Edward G. Cheyney

SOMETHING ABOUT A HORSE THIEF

Scott stood gazing dreamily down the caÑon trail ’til the sound of the horses’ hoofs had died away in the distance. He was thinking that two men had escorted him up there to his shack, a duty which they had apparently considered very important, and had left him without any instructions and wholly dependent upon a subordinate. He had not yet learned that it is usually up to a man to work up his own job, but he was learning.

“Well,” he thought, “maybe I should have asked them about the details of this work while I had the chance, but hanged if I ever let that rat-faced guard find out that I do not know anything.”

He had taken an instinctive dislike to his guard, the dislike of a straightforward man to the shifty-eyed.

He was aroused from his reverie by the approach of the guard who had been watching him furtively from a clump of bushes at the edge of the corral. Scott watched him shuffle up the slope in listless fashion, and did not like his walk any better than his eyes.

“Homesick?” Heth asked in an insinuating tone.

“Not so you could notice it,” Scott answered contemptuously, and from that moment they cordially hated each other. It was a fine beginning.

Scott picked out the bed which he thought Heth wanted and made it up for himself. He saw Heth set out the coffee for supper so he decided that he would have tea. He knew that it was a petty way to do things, but he felt that he had to do something to keep the guard from walking all over him.

He managed to avoid an open fight only by eating in comparative silence and putting in the evening writing a letter in which he vented his feelings by describing the guard in no complimentary terms. If he had known that the guard had arisen before he was awake and had read the letter he would not have wondered at the gentleman’s bad humor at the breakfast table.

Scott was feeling a little more cheerful himself, after a good night’s sleep and a long look at the view from the cabin door. He was inclined to be friendly, but his advances met with small success.

After breakfast he called up the ranger. Dawson was much more voluble over the ’phone than he had been in person the day before. If Scott had mourned the lack of instructions the evening before he was getting them now. It seemed to him as though Mr. Dawson was outlining his whole summer’s work. He was to inspect all the trails and telephone lines in his district, inventory all the fire tool caches and make a report on materials needed. Heth was to examine the range to see if it was ready for the sheep and make a trip to town for some material needed for the counting chute.

It was something to do and he was anxious to get at it. Moreover, he wanted to get out and study his district so that he would not be altogether dependent upon his guard. He relayed the ranger’s orders to the guard and started for the corral to look up Jed.

“Are you going with me?” Heth called.

“No,” Scott replied, “I’m going out to look over the trails and telephone lines.”

Jed was feeling pretty frisky in the cool of the morning and was not at all sure that he wanted to be caught, but the kind words fascinated him once more and he finally permitted Scott to caress him and bridle him without a struggle. Scott was about to throw on the saddle blanket when his hand struck something sharp. He examined it and found a large burr. Scott whistled. “We would have had a fine time, old boy, if I had put that under the saddle.” He examined the whole blanket carefully but did not find anything more.

Heth was saddling his own horse and getting ready for the trip to town. He watched Scott mount and ride out of the corral. Scott thought that he showed extraordinary interest in him, but laid it to his horse and Heth’s natural curiosity to see how he sat his horse.

“What time do you think you’ll be back?” Scott called.

“Five or six,” Heth replied indifferently.

“So shall I,” Scott said, and rode slowly up to the ridge trail. Jed did not like traveling alone as well as he liked to go with another horse, but Mr. Ramsey had taught him a great deal in the short time he had ridden him and Scott had no trouble in managing him. He turned to the left on the ridge trail, the opposite direction to the way they had come in the day before, and proceeded to follow out the trails of his district by means of a small map.

It never occurred to Scott to look back and even if he had he probably would not have seen Heth who was standing in the bunch of brush beside the ridge trail watching him out of sight. No sooner was Heth sure of the course that Scott was taking than he hurried down to the cabin and grabbed the telephone. He took down the receiver very gently and listened. It was a party line and he wanted to be very sure that no one else was using it. Convinced that the line was clear he rang one short sharp ring, followed at a long interval by another. The call was not on the list and it very closely resembled the jingles so often produced by thunder storms in the mountains.

He listened patiently. A receiver clicked somewhere and a doubtful voice called “hello,” but Heth did not answer, nor did he repeat his ring. After at least two minutes of silence a voice said, “Well.”

“I’m going to town for chuck and chute stuff. He went south on trail and ’phone patrol. Burred his saddle this morning but he found it. Better get in rest of extras. Chute to-morrow. Cottonwood; eleven.” He hung up the receiver, glanced at his watch and strolled out to his horse.

Far down the valley Jed Clark called his foreman and gave some orders to his herders. And Dawson, far up in his little mountain cabin, prepared to ride north.

Scott rode slowly on his way, serenely unmindful of all this, and enjoying life immensely. The thin, open stand of timber on these grassy lands with the apparent absence of animal life was entirely new to him. At every turn of the trail a new vista of vast extent and strange crystal clearness opened up before him. He could have spent hours in studying the beauties of the scenery if he had not been impelled by his desire to cover his district and get away from his dependence on his guard. As it was he saw what he could on the fly and picked out many a place to spend a Sunday afternoon later on.

The ranger had given him to understand that he would probably find the trails and telephone lines in pretty bad shape, but so far he had found them both in almost perfect condition. He began to think that Heth must be a good guard, no matter how disagreeable he might be personally. Noon found him on a high grassy bench on the extreme southern edge of his district. Miles of mountain and valley spread out before him in almost boundless panorama, and it appealed to him as an ideal place for lunch.

He did not know exactly what to do with Jed. Western horses are not used to being tied and he was afraid that Jed was not well enough trained to stand without it. However, he had to make a beginning with him sometime and he decided to try him. Jed seemed to know what was expected of him. He grazed contentedly on a small area, and showed no tendency to wander off.

The sun was very warm and Scott went back to the shade of a tree to eat his lunch and enjoy the scenery. Before he was half through lunch he was glad to crawl out into the sun again to get warm. He was soon to learn that no matter how hot the sun might be in that high altitude it was seldom warm enough in the shade for comfort.

He had finished his lunch and was lolling lazily in the sunshine when he discovered a new animal, the first he had seen in the country. He did not know what it was at first. Its movements resembled those of a squirrel, but its head seemed abnormally large. He sneaked up on it and discovered the secret. It was a squirrel but it was carrying a large pine cone by the end. It was a beautiful creature with tasseled ears like a lynx. It was somewhat smaller than the Eastern gray squirrel and instead of a rusty, sandy color its coat was a clear Maltese gray and the whole under side of him was a sparkling white. Scott had always been interested in all the wild animals and birds, and he had followed this new squirrel quite a ways back into the woods to get a good look at him and observe something of his habits.

The sudden whinnying of horses on the bench startled him and he ran back to the edge of the woods to learn what had happened. There in the open was a strange horseman cautiously approaching Jed with whirling lariat. Scott’s first impulse was to shout his protest, but he changed his mind and standing in the edge of the woods awaited silently to see the outcome.

Jed stood like a statue with tail arched and head erect watching the whirling rope. He looked like an easy mark. The rider was very slowly getting within roping distance. Suddenly the rope shot out like a long arm and the widespread loop hung directly over Jed’s head. It looked like a sure catch, but Jed had dodged that flying rope too often to be caught so easily. He ducked with the grace of a dancer and trotting a little to one side awaited the next throw. The horseman swore volubly and coiled his rope doggedly for another try. Three times he threw and failed. Jed’s maneuvering had brought him around nearer to the forest and the rider caught sight of Scott standing in the shadow of the trees. He misinterpreted Scott’s silence and rode toward him, coiling his rope as he came.

“What ’ell you give me to catch him for you, sonny?” he asked with a patronizing sneer.

Scott’s blood boiled, but he remembered Mr. Ramsey’s caution and tried to keep his temper in spite of the insult. “Do you get many that way?” he asked coldly.

“What way?” the cowboy asked, surprised at this tone coming from a man whom he supposed to be too scared to talk.

“Saddle horses,” Scott replied tersely.

“Look a here, young feller, there’s been many a man buried here for less than that,” the cowboy blustered, laying his hand threateningly on his revolver.

“Yes,” Scott replied, “and there’s been many a one hung for roping other people’s horses.”

The cowboy glared at Scott with malignant ferocity. He was no coward and seeing that Scott was unarmed had started to dismount when he suddenly remembered why Jed Clark had sent him into the mountains that morning. His manner changed suddenly.

“Well, bo,” he chuckled, “you’ve got the right stuff in you all right. Can’t bluff you, can they? Most of them Eastern fellers I’ve seen out here would run if a man so much as looked at his gun. I was just tryin’ you out.”

Scott looked at him in silence, not deigning to answer. He was not at all misled by his sudden change of front and he longed to tell him so, but he wanted to see what the man was really after.

“You’re the new patrolman, ain’t you?” the cowboy continued genially in spite of the frost.

“You ought to know,” Scott replied cuttingly, “I saw you at the corral with Jed Clark when I bought this horse.”

“You bet I was,” said the cowboy not in the least disconcerted, “and a blamed good job you made of it. That’s the best horse in the Southwest if you could ride him. Jed’s changed his mind about him now and he’s sorry he sold him.”

“You’re mistaken about his changing his mind,” Scott retorted, “he never intended to sell him.”

Jed had chosen his man well. He ignored the rebuff and maintained a genial countenance. “When I seen him standing out there this morning all saddled I thought maybe he had throwed you back there on the trail som’eres—liable to throw anybody, that horse is—and I was thinking to rope him and take him up to the cabin for you.”

It was such a plausible story that Scott wavered for a moment, but he remembered the ugly looks the cowboy had given him when he opened the conversation, and contented himself with a dry, “Thanks.”

“Looking over your grazing land?” the cowboy continued by way of casual conversation.

“Yes,” Scott replied shortly.

“Lucky for you fellers that the range will always support about twice as many as the government estimates.”

“Will they?” Scott asked innocently. He was interested about anything he could learn of the grazing industry.

“Sure they will. How could you feed them extras if they didn’t?”

“There will not be any extras on here,” Scott answered firmly.

“No?” said the cowboy inquiringly. “It’s pretty easy money,” he insinuated.

“Did you come up here to bribe me?” Scott asked indignantly.

“Bribe you?” exclaimed the cowboy in injured surprise. “Who, me? Gosh, no. I don’t own no sheep. Never liked the smellin’ critters. But there’s lots of places where the sheep men do work in thousands of head that way and the patrolmen make good money on it.”

“And cheat the government that hires them,” Scott exclaimed hotly.

The cowboy had turned his head to hide a smile. “There’s a lot of people around this country that considers cheating the government a pretty good part of their business, and the best payin’ part.”

“That business,” said Scott with determination as he strode over to where Jed was feeding near them and mounted him, “is just what I have come out here to stop, and you can tell Jed Clark so when you get back.”

“Of course it ain’t none of my business,” said the cowboy indifferently, “but Jed will have extras on here one way or another and if I was you I’d rather make something out of it than lose my job for it.”

“Maybe I am not going to do either,” Scott said quietly, and with the faintest trace of a bow he rode away on his trail patrol.

“Fool,” muttered the cowboy as he watched Scott out of sight. “He has plenty of nerve, but Jed will get his goat. Then maybe Heth will go in and we will have peace for a while.”