Sundown Slim Part 33

Then it is that the fleshless face of the unconquerable One leans close and whispers, not to the insensate clay that mocks the living, but to the impotent soul that mourns the dead.

That Sundown should consider himself morally bound to become one of those who he knew would avenge the killing of the cowboy, and without recourse to law, was not altogether strange. The iron had entered his soul. Heretofore at loose ends with the world, the finding of Sinker, dying on the mesas, kindled within him righteous wrath against the circ.u.mstance rather than the individual slayer. His meandering thoughts and emotions became crystallized. His energies hardened to a set purpose. He was obsessed with a fanaticism akin to that of those who had burned witches and thanked their Maker for the opportunity.

In his simple way he wondered why he had not wept. He rode slowly to the Concho. Chance leaped circling about his horse. He greeted the dog with a word. When he dismounted, Chance cringed and crept to him.

Without question this was his master, and yet there was something in Sundown's att.i.tude that silenced the dog's joyous welcoming. Chance sat on his haunches, whined, and did his best by his own att.i.tude to show that he was in sympathy with his master's strange mood.

John Corliss saw instantly that there was something wrong, and his hearty greeting lapsed into terse questioning. Sundown pointed toward the northern mesas.

"What's up?" he queried.

"Sinker--he's dead--over there."

"Sinker?" Corliss ran to the corral, calling to Wingle, who came from the bunk-house. The cook whisked off his ap.r.o.n, grabbed his hat, and followed Corliss. "Sinker's done for!" said Corliss. "Saddle up, Hi.

Sun found him out there. Must have had trouble at the water-hole. I should have sent another man with him."

Wingle, with the taciturnity of the plainsman, jerked the cinchas tight and swung to the saddle. Sinker's death had come like a white-hot flash of lightning from the bulked clouds that had shadowed disaster impending--and in that shadow the three men rode silently toward the north. Again Corliss questioned Sundown. Tense with the stress of an emotion that all but sealed his lips, Sundown turned his white face to Corliss and whispered, "Wait!" The rancher felt that that one terse, whispered word implied more than he cared to imagine. There was something uncanny about the man. If the killing of Sinker could so change the timorous, kindly Sundown to this grim, unbending epitome of lean death and vengeance, what could he himself do to check the wild fury of his riders when they heard of their companion's pa.s.sing from the sun?

Sinker's horse, grazing, lifted its head and nickered as they rode up.

They dismounted and turned the body over. Wingle, kneeling, examined the cowboy's six-gun.

Corliss, in a burst of wrath, turned on Sundown. "d.a.m.n you, open your mouth. What do you know about this?"

Sundown bit his nails and glowered at Corliss. "G.o.d A'mighty sent me--" he began.

With a swift gesture Corliss interrupted. "You're working for the Concho. Was he dead when you found him?"

Sundown slowly raised his arm and pointed across the mesa.

Corliss fingered his belt and bit his lip impatiently.

"A herder--over there to my ranch--done it. Sinker told me--'fore he crossed over. Said it was 'Sandro. Said he had orders not to shoot.

He tried to bluff 'em off, for they was bringin' sheep to the water-hole. He said to tell you."

Corliss and Wingle turned from looking at Sundown and gazed at each other. "If that's right--" And the rancher hesitated.

"I reckon it's right," said Wingle. And he stooped and together they lifted the body and laid it across the cowboy's horse.

Sundown watched them with burning eyes. "We'll ride back home," said Corliss, motioning to him.

"Home? Ain't you goin' to do nothin'?"

Corliss shook his head. Sundown slowly mounted and followed them to the Concho. He watched them as they carried Sinker to the bunkhouse.

When Corliss reappeared, Sundown strode up to him. "This here hoss belongs to that leetle Mexican on the Apache road, Chico Miguel--said you knowed him. I was goin' to take him back with my hoss. Now I reckon I can't. I kind o' liked it over there to his place. I guess I want my own hoss, Pill."

"I guess you better get something to eat and rest up. You're in bad shape, Sun."

Sundown shook his head. "I got somethin' to do--after that mebby I can rest up. Can I have me hoss?"

"Yes, if it'll do you any good. What are you going to do?"

"I got me homesteader papers. I'm goin' to me ranch."

"But you're not outfitted. There's no grub there. You better take it easy. You'll feel better to-morrow."

"I don't need no outfit. I reckon I'll saddle Pill."

Sundown turned the Mexican's pony into the corral and saddled his own horse which he led to the bunk-house. "I ain't got no gun," he said.

"The sheriff gent's got mine. Mebby you'd be lendin' me one?"

Wingle stepped to the doorway and stood beside Corliss. "What does he want, Jack?"

"He's loco. Wants to borrow a gun." The rancher turned to Sundown.

"See here, Sun, there's no use thinking you've got to take a hand in this. Some of the boys'll get the Mexican sure! I can't stop them, but I don't want you to get in trouble."

"No. You come on in and eat," said Wingle. "You got a touch of sun, I guess."

Sundown mounted. "Ain't you goin' to do nothin'?" he asked again.

Corliss and Wingle glanced at each other. "No, not now."

"Then me and Chance is," said Sundown. "Come on, Chance."

Corliss and the cook watched the tall figure as it pa.s.sed through the gateway and out to the mesa. "I'll go head him off, if you say the word, Jack."

Corliss made a negative gesture. "He'll come back when he gets hungry.

It's a long ride to the water-hole. Sinker had sand to get as near home as he did. It's going to be straight h.e.l.l from now on, Hi."

Wingle nodded. Through force of habit he reached for his ap.r.o.n to wipe his hand--his invariable preliminary before he shook hands with any one. His ap.r.o.n being off, he hesitated, then stepped to his employer.

"It sure is," he said, "and I'm ridin' with you."

They shook hands. Moved by a mutual impulse they glanced at the long, rigid shape covered with a blanket. "When the boys come--" began Wingle.

"It will be out of our hands," concluded Corliss.

"If Sun--"

"I ought to ride out after him," said Corliss, nodding. "But I can't leave. And you can't."

Wingle stepped to the doorway and shaded his eyes. Far out on the mesa the diminis.h.i.+ng figure of a horseman showed black against the glare of the sun. Wingle turned and, with a glance at the shrouded figure on the bunk-house floor, donned his ap.r.o.n and shuffled to the kitchen.

Corliss tied his horse and strode to the office.

Hi Wingle puttered about the kitchen. There would be supper to get for fifteen hungry--No! fourteen, to-night. He paused, set down the pan that he held and opened the door of the chuck-room. With finger marking the count he totaled the number of chairs at the table.

Fifteen. Then he stepped softly to the bunk-room, took Sinker's hat and stepped back to the table. He placed the hat on the dead cowboy's chair. Then he closed the door and turned to the preparation of the evening meal. "Jack'll report to Antelope and try and keep the boys quiet. I'm sure with Jack--only I was a puncher first afore I took to cookin'. And I'm a puncher yet--inside." Which was his singular and only spoken tribute to the memory of Sinker. He had reasoned that it was only right and fitting that the slayer of a cowman should be slain by a cowman--a code that held good in his time and would hold good now--especially when the boys saw the battered Stetson, every line of which was mutely eloquent of its owner's individuality.

Sundown drifted through the afternoon solitudes, his mind dulled by the monotony of the theme which obsessed him. It was evening when he reached the water-hole. Around the enclosure straggled a few stray sheep. He cautioned Chance against molesting them. Ordinarily he would have approached the ranch-house timidly, but he was beyond fear.

He rode to the gate, tied his horse, and stepped to the doorway. The door was open. He entered and struck a match. In the dusk he saw that the room was empty save for a tarpaulin and a pair of rawhide kyacks such as the herders use. Examining the kyacks he found that they contained flour, beans, salt, sugar, and coffee. Evidently the herders had intended making the deserted ranch-house their headquarters. He wondered vaguely where the Mexicans were. The thought that they might return did not worry him. He knew what he would do in that instance.

He would find out which one was 'Sandro . . . and then . . .