Dorn Of The Mountains (3 page)

“Auntie, I don’t believe Big Tom ever killed Al’s sheep,” declared Dorn positively.

“Wal, Al thinks so an’ many other people,” replied Mrs. Cass, shaking her gray head doubtfully. “You never swore he didn’t. An’ there was them two sheepherders who did swear they seen him.”

“They only saw a cougar. An’ they were so scared they ran.”

“Who wouldn’t? That big beast is enough to scare anyone. For land’s sakes, don’t ever fetch him down here again! I’ll never fergit the time you did. All the folks an’ children an’ hosses in Pine broke an’ run thet day.”

“Yes, but Tom wasn’t to blame. Auntie, he’s the tamest of my pets. Didn’t he try to put his head on your lap an’ lick your hand?”

“Wal, Milt, I ain’t gainsayin’ your cougar pet didn’t act better’n a lot of people I know. Fer he did. But the looks of him an’ what’s been said was enough for me.”

“An’ what’s all that, auntie?”

“They say he’s wild when out of your sight. An’ thet he’ll trail an’ kill anythin’ you put him after.”

“I trained him to be just that way.”

“Wal, leave Big Tom to home…in the woods…when you visit us.”

Dorn finished his hearty meal, and listened a while longer to the old woman’s talk, then, taking up his rifle and the other turkey, he bade her good bye. She followed him out.

“Now, Milt, you’ll come soon again, won’t you…jest to see Al’s niece…who’ll be here in a week?”

“I reckon I’ll drop in someday…. Auntie, have you seen my friends, the Mormon boys?”

“No, I ain’t seen them an’ don’t want to,” she retorted. “Milt Dorn, if anyone ever corrals you, it’ll be Mormons.”

“Don’t worry, auntie. I like those boys. They often see me up in the woods, an’ ask me to help them track a hoss or help kill some fresh meat.”

“They’re workin’ for Beasley now.”

“Is that so?” rejoined Dorn with sudden start. “An’ what doin’?”

“Beasley is gettin’ so rich, he’s buildin’ a fence, an’ didn’t have enough help. So I hear.”

“Beasley gettin’ rich?” repeated Dorn thoughtfully. “More sheep an’ horses an’ cattle than ever, I reckon?”

“Lawsa’ me! Why, Milt, Beasley ain’t any idee what he owns. Yes, he’s the biggest man in these parts, since poor old Al’s took to failin’. I reckon Al’s health ain’t none improved by Beasley’s success. They’ve had some bitter quarrels lately…so I hear. Al ain’t what he was.”

Dorn bade good bye again to his old friend and strode away, thoughtful and serious. Beasley would not only be difficult to circumvent, but he would be dangerous to oppose. There did not appear much doubt of his driving his way roughshod to the dominance of affairs there in Pine. Dorn, passing down the road, began to meet acquaintances who had hearty welcome for his presence and interest in his doings, so that his pondering was interrupted for the time being. He carried the turkey to another old friend, and, when he left her house, he went on to the village store. This was a large log cabin, roughly covered with clapboards, with a wide plank platform in front and a hitching rail in the road. Several horses were standing there, and a group of lazy shirt-sleeved loungers.

“I’ll be dog-goned if it ain’t Milt Dorn!” exclaimed one.

“Howdy, Milt, old buckskin, right down glad to see you,” greeted another.

“Hello, Dorn. You air shore good for sore eyes,” drawled still another.

After a long period of absence, when Dorn met these acquaintances, he always experienced a singular warmth of feeling. It faded quickly when he got back to the intimacy of his woodland, and that was because the people of Pine with few exceptions, although they liked him and greatly admired his outdoor wisdom, regarded him as a sort of nonentity. Because he loved the wild and preferred it to village and range life, they had classed him as not one of them. Some believed him lazy, others believed him shiftless, others thought him an Indian in mind and habits, and there were many who called him slowwitted. Then there was another side to their regard for him, which always afforded him good-natured amusement. Two of this group asked him to bring in some turkey or venison; another wanted to hunt with him. Lem Harden came out of the store and appealed to Dorn to recover his stolen horse. Lem’s brother wanted a wild-running mare tracked and brought home. Jesse Lyons wanted a colt broken, and broken, with patience, not violence, as was the method of the hard-riding boys at Pine. So one and all, they besieged Dorn with their selfish needs, all unconscious of the flattering nature of these overtures. And on the moment there happened by two women whose remarks, as they entered the store, bore strong testimony to Dorn’s personality.

“If there ain’t Milt Dorn!” exclaimed the older of the two. “How lucky! My cow’s sick, an’ the men are no good doctorin’. I’ll jest ask Milt over.”

“No one like Milt!” responded the other woman heartily.

“Good day, there…you Milt Dorn!” called the first speaker. “When you git away from these lazy men, come over.”

Dorn never refused a ser vice, and that was why his infrequent visits to Pine were wont to be prolonged beyond his own plea sure.

Presently Beasley strode down the street, and, when about to enter the store, he espied Dorn.

“Hello there, Milt!” he called cordially as he came forward with extended hand. His greeting was sincere, but the lightning glance he shot over Dorn was not born of his pleasure. Seen in daylight Beasley was a big, bold, bluff man, with strong dark features. His aggressive presence suggested that he was a good friend and a bad enemy.

Dorn shook hands with him.

“How are you, Beasley?”

“Ain’t complainin’, Milt, though I got more work than I can rustle…. Reckon you wouldn’t take a job bossin’ my sheepherders?”

“Reckon I wouldn’t,” replied Dorn. “Thanks all the same.”

“What’s goin’ on up in the woods?”

“Plenty of turkey an’ deer. Lots of bear, too. The Indians have worked back on the south side, early this fall. But I reckon winter will come late an’ be mild.”

“Good! An’ where’re you headin’ from?”

“Cross-country from my camp,” replied Dorn rather evasively.

“Your camp. Nobody ever found thet yet,” declared Beasley gruffly.

“It’s up there,” said Dorn.

“Reckon you got thet cougar chained in your cabin door?” queried Beasley, and there was a barely distinguishable shudder of his muscular frame. Also the pupils dilated in his hard brown eyes.

“Tom ain’t chained. An’ I haven’t no cabin, Beasley.”

“You mean to tell me that big brute stays in your camp without bein’ hog-tied or corralled?” demanded Beasley.

“Sure he does.”

“Beats me! But then I’m queer on cougars. Have had many a cougar trail me at night. Ain’t sayin’ I was scared. But I don’t care for thet brand of varmint…. Milt, you goin’ to stay down a while?”

“Yes, I’ll hang around some.”

“Come over to the ranch. Glad to see you anytime. Some old huntin’ pards of yours are workin’ for me.”

“Thanks, Beasley. I reckon I’ll come over.”

Beasley turned away and took a step, and then, as if with an afterthought, he wheeled again. “Suppose you’ve heard about old Al Auchincloss bein’ near petered out?” queried Beasley. A strong ponderous cast of thought seemed to emanate from his features. Dorn divined that Beasley’s next step would be to further his advancement by some word or hint.

“Widow Cass was tellin’ me all the news. Too bad about old Al,” replied Dorn.

“Sure is. He’s done for. An’ I’m sorry…though Al’s never been square….”

“Beasley,” interrupted Dorn quickly. “You can’t say that to me…. Al Auchincloss always was the whitest an’ squarest man in this sheep country.”

Beasley gave Dorn a fleeting dark glance.

“Dorn, what you think ain’t goin’ to influence feelin’ on this range,” returned Beasley deliberately. “You live in the woods, an’….”

“Reckon livin’ in the woods I might think…an’ know a whole lot,” interposed Dorn just as deliberately. The group of men exchanged surprised glances. This was Milt Dorn in different aspect. And Beasley did not conceal a puzzled surprise.

“About what…now?” he asked bluntly.

“Why, about what’s goin’ on in Pine,” replied Dorn.

Some of the men laughed.

“Shore lots goin’ on…an’ no mistake,” put in Lew Harden.

Probably the keen Beasley had never before considered Milt Dorn as a responsible person, certainly never one in any way to cross his trail. But on the instant perhaps some instinct was born or he divined an antagonism in Dorn that was both surprising and perplexing.

“Dorn, I’ve differences with Al Auchincloss…have had them for years,” said Beasley. “Much of what he owns is mine. An’ it’s goin’ to come to me. Now I reckon people will be takin’ sides…some fer me an’ some fer Al. Most are fer me…. Where do you stand? Al Auchincloss never had no use fer you, an’, besides, he’s a dyin’ man…. Are you goin’ on his side?”

“Yes, I reckon I am.”

“Wal, I’m glad you’ve declared yourself,” rejoined Beasley shortly, and he strode away with the ponderous gait of a man who would brush any obstacle from his path.

“Milt, thet’s bad…makin’ Beasley sore at you,” said Lew Harden. “He’s on the way to boss this outfit.”

“He’s sure goin’ to step into Al’s boots,” said another.

“Thet was white of Milt to stick up for poor old Al,” declared Lew’s brother.

Dorn broke away from them and wended a thoughtful way down the road. The burden of what he knew about Beasley weighed less heavily upon him, and the close-lipped course he had decided upon appeared wisest. He needed to think before undertaking to call upon old Al Auchincloss, and to that end he sought an hour’s seclusion under the pines.

In the afternoon Dorn, having accomplished some tasks imposed on him by his old friends at Pine, directed slow steps toward the Auchincloss Ranch.

The flat square stone and log cabin, of immense size, stood upon a little hill, half a mile out of the village. A home as well as fort, it had been the first structure erected in that region, and the process of building had more than once been interrupted by Indian attacks. The Apaches had for some time, however, confined their fierce raids to points south of the White Mountain range. Auchincloss’s house looked down upon barns and sheds and corrals of all sizes and shapes, and hundreds of acres of well-cultivated soil. Fields of oats waved, gray and yellow, in the afternoon sun; an immense green pasture was divided by a willow-bordered brook, and there were droves of horses, and out on the rolling bare flats were straggling herds of cattle.

The whole ranch showed many years of toil, and the perseverance of man. The brook irrigated the verdant valley between the ranch and the village. Water for the house, however, came down from the high wooded slope of the mountain, and had been brought there by a simple expedient. Pine logs of uniform size had been laid end to end, with a deep trough cut in them, and they made a shining line down the slope, across the valley, and up the little hill to Auchincloss’s home. Near the house the hollowed halves of logs had been bound together, making a crude pipe. Water really ran uphill in this case, one of the facts that had made the ranch famous, as it had always been a wonder and delight to the small boys of Pine. The two good women who managed Auchincloss’s large house hold were often shocked by the strange things that floated into their clean kitchen with the ever-flowing stream of clear cold mountain water.

As it happened this day, Dorn encountered Al Auchincloss sitting in the shade of a porch, talking to some of his sheepherders and stock men. Auchincloss was a short man of extremely powerful build and enormous width of shoulders. He had no gray hairs and he did not look old, yet there was in his face a gray weariness, something that resembled sloping lines of distress, dim and pale, that told of age and the ebb tide of vitality. His features, cast in large mold, were clean-cut and comely, and he had frank blue eyes, somewhat sad, yet still full of spirit.

Dorn had no idea how his visit would be taken, and he certainly would not have been surprised to be ordered off the place. He had not set foot there for years. Therefore it was with surprise that he saw Auchincloss wave away the herders, and take his entrance without any particular expression. Someone had acquainted the old rancher with his presence in Pine and not improbably about how he had openly rebuked Beasley in Auchincloss’s behalf.

“Howdy, Al. How are you?” greeted Dorn easily as he leaned his rifle against the log wall.

Auchincloss did not rise, but he offered his hand. “Wal, Milt Dorn, I reckon this is the first time I ever seen you thet I couldn’t lay you flat on your back,” replied the rancher. His tone was both testy and full of pathos.

“I take it you mean you ain’t very well,” replied Dorn. “I’m sorry, Al.”

“No, it ain’t thet. Never was sick in my life. I’m just played out, like a hoss thet had been strong an’ willin’, an’ did too much…. Wal, you don’t look a day older, Milt. Livin’ in the woods rolls over a man’s head.”

“Yes, I’m feelin’ fine, an’ time never bothers me.”

“Wal, mebbe you ain’t such a fool after all. I’ve wondered lately…since I had time to think…. But, Milt, you don’t git no richer.”

“Al, I have all I want an’ need.”

“Wal, then you don’t support anybody…you don’t do any good in the world.”

“We don’t agree, Al,” replied Dorn with his slow smile.

“Reckon we never did…. An’ you jest come over to pay your respects to me, eh?”

“Not altogether,” answered Dorn ponderingly. “First off, I’d like to say I’ll pay back them sheep you always claimed my tame cougar killed.”

“You will! An’ how’d you go about thet?”

“Wasn’t very many sheep, was there?”

“A matter of fifty head.”

“So many? Al, do you still think old Tom killed them sheep?”

“
Humph!
Milt, I know damn’ well he did.”

“Al, now how could you know somethin’ I don’t? Be reasonable now. Let’s don’t fall out about this again. I’ll pay back the sheep. Work it out….”

“Milt Dorn, you’ll come down here an’ work off that fifty head of sheep!” ejaculated the old rancher incredulously.

“Sure.”

“Wal, I’ll be damned!” He sat back and gazed with shrewd eyes at Dorn. “What’s got into you, Milt? Hev you heerd about my niece thet’s comin’ an’ think you’ll shine up to her?”

“Yes, Al, her comin’ has a good deal to do with my deal,” replied Dorn soberly. “But I never thought to shine up to her, as you hint.”

“
Haw! Haw!
You’re jest like all the other colts hereabouts. Reckon it’s a good sign, too. It’ll take a woman to fetch you out of the woods…. But, boy, this niece of mine, Helen Rayner, will stand you on your head. I never seen her. They say she’s jest like her mother. An’ Nell Auchincloss…what a girl she was!”

“Honest, Al…,” he began.

“Son, don’t lie to an old man.”

“Lie! I wouldn’t lie to anyone. Al, it’s only men who live in towns an’ are always makin’ deals.
I
live in the forest where there’s nothin’ to make me lie.”

“Wal, no offense meant, I’m sure,” responded Auchincloss. “An’ mebbe there’s somethin’ in what you say…. We was talkin’ about them sheep your big cat killed. Wal, Milt, I can’t prove it, thet’s sure. And mebbe you’ll think me doddery when I tell you my reason. It wasn’t what them greaser herders said about seein’ a cougar in the herd.”

“What was it, then?” queried Dorn, much interested.

“Well, thet day, a year ago, I seen your pet. He was lyin’ in front of the store an’ you was inside tradin’ fer supplies, I reckon. It was like meetin’ an enemy face to face…. Because, damn me if I didn’t know thet cougar was guilty when he looked in my eyes! There.”

The old rancher expected to be laughed at. But Dorn was grave.

“Al, I know how you felt,” he replied as if they were discussing an action of a human being. “Sure I’d hate to doubt old Tom. But he’s a cougar. An’ the ways of animals are strange…. Anyway, Al, I’ll make the loss of your sheep good.”

“No, you won’t,” rejoined Auchincloss quickly. “We’ll call it off. I’m takin’ it square of you to make the offer. So forget your worry about work, if you had any.”

“There’s somethin’ else…Al…I wanted to say,” began Dorn with hesitation. “An’ it’s about Beasley.”

Auchincloss started violently and a flame of red shot to his face. Then he raised a big hand that shook. Dorn saw in a flash how the old man’s nerves had gone.

“Don’t mention…thet…thet greaser…to me!” burst out the rancher. “It makes me see…red…. Dorn, I ain’t overlookin’ thet you spoke up fer me today…stood for my side. Lem Harden told me. I was glad. An’ thet’s why…today…I forget our old quarrel…. But not a damn’ word about thet sheep thief…or I’ll drive you off the place!”

“But, Al…be reasonable,” remonstrated Dorn. “It’s necessary thet I speak of…of Beasley.”

“It ain’t. Not to me. I won’t listen.”

“Reckon you’ll have to, Al,” returned Dorn. “Beasley’s after your property. He’s made a deal….”

“By heaven, I know thet!” shouted Auchincloss, tottering up, with his face now black-red. “Do you think thet’s new to me? Shut up, Dorn! I can’t stand it.”

“But, Al…there’s worse,” went on Dorn hurriedly. “Worse! Your life’s threatened…an’ your niece Helen…she’s to be….”

“Shut up…an’ clear out!” roared Auchincloss, waving his huge fists. He seemed on the verge of a collapse as, shaking all over, he backed into the door. A few seconds of rage had transformed him into a pitiful old man.

“But, Al…I’m your friend…,” began Dorn appealingly.

“Friend, hey?” returned the rancher with grim bitter passion. “Then you’re the only one…. Milt Dorn, I’m rich an’ I’m a dyin’ man. I trust nobody…. But, you wild hunter…if you’re my friend…prove it! Go kill thet greaser sheep thief!
Do
somethin’…an’ then come talk to me!”

With that he lurched, half falling, into the house, and slammed the door.

Dorn stood there for a blank moment, and then, taking up his rifle, he strode away.

Toward sunset Dorn located the camp of his four Mormon friends, and reached it in time for supper.

John, Roy, Joe, and Hal Beeman were sons of a pioneer Mormon who had settled the little community of Snowdrop. They were young men in years, but hard labor and hard life in the open had made them look matured. Only a year’s differences in age stood between John and Roy, and between Roy and Joe, and likewise for Joe and Hal. When it came to appearance they were difficult to distinguish from one another. Horse men, sheepherders, cattle raisers, hunters—they all possessed long wiry powerful frames, lean bronzed still faces, and the quiet keen eyes of men used to the open.

Their camp was situated beside a spring in a cove surrounded by aspens, some three miles from Pine, and, although working for Beasley near the village, they had ridden to and fro from camp, after the habit of seclusion peculiar to their kind.

Dorn and the brothers had much in common, from which a warm regard had sprung up. But their exchange of confidences had wholly concerned things pertaining to the forest. This, to be sure, was owing to the reticence of the close-lipped Mormons. Dorn ate supper with them, and talked as usually when he met them, without giving any hint of the purpose forming in his mind. After the meal he helped Joe round up the horses, hobble them for the night, and drive them into a grassy glade among the pines. Later, when the shadows stole through the forest on the cool wind and the campfire glowed comfortably, Dorn broached the subject that possessed him.

“An’ so you’re workin’ for Beasley?” he queried, by way of starting conversation.

“We was,” drawled John. “But today, bein’ the end of our month, we got our pay an’ quit. Beasley sure was sore.”

“Why’d you knock off?”

John essayed no reply, and his brothers all had that quiet suppressed look of knowledge under restraint.

“Listen to what I come to tell you…then you’ll talk,” went on Dorn. And hurriedly he told of Beasley’s plot to destroy Al Auchincloss’s niece and claim the dying man’s property, and of his failure to get the old rancher to hear his story.

When Dorn ended rather breathlessly, the Mormon boys sat without any show of surprise or feeling. John, the oldest, took up a stick and slowly poked the red embers of the fire, making the white sparks fly.

“Now, Milt…why’d you tell us thet?” he asked guardedly.

“You’re the only friends I’ve got,” replied Dorn. “It didn’t seem safe for me to talk down in the village. I thought of you boys right off. I ain’t goin’ to let Snake Anson get that girl. An’ I need help…so I come to you.”

“Beasley’s strong around Pine an’ old Al’s weakenin’. Beasley will git the property, girl or no girl,” said John.

“Things don’t always turn out as they look. But no matter about that. The girl deal is what’s riled me…. She’s to arrive at Magdalena on the Sixteenth an’ take the stage for Snowdrop…. Now what to do? If she travels in that stage, I’ll be on it, you bet. But she oughtn’t to be in it, at all…. Boys, somehow I’m goin’ to save her…. Will you help me? I reckon I’ve been in some tight corners for you…. Sure, this’s different. But are you my friends? You know now what Beasley is. An’ you’ve all lost enough at the hand of Snake Anson’s gang. You’ve got fast hosses, eyes for trackin’, an’ you can handle a rifle. You’re the kind of fellars I’d want in a tight pinch with a bad gang. Will you stand by me or see me go alone?”

Then John Beeman, silently and with pale face, gave Dorn’s hand a powerful grip, and one by one the other brothers rose to do likewise. Their eyes flashed with hard glint and a strange bitterness hovered around their thin lips.

“Milt, mebbe we know what Beasley is better’n you,” said John at length. “He ruined my father. He’s cheated other Mormons. We boys have proved to ourselves thet he gets the sheep Anson’s gang steals…. An’ drives the herds to Phoenix! Our people won’t let us accuse Beasley. So we’ve suffered in silence. My father always said let someone else say the first word against Beasley…. An’ you’ve come to us!”

Roy Beeman put a hand on Dorn’s shoulder. He, perhaps, was the keenest of the brothers, and the one to whom adventure and peril called most. He had been oftenest with Dorn, on many a long trail, and he was the hardest rider and the most relentless tracker in all that range country.

“An’ we’re goin’ with you,” he said in a strong and rolling voice.

They resumed their seats before the fire. John threw on more wood. And with a
crackling
and sparkling the blaze curled up, fanned by the wind. As twilight deepened into night, the moan in the pines increased to a roar. A pack of coyotes commenced to pierce the air in staccato cries.

The five young men conversed long and earnestly, considering, planning, rejecting ideas advanced by each. Dorn and Beeman suggested most of what became acceptable to all. Hunters of their type resembled explorers in slow and deliberate attention to details. What they had to deal with here was a situation of unlimited possibilities—the horses and outfit needed, a long detour to reach Magdalena unobserved, the rescue of a strange girl who would no doubt be self-willed and determined to ride on the stage, the rescue, forcible if necessary, the fight and inevitable pursuit, the flight into the forest, and the safe delivery of the girl to Auchincloss.

“Then, Milt, will we go after Beasley?” queried Roy Beeman significantly.

Dorn was silent and thoughtful.

“Sufficient unto the day!” said John. “An’…fellars, let’s go to bed.”

They rolled out their tarpaulins, Dorn sharing Roy’s blankets, and soon were asleep, while the red embers slowly faded, and the great roar of wind died down, and the forest stillness set in.