CHAPTER VII

THE OUTFIT HUNTS FOR STRAYS

As the group of punchers and the stage neared each other Bill saw two hors.e.m.e.n ride out into view beside a chaparral half a mile to the northwest, and he recognized Shields and Charley, who were loping forward as if to overtake the cowboys, their approach noiseless because of the deep sand. As the cowboys came nearer Bill recognized them as being the five worst men of the Cross Bar-8 outfit, and his loyalty to his new friend was no stronger than his dislike for the newcomers. They swept up at a canter and stopped abruptly near the front wheel.

"Who was _that?"_ asked Larry Thompson impatiently, with his gloved hand indicating the direction taken by The Orphan.

"Friend of mine," replied Bill, who was diplomatically pleasant. "Say," he began, enthusing for effect, "you should have turned up sooner--you missed a regular circus! We was chased by five Apaches, and my friend cleaned 'em up right, he sh.o.r.e did! You should a seen it. I wouldn't a missed it for----"

"Cheese it!" relentlessly continued Larry, interrupting the threatened verbal deluge. "Don't be all day about it, Windy," he cried; "who is he?"

"Why, a friend of mine, Tom Davis," lied Bill. "He just wiped out a bunch of Apaches, like I was telling you. They was a-chasing me some plentiful and things was getting real interesting when he chipped in and took a hand from behind. And he certainly cleaned 'em up brown, he sh.o.r.e did!

Say, I'll bet you, even money, that he can lick the sheriff, or even The Orphant! He's a holy terror on wheels, that's what he is! Talk about lightning on the shoot--and he can hit twice in the same place, too, if he wants to, though there ain't no use of it when he gets there once.

The way he can heave lead is enough to make----"

"Choke it, Bill, choke it!" testily ordered Curley Smith, whose reputation was unsavory. "Tell us why in h--l he hit th' trail so all-fired hard.

Is yore friend some bashful?" he inquired ironically.

"Well," replied Bill, grinning exasperatingly, "it all depends on how you looks at it. Women say he is, men swear he ain't; you can take your choice. But they do say he ain't no ladies' man," he jabbed maliciously, well knowing that Curley prided himself on being a "lady-killer."

"Th' h--l he ain't!" retorted Curley, with a show of anger, preparing to argue, which would take time; and Bill was trying to give the outlaw a good start of them. "Th' h--l he ain't!" he repeated, leaning aggressively forward. "Yu keep yore opinions close to home, yu big-mouthed coyote!"

"Well, you asked me, didn't you?" replied Bill. "And I told you, didn't I?

He's a good man all around, and say, you should oughter hear him sing!

He's a singer from Singersville, he is. Got the finest voice this side of Chicago, that's what."

"That's _real_ interesting, and _just_ what we was askin' yu about,"

replied Larry with withering sarcasm. "An' bein' so, Windy, we'll sh.o.r.e give him all the music he wants to sing to before dark if we gets him.

Yore lying ability is real highfalutin'. Now, suppose yu tell th' truth before we drag it outen yu--who is he?"

"You ought to know it by this time. Didn't I say his name is Tom Davis?"

he replied, crossing his legs, his face wearing a bored look. "How many names do you think he's got, anyhow? Ain't one enough?"

"Look a-here!" cried Curley, pushing forward. "Was that th' d----d Orphant? Come on, now, talk straight!"

"Orphant!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bill in surprise. "Did you say Orphant? Orphant nothing!" he responded. "What in h--l do you think I'd be lying about him for? Do I look easy? He ain't no friend of mine! Besides, I wouldn't know him if I saw him, never having seen that frisky gent. Holy gee! is the Orphant loose in this country, out here along my route!" he cried, simulating alarm.

"Well, we'll take a chance anyhow," interposed Jack Kelly. "I can tell when a fool lies. If it _is_ yore friend Tom Davis we won't hurt him none."

"Honest, you won't hurt him?" asked Bill, grinning broadly. "No, I reckon _you_ won't, all right," he added, for the sheriff was close at hand now and was coming up at a walk, and Bill had an abiding faith in that official. He could be a trifle reckless how he talked now. He laughed sarcastically and hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest. "Nope, I reckon _you_ won't hurt him, not a little bit. Not if he knows you're going to try it on him. And if it should be Mister Orphant, well, I hear that he's dead sore on being hunted--don't like it for a d----n. I also hear he drinks blood instead of water and whips five men before breakfast every morning to get up an appet.i.te. Oh, no, and you won't hurt him neither, will you?"

"Yore real pert, now _ain't_ yu?" shouted Curley angrily. "Yore a whole lot sa.s.sy an' smart, _ain't_ yu? But if we find that he is that Orphant, we'll pay yu a visit so yu can explain just why yore so d----d friendly with him. He seems to have a whole lot of friends about this country, he does! Even the sheriff won't hurt him. Even th' brave sheriff loses his trail. Must be somethin' in it for somebody, eh?"

"You'd better tell that to somebody else, the sheriff, for instance. He'd like to think it over," responded Bill easily. "It's a good chance to see a little branding, a la Colt, as the French say. Tell it to him, why don't you?"

"I'm a-tellin' it to yu, _now_, an' I'll tell it to Shields when I sees him, yu overgrown baby, yu!" shouted Curley, his hand dropping to his Colt. "Everybody knows it! Everybody is a-talkin' about it! An' we'll have a new sheriff, too, before long! An' as for yu, if we wasn't in such a hurry, we'd give yu a lesson yu'd never forget! That d----d Orphant has got a pull, but we're goin' to give him a push, an' plumb into h.e.l.l!

Either a pull or our brave sheriff is some ascairt of him! He's a _fine_ sheriff, _he_ is, th' big baby!"

"Pleasant afternoon, Curley," came from behind the group, accompanied by a soft laugh. The voice was very pleasant and low. Curley stiffened and turned in his saddle like a flash. The sheriff was smiling, but there was a glint in his fighting eyes that gave grave warning. The sheriff smiled, but some men smile when most dangerous, and as an a.s.surance of mastery and coolness.

"Looking for strays, or is it mavericks?" he casually asked, a question which left no doubt as to what the smile indicated, for it was a challenge. Maverick hunting was at that time akin to rustling, and it was occurring on the range despite the sheriff's best efforts to stop it.

Curley flushed and mumbled something about a missing herd. He had suddenly remembered the scene at the corral, and it had a most subduing effect on him. The sheriff regarded him closely and then noted the bullet holes in the coach. The door of the vehicle was closed, the curtains down, and no sound came from within it. The baggage flap had settled askew over the tell-tale trunks and hid them from sight on that side.

"Oh, it's a missing herd this time, is it?" he inquired coolly. "Well, I reckon you won't find it out here. They don't wander over this layout while the Limping Water is running."

"Well, we'll take a look down south aways; it won't do no harm now that we've got this far," replied Larry. "Come on, boys," he cried. "We've wasted too much time with th' engineer."

"Wait!" commanded the sheriff shortly. "Your foreman made me certain promises, and I reckon that you are out against orders. I wouldn't be surprised if Sneed wants you right now."

Larry laughed uneasily. "Oh, I reckon he ain't losin' no sleep about us.

We won't hurt n.o.body" --whereat Bill grinned. "Come on, fellows."

"Well, I hope you get what you're looking for," replied the sheriff, whereat Bill snickered outright and winked at Charley, who sat alert and scowling behind the sheriff, rather hoping for a fight.

Larry flashed the driver a malicious look and, wheeling, cantered south, followed by his companions. They rode straight for the point at which The Orphan had disappeared, Bill waving his arms and crying: "Sic 'em." The chase was on in earnest.

The stage door suddenly flew open with a bang and interrupted the explanations which Bill was about to offer, and in a flash the sheriff was almost smothered by the attentions showered on him. Laughing and struggling and delighted by the surprise, the peace officer could not get a word edgewise in the rapid-fire exclamations and questions which were hurled at him from all sides.

But finally he could be heard as he extricated himself from the embraces of his sisters.

"Well, well!" he cried, smiles wreathing his face as he stepped back to get a good look at them. "You're a sight to make a sick man well! My, Helen, but how you've grown! It's been five years since I saw you--and you were only a schoolgirl in short dresses! And Mary hasn't grown a bit older, not a bit," addressing the elder of the two. Then he turned to the friend. "You must pardon me, Miss Ritchie," he said as he shook hands with her. "But I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time.

And I'm really surprised, too, because I didn't expect you all until the next stage trip. I had intended meeting you at the train and seeing you safely to Ford's Station, because the Apaches are out. I couldn't get word to you in time for you to postpone your visit, so I was going to take Charley and several more of the boys and escort you home."

Then he looked about for Charley, and found that person engaged in conversation with Bill as the two examined the bullet-marked stage.

"Come here, Charley!" he cried, beckoning his friend to his side.

"Ladies, this is Charley Winter, and he is a real good boy for a puncher.

Charley, Miss Ritchie, my sisters Mary and Helen. I reckon you ladies are purty well acquainted with Bill Howland by this time, but in case you ain't, I'll just say that he is the boss driver of the Southwest, noted locally for his oppressive taciturnity. I reckon you two boys don't need any introducing," he laughed.

Then, while the conversation throbbed at fever heat, Bill suddenly remembered and wheeled toward the sheriff.

"The Orphant!" he yelled in alarm, hoping to gain attention that way.

The sheriff and Charley wheeled, guns in hand, and leaped clear of the women, their quick eyes glancing from point to point in search of the danger.

"Where?" cried the sheriff over his shoulder at Bill.

"Down south, ahead of them fool punchers," Bill exclaimed. "He's only got a little start on 'em. And they know he's there, too. That's why they're looking for cows on a place cows never go."

Then he related in detail the occurrences of the past few hours, to the sheriff's great astonishment, and also to his delight at the way it had turned out. Shields thought of his own personal experiences with the outlaw, and this put him deeper in debt. His opinion as to there being much good in his enemy's makeup was strengthened, and he smiled at the fighting ability and fairness of the man who had declared a truce with him by the big bowlder on the Apache Trail.

"Oh, I hope they don't catch him!" Helen cried anxiously. "Can't you do something, James?" she implored. "He saved us, and he is wounded, too!

Can't you stop them?"

The sheriff looked to the south in the direction taken by the cow-punchers, and a hard light grew in his eyes.