"He was sore 'cause I cleaned him at poker. Say, you sports don't know nuttin' 'bout cyards. I was playin' th' game fer real money when I was a kid, an' I c'n make 'em talk."
"Was that all?"
The boy hesitated. "Yep," he replied.
The puncher knew it was a lie, but he was of those patient people who can wait. He pinched out his cigarette and got up. "I have to be movin'," he said. "Stick around here for a while--no sense in gettin' saddle-sore."
With envious eyes Yorky watched the fine black lope away and vanish into the depths of a deep arroyo. "He's a reg'lar guy," he muttered. "Mebbe I'd oughter told him."
Sudden's mind too was upon his late companion, this pitiful product from the stews of a great city, pitchforked by circumstance into surroundings utterly at variance with all he had known, and where his handicap of ill-health told most heavily.
"Some folks is born to trouble, Nig," he mused. "Others, like you an' me, go huntin' it. An' we've shorely found some, spelt with a big T, if I'm any judge, an' I oughta be." A saturnine smile broke the line of his lips as he recalled the events of the last forty-eight hours, and he lifted his shoulders. "Fate deals the cards, an' a fella has to play 'em, win or lose."
Emerging from the arroyo, he crossed a stretch of plain and came to a double row of willows between which a clear stream moved unhurriedly. This must be the source of the dispute. It seemed a peaceful thing to war over, but the puncher was well aware of the value of water to a cattleman. Half a mile away on the other side, the land rose abruptly in a ragged ridge of rock running parallel with the creek. Groups of cows were grazing there; he was about to go over and investigate the brands when Dover rode up.
"Lost Yorky?" he asked.
"No, left him bedded down among the pines," Sudden smiled.
"You must be a magician. After that one trip to town, even Dad couldn't get him a hundred yards from the house."
"He's never had a break," Sudden said, and pointed to the ridge. "Yore boundary?"
"Yeah, this is the strip Garstone was speakin' of, but that wouldn't satisfy 'em. The Trentons is rotten right through, an' I'll never trust nor help one of 'em. As for that prinked-up Easterner--" He spat disgustedly.
"Garstone will need watchin', he got all the points of a rattlesnake bar the good one--he'll strike without warnin'," was Sudden's opinion.
They rode along beside the creek, silent, the rancher studying this man of whom he knew nothing save that he could shoot like a master, used the saddle and long stirrup of the Californian "buckaroo," but spoke with the slow drawl of the South. Western etiquette forbade a question, but there was no need.
"Tryin' to figure me, Dan?" Sudden asked, with a dry smile, and when the quick flush told he had hit the mark, added, "Shucks! yu have a right to know."
He spoke of a dying man, who, with his last breath, bequeathed a legacy of vengeance upon two scoundrels who had wronged him sorely, and of his own promise to pay the debt.
"That's why, like the creek there, I'm allus on the move," he said. "I ain't struck their trail yet, but I shall--one day."
How that day did indeed come has been told elsewhere. Dover looked at the set face of the speaker; measured by time, he was not so many years older than himself, but in experience, twice his age. The similarity of their cases bred a feeling of brotherhood in his breast; he too had a score to settle. Impulsively he thrust out a hand, which was gripped in silence.
"Makin' for anywhere in particular, Jim?"
"Figurin' to have another look at the ravine--mebbe I missed somethin'."
"Then we part here," Dan said. "yore line bears to the right."
Sudden had not gone far when a faint call of "Help!" reached him. It appeared to come from the vicinity of the creek and, swinging his horse round, he rode in that direction. A repetition of the cry served as a further guide, and in a few moments he was again beside the stream, at a point where, after passing over a miniature' Niagara, it widened out into a largish pool. The sight which greeted him was a singular one: a pale-faced girl, who appeared to be sitting in the water, and by her side a young man standing in it. The latter was Dover.
"Hey, Jim, don't come in," he warned. "Will yore rope reach this far?"
"Yeah, but it'll mean a rough passage for the lady."
"Can't be helped--it's our on'y chance. This damn quicksand has got us good."
Sudden leapt from his horse, walked to the water's edge. and swung his lariat. Carelessly as the rope seemed to be thrown, the loop dropped neatly over the girl's head. "Fix it under her arm-pits," he directed, and when this had been done, began to haul in swiftly. With a splash the girl struck the water, and in a brief space reached the bank, a limp, bedraggled specimen of humanity. The puncher helped her to stand up and removed the rope.--,
"Ain't no way to treat a lady, but I had to work fast," he apologized.
She fought for breath to answer, but failed to find it; this man who could throw an eight-hundred-pound steer had yanked her across the strip of shining water at incredible speed, and to her great discomfort. Sudden was not waiting for thanks.
"Hi, cowboy, need a hand?" he called out.
The leverage the empty saddle gave him had enabled Dan to free his feet from the clutching sand, and he was now astride the horse, only the head of which was visible.
"I can swim back," he replied.
By this time the girl had regained her breath. "Must I lose my pony?" she asked wistfully.
"A side-ways pull would break his legs," Sudden pointed out. A big cottonwood, one huge branch of which jutted out over the water, suggested something. "It's a chance," he said, and to Dover, who was preparing to plunge in, "Hold on a minute."
He sent his rope hurtling out again, and following his instructions, Dover contrived to pass it under the pony's belly and tie it securely. Then he slipped into the stream and came ashore. In the meantime, Sudden had attached Dan's rope to his own.
"What's the idea?" the young man asked, as he emerged and shook himself like a wet dog. "That bronc is meat for the fishes."
"I'm one o' them obstinate folk an' need convincin'," was the reply.
Swinging himself into the cottonwood, he crawled along the great limb, passed the end of the joined lariats through a fork, and returned to the ground. The head of the pony was now almost submerged, and conscious of impending doom it uttered a shrill cry of fear.
"Awright, of fella, we're doin' our best," Sudden said, as he fastened the loose end of the ropes to the saddle-horn of his own mount. "This'll give us an almost straight lift, an' if the pore beggar's still got a kick in him, it may serve," he explained. "Steady, boy."
This to the black, which, with braced limbs, leant forward until the rope was at full stretch. The two men, intent on the operation, took no notice of the girl, but she too was watching anxiously. At a word from his master, Nigger advanced a pace, the muscles bunching beneath the satiny skin; the rope became taut as a bow-string, but apparently without effect. Asecond pace, another scream from the drowning animal, and Sudden chuckled.
"He's loosenin', 'less we've pulled his legs off," he said. "I can see the horn o' the saddle."
It was true; as the big horse slowly advanced, the smaller beast at the other end of the rope was raised clear of the quicksand to hang suspended, twisting in the air, and obviously beside itself with fright.
"Well, we got him, an' we ain't," Dan remarked quizzically. "What's the next move?"
"Drop him back in the water, an' yell," Sudden replied. "He won't stay to get mired again, an' he's carryin' no weight." The rope was released and a piercing cowboy call rent the air; that, and the feel of the water sent the rescued beast scrambling frantically for solid ground, on reaching which it stood still, shivering and dejected. The lariat and saddle removed, however, it proceeded to roll contentedly in the grass, apparently little the worse.