"He ain't hurt none," Sudden said, adding with a grin, "an' what a tale he'll have to tell in the corral to-night."
"He's not the only one," a sweet but rather rueful voice remarked.
Engrossed in their task, the other rescuee had been forgotten, but now they turned to find her seated on a tuft of grass, trying to restore some sort of order to a wet mop of short, curly black hair. Little clouds of steam arose as the fierce rays of the sun licked up the moisture from her soaked attire. She was, as Dover confessed in an aside to his companion, "Sorta soothin' to the sight."
The description did her less than justice, for, despite her bedraggled state, even one of her own sex would have allowed her charm, at least. To the men, she was beautiful, and the fact that she could find a smile for them showed that she possessed the quality they most admired, courage. Sudden was the first to speak:
"How're yu feelin', ma'am?"
"Rather as though I ought to be pegged out on a line to dry," she replied. "The stream looked shallow enough to ride through, but half-way across I realized that my mount was in difficulties, and turned to go back, but it was too late. You see, I can't swim."
"You picked the wrong place," Dan told her. "The ford is a bit further down; there's a couple o' white stones to mark it."
"Being a stranger, I am afraid they wouldn't have meant anything to me." Her dark, long-lashed eyes regarded the tree-shadowed pool reproachfully. "Who would have dreamed that so charming a spot could be treacherous?"
"The Rainbow ain't to be trusted," Dan grinned. "She's as various as a--" He stopped abruptly.
"Woman," she finished, with a light laugh. "Please don't mind me--I am well aware of the failings of my own sex."
She stood up, her clinging garments revealing the youthful lines of her slim body. "I want to thank you both," she went on, her voice grave again. "But for your help, I might have ..." She broke off, with a little shudder, and then, "My uncle will want to thank you too, and he'll be glad to see you at the Wagon-wheel--why, what is the matter?"
For Dan's face had suddenly become bleak. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.
The girl's eyes flashed. "I am Beth Trenton," she replied. "And you?"
"My name's Dover, if that tells you anythin'."
"All I want to know," she returned coldly. "But I am still grateful for what you have done."
"Then don't be," the young man said vehemently. "Helpin' one o' yore family--even in ignorance--is somethin' I wanta forget."
"I have been here only a week, and have received nothing but courtesy from the men I have met; I am sorry to find an exception," was the cutting reply. She looked at Sudden. "If you will be good enough to bring my horse ..."
When the puncher had roped and saddled the animal, she mounted with graceful ease, and without another word, rode in search of the ford. Dan's moody gaze followed her, noting how the proud, straight figure swayed easily to the movement of the beast beneath it; she could ride, and for a reason he did not attempt to analyse, the fact made him still more angry.
"Why in hell didn't I go some other place this mornin'," he fumed. "Zeb Trenton'll laugh hisself sick over this."
"He oughta be mighty grateful."
"Ought means nothin' to him; he won't even pretend to be,the slimy of toad. Bet he's told her a pretty tale about the Dovers. If I'd knowed who she was--"
"Yu'd 'a' done just the same," Sudden smiled. "I'm allowin' it's rough it had to be yu, but rescuin' folks in distress seems to be a habit in yore family."
"She must be the niece I heard was comin' to live with him. I'd forgot about it. Damn the luck."
Sudden understood; the girl was very attractive, and had she been related to anyone else ... His advice took a prosaic form:
"Better head for home an' get into some dry duds. I'll be on my way."
As he neared the scene of the murder, he left the beaten trail and approached obliquely, keeping under cover. It was unlikely that anyone could know of his intention to visit the place, but he was not one to take unnecessary risks. Peering through the branches of a tall bush, he could see where the body had lain. Someone was there, stooping over the spot, apparently examining the ground intently. Presently the figure stood up, and Sudden recognized the bent shoulders, white hair, and big axe thrust through the belt.
"Hunch! What in the nation is that of tarrapin doin' here?"
Evidently he was engaged on the task Sudden himself had performed, that of reading the "sign" left by the assassin, for he climbed the bank of the arroyo at the same place and vanished. Sudden waited, but the other did not reappear, and the puncher returned to the Circle Dot in a reflective mood.
Chapter VI
An uneventful week passed. Sudden spent the time, as he put it, getting acquainted with the country. Somewhat to his surprise, Yorky was ready each morning to accompany him part of the way. The boy had made the most of his mount, which, carefully groomed, and with mane and tail combed, presented a much improved appearance. When the puncher remarked on this, Yorky flushed, and said:
"Th' boys figure he's played out but they's wrong; all he wanted was a bit of attention. We're pals, ain't we, Shut-eye?"
He stroked the pony's muzzle and Sudden smiled as he saw the piece of sugar pass from the boy's palm.
"A hors is a good friend to have--'specially in the West," he said gravely. "Treat him right an' he'll not fail yu. I'm for Rainbow this mornin'. Comin' along?"
Yorky looked at his tattered raiment, and shook his head. "Nuttin' doin'. Me fer another dose o' th' pine-breath; I'm gittin' so I don't cough me heart up--mos'ly."
"Good. Can I bring yu any smokin'?"
"Nix on that. T'ought I told yer I ain't usin' it."
"So yu did--I done forgot," the puncher lied. "So long, son."
"So long, Jim, an'--thanks," Yorky replied, and turned quickly away.
Sudden watched him trot off in the direction of the little pine forest. Still an awkward figure in the saddle, he was clearly improving. "The hell of it," he muttered softly, and started for the town.
He found the Parlour devoid of customers save for the unkempt person of Malachi, who, draped against the bar, was chatting with the proprietor. The latter welcomed the newcomer warmly.
Lo, Green, you know the Doc, I reckon," he said. "On'y by reputation," Sudden replied.
"Then you don't know him," Malachi said dryly.
"Well, I'm hopin' he'll drink with me allasame," the cowboy smiled.
"Sir, I'll drink with the Devil himself if the liquor is good--and there's no doubt of that here--but I warn you I am not in a position to return your hospitality."
"Aw, yore credit's good too, Doc," Bowdyr assured. "Thanks, Ben, but I don't sponge on my friends," Malachi returned, and to the puncher, "Folks in this locality are too healthy."
"I've been wantin' to speak to yu 'bout one who ain't," Sudden replied. "That kid at the Circle Dot."
The other nodded. "Old Dave got me to look him over, and that spawn of a city sink called me everything he could thinkof, and it was plenty. He finished by saying he didn't want to live in a God-forsaken place like this, and he'd be everlastingly somethinged if he swallowed one drop of any blanketyblanked medicine I sent. My advice to Dave was to ship him back East and let him die in the gutter he had come from."
"He certainly can cuss," Sudden grinned. "Is there a chance for him?"
"yes, if he spends all his time outdoors, and stops poisoning his system with nicotine--which he won't; he isn't the sort you can scare into doing a thing."
"But he might for a friend," the puncher suggested. "Well, Doc, I'm obliged for yore advice." He slid a ten-dollar bill along the bar, adding, "I think yu told the sheriff that was yore fee for consultation."