars. Jim was a plainsman in those days sure
+enough, content, range fashion, to have the whole earth for a bed, the
+night for a bedroom, and the starry palace of the Great Spirit to
+shelter him while he slept. Kings and emperors and such have to hole up
+at night in mean quarters compared with that.
+
+Somewhere out on the range McCalmont's guard-camp kept a sentry alert
+through the night, and when Jim woke up he saw the day guard swarming
+off in the grey of dawn to relieve them. He washed himself in the
+horse-trough, and helped McCalmont to cook breakfast.
+
+"Now don't you make too much fire," says the chief, "'cause the less
+smoke we show the better for our health. We want no strangers projecting
+around to pay us mawning visits."
+
+"Colonel," says Jim, "how's Curly?"
+
+"Right peart, and chirping for breakfast."
+
+The boys came rolling in from night guard. "Now you, Crazy Hoss," says
+McCalmont, "rope the day hawsses, and put the herd to grass befo' you
+feed. You, Buck, is all secure?"
+
+"Wall, boss, there's United States pony-soldiers, three hundred haid of
+'em, comes trailing down out of the Mule Pass."
+
+"Heading this way?"
+
+"No, seh; they're pointing for La Morita."
+
+"I see. It's because of the shockin' outrage yesterday on them pore
+Mexican Guards at La Morita. I expaict that ole Mexico is up on its ear
+for war, and they'll be sending their army to eat the United States.
+Jest take yo' glasses, Buck, and see if that Mexican army is coming
+along."
+
+Buck rode to the nearest hill and looked over the top without showing
+himself on the skyline; then he came sailing back, and rolled up to the
+chief, all snorting.
+
+"There's the dust of an army on the Fronteras trail."
+
+"Them rival armies," McCalmont drawled, "will talk theyrselves into
+fits, and the rival Governments will talk theyrselves into fits; and all
+the newspapers will talk theyrselves into fits; then they'll agree that
+La Morita was raided, and they'll agree that it was the acts of wicked
+robbers, and they'll agree it was _me_. 'Spose we have our coffee."
+
+All through the night McCalmont had been sitting up with Curly, treating
+her wound to a course of cold wet bandages once in five minutes to
+reduce the swelling. After breakfast he went back again to her side, and
+his teeth were sure set hard, because he had made up his mind to dig for
+the bullet, which caused her more pain than was needful. As for Jim, he
+squatted on the doorstep outside, with time at last to think. His
+affairs had been some hurried and precipitous in this one week, which
+cost him his parents, his home, his business as master of a tribe of
+cowboys, his friends, his prospects, his reputation as an honest man.
+And now the whirlwind had dropped him on the doorstep of a 'dobe shack
+to think the matter over quietly and have a look at himself. He was an
+orphan now, poor as a wolf, hunted, desperate, herded with thieves. What
+was the use of trying to earn an honest living when the first
+respectable person he met would begin the conversation by shooting him
+all to pieces?
+
+Then he heard McCalmont calling him: "Say, can yo' lawdship oblige me
+with the loan of a pin?"
+
+His lordship! The poor chap remembered now that he was Viscount
+Balshannon, Baron Blandon, and several different sorts of baronets.
+
+"Yo' lawdship!"
+
+"McCalmont," he howled, "you brute!"
+
+Then he heard Curly telling her father to behave himself, and his mind
+went off grazing again over the range of his troubles. There was that
+Curly, the famous desperado, the fighting frontiersman, the man who had
+saved his life--and all of a sudden he had to think of him--of her--as a
+poor girl crazy with pain. Jim had to face a fact which had hit his very
+soul, turned the world upside down, and left him wriggling. It was no
+use being hostile or disappointed; he couldn't make believe he was
+glad. Curly didn't feel like a chum or a partner now; he couldn't
+imagine her as any sort of sister or friend. She just filled his life
+until there was nothing else to care for on earth, and it made his bones
+ache.
+
+Then McCalmont began to work with some sort of surgical instruments,
+probing her wound for the bullet. He heard her make little moans,
+whimpers, and stopped his ears with his fingers. Then she screamed.
+
+Jim was shaking all over, but with that scream he knew what had happened
+to himself. He had fallen head over ears in love with that same Curly.
+
+After a long time McCalmont came out of the shack and sat down alongside
+of Jim. The robber was white as a ghost; he was trembling and gulping
+for breath.
+
+"Here," he cried, "you take this."
+
+Jim took the thing in his hand--a flattened bullet, all torn around the
+edges and streaked with blood.
+
+For some time he just sat staring at that bullet, scared by his own
+thoughts. "Captain," says he at last, "Curly's not dying?"
+
+"Why, not to any great extent, my son." McCalmont lay back on a dirt
+floor, and yawned. "He's sleeping a whole lot now, and if you'll stay
+around in case he wakes, I'll take a few myself; I'm kinder tired."
+
+The robber dropped off to sleep, and Jim sat watching beside him. At
+noon the boys off duty in the yard called him to dinner, but McCalmont
+slept far into the afternoon. Then of a sudden he started broad awake,
+his hand on his gun, staring out at the blazing heat of the desert.
+
+"That's all right," says he; "three hours' rest is enough for hawsses
+and robbers, so I reckon I've took more'n my share."
+
+"Curly's still sleeping," says Jim.
+
+"I'll catch some lunch, then."
+
+Jim watched him ranging about the yard, bread in one hand, meat in the
+other, eating his dinner while he hustled his men to work. He kept three
+young robbers busy until the camp gear was stowed for travel, and all
+the litter was hid away out of sight. Then he made them bury the ashes
+of the camp fire, and smooth over all the tracks until the ground looked
+as though there had been no visitors for a week.
+
+After that he brought a pencil and notebook for Jim.
+
+"I want you to write," he said; "scrawl yo' worst, and put down all the
+spellin' ignorant. Write:--'Dere Bill, I'm gawn with the buckboard for
+grub. Back this even.'--B. Brown.' Yes, that will do."
+
+He took the book from Jim, tore out the leaf, and hung it on the door
+conspicuous.
+
+"Thar's times," he said, "when sheriffs and marshals, and posses of
+virtuous citizens gets out on the warpath in pursuit of robbers. They
+comes pointing along mighty suspicious, and reads the tracks on the
+ground, and notes the signs, and sniffs the little smells, and in they'r
+ignorant way draws false concloosions. Meanwhile the robbers has
+adjourned."
+
+Jim's face was as long as a coffin. "Captain," says he, "I've been
+thinking."
+
+"I'm sorry yo're took bad, my son." The robber sat down beside him. "Let
+me see yo' tongue."
+
+"Don't laugh at me. Will you mind, Captain McCalmont--if--if I speak of
+Curly--just this once--as--as a woman?"
+
+"Turn yo' wolf loose, my son, I'm hearing."
+
+"I love her, sir."
+
+"Same here, Jim."
+
+"Do you mind, though?"
+
+"My boy, when I wanted to marry her mother, I jest up an' asked her."
+
+"I'm not good enough for her."
+
+"That's so, and yet I reckon Curly's been dead gentle with you-all. Why,
+she sure sits on all our haids."
+
+"I'm afraid she doesn't care for me yet."
+
+"I expaict, Jim, that an eye-doctor is what you need."
+
+"And you'll consent?"
+
+"If Curly consents, on one condition. You get her safely out of this
+country, you take her to civilised life, whar she can stay good, away
+from us--thieves. Take her to the Old Country."
+
+"To starve!"
+
+"I'll see to that. I've left enough wealth with Chalkeye to give you a
+start in life. He came down yesterday mawning to see you-all at La
+Morita--you were out."
+
+"Do you suppose," says Jim, getting hot, "that I'd take your money?"
+
+"If you take my child, yo're not above taking my money, Lord
+Balshannon!"
+
+Jim pawed his gun--"I take no stolen money!"
+
+"Yo're speaking too loud," says McCalmont, "come over by the corral."
+
+He walked over to the bars of the corral, Jim following.
+
+"And now," McCalmont's voice went softer than ever, "I may allude to the
+fact that if any cur insults my daughter or me, there is apt to be some
+unpleasantness."
+
+"Don't you think," says Jim, his hand on his gun, "that we had better go
+a little further off--so that Curly won't be disturbed when we fire?"
+
+"Why, boy, air you proposin' to dispense yo' gun at me?"
+
+"As you please! You called me a cur--and you'll eat your words or
+fight!"
+
+"And you only called me a thief? Wall, I shorely am for a fact, and
+you're not a cur--no. I reckon I was some impulsive in saying that.
+Come, we won't quar'l, for I like you a whole lot for yo' playing up
+against me that-a-way. What are yo' plans?"
+
+Jim was breathing hard and acting defiant still. "I want to join your
+gang!"
+
+"Which I accepts you glad, for I ain't refusing shelter to any hunted
+man."
+
+"And I may marry Curly?"
+
+"Not if you join my outfit. None of my wolves are invited to offer theyr
+paws in mar'iage with my Curly. Two or three of them young persons
+proposed theyrselves, and found my gun a whole lot too contagious for
+comfort."
+
+Jim unbuckled his belt, and let it fall with holster and gun to the
+ground.
+
+"I cannot accept the loan of that gun," he said, "or any favour from
+you. I've been hunted, I'm afoot, I'm unarmed, but now, by thunder! look
+out for yourself, because I'm going to hunt. I shall rob you if I can;
+I'm at war with you and every man on the stock range, until I've won
+back my house, my lands, my cattle. Then I'll come for your daughter,
+but I won't ask for her!"
+
+McCalmont leaned his shoulder against the corral, and laughed at him.
+
+"Wade in!" says he; "good luck, my boy. I mustn't ask you to divulge yo'
+plans, but I'm heaps interested."
+
+"My father told me, Captain McCalmont, that all the first Balshannon won
+he got with the sword. Well, times are changed--we use revolvers now!"
+
+"Only for robbery, my lad, and for murder. I thought as you do once, and
+reckoned I'd get even with the world. I started with a lone gun, I sure
+got even, but see the price I paid. My wife was--I cayn't talk of that.
+My lil' son was shot. My daughter is herding with thieves--and she's the
+only thing that I've got left on airth. Come, lad, if I can bear to part
+with her, and give her up to you, cayn't you give up a little of yo'
+fool pride and accept her dowry jest to save the child? Take her away to
+whar she can stay good--I ask no more of you."
+
+"You want me to run away from Ryan, and let him keep Holy Cross? You
+want me to live in Ireland on a woman's money? You want to hire Lord
+Balshannon, with stolen money, to keep your daughter?" Jim spat on the
+ground. "If you want to give Curly to a filthy blackguard, why don't you
+marry her to Ryan?"
+
+"You use strong words, seh."
+
+"And mean them!"
+
+McCalmont lowered his eyes, and pawed in the dust with his foot. Just
+for a moment he stood scratching the dust, then he looked up.
+
+"Onced," he said, very quiet, "I aimed at being a gentleman. I beg yo'
+pardon, seh."
+
+"You are a gentleman," says Jim, "that's just the worst of it--you
+understand things. What on earth makes you want to insult me?"
+
+"It seems to me, Jim, that you might understand, more than you do, that
+I'm aiming to be yo' friend. Yo're at war with this yere Ryan to get
+back Holy Crawss, or a fair equivalent, eh, for what you've lost?"
+
+"Go on, sir."
+
+"I'm at war, too, with the breed of swine he belongs to. Would you be
+satisfied if Ryan paid in cash for yo' home, yo' land, and yo' cattle?
+You being an outlaw now, it wouldn't be healthy to live there to any
+great extent. Will you take cash?"
+
+"Or blood!"
+
+"I have no speshul use fo' blood. I reckon I'd as soon bleed a polecat
+as a Ryan, if I yearned for blood. What d'you reckon you could buy with
+blood--sections of peace, chunks of joy? I'd take mine in cash."
+
+"You'll help, sir?"
+
+"For all young Ryan's worth, and then"--McCalmont laid his hands on
+Jim's shoulders--"you'll take Curly home as yo' wife, eh, partner?"
+
+"If she is willing, sir."
+
+McCalmont's ears went back against his head, he lifted his nose to the
+west, pointing up wind. There was a sound like the thud of raindrops on
+dust, a soft pattering which came nearer and stronger. He loosed off
+the long yell to rouse the three men who were resting by the barn, he
+told Jim to pick up his gun and help, he jumped for the team horses and
+led them to the buckboard.
+
+The pattering had grown up out of the distance to a steady rush of
+sound, the ground had begun to quiver, then to shake, then with a yell
+of warning, Buck and his sentries came thundering in from the desert.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+THE MARSHAL'S POSSE
+
+
+McCalmont backed his team to the buckboard, lifted the waggon tongue to
+the ring of the yoke bar, and jumped to hitch on the traces, just as
+Buck reined all standing to report.
+
+"There's a strong posse," says Buck, "coming out from the Mule
+Pass--maybe sixty riders, and they're shorely burning the trail straight
+for this ranche."
+
+"Were you seen?"
+
+"No, seh!"
+
+"Bowlaigs, Johnny, Steve, yo're mounted, so you'll collect the herd,
+drive north, and keep wide of the trail! Crazy Hoss, hold this team!
+Doc, throw my saddle on that sorrel, and lead north; Buck, make the camp
+search, and follow, closing all signs 'cept the wheel-track! Jim, help
+the herders! Git a move on!"
+
+McCalmont had got through with the harnessing while he slung his orders;
+now he went to work smooth and quiet, pulling on his shaps (leather
+leg-armour) and buckling his spurs while his cool eye searched the
+yard.
+
+"Buck," he called, "let the water drain out of that hoss trough. That
+water wouldn't look natural on an empty ranche."
+
+McCalmont brought Curly in his arms, bedded her down in the rig, drew
+the ground-sheet over to keep off the sun and dust, and passed a lashing
+across.
+
+After that he locked the door of the cabin, and hung the key on its
+nail. It was just that thoughtfulness in little plays which made
+McCalmont loom up great in his business. Two minutes after the first
+alarm he grabbed the reins, jumped to his seat, and drove off slow from
+the yard, aiming to show by the tracks that Cocky Brown's old buckboard
+had not pulled out in a hurry. Buck and Crazy Hoss stayed to brush out a
+few spare tracks, put up the slip rails and follow. For all one could
+see at the little _ranchita_ La Soledad, the owner, Cocky Brown, had
+trailed off for supplies to the city, then a couple of riders had
+happened along shortly after, and read the notice which was left for
+"Dere Bill" on the door.
+
+McCalmont just poured his whip into the team as Buck came up abreast.
+
+"All set?" he asked.
+
+"All set, seh."
+
+"Can we get behind them hills befo' we're seen by the posse?"
+
+Buck looked back to the boys who were sweating the herd astern. "Yes,"
+he shouted, "I reckon. You done right smart, seh, to get Curly out 'n
+that mess."
+
+"You'll be pleased to know, Buck, that my Curly is engaged to be mar'ied
+to this du Chesnay colt."
+
+Buck's face went white, but he just spurred along saying nothing. A fold
+of the ground shut out the ranche behind, a hill barred off the country
+to the left, and, if the posse could see the dust of the flying outfit,
+they might well mistake that for one of the whirlwinds which curve
+around the desert wherever the sun burns strong.
+
+"Buck," says McCalmont, "reach back to the skyline, and see if that
+posse puts out on our trail from the ranche. At dusk I quit this Grave
+City road, and strike due east. If yo're delayed, jest roll yo' trail
+right east for Holy Crawss. In the mawning we round up all the stock we
+can find thar, and pull out for home. You understand?"
+
+"I understand," says Buck, and swung off for the skyline.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The breaking out of evil passions between the cowboys and the Grave City
+citizens opened my eye to the fact that this city was getting a whole
+lot obsolete since the mines began to peter out. Its population of
+twelve thousand assorted criminals had shrunken away to mere survivals
+living to save the expense of funeral pomps. Counting in tramps,
+tourists, and quite a few dogs, expected visitors and the dear departed,
+these ruins claimed a population of one thousand persons, mostly escaped
+from penitentiary. It made me feel lonesome to think of such a tribe
+with its mean ways, distorted intellects, and narrow views about me.
+
+On the other hand, there was Bisley, a sure live mining town in the Mule
+Pass, where the people were youthful, happy, and sympathetic. After that
+melancholy victory of mine at La Morita I came butting along to Bisley,
+where I reckoned I could have a glass of lager beer without being shot
+to any great extent. Besides that, United States Marshal Hawkins lives
+there, who's always been a white man and a good friend to me. I found
+his house away up the gulch, above Bisley City, and he being to home,
+just whirled right in, telling him how sick my heart was, and how my fur
+was all bristles.
+
+He said he was disgusted with me for getting mixed up with local
+politics and robbers.
+
+Naturally I explained how I'd only been acting as second in a duel
+between Balshannon and that Ryan.
+
+He agreed I was modest in the way I put my case, and that I ought to be
+hanged some in the public interest.
+
+"How about the robbers?" says he.
+
+"Is there robbers about?" says I. "Is thar really now?"
+
+He snapped out news of the La Morita raid that very morning, and I own
+up I was shocked all to pieces when he told me what had happened to
+those fragile guards.
+
+"Why, man," says he, "it's all your doing, and I had to wire for the
+dog-gone cavalry."
+
+"Cavalry?" says I. "Pore things; d'you reckon they'll get sore feet?"
+
+"I opine," says the Marshal, "that you'll get a sore neck soon and
+sudden, you double-dealing, cattle-stealing, hoss thief. Whar do you
+think you'll go to when you're lynched?"
+
+So he went on denouncing around until it was time to eat, then asked me
+to dinner. After that Mrs. Hawkins was plenty abusive, too,
+close-herding me until supper, when the Marshal came home. Hawkins,
+thoughtful to keep me out of mischief, made me bed down for the night in
+his barn; and I made no howl because here at Bisley, close to the
+boundary, I would get the first news of Jim and Curly. It made me sick
+to think how helpless I was to find them. In the morning a squadron of
+cavalry arrived by rail, had coffee in town, and trailed off in their
+harmless way to patrol the boundary for fear of somebody stealing
+Mexico. I lay low, but mended a sewing machine which had got the
+fan-tods, according to Mrs. Hawkins. I treated the poor thing for
+inflammation of the squeam until it got so dead I couldn't put it
+together any more. My mind was all set on my lost kids out yonder in
+the desert, but Mrs. Hawkins grieved for the dead machine, and chased me
+out of the house.
+
+Just then came the Marshal swift back from Bisley town on a bicycle.
+
+"Say, Chalkeye," he yelled, "I want you to saddle my mare, and get
+mounted yourself! _Pronto!_"
+
+When I came out with the horses I found him fondling his shot-gun, so I
+buckled on my guns, and inquired for the name of my enemy.
+
+"You know Cocky Brown?" he asked, as we rode down street.
+
+"I know he makes a first-rate stranger," says I.
+
+"His dog-gone son is here in Bisley drunk, and lets out that old Cocky
+is getting rent for La Soledad."
+
+"Who is the locoed tenant--some poor tourist?"
+
+"It's that dog-gone McCalmont and his robbers!"
+
+"And yet, Mr. Hawkins, you laid the blame on me for raiding La Morita!
+It makes me sick!"
+
+"For raiding La Morita? Why, of course--McCalmont's robbers--the same
+gang which shot up the 'Sepulchre' crowd at Grave City. That explains
+everything! Wall, I'm sure sorry, old friend, that I laid the blame on
+you."
+
+"Mr. Hawkins," says I, "hadn't you better tell the pony-soldiers that
+they're barking up the wrong tree?"
+
+"I will, and get their help in surprising that dog-gone McCalmont at La
+Soledad. A good idea."
+
+That was his idea, not mine, and I disown it. Suppose that Jim and Curly
+were hid up there at La Soledad?
+
+"We can get them or'nary hold-ups," says I indignant, "without being
+cluttered with a heap of military infants. Why, your half-fledged,
+moulting cavalry would just get right in our way by tumbling all over
+theirselves."
+
+In the town we found the citizens surging around for encouraging liquors
+before they hit the trail. They were all bristling with pocket-flasks
+and artillery, some on mules, some on sore-back plugs from the livery
+stable. Besides that there were heroes in sulkies, and dog-traps, and
+buckboards, warriors on bicycles, and three on a pioneer motor-car,
+which blew up with a loud explosion in front of the Turkish Divan. Mixed
+in with that milling herd were seven of my La Morita raiders, howling
+for robbers' blood, and gassing about the disgracefulness of molesting
+frontier guards. Then they circled round a tenderfoot on a pinto horse,
+and told him how the robbers fed red-hot coals to a prisoner.
+
+"Wall, I admire!" says the shorthorn.
+
+"Oh, you needn't believe me," says Lying Ike, "ask Chalkeye here. He's
+truthful."
+
+"Stranger," says I, "allow me to introduce you to Mr. Lying Ike. He has
+an impediment in his truth, but otherwise will survive until he's
+lynched. Now, seh, the Marshal over yonder says that he yearns for your
+advice."
+
+That tenderfoot loped off joyful to teach the United States Marshal,
+while I spoke to my cowboys like a father.
+
+"You moth-eaten bookworms," says I, "your stories is prehistoric, and
+your lies is relics. Now you want to encourage them pore toorists,
+'cause we needs them. Toorists graze out slothful on the trail, they're
+noisy to warn their prey, and they flit like bats as soon as a robber
+shoots. Send all the toorists you can to tell good advice to Marshal
+Hawkins quick. As to the real folks who kin ride and shoot, beguile 'em
+to feed, lead 'em up against the fire-water, scatter 'em, delay! This
+Marshal needs our help, you blighted sufferers. Do you want the Marshal
+to get Jim and pore Curly McCalmont, you idiots?"
+
+So we scattered to help the Marshal, sending him earnest talkers while
+his fighting-men went off and lost themselves.
+
+Did I act mean? I wonder sometimes whether I done right for Jim, for
+Curly.
+
+Dog-gone Hawkins was as mad as a wet hen, too hoarse for further
+comments when, after a couple of hours, he rode off alone to hunt
+robbers; so we had to follow to save the old man from being shot. I
+came up abreast as soon as I could, and in a voice all hushed into
+whispers, he just invoked black saints and little red angels to comfort
+me on a grid.
+
+I reckon it was four o'clock when our circus, all hot and dusty after a
+ten-mile ride, charged down upon La Soledad. The place looked so blamed
+peaceful that the Marshal stared pop-eyed.
+
+"Wall, I'll be dog-goned!" says he, and let us riders traffick around
+innocent, trampling out all the ground sign. When he saw Cocky's
+memorandum on the door of the shack he couldn't bear it any longer.
+
+"Chalkeye," says he, "I'll be dog-goned if that ain't--'Gawn with the
+buckboard for grub.' If that ain't enough to scorch a yaller dawg!"
+
+"And yet," says I, "you blamed us for hanging back!"
+
+"Wall," he groaned, "the drinks is on me this time. Let's go home."
+
+But I knew Jim's handwriting, I knew that he and Curly were with the
+buckboard, I knew that the brains of McCalmont himself were behind a
+play like this.
+
+I looked up the Grave City trail, the way to my ranche, the way that the
+buckboard had gone with my kids.
+
+"You may go home, sir," says I, "but I'm off to my home before you
+leads me any more astray, corrupting my pure morals."
+
+Dog-gone Hawkins froze me with his eyes. "Ef your soul," he says, "were
+to stray out on to your dog-goned cheek it would get lost!"
+
+I'm always getting misunderstood like that by people who ought to know
+better. You see, I had to shock old Hawkins, or he would notice at once
+that I aimed to follow the buckboard.
+
+"Cyclists," says I, "dawg-traps, sulkies, buggies, waggons, sore-back
+horses, mules, tenderfoot--look at yo' circus and say if that ain't
+enough to corrupt a long-horn's mortals. Hello, look at that!"
+
+A man was coming down from the north, lickety-split on a roan with a
+rangy stride. He wore sombrero, shirt, shaps with streaming fringes, a
+brace of guns to his belt. He rode with a cowboy swing to his broad
+shoulders, and his face was black with rage as he pulled up facing our
+crowd--guns drawn for war.
+
+"Boys," he shouted, "whar's yo' sheriff?"
+
+I followed Hawkins as he rode up to confront the stranger.
+
+"I'm United States Marshal Hawkins. What's your dog-goned business that
+needs drawn guns?"
+
+"I'm Buck Hennesy, segundo to the Robbers' Roost gang of outlaws, and my
+guns are to shoot if I see you flirt that smoothbore."
+
+"Your business?"
+
+"State's evidence--take it or leave it!"
+
+"And who's your dog-goned evidence against?"
+
+"Against Captain McCalmont, Curly his--his son, and six others, robbers,
+and that polecat Jim du Chesnay, of Holy Crawss."
+
+"Wall, throw down your dog-goned guns, throw up your dog-goned hands,
+and say 'Sir' when you dare to address an honest man. Now you get off'n
+that horse!"
+
+"Dog-goned Hawkins," says the robber, "I ain't no prisoner, I ain't yo'
+meat, I don't propose to hole up in yo' flea-trap calaboose, and I quit
+this hawss when I'm daid. Take my talk for State's evidence, or go
+without!"
+
+"Chalkeye," says the Marshal aside, "is he covered?"
+
+"Say the word, and I drop him."
+
+"All right. Now, Hennesy, at the first break you die. You may talk."
+
+"McCalmont's outfit," says Buck, "is breaking for Holy Crawss. To-morrow
+mawning they round up cattle, and then they drive right home to Robbers'
+Roost."
+
+"You're going to guide us, Mr. dog-goned Robber, or get plugged as full
+of holes as a dog-goned sieve."
+
+"Guide you?" says Buck, and spat at him. "Guide you? I wouldn't be seen
+daid with yo' tin-horn crowd of measly, bedridden toorists. I cayn't
+insult you worse than saying that yo' mother was a sport, yo' father
+hung, and their offspring a skunk. Now all you deck of cowards----"
+
+He let drive with both his guns, but I shot first, and only just in
+time. One bullet grazed my ear, the other killed a horse; but my shot
+had done its work and spoiled his aim. His eyes rolled up white, his
+face went dead, he sat there a corpse in the saddle for maybe a minute,
+until I yelled, and the horse shied, and the body lurched forward,
+crashing to the ground, splashing a cloud of dust which was red with the
+sunset.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+A FLYING HOSPITAL
+
+
+Captain McCalmont, away north on the trail, pulled up at a bend of the
+hill.
+
+"Doc," he called out to the man with the led horse astern, "jest you
+hitch that sorrel of mine to the tail of this rig. That's right, my son;
+now find out if Buck stays at the skyline or goes buttin' straight back
+to the ranche."
+
+"All right, Cap."
+
+When he was gone, Curly rucked up the canvas ground-sheet, climbed out
+of bed, and nestled against her father's side on the seat.
+
+"Havin' a bad time?" he asked, as he drove on.
+
+"Sure."
+
+"You heard what I told to Buck?"
+
+"Buck's gawn back to betray the outfit."
+
+"So I reckon."
+
+Curly got her father's near arm around her, shivering while she looked
+all round at the dusky hills, up to the red of the sunset. Then she
+listened to the thud of Doc's horse as he galloped back to report.
+
+"Cap," says the man, "Buck's gawn straight away to the ranche."
+
+"That's good," McCalmont chuckled; "you see, Doc, I've sent Buck to lead
+that sheriff's posse to Holy Crawss. We've got to work to-night, and
+ain't hungering none for their company. D'you know the Jim Crow Mine?"
+
+"I guess that's the old shaft a mile this side of Grave City?"
+
+"Correct. Now you lope off to the boys we left in camp at Las Aguas.
+Tell Stanley he's second in command now. He's to round up his boys, herd
+'em close, and drive 'em swift to the Jim Crow Mine. Now repeat my
+awdehs."
+
+Doc repeated the orders.
+
+"Now," said the Captain, "ride!"
+
+Doc started off on the dead run, and for a while Curly watched his
+figure flopping away into the blue mists of dusk. The night was falling
+fast.
+
+"Po' Buck," she whispered.
+
+"I'm sorry, too," says McCalmont; "sooner or later he had to be a skunk,
+and behave as such."
+
+"He's daid," says Curly. "I heard him die just now, and he did love me
+so hard."
+
+"The trail is clearing ahead for you, my girl."
+
+"I'm sort of tired," she answered.
+
+"You'll rest to-night."
+
+"Father when you was talking with Jim outside the shack I was awake; I
+heard all what was said, but couldn't understand. Jim wanted suthin'
+fearful bad. What was it he wanted, dad?"
+
+"Wall, now, if that don't beat all! You jest got ears like a lil' fox!
+And didn't I act plumb good and tame with that Jim boy?"
+
+"Which you shorely did. Fancy, you taking all that war-talk, and never
+even shooting his laigs. Yo're getting better'n better every day."
+
+"I was good, that's a fact. You see, I nacherally couldn't lose my
+temper without disturbing you with my gun-talk. Besides, I jest cayn't
+help loving that Jim. You want him, Curly?"
+
+"Sure, I don't know what's coming over me the way I feels at that man.
+It seems as though my heart was pitchin' and buckin' like a mean hawss
+to get at Jim. D'you think it's this wound that tears my heart--is it
+'cause I'm so sick?"
+
+"It's worse nor that, my girl. You've fallen in love."
+
+"Does that mean I got to marry him?"
+
+"That's the only cure."
+
+"But I don't want to be cured. I like it, dad, and when it hurts I like
+it all the more."
+
+"A sure bad symptom that. You'll go with Jim?"
+
+"To the end of the world, and over the edge--I cayn't help that."
+
+"You don't love me any more?"
+
+"Oh, you're allus the same, like the climate--but he's come buttin'
+along like the weather, so that I feel as if I was just whirled up in
+the air."
+
+"I was an idiot to think I could fool old Nature, and make you into a
+man. Wall, it cayn't be helped."
+
+"Daddy, I never was fit to ride with the gang, and I doubt I'll never be
+fit for a woman, either, now. I'm shorely tired, and my haid goes round
+and round."
+
+McCalmont stopped the team and laid Curly down in her nest. He told me
+after that he felt lonesome and scared, with all his nerves a-jumping
+for fear there was something worse than usual wrong. He felt Curly's
+bandages, and his hand got wet; then listened, and heard a drip, drip,
+drip, on the dust, then struck a match and saw the running blood, for
+her wound had opened. He had to light a lantern, no matter what the
+risk, while he stopped that bleeding.
+
+Meanwhile the Marshal had started his circus east toward Holy Cross, and
+he was having troubles most plentiful with all his warriors. He held us
+in the name of the Republic for special service in pursuit of robbers,
+but his tenderfoot outfit was badly in want of supper, and the cowboy
+people got plumb disgusted at having to ride, point, swing, and drive on
+a herd of shorthorns. I'd shown my hand in this game by shooting Buck,
+the same being needful to save the old Marshal's life, and I sure helped
+him all I knew in getting the posse on towards Holy Crawss. At the same
+time my private feelings called me off to quite a different lay-out, and
+I knew, all to myself, that Buck might have been mistaken a whole lot
+in his way of reckoning up McCalmont's plans. So I fell back to give a
+push to some stragglers, then fell back again to see if there was any
+more belated pilgrims behind. The light had faded, the stars were
+beginning to ride herd on the Milky Way, and I felt a sort of dumb
+yearning to find McCalmont. An hour later, scouting swift and cautious
+up the Grave City road, I saw a lantern bobbing high up among the hills.
+That must be a bait, I thought, to lure the Marshal's posse into some
+robbers' deadfall, so I rode slow, and sang my simple range songs to
+show it was only me, one harmless person.
+
+    "Ip-e-la-go, go 'long little doggie,
+    You'll make a beef steer, by-and-by."
+
+That's the rear song for driving a herd. This is nonsense:--
+
+    "Two little niggers upstairs in bed--
+    One turned ober to de oder and said:
+    'How 'bout dat short'nin' bread?
+    How 'bout dat short'nin' bread?'"
+
+A voice called out of the dark, "Throw up yo' hands!"
+
+Up went my paws. "Hello, boys," I shouted, "is this the inquiry office?
+I wants my visitin' cyard sent up to Cap McCalmont."
+
+Somebody laughed, and then I heard Jim's voice. "Why, it's Chalkeye!"
+
+"Well, if he don't want to be shot he'd better turn right back."
+
+"Jest you tell yo' hold-ups, Jim," says I, "that them leaden go-through
+pills don't suit my delicate health." I dropped my hands, and the first
+robber asked Jim if he would answer for me.
+
+Jim said he would.
+
+"Take this man through," said the robber, and Jim led me, mighty
+pleased, to where the lantern shone.
+
+"Captain," says he, "here's old Chalkeye!"
+
+McCalmont jumped down from the buckboard, holding out his lantern.
+"Wall," says he, "I'm glad to see ye, Misteh Davies, I certainly
+am--shake hearty. Whar you from?"
+
+"Is Curly with you?"
+
+"Here's me," came a faint chirp out of the bedding.
+
+"Her wound broke out agin," says McCalmont.
+
+"_Her_ wound?" I howled.
+
+"Wall, that cat is shorely spilled," says McCalmont, and so I knew for
+the first time that my Curly wasn't a boy, but come of a different breed
+of people altogether. I slid from my horse and sat down on a rock to
+unravel my mixed emotions.
+
+"If that's the truth," I says, "I spose I may turn out to be a widow,
+the same being some confusing to the mind."
+
+"Wall, Mrs. Davies," says McCalmont, "I was goin' to propose that you
+act as a sort of chaperon to Curly."
+
+"I rise to inquire," says I, "if that's some new kind of mountain
+sheep." The name was new to me, and I felt suspicious.
+
+"A mountain sheep," says McCalmont, "is a cimarron, but a chaperon's
+defined as a party which rides herd on girls to proteck them in
+society."
+
+"Meaning that this carousing around in a waggon ain't good for wounds?"
+
+"Not when the hawspital has to gallop over rocks."
+
+"Seems to me," says I, "that right apart from bullet holes in a lady,
+he'll need home comforts more'n an or'nary robber."
+
+"Kin you take Curly home, then?"
+
+"I'm getting unpopular," says I. "My home ain't fortified much." I
+rolled a cigarette to think with. "Whereas I got some cousins which is
+ladies, the Misses Jameson. Their home is just the other side of the Jim
+Crow Mine, between that and Grave City, and they has a fancy for stray
+cats, dawgs, and outcasts generally. Seems to me, though, they'd be
+mighty near surprised if I played a wounded robber on them, calling the
+same a female. They ain't broke in to lady outlaws damaged in gun-fights
+yet. They're plumb respectable, and frequents the Episcopal Church. The
+bishop boards thar when he happens around, and they'll take up with any
+litter of passing curates."
+
+"I'm scart," says Curly. "Cayn't you bed me down in yo' barn?"
+
+"You'll go whar yo' told," says McCalmont, "and stay put until yo're
+well enough to fight."
+
+"If you're scared, Curly," says I, "these same ladies is due to have
+fits at the sight of yo' present costume. Now, if I could show them a
+case like you in the Bible they'd think it right natural, and all
+correct."
+
+"Absalom," says Curly, "had long ha'r."
+
+"So does Buffalo Bill, Texas Bob, and other old longhorns, but the same
+ain't lady robbers. Besides, yo' ha'r is short, and you're plumb
+unusual."
+
+"I got a trunk full of female plunder," says McCalmont, "and it's right
+here in the buckboard, in case he needs to dress respectable."
+
+"It's all tawn to rags," said Curly, "from that last b'ar hunt when I
+was treed by a grizzly. And the wig got stuck full of pine gum."
+
+"These details of female dress and depawtment"--McCalmont was getting
+restive--"seems to me to be some frivolous. The question is, Do these
+yere ladies run much to tongue?"
+
+"Wall, no; the fashionable society of Grave City has struck them
+reticent. Miss Blossom says she'd rather mix up with bears, and Miss
+Pansy she allows our crowd lacks tone. No, these ladies don't go
+henning around to cackle."
+
+"That settles it," said McCalmont. "Now you, Jim, you go back and tell
+these boys to join the herders in front, and I'll be with you presently.
+It ain't decent, my boy, for you to behold what's going to happen in the
+way of costume. So you jest tell Curly good-bye, and we'll proceed with
+disguisin' her as a womern."
+
+"When shall I see Curly again?" asks Jim in a fright.
+
+"At such time when he's fit to ride. Now tell yo' good-bye."
+
+So Jim and Curly had a minute together while I helped McCalmont to get
+out the trunk of clothes. Then Jim rode off for the sake of decency, and
+I turned my back. There was arguments between McCalmont and Curly about
+how the female costume should be fixed, the parent wanting one side to
+the front, and the dutiful child insisting otherwise. When I was told to
+look, there was Curly grinning in surroundings of yellow wig, the same
+being bunched up behind like a clump of prickly pear. McCalmont rigged
+himself out in his preacher clothes, cinched up his sorrel horse at the
+tail of the buckboard, and tied his cowboy gear to the strings of the
+saddle. He turned to watch Jim and the robbers file past on their way to
+the front, then gave me his lantern.
+
+"My friend," says he, "when you go to the home of them ladies, drive
+straight acrost the open range to the back door, be thar befo' midnight,
+and if you love yo' life, don't stray out on the waggon road between the
+Jim Crow Mine and Grave City. If you do you'll get killed for sure."
+
+"What shall I do with the buckboard?"
+
+"Lose it somewheres whar it ain't apt to be found. Turn them team
+hawsses loose and let them break for their home, as they shorely will."
+
+"And when Curly is well of this wound?"
+
+"Then Jim will join you, and you'll take them children to some safe
+country, so that they get mar'ied and forget this life. We planned all
+that befo'."
+
+"You trust me still?"
+
+"It looks that way, my friend, and I don't trust by halves."
+
+He gripped my hand, and went loping away into the night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS
+
+
+In those days of our little unpleasantness in Arizona there was another
+discussion proceeding along in South Africa. The Boers had their tail
+up, and the British Army was indulging itself in "regrettable incidents"
+about once a week. Which I allude to here because the word "regrettable
+incident" is good; it's soothing, and it illustrates exactly what
+happened on the night when I delivered Curly, damaged but cheerful,
+among my cousins, the Misses Jameson.
+
+Just to the east of the home inhabited by these ladies occurs the Jim
+Crow Mine, the same being the very place where the robbers once had
+breakfast with old man Ryan, making him pay the bill, as aforesaid,
+which was seventy-five thousand dollars, and annoying.
+
+On this further occasion which I now unfold, there were only four men
+working the Jim Crow claim. It seems they were in the bunk house playing
+poker until eleven p. m., when their foreman uprose with regrets to
+surrender his hat, boots, and pants to an avaricious person holding
+three aces and a pair of jacks. The foreman's warm communications on
+the subject of cheating were then cut off short by a masked robber
+standing in the doorway with guns. This robber proposed that all
+gentlemen present should throw up their hands, and allowed they had a
+fervent invitation to die unless they stepped out pretty soon to the
+head of the Jim Crow shaft. Accordingly the sad procession trailed away
+to the shaft, and one by one the mourners went down in a bucket to a
+total depth of one hundred and four feet. Then the robber hauled up the
+bucket to keep them from straying out, and promised faithful that if he
+heard any noise he would just drop in a few sticks of dynamite. There
+was not much noise.
+
+Meanwhile other earnest young robbers were collecting every citizen who
+passed the mine, and inviting him to join their surprise-party down at
+the foot of the shaft. The citizens all accepted, and when some candles,
+a deck of cards, and a few bottles of nose paint were sent to assist,
+the levée underground began to get quite a success.
+
+Mixed in with these proceedings, and other hold-ups various and swift,
+was the Chinese cook with a robber holding his tail while he fixed
+supper for twenty-five men. Afterwards he likewise was handed down the
+shaft. I should also mention a preacher in a black suit, and a white tie
+up under his ear, projecting around among the store shed for cases of
+dynamite.
+
+At 12:30 a bunch of cowboys numbering eighteen head, with a cavvyard of
+ponies, trailed in off the range. After each man had roped and saddled a
+fresh horse, and fed corn to the same, their reverend pastor put out a
+relief of sentries, and told the crowd to line up in the rampasture for
+supper.
+
+Naturally these people had to get the provisions off their minds before
+there was any talk, but then the preacher reared up to address the
+meeting.
+
+"Brethren----" says he.
+
+"Look a-here," the new segundo, Black Stanley, started in obstreperous,
+backed by a dozen men, all seething. "I represents this outfit in
+starting to buck right now!"
+
+"Turn yo'self loose."
+
+"We-all has come to an understanding that we ain't agoin' to fool around
+here any more. These is mean pastures, and we breaks for home."
+
+"That's what's the matter!" A lot of robbers began to come to a crisis.
+
+"Misteh Stanley, seh," says McCalmont, "you air a judge of rye whisky,
+and a natural bawn leader of men."
+
+The boys began to laugh.
+
+"Now," says McCalmont, "all you boys who yearns to get quit of me, and
+have this judge of rye and natural bawn leader of men to be they'r
+chief, will arise and join his herd. Yo' hawsses are at the door, so
+trail yo' spurs along the floor and go!"
+
+Not a man moved.
+
+"You, Black Stanley, take yo'self and yo' followers, and get absent
+quick from this camp, 'cause the rest of us has business."
+
+Stanley, getting to feel a whole lot lonesome, just dropped his tail,
+and submitted. "Chief," says he, "I take it all back."
+
+"I made you my segundo, Stanley, and you've proved yo'self mighty
+sudden. I reduce you to the ranks. You, Bowlaigs, act as second in
+command. And now to business.
+
+"First, I want to instil into yo' dim and clouded intellecks that when a
+member of the gang is captured he has to be rescued. The captured man
+was my son, and seventeen skunks of you hung fire when I asked for his
+rescue. These seventeen said skunks is fined half theyr shares of
+plunder in the next raiding, the same to be paid to those who do most
+work. Second, the man who rescued my son is Jim du Chesnay here." The
+Captain laid his hand upon Jim's shoulder. "He is my guest, and as he's
+not a member of this or'nary low-flung herd, you don't want to tell him
+awdehs, or oppress him, or stuff his haid with any of yo' dreams. I've a
+mind to muzzle a few pet liars right now. The speshul liars I see
+grinning is the ones I allude to particular.
+
+"Now you-all is a mighty sight wide of bein' perfect thieves; you has
+weaknesses, some for bad liquor, some for small mean thefts, most for
+showin' yo'selves off 'sif you was buck-devils, which you shorely ain't.
+To-night I propose you fast from such-like vanities, and attend strictly
+to business. Moreover, as some of you ain't got no more sense than a
+poached cat, I now explains this warpath, lest you get wandering around
+after the wrong scalp. The objec' of this virtuous night is to steal a
+millionaire which goes by the name of Michael Ryan, and holes up in a
+palace cyar on the railroad sidings. If you get him in reasonable
+preservation, we realise lots of wealth for his ransom; but any blamed
+fool who spoils him with loose ammunition is robbing his partners of
+theyr lawful dues."
+
+And so, having tamed his wolves, McCalmont gave the orders for the
+night.
+
+Right here I bubble over with remarks on the art of being a villain.
+
+Now this Captain McCalmont wasn't a good man exactly, it being his
+humble vocation to steal everything in sight, and shoot any party who
+happened to get in the way. He was a sure enough scoundrel, and yet
+Curly just loved him frantic. Jim trusted him body and soul. I was
+mighty proud of having his friendship. All his wolves were tame as
+little children when he led them; every cowboy on the range would have
+shared his last drop of water with old McCalmont, and even the victims
+he robbed would speak of him mostly as a perfect gentleman. When he
+laid a trap that same deadfall looked a whole lot attractive and
+comforting. "'Scuse me," says McCalmont, springing the steel jaws on his
+victim. I hope yo're not feeling hurt?"
+
+Now if McCalmont had looked like one of them villains I see at the
+theatre, scowling, threatening, lurid, mean-eyed scareheads, he wouldn't
+have seen the victim's tail for dust. No, he wasn't like a villain, he
+was like a man--a white man at that--and when he gave a show it was
+worth any man's money to see. Just watch his play.
+
+Grave City was a plenty big city to attack; it could turn out three
+hundred riders, anyway, and that mighty sudden, too, in case of robbers.
+McCalmont had to attack with twenty-four outlaws, and get them away
+without any holes through their hides.
+
+Along towards one in the morning the stable-man at Ryan's livery met
+with an accident, being clubbed. Then a couple of men walked round the
+stalls, loosed all the horses, and drove the whole outfit away through
+the back gate. The same proceedings occurred at the Spur livery, and in
+all the large stables, until two hundred head of good stock were
+gathered and run off to the northward.
+
+In Main Street, hitched to the snubbing posts, stood a score of saddled
+horses, a waiting patient to take their drunkards home. These poor
+creatures were cared for tender by a young man who went along casual,
+feeding them each a bunch of dry herbs, the same being _loco_ weed, and
+a heaps powerful medicine. Now we turn to the railroad station, where
+the main game was being played.
+
+At one a. m. the night operator in the depôt remembered all of a sudden
+that the lady clerk, Miss Brumble, at Contention, had wired him to send
+on a parcel of stockings by Number 4. The night freight train was
+pulling out at the time, so he ran across the platform and pitched the
+parcel into the caboose as the cars went rolling past him. "Miss
+Brumble's socks!" says he.
+
+"All correct!" says the conductor; and the train went rumbling off into
+the desert. Then the night operator--which his name was Bowles--turned
+round to point back for his office, and suddenly trod on a preacher.
+
+"Pardon me," says the reverend stranger.
+
+"Oh, don't mention it," says the clerk, some sarcastic.
+
+"'Scuse me, seh, may I venture to--"
+
+"Well, what's the matter with you?"
+
+"My poor lost brother, I am wishful to be infawmed if Misteh Michael
+Ryan----"
+
+"He's in his car. I'm busy."
+
+"Oh, but my deah young friend, these profane cowboys are using such
+feahful language, because Misteh Ryan refuses to see them, being gawn to
+bed----"
+
+The operator turned on his heel, and turned off growling.
+
+"You see," the preacher wailed after him, "they've got a robber."
+
+The operator began to nibble the bait.
+
+"Robber!" He swung round sudden. "What robber?"
+
+"The erring young person is called James du Chesnay."
+
+"They've got him? Great snakes!"
+
+"Yes, in bondage. They want to be rewarded with earthly dross, instead
+of seeking for the blessings and comfort which alone----"
+
+"And Ryan won't come out?"
+
+"I think, seh, that Misteh Ryan is timid, bekase of the shocking
+profanity of these misguided men, breaking his windows, too. Let me
+admonish you, my brother, to eschew the company of all----"
+
+"I'll fix him," says the operator, and charged along down the platform
+with the preacher suffering after him.
+
+That night operator, Mr. Mose Bowles, surging along the platform to
+Ryan's car, would have bet his last dollar that the facts were true. He
+saw three sure-enough cowboys sitting their horses easy in front of the
+private car, and the preacher was plumb correct about the way they
+talked. Bowles saw the prisoner, bound hand and foot, on a led horse,
+and that was Jim beyond all doubt, looking plenty discouraged. Bowles
+knew that Ryan had offered rewards most bounteous for Jim's body; he
+hungered for a portion of the plunder, and when he swung himself up the
+platform on the end of the car his batterings on the door was full of
+enthusiasm.
+
+"I feah," says the preacher, "that yo're spoiling the paint. Take
+thought, my friend, how expensive is paint like that!"
+
+The cowboys were backing their horses away beyond range of the car
+lamps, out of sight.
+
+"Mr. Ryan!" Bowles shouted, "urgent telegrams! Come out!"
+
+A nigger porter slid open an inch of the door. "You go way," says he;
+"Mass' Ryan he plumb distrackful. Go 'way."
+
+"Let me in, you fool!"
+
+Bowles wrenched the door wide open, and jumped into the car; then there
+were mutterings and voices, the lighting up of the far end of the
+Pullman; and after a while came a fat young man bustling out on the
+platform. He wore a fur coat, bare legs, and slippers, cussing around
+most peevish.
+
+"'Scuse me," says the preacher, "I am an unworthy minister, a 'Ticular
+Baptist, and I could not heah the feahful profanity of these rude men
+without shedding tears. May I esco't you, seh, to see this prisoner?"
+
+Bowles and the negro stood on the car platform watching, while the
+preacher led Ryan off into starlight.
+
+"My heart quakes at the feah that these cowboys have gawn away. Please
+step this way--and 'ware stumbling on these sidings--this way, Misteh
+Ryan--this way----"
+
+The voice died away, and Bowles was putting out to follow, when all of a
+sudden he and the negro were seized from behind, gagged, roped, and
+generally detained. Off among the sidings Mr. Ryan had a gag in his
+mouth, a rope round his elbows; then felt himself caught up into the
+starlight and thrown on a horse while his feet were hobbled under the
+animal's belly. In the station a robber was playing tunes with an axe on
+the keys of the telegraph, and the wires were being lopped with a pair
+of shears. Speaking generally, a whole lot of silence was being
+procured, and from a robber point of view things worked harmonious until
+the first bunch of riders went thundering away into the desert.
+
+As it happened, the City Marshal and his deputy, Shorty Broach, straying
+into these premises to send off a telegram, found the operator and the
+negro lying gagged and bound on the platform; so when they heard the
+robbers loping off they sized up the whole situation. They were just too
+late to get robbers, but plenty swift in turning out the town.
+
+This news of a fresh outrage hit old Grave City sudden, surprising,
+right in the middle of sleep time, and the whole town swarmed out
+instant like a hornets' nest for war. Some of the people were full of
+sleep, others were full of whisky; some had their war-paint, some had a
+blanket; but all of them felt they were spat on, all of them howled for
+vengeance. For a whole week the town tribe and the range tribe had been
+at war, and here was some idiot making a howl about robbers! This was
+certainly another case of cowboys in town, and the verdict was
+sudden--to lynch the cowboy leader, Mr. Chalkeye Davies.
+
+It being some expedient first to catch this Chalkeye, these warriors
+began to make haste and get mounted for pursuit. But from the first
+things seemed to go wrong, for one after another the horses which had
+been standing in the street went jumping roaring crazy, pulling back
+till their reins broke, bucking off their saddles, whirling around the
+town, and stampeding away to the desert. The people saw that _loco_ weed
+had been prevailing over the plain sense of these animals; then they
+found the stables an aching solitude, and the telegraph wrecked to
+prevent them calling for help, and everything done thoughtful and
+considerate by felonious parties unknown who had stolen the only
+millionaire in Arizona. Soon they remembered there had been a whole lot
+of unpleasantness between Mr. Ryan and Chalkeye. Thus the more they
+considered, the more their noses went sideways of the truth, smelling
+the poisonous iniquities of this Chalkeye outlaw.
+
+The town was left afoot, and yet from private stables horses were raked
+up, enough to mount a posse of thirty men. By this time it was too late
+to chase, but the Marshal reckoned that, with a shine of bicycle lamps,
+he could track until daylight, and keep on the robbers' trail until he
+got more help. He never ruminated on the thoughtful, prophetic way in
+which these motions were foreseen. Just abreast of the Jim Crow Mine the
+leading horse of that posse blew up with a loud bang, and Shorty Broach
+was projected into a prickly-pear bush. That is how he got his new
+pseudonym, which is Pincushion Shorty to the present day. On the whole
+that posse concluded to go home rather than face a pavement of live
+dynamite.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+A HOUSE OF REFUGE
+
+
+Looking back upon the whole discussion between the du Chesnay and Ryan
+families, I see myself sitting around meek and patient, shy, timid,
+cautious, and fearfully good, and yet I got all the blame. Of course, I
+ought to have shot old man Ryan, just as an early precaution, so it's
+best to own up that I was all in the wrong for dallying. But after that,
+there was the massacre of the leading Grave City felons; I got the
+blame. Next came the hunting and escape of Curly and Jim; I got the
+blame. Furthermore, there was the flight of Curly and Jim from La Morita
+prison, followed by business transactions with the Frontier Guards; I
+got the blame. And, moreover, there was the sliding out of Curly, Jim,
+and the robbers from Cocky Brown's ranche at La Soledad, with certain
+vain pursuits by a posse of citizens; I got the blame. Lastly, there was
+the stealing of all the horses and a millionaire out of Grave City; I
+got the blame. Whatever happened, I always got the blame. It's plumb
+ridiculous.
+
+Now, taking this last case, what ground is there for supposing that I
+helped McCalmont's robbers? My movements all that night were innocent
+and unobtrusive travels. When Dog-gone Hawkins went off with his
+tenderfoot posse to hunt ghosts, I naturally slid out for home. So I met
+up with McCalmont, took charge of Cocky Brown's old buckboard, and
+delivered Curly at the back door of my cousins, the Misses Jameson.
+These ladies had to hear a whole lot which was pretty near true about
+poor Curly, and that consumed some time. Afterwards they got scared all
+to fits by rushes of horsemen, dynamite explosions, and such diverting
+incidents, ending with the arrival of Shorty Broach to have his prickles
+pulled. Through this disturbance I hid up with Curly in a cellar, and
+when there was peace drove off alone, with my saddled horse tied behind
+the buckboard. After an hour's search, I found the old Coeur d'Alene
+Mine shaft, and tipped the buckboard in, turning the team horses loose
+to graze their way back to La Soledad. My duties being all performed, I
+rode back just before dawn to my own home pasture at Las Salinas. There
+is the whole annals of a virtuous night, and yet these Grave City idiots
+defamed my character, which it makes me sick.
+
+There's a habit which I caught from the old patrone at Holy Cross, the
+same being to have a cold bath. Our Arizona water is mostly too rich for
+bathing, being made of mud, cow-dung, alkali, and snakes; but at Las
+Salinas I owned a little spring, quite good for washing and such
+emergencies. After my bath I felt skittish, a whole lot younger than
+usual, full of aching memories about getting no supper last night, and
+pleased all to pieces to hear the breakfast-howl. These symptoms being
+observed, Custer proposed at once that I pay up the overdue wages, and
+Ute backed his play, grinning ugly. As for Monte, he was chipped in the
+face with a recent bullet, and squatted heaps thoughtful over his pork
+and beans.
+
+"So you-all wants yo' pay?"
+
+They agreed that they did, and Custer passed me the biggest cup for my
+coffee.
+
+"All right, you tigers," says I, "after this grub-pile we'll cyclone
+into town and catch what I've got in the bank."
+
+"I ain't no tiger this time," says Ute. "Why, yesterday I just rode up
+street to collect my washing, and the weather was a lot too prevalent."
+
+"Rain?" says I. "You shorely didn't have rain!"
+
+"Wall, it splashed up the dust all around me, it did that," says Ute,
+"but I sorter mistook it for bullets."
+
+Then those boys allowed that we was getting some unpopular in town, but
+they had a gnawing awful pain in their pants pockets, and nothing would
+cure that but wages. They were sure good boys, and it made me ache
+inside to see them want.
+
+"You boys," says I, "spose you collect these here wages yo'selves and
+make yo're own settlement?"
+
+"As how?" this Ute inquires, his homely face twisting around into
+strange new species of grins.
+
+"Why, you-all knows every hawss I got, and has yo' notions of value.
+Jest you whirl right in, boys, and take what's coming to you in hawsses
+instead of cash. Pay yo'selves liberal, and I'll sign the bills."
+
+"Shame!" says Monte. "D'ye think we'd take yo' pets?"
+
+In the end we agreed to go into partnership, the which we did, for those
+boys were as good as brothers from the moment I got into trouble. Monte
+is my partner still.
+
+Now, in course of these details, while we sat smoking cigarettes around
+the door of the cabin, we saw a sort of dust-cloud come rolling along
+out of the city.
+
+"Which reminds me," says Ute, "that the Grave City stranglers was
+proposing yesterday to come and hold a social gathering here. Mr.
+Davies, they's aiming to hang you some."
+
+We rolled the rain-barrels into the house, we toted bales of hay for
+barricades, and led our saddle-horses into cover; then put in the rest
+of our time filling the water-butts. In all we had forty minutes to
+prepare for our guests, but wanted a whole lot more.
+
+"You, Chalkeye," says young Monte in his thoughtful way, "you can talk
+the hind leg off a mule. Spose you make big war medicine to these here
+strangers until we're ready."
+
+Custer had got joyful, as he always did when there was trouble coming,
+making little yelps of bliss.
+
+"Don't talk them off the range," says he, "or we'll get no fight."
+
+Ute, he lay low, saying nothing, but he sure grinned volumes while he
+whirled in with his axe, cutting twelve loopholes through the 'dobe
+walls. I told Custer to break a hole in the roof and get up there quick,
+because the parapet had rain-spouts most convenient for shooting. Monte
+was laying out the ammunition, I was spreading wet blankets over the hay
+barricade in the front doorway, and then the Vigilance Committee came
+slanting down for battle.
+
+Seeing that Grave City was shy of horseflesh that morning, these people
+had done their best with thirty head, using them to haul waggons and
+buckboards full of men. Only the chairman was in the saddle, he being
+old Mutiny Robertson, who wanted to buy my ranche and not to burn it. I
+ought to mention that this gentleman was a Cherokee Indian by birth, a
+white man by nature, and some time a robber himself. He knew what sort
+of lightning had struck Grave City during the night, but his feelings
+did him credit and kept his mouth shut. As chief of the Vigilantes he
+had to go against all his natural instincts, but still he acted hostile
+and looked dangerous, leading his men until he came up against my door.
+
+"You, Chalkeye!" he shouted.
+
+I put up my head behind the barricade in the doorway.
+
+"Wall," says I, "this compliment, gentlemen, throws my tail high with
+pride. Put yo' hawsses in the barn while I fix the breakfast."
+
+"These barricades," says Mutiny, "is intended hawspitable--eh,
+Chalkeye?"
+
+"Which," says I, "they're raised in celebration of my thirty-third
+birthday as a token of innocent joy."
+
+"Seems to me," he responds, "that this yere day is apt to be remembered
+hereaways as the anniversary of yo' quitting out of from this mortal
+life."
+
+"These predictions of yours," says I "is rude."
+
+"You're due to die some, right now"--he poked his gun. "Come out!"
+
+"I remarks," says I, "on general principles that you all has come to
+mourn at the wrong funeral. My obsequies is postponed indefinite."
+
+"Now, Chalkeye," says he, "it's no use arguing, so you want to come out
+like a man. We're full prepared to give you a decent turn-off, and a
+handsome funeral."
+
+"I'm sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I has other engagements,
+and this is my busy day."
+
+I listened to my boys getting ready. "Keep them amused," says Monte;
+"we need three more loopholes."
+
+"If you don't come out," says Mutiny, "there's going to be trouble,
+'cause we're gettin' tired."
+
+"Wall, Mutiny, I'd shorely admire to know some trifling details first,
+'cause you've aroused my interest in this yere celebration. Why for is
+my neck so much in need of stretching?"
+
+"This yere is frivolous argument," says he; "we-all is here to hang you,
+not to waste time in debates."
+
+"You has my sympathy," says I, "and I shares yo' poignant feelings about
+not wasting time. What's the use of a necktie social without an
+appropriate victim? Now thar's young Mose Bowles beside you--which I
+don't like the look of his neck, the same being much too short for a
+stand-off collar. What's the matter with hanging Moses Bowles?"
+
+"Come out," says Mose, "or we'll burn your den, you horse-thief!"
+
+"Bein' possessed of genius, Moses, you'll now proceed to set my 'dobe
+home in flames. The glare of yo' fierce eye is enough to burn brick
+walls."
+
+A bullet whizzed past my ear, and I got mad.
+
+"Ready!" yelled Monte. "Give the word, and we fire."
+
+"And now," says I, "you innocent pilgrims, you've given me heaps of time
+to get my twelve men ready. You've got three men in yo' posse who could
+hit a house from inside, the rest being as gun-shy as a school of girls.
+I've got a bullet-proof fort with the twelve best shots in Arizona, and
+if you don't get absent quick I'll splash yo' blood as high as the
+clouds. I give you two minutes to get out of range."
+
+The weaker men began to rabbit, the best of them saw a whole row of
+loopholes with projecting guns, the leaders were holding a council of
+war.
+
+"One minute!" says I, then turned to shout to my garrison. "Men on the
+roof, pick out the leaders to kill when I give the word! Men on the
+right, shoot all hawsses you can, or them reptiles is due to escape! Men
+on the left, attend to Mutiny! Ninety seconds! Ninety-five seconds!"
+
+Half the Grave City crowd was stampeding for the waggons, the rest were
+scared of getting left afoot.
+
+"One hundred seconds!" Mutiny's counsellors were breaking for cover.
+"One hundred'n five! ten--ten more seconds----" Mutiny turned and
+bolted. "One--two--three--when I give the word--ready--Fire!"
+
+We sprinkled the tails of the Stranglers until there was nothing to see
+but smoke and dust. Nobody stayed to get hurt.
+
+My cousins the two Misses Jameson admit right free and candid that my
+past life is plumb deplorable, that my present example would corrupt
+the morals of a penitentiary, and that my future state is due to be
+disagreeable in a place too hot to be mentioned. They remark that my
+face is homely enough to scare cats, that my manners and customs are
+horrid, that my remarks are a whole lot inaccurate, and that most of my
+property is stolen goods. At the same time, they say that I'm nice, and
+there I agree with them. My face may not amount to being pretty, my
+virtues haven't reached the level of bigotry, but I feel in my bones
+that I'm a sure nice man. Being nice, I aim to be liked, I hunger for
+popularity, and that is just where I blame the Grave City Stranglers.
+I've been misunderstood, I've not been appreciated, but why should I be
+taken out and lynched? It's plumb ridiculous!
+
+Now I don't claim that I had any mission to reform the morals of the
+Vigilance Committee--which they have none--or to correct their views,
+the same being a whole lot steeped in error; neither would it be right
+for me to encourage them in the evil work of stretching my neck on a
+rope, or to lead them into the temptation of shooting me any more. When
+one gets disliked and discouraged by the hostile acts of mean people,
+one needs to have presence of mind and plenty absence of body. Wherefore
+I did right in rounding up all my livestock, and quitting a locality
+where my peace of mind was disturbed with ropes, gunfire, and other evil
+communications. I took my riders and my herd away north, to where we
+could graze peaceful and virtuous amid the untroubled solitudes of the
+Superstitious Mountains.
+
+There was work to do, a drive of a hundred and seventy miles with
+slow-moving stock, then scouting for water and feed on the new pasture,
+a permanent camp to make, and much besides which filled up four good
+weeks. Afterwards I tracked a mountain sheep up to the bare heights,
+where all the rock was glazed with lightning, and the desert lay below
+me. I sat on my tail to think, feeling lonesome then, looking east
+toward Texas and wondering if my poor old mother was still alive.
+Westward the sun was setting, and that way lay the great Pacific Ocean,
+bigger than all the plains, where the ships rode herd upon their drove
+of whales--I wanted to see that too. But then I looked south-east, the
+way I had come, through valleys of scrub and cactus; there, somewheres
+beyond the hills, was my little ranch, and all the good pasture away to
+Holy Cross. My heart was crying inside me, but I didn't know what I
+wanted until I thought of Curly. Sure enough I wanted her most of all.
+
+Next morning I told all my boys good-bye, and streaked off to go see
+Curly. I rode till dusk and camped with Texas Bob, a friend of mine who
+told me I was sure enough idiot for getting outlawed. Next evening I
+came to the house where my cousins lived, and crept in the dusk to
+scratch at their back door.
+
+I found Miss Blossom Jameson all in a bustle as usual, which looked
+mighty natural. She was in the backyard feeding supper to her horse, and
+that poor victim leaned up against the fence to groan. There were
+cornstalks in it, cabbage-leaves, lettuce-leaves, tea-leaves, and some
+relics of ham and eggs.
+
+"Now jest you sail right in, Mr. Hawss, and don't act wasteful, or
+you'll go without!"
+
+Mr. Horse took a snuff at the mess, then backed away disgusted.
+
+"Well, if that don't beat all! Now, you Hawss, you don't want to eat the
+flower-beds, or you'll get murdered!"
+
+Mr. Horse turned his back and sulked.
+
+"There! That's what I call a mean spirit, and I'm goin' to lock you up,
+you and your supper, till one of the two gets eaten--I don't care
+which!" So the lady chased Mr. Horse into the barn, and threw the
+pig-feed in after him. "I'll larn you to know what's good," says she,
+and slammed the door on his tail.
+
+"Well!"--she stood with her back to the door, and threw up her nose at
+the sight of me--"I du wonder," says she, "that you dare to show yo'
+wicked face!"
+
+I allowed that my good face was getting a bit mended since our last
+encounter. "How's my kid?" says I.
+
+"Yo' savage, you mean. Now don't you say you've brought pet tigers this
+time, or tame dragons, 'cause I'll have no more strays at all."
+
+"I've got a roan hawss here who's run a hundred miles since daybreak."
+
+"Bring him in, then."
+
+"He says he's a vegetarian, and cayn't eat ham and eggs."
+
+"I don't care," says Miss Blossom; "we killed our pig to-day, and the
+slops has just got to be eaten. Waste is ruin."
+
+"My hawss says he'll eat the slops, ma'am, if he can have a drink of
+whisky along with supper."
+
+"Huh! so you want your vile debaucheries in spite of all I've told you
+against drink. Well, I 'spose you'll have it."
+
+She ran off to fetch the liquor, which gave me time to bury her salad in
+the manure heap, and get a decent feed of cornstalks down from the loft.
+Then I used the whisky to rub down my weary horse, the same being
+medicine both for man and beast. I had some myself, while Miss Blossom
+stood by, talking of wicked waste, and how Curly had been neglected.
+
+"Why, she's mo' like a man than a girl!"
+
+"'Spose, ma'am," says I, "that you'd been working in a stable and got
+shot, then run into gaol, and pulled out through a hole in the wall, and
+doctored by a robber, and chased around the hills----"
+
+"My habits are set," says Miss Blossom, "so I cayn't suppose any such
+thing. But that wig of Curly's, that skirt, those--now did yo' robber
+baron steal those things off a scarecrow, or did they grow by
+themselves?"
+
+Then she grabbed my hands. "Thar," says she, "that's off my mind, so
+don't look worried. The dear little soul, she's the bravest, sweetest
+thing--and the way she bore all that pain! Why, you or any other man
+would have set around cursing all day and groaning all night, but
+Curly--why, she never even whimpered. Now I ask you, is it possible she
+shot those two men? I cayn't believe a word, so it's no use your
+talking."
+
+"Was Miss Pansy very much scart with Curly's talk?"
+
+"Miss Pansy, my good man, is a fool, although I say it. Of all the
+romantic nonsense and sentimental--but thar, she writes poetry, my dear,
+and that accounts for her. Why, if I hadn't locked her up in her room,
+that woman would have sent off a poem, all about lady outlaws, to the
+New York _Sunday Companion_. I burned the stuff, and she had to go off
+in hysterics. Shucks! She puts Curly off to sleep every night with her
+fool poems--and such trash! Now there she is, with her glue-glue harp
+singing to Curly. If she don't beat cats! You listen."
+
+Away off in the house I could hear Miss Pansy's thin little voice and
+glue-glue harp; I thought it sounded fine.
+
+    "Lost, stole, or strayed on Tuesday night,
+      The finder tries to hide it--
+    A woman's heart--he has no right,
+      For there's a Love inside it.
+
+    "The owner fears 'twas snatched away,
+      But this is a reminder,
+    That she is quite prepared to pay
+      One half, with thanks, to finder."
+
+Miss Blossom led me to the house. "You come right into the
+settin'-room," says she, "and keep yo' tearing spurs off my new carpet."
+
+I did my best about the spurs, but it would take an Indian scout to find
+a safe trail across that parlour floor, the same being cluttered up with
+little fool tables. These same tables were of different breeds,
+three-legged, two-legged, one-legged, tumble-over, all-to-pieces,
+trip-you-up, and smash-the-crockery, so it was a sure treat to watch
+Miss Pansy curving around without the slightest accident. Her paws were
+folded in front, her tail came swishing behind, her head came pecking
+along hen-fashion, and her smile was sweet enough to give me toothache.
+
+"Oh," she bubbled, "I'm so glad you didn't get lynched by those horrid
+men who never wash themselves, or think of serious things; and it's so
+nice to see you looking so brown with that beautiful cherry silk
+kerchief round yo' neck, and the wonderful leather leggings, and that
+dreadful revolver, so picturesque, so----"
+
+"You're making a fool of yo'self," says Miss Blossom, "and the man wants
+feeding. Picturesque! Bosh! Shoo!" She chased Miss Pansy out of the
+room.
+
+As to Curly, she lay on the sofa kicking high with joy. "Chalkeye," she
+howled, "you ole hoss-thief, keep yo' tearin' spurs off my new cyarpet.
+You picturesque, beautiful, leather-faced, cock-eyed robber! 'Ware
+tables, or they'll bite yo' laigs! Oh, gimme yo' paw to shake, and throw
+me a cigarette. Look out--that chair's goin' to buck!"
+
+I sat on the edge of the chair, and grabbed her hand while she called me
+all sorts of pet names. Then it seems that Miss Pansy broke loose from
+Miss Blossom, and came surging back, for she heard the pet names, and
+shrieked--
+
+"Oh! oh! Stop! What frightful language! Oh, please, if you're a
+lady--remember! Oh, Misteh Davies, you mustn't let her smoke!"
+
+"Curly," says I, "you're shot, and you got to be good in a small voice,
+or----"
+
+"Good," says Curly; "I'm a wolf. I come from Bitter Creek. The higher
+up, the worse the waters, and I'm from the source, and it's my night to
+how-w-l. Yow-ow-ow!"
+
+"Well," Miss Pansy shrieked, "I call it disgraceful, so there!"
+
+"I don't care," says Curly. "I won't be good in a small voice, and I'll
+call this dear ole hoss-thief all the names I please. Why, Chalkeye and
+me punched cows at Holy Cross! Say, Chalkeye, d'you remember when I
+stuck burrs in under yo' saddle, and you got pitched to glory? Why,
+that's the very old hat I shot full of holes, and oh, I do enjoy to see
+you so much, you dear ole villain!"
+
+Then Miss Blossom dragged Miss Pansy away to cook supper, and Curly
+settled down with her little paw in my fist.
+
+"My habits," says she, "is a sure scandal, and I ain't got no more
+manners nor a bear. My language ain't becoming to a young gentlewoman,
+and my eating would disgrace a pinto hawss. They cayn't refawm me a lil'
+bit, and when I tries to set up on my tail, and look pretty, they tell
+me rebukes for crossin' my laigs like a cowboy. Oh, take me away, ole
+Chalkeye, take me away to the range and the camps, to feel the
+night-frosts agin, to sleep with the stars, to see the sun come up, to
+ride in the heat. This roof sets down on me at night. I cayn't see for
+walls; I cayn't get air to breathe. These ladies has roped me, and
+thrown me, tied down for branding, ears in the dust. Oh, take me away
+from this!"
+
+"When that bandage is off yo' arm I'll take you, Curly."
+
+"Not till then?"
+
+She had scarcely strength yet to travel, and yet if she fretted like
+this at being shut up in a house, would she ever get well at all?
+
+When I reflect what Curly looked like then it makes me wonder what sort
+of raging lunatic I had been to leave her in that house. By way of
+disguise she had a wig all sideways, and female clothes which she'd
+never learned to wear. They made her look like a man. Her skin had the
+desert tan; she moved and talked like a cowboy. But most of all, her
+eyes gave her dead away--the steel-blue eyes of a scout, more used to
+gun-fights than to needlework, which bored right through me. Only a
+frontiersman has eyes like that; only the outlaw has the haunted look
+which comes with slaying of men, and Curly was branded that way beyond
+mistake.
+
+This poor child was wanted as McCalmont's son, hunted like a wild beast,
+with a price on her head for murder and for robbery under arms. And yet
+she was a woman!
+
+"Say, Curly," I asked, "what has these ladies done to account for yo'
+being here in theyr home?"
+
+She reached to a table, and gave me cuttings from the _Weekly Obituary_.
+I fell to reading these:--
+
+The burial of Buck Hennesy at La Soledad.
+
+Dog-gone Hawkins' report of not finding robbers.
+
+The rescue of McCalmont's prisoners out of the Jim Crow shaft, and the
+story of the posse which tracked the robbers north until the signs
+scattered out all over the country and every trace was lost.
+
+The attempt of the Stranglers to lynch a horse-thief at Las Salinas, the
+same being me.
+
+Then came a paragraph about a young lady staying at the home of the
+Misses Jameson.
+
+     "We are informed that Miss Hilda Jameson, of Norfolk, Va., arrived
+     last week on a visit to her aunts, the Misses Jameson. We regret to
+     hear that on her journey westward this young lady met with an
+     unfortunate accident, being severely bruised on the arm by the fall
+     of a valise out of an upper bunk in the sleeping-car. This bruise
+     has developed a formidable abscess, which the Misses Jameson are
+     treating by the peculiar methods of Christian Science, of which
+     craze they are well-known exponents. For our part we would suggest
+     the calling in of a doctor; but as these ladies are way-up experts
+     at nursing, we trust that their efforts will be successful, and
+     that in a few days more we shall see the young lady around,
+     enjoying all the pleasures of Grave City society. In the meantime
+     Miss Blossom Jameson wishes us to say that the patient needs
+     absolute quiet, and friends are requested not to call at the house
+     until further notice."
+
+"As to the pleasures of Grave City sassiety," says Curly, "I'm plumb fed
+up already. 'Spose they dream that I'll go back to shoveling manure in
+that stable?"
+
+I asked her if there had been any visitors at the house.
+
+"They came every day to inquire, and Miss Blossom insulted them regular
+in the front yard. Now they've quit."
+
+"But nobody saw these ladies meeting a guest at the train."
+
+"No, but you should hear Miss Blossom telling lies out thar in the yard!
+She's surely an artist."
+
+"Curly," says I, "pull that wig straight, and hide up that scar on yo'
+brow. Cayn't you even pretend to act like a lady?"
+
+"Like a woman, you mean."
+
+"You're not safe--you'll be seen by some gossip through the window.
+You'd ought to hole up in the bedroom."
+
+"And choke? I'd as lief get choked with a rope."
+
+"Think of the risk!"
+
+"I reckon a little excitement keeps me from feelin' dull. Now don't you
+look so solemn--with yo' eye like a poached aig, or I'll throw my wig at
+you-all. Say, Chalkeye, d'you cal'late the Lawd made them two old ladies
+vicious?"
+
+"Why for?"
+
+"Looks to me 'sif they was bawn broke in, and raised gentle, with lil'
+lace caps on they'r haids, and mittens on they'r pasterns. I been
+thinking fearful hard, tryin' to just imagine Miss Pansy bad; spose she
+was to kick, or strike, or rair up, or buck, or pitch, or sunfish around
+to kill! And Miss Blossom, she only makes-believe to be dangerous to
+hide up her soft ole heart. Are real ladies all like that?"
+
+"Well, usual they don't bite."
+
+"I was raised wild"--Curly lay back tired--"my tribe are the young
+wolves, and I reckon when the Lawd was serving out goodness, He was sort
+of 'shamed lest we'd claim our share. He must be plumb busy, too, with
+His own people telling Him they'r prayers. Why, these two ladies
+requires whole heaps of attention. I allow theyr souls must have got out
+of order a lot, 'cause they has to put in enough supplications to save a
+whole cow camp entire. They're so plumb talkative that a-way that I
+cayn't get a prayer in edgeways."
+
+She was getting tired and sleepy, so I sat quiet, watching. Then
+somebody came outside, hammering the front door, and I pulled my gun to
+be ready in case of trouble.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+THE SAVING OF CURLY
+
+
+Miss Blossom was at the front door having great arguments with a man.
+
+"If you got baby carriages to sell," says she, "I claim to be a
+spinster, and if it's lightning-rods, I don't hold with obstructing
+Providence. If it's insurance, or books, or pianolas, or dress patterns,
+or mowing machines, you'd better just go home. I'm proof against agents
+of all sorts, I'm not at home to visitors, and I don't feed tramps. Thar
+now, you just clear out."
+
+"'Scuse me, ma'am, I----"
+
+"No, you mayn't."
+
+"Allow me to introduce----"
+
+"No you don't. You come to the wrong house for that."
+
+"Wall, I'm blessed if----"
+
+"Yo're much more apt to get bit by my dawg, 'cause yo' breath smells of
+liquor, and I'm engaged."
+
+"Glad to hear it, ma'am. I congratulate the happy gentleman you've
+chosen."
+
+"Well, of all the impudence!"
+
+"That's what my wife says--impudence. Will the dawg bite if I inquire
+for Misteh Curly McCalmont?"
+
+My blood went to ice, and I reckon Miss Blossom collapsed a whole lot to
+judge by the bang where she lit.
+
+"Wall, since yo're so kind, ma'am, I'll just step in."
+
+I heard him step in.
+
+"This way!" the lady was gasping for breath.
+
+"The dining-room? Wall, now, this is shorely the purtiest room, and I do
+just admire to see sech flowers!"
+
+Miss Blossom came cat-foot to shut the parlour door, and I heard no
+more.
+
+Curly was changing the cartridges in her revolver, as she always did
+every evening.
+
+"Scared?" she inquired, sort of sarcastic about the nose.
+
+"Shut yo' haid. D'you want to be captured?"
+
+"It would be a sort of relief from being so lady-like."
+
+Then a big gust of laughter shook the house, and I knew that Miss
+Blossom's guest was the whitest man on the stock-range, Sheriff Bryant.
+Naturally I had to go and see old Dick, so I told Curly to keep good,
+quit the parlour, crossed the passage, and walked right into the
+dining-room, one hand on my gun and the other thrown up for peace.
+
+Dick played up in the Indian sign talk: "Long time between drinks."
+
+"Thirsty land," says my hand.
+
+"Now may I inquire?" says Miss Blossom.
+
+"Wall, ma'am"--old Dick cocked his grey eye sideways--"this Chalkeye
+person remarked that he languished for some whisky, upon which I rebuked
+him for projecting his drunken ambitions into a lady's presence."
+
+The way he subdued Miss Blossom was plenty wondrous, for she lit out to
+find him the bottle.
+
+"Sheriff," says I, as we shook hands, "yo' servant, seh."
+
+"I left the sheriff part of me in my own pastures." Dick wrung my hand
+limp. "I don't aim to ride herd on the local criminals heah, so the
+hatchet is buried, and the chiefs get nose-paint. Miss Blossom, ma'am,
+we only aspire to drink to the toast of beauty." He filled up generous.
+"I look towards you, ma'am."
+
+"I du despise a flatterer," says Miss Blossom, but I saw her blush.
+
+"Wall, to resume," said Dick, "this lady's guest, Miss Hilda Jameson, of
+Norfolk, in old Virginie, is entitled to her own habits. She is wounded
+most unfortunate all day, but all night she's entitled to bulge around
+in a free country studying moonlight effects."
+
+"She's due to be whipped," says Miss Blossom, mighty wrathful.
+
+"On scenes of domestic bliss it is not my purpose, ma'am, to intrude. I
+only allude to the fact that this young lady was pervading Main Street
+late last night, happy and innocent, in a gale of wind, which it blew
+off her hat."
+
+"Good gracious!"
+
+"Yes, ma'am; and naturally the hat being pinned, her hair was blown off
+too."
+
+"It blew off!"
+
+"Perhaps, ma'am, this ha'r doesn't fit, and the best thing would be to
+shoot the party who made--the ornament. The young lady, of co'se, was in
+no way to blame if it flew down the street and she after it. I rise to
+observe that Deputy-Marshal Pedersen, being a modest man, was shocked
+most dreadful, and----"
+
+"Oh! Oh!" Miss Blossom went white as the tablecloth.
+
+"Go on," said I, "let's know the worst at once."
+
+"And he couldn't stay to help the young lady, 'cause he was running to
+catch the midnight train."
+
+"Thank goodness!"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, he was due in Lordsburgh this mawning to collect a
+hoss-thief."
+
+"And nobody else saw the wig?"
+
+"No, ma'am, only Pedersen. He came whirling down on me this mawning at
+Lordsburgh with dreams and visions about a robber chasing a wig, and a
+lady holed up in yo' home, and the same being disguised as a woman, but
+really a man, and wanting two thousand dollars daid or alive for the wig
+which its name was Curly. He seemed a heap confused and unreliable."
+
+"This Pedersen man," says Miss Blossom, "is coming here to arrest
+_her_--I mean _him_! Oh, what's the use of talking! Speak, man! Speak!"
+
+"Deputy-Marshal Pedersen, ma'am, is now in prison."
+
+"Arrested!"
+
+"Why, sheriff," says I, "what has he done to get arrested?"
+
+"I dunno." Dick shook his grey head mournful. "I forget. I had to exceed
+my authority a whole lot, so the first thing I thought of was 'bigamy
+and confusion of mind.' I reckon I'll have to apologise, and he's a
+low-flung crawler to beg pardon to."
+
+"You'll have to let him out?"
+
+"I shorely will; meanwhile he's thinking of all his sins, and he
+certainly looks like a Mormon. He never combs his ha'r. But then, you
+see, I had to keep his paws off these honourable ladies until I could
+bring some sort of warning heah. Besides if this pusson with a wig is
+really pore Curly McCalmont, I feel that I done right."
+
+"What makes you think that, Bryant?"
+
+"Wall, I happen to know that them witnesses in the Ryan inquest here
+was bribed to swear away the life of old Balshannon's son. The hull
+blamed business stinks of perjury. I may be wrong, you one-eyed fraud,
+but when Curly punched cows with you at Holy Crawss I sort of hungered
+for him. You see, my missus and me couldn't compass a son of our own,
+and we just wanted Curly. When he quit out from you-all, we tried to
+catch him, but he broke away. Then came the big shooting-match, six
+weeks ago, and it broke my ole woman's heart. Thar was the lady gawn
+daid, and Balshannon quits out in the gun smoke, and you and the two
+youngsters outlawed for trying to save him. That's how I reads the signs
+on this big war-trail, and being only a crazy old plainsman, I takes the
+weaker side."
+
+He reached out his paw.
+
+"Put her thar, you one-eyed hoss-thief, and you'll know that there's one
+official in this hull corrupt and filthy outfit who cares for justice
+more'n he cares for law."
+
+With warrants out against me on various charges, and the Grave City
+Stranglers yearning to make me a corpse, I had come on this visit
+feeling plenty bashful, so it was good to have a genuine county sheriff
+acting chaperon. The ladies gave us a great sufficiency of supper, and
+then we made Curly swear faithfully not to go hunting wigs in the
+moonlit streets. Afterwards the ladies went to roost, and we two men,
+having tracked out to tend the horses, made down our beds in the barn
+loft.
+
+Next morning my natural modesty, and certain remarks from the sheriff,
+made me hide up out of sight, but Bryant went to town and did my
+shopping. He bought me an iron-grey gelding, which I'd always longed to
+steal, because he was much too good for the tenderfoot doctor who owned
+him. It shocked my frugal mind to pay a hundred dollars cash, but Bryant
+was liberal with my money, and the horse was worth a hundred and fifty,
+anyhow. He got me a second-handed saddle, snaffle, rope, blanket, a
+dandy pair of shaps (leather armour for the legs), spurs, belt, shirt,
+overalls, boots, sombrero, and all cowboy fixings. If I was to take
+young Curly back to Robbers' Roost, she needed a proper trousseau,
+specially being due to meet Jim.
+
+I hate to put up dull particulars, but I ought to mention that Mutiny
+Robertson had located a good showing of silver, the second east
+extension of the Contention Mine, on my land at Las Salinas. That is why
+for he put up six thousand dollars cash for my water-spring, fencing,
+and adobe house, getting clear title to the land which held his mineral
+rights. It grieves me to think of Mutiny grabbing all his present wealth
+because I couldn't hold down that place without being lynched. Such is
+the fruits of getting unpopular, and I might preach a plenty improving
+sermon on the uncertainties of business, the immorality of being found
+out, the depravity of things in general, the cussedness of fate. Mutiny
+waited sly, while I plunged around conspicuous, so now he's rich,
+setting a good example, while I'm as poor as a fox.
+
+What with my bank deposit and the sale of my home, Dick brought me back
+nine thousand dollars in cash. Likewise I had in my warbags the money
+which McCalmont had trusted to my care for Curly's dowry. I gave Dick
+charge of all this wealth, taking only a thousand dollars for present
+expenses, and stuffed the same in the treasure-belt which I carry next
+my skin. These proceedings were a comfort to me, for I'm here to remark,
+and ready to back my statements with money, arguments, or guns, that the
+handling of wealth is more encouraging to the heart than such lonesome
+games as the pursuit of virtue.
+
+Besides the plunder and Curly's trousseau, Dick brought me chocolate
+creams, a new breed of rim-fire cigars just strong enough to buck, a
+quart of pickles, and some medicine for our thirst. The old drunkard
+knows what is good, and before supper we sat in the barn with these
+comforts talking business.
+
+It needs such surroundings of luxury to get my thoughts down to any
+manner of business, for I hold that office work is adapted to town
+sharps only, and not to men. Bryant and I had the misfortune to be
+named in Lord Balshannon's will as his executors, to ride herd on his
+Jim until such time as the colt could run alone. In this business my
+co-robber had taken action already, annexing the trainload of breeding
+cattle which had been stolen by Jabez Y. Stone. These cattle were sold
+by auction, and Dick held the money, swearing that nobody else but Jim
+should get so much as a smell.
+
+With regard to Holy Cross, Dick, as sheriff, had seized the old
+hacienda, and the same must be sold to pay Balshannon's debts to the
+Ryan estate. It seems that Michael Ryan claimed this plunder, and that
+Jim, the natural heir, had stolen Michael. "Thar it stands," says Dick,
+who has a legal mind, "until Jim skins his meat."
+
+That set me thinking of Michael. He was not likely to be special fat
+after his ride with the robbers.
+
+"I doubt," says Bryant, "that so shorely as Jim does the skinning, that
+Ryan duck ain't got a tail feather left."
+
+With these remarks he slanted away back to town, having agreed to sup
+with the City Marshal. As for me, I lay in the corn-shucks full of dim
+wonderings about that Pedersen person cramped in the cooler at Lordsburg
+on Bryant's charge of "bigamy and confusion of mind." The question was,
+would he stay put? The arrangement made with Pedersen was only
+temporary, not permanent like a proper funeral. Moreover, in his place I
+should have felt mournful and ill used. I should have put up objections
+and struggles to find my way out. Suppose this person escaped, or got
+loosed by his lawyer, or sent Curly's address to the Grave City police?
+I was afflicted with doubts about said Pedersen, and my mind began to
+gloat on the joys of absence. So I saddled the horses, got ready for the
+warpath, and watching until it was dark enough, made a break for the
+back door of the house, carrying Curly's outfit.
+
+To judge by the clatter in the house, something had happened, and when I
+broke in on the ladies, I found them having hysterics over their copy of
+the _Weekly Obituary_. I slung the cowboy gear to Curly, and bade her
+change herself quick because we must hit the trail. On that the clatter
+got to a crisis, as it does in a hen-roost in the case of fox. Miss
+Blossom called me all the names she could think of; Miss Pansy sobbed at
+having to part with her little private robber; Miss Curly whirled in
+telling the news in the paper. All of them wanted to talk, so I surely
+played fox to that hen-roost, chasing Miss Pansy out to pack us a lunch
+for the trail, grabbing the paper from Curly, and scaring Miss Blossom
+with bad words until she got tame enough to attend to business. She took
+Curly into the bedroom, and there was a sort of lull, while I got my
+ears to work at the back door.
+
+It's a true fact that I have a sort of sense which warns me if danger is
+coming. It makes my hands tingle as if they were full of prickles, and
+my heart beats loud, so I can scarcely hear. That minute I stood at the
+back door felt like whole hours of waiting, so that I wanted to howl.
+Close by me in the kitchen Miss Pansy was sobbing about the bad words
+she had heard, and through the mosquito netting I could hear Miss
+Blossom oppressing Curly while she changed her clothes. I folded the
+newspaper and jammed it into my pocket, studied the lay of the stable
+door to see how quick I could get the horses out, and pulled my gun
+loose for war.
+
+Away towards the town I could hear the rumble of wheels half a mile,
+coming on rapid.
+
+"Miss Pansy!" I called.
+
+She quit crying.
+
+"This Curly's in danger," says I. "Brace up; act brave, and when this
+waggon stops at the door, meet the men who try to break in. Tell them
+you're not to home, and give 'em some Christian Science."
+
+She went quite cool to wait by the front door, and now I could see the
+dust of a waggon come up against the afterglow in the sky.
+
+"Miss Blossom," I called, "roll Curly out through that window just as
+she is. Quick!"
+
+"Oh, but----"
+
+"Curly," I shouted, "come out!"
+
+"Coming!"
+
+"Fix that bed, Miss Blossom; lay in it with Curly's wig, and prepare to
+play daid!"
+
+Curly came tumbling through the mosquito bar in the window, dropped on
+her feet like a cat. "Horses!" I whispered, and she ran, her spurs
+clattering outrageous along the gravel-path.
+
+The waggon had pulled up to the front gate, somebody shouted, I heard
+Miss Pansy screeching like a cougar, and a man came surging past the
+side of the house, lifting his gun to draw a bead on Curly as she ran. I
+jumped behind, felled him with my gun-butt, and bolted.
+
+What with Miss Pansy's shrieks, and the shouting of men, the clatter had
+got to be a whole disturbance, rousing a quiet neighborhood. As I ran I
+could hear Miss Blossom calling, "Go 'way, you rude men! Scat!"
+
+It seemed to me that time was worth a million dollars a second while I
+held the back gate by the stable, and Curly rode through with the horses
+straight on to the open range. As I swung to the saddle, I heard the
+house door battered in with a crash of breaking glass.
+
+"Hold on," said Curly, reining in her horse, "I was forgettin'."
+
+The searchers were swarming through the house, and for my part I was
+full content to depart without telling them any good-bye.
+
+"You're scart," says Curly. "You coward! You stay heah!"
+
+Then feeling for blood with her spurs, she sailed at full gallop along
+the outer side of the garden fence. At the first shot from the yard she
+ducked, throwing herself until she hung Indian fashion along the off
+side of her horse. A bullet trimmed my back hair as I followed, gun
+flames blazed from the back porch and the windows, as we shot past the
+house. The bullets were singing all round us, our horses were crazy with
+fright, but then we swung round the end of the garden fence, running
+full tilt against the standing team of horses which the police had left
+in the road. The shock stampeded them, but Curly swerved clear of their
+rush, rolled back into the saddle, raced abreast, and shot both horses
+down. A minute more, and the firing died away behind us, for we were
+racing neck-and-neck across the desert. Curly had left the police to
+follow afoot, but now she began to weaken, for, because she had played
+the man, she broke down and sobbed--a woman.
+
+We had been running maybe two hours when we pulled up on the top of a
+hill to rest our horses. Far down to southward the electric lights in
+the city made a silver haze of small specks glistening as though a scrap
+of sky had fallen there. High in the south Orion rode guard upon the
+star herds, and the night was so still that we were scared to speak. I
+wanted to smoke, but on a night like that the striking of a match may be
+seen for miles around, so I took a bite at my plug and ate tobacco
+instead. Then as Curly and I sat on a rock together listening, I heard a
+bear cough because his nose got dusty, grubbing for ants; a coyote was
+singing the hunger-song, and miles away to the east a ranche dog
+answered him. Then Curly's horse scrunched up a tuft of grass, and my
+beast pawing, startled a rattlesnake. The little woman beside me
+whispered then--
+
+"Shorely the Lawd makes His big medicine for us, for snakes and robbers,
+wolves and b'ars. Only the folk down tha cayn't see Him, 'cause they got
+electric lights instead of stars."
+
+"Which them two pore ladies," says I, "gets gun-flame by way of lamps to
+cheer them up to-night."
+
+"I hate to think how we-all stirred theyr peace. Still, Bryant has
+stroked theyr fur by now," she sighed. "Them visitors rumpled me too,
+and all my brussles is pointing the wrong way still."
+
+"D'you reckon, Curly," I asked, "that the City Marshal is hoping to
+trail us by starlight?"
+
+"Not to hurt," she yawned, "'cept maybe he's got smell-dogs guidin' his
+posse. Yes, I remember a while back the Marshal bought a team of
+blood-hounds."
+
+She didn't seem to take much interest, so I proposed that we roll our
+tails.
+
+"I see his lantern," said Curly; "thar it is agin. We got a ten-mile
+start."
+
+I saw the glimmer then. "Come on," said I.
+
+"_Poco tiempo_," says Curly. "I'm fearful sorry for them pore ladies
+yondeh."
+
+I dragged her away, and we rode on, throwing the miles astern. Every two
+hours or so Curly would give the horses a rest and a taste of grass--a
+trick she had learned from Indians, which kept them fresh for a trail.
+
+The night was cold, with a little "lazy wind," as Curly called it, too
+tired to go round, so it went right through us. Just before dawn we
+crossed a clay flat holding a slough of mud, and found it hard with
+frost.
+
+"When water goes to sleep with cold," says Curly, "a smell-dog's nose
+ain't goin' to guide his laigs. This frost is due to send the posse
+home."
+
+"At dawn they'll see our tracks."
+
+Dawn broke, and we were rising a slope of sand-drift, with acres of
+naked rock ahead of us.
+
+"Haw!" said Curly, leading me to the left until we entered the rock
+field. "Gee," she called, and we crossed the rocks to the right. "Follow
+the rocks--shy wide of any sand." I followed for a mile, until a little
+hill shut off the route we had come by. "Dismount," she said, and I
+stepped down by the edge of the sands. She made me take the saddle
+blankets, the oilskin coats, and a serape (Mexican blanket), and make a
+pathway of them across the sand, on which she rode, leading my horse,
+while I renewed the track in front of her for a couple of hundred feet.
+So we left horse sign on the sand which looked a whole fortnight old.
+Then, gathering the clothes, I mounted, and we curved away among
+sandhills for half an hour, sailing along at a lope until we came to a
+patch of gramma grass. "Let the hawsses graze," said Curly, and sat
+side-saddle, resting while she smoked a cigarette. I did the same, and
+the tracks we left now were those of grazing horses, not those of
+travellers. Then I resaddled, and all set, we rode off again to the
+north. The frost had spoiled our scent; the blanket play and grazing
+play had sure discouraged trackers.
+
+"Curly," says I, "you heap big Injun!"
+
+"I lil' small robber," she answered, "givin' away trade secrets."
+
+A few miles northward we circled up beyond a ridge of hills, to a good
+look-out point. From there we could see the Marshal's posse small as
+ants in the distance, ranging around on the rock flat, from whence they
+presently crawled off south, looking a lot subdued. Then I unsaddled,
+while Curly killed out a few centipedes, scorpions, rattlers, and other
+local vermin, to make our sleep comfy under the rocks.
+
+At noon, when the heat awoke us, we rode on to Texas Bob's big spring,
+reaching his camp by sundown. There we made up for lost meals by taking
+in four at once. Mrs. Bob gave us jerked beef, spiced bread and coffee;
+her wild range kids rubbed down our horses, watered them and fed; the
+old gentleman himself poured in his best advice until Curly crept off to
+sleep. As for me, I felt good, sitting there in the hut of cactus sticks
+watching the gold grass slowly change to grey, and great big stars come
+out above the hills.
+
+The long hair lay like silver around the old man's shoulders; the white
+beard, pointed short, wagged over his deerskin shirt; his kind eyes
+wrinkled with fun, and all his words were wisdom absolute. I reckon he's
+the wisest man in all the southern desert, and when I told him the
+things I ought not to have done, he showed me better how to act in
+future.
+
+"Stealin' a womern," says he, "is different from stealin' hawsses. You
+can make the hawsses forget theyr home range in a month, but a womern
+will sure break fences to quit back to the man she wants. This Curly
+will run to her mate, and whar they graze there ain't room for you in
+the pasture. The good Book says: 'No man shall put them asunder,' and
+the rules of Right and Wrong ain't got exceptions. Don't you try to
+steal Curly."
+
+In all my life I never needed a friend so much as I did that night, but
+when Curly and I hit the trail the old scout reached me his hand.
+
+"Put her right thar, Chalkeye," says he; "it's mighty hard at times to
+stick to the rules of the game. It's so easy to go crooked that it takes
+a man to play straight--and you'll play straight. _Adios!_"
+
+All night my mind was at ease, and when day broke again we were into the
+Superstitious Mountains. So I led Curly down towards Echo Spring, and
+gave the long yell to my boys where they lay in camp.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+A MILLION DOLLARS RANSOM
+
+
+In giving my own account of this unpleasantness which happened between
+the Du Chesnay and Ryan families I've just grabbed Truth by the tail and
+tried to stay right with her. But Truth runs swift, and raises plenty
+dust of lies around her heels, so, maybe, whirling along I missed good
+facts. Happens I've been poorly provided with one eye and a lot of
+prejudice to see the trail ahead; likely I've not been the only party
+interested. Anyways, outsiders could watch the stampede without getting
+choked with dust.
+
+Now these conclusions struck me abrupt like a bat in the eye when I sat
+down to rest in camp at Echo Spring. Before leaving Grave City, while
+thinking of other worries, I had caught a copy of a local paper, stuffed
+the same in my rear pocket, and disremembered having such possessions. I
+never thought of it until my tigers, hungering for news, caught sight of
+the bulging paper and rushed my camp to grab. Then I unfolded the
+_Weekly Obituary_ to these boys, all setting around on their tails and
+pointing their ears for instruction. I read to them about a certain
+Chalkeye Davies, who seemed to be a most astonishing outrageous villain,
+performing simultaneous crimes in several places at once. My tigers
+purred for more.
+
+Then came a whole page of revelations concerning "the kidnapped
+Croesus," otherwise styled "the stolen millionaire" and the "brigands'
+prey." It was clearly proved that the Chalkeye villain, Jim du
+Chesnay--described as "a broken-down swell"--and Captain McCalmont had
+joined together in purloining Michael Ryan and hiding him up in a cave,
+the place being well known to the authorities. This cave was
+inaccessible by land and water, guarded with machine-guns, and supplied
+with all modern conveniences, especially searchlights. "Our special
+representative" had been there, "but declined to give particulars for
+fear of driving the bandits to still more desperate measures."
+
+Then came the _Weekly Obituary_ gallery of fine portraits. We knew them
+all well, because they were served up frequent to represent murderers,
+politicians, actresses, preachers, scandalous British duchesses, and
+other notorious persons. Now they represented McCalmont, Curly,
+Chalkeye, Jim, Michael Ryan, Mrs. Michael, and old Mrs. Ryan. The
+_Weekly Obituary_ said it was wishful with these identifications to
+assist the ends of justice.
+
+After this the next page was all quotations from leading papers
+throughout the Republic, proving how plumb depraved the robbers were,
+how wicked it was to purloin the rich and good out of their private
+cars, and how the Federal Government ought to act in this shocking
+catastrophe. The New York papers just burned themselves with wrath
+because Michael's present engagements prevented him a whole lot from
+attending to railroad business. His financial combine was due to
+collapse complete unless he took hold at once.
+
+Last came "our special supplement," with the very latest news. It seems
+that Michael had written to his wife in New York; likewise that somebody
+stole the letter from her and sold it to the New York _Megaphone_. Then
+all the papers copied Michael's letter and laid the blame on the
+_Megaphone_. Here is the letter:--
+
+     "_September 8th, 1900._
+
+     "DEAR KATHLEEN,
+
+     "On 28th ult. I was abducted at Grave City out of my car by
+     brigands and carried blindfold, lashed on to the back of a horse,
+     for several hundred miles through frightful country, arriving here
+     4th instant. When I got here I weighed ninety-eight pounds! Indeed
+     I was nearly dead; but now the robbers are feeding me up, so that
+     I'm gaining flesh, although I'm still kept prisoner in close
+     confinement.
+
+     "I don't know the whereabouts of this house, but it's a large
+     ranche building of logs in the middle of pine woods. At nights I'm
+     almost frozen, so it must be high up in some range of mountains.
+     The country looks flat from the window. A robber told me once that
+     the place is in California.
+
+     "Now, dearest, you will take this as my authority, and raise the
+     sum of one million dollars to pay my ransom, and save me from being
+     murdered. You know who to go to, and offer securities for the loan,
+     getting the best terms you can. This money must be paid one-tenth
+     in U. S. gold currency, and the balance in notes of ($50) fifty
+     dollars and under. Bring it to Flagstaff, in Arizona, and ask for
+     military escort. There you will charter a waggon, and have the
+     treasure delivered at the point where the Tuba trail from Flagstaff
+     crosses the Little Colorado River, right in the middle of the
+     Painted Desert. The waggon must then be abandoned, and the escort
+     to withdraw to Cañon Diablo, leaving no spies behind. The chief of
+     the robbers tells me that the man he sends with a team to get this
+     waggon will be a perfectly innocent farmer, and that any parties
+     attempting to molest, join, or follow him will be killed so quick
+     they'll never know what struck them.
+
+     "I must earnestly warn you, as you value my life, to prevent any
+     attempt whatever to watch or track the waggon; or prior to my
+     release to permit any hostile movement against the robbers; or to
+     deliver any money short of the full ransom; or to mark any coin or
+     note for future identification. If the terms are not absolutely
+     complied with in every detail, within forty days from date--that
+     is, by noon of 18th October, I shall be murdered. If the ransom is
+     delivered as per instructions by 18th October and found correct,
+     the robbers will then disperse, and have no further use for me.
+     They promise then to deliver me at the nearest ranche or farm on or
+     before 1st November.
+
+     "_Private._--Now, dearest, of my own free will, and without
+     compulsion from the robbers, I want to ease my mind of a great
+     burden, by confessing to you as I shall to Holy Church if ever I
+     get the chance. Under this dreadful visitation I see things in
+     their true light which before were hid.
+
+     "I guess there's not the slightest doubt that Lord Balshannon was
+     one of the blackest scoundrels that ever disgraced this earth.
+     Apart from his odious crimes in Ireland, his later life was steeped
+     in villainy. For years at Holy Cross ranche he was in open league
+     with this gang of robbers who have captured me. One of them,
+     Chalkeye Davies, the notorious horse-thief, was his foreman, and
+     Captain McCalmont's son went there to get educated in crime. Once
+     Balshannon actually hired the gang to rob my father of $75,000.
+
+     "Under such circumstances I am awed by the sublime courage of my
+     father in this single-handed war against Balshannon and his
+     outlaws. I stood at father's side in the last fight when Balshannon
+     murdered him; I fired first in the fusillade which avenged the old
+     man's death; and untrained as I am to such wild warfare of the
+     Frontier, I tried to be worthy of my blood.
+
+     "But when I think of Balshannon's son, I realize now that he fought
+     for his father as I fought for mine. Afterwards, blinded with
+     passion, I brought a charge against him, and swore that he alone
+     was guilty of my father's death. I had no right to do that; the
+     young chap was innocent, the charge was a put-up job. But the evil
+     one must have possessed me entirely, for when several witnesses
+     thought they could please me by swearing Jim's life away, I was a
+     party to their perjuries. More, I was induced to help them with
+     money to leave the country, and so escape arrest.
+
+     "If I sinned, I am punished, for as the robbers were Balshannon's
+     partners, so they took sides with his son. Because I attacked the
+     lad they abducted me. That is my punishment, Kathleen, and it is
+     just.
+
+     "In one thing I am puzzled, because I expected to find Balshannon's
+     son with the robbers. I have not seen him, and McCalmont swears
+     that Jim du Chesnay took no part in this outrage.
+
+     "Kathleen, we've got to do right in this business. I want the
+     charge against James du Chesnay withdrawn right now. When I am free
+     I shall give him back his home and lands, all that father seized,
+     and ask him to forget that there was ever a quarrel between our
+     families.
+
+     "Dear love, it breaks my heart to think of your anxiety. As for my
+     business interests, I dare not think of what may be involved by my
+     long absence. Mavourneen, you must save me quick, or worse will
+     happen yet.
+
+     "Your distracted lover,
+
+     "MICHAEL."
+
+It made me sorry to think of that poor devil. You see, he tended strict
+to business first, then strutted awhile to show himself off to his
+woman, before he unfolded his crooked little soul in the part marked
+"Private." His letter gave me plenty to think about.
+
+Still, I had my own concerns to worry me, for Monte took me round our
+herd, which had grown in surprising ways during my absence. The mares,
+it seemed, had gotten more prolific than usual, giving birth to
+full-grown horses, ready branded. On the whole I concluded that if any
+of the neighbours happened around, my boys would find that pasture
+unhealthy with symptoms of lead poisoning. I advised them to quit, so
+they agreed to shift the herd along eastward, and sell out in Texas.
+Meanwhile, I cut out Curly's buckskin mare, and a few of my own pet
+runners who knew how to show their tails to any pursuers. We took twelve
+good stayers from the herd, and a little wall-eyed pack mule who had
+fallen dead in love with Curly's mare. So Curly and I were ready for our
+march.
+
+As to that young person, from the moment she hit the trail out of Grave
+City the wound in her arm healed rapid, and she sure forgot to be an
+invalid. Two days we fed and rested her, but then she began to act
+warlike, oppressing me for sloth. On the third morning I loaded the pack
+mule, told the boys good-bye, and trailed off with Curly, pointing for
+Robbers' Roost.
+
+When water won't cure thirst, but the juice in your mouth turns to slime
+caking in lumps on your lips, when the skin dries up because there's no
+more sweat, when your eyes ache and your brain mills round--that's
+Arizona. The air shakes in waves like a mist of cobwebs, and through
+that quiver the landscape goes all skeweye, for some of the mountains
+float up clear of the land, and some turn upside down standing on rows
+of pillars along the skyline. Then the hollows of the land fill with
+blue mist--blue lakes and cactus bushes change into waving palm trees by
+the waterside. How can a man keep his head when the world goes raving
+crazy all round him? You have just to keep on remembering that your eyes
+have quit being responsible, that your nose is a liar, that your ears
+are fooled, then keep a taut rein on yourself for fear your wits
+stampede, and your legs go chasing visions down the trail to death.
+
+That Valley of Central Arizona got me plumb bewildered; a country of
+bare earth and mesquite brush like mist, with huge big trees of cactus
+standing in one grove a hundred miles across. Then came a hillside of
+black cinders lifting a hundred miles; but the top was a level mesa,
+surely the first place I ever seen with good grass under pine trees. I
+had never seen woods before, and this coconino forest is the sort of
+pasture I'd want to go to after this present life. I hunger none for
+golden pavements or any desert lay-out, nor am I wishful for a
+harp--having a taste for guitars--nor for flopping around on wings, nor
+a crown of glory--the same being ostentatious a whole lot. Pasture like
+this, a horse, a camp, a spring--such promises as them would lure me to
+being good.
+
+Right in the heart of this forest there's a bunch of dead volcanoes
+called the San Francisco peaks, lifting their frosty heads into the sky,
+and round the skirts of lava at their feet lies broken country. Curly
+showed good judgment in making camps, but hereabouts I thought she had
+lost her wits, for she led me over broken lava flows, heart-breaking
+ground for the horses, where we had to dismount and climb. Then all of a
+sudden we dropped down, hid from all the world, into a meadow walled
+around with lava. This tract had escaped when the rest was overflowed;
+so happened there was grass among the bull pines, and right at the head
+of the field a little cave with space of floor for camping beside a
+bubbling spring. We struck the place at noon and camped, my partner
+concluding to lie over until she could make a night scout in search of
+news. She slept through the afternoon while I stood guard outside.
+
+Up to that time we had been scared to make a fire at night or show a
+smoke by day, except for the minutes we needed boiling coffee. Besides
+that, we could never camp within ten miles of a water-hole, but had to
+ride on after drinking to win the nearest grass, this country being all
+ate up around the pools. Here we had grass and water, the cave to hide
+our fire, and certainty besides of not being caught without warning. It
+was mighty fine to set around the fire after supper.
+
+"You Chalkeye"--Curly lit up a cigarette and broke into silence which
+had lasted days--"what does it feel like, being safe?"
+
+"We're safe enough here, lil' partner."
+
+"Till I hit the trail for this scouting. But I mean, to live safe day
+after day without nobody ever wanting to kill you. Ain't it some
+monotonous?"
+
+"Not to hurt."
+
+"It must feel sort of--neglected. I read a book onced about folks in
+England, which I kep' on readin' and readin' to see if anythin' happened
+'cept meals and go-to-bed and get-up-in-the-mawning. The girl was a sure
+enough fool, and as to the boy--well, he wore government socks, and
+didn't love the Lawd. Then he mar'ied a widow by mistake, which she had
+a forked tongue, a bad eye, and parted her ha'r on one side lookin'
+rather cute. That boy just aimed to cut his throat for seventy-three
+pages, then didn't after all, which was plumb discouraging. 'Stead of
+that he got a government job inspectin' the clouds and drawin' salary.
+Then the widdy she talked herself to death, and quit out. Afterwards
+that boy took sixty-one pages to get a kiss from the heroine. Thar was a
+deanery in it and a funny parrot--I reckon that's all the story."
+
+"They mar'ied?"
+
+"Sure, and nothin' happened ever afterwards, 'cept kids. Them characters
+was awful safe from gettin' excited. Will it be that a-way when I get
+tame enough to mar'y Jim?"
+
+Feeling that said Jim was a lot unworthy of her, I strayed out to study
+how much our camp was visible. It seemed like we couldn't be attacked
+without our visitors cussing around first in the lava. They'd bark their
+shins, and we'd hear gentle protests.
+
+When I came back, Curly was brooding still about her Jim.
+
+"He'll be a dook like the old patrone," says she, "and sure as I'm a
+lady I'll be tired of life. Robes goes with that job, and a golden crown
+such as the angels wear."
+
+"I reckon that's only for Sunday best," I told her.
+
+"To go to church? Wall, now, ain't that jest fine? And how my wolves
+would laugh to see!" She stood up swaggering before the fire, her hand
+on her revolver, her laugh ringing echoes round the cave. "Jest you
+think," says she, "of me--a lady! Footman at the church door to
+announce us 'Lord and Lady Balshannon!' and Jim and me goes buttin'
+along to our pew. Then the preacher he rears up to talk his sermon. 'My
+lord, my lady, and you common or'nary brethren.' Cayn't you see Jim spit
+on his crown and give it a rub with his sleeve, and me snarled up in my
+robe like a roped hawss? Then we ride off home to the castle, and Jim
+says, 'Be-shrew thee! go to, thou varlet, and wrastle the grub pile
+'fore I shoot the cook!' Then the valet says there's a deputy-marshal
+come to arrest us both for stealin' cows, so Jim has him hung in the
+moat. Afterwards we put in the hull afternoon shootin' foxes, and other
+British sports until it's time for supper, then play stud poker beside
+the parlour stove. You're to come and stop with us, Chalkeye."
+
+"Sing to me, Curly," says I, because her voice was sweet enough to
+gentle a grizzly bear, and it always smoothed my fur. It seems to me I
+can see her now, her eyes green and flame in the firelight, her face--I
+can't describe her face.
+
+    "Here's a moccasin track in the drifts,
+      It's no more than the length of me hand,
+    An' her instep--just see how it lifts--
+      If that ain't jest the best in the land!
+    For the maid ran as free as the wind,
+      And her foot was as light as the snow,
+    Why, as sure as I follow, I'll find
+      Me a kiss whar her red blushes grow.
+
+    "Here's two small little feet and a skirt,
+      Here's a soft little heart all aglow;
+    See me trail down the dear little flirt
+      By the sign which she left in the snow!
+    Did she run? 'Twas a hint to make haste,
+      An' why, bless her!--I'm sure she won't mind!
+    If she's got any kisses to waste,
+      Why, she knew that a man was behind!
+
+    "Did she run 'cause she's only afraid?
+      No, for sure 'twas to set me the pace!
+    And I've fallen in love with a maid
+      When I ain't had a sight of her face.
+    There she is! And I knew she was near;
+      Will she pay me a kiss to be free?
+    Will she hate? will she love? will she fear?
+      Why, the darling! she's waiting to see!"
+
+In all the thousands of camp fires dotted along the trail of my life,
+that one is best to think of. Surely I believe that the Big Spirit sent
+us poor little spirits loose on the earth to be kicked and educated, not
+to have nice times. Looking around at present facts, we see how Life is
+a cold, hard, business proposition, so we have to keep a mighty sharp
+look-out for fear of being kicked off the premises. The future glows
+with hope gay as a sunrise, the past is full of memories shining
+glorious like the setting sun. Seems to me that in Eternity, when the
+cold present is mixed up with all the rainbow colours of Past and
+Future--why, then I'll hear Curly's voice come soft through the pines,
+and see her face in the fire where I camp.
+
+So in my poor way I dream in this lone camp where I sit at present.
+Perhaps, says you, I'd better wake up right now and tend to my story.
+
+At midnight Curly rode into the town of Flagstaff. Afterwards, following
+the Grand Cañon trail at daybreak, she happened by accident on a
+stage-coach broken down with a load of tourists. The driver chanced to
+be a retired robber, gone tame with rheumatism, so she helped him to fix
+his linch pin which had snapped. As to the tourists, they were plumb
+content to find a "real live cowboy" who would talk to them. Most
+punchers steer shy of tourists, but Curly enjoyed them. She was always
+curious as a young antelope at anything unusual in the way of game, so
+she borrowed all their newspapers "to read to her dying mother"--which
+was me. Then she told them good advice about keeping alert at night to
+watch for robbers. On that the teamster cheered them up by divulging how
+robbers drink human blood to keep their courage boiling, and how they
+like a baby when they are staled on pork. Curly imparted a few
+particulars and rode away with a high tail.
+
+I was still asleep when she came whirling into camp, whooping for
+breakfast ravenous.
+
+"Show a laig," says she, "and set out the grub pile swift while I go
+wrangle the hawsses. We get a move on ourselves right after breakfast!"
+
+There was something unusual, I thought, about the way she talked, a
+sort of high-strung excitement. As to her face, that was pale as ashes.
+By the time I'd cooked bacon and slapjacks she had the horses in, and
+fresh mounts saddled.
+
+"How's Flagstaff?" I asked, while she washed herself at the spring.
+
+"Ain't this just purty?" she said to the bubbling water. "Flagstaff?
+Why, it sure is the craziest town I ever seen." Her laugh was harsh to
+hear.
+
+"You been showin yo' face in the street?"
+
+"Wall partly, but I covered up half my complexion to look like the
+toothache--so!" She stuffed a ball of a handkerchief into her near
+cheek, bound the towel around her jaw, and looked most miserable. "Oh,
+throw me a dentist!" she howled, then broke out laughing. "I shorely did
+act pitiful."
+
+"And why for is this town locoed?" I felt the girl was laughing so as
+not to cry.
+
+"Well," says she, "there's Joe Beef, the Utah sheriff, and a lot of lil'
+no-account sheriffs, there's a fat United States Marshal with a chin
+whisker and a heap of deputies, there's cowboys, scouts, and trackers,
+reporters, ambulances, dawgs, pony-soldiers----"
+
+"Has the Navajos broke out?"
+
+"No, the pale-face has broke out; it's a hull epidemic, and there's an
+outfit on the war trail in Utah, another on the San Juan in
+Colorado--and they're going to eat up Robbers' Roost--and you,
+Chalkeye, lookin' glum as a new-laid widow! Scat, you!"
+
+"Has they gawn mad?" I asked. "The moment they make a break for Robbers'
+Roost, McCalmont will kill this Ryan, scatter his wolves, and vanish.
+This must be only the escort for Ryan's ransom."
+
+"It's plumb ridiculous, but--there ain't no ransom."
+
+"Yo're dreaming, Curly. This projeck of troops is sure death to Ryan.
+They'd risk the killin' of a common or'nary man--but a millionaire!"
+
+"That's where the joke comes--he ain't a millionaire!"
+
+I saw her quit her breakfast all untasted.
+
+"Cayn't you be serious, child, for once?" I asked, but it made me ache
+to see her face that way.
+
+"I daren't be serious, I daren't think, I daren't. Just you look at them
+papers."
+
+I snatched at the nearest paper, opened it, and thought I must have been
+locoed. There were the headlines:--
+
+"Ryan Combine Smashed. Collapse of the Trust."--"Panic on 'Change. The
+Kidnapped Millionaire, a Confessed Perjurer and Corrupter of Witnesses,
+admits that He swore away the Life of an Innocent Man."--"Behold thy
+Financial Gods, O Israel!"
+
+I read on, dazed with the news. "Public Confidence at an
+End."--"Investors jump from Under."--"Ryan Debentures a Frost."--"Shares
+thrown on the Ash-heap."--"Petition in Bankruptcy."--"Mrs. Ryan
+abandons all Hope of a Ransom."--"Federal Government pledged to wipe out
+the Bandits."--"Movement of Troops."--"Sheriff Joe Beef interviewed on
+the Situation."--"Forces taking the Field."--"One of the Robbers offers
+Himself as a Guide."
+
+Curly was pulling my sleeve. "Come here," she said, and there was surely
+something awful in her voice. "Look, see that dragon-fly," she
+whispered, "and all them flowers usin' the spring for a mirror, bendin'
+low. And hear the bull pines whisper, smell the great strong scent, look
+thar at the blue sky, and the cloud herds grazin'. That's like my home,
+ole Chalkeye--sech sounds, sech good smells, sech woods, and sech a
+heaven overhead. The boys air gentlin' hawsses in the big corral, or
+ridin' out to get a deer for supper. My fatheh sets in the doorway
+strummin' hymns on his old guitar, his dawgs around him, his lil' small
+cat pawin' around to help. And Jim is thar, my Jim--cayn't I be serious?
+Don't I think? Ain't I seein' that, all blackened ruins--bloody
+ground--daid corpses rotting down by the corrals--shadows of black wings
+acrost the yard? Oh, God of Mercy, spare 'em, spare my wolves, my home,
+my fatheh! And Jim is thar!"
+
+She turned against me raging. "What air you waiting for? Has you jest
+got to stand round all day? Yo're scart--that's what's the matter with
+you-all--afraid to even carry a warning! What d'ye want to pack the
+kitchen for? I'm shut of you. Stay thar!"
+
+She jumped to her horse, she sprang to the saddle, she lashed her spurs
+for blood, and whirled away to the northward.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+THE STRONGHOLD
+
+
+My words are only crawling for lack of wings; my brain's like ashes when
+it needs to be live fire. I have no brains or words to talk of what I've
+seen, and I reckon I'm a lot incompetent. The men who wrote the Bible
+ought to be turned loose on this earth again to make another book. Then
+folks who have not seen might understand such places as the Painted
+Desert, the Rock City, and the Grand Cañon of the Colorado.
+
+What with delays in packing and driving I had to track Curly for maybe
+thirty miles before I caught her up at Clay Flat by the edge of the
+forest. Her horse was dead, and she sat beside him, her stone-white face
+set cold, staring straight ahead. Below us lay the Painted Desert, so
+wide that the further edge was lost in mist. We rode down to the trickle
+of water at the bottom, then up the further side, and all the rock lay
+in belts red as flame, yellow as gold, purple as violets, which seemed
+to shine of their own light, burning us. The men who stop in that
+country mostly go mad, the which is natural. Beyond we came out on a
+mesa of naked rock and sand-drifts, where we found a pool between high
+cliffs, splashed through it, and maybe a dozen miles beyond found after
+nightfall a few plants of grass. We had covered a hundred and ten miles
+at a tearing pace that day, changing horses, robber fashion, at every
+halt we made.
+
+Next morning we met up with small bunches of Navajo Indians, a strange
+breed of people, dressed up in their private brown skins, with great
+plenty of turquoise necklace, silver harness, and a wisp of breech
+clout, riding with bows and arrows to hunt rabbits. They handed a few
+arrows after us; but their ponies could not run, so we quit their
+company.
+
+Then we came to the City of Rocks, flaming red, and high as mountains;
+their thousand-foot walls sheer to the desert, all carved in needle
+spires, towers, castles, palaces. The street was six miles wide, I
+reckon, and we rode along it maybe fifty miles, like crawling flies in
+the sand.
+
+Beyond the city we curved around by a gap in the desert, a sort of crack
+half a mile deep, with a river along the bottom. It swung about like a
+snake, getting deeper and deeper; but we kept to the level desert, until
+we reached a little side cañon, where there was feed and water. We
+resaddled there, taking Curly's buckskin and my pet horse Sam. The rest
+of our bunch we turned down into that pasture, and left them, riding on
+along the rim rock.
+
+Just after sundown we came abrupt to what looked like the end of the
+world, a gulf so deep that we couldn't see to the bottom. That mighty
+gash in the earth is six hundred miles in length, it's usually ten miles
+wide; it's more than a sheer mile deep, and full of mountain ranges all
+shaped like gigantic buildings. Dead weary as I was from riding more
+than two hundred miles in forty-eight hours, I forgot about being tired
+when I saw that place, the most tremendous thing in the whole earth, the
+Grand Cañon of the Colorado.
+
+There was no rest for us, but seven miles of such a break-neck trail as
+I'd never imagined possible, for it overhung black death from start to
+finish, looping round the face of outrageous cliffs which seemed to have
+no bottom. Midnight was past before we got to camp beside the river,
+flung off the harness, turned the horses loose, and dropped in our
+tracks to sleep.
+
+A gunshot roused me, and starting broad awake I heard the echoes
+crashing from wall to wall.
+
+"It's only me," said Curly, "signalling."
+
+Dark banks of fog were driving over our heads, and I shivered with the
+dawn cold. Then I looked up, and more than a mile in the air saw scarlet
+cliffs ablaze in the sunlight. The river rolled beside our camp, wide as
+the Thames in London, grey water so thick that splashes of it harden
+into mud. A gunshot answered from the further bank, then Curly gave the
+cougar war-howl. The yelp of a wolf came back.
+
+"Both boats," said Curly, "are on this side of the river--something gawn
+wrong. Cook breakfast while I cross."
+
+She took a little crazy boat and towed it upstream, scrambling over
+boulders a quarter-mile or so. From there she pulled the boat across the
+great grey sluice, fetching the other bank after a half-mile drift
+downstream. There was a strong backwater along that further bank, and
+she pulled easy, drifting past the camp up to a rocky headland. The man
+who had answered the signals was waiting there to throw his saddle into
+the boat, and follow, leading two horses so they could swim behind. By
+the time they crossed again I had our two horses to camp, and breakfast
+waiting.
+
+It was not until after he fed, and he laid in provisions generous, that
+this robber--his name was Pieface--had a word to say. He took no more
+notice of me than if I was dead, and when he talked with Curly he sat
+close beside her whispering. I hearing nothing; but allow I thought a
+heap, for this man's face was bad, the very look of him was poison. My
+gun was plenty ready while I watched.
+
+"Chalkeye," says Curly out aloud, but her eyes were set on this ladrone
+all the while. "This Pieface says that ten of our boys were sent down to
+wait for the ransom. They were camped at Clay Flat, you remember?"
+
+"I ain't much forgetful," says I, for this meant that all the cowards
+had deserted! We had seen no men at Clay Flat.
+
+"The chief," says Curly, "is right on his ear, and sends this Pieface to
+find out what's wrong at Clay Flat."
+
+When this Pieface person had hit the trail, we took both boats across
+the river and swam our horses. From the far bank our way turned sharp to
+the left into the side Cañon of Dirty Devil Creek. There we rode along
+some miles in the water, so as to leave no trail; then, quitting the
+bottom, turned sharp back up a ledge, threading the face of the cliffs.
+The heat was blinding; it seemed as if we were being baked alive, and
+even my tanned hide broke out in blisters. Curly allowed this cliff was
+over six thousand feet high, and the trail kept circling round red
+buttresses, flanks of broken rock, to one sheer cape where nothing lay
+below us but blue space. Then we swung into a little arroyo with
+trickling water, shady trees, and a gentle glade until we reached the
+summit. At the rim rock a robber halted us, until Curly pushed her
+hat-brim up, showing her face. She answered for me, and we rode on
+through level pine woods. I noticed horse tracks scattering everywhere,
+but no trail whatever; and then even the horse-tracks petered out. I
+looked back, and there was not a sign to show the way we had come. For
+the first mile we headed towards where the sun would set, now we swung
+around on a long curve until we pointed north-east. I might just as well
+have been blindfold.
+
+"Curly," I asked, "is this Main Street?"
+
+"I reckon," she laughed. "Could you find the way back?"
+
+Once before she had told me that no trails led to the stronghold.
+
+Then away to the left I saw a big corral, with a dust of horses inside,
+and men sitting round on the top rail, maybe a dozen of them. Beyond it
+lay a streak of open water, and right in front loomed a house, set in
+the standing woods, where one could hardly see a hundred paces. It was a
+ranche house of the usual breed, log-built, low-pitched, banked up
+around with earth as high as the loopholes, and at each end against the
+gable stood a dry stone chimney. Two or three men stood in the doorway
+smoking, and but for the fact that they packed their guns when at home,
+they looked like the usual cowboys. The dogs were plenty exuberant, but
+Curly might have been out shooting rabbits for all the fuss that these
+men made about her coming.
+
+We unsaddled and set our horses loose.
+
+"Wall, Curly," asked one of the robbers, "got any liquor along?"
+
+"Nary a smell."
+
+Then McCalmont came round the end of the house, dusty after some
+argument with a broncho, trailing his rope while he coiled it.
+
+"So, home at last," says he, shaking a paw with me right hearty. "Wall,
+I'm sure pleased at you, Curly."
+
+"Come to repawt," says Curly, mighty cool, but I saw that her eyes were
+ranging around for Jim. An _olla_ of water hung from the eave by the
+door, and McCalmont passed the dipper to me first. Then while Curly
+drank he introduced me to Crazy Hoss, Black Stanley, and his brother
+Dave, who made out that they were glad to see me, though their looks
+said different.
+
+Then the Captain asked me in, and we followed Curly through the
+mess-house door. The log walls were hung with antlers, skins lay on the
+floor before the big hearth at the end, and down the middle, with
+benches on either side, ran the long table with its oilcloth cover, the
+tinware set out for supper, and netting to keep off flies. That cow camp
+looked good to me, home-like and soothing. Off to the left of the
+messroom opened a little lean-to house--McCalmont's den--with a cubby
+hole beyond it for Curly. We found her sitting on the bunk, gun and
+spurs unbuckled, and holding her legs out for the old man to pull off
+her shaps. I unharnessed myself, and he fed me a cigar, bidding me to
+settle in a cow-hide chair. I felt right to home then.
+
+"Dad," says Curly abrupt, "whar's my Jim?"
+
+"What, you ain't met him?" says McCalmont. "He's gone to look for you."
+
+Curly went pale under the tan, and gulped. "How long?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, quite a time. Why, child, what's scart you? Perhaps he's with my
+boys at Painted Desert."
+
+"Daddy, I've brought bad news."
+
+"I reckon"--McCalmont spoke very low--"I been thar before a few times,
+and yet we've worried along. Lie down, so you'll get mo' rest."
+
+He sat on the edge of the bunk, his hand on hers, as she lay loosing out
+bit by bit the story of the ransom lost, the Federal Government on the
+warpath, ten good men deserted. He was all crouched up when she
+finished, the stub of a cigarette burning his fingers, and he looked
+very old.
+
+I went to get the newspapers which I'd kept in my warbags for him, and
+when I came back he turned loose a volley of questions, searching me to
+the bones until he had all the truth.
+
+"Well, well," he said at last, with a queer smile, "these yere official
+parties seem to be takin' quite an interest, eh? I thank you, seh, and
+I'm full satisfied." Then he stood up. "You must be kinder hungry,
+Misteh Davies. Spose you jest interview my cook. I think that you and
+him has met before, and won't need introducin'. My son and I will join
+you presently."
+
+I strayed out through the messroom and found the kitchen beyond. Sure
+enough the cook and I were acquainted, although I had not expected to
+see this particular person in shirt and overalls, and his bare arms
+white with flour. He was plenty absorbed too, dipping balls of chopped
+meat into a pan full of mess.
+
+"How air you, seh?"
+
+He shied right off his feet and turned to face me, looking as guilty as
+a caught fox.
+
+"I guessed as much," he gasped; "all blackguards are bound to flock
+together here."
+
+"Glad to meet you, Mr. Ryan," says I.
+
+Then he collected himself for war. "State your business, and get right
+out of here. I'm engaged!"
+
+"I'm engaged likewise"--I sat down on a box, and a dog came fawning to
+me--"wharas this dog is polite, and sets an example. He's plumb full of
+decorum and depawtment."
+
+I hardly know what possessed me. Ryan's looks perhaps, or the way he
+guarded those meat balls. I grabbed the nearest, and fed it to the dog
+so quick that Ryan had only time enough to give himself dead away.
+
+"Leave that dawg alone!" says I. He quit resisting me then, backed to
+the log wall, and stood glaring.
+
+"I've noticed," says I, "in dawgs that the smaller the dawg, the larger
+the bark. I knew one onced so small that he hadn't room to hold his
+bark--and the recoil tharfrom threw him back three dawg lengths. You
+seem to suffer a whole lot from yo' recoil, Mr. Ryan."
+
+"I guess," he said in his harsh Yankee twang, "that you're a low-down
+coward--torturing me because you know I'm helpless."
+
+"That dawg," says I, "is acting sort of queer, eh? As to my being a
+coward, Mr. Ryan, you'll remember the last time we met I came buttin'
+along to yo' hotel in Grave City commenting on yo' proceedings with a
+straight tongue, and guns to back the same."
+
+"Come to the point," says he.
+
+"Now this yere is what I'm trailin's up to, seh, that I bears neither
+guns nor malice, calls no names, bridles my tongue severe, treats you
+with plenty and gentle inquiries, whar do you keep yo' manners?"
+
+"Where you keep your honesty," says he, sort of sarcastic. "You know I
+can't escape, so I've got to listen. Talk, my good man, and when you're
+through you can go."
+
+The town scout still had his office manners, a lot contemptuous. He
+climbed up on top of his vanity--like a frog on a ladder--to call me "my
+good man." And yet I had tamed him enough for business.
+
+"I take notice," says I, "that on the shelf above yo' haid there's a tin
+of rough-on-rats. This condiment is maybe unusual in meat balls, and it
+seems to affect yo' dawg some poignant, with wiggles and froth on the
+jaws. He's swelling up, too. I likewise remarks that thar's enough of
+these high-flavored meat balls to go through McCalmont and all his
+riders. May I politely ask how long you been cook for this ranche?"
+
+"Mind your own business."
+
+"Which is to further test these same delicacies by trying a meat ball on
+you."
+
+He grabbed a long butcher-knife from the table.
+
+"Try it," says he.
+
+"Maybe I'd better call in Captain McCalmont. Shall I shout for him?"
+
+Ryan dropped the knife.
+
+"What do you want to know?"
+
+"How long you have been cook?"
+
+"Since yesterday. I've been helping a man named Pieface."
+
+"Why did he quit?"
+
+"Got a note by carrier pigeon. He was in charge of McCalmont's pigeons."
+
+"You found the note after he left?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Hand it over."
+
+He said bad words.
+
+"I notice," says I, "that the meat ball has finished with yo' dawg."
+
+He took a slip of paper from his hip-pocket.
+
+"No ransom," I read. "Warn the boys."
+
+"Were the boys warned?"
+
+"No."
+
+"The news made you sort of desperate?"
+
+"They'll kill me when they know!"
+
+"So you took precautions first?"
+
+"Why do you torture me?"
+
+"Prefer a meat-ball?"
+
+"Go on, sir."
+
+"I might be induced to hide away these delicacies. Also this"--I kicked
+the dog's carcass--"in fact to help you some. You could bury the past,
+and resign yo' post as cook."
+
+"The news will come out, and I'll be murdered anyway. What's the good?"
+
+"There being no ransom," says I, "the use for you here ain't much
+conspicuous. As a cook you're precarious, too. Suppose I get you turned
+loose?"
+
+"I'll pay one hundred thousand dollars the day you set me free in the
+nearest town."
+
+How could I tell the poor brute that he had not a dollar left in the
+whole world?
+
+"Two hundred thousand," says he, "and that's my last word."
+
+A man came to the door behind me, which opened on the yard. There hung a
+long iron crowbar, bent up in the form of a triangle. The man began to
+beat this with a horseshoe, and the sound would carry maybe a
+quarter-mile.
+
+"Name your own terms," says Ryan. "Come, name your price!"
+
+"You does me too much honour," says I, for how could I tell him the
+facts?
+
+"What do I care for your honour?" Ryan had played like a sneaking coyote
+before, but now he talked out like a man. "I've bought better men than
+you with a hundred dollars, and now I'm going to insult you with hard
+cash. Your price, you thief!"
+
+The sound of the gong must have been a gathering signal, for men were
+straying in from the corrals, and there was soon a tramping of feet and
+buff of talk from the messroom at my back.
+
+"D'ye think," says Ryan, "that I'd be under any obligations to such as
+you? I ask no favours. I only try to make it worth your while to do
+what's right for once. Come, have you any manhood in you? I appeal to
+your manhood to save me. Oh, turn your back, you hound!"
+
+I ran to my saddle in the yard, opened my warbags, grabbed out a pad of
+paper and fountain-pen, then pushed my way through the growing crowd
+about the messroom doors, until I won back to the kitchen.
+
+"Ryan," says I, "set down on that meat block, and write down what I say
+in yo' own words."
+
+"What new treachery is this?" he asked.
+
+"If you want to live," I answered, "you'd best get a move on, and
+write."
+
+The row in the messroom made it hard for him to hear, so I drew up
+close.
+
+"Memorandum," says I, and he began to scribble; "date it 'Robbers'
+Roost, Utah.'"
+
+"But this is California!"
+
+"Write what I say, 'October 13th, 1900.'"
+
+Michael Ryan confessed on oath how he had aided and abetted George Ryan
+in a plot to destroy Balshannon. He confessed to perjury at the Ryan
+inquest, naming the witnesses and the amounts he paid to each. He
+released the Holy Cross estate from all claims on the ground of debt,
+restoring the same to Jim. He swore that Jim, Curly, and I were not
+among the brigands who captured him, and he believed all three of us to
+be innocent.
+
+As to these facts, I had to convince him with a meat ball, but in the
+end he signed.
+
+Then I got in a brace of independent robbers to sign as witnesses, so
+the thing looked mighty legal and satisfying. Meanwhile in the messroom
+I could hear McCalmont calling his wolves to order, and my witnesses
+went away to hear his talk.
+
+"Ryan," says I, sitting down beside him, "you know the points of the
+compass?"
+
+"I guess."
+
+"I'm going to explain the trail to the nearest settlement; see here." So
+I began to scribble out a map showing the lie of the Cañons, the route
+to where we had left the boats, the signs to guide him beyond. "When
+you see this big butte towering high on the right----" I looked up, and
+found he was not listening, for he pointed his ears to the messroom
+where McCalmont talked.
+
+"Yo're due to understand," the Captain was saying, "that this yere Ryan
+made a letter which he sent to his wife. He showed me the letter, and it
+was sure fine scholarship, telling her plain and clear how to scare up
+his ransom at once, how to deliver the same, and not make crooked plays
+to get us trapped. Mrs. Ryan she got the letter all right, but then some
+low-lived swab stole it away from her, and sold it to the N' York
+_Megaphone_."
+
+Ryan let out a sudden cry.
+
+"That's what's the matter," says McCalmont, "and all the private part of
+the letter got into print; whar Ryan confesses how he acted foul to pore
+young Jim du Chesnay. He confesses to perjury and bribing witnesses, an'
+sech-like acts of rotten treachery, which the general public havin'
+entrusted millions of money to this Ryan to hold and invest the same,
+ain't pleased when they larns his private manners and customs, or how
+his manhood proves itself up when tested. The public thinks it's been
+too trustful in confiding big wealth to a felon who is due to be gaoled
+for his sins and gathered into the penitentiary."
+
+"Escape," says I to Ryan, "or you ain't got five minutes to live."
+
+"Escape!" says he--"to penitentiary! Oh, Kathleen, Kathleen!" He covered
+his face with his hands, while McCalmont went on--
+
+"So you see, boys, that the public closes down on this Ryan, and grabs
+theyr money, and jumps from under sudden, stampeding before the crash.
+This pore swab we got in the kitchen, which he cayn't even cook, ain't a
+millionaire any mo', but a bankrupt, due to get five years' grief for
+his acts, which is plumb felonious."
+
+It seemed as if all the robbers were stunned with the news, for they
+made no move or sound. Only poor Ryan groaned, and I felt sick, because
+I knew it was too late for him even to run.
+
+"Boys," says McCalmont, "this news is bad medicine for we-all, 'cause we
+done attracted too much attention, we made ourselves plenty conspicuous,
+and the United States has awoke to a smell of robbers. The nation has
+got a move on at last, and it's coming up again on us on every side to
+put our fires out. Ten of our men has deserted, and likewise the Pieface
+animal, so there'll be plenty guides to lead the attack on this place. I
+reckon our trails are blocked, our water-holes are held, our time is
+pretty near expired in this world. I tharfore propose that we divide up
+what plunder we got in store--the same being considerable--and all share
+alike, and after that we scatter as best we can. Those of us who win
+out of this trap is due to live, and those who don't will get a sure
+good fight."
+
+I heard a voice call out, "Who brung this news?"
+
+"The man who risked his life to bring this news is my friend Chalkeye
+Davies."
+
+At that I whirled right in through the crowd in the messroom and won to
+McCalmont's side.
+
+"I got to speak," says I.
+
+The Captain grabbed my hand. "Boys, will you hear him?" he called.
+
+"Spit it out!" says Crazy Hoss. "Yo're a sure enough man, and we'll
+hear."
+
+"Boys," says I, "if you hold it good to have this warning in time to
+save yo' lives, I has to say that Curly McCalmont done it. He acted
+faithful when ten men and a swab deserted you complete, and Curly is
+shorely braver than any man I ever seen in this world. I speaks for
+Curly and me, and for the Captain, when I says that it's a hull lot
+pitiful to see the way this Ryan person has acted straight to own up the
+wrong he done, and played his cyards honest in the matter of ransom. We
+asks you to spare the life of this yere Ryan."
+
+Crazy Hoss reared up swift to open war against me.
+
+"I'll spare him!" he shouted. "I'll spare him a gunload of lead! What's
+yo' game, stranger? Show down yo' hand, and let's see this hull crooked
+lay-out. I stood at the loophole thar to watch yo' play, I seen you
+workin over this yere prisoner until he's plumb subdued, and offering
+bribes. You catch him with a can full of wolf-bait pizen, preparin' the
+same for our supper; you feed his meat ball to his dawg, which dies on
+the floor between you; you threatens to stuff another down Ryan's
+throat; then you makes him good talk till he signs a paper, and now you
+arises here to recite his virtues, playin' to save his life. Show down
+yo' game!"
+
+By this time I was facing a matter of twenty revolvers, all a-quiver to
+drive holes through my poor old hide. Some yelled that Ryan had bribed
+me, some that I was projecting the death of the whole gang by Ryan's
+poison.
+
+I threw up my hand, showing the peace sign quick.
+
+"After you!" I called, always willing to oblige--"after you. Shoot
+first, and hear me afterwards, eh? That's right, boys. You see, I pack
+no gun, 'cause I'm yo' guest."
+
+The guns were put away.
+
+"You've heard," says I, "from Misteh Crazy Hoss how I subdued this Ryan
+and got a quittance for Jim du Chesnay from the charge of murder. I'm
+his guardian, boys. Furthermore, you heard from Misteh Crazy Hoss a
+plumb truthful account of how I saved this whole crowd from being
+wolf-bait fed to us for our supper--the same being considered
+unwholesome. Now, as to this pore little felon, he put up the only play
+he knew to save hisself from being murdered. He ain't a lion to fight
+with teeth, or a man to distribute gunfire on his enemies; but his
+back's to the wall and he puts up the best little fight he knows about.
+He, bein' a sure snake, uses poison, whereat, having drawn his fangs, I
+takes his side, and begs the critter's life. I want to have him for a
+curio to put in my collection, and I offers ten cents for the
+same--which is more'n he's worth."
+
+"Boys," said McCalmont, "if this yere Chalkeye didn't allus take the
+weaker side, he'd be a rich man still, instead of an outlaw herdin' with
+our gang as his last refuge."
+
+The robbers seemed to like me some better now, and a feeling of
+popularity began to glow on my skin.
+
+"But," says McCalmont, "in the matter of this yere snake, he acts plumb
+erroneous. If the snake escapes to give evidence, he can identify the
+entire gang, Chalkeye included. Go--kill that snake!"
+
+Crazy Hoss rushed to the kitchen. "Gawn!" he yelled. "Escaped! So this
+is yo' game, Mr. Chalkeye!"
+
+"Kill him! kill him!"
+
+"Halt!" McCalmont faced the rush against me--outroared the shouting.
+"Back, or I fire! Back, you curs! Deal with this business afterwards--we
+want the snake first! Whar's them smell-dawgs? Here, Powder! Powder!
+Here, you Rip; come on, lil' dawg! Crazy Hoss, you put on them dawgs to
+the scent, track down this Ryan, and kill him. Then come back."
+
+The dogs were put on Ryan's trail. "Go, get 'im, Rip! Sick 'im, Powder!
+Tear 'im and eat 'im! Come along, boys!" So the whole crowd poured away
+to track Ryan.
+
+McCalmont grabbed me by the arm to hold me back.
+
+"You fool," he hissed through his teeth, "come on--there's not a moment
+to lose--or them wolves will get you! Curly! Curly, come out, you, and
+fetch Chalkeye's gun. Chalkeye, you come quick."
+
+Curly came running from the little hind room with our guns, while
+McCalmont rushed me to the kitchen. "Here," he said, "hold this sack for
+grub!"
+
+"Not them meat balls," says I; "meat balls is out of season."
+
+"All right," he laughed, pitching a half-sack of flour into the bag
+which I held, then a side of bacon, and such other truck as was handy.
+"Curly, you knows whar to take this man?"
+
+"Come along," says Curly. And I followed tame, with the sack on my
+shoulder until we gained the woods.
+
+"Back!" says Curly sudden, and dodged for cover, while I dropped flat
+behind a fallen tree. Looking from under, I saw Ryan come surging past
+in front of us, screeching like all possessed, the smell-dogs at his
+tail, and the robbers swarming close behind.
+
+"A near thing that," says Curly, when they had passed; "creep through
+under the log."
+
+I crept through with my sack, and she followed.
+
+"Lie low," she said; "we're hidden here from the ranche until we can run
+some more. Get out yo' gun."
+
+They say that we white men, using our right hands mostly, is strongest
+on that side, and apt to bear to the left when we don't take note how we
+run. Anyway, Ryan, instead of circling south, had circled to the left
+and lost himself, then, when he found he was hunted, went off his head
+complete. He was back in the yard now, close beside the house, where
+McCalmont headed him off with a shot from the door, while the robbers
+spread out half circling. They laughed and shouted.
+
+"My turn first!" says Crazy Hoss.
+
+"Take his off ear, Crazy!"
+
+The shot took Ryan's right ear; then Spotty fired, lopping off the left.
+The poor brute tried to bolt, but a bullet swung him around. He lifted
+his hands for mercy, but the next shot smashed his wrist. He screamed,
+and a bullet caught his teeth. Curly was yelling now, but nobody
+noticed, for Ryan was down on his knees, and his face was being ripped
+to pieces. Then I saw McCalmont fire, and one of his dogs dropped dead.
+He fired again, and killed the other hound. He had saved me from being
+tracked.
+
+"Quit firing!" he shouted, and the robbers threatened him. "Now," he
+yelled at them, "who wants to talk war agin my friend Davies and me?"
+
+"Come away," says Curly; and I crept after her.
+
+A man's legs are naturally forked to fit onto a horse, and mine have
+never been broke to walking afoot. Fact is my legs act resentful when I
+walk, making me waddle all the same as a duck; which it humbles me to
+think of, because that Curly person loaded a sack on my withers, and
+herded me along like a pack mule until I felt no better than a spavined,
+groaning wreck. We must have gone afoot more than two whole miles before
+we came out at last on the edge of the Grand Cañon.
+
+At this place, right in under the rim rock, there was a hidden cavern--a
+fine big place when you got down there, but a scary climb to reach.
+Half-way down the rock ladder I grabbed a root, which turned out to be a
+young rattlesnake, and was so surprised that I pretty near took flight.
+Curly saved me that time from being an angel--which leads me to remark
+that there's lots of people better adapted to that holy vocation than
+me.
+
+It was dark when we got to the cavern, but next morning I saw that it
+was a sure fine hiding-place, the floor being covered with a whole
+village of old stone houses. There are thousands of cliff villages like
+this in the cañon country, made by some breed of Indians long gone dead,
+but this one had special conveniences, because you could spit from the
+outer wall into sheer eternity. Seeing how the robbers were warped in
+their judgments of me, and the authorities likewise prejudiced, my
+health required plenty seclusion then. We stayed in that hole for a
+week.
+
+Curly was restive, quitting me at night to range the woods and visit the
+ranche, collecting everything useful which was small enough and loose
+enough to pull. She got four horses into a hidden pasture, with saddles
+for the same, and chuck to feed us when we should hit the trail. The
+plunder was good, but the news she brought smelt bad of coming trouble,
+for the robbers stayed to quarrel over their shares of past thievings.
+When they broke to scatter, the trails were all blocked with troops, and
+then they were herded back into the ranche. On the fourth day I had to
+make Curly prisoner, while from noon to dusk the battle raged at the
+stronghold, and she wanted to go and die at her father's side. All that
+night and the day that followed I kept the poor girl quiet with my gun,
+then when the darkness came I let her free.
+
+I don't like to think of what happened next, because I reckon that if I
+wash my outside I ought likewise to keep my inside clean and tidy with
+nice thoughts. Getting our horses, Curly and I rode back to Robbers'
+Roost, pulling up at the edge of the clearing just as the new moon
+lifted above the pines. The stench of death, black ruins, white ashes,
+dark patches where blood had dried upon the dust, everywhere broken
+corpses--coyotes creeping to cover, eagles flapping heavily away--my
+soul felt small and humble in that place. Black it was and silver under
+the moon, with something moving slow from corpse to corpse in search--a
+live man counting the dead. Something in the way he moved reminded me I
+must have known that man, but the little partner called to him all at
+once--
+
+"Jim!" Her voice went low and clear across the silence. "Jim!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+A SECOND-HAND ANGEL
+
+
+Scouting cautious, and shying wide of settlements except when we had to
+buy chuck, I herded my youngsters up the long trail north. We took no
+count of the distance, we lost all tab of dates, but camped where game
+was plenty, pushed on when the sun was shining, holed up when the wind
+was too cold, and mostly lived by hunting. So we rode the winter through
+and came to the spring beyond, catching maybe more happiness than was
+good to have all at once.
+
+One day, the snow being gone, and the prairie one big garden of spring
+flowers reaching away to the skyline, we happened to meet up sudden with
+a pony-soldier which he was lying under the shadow of his horse and
+playing tunes on a mouth-organ, heaps content with himself. His coat was
+red, his harness all glittering fine, his boots were shiny, his spurs
+had small cruel rowels. He said his chief was His Imperial Majesty
+Edward VII., that his tribe was the North-West Mounted Police, and his
+camp was called Medicine Hat, the same being close adjacent. We sounded
+him on robbers, but he seemed plumb ignorant, and said there was quite
+a few antelope if we cared for hunting.
+
+Telling the youngsters to camp, I went butting along into Medicine Hat
+to prospect the same alone. It felt mighty strange to be in a town
+again, see the people walking around who belonged there, women and
+children especially, but the whisky I sampled felt right natural, and
+for all my snuffing and snorting I smelt nothing suspicious in the way
+of wolf-trap. So I traded with a lady who kept store for woman's
+clothing, such as she used herself, enough to load up my pack-horse. She
+certainly selected liberal to judge by the money I paid.
+
+When I got back to camp expecting supper, I found the kids had been
+quarrelling, so that they weren't on speaking terms, and I had to
+introduce them. Jim was special haughty, but Curly got heaps interested
+in the clothes I'd bought, crowing and chuckling over everything. Her
+favorite game was playing at being a lady, but now she shied at
+committing herself.
+
+"Shucks!" she flirted across to the far side of the fire. "I cayn't
+oppress Jim in them things--I'd get so tame and weak he'd sit on my
+haid!"
+
+"You're due to get mar'ied," says I, "as sure as sunrise to-morrow."
+
+"So! Jim ain't caught me yet!"
+
+Jim started in to catch her, but she jumped the fire to clear him.
+
+"Now!" she deified him complete; "don't you rush my corral with one of
+yo' fool kisses, or I'll shorely bat yo' haid. I ain't laid down my arms
+yet!"
+
+So she swaggered with her little brown hand on her gun, the firelight
+glowing on her leather clothes and gold bright hair, on the flush of her
+sunburnt skin, on milk-white teeth, and laughing, flashing eyes. Jim's
+heart was burning, I reckon, for he went down on one knee and reached
+out his arms to her. There was only the fire between them.
+
+"Say you love me, Curly?"
+
+"It cayn't be helped, Jim," she whispered, and her face went grave, "but
+I shorely love you."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Riding the ranges of the world and grazing in life's pastures, I've got
+to be plumb content with things present, which I can grab the same with
+my teeth, instead of hungering after that heaven above which seems a lot
+uncertain, and apt to prove disappointing. Here I've got horses for
+sure, plenty cows, and Monte, one of my old riders, for my partner. Bear
+Hole is the name of our new ranche, with the bull pines of the coconino
+forest all around us, the hoary old volcanoes towering above, and the
+lava-beds fencing our home pasture. Back of the cabin is the spring
+where Curly used to splash me when she washed, the cave where she sang
+to me beside our camp fire. The bubble spring, the wind in the pines,
+the chatter of the birds, and the meadow flowers remind me of her
+always. She has put away her spurs and gun never to ride any more with
+free men on God's grass, because, poor soul! she's only a lady now and
+gone respectable.
+
+Last summer--it sure makes me sweat to think of that scary business--I
+went to Ireland. First came civilisation--which I'd never seen it
+before--cities all cluttered up with so various noises and smells that I
+got lost complete. When you stop to study the trail you get killed by a
+tramcar. Then there was the ocean, a sure great sight and exciting to
+the stomach--mine got plumb dissolute, pitching and bucking around like
+a mean horse, so that I was heaps glad to dismount at Liverpool. That
+Old Country is plenty strange, too, for a plain man to consider, for I
+seen women drunk and children starving, and had to bat a white man's
+head for shining a nigger's shoes. It beats me how such a tribe can ride
+herd on a bunch of empires as easy as I drive cows, but if I proceed to
+unfold all I don't know, I'll be apt to get plumb talkative.
+
+When I came up against Balshannon Castle, I found it a sure enough
+palace, which was no place for me, so I pawed around outside inquiring.
+Her ladyship was to home, and I found her setting in a fold-up chair on
+the terrace. It made me feel uplifted to see her there nursing a small
+baby, crooning fool talk to the same, which she patted and smacked and
+nuzzled all at once.
+
+"Wall," says she, as I came looming up accidental, "ef it ain't ole
+Chalkeye! Didn't I tell you awdehs to come long ago? Now don't you talk,
+or you'll spoil my kid's morals, 'cause he ain't broke to hawss-thieves.
+Yes, you may set on that stool."
+
+"Curly," says I, feeling scared, "is that yo' kid?"
+
+"Sort of. I traded for him. He's a second-hand angel. Now jest ain't he
+cute?"
+
+He was a sure cunning little person, and thought me great medicine to
+play with.
+
+"Whar is his lawdship?" says I.
+
+"Jim's down to the pasture, breaking a fool colt, and Chalkeye--oh, you
+ole felon, how I enjoy to see yo' homely face! I got good news. Father's
+alive, yes, in New York. He writes to say he's got a job at a theatre,
+giving shows of roping and shooting. He's the Cowboy Champion, and"--her
+voice dropped to a whisper--"planning enormous robberies. He'll steal
+New York, I reckon."
+
+"Curly," says I, "spose I give you good news. May I hold that kid just
+to try?"
+
+"Now you tame yo'self, and don't get ra'ring up too proud. Then maybe
+you shall--to-morrow. Tell me yo' news."
+
+I handed her the documents, which the governor of Arizona had made for
+me himself. Curly was pardoned, the charge against Jim was withdrawn,
+and I was to come up for trial when called upon. I shall not be called
+upon so long as I stay good.
+
+I saw the tears in Curly's eyes as she read, and her lips went twisty as
+if she were due to cry.
+
+"Shorely," she said, "this comes of tellin' our prayers to God. So Jim
+and me is free to go back to Holy Crawss?"
+
+"You're free."
+
+"Old friend," she whispered, "you must be first to tell Jim. Leave me
+awhile."
+
+I walked away into the house as if to look for Jim, then crept back
+behind a curtain watching her. She looked away to the west, and I knew
+she was longing for the desert. Then she kissed her baby on the nose,
+and once again, as in the old days, I heard her singing:--
+
+        "Whar y'u from, little stranger--little boy?
+    Y'u was riding a cloud on that star-strewn plain,
+    But y'u fell from the skies like a drop of rain,
+    To this wo'ld of sorrow and long, long pain--
+        Will y'u care fo' yo' motheh, lillie boy?"
+
+Far off I could hear the footfall of a horse.
+
+        "When y'u grows, little varmint, lillie boy,
+    Y'u'll be ridin' a hawss at yo' fatheh's side,
+    With you' gun and yo' spurs and yo' haidstrong pride:
+    Will y'u think of yo' home when the world rolls wide--
+        Will y'u wish fo' yo' motheh, lillie boy?"
+
+The horse was coming nearer up the drive.
+
+        "When y'u love in yo' manhood, little boy,
+    When y'u dream of a girl who is angel fair,
+    When the stars are her eyes, and the winds her hair,
+    When the sun is her smile, and yo' heaven's there,
+        Will y'u care fo' yo' motheh, lillie boy?"
+
+The horseman, brought up half-rearing, stepped from the saddle, then
+threw his rein in the old range way, and Balshannon hurried to his
+wife.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY'S
+
+_Popular Editions of Recent Fiction_
+
+
+Reissues of favorite copyrighted novels, fully illustrated (with few
+exceptions), and handsomely bound in cloth.
+
+
+1. THE RAINBOW CHASERS. A Story of the Plains. By John H. Whitson.
+
+It presents with striking vividness a picture of the rise and fall of a
+boom town.--_Boston Transcript._
+
+
+2. FROM KINGDOM TO COLONY. By Mary Devereux.
+
+It is many a long day since such a charming love story has been
+written.--_Literary World._
+
+
+3. THE SHADOW OF THE CZAR. By John R. Carling.
+
+An engrossing romance of the sturdy, wholesome sort, in which the action
+is never allowed to drag.--_Boston Herald._
+
+
+4. WHITE APRONS. By Maud Wilder Goodwin.
+
+Has the true qualities of historical romance, dramatic situation,
+and stirring incident, coupled with accuracy and literary
+charm.--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._
+
+
+5. A DREAM OF A THRONE. By Charles Fleming Embree.
+
+A powerful story, with constantly changing movement, strong color, and
+striking effects.--_Philadelphia North American._
+
+
+6. IN THE COUNTRY GOD FORGOT. By Frances Charles.
+
+The sky and the cacti and the droughts of Arizona are stamped in on the
+brain as one reads. The characters loom forcibly out of the arid
+air.--_The Nation._
+
+
+7. WITHOUT DOGMA. By Henryk Sienkiewicz. Author of "Quo Vadis."
+
+Intensely human, intellectually a masterpiece, and throughout
+entertains.--_Philadelphia Telegraph._
+
+
+8. A DETACHED PIRATE. By Helen Milecete.
+
+A charming young English woman is the self-styled pirate of this
+book.--_The Outlook._
+
+
+9. KISMET. By Julia Fletcher (George Fleming).
+
+It is so fresh and sweet and innocent and joyous, the dialogue is so
+natural and bright, the characters so keenly edged, and the descriptions
+so pathetic.--_Extract from a letter._
+
+
+10. A DAUGHTER OF NEW FRANCE. By Mary Catherine Crowley.
+
+A strong, vivid romance, and has reproduced with rare skill the social
+atmosphere of the time, as well as the spirit of adventure that was in
+the air.--_Brooklyn Eagle._
+
+
+11. THE LOVE-LETTERS OF THE KING; or, The Life Romantic. By Richard le
+Gallienne.
+
+He possesses charm, sweetness, native poesy.--_Chicago Evening Post._
+
+
+12. WITH FIRE AND SWORD. By Henryk Sienkiewicz. Translated by Jeremiah
+Curtin.
+
+The only modern romance with which it can be compared for fire,
+sprightliness, rapidity of action, swift changes, and absorbing interest
+is "The Three Musketeers" of Dumas.--_New York Tribune._
+
+
+13. A MAID OF BAR HARBOR. By Henrietta G. Rowe.
+
+Mrs. Rowe writes of the country life, character and traditions, and
+dialect with the sure touch of the observer at first hand.--_Providence
+Journal._
+
+
+14. UP AND DOWN THE SANDS OF GOLD. By Mary Devereux.
+
+The story is one of sunshine and shade, of smiles and tears.--_Boston
+Transcript._
+
+
+15. THE KING'S HENCHMAN. A Chronicle of the Sixteenth Century. By
+William Henry Johnson.
+
+Mr. Johnson has caught the spirit of the period, and has painted in
+Henry of Navarre a truthful and memorable historical portrait.--_The
+Mail and Express_, New York.
+
+
+16. WHEN THE GATES LIFT UP THEIR HEADS. A Story of the South in the
+Seventies. By Payne Erskine.
+
+A very remarkable story of the South after the war.--_Boston Budget._
+
+
+17. A ROSE OF NORMANDY. By William R. A. Wilson.
+
+Stirs the blood, warms the heart, and holds the interest in a firm grip
+from beginning to end.--_Chicago Tribune._
+
+
+18. BARBARA, A WOMAN OF THE WEST. By John H. Whitson.
+
+A story original in ideas, clever in construction, and interesting to
+the last word.--_New York World._
+
+
+19. THE HEROINE OF THE STRAIT. By Mary Catherine Crowley.
+
+A story of absorbing interest, told in a praiseworthy and skilful
+manner.--_Current Literature._
+
+
+20. LOVE THRIVES IN WAR. By Mary Catherine Crowley.
+
+The author is saturated with the atmosphere of the time, and has told
+her story with zest and spirit. It is a picturesque, well-imagined
+tale.--_New York Times Saturday Review._
+
+
+21. A GIRL OF VIRGINIA. By Lucy M. Thruston.
+
+The author has given us a picture of modern girlhood that goes straight
+to the heart and stays there.--_New York Globe._
+
+
+22. PAINTED SHADOWS. By Richard le Gallienne.
+
+Rich in poetic interpretation.--_Boston Transcript._
+
+
+23. THE VIKING'S SKULL. By John R. Carling.
+
+A capital tale of mystery and detection of crime. The ingenuity with
+which its intricacies are threaded is really wonderful.--_New York
+Times._
+
+
+24. SARAH TULDON. By Orme Agnus.
+
+A remarkable study of an English peasant girl of strong character who
+was developed into a fine, noble hearted, and generous woman.--_Chicago
+Record-Herald._
+
+
+25. THE SIEGE OF YOUTH. By Frances Charles.
+
+Of uncommon power. There is much bright and epigrammatic conversation.
+Among the notable good books of the year.--_Argonaut_, San Francisco.
+
+
+26. HASSAN, A FELLAH. A Romance of Palestine. By Henry Gillman.
+
+It is romance of the strongest type. Many pages fairly glow with
+color.--_Public Opinion._
+
+
+27. THE WOLVERINE. By Albert L. Lawrence.
+
+An uncommonly vivid and well sustained story of pioneer days in
+Michigan.--_New York Globe._
+
+
+28. CURLY. A Tale of the Arizona Desert. By Roger Pocock.
+
+The best cowboy story since "The Virginian."--_The Outlook._
+
+
+29. JUSTIN WINGATE, Ranchman. By John H. Whitson.
+
+An accurate and adequate picture of the Western life of the day.--_New
+York Sun._
+
+
+30. A KNOT OF BLUE. By William R. A. Wilson.
+
+A strong, fanciful weaving together of incidents of adventure, intrigue,
+and gallantry.--_New York World._
+
+
+31. THE HEAD OF A HUNDRED. By Maud Wilder Goodwin.
+
+Charming for its sweetness and truth.--_New York Times._
+
+
+32. THE WEIRD PICTURE. By John R. Carling.
+
+Leads the reader through a maze of mystery and adventure.--_Brooklyn
+Eagle._
+
+
+33. A PRINCE OF LOVERS. By Sir William Magnay.
+
+A remarkable story of love, adventure, and intrigue.--_Boston
+Transcript._
+
+
+34. SWEET PEGGY. By Linnie Sarah Harris.
+
+A jolly, wholesome love story in the good old-fashioned
+manner.--_Detroit Free Press._
+
+
+35. JOURNEYS WITH DUMAS. The Speronara. By Alexandre Dumas. Translated
+by Katharine Prescott Wormeley.
+
+These pages simply teem with entertainment.--_New York Evening Sun._
+
+
+36. SIR CHRISTOPHER. By Maud Wilder Goodwin.
+
+One of the strongest and most wholesome romances ever brought forth from
+Maryland and Virginia.--_Cleveland World._
+
+
+37. FILE No. 113. By Emile Gaboriau. Translated by George Burnham Ives.
+
+A masterpiece of its kind, one of the best detective stories ever
+written.--_New York Tribune._
+
+
+38. MY LADY CLANCARTY. By Mary Imlay Taylor.
+
+A wholesome, vigorous, stirring, refreshing tale.--_Chicago
+Record-Herald._
+
+
+39. WHERE THE TIDE COMES IN. By Lucy M. Thruston.
+
+A novel of dramatic force, with a good plot.--_New York Times._
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Curly, by Roger  Pocock
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41447 ***