The Lone Star Ranger and the Mysterious Rider (56 page)

“Wade, for God's sake save Columbine!” importuned Wilson.

“Oh, if you only could!” cried Columbine, impelled beyond her power to resist by that prayer.

“Lass, you stand by your convictions,” he said, impressively. “An' Moore, you be a man an' don't make it so hard for her. Neither of you can do anythin'.… Now there's Old Belllounds—he'll never change. He might r'ar up for this or that, but he'll never change his cherished hopes for his son.… But Jack might change! Lookin' back over all the years I remember many boys like this Buster Jack, an' I remember how in the nature of their doin's they just hanged themselves. I've a queer foresight about people whose trouble I've made my own. It's somethin' that never fails. When their trouble's goin' to turn out bad then I feel a terrible yearnin' to tell the story of Hell-Bent Wade. That foresight of trouble gave me my name.… But it's not operatin' here.… An' so, my young friends, you can believe me when I say somethin' will happen. As far as October first is concerned, or any time near, Collie isn't goin' to marry Jack Belllounds.”

CHAPTER 10

One day Wade remarked to Belllounds: “You can never tell what a dog is until you know him. Dogs are like men. Some of 'em look good, but they're really bad. An' that works the other way round. If a dog's born to run wild an' be a sheep-killer, that's what he'll be. I've known dogs that loved men as no humans could have loved them. It doesn't make any difference to a dog if his master is a worthless scamp.”

“Wal, I reckon most of them hounds I bought had no good masters, judgin' from the way they act,” replied the rancher.

“I'm developin' a first-rate pack,” said Wade. “Jim hasn't any faults exceptin' he doesn't bay enough. Sampson's not as true-nosed as Jim, but he'll follow Jim, an' he has a deep, heavy bay you can hear for miles. So that makes up for Jim's one fault. These two hounds hang together, an' with them I'm developin' others. Denver will split off of bear or lion tracks when he jumps a deer. I reckon he's not young enough to be cured of that. Some of the younger hounds are comin' on fine. But there's two dogs in the bunch that beat me all hollow.”

“Which ones?” asked Belllounds.

“There's that bloodhound, Kane,” replied the hunter. “He's sure a queer dog. I can't win him. He minds me now because I licked him, an' once good an' hard when he bit me.… But he doesn't cotton to me worth a damn. He's gettin' fond of Miss Columbine, an' I believe might make a good watch-dog for her. Where'd he come from, Belllounds?”

“Wal, if I don't disremember he was born in a prairie-schooner, comin' across the plains. His mother was a full-blood, an' come from Louisiana.”

“That accounts for an instinct I see croppin' out in Kane,” rejoined Wade. “He likes to trail a man. I've caught him doin' it. An' he doesn't take to huntin' lions or bear. Why, the other day, when the hounds treed a lion an' went howlin' wild, Kane came up, an' he looked disgusted an' went off by himself. He hunts by himself, anyhow. First off I thought he might be a sheep-killer. But I reckon not. He can trail men, an' that's about all the good he is. His mother must have been a slave-hunter, an' Kane inherits that trailin' instinct.”

“Ahuh! Wal, train him on trailin' men, then. I've seen times when a dog like thet 'd come handy. An' if he takes to Collie an' you approve of him, let her have him. She's been coaxin' me fer a dog.”

“That isn't a bad idea. Miss Collie walks an' rides alone a good deal, an' she never packs a gun.”

“Funny about thet,” said Belllounds. “Collie is game in most ways, but she'd never kill anythin'.… Wade, you ain't thinkin' she ought to stop them lonesome walks an' rides?”

“No, sure not, so long as she doesn't go too far away.”

“Ahuh! Wal, supposin' she rode up out of the valley, west on the Black Range?”

“That won't do, Belllounds,” replied Wade, seriously. “But Miss Collie's not goin' to, for I've cautioned her. Fact is I've run across some hard-lookin' men between here an' Buffalo Park. They're not hunters or prospectors or cattlemen or travelers.”

“Wal, you don't say!” rejoined Belllounds. “Now, Wade, are you connectin' up them strangers with the stock I missed on this last round-up?”

“Reckon I can't go as far as that,” returned Wade. “But I didn't like their looks.”

“Thet comin' from you, Wade, is like the findin's of a jury.… It's gettin' along toward October. Snow'll be flyin' soon. You don't reckon them strangers will winter in the woods?”

“No, I don't. Neither does Lewis. You recollect him?”

“Yes, thet prospector who hangs out around Buffalo Park, lookin' fer gold. He's been hyar. Good fellar, but crazy on gold.”

“I've met Lewis several times, one place and another. I lost the hounds day before yesterday. They treed a lion an' Lewis heard the racket, an' he stayed with them till I come up. Then he told me some interestin' news. You see he's been worryin' about this gang thet's rangin' around Buffalo Park, an' he's tried to get a line on them. Somebody took a shot at him in the woods. He couldn't swear it was one of that outfit, but he could swear he wasn't near shot by accident. Now Lewis says these men pack to an' fro from Elgeria, an' he has a hunch they're in cahoots with Smith, who runs a place there. You know Smith?”

“No, I don't, an' haven't any wish to,” declared Belllounds, shortly. “He always looked shady to me. An' he's not been square with friends of mine in Elgeria. But no one ever proved him crooked, whatever was thought. Fer my part, I never missed a guess in my life. Men don't have scars on their face like his fer nothin'.”

“Boss, I'm confidin' what I want kept under your hat,” said Wade, quietly. “I knew Smith. He's as bad as the West makes them. I gave him that scar.… An' when he sees me he's goin' for his gun.”

“Wal, I'll be darned! Doesn't surprise me. It's a small world.… Wade, I'll keep my mouth shut, sure. But what's your game?”

“Lewis an' I will find out if there is any connection between Smith an' this gang of strangers—an' the occasional loss of a few head of stock.”

“Ahuh! Wal, you have my good will, you bet.… Sure thar's been some rustlin' of cattle. Not enough to make any rancher holler, an' I reckon there never will be any more of thet in Colorado. Still, if we get the drop on some outfit we sure ought to corral them.”

“Boss, I'm tellin' you—”

“Wade, you ain't agoin' to start thet tellin' hell-bent happenin's to come hyar at White Slides?” interrupted Belllounds, plaintively.

“No, I reckon I've no hunch like that now,” responded Wade, seriously. “But I was about to say that if Smith is in on any rustlin' of cattle he'll be hard to catch, an' if he's caught there'll be shootin' to pay. He's cunnin' an' has had long experience. It's not likely he'd work openly, as he did years ago. If he's stealin' stock or buyin' an' sellin' stock that some one steals for him, it's only on a small scale, an' it'll be hard to trace.”

“Wal, he might be deep,” said Belllounds, reflectively. “But men like thet, no matter how deep or cunnin' they are, always come to a bad end. Jest works out natural.… Had you any grudge ag'in' Smith?”

“What I give him was for somebody else, an' was sure little enough. He's got the grudge against me.”

“Ahuh! Wal, then, don't you go huntin' fer trouble. Try an' make White Slides one place thet'll disprove your name. All the same, don't shy at sight of anythin' suspicious round the ranch.”

The old man plodded thoughtfully away, leaving the hunter likewise in a brown study.

“He's gettin' a hunch that I'll tell him of some shadow hoverin' black over White Slides,” soliloquized Wade. “Maybe—maybe so. But I don't see any yet.… Strange how a man will say what he didn't start out to say. Now, I started to tell him about that amazin' dog Fox.”

Fox was the great dog of the whole pack, and he had been absolutely overlooked, which fact Wade regarded with contempt for himself. Discovery of this particular dog came about by accident. Somewhere in the big corral there was a hole where the smaller dogs could escape, but Wade had been unable to find it. For that matter the corral was full of holes, not any of which, however, it appeared to Wade, would permit anything except a squirrel to pass in and out.

One day when the hunter, very much exasperated, was prowling around and around inside the corral, searching for this mysterious vent, a rather small dog, with short gray and brown woolly hair, and shaggy brows half hiding big, bright eyes, came up wagging his stump of a tail.

“Well, what do you know about it?” demanded Wade. Of course he had noticed this particular dog, but to no purpose. On this occasion the dog repeated so unmistakably former overtures of friendship that Wade gave him close scrutiny. He was neither young nor comely nor thoroughbred, but there was something in his intelligent eyes that struck the hunter significantly. “Say, maybe I overlooked somethin'? But there's been a heap of dogs round here an' you're no great shucks for looks. Now, if you're talkin' to me come an' find that hole.”

Whereupon Wade began another search around the corral. It covered nearly an acre of ground, and in some places the fence-poles had been sunk near rocks. More than once Wade got down upon his hands and knees to see if he could find the hole. The dog went with him, watching with knowing eyes that the hunter imagined actually laughed at him. But they were glad eyes, which began to make an appeal. Presently, when Wade came to a rough place, the dog slipped under a shelving rock, and thence through a half-concealed hole in the fence; and immediately came back through to wag his stump of a tail and look as if the finding of that hole was easy enough.

“You old fox,” declared Wade, very much pleased, as he patted the dog. “You found it for me, didn't you? Good dog! Now I'll fix that hole, an' then you can come to the cabin with me. An' your name's Fox.”

That was how Fox introduced himself to Wade, and found his opportunity. The fact that he was not a hound had operated against his being taken out hunting, and therefore little or no attention had been paid him. Very shortly Fox showed himself to be a dog of superior intelligence. The hunter had lived much with dogs and had come to learn that the longer he lived with them the more there was to marvel at and love.

Fox insisted so strongly on being taken out to hunt with the hounds that Wade, vowing not to be surprised at anything, let him go. It happened to be a particularly hard day on hounds because of old tracks and cross-tracks and difficult ground. Fox worked out a labyrinthine trail that Sampson gave up and Jim failed on. This delighted Wade, and that night he tried to find out from Andrews, who sold the dog to Belllounds, something about Fox. All the information obtainable was that Andrews suspected the fellow from whom he had gotten Fox had stolen him. Belllounds had never noticed him at all. Wade kept the possibilities of Fox to himself and reserved his judgment, and every day gave the dog another chance to show what he knew.

Long before the end of that week Wade loved Fox and decided that he was a wonderful animal. Fox liked to hunt, but it did not matter what he hunted. That depended upon the pleasure of his master. He would find hobbled horses that were hiding out and standing still to escape detection. He would trail cattle. He would tree squirrels and point grouse. Invariably he suited his mood to the kind of game he hunted. If put on an elk track, or that of deer, he would follow it, keeping well within sight of the hunter, and never uttering a single bark or yelp; and without any particular eagerness he would stick until he had found the game or until he was called off. Bear and cat tracks, however, roused the savage instinct in him, and transformed him. He yelped at every jump on a trail, and whenever his yelp became piercing and continuous Wade well knew the quarry was in sight. He fought bear like a wise old dog that knew when to rush in with a snap and when to keep away. When lions or wildcats were treed Fox lost much of his ferocity and interest. Then the matter of that particular quarry was ended. His most valuable characteristic, however, was his ability to stick on the track upon which he was put. Wade believed if he put Fox on the trail of a rabbit, and if a bear or lion were to cross that trail ahead of him, Fox would stick to the rabbit. Even more remarkable was it that Fox would not steal a piece of meat and that he would fight the other dogs for being thieves.

Fox and Kane, it seemed to the hunter in his reflective foreshadowing of events at White Slides, were destined to play most important parts.

*   *   *

Upon a certain morning, several days before October first—which date rankled in the mind of Wade—he left Moore's cabin, leading a pack-horse. The hounds he had left behind at the ranch, but Fox accompanied him.

“Wade, I want some elk steak,” old Belllounds had said the day before. “Nothin' like a good rump steak! I was raised on elk meat. Now hyar, more 'n a week ago I told you I wanted some. There's elk all around. I heerd a bull whistle at sunup to-day. Made me wish I was young ag'in!… You go pack in an elk.”

“I haven't run across any bulls lately,” Wade had replied, but he did not mention that he had avoided such a circumstance. The fact was Wade admired and loved the elk above all horned wild animals. So strange was his attitude toward elk that he had gone meat-hungry many a time with these great stags bugling near his camp.

As he climbed the yellow, grassy mountain-side, working round above the valley, his mind was not centered on the task at hand, but on Wilson Moore, who had come to rely on him with the unconscious tenacity of a son whose faith in his father was unshakable. The crippled cowboy kept his hope, kept his cheerful, grateful spirit, obeyed and suffered with a patience that was fine. There had been no improvement in his injured foot. Wade worried about that much more than Moore. The thing that mostly occupied the cowboy was the near approach of October first, with its terrible possibility for him. He did not talk about it, except when fever made him irrational, but it was plain to Wade how he prayed and hoped and waited in silence. Strange how he trusted Wade to avert catastrophe of Columbine's marriage! Yet such trust seemed familiar to Wade, as he reflected over past years. Had he not wanted such trust—had he not invited it?