Paradise Bend Part 68

"Long Riley an' Masters o' the Cross-in-a-box went out here in town, an' three fellers, Newhall an' Lane o' Paradise Bend, an' Morton o' the Flyin' M, in the battle at Dead Horse. Our tally was more. We lost seven of our best citizens. Four of 'em died right here in my hotel--two in the dinin' room, one at the door, an' one in the kitchen.

There's quite a jag o' gents nicked an' creased, but the doc says they'll pull through all right."

"But look here, Bill, has Rufe Cutting been holin' out over at the 88 right along?"

"I dunno how long he's been there, Tom, but anyway he rid in with half-a-dozen o' the 88 'bout two weeks ago, an' he was with 'em when they all come in for their battle."

"Do yuh remember what Rufe rode for a hoss the first time he come in?"

"Bald-face pinto--both times."

"I was wonderin'," Loudon said. "Yuh see, Bill, Rufe stole my hoss, Ranger, up in Paradise Bend, an' the mornin' o' the fight here the little hoss turns up at the Cross-in-a-box. It ain't none likely Rufe brought him. I'm tryin' to figger out the mystery."

Bill Lainey's fat body shook with laughter. He gripped his sides and panted for breath.

"That explains it," he wheezed, "It was yore hoss that the 88 was fussin' round after."

"What are yuh talkin' about?" demanded Loudon.

"Why, it's thisaway, Tom. When Blakely an' his gang come in they scampered round a-pokin' into every corral in town. Said one o' their hosses had been stole five days before, an' they was out to find the pony an' the thief. I didn't pay no attention, 'cept to see they didn't take one o' my hosses by mistake. Yuh see, I allowed they was lyin' all along an' just huntin' any old excuse to unhook their artillery. Yore hoss! Well, if that ain't rich!"

"It must 'a' been my hoss," averred Loudon, solemnly. "I guess now Rufe might have been anxious to get him back--some."

"Yeah," cut in Johnny Ramsay, "but who stole him from the 88? Guess the mystery's thicker'n ever, Tom."

"Looks like it," agreed Loudon. "Scotty or any of 'em in town now, Bill?"

"Scotty ain't. Him an' the Flyin' M bunch have rode south--Damson, I heard Mike Flynn say. Jack Richie's around some'ers. Here he comes now!"

"Which I'd admire to know where you fellers went," exclaimed Jack Richie, his expression radiating relief. "I was bettin' yuh'd been bushwhacked, but Scotty he said no, yuh was more likely bushwhackin'

somebody else, an' yuh'd all turn up like plugged dollars bimeby. By the looks of that led horse Scotty had yuh sized up right. Who'd yuh gather in?"

"Blakely," Loudon replied, quietly.

At this juncture Richie perceived the scalp on the gray's bridle.

"I see," said Jack Richie. "Run across any one else?"

"Fellah named O'Leary--yuh don't know him. He got away. We was at the 88 at the time. Before--before Blakely went he confessed to a whole raft o' stuff. We followed up part o' what he said, an' over in a blind canon south o' Smoky Peak in the Three Sisters we found a hundred an' twenty Bar S, Hawg Pen, an' Cross-in-a-box cows. Some o' the brands was almost healed up, but there was enough that wasn't to tell where they come from. There wasn't n.o.body with 'em."

"Smoky Peak, huh? Hoofs shaved down or burnt, I s'pose?"

"Sh.o.r.e," replied Loudon. "They won't be able to travel under two weeks."

"Did yuh tell Old Salt the joyful news--about the cattle?"

"I'll send him word."

"He's down at Mike Flynn's now. Go an' make him happy. But first c'mon in an' irrigate. If we don't do it right away, Johnny'll faint.

His tongue's hangin' out a foot."

"I'll see yuh later. Guess I'd better tell Old Salt first."

Loudon did not feel particularly cheerful as he walked down the street.

His work was done--and well done. His enemies were either no more or journeying swiftly elsewhere. There was peace for honest men in Fort Creek County at last. But there was no peace in Loudon's soul. He was learning for the second time that forgetfulness comes not easily.

In front of the Blue Pigeon Store a buckboard was standing. The rangy vehicle and its team of ponies struck a chord in Loudon's memory. He had seen them recently. Where? Idly speculating he entered the Blue Pigeon. Mr. Saltoun, leaning over the counter, was talking to Mike Flynn.

"Ahoy, Tom!" bawled Mike Flynn, thrusting forward his immense, freckled paw. "'Tis a sight for sore eyes yuh are. Glory be, but I thought yuh kilt!"

Mr. Saltoun's greeting was less enthusiastic, but it was friendly.

Loudon sat down on the counter and swung his spurred heels.

"About them cattle now," he said, slowly, his eyes fixed on Mr.

Saltoun's face. "Yuh remember I told yuh the 88 was rustlin' 'em?"

Mr. Saltoun nodded.

"I remember," he said.

"Them cows," Loudon said, distinctly, "are in a blind canon south o'

Smoky Peak, along with Hawg Pen an' Cross-in-a-box cattle. That is, most of 'em are there. The rest yuh'll have to pick out o' the 88 herds, I guess."

Mr. Saltoun's capitulation was instant and handsome.

"You was right!" he exclaimed, warmly, holding out his hand. "You was right all along. I sh.o.r.e had the 88 sized up wrong, an'"--vigorously pumping Loudon's hand--"any time yuh want a job there's one at the Bar S for yuh. Er--my range-boss is quittin' next month. What do yuh say to his job?"

"Now that's right good hearin'," replied Loudon, "but I guess I'll stick with the Flyin' M awhile. Thank yuh just as much."

"Oh, that's all right. Any time yuh feel like makin' a change, why, yuh know where to come. Well, I got to be goin'. Say, Mike, don't forget to order them collars for my buckboard harness."

"I sh.o.r.e won't. So long."

Loudon followed Mr. Saltoun into the street.

"Somethin' new, ain't it?" queried Loudon, flicking a thumb at the buckboard.

"Yep," said Mr. Saltoun, gathering up the reins. "Bought team an' all a month ago from Shaner o' the Three Bars. Got 'em cheap, too. Judge Allison was after 'em, but I got 'em. Huh? What did yuh say?"

"I didn't say nothin'. Somethin' stuck in my throat."

"Well, so long, take care o' yoreself."

Loudon stood on the sidewalk gazing after the dwindling buckboard. The mention of Judge Allison had supplied the missing link in the chain of memory. He had seen that buckboard, driven by a woman, stop in front of Judge Allison's house in Marysville, and it had been considerably less than a month ago. Hence, at the time, the buckboard must have been the property of Mr. Saltoun. And Kate was the only woman at the Bar S ranch. The driver must have been Kate Saltoun. Why should Kate call on Judge Allison?

"_Shershay la fam_," the Judge had remarked in explanation of his rather bald espousal of Loudon's cause. "Find the woman." Did the Judge mean Kate, and was it because of Kate's visit that he had become Loudon's friend? It did not seem possible, yet, if Kate actually had pleaded for him it was on a par with her actions in Paradise Bend.

Loudon, pondering the matter, stood quite still, utterly oblivious to his surroundings. The sudden creak of wheels, a familiar tinny clatter, and a cry of "Howdy, Tom!" brought him out of his reverie with a jerk.