Nevada (1995) (36 page)

"There, you have betrayed it," continued Hettie, forcefully, tryin
g
to command her voice. "Call Marvie now. We will plan anothe
r
meeting, then hurry home. I've enough to think of--this time."

Rose silently slipped away under the pines, and Hettie, staring a
t
the green-walled foliage, seemed to see a ghost. "Oh, my God!" sh
e
whispered in agony. "Nevada belongs to this thieving, vile crew!"

Chapter
sixteen.

Frost fell early in September on the high rims of the Mogollons.

Soon after the sun set the rarefied air became cold and sharp
,
making a campfire something to draw the riders and hunters, an
d
other men of the woodland.

A group of five dark-faced, dark-garbed campers sat around
a
beautiful opal-hearted cedar fire, at the wild edge of Black Butte
,
where it fell sheer into the brakes. Three of the men were playin
g
cards, cross-legged in front of a saddle blanket, intensely inten
t
on the greasy bits of colored pasteboard and the piles of gold coi
n
and rolls of greenbacks. They were gambling--the absorbing pastim
e
of all dyed-in-the-wool rustlers.

The other two men occupied a position on the opposite side of th
e
fire. One had his back and his outspread palms to the blaze, whil
e
the other sat against a log.

"Hell, Jim," swore the standing man, flicking a hand toward th
e
gamblers, "they couldn't hear the crack of doom. They'll gambl
e
there all night or till one of them has all the money. An' wha
t
difference would it make now--if they did hear what you say?"

"Wal, Cash, the fact is I'm not used to crowds," replied the other.

"It takes long to get acquainted. An' you know I can never b
e
shore of any man."

"That's the price you pay for leadership. Reckon it's the sam
e
among honest businessmen in the world as among rustlers an' gunmen.

But I didn't mean to split hairs over it. I was just complainin'
b
ecause you're so close-mouthed."

"What of it, Burridge?" queried Jim, somewhat acidly. "I shor
e
talk plenty to you, don't I, when we're alone?"

"Course you do, Jim," answered Burridge. "All I want to get at i
s
this. If you'd loosen up a little more, drink an' gamble a little
,
especially when we run into other outfits, it'd facilitate ou
r
plans."

"I reckon, Cash," returned Jim, wearily. "But how can I have
a
quick eye an' hand if I drink? I'll agree, though, to be mor
e
friendly an' set in a game now an' then."

"Good! Reckon that'll do. Lord, Jim, don't get me wrong! Eve
r
since you called Hardy Rue out an' killed him I've been ready t
o
crawl an' wear my fingernails off scratchin' for you. I mayn'
t
have been your friend back in Lineville, but I sure love you now.

You've put me on my feet again."

"Wal, Cash, that's plain talk," replied Jim. "An' I don't min
d
sayin' I like you better than I used to. But I can't love any ma
n
or even be pards."

"Sure, sure I understand," returned Burridge, hastily. "An' I'
m
damn glad for small favors. But you needn't tell that to our gan
g
or any of these outfits we meet. They all think you were my par
d
back in California an' are yet. Burt Stillwell would have shot me
,
surer than the Lord made little apples. But he was afraid of you.

He was undecided. He couldn't be himself, an' I'm tellin' you h
e
was a bad hombre."

"Aw, bad, yes, in a sense of dirty yellow behind-your-bac
k
viciousness," agreed Jim, flashing a quick eloquent hand. "I hat
e
to throw a gun on such fodder. But he forced it. He kept stil
l
till he got a few drinks. Then he r'iled up aboot Ben Ide's re
d
horse, an' he put in that ridiculous claim for his pard, Ceda
r
Hatt. Wanted a share of the divvy for the cattle--for this Hat
t
fellow."

"The hell he did! Well, I wondered what it was about. But I wa
s
so glad I didn't feel no curiosity," returned Burridge; he turne
d
round to kick the fire-logs. Then again he faced his companion.

"Maybe you don't know it, Lacy, but you made a lot of friends b
y
pluggin' Stillwell, an' one sure-enough enemy."

"Who's that? This Cedar Hatt?"

"He's the bird. A red-tailed buzzard, an' no mistake. He's
a
backwoodsman, Jim, like an Indian, who knows the woods. Ceda
r
wouldn't ever try you out, unless, like Burt, he'd been lookin' a
t
the bottle. All the same you'll be in more danger from Cedar tha
n
from all the gun-throwers in Arizona. He's killed shepherds an'
c
owboys enough, believe me. He'll trail you--ambush you in th
e
woods."

"Much obliged, Cash," drawled Jim, yawning. "Reckon I'd bette
r
look out for this heah Cedar Hatt."

"I'm givin' you a hunch of hunches," declared Burridge. "I'm mos
t
damn honest an' selfish about it, too. I've other reasons besid
e
affection not to want Jim Lacy killed. Cedar Hatt will be sor
e
enough when he hears you put Stillwell over, but, say, when h
e
learns you got that red stallion an' sent him back to Ide--my Gawd!
b
rother, he'll be hell's fire!"

"How soon is he goin' to find out?" queried Lacy, with mor
e
interest. "Stillwell cain't very wal tell. An' that pard o
f
Stillwell's--Babe Morgan, some one called him--he'll be runnin'
y
et."

"Cedar'll find out pronto," declared Burridge. "If not from som
e
one outside our outfit, then from some one inside. For you wer
e
playin' a queer high hand, Jim, when you took the stallion awa
y
from Burt an' Babe an' sent it back to the Ide ranch. They'
d
stolen it. Your argument sounded good to me. Ben Ide would rais
e
more hell over the loss of California Red than a hundred thousan
d
head of stock."

"Huh! I'll bet he would," declared Lacy, dropping his head. Th
e
twig he had been twirling in his fingers snapped sharply.

"Well, to go on, your argument looked good to me. Now I've go
t
brains, an' most of these rustlin' hombres haven't nothin' bu
t
spruce gum in their heads. That deal looked queer to all ou
r
outfit. Still, only Hubrigg opened his trap to say so. Hubrig
g
likes you, though, an' I think you can gamble on him."

Here Burridge leaned over toward Jim to whisper: "If our gang see
m
a little standoffish yet, it's only your reputation. Since yo
u
helped us to steal cattle an' drive them an' sell them, why
,
they're sure you are one of us, even if you are Jim Lacy."

"Reckon that ought to be aboot enough," returned Lacy.

He turned his ear to the faint cold wind that breathed up out o
f
the black void below.

"Hear anythin'?" queried Burridge.

"Rollin' stones. Might be deer on the trail."

"Might be Stagg, too, an' I'll gamble it is. For he's overdue."

"Listen," rejoined Lacy, holding up a sensitive hand.

Both men turned their heads sidewise to the wind and waited.

Fitfully the faint wind mourned through the forest. From far belo
w
floated up a soft murmur of tumbling stream. Solitude and silenc
e
seemed to be emphasized by these wilderness factors. The campfir
e
cracked; the gamblers slapped their cards and clinked their gold.

"Heah anythin'?" asked Lacy, suddenly relaxing.

"Sure. A lot of night sounds, includin' our gamblin' pards here
,
but no hoss," returned Burridge.

"Wal, I heah a hoss," said Lacy.

"Good! That'll be Stagg, unless it might be one of our hosses.

I'll take a look an' then I'll unroll my bed."

Burridge stalked away in the gloom of the forest, while Lacy, lef
t
alone, attended to the campfire. Once or twice he glanced at th
e
absorbed gamesters, with something curious, strange, and menacin
g
in his eyes. Then he fell to contemplation of the opal heart o
f
the campfire. He watched it, the glow and sparkle and white shad
e
and pearly red. And the moment arrived when he forgot the wil
d
environment, the gambling rustlers, to become like a statue, cold-
f
aced, with haunted eyes. He must have seen a ghost in the radian
t
embers, for not till a thud of hoofs sounded close at hand did h
e
rouse out of his trance.

Presently two dark forms entered the circle of light, an
d
approached, talking low. Lacy got up to meet them.

"Howdy, Jim!" greeted the newcomer with Burridge. He was a swarthy-
f
aced, beady-eyed white man with a strain of Indian or Mexica
n
blood.

"Howdy, Stagg! Did you make a good job of it?" returned Lacy, wit
h
apparent carelessness.

"Wasn't no job a-tall," said Stagg, reaching bare grimy hand
s
toward the fire. "Soon as you-all left, the red hoss quieted down
,
an' I coaxed him out of thet measly leetle corral. He din't lik
e
thet. An' after he found out I was leadin' him home he didn't mak
e
no more fuss. An' we made fast time. Reckon it was nigh o
n
midnight when we got down on the sage. I tied up both hosses
,
pulled off my boots, put on my moccasins, an' led the stallion fiv
e
miles through grass an' sage. When I run into Ide's fence I kep
t
goin' along till I come to a gate. I opened it an' let him in."

"Much obliged, Stagg. I--reckon it was no fool move of mine--
t
hough some think different," replied Lacy, turning his face awa
y
from the fire.

"Lacy, it was the slickest piece of headwork I ever seen on thi
s
range," declared Stagg. "I hadn't time to tell you I was a
t
Burton's ranch the next day after Stillwell stole the stallion.

Ide's cowmen came rarin' over the country. Thet Raidy, he's an ol
d
hand, an' he was mad as a hornet. An' to-day as I was climbin' th
e
Hogback I run into a sheepherder I know. Greaser named Jua
n
somethin'. He said Ide had plastered the trees along the trails
,
offerin' reward for Red."

"There, Jim--you see, it was a wise move," declared Burridge, wit
h
satisfaction. "Young Ide would have spent a fortune gettin' bac
k
that stallion. Well, he sure was grand hoss-flesh. I only looke
d
at him once. If I'd looked twice I'd been a hoss-thief, too."

Lacy stared out into the gloom of the forest.

"Reckon you're hungry?" asked Burridge of the arrival.

"Had a bite at Hatt's to-day," returned Stagg. "But a chuck o
f
deer meat an' a cup of coffee wouldn't go bad."

"We got roast turkey. Young gobbler that Jim shot the head off a
s
we was ridin' along."