Collection 1988 - Lonigan (v5.0) (12 page)

“No,” Rowdy said drily, “he didn't. That was a good horse, too.”

“He's a strange man, Rowdy,” she said. He was glad, somehow, that Vaho did not stand on ceremony. He liked hearing her call him by his first name.

“Maybe he could use a good man with his flocks,” Rowdy suggested, a little bitterly. “I'm sure going to be hunting a job soon.”

She looked at him quickly. “But you have this ranch? Is that not enough?”

Rowdy did not know just why he had an impulse to tell this girl, a stranger, his trouble—but he did.

CHAPTER 2

Jilted—and Glad of it

S
HRUGGING, ROWDY EXPLAINED, and Vaho Rainey listened attentively, watching him with her wide dark eyes. She frowned thoughtfully at the receding water.

“There must be a reason for this,” she said. “There has always been water here. Never in the memory of the Navaho has this water hole been so low.”

“Sure, there's a reason,” Rowdy said glumly, “but what is it? Maybe there's somebody takin' water before it gets to this pool, but who and where? I always figured this water came off the Rim, somewhere.”

“Or from under it,” Vaho said thoughtfully.

That remark made no impression on Rowdy at the moment, although he did recall it later, and wondered what she had meant. Right now, his interest in this tall, dark girl was quickening. There was warmth in her, understanding, and sympathy for his problems—all the things that he had missed in Jenny.

He glanced up suddenly. The sun had slid behind the mountains, and it was growing dark.

“You'd better be getting home!” he warned Vaho. “Riding in the mountains at night is no good.”

“Not when you know them as I do,” she said, smiling. “Anyway, I've not far to go. Some of our people are camped only a few miles from here. I shall go to them.”

When he had watched her ride away into the dusk that lay thick among the dark pines, he swung into the saddle and turned the steeldust down the road home. But he was conscious of a strange excitement, and the memory of that tall, dark girl was like a bright fire in his thoughts. He was remembering the curves of her lips and the way she had moved, how her laughter had sounded an echo in his heart. With a quick start of guilt he realized that in his mind he was being a little disloyal to Jenny. Despite his guilty feeling, though, he would not forget that girl from the canyons, or the strange warmth she had left with him.

He had ridden home and had stripped the saddle from the steeldust, when he heard a man's voice inside the stable. For an instant he hesitated. It was dark inside and he could see nothing. Then he saw a subdued glow, and stepped quickly to the door. “Who's there?” he demanded.

A man who had been kneeling to examine Cub's leg got to his feet. As he stepped out of the door Rowdy Horn could see him plainly—a tall, thin man in a battered hat not of western vintage, and a shabby suit of store clothes.

“How are you?” he said. “I hope you won't think I'm butting in. I stopped to ask for something to eat and a place to sleep, but finding nobody at home, I walked around a little. Then I found your horse with the bad leg. What happened to him?”

“Stepped into a gopher hole. My roping horse. I'd figured on riding him in the rodeo.”

“Too bad.” The man hesitated. “How about that grub?”

“Sure. Come on up to the house. I haven't eaten myself. You passin' through?”

“Uh-huh. I'm a tramp printer, Neil Rice by name. My doctor told me if I expected to live I'd better get West. I'm not really sick, but he told me that any more of that city air and I would be, so I packed up and started West.”

“Broke?”

“I am now. I ran into a poker game back in Dodge, and I'd played a lot of poker with other printers. Those Dodge people played too fast a game for me.”

Rowdy chuckled. “All right, Rice. I know how that is. I'm Rowdy Horn. You hunting a job?”

“Any kind of a job. I know a little about horses, but not much about cattle. And I can cook.”

“There's what you need,” Rowdy said cheerfully. “Let's see what you can do. I am probably the worst cook who ever died of slow poisoning from his own cookin'. I'd hesitate to ask a stranger to eat it.”

T
WO HOURS LATER, with a good dinner behind their belts and pipes lighted, they sat back and stared thoughtfully at the fire. Rowdy by that time knew most of Rice's troubles, and the printer was aware of the precarious situation on the Slash Bar.

“This fellow Luby,” Rice said thoughtfully. “Has he always lived around this country?”

“Here, Texas, New Mexico, and California, as far as I know. He seems to know a good bit, though.”

“I wouldn't be surprised.” Rice hesitated. “Is there any way in which I could get my hands on that deed? And the will? I know a little about such things.”

Horn shrugged. “Not that I know of. Maybe I can figure out a way. Why? Are you a lawyer?”

Rice chuckled. “Just a printer, but I know a little about documents. I wouldn't promise anything, but it might be that if the deed was faked and if the will was forged, I could tell. How, I don't know, and I couldn't promise anything. I'd have to examine them, and preferably have them for a while.”

“That's tough. Luby wouldn't turn loose of them. We'll see, though, for it's sure an idea.” He scowled. “You can't forge a deed, can you? This one's got a big seal on it. I gave up when I saw that.”

“Well,” Rice said, “that might be the very reason it's on there. Did you have a good lawyer look at it?”

“Lawyer?” Horn exclaimed. “Man, there's no lawyer in Aragon but old Hemingway, and he's drunk most of the time. I don't think he knows much law, anyway.”

The following day, Rowdy worked hard, roping and tying calves, roping horses, and attempting to improve his own speed and skill, though the steeldust wasn't nearly the horse Cub was. Neil Rice had taken right hold, had cleaned out the house and organized the cooking situation. Then he had handed Horn a list of supplies. Rowdy had grinned at it.

“All right, Rice,” he had said, “I reckon we might as well eat and leave this place on full stomachs anyway. I'll head into Aragon and pick up this stuff.”

With a packhorse Rowdy Horn headed for Aragon. All the way to town he was studying ways and means of getting the documents into his hands once more. There must be some way. During their talk at breakfast Rice had told him that it was often possible to move a seal from one document to another, that such a thing had been done in more than one place.

Aragon was crowded when Rowdy rode down the main one of the town's three streets. Banners were hanging across the street, and the town was bright with posters heralding the coming Stockman's Show and Rodeo. News had got around about the injury to Cub's leg, however, and everywhere he went he found the odds of his winning first money had dropped. He was no longer given an even chance to win, for everyone had known how much trust he placed in Cub, and all had seen the horse perform at one time or another.

He called at the house for Jenny, but she was out. Her mother smiled at him, but her eyes looked as if she were disturbed.

“I'm sorry, Rowdy,” Mrs. Welman told him, “Jenny's gone out. You may see her downtown.”

He walked back down the street, telling himself that he was foolish to feel irritated. Jenny had had no idea he would be coming in, and there was no reason why she should be at home. He laughed at himself, then strode back downtown and went to the Emporium, where he began buying groceries. He was packing them on his lead horse when he heard a familiar voice and, glancing up, saw Bart Luby. Clinging to his arm was Jenny Welman!

Rowdy's face flushed, and he looked away, but not before Luby had seen him.

“How are you, Horn?” Bart said, making no effort to conceal his triumph. “Sorry to hear about Cub! I was looking forward to the chance of beating him.”

J
ENNY LOOKED AT Rowdy, paling slightly. His eyes met hers for an instant and then he looked away.

“Think nothing of it, Luby,” he said, “but don't count me out. I'll be there yet.”

“A man can't do much good on just a fair horse,” Luby said, “but come along in. Be glad to have you.”

Jenny hesitated. “I didn't know you were coming to town,” she said.

“I see you didn't,” he said, a little wryly.

Her chin lifted and her eyes blazed. “Well, what do you expect me to do? Stay home all the time? Anyway,” she added suddenly, “I'd been planning to ride out and see you. I don't think—well, we'd better call this off. Our engagement, I mean.”

He had a queer sinking feeling, but when he lifted his eyes, they revealed nothing. “All right,” was all he said, calmly.

Her blue eyes hardened slightly. “You certainly don't seem much upset!” she flared.

“Should I be?” he asked. “When a girl tosses a man over the first time he gets in a tight spot, she's small loss.”

“Well!” she flared. “I—!”

“Come on, Jenny,” Bart said. “You told me you were comin' out to my place to look at the sorrel mare.” He grinned at Horn. “Out to the Bar O.”

Stung, Rowdy glared at Luby.

“Better enjoy the Bar O while you can, Bart,” he said.

Bart Luby froze in midstride and for a second stood stock-still. Then slowly he turned, his face livid. “What do you mean by that?” he barked.

“Nothing”—Rowdy grinned—“nothing at all! Only—” He hesitated, then shrugged. “You'll know all about it soon.”

“Oh”—Jenny tugged at Bart's arm—“don't pay any attention to him. He's always fussing about that ranch.”

The remark was intended to appease Bart and get him away. It had the effect of adding fuel to the man's uncertainty after Rowdy's veiled comment. Bart Luby stared down at Rowdy as he stood in the street, and watched him finish his diamond hitch.

“If you're smart, you'll leave well enough alone!” Bart said then, carefully and coldly.

Rowdy smiled, but he felt warm with triumph. Luby was worried, and if that deal had been straight, why should he worry? His sudden remark had brought a greater reaction than he had expected, yet suddenly he was aware of something else. That had been a dangerous thing for him to say, for now Luby knew that the loss of the ranch was not a closed matter to Rowdy Horn.

In the saddle on the way back to the Slash Bar, Horn began to feel the letdown. Despite his immediate reaction to Jenny's sudden breaking off of their engagement, and despite the fact that he realized she was small loss, he felt sick and empty inside. He felt so low that he took no notice of the ride he had always loved. The great wall of the Rim did not draw his eyes, nor did the towering mass of cumulus that lifted above it, nor the darkening fringe of the pines against the distant sky.

When he got back home none of his problems were any nearer a solution either. Cub's leg was but little better, and there was absolutely no chance of his recovering before the rodeo date. And more than ever now, Rowdy wanted to win that first place.

Again and again he studied the situation, comparing his own ability with that of Luby, who would be the main competitor. Each time, it all came down to the roping event. A lot would depend, of course, on the kind of mounts each of them drew in the bucking events, but there was little to choose between the two men. To give the devil his due, Bart Luby was a hand.

CHAPTER 3

Girl of the Wilds

A
T DAYLIGHT ROWDY Horn was out looking at Cub's leg. When he had done that, he saddled a powerful black for a ride out to the Point of Rocks. Today he must try to find out what was wrong with his water supply. He could delay no longer. He was just cinching the saddle tight when he heard a rattle of hoofs and looked up to see Vaho Rainey sweep into the yard.

His face broke into a smile. This morning the girl was riding a blood bay, a splendid horse. She reined in, swung down, and walked over to him with a free-swinging stride that he liked.

“Rowdy,” she asked excitedly, “did you ever hear of Silverside?”

“Silverside?” He looked at her curiously. “Who hasn't? The greatest roping horse this country ever saw, I reckon. Buck Gordon rode him and trained him, and Buck was a roper. There will never be a greater horse.”

“Could you win that rodeo on him?”

He laughed. “Could I? On
that
horse? Vaho, I could win anything on that horse. He had the speed of a deer and was smarter than most men. I saw him once, several years ago, before he was killed. He was the finest roping horse I ever saw, and Buck the greatest hand.”

“He's not dead, Rowdy. He's alive, and I know where he is.”

Rowdy Horn's heart missed a beat. “You aren't foolin'? This isn't a joke?” He shook his head. “It couldn't be Silverside,” he protested, “and if you've heard it is, somebody is mistaken. Buck Gordon was riding Silverside when the Apaches got him down near Animas—in one of their last raids over the border. They killed Silverside at the same time. A long time after that somebody found his skeleton, some of the hide, and Buck's saddle.”

“He's alive, Rowdy!” Vaho repeated earnestly. “I know where he is, I tell you! Some Mexican picked up Buck's saddle, and when he was killed later, riding a paint, it was that horse that was found, or it must have been. Silverside was taken by the Apaches and they have him now.”

Horn shook his head. “It couldn't be, Vaho. The Apaches are at least pretendin' to be friendly now, and have been for a long time. If they had that horse, somebody would have seen him.” His eyes sparkled. “Man, I wish they had! With that horse I could sure make Luby back up! There never was a great roper without, a great horse, and don't you forget it!”