"I ain't," Sudden replied. "How's this strike yu for a tombstone? `Here lies Gerry Mason. He turned his back.' " The boy laughed. It was impossible to be angry with this drawling, lazy-appearing stranger who had saved his life, and of whom he knew nothing.
Chapter IV
For weeks they had been traversing an apparently limitless, undulating waste of short grass, burned brown by the sun, and broken here and there by shallow ravines. There were no trees save occasional patches of cottonwoods by the river-banks, but bushes of greasewood, sagebrush and prickly pear were more plentiful. The nights were cold, the mornings clear and pleasant, but as the day advanced the heat increased and the travellers were almost stifled by the billowing clouds of sand and alkali dust churned up by the thousands of plodding hoofs.
The trail, scored and rutted by use, stretched out interminably to the horizon. Twenty-five miles a day was good going, and unless an outfit broke down, no attempt was made to pass it. If the daylight hours were long and monotonous, nightfall brought plenty to do. Camp had to be made, the wagons ranged in big circles, forage fetched--for the trail had beeneaten bare for some distance on both sides, wells dug--unless they were near a river--holes two or three feet deep, into which the water slowly seeped.
Smudge fires of greasewood or sage, aromatic but pungent and irritating, kept the mosquitoes at bay, and then came supper--bacon, beans, cornbread, pies made of dried fruits, and coffee.
The Wayside contingent had joined the train two weeks earlier. The men had their mounts, but a place was found for Miss Ducane in one of the leading wagons, to which party her uncle, Lesurge, and Fagan also attached themselves. The cowboys found a welcome with the traveller immediately behind, a raw-boned agriculturist from Missouri, who had a small herd of cattle to serve as relays for his team and to form a nucleus for the farm he hoped to establish.
For while some of the adventurers were headed for the goldfields, more were genuine settlers, crossing the continent to people and till the untamed soil of California and Oregon. The Missourian counted himself lucky to get a couple of cowboys to handle his herd and was well content to feed them in return for their service. They too did not complain, for his wife was a good cook.
"Which that woman's pumpkin pie is liable to wreck the happiness of any single fella," was how Gerry put it.
"I'm takin' yore word," Sudden said satirically. "Gawd knows yu've concealed enough of it; I never seen anyone push pie into his face so fast an' frequent." Before the outraged young man could find an adequate retort, he deftly switched the conversation, "Seen Miss Ducane lately?" The red crept up under the boy's tanned skin. His fondness for riding ahead to "take a look at the country" had not escaped his companion's notice. He had seen her but--and this was where the shoe pinched--she had not, apparently, seen him. So he lied brazenly.
"No," he replied carelessly, "She 'pears to stick to that blame' wagon like she was glued to it. Mister Lesurge is plenty active though, gettin' to be quite popular among the parties goin' to the Black Hills." Sudden digested this in silence. Actually it was no news; he had already observed Lesurge's efforts to get acquainted with that section of his fellow-travellers and had put it down to the fellow's natural vanity.
"Fagan's got a new friend too," Mason went on. "Shortish chap with bow-legs an' a mean eye, called `Bandy'."
"What's the name o' the other eye?" Sudden asked interest edly, and listened to a short but pithy description of himself. "This hombre has a Dago's black greasy hair an' his face looks like someone had pushed it in."
"Han'some fella," Sudden commented. "No, I ain't seen him." The omission was to be rectified a little later when the chase of a steer took him down the trail. Returning with the runaway at the end of his rope, he pulled up at a halted wagon, with a group of men ringed round two others. One of these, a slight bow-legged man with a peculiarly fiat face and beady eyes, was bending forward, a hand on his pistol. The other, a burly, bearded teamster, stood a dozen paces away, gripping his whip.
"Pull yore gun, farmer," the former was saying. "I'll larn you to lay yore paws on Dick Rodd."
"I don't use none," the other replied. "If you was more'n half a man I'd take my han's to you, but ..." His look of contempt at the puny figure of his adversary finished the sentence.
One of the onlookers now noticed the man on the black horse. "Hey, cowboy," he called. "Yo're the fella to settle this; you've seen gun-fights, I'll lay." Sudden rode nearer. "What's the trouble?" he inquired.
The teamster explained, with an angry gesture towards his opponent: "This rat has been shinin' up to my daughter, who don't want none of his company. I've warned him two-three times to keep his distance an' now I find him pesterin' her again. I had to argue with him."
"He kicked me--me, Dick Rodd," the little man almost screamed. "He dies for that, the " He ended with a string of obscenities.
"Why didn't yu let the gal alone if she didn't want yu?" the cowboy asked.
"Bah! women are all alike," came the sneering reply. "They just retreat to draw a fella on. I ain't the on'y one she's "
"You dirty liar," the teamster stormed.
As though he had been waiting for this further provocation, Rodd rapped out an oath and dragged at his weapon. It was no more than half out of the holster, however, when Sudden spoke again:
"Put that back where it belongs or yu'll eat yore supper in a hotter place than this." The cold, passionless tone was pregnant with menace. Still clutching the butt of his gun, Rodd hesitated. Then, when he saw that by some miracle of speed, one of the cowboy's Colts was covering him, he let his hand drop to his side.
"What damn business is it o' yores, anyway?" he grumbled. Sudden did not answer. He turned to the teamster. "Can yu use that whip pretty good?" he asked.
"Can I use her?" the man repeated. "Why, stranger, I c'n take a fly off'n the ear o' my lead ox an' the critter wouldn't know." Boastful as the statement certainly was, Sudden knew it might not be very wide of the truth. The cowboy looked at the smaller man.
"Understand whips?" he questioned.
"Naw," was the disgusted reply. "I ain't no perishin' hayseed." Sudden pondered for a moment. "He don't savvy yore weapon an' yu don't savvy his," he said. "It'll have to be yore gun against his whip."
"Suits me," the teamster said, adding grimly. "I'll have an eye out'n him 'fore he can wink it." The second combatant was less prompt in speaking and it was plain he did not like the proposition, though it appeared to be in his favour; he had but to pull and fire his gun before the other struck. But he knew the incredible speed with which the lash would come at him, like a striking 'snake, and with force sufficient to cut through the tough hide of an ox. If he fired and missed there would be no second shot; he would be cut to ribbons, perhaps--blinded! A shiver shook him, and in that moment he came to a decision; there were safer ways of compassing his revenge.
"I ain't puffin' on a man what isn't `heeled'," he said sullenly, and turned to where his horse was standing.
"You lousy yeller dawg," the teamster shouted, and swung his weapon.
Sudden raised a protesting hand. "He's all o' that but yu gotta let him go," he said.
Amid a chorus of jeers the discomfited ruffian climbed to his saddle. The cowboy had a final word for him:
"If any accident happens to our friend here"--he pointed to the teamster--"I'll be lookin' for yu," he warned, adding with a hard smile, "an' I shall be heeled." He had to eat with the teamster's family, his wife, a plump, homely woman, the daughter--cause of all the trouble--a pretty girl with rosy cheeks and a shy smile, and a tow-headed boy of twelve who could not take his eyes off the visitor's guns.