Crooked Trails and Straight, Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  AT THE END OF THE ROAD

  Curly's wooden face told nothing of what he was thinking. The firstarticle of the creed of the frontier is to be game. Good or bad, the lasttest of a man is the way he takes his medicine. So now young Flandrau atehis dinner with a hearty appetite, smoked cigarettes impassively, andoccasionally chatted with his guards casually and as a matter of course.Deep within him was a terrible feeling of sickness at the disaster thathad overwhelmed him, but he did not intend to play the quitter.

  Dutch and an old fellow named Sweeney relieved the other watchers aboutnoon. The squat puncher came up and looked down angrily at the boy lyingon the bunk.

  "I'll serve notice right now that if you make any breaks I'll fill yourcarcass full of lead," he growled.

  The prisoner knew that he was nursing a grudge for the blow that hadfloored him. Not to be bluffed, Curly came back with a jeer. "Muchobliged, my sawed-off and hammered-down friend. But what's the matter withyour face? It looks some lopsided. Did a mule kick you?"

  Sweeney gave his companion the laugh. "Better let him alone, Dutch. If helands on you again like he did before your beauty ce'tainly will bespoiled complete."

  The little puncher's eyes snapped rage. "You'll get yours pretty soon, Mr.Curly Flandrau. The boys are fixin' to hang yore hide up to dry."

  "Does look that way, doesn't it?" the boy agreed quietly.

  As the day began to wear out it looked so more than ever. Two riders fromthe Bar Double M reached the ranch and were brought in to identify him asthe horse thief. The two were Maloney and Kite Bonfils, neither of themfriends of the young rustler. The foreman in particular was a wet blanketto his chances. The man's black eyes were the sort that never softentoward the follies and mistakes of youth.

  "You've got the right man all right," he said to Buck without answeringFlandrau's cool nod of recognition.

  "What sort of a reputation has he got?" Buck asked, lowering his voice alittle.

  Kite did not take the trouble to lower his. "Bad. Always been a toughcharacter. Friend of Bad Bill Cranston and Soapy Stone."

  Dutch chipped in. "Shot up the Silver Dollar saloon onct. Pretty near beatPete Schiff's head off another time."

  Curly laughed rather wildly. "That's right. Keep a-coming, boys. Your turnnow, Maloney."

  "All right. Might as well have it all," Buck agreed.

  "I don't know anything against the kid, barring that he's been a littlewild," Maloney testified. "And I reckon we ain't any of us prize Sundayschool winners for that matter."

  "Are we all friends of Soapy Stone and Bad Bill? Do we all rustle stockand shoot up good citizens?" Dutch shrilled.

  Maloney's blue Irish eyes rested on the little puncher for a moment, thenpassed on as if he had been weighed and found wanting.

  "I've noticed," he said to nobody in particular, "that them holleringloudest for justice are most generally the ones that would hate to have itdone to them."

  Dutch bristled like a turkey rooster. "What do you mean by that?"

  The Irishman smiled derisively. "I reckon you can guess if you try realhard."

  Dutch fumed, but did no guessing out loud. His reputation was awhitewashed one. Queer stories had been whispered about him. He had been anester, and it was claimed that calves certainly not his had been foundcarrying his brand. The man had been full of explanations, but there camea time when explanations no longer were accepted. He was invited to becomean absentee at his earliest convenience. This was when he had been livingacross the mountains. Curly had been one of those who had given theinvitation. He had taken the hint and left without delay. Now he waspaying the debt he owed young Flandrau.

  Though the role Curly had been given was that of the hardened desperado hecould not quite live up to the part. As Buck turned to leave the bunkhouse the boy touched him on the arm.

  "How about Cullison?" he asked, very low.

  But Buck would not have it that way. "What about him?" he demanded outload, his voice grating like steel when it grinds.

  "Is he--how is he doing?"

  "What's eatin' you? Ain't he dying fast enough to suit you?"

  Flandrau shrank from the cruel words, as a schoolboy does from his teacherwhen he jumps at him with a cane. He understood how the men were feeling,but to have it put into words like this cut him deeply.

  It was then that Maloney made a friend of the young man for life. He let ahand drop carelessly on Curly's shoulder and looked at him with a friendlysmile in his eyes, just as if he knew that this was no wolf but a poorlost dog up against it hard.

  "Doc thinks he'll make it all right."

  But there were times when Curly wondered whether it would make anydifference to him whether Cullison got well or not. Something immediatewas in the air. Public opinion was sifting down to a decision. There werewise nods, and whisperings, and men riding up and going off again in ahurry. There had been a good deal of lawlessness of late, for which SoapyStone's band of followers was held responsible. Just as plainly as if hehad heard the arguments of Dutch and Kite Bonfils he knew that they wereurging the others to make an example of him. Most of these men were wellup to the average for the milk of human kindness. They were the squarestcitizens in Arizona. But Flandrau knew they would snuff out his life justthe same if they decided it was best. Afterward they might regret it, butthat would not help him.

  Darkness came, and the lamps were lit. Again Curly ate and smoked andchatted a little with his captors. But as he sat there hour after hour,feeling death creep closer every minute, cold shivers ran up and down hisspine.

  They began to question him, at first casually and carelessly, so it seemedto Curly. But presently he discerned a drift in the talk. They were tryingto find out who had been his partners in the rustling.

  "And I reckon Soapy and Bad Bill left you lads at Saguache to hold thesack," Buck suggested sympathetically.

  Curly grew wary. He did not intend to betray his accomplices. "Wrongguess. Soapy and Bad Bill weren't in this deal," he answered easily.

  "We know there were two others in it with you. I guess they were Soapy andBad Bill all right."

  "There's no law against guessing."

  The foreman of the Bar Double M interrupted impatiently, tired of tryingto pump out the information by finesse. "You've got to speak, Flandrau.You've got to tell us who was engineering this theft. Understand?"

  The young rustler looked at the grim frowning face and his heart sank."Got to tell you, have I?"

  "That's what?"

  "Out with it," ordered Buck.

  "Oh, I expect I'll keep that under my hat," Curly told them lightly.

  They were crowded about him in a half circle, nearly a score of hardleather-faced plainsmen. Some of them were riders of the Circle C outfit.Others had ridden over from neighboring ranches. All of them plainly meantbusiness. They meant to stamp out rustling, and their determination hadbeen given an edge by the wounding of Luck Cullison, the most popular manin the county.

  "Think again, Curly," advised Sweeney quietly. "The boys ain't triflingabout this thing. They mean to find out who was in the rustling of the BarDouble M stock."

  "Not through me, they won't."

  "Through you. And right now."

  A dozen times during the evening Curly had crushed down the desire to begfor mercy, to cry out desperately for them to let him off. He had kepttelling himself not to show yellow, that it would not last long. Now thefear of breaking down sloughed from his soul. He rose from the bed andlooked round at the brown faces circled about him in the shine of thelamps.

  "I'll not tell you a thing--not a thing."

  He stood there chalk-faced, his lips so dry that he had to keep moisteningthem with the tip of his tongue. Two thoughts hammered in his head. Onewas that he had come to the end of his trail, the other that he would gameit out without weakening.

  Dutch had a new rope in his hand with a loop at one end. He tossed it overthe boy's head and drew it taut. Two or three of the faces in t
he circlewere almost as bloodless as that of the prisoner, but they were set to seethe thing out.

  "Will you tell now?" Bonfils asked.

  Curly met him eye to eye. "No."

  "Come along then."

  One of the men caught his arm at the place where he had been wounded. Therustler flinched.

  "Careful, Buck. Don't you see you're hurting his bad arm?" Sweeney saidsharply.

  "Sure. Take him right under the shoulder."

  "There's no call to be rough with him."

  "I didn't aim to hurt him," Buck defended himself.

  His grip was loose and easy now. Like the others he was making it up tohis conscience for what he meant to do by doing it in the kindest waypossible.

  Curly's senses had never been more alert. He noticed that Buck had on ared necktie that had got loose from his shirt and climbed up his neck. Ithad black polka dots and was badly frayed. Sweeney was chewing tobacco. Hewould have that chew in his mouth after they had finished what they weregoing to do.

  "Ain't he the gamest ever?" someone whispered.

  The rustler heard the words and they braced him as a drink of whiskey doesa man who has been on a bad spree. His heart was chill with fear, but hehad strung his will not to let him give way.

  "Better do it at the cottonwoods down by the creek," Buck told Bonfils ina low voice.

  The foreman of the Bar Double M moved his head in assent. "All right.Let's get it over quick as we can."

  A sound of flying feet came from outside. Someone smothered an oath ofsurprise. Kate Cullison stood in the doorway, all out of breath andpanting.

  She took the situation in before she spoke, guessed exactly what theyintended to do. Yet she flung her imperious question at them.

  "What is it?"

  They had not a word to say for themselves. In that room were some of themost callous hearts in the territory. Not one man in a million could havephased them, but this slender girl dumfounded them. Her gaze settled onBuck. His wandered for help to Sweeney, to Jake, to Kite Bonfils.

  "Now look-a-here, Miss Kate," Sweeney began to explain.

  But she swept his remonstrance aside.

  "No--No--No!" Her voice gathered strength with each repetition of theword. "I won't have it. What are you thinking about?"

  To the boy with the rope around his neck she was an angel from heaven asshe stood there so slim and straight, her dark eyes shining like stars.Some of these men were old enough to be her father. Any of them could havecrushed her with one hand. But if a thunderbolt had crashed in their midstit could not have disturbed the vigilantes more.

  "He's a rustler, Miss Kate; belongs to Soapy Stone's outfit," Sweeneyanswered the girl.

  "Can you prove it?"

  "We got him double cinched."

  "Then let the law put him in prison."

  "He shot yore paw," Buck reminded her.

  "Is that why you're doing it?"

  "Yes'm," and "That's why," they nodded.

  Like a flash she took advantage of their admission. "Then I've got moreagainst him than you have, and I say turn him over to the law."

  "He'd get a good lawyer and wiggle out," Dutch objected.

  She whirled on the little puncher. "You know how that is, do you?"

  Somebody laughed. It was known that Dutch had once been tried for stealinga sheep and had been acquitted.

  Kite pushed forward, rough and overbearing. "Now see here. We know whatwe're doing and we know why we're doing it. This ain't any business for agirl to mix in. You go back to the house and nurse your father that thisman shot."

  "So it isn't the kind of business for a girl," she answeredscornfully. "It's work for a man, isn't it? No, not for one. Fornine--eleven--thirteen--seventeen big brave strong men to hang one poorwounded boy."

  Again that amused laugh rippled out. It came from Maloney. He was leaningagainst the door jamb with his hands in his pockets. Nobody had noticedhim before. He had come in after the girl. When Curly came to think itover later, if he had been given three guesses as to who had told KateCullison what was on the program he would have guessed Maloney each time.

  "Now that you've relieved your mind proper, Miss Cullison, I expect any ofthe boys will be glad to escort you back to the house," Kite suggestedwith an acid smile.

  "What have you got to do with this?" she flamed. "Our boys took him. Theybrought him here as their prisoner. Do you think we'll let you come overinto this county and dictate everything we do?"

  "I've got a notion tucked away that you're trying to do the dictating yourown self," the Bar Double M man contradicted.

  "I'm not. But I won't stand by while you get these boys to do murder. Ifthey haven't sense enough to keep them from it I've got to stop itmyself."

  Kite laughed sarcastically. "You hear your boss, boys."

  "You've had yore say now, Miss Kate. I reckon you better say good-night,"advised Buck.

  She handed Buck and his friends her compliments in a swift flow offeminine ferocity.

  Maloney pushed into the circle. "She's dead right, boys. There's nothingto this lynching game. He's only a kid."

  "He's not such a kid but what he can do murder," Dutch spat out.

  Kate read him the riot act so sharply that the little puncher had notanother word to say. The tide of opinion was shifting. Those who had beenworked up to the lynching by the arguments of Bonfils began to resent hisactivity. Flandrau was their prisoner, wasn't he? No use going off halfcocked. Some of them were discovering that they were not half so anxiousto hang him as they had supposed.

  The girl turned to her friends and neighbors. "I oughtn't to have talkedto you that way, but you know how worried I am about Dad," she apologizedwith a catch in her breath. "I'm sure you didn't think or you would neverhave done anything to trouble me more just now. You know I didn't halfmean it." She looked from one to another, her eyes shiny with tears. "Iknow that no braver or kinder men live than you. Why, you're my folks.I've been brought up among you. And so you've got to forgive me."

  Some said "Sure," others told her to forget it, and one grass widower drewa laugh by saying that her little spiel reminded him of happier days.

  For the first time a smile lit her face. The boy for whose life she waspleading thought it was like sunshine after a storm.

  "I'm so glad you've changed your minds. I knew you would when you thoughtit over," she told them chattily and confidentially.

  She was taking their assent for granted. Now she waited and gave them achance to chorus their agreement. None of them spoke except Maloney. Mostof them were with her in sympathy but none wanted to be first in givingway. Each wanted to save his face, so that the others could not laterblame him for quitting first.

  She looked around from one to another, still cheerful and sure of herground apparently. Two steps brought her directly in front of one. Shecaught him by the lapels of his coat and looked straight into his eyes."You _have_ changed your mind, haven't you, Jake?"

  The big Missourian twisted his hat in embarrassment. "I reckon I have,Miss Kate. Whatever the other boys say," he got out at last.

  "Haven't you a mind of your own, Jake?"

  "Sure. Whatever's right suits me."

  "Well, you know what is right, don't you?"

  "I expect."

  "Then you won't hurt this man, our prisoner?"

  "I haven't a thing against him if you haven't."

  "Then you won't hurt him? You won't stand by and let the other boys doit?"

  "Now, Miss Kate--"

  She burst into sudden tears. "I thought you were my friend, but now I'm introuble you--you think only of making it worse. I'm worried to death aboutDad--and you--you make me stay here--away from him--and torment me."

  Jake gave in immediately and the rest followed like a flock of sheep. Twoor three of the promises came hard, but she did not stop till each oneindividually had pledged himself. And all the time she was cajoling them,explaining how good it was of them to think of avenging her father, how inone way she did
not blame them at all, though of course they had seen itwould not do as soon as they gave the matter a second thought. Dad wouldbe so pleased at them when he heard about it, and she wanted them to knowhow much she liked and admired them. It was quite a love feast.

  The young man she had saved could not keep his eyes from her. He wouldhave liked to kneel down and kiss the edge of her dress and put his curlyhead in the dust before her. The ice in his heart had melted in the warmthof a great emotion. She was standing close to him talking to Buck when hespoke in a low voice.

  "I reckon I can't tell you--how much I'm obliged to you, Miss."

  She drew back quickly as if he had been a snake about to strike, her handinstinctively gathering her skirts so that they would not brush againsthim.

  "I don't want your thanks," she told him, and her voice was like thedrench of an icy wave.

  But when she saw the hurt in his eyes she hesitated. Perhaps she guessedthat he was human after all, for an impulse carried her forward to takethe rope from his neck. While his heart beat twice her soft fingerstouched his throat and grazed his cheek. Then she turned and was gone fromthe room.

  It was a long time before the bunk house quieted. Curly, faint withweariness, lay down and tried to sleep. His arm was paining a good dealand he felt feverish. The men of the Circle C and their guests sat downand argued the whole thing over. But after a time the doctor came in andhad the patient carried to the house. He was put in a good clean bed andhis arm dressed again.

  The doctor brought him good news. "Cullison is doing fine. He has droppedinto a good sleep. He'd ought to make it all right."

  Curly thought about the girl who had fought for his life.

  "You'll not let him die, Doc," he begged.

  "He's too tough for that, Luck Cullison is."

  Presently Doctor Brown gave him a sleeping powder and left him. Soon afterthat Curly fell asleep and dreamed about a slim dark girl with finelonglashed eyes that could be both tender and ferocious.