Cow-Country, B. M. Bower [beach read book txt] 📗

are too fine a man for those beasts to murder for the money you have. I knew, the minute I saw Jeff paying you his losings with a check, and some of the others doing the same, just what would happen. Jeff is almost as bad as the Catrockers, except that he is too cowardly to come out into the open. He gave you a check; and everyone who was there knew he would hurry up to Crater and stop payment on it, if he could do it and keep out of your sight. Those cronies of his would do the same—so they paid with checks.

“And the Catrock gang knew that. They mean to get hold of you, rob and-and-kill you, and forge the endorsement on the checks and let one man cash them in Crater before payment can be stopped. Indeed, the gang will see to it that Jeff stays away from Crater. Lew hinted that while they were about it they might as well clean out the bank. It wouldn't be the first time,” she added bitterly.

She stopped then and asked for a match, and when Bud gave her one she lighted a candle and held it up so that she could examine the walls. “It's a natural tunnel,” she volunteered in a different tone. “Somewhere along here there is a branch that goes back into the hill and ends in a blow-hole. But we're all right so far.”

She blew out the candle and urged Boise forward, edging over to the right.

“Wasn't that taking quite a chance, making a light?” Bud asked as they went on.

“It was, but not so great a chance as missing the way. Jerry didn't hear anything of them when he went to the pasture gate, and they may not come through this way at all. They may not realize at first that you have left, and even when they did they would not believe at first that you had gone to Crater. You see”—and in the darkness Bud could picture her troubled smile—“they think you are an awful fool, in some ways. The way you bet to-day was pure madness.”

“It would have been, except that I knew I could win.”

“They never bet like that. They always 'figure', as they call it, that the other fellow is going to play some trick on them. Half the time Jeff bets against his own horse, on the sly. They all do, unless they feel sure that their own trick is best.”

“They should have done that to-day,” Bud observed dryly. “But you've explained it. They thought I'm an awful fool.”

Out of the darkness came Marian's voice. “It's because you're so different. They can't understand you.”

Bud was not interested in his own foolishness just then. Something in her voice had thrilled him anew with a desire to help her and with the conviction that he was desperately in need of help. There was a pathetic patience in her tone when she summarized he whole affair in those last two sentences. It was as if she were telling him how her whole life was darkened because she herself was different—because they could not understand a woman so fine, so true and sweet.

“What will happen if you are missed? If you go back and discover Jerry's handkerchief on that bush, what will you do? You can't go back if they find out—” There was no need for him to finish that sentence.

“I don't know,” said Marian, “what I shall do. I hadn't thought much about it.”

“I haven't thought much about anything else,” Bud told her straightforwardly. “If Jerry flags you, you 'd better keep going. Couldn't you go to friends?”

“I could—if I had any. Bud, you don't understand. Eddie is the only relative I have on earth, that I know at all. He is—he's with the Catrockers and Lew dominates him completely. Lew has pushed Ed into doing things so that I must shield both or neither. And Eddie's just a boy. So I've no one at all.”

Bud studied this while they rode on through the defile that was more frequently a tunnel, since the succession of caves always had an outlet which Marian found. She had stopped now and dismounted, and they were leading their horses down a steep, scrambling place with the stars showing overhead.

“A blowhole,” Marian informed him briefly. “We'll come into another cave, soon, and while it's safe if you know it, I'll explain now that you must walk ahead of your horse and keep your right hand always in touch with the wall until we see the stars again. There's a ledge-five feet wide in the narrowest place, if you are nervous about ledges—and if you should get off that you'd have a drop of ten feet or so. We found that the ledge makes easier travelling, because the bottom is full of rocks and nasty depressions that are noticeable only with lights.”

She started off again, and Bud followed her, his gloved fingers touching the right wall, his soul humbled before the greatness of this little woman with the deep, troubled eyes. When they came out into the starlight she stopped and listened for what seemed to Bud a very long time.

“If they are coming, they are a long way behind us,” she said relievedly, and remounted. “Boise knows his trail and has made good time. And your horse has proven beyond all doubt that he's a thoroughbred. I've seen horses balk at going where we have gone.”

“And I've seen men who counted themselves brave as any, who wouldn't do what you are doing to-night; Jerry, for instance. I wish you'd go back. I can't bear having you take this risk.”

“I can't go back, Bud. Not if they find I've gone.” Then he heard her laugh quietly. “I can't imagine now why I stayed and endured it all this while. I think I only needed the psychological moment for rebellion, and to-night the moment came. So you see you have really done me a service by getting into this scrape. It's the first time I have been off the ranch in a year.”

“If you call that doing you a service, I'm going to ask you to let me do something also for you.” Bud half smiled to himself in the darkness, thinking how diplomatic he was. “If you're found out, you'll have to keep on going, and I take it you wouldn't be particular where you went. So I wish you 'd take charge of part of this money for me, and if you leave, go down to my mother, on the Tomahawk ranch, out from Laramie. Anyone can tell you where it is, when you get down that way If you need any money use it. And tell mother I sent her the finest cook in the country. Mother, by the way, is a great musician, Marian. She taught me all I know of music. You'd get along just fine with mother. And she needs you, honest. She isn't very strong, yet she can't find anyone to suit, down there—”

“I might not suit, either,” said Marian, her voice somewhat muffled.

“Oh, I'm not afraid of that. And—there's a message I want to send—I promised mother I'd—”

“Oh, hush! You're really an awfully poor prevaricator, Bud. This is to help me, you're planning.”

“Well—it's to help me that I want you to take part of the money. The gang won't hold you