The Big-Town Round-Up

  E-text prepared by Al Haines

  THE BIG-TOWN ROUND-UP

  by

  WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE

  Author ofA Man Four-Square, The Sheriff's Son, Oh, You Tex!, Etc.

  Frontispiece by George Giguere

  [Frontispiece: Hard knuckles pressed cruelly into thesoft throat of the Villager. (Transcriber's note: mostof illustration missing; enough of its caption remainingto locate its entirety in the book's text).]

  Grosset & DunlapPublishers New YorkMade in the United States of AmericaCopyright, 1920, by William Macleod RaineAll Rights Reserved

  CONTENTS

  FOREWORD I. CONCERNING A STREET TWELVE MILES LONG II. CLAY APPOINTS HIMSELF CHAPERON III. THE BIG TOWN IV. A NEW USE FOR A WATER HOSE V. A CONTRIBUTION TO THE SALVATION ARMY VI. CLAY TAKES A TRANSFER VII. ARIZONA FOLLOWS ITS LAWLESS IMPULSE VIII. "THE BEST SINGLE-BARRELED SPORT IVER I MET" IX. BEATRICE UP STAGE X. JOHNNIE SEES THE POSTMASTER XI. JOHNNIE GREEN--MATCH-MAKER XII. CLAY READS AN AD AND ANSWERS IT XIII. A LATE EVENING CALL XIV. STARRING AS A SECOND-STORY MAN XV. THE GANGMAN SEES RED XVI. A FACE IN THE NIGHT XVII. JOHNNIE MAKES A JOKE XVIII. BEATRICE GIVES AN OPTION XIX. A LADY WEARS A RING XX. THE CAUTIOUS GUY SLIPS UP XXI. AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS XXII. TWO MEN IN A LOCKED ROOM XXIII. JOHNNIE COMES INTO HIS OWN XXIV. CLAY LAYS DOWN THE LAW XXV. JOHNNIE SAYS HE IS MUCH OBLIGED XXVI. A LOCKED GATE XXVII. "NO VIOLENCE" XXVIII. IN BAD XXIX. BAD NEWS XXX. BEE MAKES A MORNING CALL XXXI. INTO THE HANDS OF HIS ENEMY XXXII. MR. LINDSAY RECEIVES XXXIII. BROMFIELD MAKES AN OFFER XXXIV. BEATRICE QUALIFIES AS A SHERLOCK HOLMES XXXV. TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR XXXVI. A BOOMERANG XXXVII. ON THE CARPET XXXVIII. A CONVERSATION ABOUT STOCK XXXIX. IN CENTRAL PARK XL. CLAY PLAYS SECOND FIDDLE XLI. THE NEW DAY

  THE BIG-TOWN ROUND-UP

  FOREWORD

  The driver of the big car throttled down. Since he had swung away fromthe dusty road to follow a wagon track across the desert, thespeedometer had registered many miles. His eyes searched the ground infront to see whether the track led up the brow of the hill or dippedinto the sandy wash.

  On the breeze there floated to him the faint, insistent bawl of thirstycattle. The car leaped forward again, climbed the hill, and closed inupon a _remuda_ of horses watched by two wranglers.

  The chauffeur stopped the machine and shouted a question at the nearestrider, who swung his mount and cantered up. He was a lean, tannedyouth in overalls, jumper, wide sombrero, high-heeled boots, and shinyleather chaps. A girl in the tonneau appraised with quick, eager eyesthis horseman of the plains. Perhaps she found him less picturesquethan she had hoped. He was not there for moving-picture purposes.Nothing on horse or man held its place for any reason except utility.The leathers protected the legs of the boy from the spines of thecactus and the thorns of the mesquite, the wide flap of the hat hisface from the slash of catclaws when he drove headlong through thebrush after flying cattle. The steel horn of the saddle was built tocheck a half-ton of bolting hill steer and fling it instantly. Therope, the Spanish bit, the _tapaderas_, all could justify their placein his equipment.

  "Where's the round-up?" asked the driver.

  The coffee-brown youth gave a little lift of his head to the right. Hewas apparently a man of few words. But his answer sufficed. Thebawling of anxious cattle was now loud and persistent.

  The car moved forward to the edge of the mesa and dropped into thevalley. The girl in the back seat gave a little scream of delight.Here at last was the West she had read about in books and seen on thescreen.

  This was Cattleland's hour of hours. The _parada_ grounds wereoccupied by two circles of cattle, each fenced by eight or tenhorsemen. The nearer one was the beef herd, beyond this--and closer tothe mouth of the canon from which they had all recently beendriven--was a mass of closely packed cows and calves.

  The automobile swept around the beef herd and drew to a halt between itand the noisier one beyond. In a fire of mesquite wood branding-ironswere heating. Several men were busy branding and marking the calvesdragged to them from the herd by the horsemen who were roping thefrightened little blatters.

  It was a day beautiful even for Arizona. The winey air called potentlyto the youth in the girl. Such a sky, such atmosphere, so much lifeand color! She could not sit still any longer. With a movement of herwrist she opened the door and stepped down from the car.

  A man sitting beside the chauffeur turned in his seat. "You'd betterstay where you are, honey." He had an idea that this was not exactlythe scene a girl of seventeen ought to see at close range.

  "I want to get the kinks out of my muscles, Dad," the girl called back."I'll not go far."

  She walked along a ridge that ran from the mesa into the valley like anoutstretched tongue. Her hands were in the pockets of her fawn-coloredcoat. There was a touch of unstudied jauntiness in the way the tips ofher golden curls escaped from beneath the little brown toque she wore.A young man guarding the beef herd watched her curiously. She movedwith the untamed, joyous freedom of a sun-worshiper just emerging fromthe morning of the world. Something in the poise of the light, boyishfigure struck a spark from his imagination.

  A _vaquero_ was cantering toward the fire with a calf in his wake.Another cowpuncher dropped the loop of his lariat on the ground, gaveit a little upward twist as the calf passed over it, jerked taut the_riata_, and caught the animal by the hind leg. In a moment the victimlay stretched on the ground. In the gathering gloom the girl could notquite make out what the men were doing. To her sensitive nostrilsdrifted an acrid odor of burnt hair and flesh, the wail of an animal inpain. One of the men was using his knife on the ears of the helplesscreature. She heard another say something about a crop and anunderbit. Then she turned away, faint and indignant. Three big mentorturing a month-old calf--was this the brave outdoor West she hadread about and remembered from her childhood days? Tears of pity andresentment blurred her sight.

  As she stood on the spit of the ridge, a slim, light figure silhouettedagainst the skyline, the young man guarding the beef herd calledsomething to her that was lost in the bawling of the cattle. From themotion of his hand she knew that he was telling her to get back to thecar. But the girl saw no reason for obeying the orders of arange-rider she had never seen before and never expected to see again.Nobody had ever told her that a rider is fairly safe among the wildesthill cattle, but a man on foot is liable to attack at any time when aherd is excited.

  She turned her shoulder a little more definitely to the man who hadwarned her and looked across the _parada_ grounds to the hills swimmingin a haze of violet velvet. Her heart throbbed to a keen delight inthem, as it might have done at the touch of a dear friend's hand longabsent. For she had been born in the Rockies. They belonged to herand she to them. Long years in New York had left her still an alien.

  A shout of warning startled her. Above the bellowing of the herd sheheard another yell.

  "Hi-yi-ya-a!"

  A red-eyed steer, tail up, was crashing through the small brush towardthe branders. There was a wild scurry for safety. The men droppediron and ropes and fled to their saddles. Deflected by pursuers, theanimal turned. By chance it thundered straight for the girl on thesand spit.

  She stood paralyzed for a moment.

  Out of the gathering darkness a voice came to her sharp and clear."Don't move!" It rang so vibrant with crisp command that the girl,poised for flight, stood still and waited in white terror while thehuge steer lumbered toward her.

  A cowpony, wheeled as on a dollar, jumped to an instant gallop. Theman riding it was the one who had warned he
r back to the car. Horseand _ladino_ pounded over the ground toward her. Each stride broughtthem closer to each other as they converged toward the sand spit. Itcame to her with a gust of panicky despair that they would collide onthe very spot where she stood. Yet she did not run.

  The rider, lifting his bronco forward at full speed, won by a fractionof a second. He guided in such a way as to bring his horse between herand the steer. The girl noticed that he dropped his bridle rein andcrouched in the saddle, his eyes steadily upon her. Without slackeninghis pace in the least as he swept past, the man stooped low, caught thegirl beneath the armpits, and swung her in front of him to the back ofthe horse. The steer pounded past so close behind that one of itshorns grazed the tail of the cowpony.

  It was a superb piece of horsemanship, perfectly timed, as perfectlyexecuted.

  The girl lay breathless in the arms of the man, her heart beatingagainst his, her face buried in his shoulder. She was dazed, halffainting from the reaction of her fear. The next she rememberedclearly was being lowered into the arms of her father.

  He held her tight, his face tortured with emotion. She was the verylight of his soul, and she had shaved death by a hair's breadth. Amiracle had saved her, but he would never forget the terror that hadgripped him. Naturally, shaken, as he was, his relief found vent inscolding.

  "I told you to stay by the car, honey. But you're so willful. You'vegot to have your own way. Thank God you're safe. If . . . if . . ."His voice broke as he thought of what had so nearly been.

  The girl snuggled closer to him, her arms round his neck. His anxietytouched her nearly, and tears flooded her eyes.

  "I know, Dad. I . . . I'll be good."

  A young man descended from the car, handsome, trim, and well got up.He had been tailored by the best man's outfitter in New York. Nobodyon Broadway could order a dinner better than he. The latest dances hecould do perfectly. He had the reputation of knowing exactly the bestthing to say on every occasion. Now he proceeded to say it.

  "Corking bit of riding--never saw better. I'll give you my hand onthat, my man."

  The cowpuncher found a bunch of manicured fingers in his rough brownpaw. He found something else, for after the pink hand had gone thereremained a fifty-dollar bill. He looked at it helplessly for a moment;then, beneath the brown outdoor tan, a flush of anger beat into hisface. Without a word he leaned forward and pressed the note into themouth of the bronco.

  The buckskin knew its master for a very good friend. If he gave itsomething to eat--well, there was no harm in trying it once. Thebuckskin chewed placidly for a few seconds, decided that this was apractical joke, and ejected from its mouth a slimy green pulp that hadrecently been a treasury note.

  The father stammered his thanks to the rescuer of the girl. "I don'tknow what I can ever do to let you know . . . I don't know how I canever pay you for saving . . ."

  "Forget it!" snapped the brown man curtly. He was an even-temperedyouth, as genial and friendly as a half-grown pup, but just now theword "pay" irritated him as a red rag does a sulky bull.

  "If there's anything at all I can do for you--"

  "Not a thing."

  The New Yorker felt that he was not expressing himself at all happily.What he wanted was to show this young fellow that he had put him undera lifelong obligation he could never hope to wipe out.

  "If you ever come to New York--"

  "I'm not liable to go there. I don't belong there any more than you dohere. Better drift back to Tucson, stranger. The _parada_ is no placefor a tenderfoot. You're in luck you're not shy one li'l' girl trompedto death. Take a fool's advice and hit the trail for town _pronto_before you bump into more trouble."

  The rider swung round his pony and cantered back to the beef herd.

  He left behind him a much-annoyed clubman, a perplexed and distressedfather, and a girl both hurt and indignant at his brusque rejection ofher father's friendly advances. The episode of the fifty-dollar billhad taken place entirely under cover. The man who had given the noteand the one who had refused to accept it were the only ones who knew ofit. The girl saw only that this splendid horseman who had snatched herfrom under the very feet of the _ladino_ had shown a boorishdiscourtesy. The savor had gone out of her adventure. Her heart wassick with disappointment and indignation.