The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 60

CHAPTER XLI

"A LAND FAMILIAR"

The following day Pete had a long talk with Sheriff Owen, a talk which resulted in the sheriff's accompanying Andover and Pete on their desert journey to Sanborn.

Incidentally Pete gave his word that he would not try to escape. It was significant, however, that the little sheriff expressed a preference for the back seat, even before Andover, who had invited him to make the journey, asked him if he cared to ride in front. The sheriff's choice was more a matter of habit than preference, for, alone upon the ample seat of the touring-car, he was shuttled ignominiously from side to side and bounced and jolted until, during a stop for water, he informed Andover that "he sure would have to pull leather to stay with the car."

The surgeon, a bit inclined to show off, did not hesitate to "step on her," when the going was at all good. And any one familiar with the road from El Paso to Sanborn is aware of just how good even the best going is. Any one unfamiliar with that road is to be congratulated.

Pete enjoyed the ride, as it brought him once more into the open country. The car whirred on and on. It seemed to him as though he were speeding from a nightmare of brick and stone and clamor into the wide and sun-swept s.p.a.ces of a land familiar and yet strange.

They reached Sanborn about noon, having made about one hundred and fifty miles in something like four hours.

After a wash and a meal at the hotel, they strolled over to the livery-stable to inspect the horse that Andover thought of buying. A small crowd had collected at the stables, as the auction was advertised to take place that afternoon. The sheriff himself started the bidding on the thoroughbred, followed by the liveryman, who knew about what he could get for the horse in El Paso. Andover raised his bid, which was quickly raised in turn by the sheriff. Pete realized that Andover really wanted the horse and told him quietly to drop out when the bidding reached two hundred, shrewdly estimating that neither the liveryman nor the sheriff would go beyond that figure, as neither of them really wanted the horse save as a speculation. "Then, if you want him, raise twenty-five, and you get a mighty good horse for a hundred less than he's worth. I know him. He's no good workin' cattle--but he's one fine trail horse for straight goin'. And he's as gentle as your gran'-mother."

The bidding ran to one hundred and seventy-five, when there was a pause. The sheriff had dropped out. The liveryman, conferring with his partner, was about to bid when Andover jumped the price to two hundred and fifty.

"I'm through," said the liveryman.

"Sold to--name, please--sold to Doctor John Andover for two hundred and fifty dollars," said the auctioneer. Then, after a facetious dissertation on thoroughbreds as against cow-ponies, Blue Smoke was led out. Pete's face went red. Then he paled. He had not forgotten that Blue Smoke was to be sold, but he had taken it for granted that he would be allowed to reclaim him. Pete stepped over to the sheriff and was about to enter a protest--offer to pay the board-bill against Blue Smoke, when the bidding began with an offer of twenty-five dollars.

This was quickly run up to seventy-five when Pete promptly bid one hundred, which was a fair auction price, although every man there knew that Blue Smoke was worth more.

"I'm bid one hundred twenty-five," cried the auctioneer, as a young, bow-legged cowboy raised Pete's bid.

"One-fifty," said Pete without hesitation.

The sheriff glanced at Pete, wondering if he would borrow the money from Andover to make good his bid. But Pete was watching the auctioneer's gavel--which happened to be a short piece of rubber garden-hose. "Third and last chance!" said the auctioneer. "n.o.body want that pony as a present? All right--goin', I say! Goin', I say _ag'in_! Gone! B' Gos.h.!.+ at one hundred an' fifty dollars, to that young gent over there that looks like he could ride him. What's the name?"

"Pete Annersley."

Several in the crowd turned and gazed curiously at Pete. But Pete's eyes were upon Blue Smoke--his horse--the horse that had carried him faithfully so many desert miles--a cow-pony that could "follow a mountain trail all day and finish, a-steppin' high."

"Much obliged for your advice about the thoroughbred," said Andover as he stepped close to Pete. "Is that the pony you used to ride?"

"He sure is. Say, Doc, I got the money to pay for him, but would you mind writin' out a check. I ain't wise to this bankin' business yet."

"Why--no. I'll do that. I--er--of course--I'm a little short myself.

New car--and this horse for my daughter. But I think I can manage.

You want to borrow a hundred and fifty?"

"Say, Doc, you got me wrong! I got the makin's all right, but I don't jest sabe rollin' 'em." Pete dug into his coat-pocket and fetched up a check-book. "Same as you paid for your hoss with."

"This is Stockmen's Security. You have an account there?"

"That's what the president was callin' it. I call it dough. I got the book." And Pete dug into his pocket again, watching Andover's face as that astonished individual glanced at the deposit to Pete's credit.

"Well, you're the limit!"--and the doctor whistled. "What will you spring next?"

"Oh, it's _mine_, all right. A friend was leavin' it to me. He's crossed over."

"I s-e-e. Twenty-four thousand dollars! Young man, that's more money than I ever had at one time in my life."

"Same here,"--and Pete grinned. "But it don't worry me none."

"I'll make out the check for you." And Andover pulled out his fountain pen and stepped over to the auctioneer's stand. Pete signed the check and handed it to the auctioneer.

"Don't know this man," said the auctioneer, as he glanced at the signature.

"I'll endorse it," volunteered Andover quickly.

"All right, Doc."

And Andover, whose account was as close to being overdrawn as it could be and still remain an account, endorsed the check of a man worth twenty-four thousand-odd dollars, and his endors.e.m.e.nt was satisfactory to the auctioneer. So much for professional egoism and six-cylinder prestige.

Sheriff Owen, who had kept a mild eye on Pete, had noted this transaction. After Blue Smoke had been returned to the stables, he took occasion to ask Pete if he were still a partner to the understanding that he was on his honor not to attempt to escape.

"I figured that deal was good till I got here," said Pete bluntly.

"Just so, son. That's where my figuring stopped, likewise. Too much open country. If you once threw a leg over that blue roan, I can see where some of us would do some riding."

"If I'd been thinkin' of leavin' you, it would 'a' been afore we got here, sheriff."

"So it's 'sheriff' now, and not Jim, eh?"

"It sure is--if you're thinkin' o' lockin' me up. You treated me white back there in El Paso--so I'm tellin' you that if you lock me up--and I git a chanct, I'll sure vamose."

Pete's a.s.sertion did not seem to displease the sheriff in the least.

To the contrary, he smiled affably.

"That's fair enough. And if I _don't_ lock you up, but let you stay over to the hotel, you'll hang around town till this thing is settled, eh?"

"I sure will."

"Will you shake on that?"

Pete thrust out his hand. "That goes, Jim."

"Now you're talking sense, Pete. Reckon you better run along and see what the Doc wants. He's waving to you."

Andover sat in his car, drawing on his gloves. "I've arranged to have the horse s.h.i.+pped to me by express. If you don't mind, I wish you would see that he is loaded properly and that he has food and water before the car leaves--that is"--and Andover cleared his throat--"if you're around town tomorrow. The sheriff seems to allow you a pretty free hand--possibly because I a.s.sured him that you were not physically fit to--er--ride a horse. Since I saw that bank-book of yours, I've been thinking more about your case. If I were you I would hire the best legal talent in El Paso, and fight that case to a finish. You can pay for it."

"You mean for me to hire a lawyer to tell 'em I didn't kill Sam Brent?"

"Not exactly that--but hire a lawyer to _prove_ to the judge and jury that you didn't kill him."