Stepsons of Light Part 17

"It's a cruel world," said Charlie. "I've heard people call you a fool, but I know better, now. Don't you worry about us not keeping up."

Caney drove home the spurs and drew ahead.

They galloped into Arrey.

Yes, they had seen a man on a blue horse. "Filled his canteen here.

Peart pair!... Which way? Oh, right up the big road to Hillsb'ro--him singin' and the horse dancin'.... Oh, maybe half an hour ago. He stayed here quite some time--admirin' the mountains, I judge, and fillin' his canteen--him and Josie. Better stay to supper, you-all; looks mighty like rain over yonder."

They turned squarely from the river valley and pushed up the staircase road. The track was clear and plain, three old shoes and a new one.

They climbed the first bench-land step, and saw the long gray road blank before them in the last flame-red of sun. Swift dusk dropped like a curtain as they climbed the next step and saw a slow black speck far ahead in the dim loneliness.

"Got him!" said Jody. "Here, one can trail along behind, while two of us take the right and two go on the left, keeping cover in little draws and behind ridges. We'll have him surrounded before he knows we're after him. Way he's riding, we can head him off long before he gets to the Percha."

"Fine!" said Hobby Lull. "Fine! He rides into an ambush at dark.

Guilty--he fights of course. Innocent--of course he fights! Any man with a bone in his spinal column would fight. First-rate scheme, except that Charlie See and me won't have it. Innocent, it isn't hospitable; guilty, we won't have him shot. The man that killed Adam Forbes has got to hang."

Leaping, Charlie See's horse whirled on a pivot and faced the others.

"Speed up, Hobby, and tell that man we're holding all strangers, him most of all. I'll hold this bunch. Beat it!"

His voice was low and drawling; he barred the way with quiet steady eyes. The storm-drenched wind blew out his saddle strings, the fringed edges of his gauntlets, the kerchief at his neck, the long tapideros at his feet; it beat back his hat's broad brim, Stargazer's mane snapped loose and level; horse and man framed against coming night and coming storm in poised wild energy, centered, strong and tense.

"You darned little meddlesome whiffet!" snarled Jody Weir savagely, as Lull galloped away.

See's gun hand lay at his thigh. "Talk all you like, but don't get restless with your hands. I'm telling you! Meddlesome? That's me. Matt is my middle name. Don't let that worry you any. I've got three good reasons for meddling. I know two of you, and I don't know the other one. I don't like waylaying--and I don't like you. Besides, I love to meddle. Always did. Everybody's business is my business. You three birds keep still and look sulky. Be wise, now! Me and a rattlesnake has got the same motto: You touch the b.u.t.ton and I'll do the rest."

Black above and furnace flame below, the tumbling clouds came rus.h.i.+ng from the hills with a mutter of far-off thunder. A glimmer of twilight lingered, and sudden stars blazed across the half sky to eastward, unclouded yet.

Hobby Lull cupped his hands and shouted through the dusk: "Hoo-e-ee!"

Johnny Dines halted the blue horse and answered blithely: "E-ee-hoo!"

"Sorry," said Lull as he rode up, "but I've got to put you under arrest."

"Anything serious?"

"Yes, it is. A man was killed back there to-day."

"So you want my gun, of course. Here it is. Don't mention it. I've had to hold strangers before now, myself."

"It isn't quite so vague as that--and I'm sorry, too," said Lull awkwardly. "This man was killed in Redgate Canon and you came through there. I met you myself."

"Not that big red-headed chap I saw there?"

"That's the man."

"h.e.l.l, that's too bad. Acted like a good chap. He chinned with me a while--caught up with me and gave me a letter to mail. Where do we go--on or back? If you take me to the John Cross wagon to-morrow they'll tell you I'm all right. Down on the river n.o.body seemed to know where the wagon was. I'm Johnny Dines, Phillipsburg way.

T-Tumble-T brand."

"I've heard of you--no bad report either. You live on one county line and I'm on the other. Well, here's hoping you get safe out of the mess. It isn't pretty. We'll take you on to Hillsboro, I guess, now we're this close. There's a lot more of us behind, waiting. Let's go back and get them. Then we'll go on."

"Look now--if you're going on to Hillsboro, my horse has come a right smart step to-day, and every little bit helps. Why don't you shoot a few lines? They'll come a-snuffin' then, and we won't have to go back."

Hobby nodded. He fired two shots.

"You ride a Bar Cross horse, I see."

"Yes. I'm the last hand." Johnny grinned. "Hark! I hear them coming.

Sounds creepy, don't it? They're fussed. Them two shots have got 'em guessing--they're sure burning the breeze! Say, I'm going to slip into my slicker. Storm is right on top of us. Getting mighty black overhead. Twilight lasts pretty quick in this country."

Rain spattered in big drops. Wind-blown flare of stars and the last smoky dusk and flickers of lightning made a thin greenish light.

Shadowy hors.e.m.e.n shaped furiously through the murk, became clear, and reined beside them. Dines took one look at them and directed a reproachful glance at his captor.

"I might not have handed over my gun so nice and easy if I had known who was with you," he remarked pleasantly. A high spot of color flamed to his cheek. "Just for that, you are going to lose the beauties of my conversation from now on--by advice of counsel. While you are putting on your slickers I merely wish to make a plain brief statement and also to call attention to one of the many mercies which crowd about us, and for which we are so ungrateful. Mercies first: Did you ever notice how splendidly it has been arranged that one day follows directly after another, instead of in between? And that maybe we're sometimes often quite sorry some day for what we did or didn't do some other day, or the reverse, as the case may be, or perhaps the contrary? Now the statement: I know two of you men, and I don't like those two; and for the others, I don't like the company they keep. So now you can all go to h.e.l.l, home or Hillsboro, and take me with you, but I'll not entertain you, not if you was bored to death. I'm done and dumb--till I tell it to the judge."

X

"When the high heart we magnify And the sure vision celebrate, And wors.h.i.+p greatness pa.s.sing by-- Ourselves are great."

--JOHN DRINKWATER.

Mr. George Gwinne sprawled at his graceless ease along two chairs; he held a long-stemmed brier-wood pipe between his bearded lips and puffed thoughtfully. The pipestem was long of necessity; with a short stem Mr. Gwinne had certainly set that beard alight. It was a magnificent beard, such as you may not see in these degenerate days.

Nor did you see many such in those degenerate days, for that matter.

It was long and thick and wide and all that a beard should be; it reached from his two big ears to below the fifth rib. It was silky and wavy and curly, and--alas for poor human nature!--it was kempt and kept--an a.s.syrian beard. Yet Mr. George Gwinne was, of all the sons of man, unlikeliest to be the victim of vanity. His beard was a dusty red brown, the thick poll of hair on his big square head was dusky red brown, lightly sprinkled with frost, his big eyes were reddish brown; and Argive Helen might have envied his brows, perfect brows in any other setting; merely comic here--no, no, "tragic" is the word, since all else about the man was coa.r.s.e of grain and fiber, uncouth and repulsive.

His hands were big and awkward, and they swung from arms disproportionately long; his feet were big and flat, his body was big and gross, he was deep-chested and round-shouldered, his neck was a bull's neck, his ears were big and red, his head was big and coa.r.s.e and square, his face was gnarled where it was not forested, his chance-seen lips were big and coa.r.s.e, his nose was a monstrous beak, his voice was a hoa.r.s.e deep rumble. And somewhere behind that rough husk dwelt a knightly soul, kindly and tender and sensitive--one of that glorious company, "who plotted to be worthy of the world."

He had friends--yes, and they held him high--but seeming and report held him pachyderm, and they trod upon his heart. Only to a few have time and chance shown a glimpse of the sad and lonely spirit behind those tired eyes--and they have walked softlier all their days for it.

This is not his story; but there will be a heavy reckoning when George Gwinne's account goes to audit.

Mr. Gwinne's gaze rested benignantly on a sleeping man; a young and smallish man, very different from Mr. Gwinne in every respect, sprightly and debonair, even in sleep, with careless grace in every line of him, just as he had thrown himself upon the bunk. He had removed hat and boots by way of preparation for bed, and his vest served for a pillow. Long lashes lay on a cheek lightly tanned to olive, but his upper forehead was startling white by contrast, where a heavy hat had shaded it from burning suns. His hands were soft and white; the gloved hands of a rider in his youth. The bunk, it may be mentioned, was behind iron bars; Mr. Gwinne was chief deputy and jailer, and the sleeper was Mr. Johnny Dines.

Mr. Gwinne tapped out his pipe and spoke huskily: "Young feller, get up! Can't you hear the little birds singing their praises to--"

"Ur-rgh! Ugh! Ar-rumph-umph!" said Johnny, sitting up.

He started a little as his eyes fell on the bars. He pulled his shoulders together. Recollection followed puzzlement on his yet unguarded face; he pa.s.sed his fingers through his tousled hair, making further tanglement. He looked at the absurd gigantic figure beyond the bars, and his eyes crinkled to smiling. Then his face took on an expression of discontent. He eyed his bed with frank distaste.

"I say, old top--no offense, and all that, but look now--I've never been in jail before. Is the establishment all scientific and everything? No objectionable--er--creepers, you know?"

"Why, you impudent young whelp! d.a.m.n your hide, I sleep here myself.

If there's a grayback in my jail I'll eat your s.h.i.+rt. What in time do you mean by it, hey? Pulling my leg? You'd a heap better be studying about your silly neck, you young devil. Come out of that, now! Nine o'clock, past. Wish I had your conscience. Ten hours' solid sleep and still going strong."

"Gee, why didn't you wake me up? Are they going to hold my preliminary trial this morning or wait till after dinner? I'm sort of interested to see what indiscriminating evidence they've got."