Nevada (1995) (37 page)

"Wal, friend Jim must pack a shotgun," replied Stagg, with a
n
attempt at facetiousness.

"Nope. Only that old six-shooter."

Lacy turned from the darkness to the firelight. "Stagg, did yo
u
see any of the Hatts?"

"Sure. They was all home, an' had company, too. Strangers to me."

"Did you tell them about takin' Red back to the Ide ranch?"

"Sure. Thought it a good idee. An' I rubbed it in, too. Elam'
s
no hoss-thief. He said hoss-stealin' was a low-down bizness. Bu
t
Cedar swore there was somethin' crooked about a gunman an' rustle
r
who returned stolen property. Also he swore he'd steal the re
d
stallion again, jest to spite you."

"Ahuh. Wal, what did Cedar say when he heahed I'd shot his pard
,
Burt Stillwell?" inquired Jim, in a dry, caustic tone.

"What?" queried Stagg, with a start.

"You heahed me, man."

"Sure. But it--I . . . An' you shot Burt?"

Lacy nodded coldly, eying the fire.

Stagg stiffened a little, and after a stultified pause glanced fro
m
Burridge to Lacy, and then out into the forest. A silence ensued
,
broken only by the gamblers.

"Burt's dead--then--of course?" asked Stagg, presently, with a
n
effort.

Cash Burridge broke the strange spell of the moment.

"Burt's under the sod an' the leaves, waitin' the Judgment Day.

An' it was a damn good job, Stagg."

"No arguin' ag'in' thet," returned Stagg, recovering to grin.

"Wal, Lacy, fact is Cedar Hatt hadn't heerd no more'n me. But i
f
you're curious, I can sure tell you--Cedar will be hoppin' mad."

"I told Jim that," said Burridge, impatiently. "What's it amoun
t
to, anyhow? There'll be a Hatt less pronto."

"Wal, pards, the population of this hyar Arizonie is sur
e
deterioratin'," returned Stagg, with a guffaw.

One of the gamesters, disturbed by the loud laugh, looked up t
o
say, "Bill, shet your loud mouth, an' come set in this game.

Hubrigg an' Brann ain't very much to stack up ag'in'."

His bold face and rolling eyes expressed exceeding gratificatio
n
while he clinked his pile of gold.

"I'm on," replied Stagg, eagerly. "Wait till I swaller some grub."

"How about you--Lacy?" inquired Brann, with marked hesitation. "W
e
ain't slightin' you. It's an open game."

"Thanks, Brann," drawled Lacy. "I'd hate to win your pile. Yo
u
see, I've got uncommon good eyes, an' it shore hurts my feelin's t
o
see you men slippin' aces around. I'm a caird sharp. I'd brea
k
you. Like as not, then, you'd get sore an' pull a gun--which woul
d
be bad for this outfit."

Long and loud rolled the mirth of Burridge and Stagg down th
e
aisles of the forest. Brann appeared a droll and good-humore
d
rustler. He stared hard at Lacy, finally grinning.

"Jim, I'm recallin' thet invite for you to set in," he said
,
meaningly.

"Gamble your heads off," spoke up Burridge. "We needn't break cam
p
till late to-morrow. But I'm turnin' in."

"Same for me," said Lacy, and strode out of the lighted circle.

Presently he had to feel his way to the black tent-like spruce tre
e
under which he had spread his tarpaulin and blankets. Sittin
g
down, he pulled off his boots. Then he sat motionless, peerin
g
back at the ruddy campfire. Presently he removed his coat and mad
e
a pillow of it. Next he unbuckled his gun belt, took it off, an
d
laid the gun under the edge of his coat. After that he gazed
a
long time out into the spectral forest. The wind had risen, an
d
sang through the pines. A deep wild bay of a wolf rang out. Ho
w
lonely, hungry, mournful!

"Reckon that poor lofer is like me," muttered Lacy, and rolled i
n
his blankets.

The ring of a cold ax on hardwood awakened Jim Lacy from hi
s
slumbers.

There was a white frost on his tarpaulin and his boots and hi
s
sombrero, also his nose, from the feel of it. Hubrigg, wh
o
appeared to be an agreeable and helpful chap, was chopping wood fo
r
a campfire.

"Nifty mawnin', Hub," said Jim, by way of greeting. "I'll pac
k
some water."

"Hullo! I reckon your conscious never lets you sleep," sai
d
Hubrigg. "Look at them stiffs there. Dead to the world. No
w
watch."

With that he snatched up a bucket, pounded it with the ax handle
,
then tossed it to Lacy. The rustlers, rudely disturbed, leaped ou
t
of their beds, wild-eyed, hair on end, every one of them holding
a
gun or reaching for one.

"Haw! Haw! Haw!" roared Hubrigg. "Wake up, you sour-doug
h
eaters, an' help at the chores."

All of his roused hearers, except Burridge, cursed him roundly, an
d
Burridge, when he realized what had happened, said, "Lord, I
t
hought my day had come!"

Jim Lacy went down the trail for a pail of water.

Whenever such duty as this, or other opportunity, afforded, h
e
always took advantage of it, seeking ever a moment away from th
e
rustlers with whom he had cast his lot. That time, however short
,
was a blessed relief. He need not then be perpetually on the qu
i
vive, watching, listening, reading the minds of his companions. I
n
those stolen moments or hours he reverted to his old character
,
Nevada, lover of the open, of desert and forest, of the life an
d
color and mystery of nature.

The sun had not yet arisen. To the east the sky, over the lon
g
arms of the Mogollons, reaching, sweeping down black and wild, ha
d
begun to flush rosily. The forest seemed awakening from it
s
slumber with the bark of squirrels and screech of jays, the bugl
e
of bull elk, and the sweet, plaintive twittering of canaries.

Rocks and grass showed the hoary coating of frost. The air nipped
,
and the water at the spring felt like ice to his face. There was
a
thin edge of crystal ice along the margin of the little pool.

Upon climbing back to the rim he paused a moment to gaze down int
o
that marvelous black basin called the brakes of the Mogollons.

They were really not black, though black predominated over the ric
h
gold of aspens, and the scarlet of maples, the russet of oaks, an
d
the vivid cerise of vines for which he had no name. A ragged pine-
s
peared slope fell almost perpendicularly to the ribbed and ridge
d
lowland below, and here and there outcroppings of gray crags an
d
yellow shafts added to the effect of an exceedingly broken country.

His experienced eye wandered down to the brakes, over what fro
m
that height appeared undulating ridge and swale. Its vastnes
s
amazed Jim Lacy. Here was a wilderness country as large as th
e
northern California he knew so well. And to increase the effect t
o
one of staggering conception, there stretched the desert, grand an
d
illimitable. He had a moment of silent ecstasy of appreciation
,
followed by a melancholy longing for a time when he might be fre
e
to love Arizona, to have a ranch of his own, a few horses an
d
cattle, a home in the wilds where he could hunt and ride, free t
o
live peacefully, dreaming of the past. Melancholy longing becaus
e
he knew it could never come true!

Returning to the campfire, he arrived in time to hear Bran
n
exclaim: "What'n hell Columbia for do we want to ring the Hatts i
n
on this deal?"

"Say, man, there's brains back of this deal," replied Burridge
,
derisively.

"Meanin' yours, eh? Wal, all right, but I'm from Missouri."

They ceased the argument at the approach of Jim Lacy.

"Somebody rustle the hosses," called out Burridge.

An hour later the six men, with as many pack horses, started ove
r
the rim on the trail down into the brakes. It was a trail tha
t
would cause even the most expert and daring rider to hesitat
e
before attempting it on horseback. Moreover, it was seldom used.

Lacy decided it must be a rear outlet from the rendezvous o
f
desperate men. Many a time axes had to be brought into requisitio
n
to enable pack horses to pass down. Jumble of rocks, weathere
d
slides, narrow slanting ledges, fallen trees and thick brush, mad
e
this Hatt trail one to remember.

But though very steep, it was not long. It let out into the hea
d
of a canyon where the stream gushed forth from under an amber-
m
ossed cliff, and went singing down through a winding defile
,
surely the wildest and most beautiful that Jim Lacy's eyes had eve
r
beheld.

"Cash, tell me," said Lacy, at an opportune time, when they rod
e
abreast, "is Cedar Hatt the haid of this Pine Tree outfit?"

"Hell no!" ejaculated Burridge, in ridicule. Then as a
n
afterthought he continued: "But, Jim, I don't KNOW he isn't. I
m
ean I've sense enough to figure he couldn't be. There's a rea
l
man at the reins of that gang."

"You're square now? You honestly don't know?"

"So help me Heaven!" returned Burridge, raising his gloved righ
t
hand. "If I knew I'd tell you--even though the man was my pard.

But I don't know. I never met a man who did. Of course no one i
s
goin' to brag about that. The Pine Tree outfit is only three year
s
old. It's got a brand, but sure no one ever seen it on a steer o
r
a calf. I never seen it on anythin'. I hear it's cut on aspe
n
trees. Sheepherders will tell you that."

"Cedar Hatt might belong to it?" queried Lacy.

"Sure. But he'd be a bad hombre to trust, unless you had some hol
d
on him. My idea of the Pine Tree outfit is this. Some slic
k
rustler from other parts has ridden in here, either with a fe
w
choice men or picked them carefully after he got here, an' he ha
s
the money an' the brains to control a small outfit. Some cowbo
y
found a stray steer on the range. It had its brand painted out.

Painted! That's new. But how the devil could they paint out th
e
brands on a big bunch of wild steers?"

"Not very practical," observed Jim, thoughtfully.

"It's no trick to steal cattle in this country, an' it's a hea
p
sight easier to sell them," declared Burridge. "But to do it on
a
big scale an' not be found out--I call that brains."

"How far to the Hatt ranch?"

"Round this next bend. Wonderful place to hole up, don't yo
u
think?"

"Shore is. Are all these canyons like this?"

"Like it? Yes, only rougher. Some of them are so thick you can'
t
get a hoss through."