HIDDEN 
 M TRAILS 
 
 WILLIAM PATTER50N 
 
 WHITE 
 
HIDDEN TRAILS 
 

" ... The puncher seized the girl s fingers in a fer 
 vent grasp. I shore am glad to see yuh! he exclaimed " 
 
HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 BY 
 WILLIAM PATTERSON WHITE 
 
 FRONTISPIECE 
 
 BY 
 RALPH PALLEN COLEMAN 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLE DAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1920 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
 INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
 COPYRIGHT, IQlR, BY THE RIDGWAY COMPANY 
 
1 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I . THE HAPPY HEART 3 
 
 II. JOHNNY S DECISION 14 
 
 III. PLANS 27 
 
 IV. THE NORTHERN TRAIL ...... 34 
 
 V. PARADISE BEND 44 
 
 VI. THE HEMPEN SHADOW 56 
 
 VII . SCOTTY MACKENZIE 66 
 
 VIII . DOROTHY BURR 78 
 
 IX. THE OTHER WOMAN 88 
 
 X. THE LIGHT THAT LIES 98 
 
 XI. VERY STRAY MEN no 
 
 XII. LAGUERRE TALKS 127 
 
 XIII. RIDERS AT ROCKET 139 
 
 XIV. BECAUSE 150 
 
 XV. TARGET PRACTISE 156 
 
 XVI. THE AGENCY 168 
 
 XVII. THE INEXPLICABLE RED-HEAD . . . 180 
 
 XVIII. Two AND Two 191 
 
 M532948 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XIX. BUSHWHACKERS 210 
 
 XX. GOVERNMENT MONEY 232 
 
 XXI. TELEGRAMS 258 
 
 XXII. WHAT DOROTHY SAID 275 
 
 XXIII. A BURRO BRAYS 288 
 
 XXIV. A FAIR AND SUMMER MORNING . . . 295 
 XXV. GREEN AND GOLD 310 
 
 XXVI. THE CLAWS OF THE LEOPARD . . . 318 
 
 XXVII. THE END THEREOF 327 
 
HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE HAPPY HEART 
 
 THERE was more than a fair sprinkling of customers- 
 in the Happy Heart Saloon. Tom Dowling of the 
 88, Racey Dawson of the Cross-in-a-box, and Tele 
 scope Laguerre of the Bar S were draped against the bar 
 earnestly engaged in lowering the tide in a bottle of Old 
 Crow. Four of the Hogpen outfit and a skinny gentleman 
 hailing from the Double Diamond A were absorbed in draw 
 at the table in the far corner. At the other table, near the 
 door, sat Johnny Ramsay of the Cross-in-a-box. He was 
 a tall, lean young man, with a cool, sardonic gray eye and 
 a sunburned face. 
 
 Taking infinite pains, he built himself a cigarette. But 
 instead of lighting the slim, white roll, he crushed 
 it between his brown fingers, blew away the clinging 
 grains of tobacco, and clasped his hands behind his 
 head. He glanced at his three friends braced at the bar 
 and yawned. He gazed at the card players, and his yawn 
 became wider. He tilted back in his chair and stared at 
 the ceiling. 
 
 Then, because he was bored, he brought the front legs 
 of the chair to the floor with a crash, fished out a tremen- 
 
4 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 dous clasp-knife and began to whittle the table-top. In a 
 plaintive monotone he began to sing: 
 
 "I ain t got no sweetheart, 
 I ain t got no sweetheart, 
 I ain t got no sweetheart, 
 To sit an talk with me." 
 
 "I shore wish to Gawd yuh had a sweetheart!" a peev 
 ish voice announced at the tail of the first verse. "Then 
 maybe yuh d stop choppin my table to pieces!" 
 
 Johnny lifted cool gray eyes to the hot and angry face 
 of the Happy Heart s proprietor. 
 
 "She s a right nice table," he observed pleasantly, and 
 made the chips fly. 
 
 "Say " began the outraged proprietor. 
 
 "Now look here," urged Johnny, "I ain t got a thing to 
 do, not one 1 il thing, an* I ain t got no sweetheart like I 
 say, an* I gotta do somethin , ain t I, cause if I don t I m 
 likely to do most anythin . So there y are." 
 
 The facile explanation was not illuminating. Nor did 
 it satisfy the proprietor. But Johnny Ramsay was known 
 as an impulsive young man of uncertain temper. The pro 
 prietor had no wish to antagonize the young man. He re 
 sorted to diplomacy. 
 
 "If it s all the same to you, Johnny," he said, in a wheed 
 ling tone, "I d just as soon yuh d cut somethin else, a tree 
 maybe, or the wife s kindlin or anythin like that. But 
 yuh know how it is yoreself, folks like to play cards on that 
 table, an whittlin her up ll sort o spile her." 
 
 "Puttin her thataway makes it a cat with another tail 
 entirely," Johnny declared handsomely, and closed his 
 knife. 
 
 Satisfied, the proprietor departed. The customers who 
 
THE HAPPY HEART 5 
 
 had watched the little scene grinned at each other and re 
 turned to their liquor. Johnny attacked the construction 
 of another cigarette. 
 
 At this juncture a stranger entered the saloon and 
 crossed to the bar. He was a man of middle height, this 
 stranger, with a curling brown beard and a quick, bright 
 eye. Johnny idly watched him as he stood with one foot 
 on the rail and drank his whiskey. The Cross-in-a-box 
 puncher noted that the brown-bearded man, while careless 
 in attitude and demeanour, was, over the rim of his glass, 
 subjecting each occupant of the room to a close and heedful 
 scrutiny. 
 
 "Must be a deputy or somethin ," thought Johnny, 
 and turned his eyes toward the back of the room, for he 
 perceived that his turn was coming next. 
 
 Johnny s roving glance fell on one of the rear windows. 
 This window was open and through it a man was staring, 
 with a peculiar malevolence, at the brown-bearded stranger. 
 But on the instant the man wheeled and disappeared. 
 
 "Now that s shore a odd number," commented Johnny, 
 referring to the malevolent one, not his disappearance. 
 <f An* I dunno know him, either. Whoever he is, the 
 jigger with the brown whiskers ain t popular with him a 
 li l bit." 
 
 Johnny, reflecting on the strangeness of life, tilted his 
 chair back against the wall. He hooked his heels in a 
 rung and his thumbs in his belt and appeared to drowse. 
 But he was not drowsing. Far from it. Through the slits 
 of his narrowed eyelids he was alternately watching the 
 brown-bearded stranger and the front door. For, in the 
 longhorn country, when one gentleman bestows baleful 
 glares upon another, it behooves the innocent bystander to 
 be vigilant. 
 
6 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Johnny was not greatly surprised when the vindictive- 
 looking window-gazer walked in from the street and went 
 immediately to the bar. 
 
 He was not a prepossessing person, this second stranger. 
 In the first place his long frame was rawboned to a degree, 
 and he shambled rather than walked. His hands, large 
 and splay-fingered, bristled to the nails with stifF red hair. 
 His face was hairless, freckled, hollow-cheeked and long- 
 jawed. His nose was hooked like an eagle s beak, and his 
 eyes were of a blank, curious yellow. 
 
 The man, as he stood in front of the bar, pushed back 
 his hat, a wide, white Stetson with an extra high crown. 
 Johnny saw that the man s forehead was reptilian and his 
 hair the hue of flame. 
 
 The brown-bearded stranger, beyond a keen glance, 
 paid the newcomer no attention. The red-head appeared 
 not to be conscious of the other s presence. Johnny 
 slumped farther down in his chair and became even more 
 watchful. 
 
 The flame-haired stranger, limiting himself to one finger 
 at a throw, had two drinks. Then he slouched across the 
 floor to where the card players were busy. He watched 
 them for a space. 
 
 "Gents," he said suddenly in a singularly pleasant voice, 
 "gents, is this here a private game or can anybody get in? 
 Yuh see, I got some dinero I d shore admire to get action 
 on." 
 
 "Shore yuh can," agreed the skinny gentleman from the 
 Double Diamond A, who was losing. "Sit in, an wel 
 come. Maybe yuh ll change my luck." 
 
 "Yuh can just kiss yore coin good-bye," laughed one of 
 the Hogpen boys. "Yuh ll shore lose it. Luck s with me 
 to-day." 
 
THE HAPPY HEART 7 
 
 "That so?" said the red-head, smiling in such a way that 
 the long canines showed on the left side of his mouth. 
 "Then let s all have a drink on the strength of it. Name 
 yore pizen, gents." 
 
 Bottle and glasses were brought to the table by the bar 
 tender. Johnny observed that the stranger did not over 
 step his limit of one finger. P urthermore, the man drank 
 but the merest swallow of the one finger. 
 
 Play was resumed. The brown-bearded man still stood 
 at the bar. He had had three drinks, perhaps four. On 
 this point the observant Johnny was not positive. 
 
 Of the men at the bar, Dowling began to draw under the 
 influence. Five minutes later he wandered out, a per 
 ceptible stagger in his walk. Racey Dawson and Telescope 
 Laguerre continued to talk and drink. Dawson was not 
 one to become plastered very easily, and as to Laguerre, 
 his ability to carry liquor was marvelous. 
 
 Johnny watched the card players. When it came the 
 red-haired stranger s turn to deal Johnny was fairly cer 
 tain that the man dealt himself two cards from the bottom 
 of the pack. But "fairly certain" is not conviction, and 
 it was none of his business anyway. So reasoned Johnny. 
 Alert as the proverbial weasel, he ceased not to observe. 
 
 "He s keepin after Windy," said Johnny to himself, as 
 the play proceeded. 
 
 Windy was the skinny gentleman from the Double 
 Diamond A, and his financial state was becoming tottery. 
 Whatever he lost was added to the growing columns of 
 chips in front of the red-head. To these columns the Hog 
 pen boys likewise contributed to some extent. 
 
 "He s shore a ring-tailed wonder," admitted Johnny, 
 after the deal had gone round three times, and the stranger 
 had held wonderful hands three times. "This is gettin* 
 
8 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 interestin . That last time he dealt himself three cards 
 from the bottom. He s gettin reckless, that jigger. He 
 don t care nothin a-tall what he does. An* yet I couldn t 
 swear he done nothin out o the way. His fingers is so 
 - quick." 
 
 Windy, broke, was endeavouring to put up his six- 
 shooter as security. 
 
 "No," demurred the red-head. "I got a gun. Don t 
 want another. Pony an saddle? Not me, stranger. I 
 got them too." 
 
 Windy rose and went to the bar and endeavoured to 
 pawn his gun with the bartender. But the proprietor, en 
 tering at the moment, that business arrangement was 
 nipped in the bud. 
 
 "No guns goes, Windy," the proprietor stated firmly. 
 " I couldn t give yuh a simoleon for a bushel o Colts. I 
 got nineteen in a box behind the bar now. Some of em s 
 been there six months an no action yet. I can t sell em 
 cause if I do the owner s bound to turn up with the price 
 an want his gun back. Five dollars apiece I gave on em 
 ninety-five wheels, I m tellin yuh. An I might just 
 as well a slung the coin in the stove for all the good she 
 does me. No, Windy, I m sorry, cause yo re a real gent 
 an a reg lar customer, but yuh gotta take yore gun an go 
 some ers else with her. No, sirree ponies an saddles 
 don t go neither. I got four saddles an five ponies in the 
 corral, an Gawd knows when the boys ll come for em. 
 So there y are." 
 
 Windy departed after vain efforts to raise even such a 
 minor sum as four bits among the other occupants of the 
 room. 
 
 Johnny perceived that the red-head, whose deal it was, 
 had done nothing but shuffle and re-shuffle the cards and 
 
THE HAPPY HEART 9 
 
 watch Windy while the latter was endeavouring to effect a 
 loan. Once he had licked his lips, and the yellow eyes had 
 flickered for an instant to the brown-bearded citizen stand 
 ing at the bar. For all that the red-head was leaning his 
 stomach against the table and had slouched down his 
 shoulders in a decided slump, there was to Johnny s mind 
 more than a hint of tenseness in the man s aspect. Some 
 how he reminded Johnny of a dynamite cartridge after the 
 fuse has been lit. There was about both the same sug 
 gestion of violent possibilities. 
 
 At Windy s departure the red-head straightened in his 
 chair. But he did not begin dealing. He laid the cards 
 on the table. 
 
 "Say, mister," he called to the brown-bearded man, 
 "how about takin our friend s place? Just for a hand or 
 two till he gets back?" 
 
 The thin lips had widened into a smile, a smile that dis 
 played the long canines on the left side of his mouth. But 
 the yellow eyes were not smiling. Blank and cold and 
 fixed, they stared at the brown-bearded man. 
 
 The latter turned an indifferent head and regarded the 
 speaker. 
 
 "I dunno," he said. "I don t feel like poker." 
 
 "Just to oblige us," the red-head wheedled in his melo 
 dious voice. 
 
 Brownbeard shook his head. 
 
 "No, I guess not." 
 
 "Well, o course," said the red-head in a tone pregnant 
 with insult, "if yuh d rather not or somethin ." 
 
 Brownbeard retorted by striding to the table, pulling 
 out Windy s chair and sitting down. 
 
 "I ll go you," he said shortly, his eyes, narrowed, gazing 
 fixedly at the red-head. 
 
io HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Now, that s the talk!" cried the red-head cheerily, 
 while the three Hogpen boys looked from one to the other 
 in wonderment. 
 
 It seemed to them that their little playmate had wilfully 
 endeavoured to antagonize Brownbeard. Why? But the 
 cards had been dealt and they picked up their hands with 
 the question unanswered. 
 
 Johnny shifted slightly in his chair. What had been 
 apparent to the Hogpen punchers had not escaped his 
 attention. More and more as time progressed he disliked 
 the red-head. 
 
 The deal circled the table, and Windy had not yet re 
 turned. The red-head did not once look toward the door 
 way, but it was manifest that he was accelerating the play. 
 He made his bets quickly and handled his cards with sus 
 picious haste. 
 
 It came Brownbeard s turn to deal. He gathered up the 
 cards, shuffled them methodically and began to deal. At 
 the instant that he flipped a card to the red-head the 
 latter s long left arm lashed out with the speed of a striking 
 snake, his fingers struck the cards in the dealer s hand and 
 sent them flying. 
 
 Johnny did not see the red-head go after his gun. But 
 there was a flash and a crash and a burst of gray smoke, 
 and Brownbeard huddled down in his chair, then flopped 
 forward across the table, his face among the scattered 
 cards. 
 
 The red-head was on his feet, his gun, thin smoke spiral- 
 ing from the muzzle, still in his hand. There was a great 
 and righteous indignation in the red-head s face and in 
 his voice when he exclaimed: 
 
 "He tried to skin us, the tinhorn! Didja see him 
 
 deal from the bottom of the deck?" 
 
THE HAPPY HEART 11 
 
 "No, I didn t," said one of the Hogpen boys, sliding out 
 of his chair with a very pale face. 
 
 "I didn t see nothin like that either," declared Johnny, 
 who had come out of his seeming lethargy on the 
 jump. 
 
 "Well, 7 seen him," averred with finality the red-head. 
 
 "The tin-horn! I didn t think he looked like that or 
 
 I d never V asked him over." 
 
 "Wouldn t yuh?" queried Johnny with a level glance of 
 frank aversion. 
 
 The red-head continued to ignore him, and with a nice 
 perception tilted and pulled away the table as Laguerre 
 and a Hogpen boy raised the body of Brownbeard. They 
 laid the body on the top of the bar near the door. There 
 was no need to listen for heartbeats. The red-head s 
 bullet had bored the skull from front to rear. It 
 was Johnny who placed Brownbeard s hat over the 
 dead face, and it was the proprietor who removed the 
 spurs to the end that the bar might not be unduly 
 scratched. 
 
 Johnny and the others stood together in the vicinity of 
 the corpse and eyed the red-head. Which person had re 
 sumed his seat at the table and was cutting the cards, right 
 hand against left. He looked up and grinned as he caught 
 their glances. 
 
 "Some sudden," he said quietly, "but she had to be 
 done. I can t let nobody work a game like that on me. 
 No sir, not while I got my health an a gun. She was 
 the only trail out, gents, an that s whatever." 
 
 Still they surveyed him in silence. Johnny yearned to 
 give voice to his suspicion. But there it was suspicion. 
 He was not sure of his ground. The others, although they 
 had seen nothing to hang suspicion upon, were instinctively 
 
12 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 aware that all was not right. The killing, fair enough on 
 its face, yet bore an earmark or two of evil. The red-head 
 had been too abrupt, for one thing, and for another, he had 
 urged Brownbeard, who patently had not desired to play, 
 to sit in the game. 
 
 Entered then Slim Berdan, the town marshal, and a few 
 curious citizens. 
 
 "What was the trouble?" asked Slim Berdan, a slight, 
 wiry man with a black mustache and goatee. 
 
 One of the Hogpen boys told him what he knew of the 
 case. The marshal listened in silence. The red-head 
 displayed no interest in what the puncher had to say. He 
 was playing solitaire now, and his face was serious. 
 
 When the Hogpen boy had finished, the marshal walked 
 straight across the floor to the table where the red-head 
 sat. The latter raised his yellow eyes to Berdan s ex 
 pressionless face. The marshal s hands were at his sides. 
 They were not threateningly close to his guns. They were 
 merely conveniently by. 
 
 "Stranger," said the marshal, "we don t know nothin 
 about yuh, an we ain t aimin to know nothin about yuh. 
 I ain t sayin a word about the merits o this case. Maybe 
 you know em better n I do. But I m tellin yuh this: 
 yuh got twenty minutes to pull yore freight out o Fare 
 well. At the end o that time if yo re still in town we ll 
 sort o make out to hang yuh some." 
 
 "But I like Farewell," protested the red-head injuredly. 
 "I was figurin on stayin awhile." 
 
 "You ll shore stay quite a while if yo re here after the 
 twenty minutes are up," said the marshal, and, as if the 
 matter had been settled, he turned his back and walked 
 away. 
 
 "I can see he means it," mourned the red-head, rising 
 
THE HAPPY HEART 13 
 
 to his feet and grinning impudently at the line of unfriendly 
 faces across the room. "An just when I thought I d 
 found my happy home." 
 
 He departed, scuffing his toes. Ten minutes later thfey 
 saw him ride past the saloon on his way out of town. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 JOHNNY S DECISION 
 
 IF I wanted to kill a man," declared Johnny slowly, 
 "I dunno but what as good a way as any would be to 
 call him a skin an plug him quick." 
 
 The others nodded. Johnny was voicing their own 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Dees feller she deed not even reach for her gun," said 
 Laguerre, jerking his head toward the poor clay on the top 
 of the bar. "Un dem card* was scattair so, we cannot 
 tell w eddair she was deal de skeen game or not. By gar, 
 Johnny ees right." 
 
 "On the other hand," put in Slim Berdan, "this red- 
 haired gent does just exactly what he d ought to done pro 
 vided the other feller was cheatin . In a case like this here 
 yuh can t prove nothin . Yuh can think a whole lot, an* 
 yuh can tell the jigger who keeps alive at the finish to 
 flit, but that s all yuh can do." 
 
 The shooting had a depressing effect. Men ceased to 
 play cards and drank more than was good for the lining of 
 their stomachs. Johnny sat in his tip-tilted chair, his hat 
 pulled low down over his eyes. His thoughts were gloomy. 
 It was not the first time he had seen death. But it was 
 the first time he had seen a man killed without being given 
 a chance to defend himself. 
 
 Mike Flynn, the one-legged owner of the Blue Pigeon 
 Store, added to the general melancholy by stumping in 
 
 H 
 
JOHNNY S DECISION 15 
 
 with a sheet and laying out the ground-plan of a shroud 
 on the body of the dead. 
 
 "I ll not see him go naked to his grave, the poor feller," 
 asserted Mike Flynn, squinting along the doubled length 
 of sheet. "He s got clo es, I know that, but a funeral 
 ain t a funeral without a shroud. I ve seen many a lad 
 when I was at sea slipped overside, and they all had 
 shrouds. I misdoubt it ain t legal without. Ay, an a 
 lump or two o best Welsh to sink em down. Glory be, 
 the funerals I ve seen. God be with the ould days." 
 
 Mike Flynn produced a short and blackened clay and 
 rammed home the tobacco with a stubby forefinger. When 
 his pipe was drawing well he sat down tailor-fashion on one 
 of the card-tables and turned to with needle and thread 
 at fashioning the necessary shroud. 
 
 Johnny watched Mike s flying fingers in fascinated si 
 lence and wished the storekeeper would stop humming that 
 song. It was a doleful ditty having to do with a man that 
 went to sea and was drowned. Johnny would have gone 
 out into the sunshine in search of relaxation but he was 
 afraid that if he did he would miss something. And that 
 would never do. 
 
 "Now, here s a fine job," announced Mike Flynn sud 
 denly, standing up on the table and shading out the com 
 pleted shroud as the housewife shakes out a table-cloth. 
 "He ll slip into this just as nice as a girl s leg into a silk 
 stockin ." 
 
 Mike dismounted from his table. Johnny pulled him 
 self to his feet and went to assist Mike and the others. 
 But before the shroud was adjusted an elderly, gray- 
 mustached citizen pushed his way through the crowding 
 onlookers. This man was Jake Rule, the sheriff of Fort 
 Creek County. Slim Berdan followed in his wake. 
 
16 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Wait a shake before yuh cover his face up," said the 
 sheriff. 
 
 The officer glanced at the dead and nodded. 
 
 "Is it?" inquired Slim Berdan. 
 
 "Yep, it s Mat Neville," answered the sheriff. "I kind 
 o suspicioned it might be, when yuh said he had a curly 
 brown beard. ! Mat never cheated in his life!" 
 
 "I knowed it!" burst out Johnny. 
 
 "I d shore admire to a been here when it happened, 
 instead o some ers else," deplored the sheriff. "I d en 
 joyed lookin over the killer." 
 
 Johnny and a half a dozen others made eager haste to 
 describe him, but the sheriff shook his head 
 
 "Slim s told me what he looked like," he said, "an I 
 dunno him a-tall. Dunno as I ever even heard of him 
 before. But I shore would like to a seen him just out o 
 curiosity." 
 
 "Mat Neville," repeated Racey Dawson. "Seems like 
 I heard there was a Wells-Fargo detective down at Sey 
 mour City named Mat Neville." 
 
 The sheriff glanced casually at Racey. 
 
 "This is him," he said shortly. 
 
 Creak and jangle! Hoof beat and bump! The through 
 stage from Paradise Bend to Marysville and the railroad 
 was pulling into Farewell. It stopped in front of the post- 
 office with a wild screeching of brake-shoes. 
 
 "By Gawd if the guard ain t downed!" exclaimed 
 Johnny, looking through the window. "An Whiskey 
 Jim s creased on the head." 
 
 Here was a matter requiring instant investigation. The 
 Happy Heart was forthwith deserted by all save the bar 
 tender and the corpse. 
 
 Whiskey Jim, a bloody bandage under his slanted hat, 
 
JOHNNY S DECISION 17 
 
 hooked a heel on the brake-lever and swelled out his chest. 
 He had a tale to tell and he realized the importance of his 
 position. 
 
 "Road agents again," he replied to the shouted ques 
 tions. "I m slowin up for that bend below the cutbank 
 near the Hogback, when bang ! goes a Winchester on the 
 bank. An the lead nicks me an goes right on without 
 stoppin an busts Jack plumb centre. Don t even have 
 time to raise his shotgun, Jack don t. Which that weapon 
 slides clatterin down on the doubletree an Jack slides 
 after on his head. That s all, gents, just the one shot, but 
 it s enough. There s a beller o Hands up! but I don t 
 need it. I ve done stopped the team, set the brake, an 
 reached for the sky already. 
 
 "I ve only got one good eye the blood s runnin down 
 into the other, but I sees a-plenty. There s six o the 
 hold-ups this trip, an they work fast. They line my pas 
 sengers up alongside the stage an go through em. One 
 of em dumb up over the wheel an hauled off the Wells- 
 Fargo box an dumped her. Then they chased the passen 
 gers back inside an told me to go on. No, they didn t 
 touch the mailbags. Seems like they knowed our Uncle 
 Sammy d get a heap riled up if they done that. 
 
 "I will say this for em: they didn t rob me, an* they 
 loaded Jack back on up top an tied him fast with a lariat, 
 an they made one o the passengers tie up my head so s I 
 could see to drive. For road agents, they was right human 
 considerin. " 
 
 "The Hogback s only fifteen mile south o Rocket," re 
 marked the sheriff. "Why didn t yuh drive back there 
 an scare up a posse?" 
 
 "Say, don t yuh s pose I d a done that if I could?" 
 Whiskey Jim protested. "Them fellers said if I didn t keep 
 
i8 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 a-goin straight on they d plug me for keeps, an I believed 
 em. But I told the agent at Cutter when I pulled in there 
 last night, an he sent one o the hostlers to the Bend after 
 the sheriff. I d a left Jack at Cutter only for his sayin 
 so often how he wanted to be buried in a reg lar shore- 
 nough graveyard an a hell-dodger to speak his li l piece 
 an all. So he s goin to Marysville an have his graveyard. 
 He was a good feller, Jack. I never did know his last name 
 huh ? Now, Sheriff, how I could tell what they looked 
 like when they all had masks on. They was dressed like 
 punchers an they had a six-shooter an rifle apiece just like 
 any other respectable gent." 
 
 "Is this here the ninth or tenth time yuh been stopped, 
 Jim?" asked the sheriff. 
 
 "Tenth. Hell s bells, it shore is gettin* monotonous. 
 Come along with that mailbag, Rime. Djuh think I got 
 time to wait all day?" 
 
 When the stage had creaked away, the sheriff spat re 
 flectively into the dust of its passing and turned back with 
 the crowd to the Happy Heart to finish the funeral. 
 
 They buried Mat Neville, not very deep, because the 
 ground was hard, but they made amends by piling rocks 
 and small boulders into a cairn. They sang "The Dying 
 Ranger" with their hats off, and a kindly soul fashioned a 
 cross from a cracker box and wrote Mat s name and address 
 on the arms, employing for the purpose a rifle cartridge. 
 
 After which they returned to the Happy Heart, for they 
 needed cheering up. 
 
 An hour later Johnny Ramsay, Racey Dawson, and Tele 
 scope Laguerre were going into Bill Lainey s hotel in quest 
 of supper when a dog-fight- started in the street and they 
 stopped to watch it. Just as-one dog drove the other howl 
 ing, a rider jingled up and halted in front of the doorway. 
 
JOHNNY S DECISION 19 
 
 The man was Bill Stahl, sheriff of Sunset County. Bill 
 Stahl spoke to the two punchers, and dismounted. He 
 crossed the sidewalk and awakened Bill Lainey, who, fol 
 lowing his habit, was dozing in a wire-bound chair tilted 
 against the wall of the building. Bill Lainey, with a 
 wheeze, heaved his fat bulk upright. 
 
 "Seen anythin o Mat Neville?" asked the sheriff. 
 
 " Mat Neville ," repeated Bill Lainey, blinking his eyes 
 rapidly, "Mat Neville? Why, why, he s dead." 
 
 Bill Stahl swore frankly, and demanded details. Johnny 
 and his two friends, wondering what the official reason for 
 wanting Mat might be, went on into the hotel. 
 
 While they were eating, Sheriff Rule, accompanied by 
 Sheriff Stahl, entered the dining room. The Sunset officer 
 carried a doubletree bolt, a carton of tacks, and several 
 notices. 
 
 "Nail her on the wall," wheezed Bill Lainey, poking his 
 head turtle-wise through the doorway. "Then gents can 
 have somethin to read with their meals." 
 
 Bill Stahl solemnly tacked up one of the notices with four 
 taps of the doubletree bolt. Then he shifted his chew and 
 expertly drowned a fly on the extreme outside edge of the 
 window-sill. 
 
 "Gents," he said to the diners, indicating the notice 
 with a backward jerk of his thumb, "gents, here s a chance 
 to make money. But this reward yuh see here ain t all. 
 Wells-Fargo offers the same. Their notices ain t arrove 
 yet. When they do they ll be posted correct an proper." 
 
 The two sheriffs departed, and Lainey s guests stopped 
 shoveling long enough to read the notice twice over. It 
 was an interesting bit of printing in that it set forth that, 
 to the man or men who would deliver dead or alive, into 
 custody, the several persons of the banditti who were 
 
20 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 operating in Sunset County, the territory would pay at 
 the rate of one thousand dollars per bandit. As the man 
 or men who attempted such a delivery stood an excellent 
 chance of being shot, the one thousand per was not ex 
 cessive. 
 
 "Huh," snorted Windy of the Double Diamond A. 
 "This is shore one on oT Sunset County. Whatsa matter 
 with them tarrapins up there? It oughtn t to be no job 
 a-tall to curry a li l short hoss like that." 
 
 " Yuh think so," contributed one of the Hogpen outfit. 
 "Lemme tell yuh, Windy, as a friend, that when it comes 
 to bein slick, a band o road agents like this one o Sun 
 set s is shore hellamile." 
 
 " Y betcha," corroborated Johnny, as earnestly as a man 
 may with a mouthful of beans, "y betcha, an* then 
 some." 
 
 "I never knowed no road agents real intimate," said 
 Racey Dawson, "but I helped hang one once after he d 
 held up the Esthertown stage over in Green County when 
 I was workin for the T Down, an say! If they re all like 
 that jigger! Yuh hear me talkin when I tell yuh we had 
 to run that lad eighty mile before we got him, an we would 
 n t a got him then only his hoss slipped on a slide an* 
 him an hoss went down that slide the whole length of her 
 on their heads. 
 
 "The hoss busted most of himself, but the hold-up 
 wasn t only bumped up, an he scrouged in between two 
 windfalls an put up a fight to make yore hair curl. He 
 downed one of the boys an creased a coupla others. But 
 we got him when his ammunition gave out. Yessir, a 
 reg lar road agent organized for business can most generally 
 make an ordinary gent step as high as a blind dog in a 
 field o stubble." 
 
JOHNNY S DECISION 21 
 
 "Yo re whistlin ," said another Hogpen boy. "But 
 two thousand apiece is shore a lot." 
 
 "But who s to pay for yore time if yuh don t get a one 
 of em?" asked a practical Farewell citizen. "She s been 
 goin on more n a year, an them road agents are still as 
 plural as ever." 
 
 "That s right," said Piney Jackson, the blacksmith. 
 "She s Sunset s funeral." 
 
 "Yuh ll notice, gents, them hold-ups don t get their 
 legs over the tongue in this county," chimed in a Fort 
 Creek booster. "Which they shore know better." 
 
 "All the same," muttered Johnny into his half-empty 
 cup, "I wish I had some o that money." 
 
 Racey Dawson overheard the remark and glanced 
 sharply at his friend. Johnny was already shoving back 
 his chair. Without looking either at Racey or Telescope, 
 Johnny left the dining room. Racey nudged Telescope. 
 
 "Johnny s got some fool notion," he whispered. "I can 
 tell, because he looks so careless. Le s foller him." 
 
 Once in the street Johnny started in the general direction 
 of the sheriff s house. Opposite the Blue Pigeon Store he 
 turned aside as if to enter, but instead slipped into the 
 narrow space between the side-wall and the next building. 
 And Racey and Laguerre saw him slip. 
 
 "What d l tell yuh?" demanded Racey. "What d l 
 tell yuh, huh? He s up to somethin an he don t want us 
 to know what it is. An when Johnny gets mysterious he 
 needs lookin after." 
 
 "We weel do dat," said Laguerre, and flashed his white 
 teeth in a grin. 
 
 The unsuspecting Johnny hurried past the rear elevation 
 of the buildings on Farewell s single street till he came to 
 the last house. This house was the official residence of 
 
22 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Sheriff Rule. The kitchen door was open. Judging by 
 the clatter and the shrieks,human and otherwise, Mrs. Rule 
 was washing simultaneously the dishes, the dog, and the 
 baby. But Johnny remained unperturbed. In common 
 with every one else, he knew the workings of the sheriff s 
 menage. For it was the custom of ingenious Mrs. Rule 
 to tie the baby and the household pet, by waist and neck 
 respectively, to opposite legs of the table while she went 
 about her housework. 
 
 "Hi there, fellah!" called Johnny loudly, one foot on the 
 threshold. "Pull his ol tail for m. Whatsa dawg for, 
 huh? Yo re shore one great kid. Gettin to look more 
 like yore ma every day. Oh, howdy, Mis Rule," he con 
 tinued unblushingly, taking off his hat. " I didn t see yuh 
 at first. How are yuh, ma am? Yo re lookin fine. 
 Sheriff around?" 
 
 Before the pleased and portly Mrs. Rule could reply 
 her husband appeared in the doorway of an inner room. 
 
 "You bet I m around," he shouted above the tumult of 
 wretched dog and happy little child at play. "Gotta be, 
 when young fellers like you come siftin in to pass compli 
 ments with my wife." 
 
 "You go long!" beamed Mrs. Rule, flapping a dish- 
 towel at him. "Climb out o my kitchen, the both o 
 yuh, before I lean on yuh with the broom." 
 
 "Come along, Johnny," laughed the sheriff. "She s 
 mad cause I heard yuh. Oh, yuh gotta get up early to 
 fool the old man, y betcha." 
 
 "Sheriff," said Johnny, when the door was shut, "what s 
 all this here about them road agents o Sunset County?" 
 
 "Why, yuh know yoreself, Johnny, how them jiggers 
 been holdin up the stages, an rubbin out miner folks an 
 similar citizens, Yuh 
 
JOHNNY S DECISION 23 
 
 "Yeah, I know all that/ interrupted Johnny. "I just 
 want to know what you know about em." 
 
 "Not a thing," was the prompt reply, "an at that 
 
 it s as much as everybody else knows." 
 
 "Don t Bill Stahl know nothin , either?" disappointedly. 
 
 " If he does, he ain t told me. Say, Johnny, djuh s pose 
 if Bill knowed anythin a-tall to begin work on he d go 
 cavortin around tackin up signs? It stands to reason, 
 Bill bein a sensible chunker, that he wouldn t want for 
 that reward to be got by some one else less n he seen he d 
 no chance to glom on to her himself. Here s Bill now. 
 Y ask him an see what he says." 
 
 The Sheriff of Sunset pushed open the front door and 
 entered. He had one notice left. This he proceeded to 
 tuck by one corner into a crack in the wall so that it pro 
 claimed slantingly the intentions of the Territory. 
 
 "Gotta use her up somehow," he explained. "Yuh can 
 make a lighter out of her when yuh run short, Jake." 
 
 "Say, Sheriff, don t yuh know nothin about them hold 
 ups?" Johnny began, without preliminary. 
 
 The pupils of Sheriff Stahl s greenish-gray eyes became 
 mere pinpoints of steel. 
 
 "Meanin ?" he demanded frostily. 
 
 Johnny flung up a hand palm outward. 
 
 "I don t mean what yuh think I mean, Bill," said he, 
 with his engaging grin. "Djuh s pose if I meant that I d 
 come prancin up an ask yuh about it?" 
 
 "We-ell," said Sheriff Stahl hesitatingly, his voice still 
 icily hard. 
 
 "Don t yuh understand, Bill, all I m tryin to get at is 
 ain t there some li l sign for a peg to hang suspicion on? 
 Yuh see, I m figurin on goin after that reward, an I 
 want somethin to go on." 
 
24 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "If yuh d only said that at first," exclaimed Sheriff 
 Stahl, his face clearing. "But I d oughta knowed yuh 
 didn t mean nothin , Johnny. That s me, always jumpin 
 spang at conclusions an missin the black nineteen out o* 
 twenty. Listen here, Johnny, there ain t nothin to hang 
 
 suspicion on. Not one li l thing. I tell yuh, them 
 
 fellers might be light smoke in a gale o wind for all yuh 
 can see o them an their trail. Honest, I m almost begin- 
 nin to believe in ghosts." 
 
 " Wells-Fargo ain t believin in no ghosts," put in Sheriff 
 Rule. 
 
 "Yuh bet they ain t," agreed the Sunset officer. 
 "Johnny, yuh heard me ask Bill Lainey if Mat Neville was 
 around. I was to meet him here this afternoon, an sort 
 o talk things over in this deal, an see if we couldn t find 
 some wagon-track to start in on. But there s no findin* 
 out nothin from pore Mat now. An he didn t know no 
 more n me anyway likely." 
 
 "Yuh don t think the red-head could have had anythin 
 to do with it, do yuh?" was Johnny s question. 
 
 "With the hold-ups? Not him, yuh can gamble on it. 
 From what Jake says he s a right tall jigger, skinny as a 
 crane, an walks funny. There wasn t no gent as tall as 
 him in any o these hold-ups. I got affidavits an wrote- 
 out descriptions from Whiskey Jim an seven other fellers 
 in different hold-ups, an I know. No sir, they ain t no 
 such chunker as that red-headed killer in the gang. He s 
 somebody that crossed Mat s trail some ers else or some- 
 thin an took this chance to play even." 
 
 "But Mat didn t know him," objected Johnny. "If he 
 had he d never V set down with him so free an easy." 
 
 "Can t help it," snapped Bill Stahl, somewhat nettled 
 at this questioning of his judgment. "She s like I say: 
 
JOHNNY S DECISION 25 
 
 this red-head ain t in the gang. I wish he was. A shinin* 
 landmark like him would be just too easy to trail." 
 
 "How many in the gang, Bill?" asked Johnny. "Got 
 any idea?" 
 
 " Between twenty an thirty," the sheriff answered. 
 
 "Many sthat?" 
 
 " It s my guess, an yuh can go the limit I m right. Why 
 say, there s only six or seven show up at a hold-up, but by 
 the number o hold-ups an the close way they come to 
 gether there s a lot more n six or seven in the gang." 
 
 "Shore," cut in Jake Rule, "no half dozen could be as 
 busy as all that an keep it up the way these fellers do. 
 She s a big gang, take my word for it." 
 
 "Yeah," said Johnny, his gray eyes more sardonic than 
 ever, "she sounds a heap interestin . I guess now I ll 
 just go after that reward." 
 
 "Just you by yoreself?" queried Sheriff Stahl. 
 
 "Just me by myself." 
 
 At this juncture the front door flew open and Racey 
 Dawson and Telescope Laguerre entered without knocking. 
 Racey shook his head and his finger at Johnny Ramsay. 
 
 "We heard yuh through the window," he said, "an* 
 y ain t a-goin to do nothin like that on yore lonesome. 
 Not for one li l minute y ain t. Telescope an me have 
 decided to go with yuh, an then we can sort o look 
 after yuh an* horn in on the two thousand wheels a 
 bandit. Ropin two cows at once like. What do you 
 guess?" 
 
 "I guess yuh can both go plumb to !" burst out the 
 
 indignant Johnny. "Y act like I needed a nurse!" 
 
 "You need two of em," averred Racey placidly. "An* 
 yo re goin to have em. Why, Johnny dear, s pose yuh 
 got shot or plugged or somethin . What d we do, I d like 
 
26 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 to know? An what d you do, with nobody round to 
 write yore will for yuh?" 
 
 For an instant Johnny s face hardened, then he laughed. 
 
 "Whatcha goin to do with a couple o fools like these 
 here?" he asked of the two sheriffs. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 PLANS 
 
 IS POSE I better act like I never seen yuh before/ 
 observed Sheriff Stahl. 
 "Now that s just what yuh don t want to do," 
 hastily demurred Johnny. "It stands to reason that them 
 fellers are old pie in these parts. They gotta be, or they d 
 a been caught before now. Well, then, don t yuh s pose 
 they ll have a fair idea about who s friends with who? 
 Actin like yuh don t know us ll shore make em suspicious." 
 
 "Dat ees right." Thus Laguerre. 
 
 Sheriff Stahl nodded. 
 
 "Yore best plan," went on Johnny, "is just to say * How 
 dy free an* easy when we pass yuh an let it go at that. 
 If we gotta talk to yuh we ll let yuh know an meet yuh 
 out in the hills some ers. None o this comin to the house 
 at night. They d catch on to anythin like that quick. 
 An yuh d better not say anythin about us to yore depu 
 ties, either." 
 
 "Why not?" demanded the sheriff. "They re good 
 boys, an sensible boys an " 
 
 "I know they are, but they re young, an* they take a 
 drink now an again." 
 
 "So do you. So do I." 
 
 "That s all right, but we ain t gabby. Tellin yore 
 deputies won t help none. She s enough for you to know. 
 Let it go at that." 
 
 27 
 
28 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "All right, all right, I won t tell em." The sheriff s 
 indorsement was a grumble. 
 
 "Now for the rest of it," went on Johnny: "One of 
 us ll get a job at the stage corrals, an " 
 
 "I ll fix it up with the agent," interrupted Sheriff Stahl. 
 
 "Yeah, an have Tug Wilson blat it all out the first 
 time he gets loaded!" exclaimed Johnny. "Tug s a good 
 agent all right, but he s a damsight better drunkard." 
 
 Sheriff Stahl, not at all pleased at Johnny s prompt dis 
 missal of his every suggestion, began to stare rather fixedly 
 at the Cross-in-a-box puncher. 
 
 " By Gawd ! " tactfully interposed Sheriff Rule. " I just 
 got in three quarts o fifteen-year-old Bourbon by the last 
 stage. Straight from Kentucky, gents, an like oil. I ll 
 get her." 
 
 The whiskey, mellower than a ripe Sheepnose, greatly 
 lessened the tension. Sheriff Stahl pulled in his horns and 
 smiled pleasantly over the second glass. 
 
 "Yuh got one job settled," said he; "how about the 
 others?" 
 
 "Jobs won t be too plenty, that s a cinch," observed 
 Racey, "especially jobs where we can slide around an 
 look over whatever s infectin the landscape." 
 
 "There y are!" Johnny exclaimed. "Stray men!" 
 
 "Stray men!" 
 
 "Shore, stray men. Huntin strays ll give us all kinds 
 o chances to chase around, an it ll look natural. Nobody 
 wonders or asks questions about where a stray man goes. 
 She s a cinch. We ll fix her up. Don t you worry, Sheriff. 
 Yore road agents is as good as dead, caught, or lynched." 
 
 The patronizing tone of the last sentence grated on the 
 sheriff s sense of what was due him. He would have been 
 pleased to take offense, but decided that such a course 
 
PLANS 29 
 
 would be both small-chested and foolish. He grunted his 
 trust that Johnny s assertion would prove correct and 
 opened the door. 
 
 " See yuh in the Bend yuh ll know where to find me," 
 was his parting remark. 
 
 The door slammed. 
 
 Three minutes later Johnny led his two friends in the 
 direction of Bill Lainey s corral. Once behind the corral, 
 Laguerre and Racey faced Johnny, their expressions elo 
 quent of the doubt within. 
 
 Who weel geeve us de job?" questioned Laguerre. 
 
 "That ll be easy," the confident Johnny assured him. 
 " Wages are no object with us. We re willin to work for 
 nothin except the feller who draws the stage station job. 
 He s gotta have reg lar wages to. make it look right. But 
 the stray men are different. Scotty " 
 
 "Oh, they are, are they?" cried Racey. "Which I d 
 admire for to know why. Me, personal, I m no philan 
 thropist, an workin for nothin is expensive." 
 
 "Oh, unbutton yore shirt an spend two bits once in a 
 while!" snarled the exasperated Johnny. "If I liked the 
 feel o money as much as you do, I d shore turn road agent 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, I don t like workin for nothin ," grumbled 
 Racey. 
 
 "Neither do I," countered Johnny, "but that s no 
 reason why yuh gotta lollop around with a face as long as 
 a pony s. Stop cryin , for Gawd s sake! Baby can t 
 have his bottle now, no matter how much he bellers!" 
 
 "Yuh know what yuh can do, don t yuh?" barked 
 Racey, indignantly. 
 
 But Johnny refused to follow up the opportunity, and 
 proceeded to finish the outline of his plan. 
 
3 o HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Scotty Mackenzie ll give us jobs," he said, "an havin 
 us work for nothin ll hit Scotty right where he lives. He s 
 
 worse n Racey when it comes to savin money Aw 
 
 right, aw right! Have it yore own way. Yuh throw 
 money away with both hands an hire a friend to help yuh! 
 How s that? As I was sayin before Racey climbed up on 
 the table again, Scotty ll make out to hire Telescope an* 
 me, an " 
 
 "What!" howled Racey. "Telescope an you! Is that 
 the way yuh ve schemed her out? I m to work around the 
 station an wrangle ponies while you an Telescope scam 
 per over the hills an far away an have all the fun. Is that 
 it, huh? Well, it ain t! Yuh got a helluva nerve, you 
 have, but I won t do it! I ll be a stray man too if I gotta 
 hire myself to myself, an that s whatever!" 
 
 "Tell the neighbours, why don t yuh? We d shore like 
 everybody to know our li l plans." 
 
 "But you want all the fun," protested Racey, lowering 
 his voice. 
 
 "I thought you didn t wanna work for nothin*. That 
 stage station job ought to suit yuh ace-high." 
 
 "It did, when I figured on one o you fellers takin it. 
 But comin right down to cases, I don t want none of it 
 in mine. I want action, an I m a-goin to get it." 
 
 "Well, we ll see," soothed Johnny. "We ll see how we 
 can fix her up to please yuh." 
 
 "Yuh can just bet yuh will," the truculent Racey stated 
 with conviction. "I ve seen prize hawgs, but yo re the 
 prizest." 
 
 "Aw shut up, an let a feller think!" rejoined the ever- 
 courteous Johnny. 
 
 "What with?" jeered Racey. 
 
 "Say " 
 
PLANS 31 
 
 "Yeah, you showed how much yuh thought by talkin* 
 man-fashion to Bill Stahl. What yuh wanta get him riled 
 for? Maybe we ll need him." 
 
 "Yuh poor idjit! Honest to Gawd, Racey, if yuh had 
 any more brains yuh d be half-witted." 
 
 "Huh!" 
 
 "Lookit here. Bill Stahl s either a plumb fool or he s 
 in with the road agents." 
 
 "I don t t ink so, me," declared Laguerre. 
 
 "Which in with the road agents?" 
 
 The half-breed nodded. 
 
 "Yuh dunno, I dunno, an Racey shore dunno. But I 
 aim to find out. If he s square, then he s a fool, cause a 
 square sheriff who can t locate even a whiskey-glassful o 
 suspicion against them hold-ups by this time must be a 
 fool. If he s square an a fool, gettin him mad can t hurt 
 us, an it ll only make him work harder. If he ain t square 
 then he ll do somethin to put the kibosh on us prompt an* 
 right away." 
 
 "What yuh tell him anythin at all for then?" 
 
 "To find out where he stands. We gotta know that. 
 Before we re through we ll have to find out where a good 
 many gents in Fort Creek County stand. Huh? Shore 
 not. We ll be all right so long s we watch him. The first 
 sudden move he makes we ll get him, an* there s our work 
 half done. When we get just one o the gents who s mixed 
 up in this the rest ll be easy. You ll see. Whatsa matter 
 with yuh, Racey? Lookit Telescope. He ain t actin 
 nervous o nothin ." 
 
 "I ain t nervous!" bawled the outraged Racey. "An* 
 I can lick the two of yuh with both hands tied behind 
 me." 
 
 "I guess now yuh really could," said Johnny seriously, 
 
32 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 " cause all yuh d have to use then would be yore tongue. 
 Now, now, good hoss, nice li l doggie, pretty kitty, don t 
 scratch. Telescope, he s gettin too fresh, we ll just have 
 to give him the Dutch rub. Grab him!" 
 
 So they grabbed him, and, despite heavy resistance, they 
 inflicted upon him the Dutch rub. Which exercise, as 
 every one knows, consists in currying a man s head with 
 the bare knuckles. When Racey had yelped "Uncle" 
 several times, and a perfect understanding had been estab 
 lished, they desisted from their labours and rolled cigarettes 
 in flawless amity. 
 
 "Yuh don t guess there s twenty or thirty in the gang, 
 do yuh?" asked Racey, when his cigarette was burning 
 properly. 
 
 "Which I should say not. Stahl s crazy. Twenty or 
 thirty! Hell s bells, can yuh see a gang o road agents 
 splittin what they steal twenty or thirty ways? I can t, 
 an* my eyesight s as good as the next feller s. In the first 
 place none of em would make enough, an in the second 
 twenty or thirty would make the risk too big. Somebody d 
 shore snitch. No, sirree, I m tellin yuh there ain t more n 
 six or seven at the outside." 
 
 "That s twelve or fourteen thousand wheels," announced 
 Racey Dawson. 
 
 "Eef we have de luck, ten t ousan ," qualified Laguerre. 
 
 "Whatsa matter with ten thousand split three ways?" 
 observed Johnny. "She s a lot more n we ll earn wrastlin 
 cows." 
 
 "Shore," said Racey. "When ll we go?" 
 
 "The sooner the quicker, but we gotta see Jack Richie 
 first, Racey, an Telescope ll want to go back to the Bar S. 
 To-day s Tuesday. S pose we meet here Thursday an* 
 start then." 
 
PLANS 33 
 
 "Dat ees all fine," declared Laguerre, "but we do not 
 wan* for ride to de Ben* togedder." 
 
 "An* why not?" inquired Johnny. 
 
 "Well den, tree men ridin* een togedder weel mak de 
 road agent ask de question, bien sur." 
 
 " Never thought o* that. We ll have to go one at a time. 
 Who goes first?" 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 THE NORTHERN TRAIL 
 
 DEED Jack mak de row w en you say you wan* for 
 go?" asked Laguerre, when the three met two 
 days later. 
 
 "Naw," grinned Racey, "jus says, Oh, I s pose so. 
 Soon s you chunkers get any money yuh gotta canter out 
 an* spend her/ 3 
 
 "Give us our time an says not to get too drunk," said 
 Johnny. "Drunk! If he only knowed he d give up his 
 job o managin the Cross-in-a-box an come along." 
 
 "He don t an he won t," chuckled Racey. "C mon, 
 Johnny, what yuh waitin for? She s Thursday afternoon 
 already. Maybe now yuh d like me to take yore turn?" 
 
 "Not so s yuh could notice it," returned Johnny. "Li l 
 Mister Racey drawed the shortest piece o grass, an li l 
 Mister Racey ll follow Telescope like he d oughta." 
 
 "Well, maybe," grumbled Racey, "but I don t take no 
 roustabout s job at the stage corral, yuh can bet on that." 
 
 Within ten minutes Johnny Ramsay was on the trail 
 leading to Paradise Bend. He rode at a trot, for there 
 were some two hundred miles of side-hill and flat in front 
 of his horse s nose, and the lope is not a long-distance gait. 
 
 On a morning, three days later, where the trail topped 
 a ridge and dropped down into a broad basin where red 
 willows and cottonwoods grow beside a shallow creek 
 Johnny stopped to tighten his cinches. When the saddle 
 
 34 
 
THE NORTHERN TRAIL 35 
 
 was nailed Fast he swung up and rode onward, and as he 
 rode he sang pleasingly of the fortunes of a certain Sweet 
 Betsy from Pike. For he knew that the shallow creek was 
 the Yellow Medicine, and that Paradise Bend was a scant 
 twenty miles away. 
 
 And now the trail ran close beside the trees bordering 
 the bank of the creek. The tired pony, grateful for the 
 patches of shade, slowed of his own accord to a walk. A 
 little breeze played among the cottonwoods and Johnny 
 kicked his feet out of the stirrups and pushed back his hat 
 the better to enjoy it. His singing dwindled to a tuneful 
 hum, barely to be heard above the voice of the creek bub 
 bling to itself in the shallows. Through the gaps in the 
 trees Johnny saw the lush green of the sun-drenched flats 
 on the other side of the creek. On his own side the ground 
 rose in rounded swoops to the rock-crowned summit of a 
 high and hump-backed hill where jackpines and spruce 
 grew among the outcrops. 
 
 A mile ahead a pine-clad spur of the hill sprawled down 
 ward to the very bank of the creek. Here a way for the 
 trail had been cut through the trees. In Johnny s opinion 
 the spot where the trail bent in among the cottonwoods 
 was an ideal place for a hold-up. 
 
 "A team s gotta slow for the turn, ain t they, feller?" 
 he said to his horse. "An* they s plenty cover on both 
 sides. I remember they used to be two big rocks about 
 twenty feet up from the road among them pines. A gent 
 could lay behind em all salubrious an happy an ventilate 
 most anythin he d a mind to. Kind o funny, but they 
 ain t never been a hold-up just right there that I know 
 of." 
 
 Crack ! Crack ! Crack ! Three flat reports sounded 
 faintly on the trail ahead. Johnny promptly jerked his 
 
36 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 horse in among the cottonwoods. He dragged the Win 
 chester from the holster under his left leg, and clicked a 
 cartridge into the barrel. He lowered the hammer to 
 safety and rode forward through the trees. 
 
 "They wasn t shootin at me," he reflected. "Not for 
 a minute. It s a hold-up, no two ways about it. An right 
 where they ve never had one. This is shore luck." 
 
 But there are many kinds of luck. This was one of 
 those kinds. Johnny was halfway from the ideal spot for 
 a hold-up when, coming to a crook in the bank of the creek, 
 he had an excellent view of a stretch of water a half-mile 
 in the clear and three horsemen fording it briskly. As the 
 riders were at the very end of the half-mile stretch and, 
 furthermore, disappeared almost on the instant among the 
 trees of the farther bank, Johnny neither shouted nor shot. 
 Tn the one case they could not have heard him above the 
 noise of their own passing, and in the other a law-abiding 
 person may not cut down without some shred of evidence 
 betokening evil intent. Of pursuit there was no question. 
 Johnny s tired horse was utterly incapable of any exercise 
 so violent. 
 
 Johnny promptly took to the trail and, by dint of spur 
 ring and lavish use of the quirt, the pony was persuaded in 
 to a slow gallop. 
 
 Among the cottonwoods, where the trail turned aside 
 to skirt the spur, Johnny halted his trembling pony. For 
 his expectations of the worst were fulfilled. Tragedy at 
 her blackest had been abroad, and departing had left 
 behind her in the trail a dead horse and two dead men. 
 
 The dead horse lay between the shafts of a buckboard. 
 Of the two dead men one hung face downward over the 
 dash, the other lay with arms all abroad across the seat, 
 his eyes staring at the hot, bright sky. 
 
THE NORTHERN TRAIL 37 
 
 Johnny glanced across the creek. On the farther bank 
 at this spot the cottonwoods grew but thinly, and he saw 
 between the boles a mile-wide opening between two hills. 
 Through this opening he glimpsed the treeless slope of the 
 long ridge beyond. Up this slope three dots were crawling. 
 
 Johnny coolly flicked up his backsight to extreme range, 
 cocked his rifle, caught a steady rest against a cottonwood 
 trunk and fired twice at those well-bunched dots. They 
 were horsemen and the horses, two chestnuts and a black- 
 tail dun, were hued precisely as were the horses the three 
 men had galloped across the creek a few minutes before. 
 
 Johnny stepped past the thinning smoke-cloud and 
 squinted at the distant slope. The three riders were still 
 riding on, and they did not appear to be hurrying to any 
 extent. 
 
 "No go," mourned Johnny, and jammed his Winchester 
 down against a cottonwood. "Can t hit em at this range 
 that s a cinch. No sir, Daisy Belle, yuh gotta carry 
 just about six hundred yards more before yuh d do me a 
 bit o good to-day." 
 
 Daisy Belle was what he called his Winchester. Johnny 
 could not pull or shoot a six-gun as could Tom Loudon, the 
 Bar S foreman, but with the long arm he had yet to meet 
 his equal. Prone, kneeling or standing, from the hip or 
 shoulder, over all ranges, Johnny Ramsay was an expert. 
 And now he felt himself and his pet grievously insulted 
 that the men at whom he had just shot had not been within 
 range by a few yards at least. 
 
 With a sigh Johnny went to examine the dead men in 
 the buckboard. There was not much to see. A bullet 
 had neatly traversed the head of each, and turned-out 
 pockets testified to the thoroughness with which they had 
 been robbed. 
 
38 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "They only left em their six-shooters," said Johnny, 
 "an a sawed-off shotgun." 
 
 He picked up the latter firearm. It was an eight-gauge 
 Greener, a weapon much affected by bartenders and Wells- 
 Fargo guards. Johnny s eyes strayed to the two boulders 
 wedged between pine trees on the steep slope above the 
 trail. 
 
 "Bet that s where they hid out," he muttered and laid 
 the shotgun down on the seat, and walked round the buck- 
 board preparatory to climbing the acclivity. But Johnny 
 was not destined to investigate the place of ambush that 
 day. 
 
 Even as he stepped across the trail there broke on his 
 ear from the direction of the Bend the lively thudding of a 
 galloping horse. Johnny slid silently to the tree against 
 which his rifle leaned. But he did not pick up the Win 
 chester. Instead he leaned against the treetrunk and 
 made himself a cigarette. Mechanically his fingers shaped 
 the white roll, for his eyes were engaged in observing the 
 approaching rider. He saw that the man looked neither 
 to the right nor left, but rode with his eyes fixed on the 
 opening in the trees into which the trail plunged. 
 
 Johnny, standing well back and behind three trees, stood 
 in a perfect concealment. He stuck his unlighted cigarette 
 between his lips, hooked his thumbs in his belt, crossed one 
 foot over the other, and waited. 
 
 The horseman rocked out of the open sunshine into the 
 shadow of the trees and at sight of the buckboard slowed 
 his horse to an easy halt. There was a certain keen eager 
 ness in the gaze of the rider as he stared at the buckboard 
 and what lay therein and, at Johnny s horse where it stood 
 with lowered muzzle blowing the dust about on the surface 
 of the trail. 
 
THE NORTHERN TRAIL 39 
 
 The horseman was not a man to whom Johnny s heart 
 went out. Plump and well-built, his hands were white 
 and fat, and the dark hair showing beneath his white hat 
 was slick with pomatum. Irresistibly, he brought to 
 Johnny s mind that predatory night-runner, the crafty 
 coyote. For the man s nose was long and thin and pointed 
 and his ears matched his nose, and his chin matched his 
 ears most marvelously. Johnny bet himself that the 
 eyesockets were long and pointed too. Johnny coughed 
 abruptly. 
 
 "I win," he announced, and calmly proceeded to light 
 his cigarette. "I should a said slantin too," he added 
 between puffs, referring to the other s eyes. 
 
 The horseman continued to regard him fixedly. 
 
 "What do you mean by slantin too ?" he inquired, 
 after a space. 
 
 "The sunbeams," replied Johnny, with a vacant stare. 
 "Don t yuh see how they slant like through the leaves? 
 Not that it s any of yore business." 
 
 The stranger swide mouth broadened into awintry smile. 
 But his pale blue eyes, like other eyes into which Johnny 
 had stared now and again, were mirthless. They perfectly 
 bore out the threat of the wintry smile. 
 
 "Didn t know I was here till I coughed, didja?" said 
 Johnny. "I didn t know whether to cough or not," he 
 added artlessly. 
 
 "Didn t you?" 
 
 "No, I didn t." 
 
 With a suddenness that was startling the stranger threw 
 back his head and laughed. Oddly enough, it was a hearty, 
 comradely laugh, the laugh that springs from a cheerful 
 heart at peace with all the world. Furthermore, so great 
 was the stranger s ecstasy that he reeled in the saddle. 
 
40 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 When the man lowered his chin there were tears in his 
 eyes. He wiped these away with a very large and very 
 white handkerchief, and smiled anew. And now his smile 
 was no longer wintry. It held all the bright promise of a 
 fair and summer day. And his eyes, so lately full of chill 
 menace, were warm with sportive waggishness. But 
 Johnny liked him none the better, and watched him, if 
 that were possible, a thought more closely. 
 
 " There seems to have been an accident," observed the 
 stranger, nodding toward the buckboard. 
 
 "I dunno as I d call it exactly that/ corrected Johnny. 
 
 "What would you call it then?" 
 
 The blue eyes lost a trifle of their jocularity. 
 
 "I dunno," evaded Johnny. "I wasn t here when it 
 happened." 
 
 Was that relief in the stranger s eyes ? Was it ? Johnny 
 could not be positive. He sagged back against the tree- 
 trunk, and rubbed one ankle against the other. His 
 cigarette hung loosely from a corner of his slack mouth. 
 He stared blankly at the stranger. 
 
 The latter slowly turned his eyes away from Johnny 
 to the buckboard. Slowly he dismounted and went to the 
 buckboard and bent over the two dead men and examined 
 their wounds. He raised his head and shot a quick look 
 at the lack-luster Johnny. 
 
 "Didn t hear any shots fired, did you?" was his casual 
 question. 
 
 "Three," replied Johnny. 
 
 The stranger gazed fixedly at the puncher. His hand 
 strayed to his vest. Johnny, expecting the flash of a 
 derringer, dropped his own right hand slightly. But the 
 stranger merely fished a cigar from an upper vest pocket. 
 He bit off the end and struck a match. Whether he had 
 
THE NORTHERN TRAIL 41 
 
 perceived the movement of Johnny s hand, Johnny could 
 not tell. 
 
 "You heard three shots," observed the stranger, watch 
 ing the blue smoke curl upward. 
 
 "I said so once," drawled Johnny. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," the stranger hastened to say. 
 " Of course, you said so once. See anybody?" 
 
 "Three men," said Johnny. 
 
 "Three men," repeated the stranger calmly. "Three 
 men. Quite a band. Which way did they go?" 
 
 Johnny told him. The stranger nodded. 
 
 "It s no use chasing them," he declared. "Still, the 
 sheriff should be notified at once." 
 
 "Shore should," Johnny agreed heartily. "S spose yuh 
 ride right back to the Bend an do it. Yore hoss looks 
 fresher n mine." 
 
 "We might as well go together," suggested the stranger. 
 "They ve got such a start the posse won t be able to do 
 much." 
 
 " Nothin like tryin . If I was you I d climb on my hat- 
 rack an pull my freight prompt an sudden to the Bend. 
 An say, howdja know I m goin to the Bend, anyhow?" 
 
 "This is how," remarked the stranger, and at the instant 
 of his speaking Johnny looked into the stubby twin barrels 
 of a derringer. 
 
 How the other had obtained the drop was a complete 
 mystery to Johnny. Some of his surprise was manifest 
 in his expression, and the stranger laughed. 
 
 "Didn t see my hand move, did you?" said he. 
 
 "Shore didn t, acknowledged Johnny, his upraised 
 arms bending inward the brim of his hat. "What for a 
 play is this, huh?" he added without anger. "You don t 
 look like a road agent." 
 
42 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 The other laughed aloud. 
 
 "Road agent!" he cackled. "Me! That s a good one, 
 stranger. I ve been called a lot of names during my life, 
 but I ve never been called a road agent till now." 
 
 "Yuh ll be called worse things than that, if yuh don t 
 lemme put my hands down soon," averred Johnny. 
 
 "You ll be called a corpse if you start putting them down 
 before I give the word." 
 
 "I thought at first this was a joke, but I see now it ain t. 
 
 She s serious, serious. My arms are beginnin to 
 
 ache. If you want my money, she s yores, the whole five 
 dollars an six bits. Anythin I can do to help, just lemme 
 know. Always glad to oblige. That s me." 
 
 "Step away from the tree that s it. Now turn 
 around you can drop your arms and face me, if you 
 like." 
 
 Johnny wheeled. The stranger was stuffing Johnny s 
 six-shooter into the waistband of his trousers. Johnny s 
 rifle was propped against the hind wheel of the buckboard. 
 Lacking the friendly weight in the holster against his leg, 
 Johnny felt strangely lonely. It was the first time in his 
 life that he had been disarmed. 
 
 "Now," said the stranger, "if you ll oblige me by mount 
 ing your horse we ll go back to the Bend." 
 
 "That s all right. But w T hyfor, stranger, whyfor?" 
 
 "You ll find out when we reach the Bend. Climb 
 aboard. I ve told you once." 
 
 Johnny swung up and rode past the buckboard. The 
 stranger, displaying an agility extraordinary in one of his 
 build, gained his own saddle without losing the magic of 
 the drop. Reaching down he picked up Johnny s Win 
 chester by the barrel and laid it across his lap. 
 
 "Let s start," was the stranger s suggestion. "And if 
 
THE NORTHERN TRAIL 43 
 
 I were you I wouldn t look round too much. In the first 
 place, it isn t necessary. I ll be right here. And in the 
 second, your horse might stumble and throw you over his 
 head. Why run the risk?" 
 
 " Shore," agreed Johnny. " Why ? " 
 
CHAPTER V 
 PARADISE BEND 
 
 THE name was half true. The town was situated at 
 the bend of the Dogsoldier River where it loops 
 between the yellow brown of Old Baldy Mountain 
 and the dark green of the Government Hills. But it was 
 no paradise. And certainly it conveyed not the remotest 
 suggestion of Elysium to Johnny s mind as he entered it 
 on that very hot afternoon, with the stranger and the 
 stranger s derringer at his horse s tail. Of course the affair 
 would be adjusted within a few minutes. Sheriff Stahl 
 would attend to that. Johnny s chief trouble was the 
 rank humiliation of his position. He was not accustomed 
 to being ridiculous. 
 
 The Bend, slightly larger than Farewell, prided itself 
 on two stores, a Wells-Fargo office, two dance-halls and 
 five saloons. The wide and straight main street and 
 three crooked side streets were a riotous nightmare of 
 false fronts, misspelt signs, boxsided shacks and log 
 houses. 
 
 An indolent citizen roosting in a tip-tilted chair against 
 the wall of the Wells-Fargo office was the first to glimpse 
 the new arrivals. 
 
 "What yuh got, Harry?" he called without moving. 
 
 " Road agent," replied the stranger. " Caught him right 
 at work." 
 
 By this time the indolent citizen was out on the street, 
 
 44 
 
PARADISE BEND 45 
 
 running hard in the direction of a horse tied at the hitching- 
 rail in front of the Three Card saloon. 
 
 "I ll get my rope," the erstwhile indolent one bawled 
 over his shoulder. "She s brand new." 
 
 "Road agent, huh?" cried Johnny, swinging his horse 
 about. "You- -liar!" 
 
 "Put em up!" ordered the stranger, aiming the derrin 
 ger. 
 
 "I won t," yelled Johnny, torn with rage. "I ain t got 
 no gun! Yuh know I ain t! I dare yuh to shoot!" 
 
 The stranger did not shoot. He laughed. 
 
 "All right," he said. "Suit yourself. You ll be lynched 
 so soon it doesn t really matter. Only don t try to run." 
 
 From private residences, saloons, dance-halls and stores, 
 came hurriedly the inhabitants of the Bend. Male and 
 female, they clustered round Johnny and his captor and 
 demanded details and the rope. Two prominent citizens, 
 alive to their public duty, pulled Johnny from his horse. 
 The puncher, shoved and jostled by the curious, ceased 
 not to clamour for the sheriff. 
 
 "Shut up, for Gawd s sake!" importuned one of the 
 men holding his arms. "Y act like yuh had some rights." 
 
 Johnny did not obey, and the man ill-advisedly clapped 
 a large and dirty hand over the prisoner s mouth. Johnny 
 promptly bit his thumb. The man yelled and cuffed 
 Johnny alongside the head. Johnny immediately wrenched 
 both arms free and fell foot and fist upon the cuffer. 
 
 Johnny had barely thirty seconds to work in before be 
 ing wrenched from his prey by seven men. Nevertheless 
 the result was most creditable. The cuffer dragged him 
 self upright, spat out two teeth and a mouthful of blood, 
 and tenderly fingered a flattened nose and a torn ear. 
 
 " By Gawd ! " mumbled the cuffer. " By Gawd ! " 
 
46 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Sic him again, Joe!" cried a derisive voice in the rear 
 of the crowd. "What yuh afraid of? There s eight men 
 holdin him!" 
 
 "Who said that!" bellowed Joe the cufFer, making a 
 great show of seeking out the owner of the voice while the 
 crowd roared its appreciation of the incident. 
 
 "Say, I want the sheriff!" yelled Johnny for the thirty- 
 first time hand-running. 
 
 "Take it easy," advised one of his captors. "Yuh don t 
 need no sheriff, nohow. Stop yore squallin , there s a 
 good feller." 
 
 "There s a good nothin , yuh fool!" retorted Johnny. 
 "The sheriff knows me. He ll tell yuh I ain t a road 
 agent." 
 
 "That s what they all say," smiled the other. "Sorry 
 we can t oblige yuh. But the sheriff ain t here. He s out 
 some ers romancin round after a hoss thief, an we can t 
 wait till he gets back." 
 
 Including the sheriff, Johnny s list of friends in the Bend 
 was limited to some half-dozen people. There were Scotty 
 Mackenzie and his outfit, of course, but Scotty s ranch, the 
 Flying M, was ten miles out of town. 
 
 "Get Jim Mace an Soapy Ragsdale!" cried the desper 
 ate Johnny. "They know me. So does Cap n Burr an 
 his family. Hell s bells, don t I get no chance a tall?" 
 
 "No more n yuh gave other folks," was the serene 
 counter. " Can t yuh keep quiet ? I wanta hear what yuh 
 done." 
 
 "Johnny!" exclaimed a surprised voice. "Hello, 
 Johnny. What s the trouble?" 
 
 A tall, big-boned man with square features plowed 
 through the crowd, speaking as he came. The big man 
 halted in front of Johnny and seized his hand where it 
 
PARADISE BEND 47 
 
 showed beneath the other hands holding wrist and fore 
 arm. 
 
 "Whatsa matter?" demanded the big man, pumping 
 violently. 
 
 "These idjits say I m a road agent," explained Johnny. 
 
 "Then they are idjits," averred the bold Mister Mace. 
 "Road agent! Here comes Soapy." 
 
 The storekeeper Ragsdale pushed up and repeated the 
 pump-handle process on Johnny s hand. 
 
 " Shore glad to see yuh, Johnny," he assured the prisoner. 
 "Huh? Road agent! We ll see about that. Hi, Buster!" 
 he shouted to his small son, a goggle-eyed child often who 
 was gaping at the prisoner from between the bow legs of 
 a lengthy cowboy, "chase over to the store an get my 
 Spencer carbyne. Skip, now." 
 
 Buster skipped and the crowd stilled its clamour some 
 what. The hearty greeting of the prisoner by two such 
 men as Jim Mace and Soapy Ragsdale was having its 
 effect. The stranger who had captured Johnny rode for 
 ward and smiled engagingly down at Jim Mace and Soapy 
 Ragsdale. They returned his smile with dispassionate 
 stares. 
 
 "I said your friend is a road agent," he remarked quietly. 
 "I still say so. About three hours ago I found him stand 
 ing beside Old Man Fane s buckboard. In the buckboard 
 were Old Man and Bill Homan dead as Julius Gesar, the 
 pair." 
 
 "The dust!" gasped the Wells-Fargo agent. "The dust! 
 Old Man Fane had two thousand ounces with him! He 
 was takin it to Marysville!" 
 
 "There was no dust in the buckboard," declared the 
 stranger. "Both bodies had been robbed." 
 
 A great silence descended upon the crowd. Johnny 
 
48 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 could hear the rasp of a new rope being uncoiled. He 
 reiterated his innocence and demanded that the sheriff 
 be sent for. There was an instant cackle of uncheerful 
 laughter. Old Man Fane had been popular in the Bend. 
 Johnny endeavoured to give his version of the affair. 
 The cruel laughter smothered his utterance. 
 
 "No use waitin ," suddenly exclaimed the citizen who 
 had been the first to glimpse the arrival of Johnny and the 
 stranger. "There s evidence enough for forty men, gents. 
 Here s the rope." 
 
 "Here s my carbyne!" rebutted Mister Ragsdale earn 
 estly, plucking that seven-shooting firearm from the clutch 
 of his panting offspring. " I ain t makin no threats, not a 
 threat, but yuh can put down a bet there s a-goin to be a 
 whole lot more evidence before anybody s gets hung. An* 
 that s the branch I live on." 
 
 "We ll see about that!" shouted a voice from the crowd. 
 
 "If the gent will step out from where he s a-hidin* I ll 
 be glad to argue with him," said Ragsdale silkily. 
 
 The crowd did not laugh, and no one stepped out from 
 anywhere. Mister Ragsdale evidently belonged to a 
 species quite different from that of the prominent citizen 
 whose thumb Johnny had bitten to the bone. Ragsdale 
 waited a dignified minute, then, no overt act occurring, 
 he turned on the stranger. 
 
 "Slay," said he, "where s the two thousand ounces Old 
 Man Fane was packin ?" 
 
 "How do I know where this man hid it?" rejoined the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Oh, he hid it, did he?" Jim Mace remarked with sar 
 casm. "Hid it, an then waited for you to come along an 
 corral him. Is that it?" 
 
 "I guess he wasn t really intending to wait," smiled 
 
PARADISE BEND , 9 
 
 Slay, refusing to take offense. "You see, I came upon him 
 unexpectedly." 
 
 "Gents!" cried Johnny, "you ain t had any real evi 
 dence yet. So far she s just his word against mine, an 
 my word s as good as his." 
 
 "We know him, an we don t know you," returned a 
 citizen with a dyed mustache. 
 
 "Soapy an me know him!" blazed Jim Mace. 
 "O course, o course," soothed Dyed Mustache, whose 
 name was Ganey, "but there s us. We got opinions, an 
 I tell yuh, Jim, I don t like the looks o this jigger. He 
 may be yore 
 
 "May be?" Thus, coldly, Mister Mace. 
 "He is yore friend," Ganey hastily corrected himself, and 
 continued. "But when did yuh see him last?" 
 "Two years," Jim Mace admitted reluctantly. 
 "There!" Ganey exclaimed in triumph. "Two years! 
 Why, say, Jim, that s a long time, two years is. I ve seen 
 hosses turn bronc in less n two years. Why couldn t a 
 gent do the same?" 
 
 "Some gents might," Jim Mace remarked meaningly, 
 "but not Johnny Ramsay." 
 
 "We dunrio that," averred Ganey. "We dunno nothin* 
 about him. But he shore looks hard, an lookit where 
 Harry Slay found him standin right alongside the buck- 
 board, with Old Man Fane an Bill Homan dead an all. 
 It shore don t look right, it don t. I ve seen men stretched 
 for a lot less, a whole lot less." 
 
 Ganey hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, 
 swelled out his chest, and looked about him for approval. 
 "Where did they find you, Johnny?" asked Ragsdale. 
 "At the buckboard, like he says," replied Johnny, 
 "but " 
 
50 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Hear that!" shouted the officious Ganey. "He ad 
 mits it! What are we waitin for? Where s that rope?" 
 
 Ragsdale s carbine immediately covered Ganey s ab 
 domen. 
 
 "Maybe this is why yo re waiting Ganey," said he. 
 
 The crowd split away from Ganey. The latter was 
 attracting entirely too much attention, and Soapy Rags- 
 dale was known as a touchy gentleman utterly reckless of 
 consequences. 
 
 "Oh, be reasonable, Soapy," urged Slay. "It isn t 
 necessary to pull on any one. We re all friends here." 
 
 "All this talk o ropes ain t friendly," complained the 
 fretful Mister Ragsdale. "Besides, it makes me nervous, 
 an I don t like it." 
 
 "For Gawd s sake, Soapy, point that carbyne some ers 
 
 else," Ganey implored distressfully. "Yuh got the 
 
 thing cocked." 
 
 "An I got my finger on the trigger, if yo re a-lookin for 
 real information," returned Ragsdale calmly. "I don t 
 like this here bellerin round for ropes, an I don t give a 
 who knows it." 
 
 "I was just a-askin ," apologized Ganey. "It seemed 
 natural considerin ." 
 
 "You must admit, Soapy," ventured Slay, stepping 
 forward, but carefully avoiding Ganey s immediate vicinity 
 "you must admit that the evidence is fairly conclusive." 
 
 "Yo re another one that gives me a pain!" snapped 
 Ragsdale. "S pose yuh did find Johnny near the buck- 
 board. S pose they was forty dead men in it. It don t 
 prove he done it, do it?" 
 
 "There s an empty shell in his rifle," put forth Slay. 
 "Here she is." 
 
 Jim Mace seized the Winchester and worked the lever. 
 
PARADISE BEND 51 
 
 The ejector flipped out a spent shell. Jim Mace set the 
 hammer at safety and picked up the shell. 
 
 "Nothin s proved yet," he said evenly. 
 
 "I fired two shots at the fellahs that done them killin s," 
 explained Johnny. 
 
 "How many was they?" inquired Jim Mace. 
 
 "Three of em." 
 
 "Why didn t yuh say so before?" demanded Ragsdale s 
 rival in trade, a cadaverous person named Dusen. 
 
 "Yuh didn t gimme no chance," retorted Johnny. 
 "Lemme tell my side of it now." 
 
 "We re simply wasting time," protested Slay. "The 
 man s guilty as all hell. Nothing he may say can alter it. 
 Why wait?" 
 
 Which sentiments coincided with those of the majority. 
 There was a shuffling of feet and a slow shifting of posi 
 tions. Slay smiled slightly. Jim Mace s mouth became 
 a thin, white line. 
 
 "They say yo re a good man on the draw, Slay," ob 
 served Jim Mace. "If yuh think yuh can beat the lead 
 out o this Winchester, hop to it. Now I m tellin yuh if 
 they is any hangin , she s goin to be after a trial a reg lar 
 fair trial. An I m tellin yuh too if they is any hangin 
 before the trial you won t be with us to pull on the rope." 
 
 Slay looked from the muzzle of the Winchester bearing 
 on his stomach to the serene features of Jim Mace. 
 
 "Why, of course," he agreed, with admirably simulated 
 heartiness. "A trial, by all means. I should be the last 
 to impede the wheels of justice." 
 
 "I hoped yuh d see our way of it," Jim Mace said drily. 
 
 Then came a large man with a brown beard and a mar 
 shal s star, demanding, after the fashion of police officers, 
 the reasons for drawn weapons. Several endeavoured to 
 
52 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 enlighten him, but bull-voiced Jim Mace overrode them 
 all and gave his version to the marshal. 
 
 "An* yuh know him, Dan," said Jim Mace in conclusion. 
 "It s Johnny Ramsay, one o the Cross-in-a-box outfit 
 down on the Lazy. He s all right." 
 
 Dan Smith looked at Johnny. 
 
 "I remember him," was his grudging admission, "but 
 I never said two words to him in my life. He s one o 
 Scotty s friends. I seen him once out at the Flying M." 
 
 " Oh, y admit it, do yuh ? " barked Ragsdale sarcastically. 
 "Yo re a fine Injun, you are. She s a wonder to me yuh 
 don t say yuh never seen him before." 
 
 " Yuh know well enough, Soapy, I m a officer o the law," 
 protested thre marshal. "I can t go sympathize with no 
 body." 
 
 " yore sympathy!" snorted truculent Ragsdale. 
 
 "Who wants the thing? We don t. We can look out for 
 ourselves, an we re a-goin to, y bet yuh." 
 
 "Now, Soapy, it don t do no good to talk that way," 
 chided the marshal. "An it don t sound good neither. 
 She sounds like yuh didn t care nothin for law an order." 
 
 "I don t," Ragsdale promptly assured him. "I don t 
 give three hells an a dam for law an order. I m here to 
 see justice done, an that s a cat with another kind o tail." 
 
 "But I m here," offered the affronted marshal. "I m 
 paid to see justice done, so don t yuh worry." 
 
 "I ain t," returned Ragsdale. "Not one li l bit." 
 
 "We gotta have a trial," proclaimed the marshal, en 
 deavouring to appear unconscious of Ragsdale. "She s 
 gotta be legal. We ll adjourn to the Golden Rule an 
 fight it out. There s plenty room there." 
 
 "An there s a tree out back," supplemented one of the 
 men holding Johnny. 
 
PARADISE BEND 53 
 
 "Oh yes, I was comin to you, Spill/ Jim Mace observed 
 softly to the speaker. "S pose yuh leggo that arm an* 
 lemme take it as a favour, a small li l favour to oblige me, 
 Spill." 
 
 Spill did not see his way clear to refuse. He reluctantly 
 relinquished Johnny s right arm into the keeping of Jim 
 Mace. 
 
 "Thought maybe yuh d feel better havin a gent yuh 
 know around," remarked Jim Mace, giving Johnny s biceps 
 a friendly pressure. "How s tricks down on the Lazy?" 
 
 "Comin in bunches," Johnny grinned, winking a cool 
 eye at Jim. 
 
 "Say, Tom," observed Jim Mace, leering across at the 
 man on the prisoner s left, "how about sort o lettin go 
 entirely o my friend s arm? It ain t really necessary, 
 yuh know." 
 
 Tom Keen was one of Slay s friends. He wore a hard 
 look and two guns. Nevertheless he followed Jim Mace s 
 suggestion without hesitation. 
 
 "Seein as it s you, Jim, I don t mind none at all," 
 affirmed Tom in the endeavour to save his face. "We all 
 know you." 
 
 "Shore yuh do," said Jim Mace with a wicked smile. 
 "We re all for justice an a quiet life in this town huh? 
 All right, Dan, we re with yuh." 
 
 But they were not with Dan not just yet. A very 
 pretty girl stepped plump in front of the prisoner and held 
 out her hand. Her breath was coming fast as though she 
 had been running, and her ardent dark eyes were sparkling, 
 and her cheeks were very red. 
 
 "How are you, Mister Ramsay?" she said clearly. 
 "Don t you remember me?" 
 
 "Do I ?" cried Johnny. "Well, say!" 
 
54 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 At which the pretty girl blushed redder than ever and 
 the crowd snickered. But little Johnny cared for the 
 crowd. Tactful Jim Mace immediately loosed his grip 
 on Johnny s arm, and the puncher seized the girl s fingers 
 in a fervid grasp. 
 
 "I shore am glad to see yuh!" he exclaimed, pumping 
 energetically, and noting with distinct pleasure that the 
 man Slay seemed hugely displeased thereat. "How s 
 yore ma an pa, Miss Burr?" 
 
 "They re all fine. Pa s out on the route just now, an 
 ma s over at Mis Acker s on Jack Creek. Soon s Mis 
 Mace told me you were in trouble I chased young Sammy 
 Barnes out after ma. That s why I was so long getting 
 here. I almost had to fight Sammy to make him do what 
 I wanted. He wanted to see the excitement, the blood 
 thirsty brat." 
 
 "Yuh say yuh sent for yore ma?" demanded the marshal 
 in dismay. 
 
 "I certainly did," replied Miss Burr, sharply. "If 
 Sammy s horse doesn t fall down she ought to be here 
 within two hours." 
 
 "C mon!" ordered the marshal, seizing Johnny by the 
 arm. "Get a gait on. We gotta hurry." 
 
 "Scared, are yuh, old-timer?" laughed Miss Burr. "I 
 guess you know what ll happen when ma gets here, don t 
 you? Remember what she called you when you played 
 the fool in that Loudon case?" 
 
 "You bet he remembers, Dor thy!" gibed the shrill voice 
 of Mrs. Ragsdale. "Lookit him, gettin all red. If he d 
 only wash his face now an then, he d get redder." 
 
 Which mordant if inelegant jest was salty with truth, 
 for the marshal was a bachelor and careless in his habits. 
 The crowd whooped its appreciation, and the marshal 
 
PARADISE BEND 55 
 
 almost broke a tooth in his efforts to maintain a dignified 
 silence. 
 
 "Whatsa matter, fellah?" fleered Johnny. "Yore jaw- 
 muscles look like they was a-goin to bust plumb through 
 yore cheeks. Are yuh mad or somethin ?" 
 
 The marshal answered not, and Johnny grinned. His 
 spirits were returning, and in full force. Loyal friends are 
 indeed the best little heart-uplifters in the world. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 THE HEMPEN SHADOW 
 
 PARADISE BENDERS, so many as could find room, 
 crowded into the Golden Rule at the tail of the 
 group surrounding Johnny. The disappointed ones 
 filled the open window-spaces with eager heads and 
 shoulders, to the mental anguish of Dave Dusen,who feared 
 for his precious panes. But the possible shattering of 
 window-glass was not the only fly in the proprietor s amber. 
 Two boxes of crackers and one of prunes stood invitingly 
 open to the public gaze and hand. 
 
 "Them prunes ain t samples!" wailed Dave, diving 
 behind his counter. "They re for sale! They cost money! 
 Take yore hoofs out o that box, will yuh, Tom? That 
 goes for the crackers, too! Here, I ll stick em under the 
 counter till court s over." 
 
 But half the crackers and most of the prunes had dis 
 appeared before Dave was able to sequestrate his property. 
 It was almost a perfect day for the crowd. Soapy Rags- 
 dale cocked a mocking eye at Dan Smith and smiled 
 sweetly. For well he knew that the marshal, in selecting 
 the Golden Rule as the place in which to hold court, had 
 intended thereby to slight him, Soapy, and correspondingly 
 do honour to Dave Dusen. Which honour had proved a 
 brisk boomerang and seriously strained an ancient friend 
 ship. It was almost a perfect day for Soapy too. 
 
 The marshal opened court, constituted himself judge, 
 
 56 
 
THE HEMPEN SHADOW 57 
 
 appointed twelve jurors and lined them up along the 
 counter. 
 
 "A jury ain t really necessary," said the marshal; "she s 
 such a plain open-an -shut case. But we gotta be legal, so 
 pernickety folks ll be satisfied." 
 
 "Meanin me an* Jim, I s pose," chuckled the irrepressi 
 ble Ragsdale. "Why don t yuh say so right out, instead 
 o climbin all round the stump thisaway?" 
 
 "I wasn t namin no names," was the marshal s lame 
 retort. 
 
 "I notice yuh didn t name our names none when yuh 
 picked yore jury," Jim Mace observed drily. 
 
 "Well, I m tryin to be fair," the marshal explained, 
 "an* you two fellers are the prisoner s friends too much." 
 
 " Don t he talk sensible," remarked Johnny. " If Mister 
 Smith tries any harder to be fair he ll strain his conscience 
 or somethin . An then where ll he be?" 
 
 "Yo re too fresh, young feller," reproved the hard-faced 
 Tom, one of the jurors. "Yuh better talk slow around 
 here sort o hogtie yore tongue a few." 
 
 "Is that so?" flung back Johnny, anxious to waste all 
 the time he could. " How many gents have you downed ? " 
 
 "Shut up!" bawled the marshal, hammering with a 
 bung-starter on a barrel of vinegar. "Not another yap 
 out o you! You don t seem to realize none how nice yo re 
 bein treated." 
 
 " Don t make me laugh," begged Johnny. 
 
 " I expect we won t." Grimly from Slay. 
 
 "Friend Slant-Eye again," Johnny acknowledged good- 
 humouredly. "You won t never be satisfied till yuh see 
 me hung, will yuh?" 
 
 "You better believe I won t!" With enthusiasm. 
 
 "It ll shore be a shame to disappoint yuh, Slant-Eye," 
 
58 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 commiserated Johnny. "Can yuh stand it, do yuh 
 think?" 
 
 Such flippancy did not please the crowd. It turned 
 ugly again. But Jim Mace and Soapy Ragsdale faced it 
 down to the marshal s patent disgust. It was apparent 
 that he would welcome almost any quick and sure method 
 of disposing of the prisoner. Miss Burr, wedged in be 
 tween plump Mrs. Mace, thin Mrs. Ragsdale and a knobbly 
 sack of potatoes, smiled reassuringly at Johnny. He 
 grinned back, winked happily, and thrust his tongue into 
 his cheek as Slay began to repeat the story of the crime and 
 the arrest. Even as he had stuck to the truth in the street 
 so now did he stick to the truth in the Golden Rule. But 
 Slay was undeniably clever, and a clever man may give 
 Truth a bit of covering here and there to conceal her 
 nakedness withal, to the end that the lady appears of a 
 totally different aspect. With devilish cunning he con 
 trived to blend argument and statement of fact so that the 
 two were one. 
 
 When Slay sat down and tranquilly lit a cigar Johnny 
 perceived that he must fight for his life in harsh earnest. 
 He knew that Jim Mace and Soapy Ragsdale would see 
 it through in the smoke if the verdict went against him, a 
 contingency involving their deaths as well as his own. 
 Two men can not successfully combat a whole town. 
 Johnny, after listening to Slay s remarks, rather doubted 
 the ability of Mrs. Burr to save him. Even if she could 
 she might not arrive in time. Furthermore, it would be 
 humiliating to owe his life to a woman. It will be seen 
 that Johnny s peculiar dilemma presented a more numer 
 ous array of horns than nature allots to the average cows. 
 
 Johnny stood up on his feet and, taking a long breath, 
 prepared to plunge in. Then he almost laughed aloud, 
 
THE HEMPEN SHADOW 59 
 
 for the way out had suddenly opened before him with 
 farcical ease. With unhurried fingers he rolled a cigarette 
 one-handed and snapped a match alight with his thumb 
 nail. He turned to Jim Mace. 
 
 "Jim," he said, "have yuh got that spent shell yuh 
 pumped out o my Winchester?" 
 
 Jim Mace silently handed him the cartridge case. 
 Johnny held the case upright before the eyes of the marshal. 
 Along the length of the brass cylinder ran two bright 
 parallel scratches. 
 
 "Yuh seen Jim pump this spent shell out o my gun, 
 didn t yuh?" asked Johnny. 
 
 "Yeah," nodded the marshal. 
 
 A quiver of interest rippled through the crowd. Dor 
 othy Burr nudged Mrs. Mace and Mrs. Ragsdale with 
 her elbows, and smiled delightedly. 
 
 "He s thought of something," she whispered. "I can 
 see it in his eye." 
 
 Her friends smiled back. In common with most women 
 they possessed the instinct for romance, and they sensed 
 in the situation heart-interest a-plenty. 
 
 "Would yuh mind pumpin out the magazine, Jim?" 
 said Johnny. 
 
 Jim Mace promptly began to work the lever of the Win 
 chester. Seven loaded shells clattered on the floor. These 
 shells Johnny picked up and held for the marshal to in 
 spect. The jury he had disregarded from the first. 
 
 "See, old-timer," observed Johnny. "They s two 
 scratches on the side of each one o these shells, just like 
 they was on the spent shell, ain t they?" 
 
 "Yeah." Again the marshal nodded after the fashion 
 of a china mandarin. 
 
 "Now I want an unbusted box o 45-90 cartridges," 
 
60 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 continued Johnny. "Huh? To prove my case. What 
 yuh guess? No, I don t wanna load the rifle myself. I 
 want you to do it. Hurry up with that box. Mister 
 Smith s in a hurry. Here y are, Mister Smith. Just 
 snick round the edge with yore finger-nail, will yuh, an 
 take the cover off? That s the ticket. Take out six or 
 seven o them shells an look at em close. Don t see no 
 scratches or nothin do yuh? All a smooth yaller, ain t 
 they? They are, you admit it. Now load em into my 
 rifle an then pump em out." 
 
 "Say, what kind o foolishness is this," snarled the mar 
 shal, "loading an unloadin yore Winchester thisaway? 
 Djuh think I m a idjit?" 
 
 "I know you are, old-timer," Johnny replied calmly. 
 "Yuh needn t apologize. I know yuh can t help it. 
 S pose now yuh do what I say like a good fellah." 
 
 The "good fellah," amid the happy chortlings of the 
 mercurial crowd, slowly stuffed half-a-dozen cartridges 
 through the loading-gate into the magazine. 
 
 "Pump em out an look at em," commanded Johnny. 
 
 The marshal obeyed. 
 
 "See them twin scratches now," cried Johnny triumph 
 antly. " Every last one s got em, ain t they ? Shore they 
 have. My loadin -gate s nicked, an every shell yuh 
 stick in gets scratched thataway." 
 
 "What s that got to go with yore killin Old Man Fane 
 an* Bill Homan?" demanded the marshal. 
 
 "She s got a li l bit to do with provin I didn t kill Old 
 Man Fane an Bill Homan," retorted Johnny. "It ll be 
 hard to prove it to yuh yo re so half-witted, but I ll do 
 my li l old best. Yuh remember what I said about shootin 
 at the jiggers crossin the Yellow Medicine right after I 
 heard them three shots. I said I shot twice, didn t I? 
 
THE HEMPEN SHADOW 6r 
 
 All right. Yuh got the spent shell o one o them shotsv 
 Jim Mace pumped her out o my rifle. The other shell 
 yuh ll find near a cottonwood about ten feet from the 
 place where Old Man Fane s buckboard is standin in the 
 trail. That s the only shell o mine yuh ll find anywhere 
 around there. 
 
 "An as I had a steady rest against that cottonwood 
 with my back to the road when I cut down on them three 
 gents yuh ll find the spent shell between the cottonwooJ 
 an* the road. It ought to be plain to yuh from that I 
 didn t bushwhack Fane. If I had I d a been behind the 
 cottonwood, an the spent shell would a been between 
 the tree an the creek. Then again yuh ll find the marks 
 o my heels where I stood when I fired. I remember the 
 ground was soft, an they sunk in some. An them heel- 
 marks ll be on the buckboard side o the cottonwood 
 tree." 
 
 "Aw, we ain t got no time for that!" objected the hard- 
 faced Tom. 
 
 "That s shore hard luck," mourned Johnny, "but I 
 don t wanna be hung none, so I ll just go on an finish my 
 li l piece if yuh haven t any objection. I wouldn t 
 want to do anythin to make yuh mad or nothin . Me 
 bein a orphan I gotta be careful what I do an " 
 
 "G on! G on!" snapped the marshal. 
 
 "Why shore," assented Johnny. "I was just goin to 
 say that the lead that killed Old Man Fane an Bill Homan 
 an the hoss all come from above an from the other side 
 o the road. I dunno neither o them men personal, but 
 I take it that Old Man Fane was the gent with the white 
 
 beard Yeah, he was, huh ? All right, the bullet that 
 
 killed Old Man Fane went in above the right temple, 
 come out below the left ear an grazed his left shoulder.. 
 
62 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 The other feller was shot plumb through the temple, the 
 bullet come out his neck, an* buried itself in his left shoul 
 der. 
 
 "I dunno nothin about the hoss exceptin he was drilled 
 back o the ear. I didn t take notice where the bullet 
 went after that. Now I m gamblin that behind the rocks 
 scrouged in between two pines a-growin maybe twenty 
 thirty feet up the side o the hill where she s good an steep 
 yuh ll find three spent shells without any scratches on em. 
 Maybe yuh won t. Them fellers might not a pumped 
 em out, but it d be a heap natural for em to pump em 
 out, bein road agents an likely to need their Winchesters 
 quick an in a hurry. 
 
 "Say! here s somethin* I didn t think of before: yuh 
 know she s kind o hard to judge the size of a bullet by the 
 hole she makes in a gent the flesh is too ragged, but the 
 hole in Bill Roman s hat was a mite smaller than the hole 
 in Old Man Fane s. An* the lead s still in Roman s 
 shoulder. Dig her out, an I ll gamble the limit yuh ll find 
 she s 40-65 or 38 or somethin like that. It s a cinch she 
 ain t as big as mine, an mine s the reg lar 45-90. There 
 y are, Mister Smith. Yore proof is right in an near that 
 buckboard. Fly at it." 
 
 The marshal frowned. The jury and crowd did more 
 tnan frown. They voiced immediate objections. Which 
 was natural. An investigation of Johnny s side of the 
 question would have been a rank departure from long- 
 established methods of procedure. What was all this talk 
 of bullet-holes and shooting from above and so forth? 
 Foolishness! Hadn t Harry Slay told a straight and con 
 clusive story? 
 
 Of course he had. Hells bells, what more did the road 
 agent want? He was unreasonable, that s what he was. 
 
THE HEMPEN SHADOW 63 
 
 Hadn t other men found in less criminal circumstances 
 been hung at sight? Men pointed with pride and many 
 oaths to the fact that they certainly had been so hung. 
 Custom dies hard. Besides, it was nearly twenty miles 
 to the Yellow Medicine, and it was a hot day. 
 
 The marshal glanced warily at Jim Mace and Soapy 
 Ragsdale, for he had an uneasy feeling that, in the event 
 
 of hostilities, he would be the first to die. Still The 
 
 marshal coughed impressively and, while affecting to 
 scratch his hip-bone, fingered the butt of his six-shooter. 
 
 "Gents," said the marshal, addressing the jury, "y all 
 heard what Harry Slay said. Y all heard what this feller 
 said. What do you say?" 
 
 "Yes, gents, what do you say?" drawled an unexcited 
 voice from the doorway. "I d shore admire to hear." 
 
 The marshal s jaw dropped with almost an audible click. 
 He at once withdrew his hand from his gunbutt and ran a 
 worried finger round the inside of his collar. Miss Burr 
 laughed with an almost hysterical joy. 
 
 "Hello, Scotty!" called Johnny. 
 
 " Howdy, Johnny ! I ll get to yuh in a li l while. Hello, 
 Dave. Seems kind o crowded in here to-day. Trade 
 a-boomin , huh?" 
 
 Scotty Mackenzie, eight of his riders in his wake, forced 
 his way through the press. The jurors looked uncomfort 
 able. The hard-featured Tom began to fidget. Ganey 
 of the dyed mustache swallowed his chew and nearly 
 strangled. Slay s friends quickly assumed their most in 
 nocent expressions. Slay himself appeared to be unmoved. 
 He watched Scotty s approach with lazy eyes. The units 
 comprising the remainder of the assemblage looked at one 
 another and shifted their feet if not their opinions. 
 
 Scotty and his boys shook hands with Johnny and 
 
64 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 gravely asked how he did. Of the nine men Scotty Mac 
 kenzie had the least inspiring presence. He was dilapidated 
 with a startling completeness. His boots were ancient, 
 sadly run over at the heels, and cut about the tops. His 
 trousers were patched at one knee and ripped at the other. 
 His vest was gone at the armholes and a pocket or two had 
 fetched away. His blue flannel shirt had faded to a sickly 
 green in many places. A large hole yawned in the crown 
 of his flappy-brimmed hat, and through a smaller hole in 
 the side his grizzled hair protruded. 
 
 Scotty wore a chin whisker and his features had been 
 built with a view to service in the missionary field. But 
 the effect of this mild, bland face was nullified by a pair 
 of bright blue eyes that could, on occasion, become hard 
 and fierce with a hardness and a fierceness usually asso 
 ciated with that interesting animal, the Bengal tiger. No 
 indeed, Scotty Mackenzie was distinctly not a person to 
 monkey with. 
 
 At the present moment Scotty was standing with his 
 wiry legs planted well apart and was smiling pleasantly at 
 the marshal. The latter had never seen a Bengal tiger, 
 so he thought of the timber wolf instead. Scotty was a 
 smaller man than the marshal, but somehow the marshal 
 felt that he was looking up to Scotty. Dan Smith was no 
 coward. He was not actually afraid of Scotty, yet he 
 wished from the bottom of his heart that he had taken the 
 prisoner s part a little more. 
 
 "I m clean forgettin the jury," Scotty drawled apologet 
 ically, and pivoted on one heel. "Gents, yuh was goin to 
 say somethin when I got here. What was it?" 
 
 "They was just a-goin to move to adjourn over to the 
 Yaller Medicine about twenty miles," put in the marshal 
 before a juryman could speak. "Seems like they s 
 
THE HEMPEN SHADOW 65 
 
 some evidence there we gotta look at before decidin* this 
 case." 
 
 "Oh, yeah," said Scotty. " Guess the boys an me ll 
 sort o trail along. We ain t busy a li l bit. Yuh see, I 
 was standin in that doorway a good ten minutes before 
 anybody seen me." 
 
CHAPTER MI 
 Scorn* MACKENZIE 
 
 HERE S a spent shell!" cried one of Scotty s outfit, 
 a bristle-haired young man named Swing Tunstall. 
 He handed the shell to Scotty, and the latter 
 held it up for the marshal to see. 
 
 "Yuh ll notice Swing found her on the buckboard side 
 o that cottonwood about ten feet off the road/* Scotty 
 pronounced in a dry tone. "An here s Johnny s twin 
 scratches down the side. Le s go look for the heel-marks." 
 
 The presence of the heel-marks in the soft ground having 
 been verified, twenty men including the jurors, Scotty 
 and the marshal, climbed the steep slope to where the two 
 boulders snuggled between their guardian pines. 
 
 Behind the boulders they found three spent shells two 
 45-90*5 and one 40-65. 
 
 "Not scratched a bit, none of em," abserved Scotty. 
 "Dug that bullet out o Homan yet, Cal?" he called to an 
 earnest seeker after light on the trail below. 
 
 "In a minute," replied Cal. "My knife done touched 
 her all right, but she s kind o behind a bone. She s 
 a-comin ." 
 
 She came and was duly examined by the multitude. 
 
 "40-65 bullet," was Scotty s remark. "So Johnny 
 didn t fire that cartridge. An he didn t fire them two 
 unscratched 45-90*5 neither. I guess that pretty near 
 settles the cat-hop." 
 
 66 
 
SCOTTY MACKENZIE 67 
 
 "Shore it does," the marshal affirmed with forced hearti 
 ness. "I guess the jury s satisfied. Gents, yo re " 
 
 "But I ain t satisfied yet," interrupted Scotty 
 smoothly. "Yuh forget Johnny seen three jiggers cross 
 the creek. We ll slide down and look at the tracks. An* 
 while we re about it, we might just as well find out where 
 they tied their hosses while they was bushwhackin Old 
 Man an Bill. All them li l things help, yuh know," he 
 added plaintively. 
 
 No one was deceived by his tone. All accompanied him 
 without demur. After quartering the ground for fifteen 
 minutes Scotty and his followers halted in a pocket among 
 the pines. 
 
 " Here s where they tied their hosses," announced Scotty. 
 "Three hosses, an by the looks o the ground they was 
 standin here awhile. Le s go down to the creek." 
 
 They traced the tracks from the pocket to the creek, 
 up the opposite bank, and out across the flats. 
 
 "I guess this is most enough," said Scotty, halting a 
 hundred yards from the water. 
 
 "She was enough before," the hard-featured Tom as 
 sured him. "I guess we know when everythin s all right." 
 
 "I guess maybe yuh do," was Scotty s drawling en 
 dorsement. 
 
 But Scotty was not looking at Tom. The hard blue 
 stare was directed straight into the pale eyes of Harry Slay. 
 The latter promptly smiled in a most engaging fashion. 
 
 "This is fine," he declared without hesitation. "I am 
 delighted that matters have turned out as they have, and 
 that your friend gets a Scotch verdict the benefit of the 
 doubt, in other words." 
 
 "Benefit of the doubt." Thus Scotty, softly, almost 
 tenderly. 
 
f HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "A slip of the tongue," beamed Slay, with a flash of 
 white teeth. "I should have said unquestionably cleared 
 of the charge against him ." 
 
 "Yeah, yuh should have," said Scotty. "Funny how 
 folks don t always think o the right thing to say." 
 
 "Surely is," agreed the good-humoured Slay. "Have a 
 cigar?" 
 
 "Cigarettes kind o suit my health better," parried 
 Scotty, fishing out the makings. 
 
 "Better stick to em then," advised Slay, and began to 
 walk away from there. 
 
 Swing Tunstall looked at his friend Jack McCall and 
 rubbed a solemn chin. Jack thrust his tongue into his 
 cheek. Later, in the bunk-house, they would recount 
 with delight how their employer ran a blazer on Harry Slay 
 and forced that plump person to say what he had not in 
 tended to say. 
 
 Scotty gave no evidence that he realized what he had 
 done. Mildly he asked Tunstall for a match, lit his ci 
 garette, and plodded slowly back to the buckboard with 
 the others. 
 
 "Where s Harry?" queried a citizen named Carey. 
 
 "Started back," replied Cal Mason, busy at the buck- 
 board. "Pass the rope under his arms, Tug, an I ll 
 tie em to the back of the seat." 
 
 "Naw," objected Tug, "put em both on the floor. 
 S pose their feet do hang over what s the difference?" 
 
 "They ain t room, I tell yuh!" declared Cal heatedly. 
 "They s only room for Bill Homan on the floor. Old 
 Man s gotta sit alongside of yuh. Aw, what yuh beefin 
 about? He ain t bleedin even a li l bit! Lemme drive 
 then. I can drive yore hoss better n you anyhow," Cal 
 added with consummate tact. 
 
SCOTTY MACKENZIE 69 
 
 Tug drove. 
 
 On the ride back to the Bend, Johnny contrived to 
 manoeuvre Scotty to the tail of the cavalcade. 
 
 "Gotta fix my cinches," Johnny announced suddenly 
 and, catching Scotty s eye, motioned rearward with his 
 head. 
 
 The quick-witted Scotty halted his horse as Johnn}^ slid 
 to the ground. When Johnny swung up the others were 
 three hundred yards ahead. Scotty grinned at Johnny, 
 and Johnny grinned at Soctty. They liked each other 
 very well, these two. Johnny knew better than to thank 
 Scotty for coming to his rescue. He merely mentioned 
 that Scotty had picked a good day on which to ride to 
 town. Scotty "guessed" that this was the truth, and the 
 subject was closed. 
 
 "Yuh wanna hire two stray men, don t yuh, Scotty," 
 Johnny began abruptly. 
 
 "Who? Me? Two stray men? What yuh talkin 
 about, Johnny? This Territory ain t Texas." 
 
 "Yeah, but yuh want two stray men just the same. 
 Yo re losin a lot o J bosses lately, an yuh don t like it 
 nohow." 
 
 "It s shore makin me madder n ," said Scotty, fall 
 ing into the spirit of the occasion. "What else?" 
 
 "An yuh hire me n Telescope." 
 
 "Laguerre!" 
 
 "Shore." 
 
 "Telescope Laguerre," chuckled Scotty, his face wrink 
 ling with delight. "I ll shore be glad to see Telescope 
 again." 
 
 "Yo re hirin us won t cost yuh nothin , but nobody s 
 gotta know that. To anybody she s forty a month all 
 reg lar." 
 
70 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Shore. G on. Don t stop. I can see times a-comin ." 
 
 "Our bein stray men thisaway will give us a chance to 
 ride the range so careless an* so free without folks askin 
 questions. They s three of us. While two is ridin round 
 the other ll get a job in the Bend at the stage corral, if 
 he can. If he can t, some ers else where the hearin s 
 good." 
 
 "I m beginnin to see," drawled Scotty. "I m shore 
 beginnin to see. When yuh goin to start in?" 
 
 "Right where them two fellahs was downed. I m no 
 trailer, myself, but Telescope is shore one li l he-angel 
 when it comes to readin sign, an I m gamblin he can 
 find out somethin from the hoof-marks of the bosses them 
 hold-ups rode. If only she don t rain." 
 
 "She won t," declared Scotty. "If she rains inside o 
 six weeks, I ll eat my shirt. Them hoof-marks is there to 
 stay. When yuh goin to send for Telescope?" 
 
 "Telescope an Racey Dawson are on the way now. 
 Telescope ll drift in day after to-morrow likely, an Racey 
 a couple o days after." 
 
 "Huh? Day after to-morrow?" 
 
 "Shore, day after to-morrow." 
 
 "Say, how long you been plannin this thing anyhow?" 
 
 "Since the stage pulled in to Farewell after the Hogback 
 hold-up an Bill Stahl posted rewards for them bandits at 
 a thousand per. The Wells-Fargo made the same play. 
 I figure she beats punchin cattle." 
 
 "An yuh come north special for that?" Scotty s eyes 
 took on a terrier-like keenness. 
 
 "Shore, I come north for that," replied Johnny. "What 
 do yuh guess?" 
 
 "Seen Dor thy?" was Scotty s apparently irrelevant 
 remark. 
 
SCOTTY MACKENZIE 71 
 
 "Yeah Say, do yuh s pose I come all the way here 
 
 to see her?" 
 
 "Why not?" yapped Scotty defensively. "She s one 
 nice li l gal, an any gent any gent, I tell yuh, Johnny 
 had ought to be proud to ride from hell to breakfast and 
 back again to see her." 
 
 "I dunno as my hoss d stand the trip," doubted Johnny. 
 
 "Yuh know what I mean. Yuh know plenty well what 
 I mean. An I don t give a damn what yuh say, Johnny, 
 I m bettin yuh was thinkin o Dor thy all the time yuh 
 was plannin to come up here after them hold-ups. Shore 
 yuh was, an natural too. Hell yes. What yuh wigglin 
 round in the saddle for?" 
 
 " Cause you make me sick!" 
 
 "I ll make yuh a heap sicker soon. Dor thy s one nice 
 gal." 
 
 "Yuh ve done said that twice." 
 
 "Of course," pursued the unheeding Scotty, "I don t 
 cotton to ladies as a rule. I ve knowed several one time 
 an another, an they re bad medicine. Yessir, I ve had 
 experience, I have, an I ve been gun-shy of em ever since. 
 But Dor thy Burr an her ma ain t nothin like the ordinary 
 run of female women. Them two are reg lar shore-enough 
 folks, yuh bet yuh. Why, I knowed Dor thy when she 
 wasn t knee-high to a pack-rat an said Gug-gug when she 
 wanted to play with yore watch. Busted mine three 
 times, she did, an throwed it in the stove final. 
 
 "The first time she ever rode a boss in her life was on 
 my saddle with her li l legs a-stickin straight out an* 
 a-yellin to make the hoss go. An look at her now. They 
 ain t a better-lookin gal, bar none, north o Texas. I ask 
 yuh, is they ? No, they ain t. O* course, on forty a month 
 yuh hadn t really ought to ask her, but after yuh ve hawg- 
 
72 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 tied a bandit or two an got the money then fly at it. 
 Shore. Wish I was twenty year younger. I d show yuh, 
 yuh bet yuh." 
 
 "Yuh d shore be welcome to," grunted Johnny. "I 
 ain t out to get married not yet awhile. An* I m sur 
 prised at yuh, Scotty, a man o yore age, talkin this way." 
 
 "Why, yuh pore conceited cow-wrastler!" blazed Scotty. 
 "Yuh don t guess I meant what I said about Dor thy an 
 you, do yuh? I was funnin yuh. If yuh had any sense 
 yuh d see it, but that s just the way, young folks nowadays 
 ain t got the brains they had when I was a boy. No, sir> 
 not by a jugful they ain t, an you ain t in partic lar, 
 Johnny. Not but what y ain t a right good feller. I like 
 yuh quite a lot. I dunno why exactly. But you ain t the 
 man for Dor thy Burr. She s a friend o mine." 
 
 "Ain t I a friend of yores?" demanded Johnny, some 
 what injured as to his feelings. 
 
 " Shore y are," admitted Scotty. " But this is different, 
 a heap different. Yuh don t shape up like a married man, 
 Johnny." 
 
 "I d like to know why I couldn t." 
 
 "I thought yuh said yuh wasn t out to get married." 
 
 "I mean I d like to know why I couldn t if I wanted to." 
 
 "I guess maybe yuh could. They say nothin s im 
 possible. But it wouldn t do. No. Not a-tall nohow. 
 Just you forget it an think o somethin else. Besides, 
 it might be right dangerous." 
 
 "Dangerous?" 
 
 "Dangerous." 
 
 Scotty wore an air of supreme indifference. He began 
 to hum a little song. 
 
 "Nemmine dronin no tunes. Whadda yuh mean by 
 dangerous ?" 
 
SCOTTY MACKENZIE 73 
 
 "I was just thinkin o Harry Slay." 
 
 " Harry Slay ! Him ! What s he got to do with Dorothy 
 Burr?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing nothin . How s Jack Richie makin 
 out?" 
 
 "Nemmine Jack Richie either. He ll keep better n that 
 blisterin tune. What s all this here mystery about Dor 
 othy an Slay?" 
 
 "It ain t no mystery. He slimes round Dor thy all the 
 time. Goes ridin with her a lot, an most every week the 
 stage freights in a big box o candy from him for her all 
 the way from St. Paul, too. Why, say, he evens picks 
 flowers out in the woods for her /" 
 
 Had Slay been in the habit of constructing bouquets of 
 rattlesnakes Scotty s tone could not have expressed more 
 horrified disgust. Johnny was disgusted, too, but in a 
 different way. 
 
 "Who is this man Slay?" he demanded. 
 
 "He owns the Broken Dollar S loon runs six games ip 
 there. I thought yuh knew." 
 
 "He s new since I was here." 
 
 "Yeah, sifted in lee n two year ago, bought the Savin 
 Grace ofFRiley, renamed her the Broken Dollar, an waded 
 into business. I ll say this for him: he s an educated gent. 
 a slayer over any distance with the women, a cold proposi 
 tion with the men, an I ain t got no more use for him thar 
 I have for a toad. Not so much. Yuh can squash a 
 toad." 
 
 "An he s goin to see Dorothy?" 
 
 "What do you care?" 
 
 "I don t only only it don t seem right somehow. 
 Not that she s anythin to me more n a friend, but he s a 
 pup, that fellah." 
 
74 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Shore, but how yuh goin to stop it? He s acted 
 real decent so far. An if yuh plug him or somethin* 
 Dor thy mightn t like it. Yuh can t never tell about a 
 woman." 
 
 "But he ain t the gent to be hangin round a nice girl 
 like that. He s got a bad eye." 
 
 "Two of em, an I ask yuh again, what yuh goin to do? 
 She s a free country." 
 
 "Yeh, but why don t yuh talk to Mis Burr?" 
 
 "An get a jawin ? Do I look like a fool?" 
 
 "Sometimes," said Johnny, "but y ain t to blame for 
 that. I think it s yore complexion or somethin . Leave 
 my hoss alone! Quit it now! We was talkin all friendly 
 
 about Dorothy an yuh gotta go raisin around. 
 
 What are we goin to do?" 
 
 "We?" 
 
 "Shore we?" 
 
 "An do what, huh?" 
 
 "Show Mister Slay he ain t wanted." 
 
 "Not me, Johnny. I m shore too old for them kind o 
 fireworks. It s yore play." 
 
 "Seein as nobody else wants to pick up a hand," Johnny 
 observed with sarcasm, "I guess maybe it is." 
 
 Scotty said nothing. Having sown the seed he was 
 content to await the harvest. 
 
 "Goin out to-night?" inquired Johnny, when the scat 
 tered lights of Paradise Bend winked at them across the 
 night. 
 
 "Guess not," said Scotty. "Too late. We ll go to 
 morrow." 
 
 "I ll be out later with Telescope," observed Johnny. 
 "Not much use goin out till after he comes. Besides, we 
 gotta look at them tracks." 
 
SCOTTY MACKENZIE 75 
 
 "Shore," concurred Scotty, grinning into the darkness. 
 "They s all kinds o reasons for yuh to stay in the Bend," 
 he added under his breath. 
 
 "Whatcha say?" Johnny questioned suspiciously. 
 
 "Talkin to the hoss." 
 
 From the windows and doorways of store, saloon and 
 dance hall, flaring fans of yellow light lay across the side 
 walks and stretched with diminishing intensity into thedust 
 of the street. In the How Come You So Dance Hall two 
 fiddlers were dispensing the heartsome strains of "Old Dan 
 Tucker" and heavy boots and light slippers were scuffling 
 and sliding over the floor. An intoxicated gentleman was 
 roaring the "Days of Forty-Nine" in the Three Card, and 
 from the Jacks Up came the merry cries of the bartender 
 and the proprietor as they strove to eject an unwelcome 
 customer. 
 
 "Good li l town," was Scotty s comment. 
 
 "All o that," said Johnny, watching with admiring in 
 terest the unwelcome customer issue from the Jacks Up, 
 skitter across the sidewalk, and strike the street on the 
 back on his neck. 
 
 "Lookit, lookit!" he urged delightedly, prodding Scotty. 
 
 "Yeah, that s Lotta Wallace," said Scotty, who was 
 looking in the opposite direction. "Kind o fancy, ain t 
 she?" 
 
 "Huh? Who?" puzzled Johnny, thinking of the un 
 welcome customer. 
 
 "She ll strike the light again in a shake," Scotty con 
 tinued to stare across the street, and Johnny, following 
 with his eyes, got the range in time to see a woman step 
 into the light from the doorway of the Golden Rule a 
 woman of dark and brilliant beauty, whose alluring black 
 gown revealed and emphasized the charm of throat and 
 
76 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 shoulders, shoulders that should have been covered by the 
 white shawl she trailed over a bare and perfect forearm. 
 
 Johnny watched the slim figure shuttling through the 
 light and darkness of the street till it disappeared within 
 the entrance of the Broken Dollar. 
 
 "Lookout?" was his question. 
 
 "Sometimes," Scotty told him. "But mostly she spins 
 the wheel. She s Slay s sister, Mis Lotta Wallace, an a 
 widow she says. Yuh can t tell, it might be true. Me, 
 I always like to look at her. She makes me think o when 
 I was a barefoot kid back East in MacPherson an the cir 
 cus come to town an for the first time in my life I seen a 
 leopard. Yessir, it s shore amazin how Mis Wallace 
 reminds me o that leopard." 
 
 "Did she come here with Slay?" 
 
 "Yep all the way from Chicago if yuh believe what 
 they say. Me personal I got a idea they re a long time 
 from Lake Michigan a long, long time. They was noth- 
 in* tenderfooty about either of J em when they come. 
 Yessir, a gent don t learn to pull a gun like Slay can pull 
 her, back East. It ain t a city trick. An that Lotta gal 
 was born on a hoss. 
 
 "Johnny, I seen her ride Dan Smith s pitcher one day. 
 Which that wall-eyed cayuse gave her all he knowed from 
 sun-fishin to changin ends an djuh think she pulled 
 leather? Nary a pull. She stuck to him like grim death 
 to a dead nigger an loped him through town at the finish 
 like nothin had happened. But just the same," he added 
 hastily, "she reminds me o that leopard." 
 
 " Yeah," said Johnny, thinking of something else. " An* 
 so Slay s been here about two years, huh ? W 7 as it before 
 or after he come that they had the first hold-up?" 
 
 "Aw, yo re ropin at the wrong cow, Johnny!" declared 
 
SCOTTY MACKENZIE 77 
 
 Scotty. "I don t like Harry a-tall, but I ll say he ain t 
 in them hold-ups. Why, every single hold-up exceptin 
 this last one he s been here in town. I know it, cause I 
 thought o him that way once, an* I took the trouble to 
 find out. Whoever they are, Harry Slay ain t one of 
 em. Le s cross over, Johnny. Yo re stayin at the hotel 
 with me to-night." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 DOROTHY BURR 
 
 DOROTHY BURR was lining pie-pans when Johnny 
 Ramsay stuck his head through the kitchen door 
 way. 
 
 "You re a nice one/ was her response to his greeting. 
 "Here I waited up half the night expecting you d come and 
 tell me everything was all right, and you didn t. And I 
 had to hear it all from Mis Mace this morning. Lot of 
 consideration you have for your friends, I must say." 
 
 She stared at him with resentful eyes. 
 
 "But, ma am," he protested, reddening slightly at her 
 naive announcement, "it was late when we rode in almost 
 midnight." 
 
 "I sat up till one." 
 
 "If I d only knowed! But not knowin , I done what I 
 thought was best. I just brought yore hoss back. He s in 
 the corral now. I m shore obliged to yuh for lendin him 
 to me, an for takin care o mine for me. Which that li l 
 red hoss was shore dead-beat." 
 
 "Dead-beat!" She smiled whimsically at the recollec 
 tion. "I guess he was. The poor chap tried to lie down 
 twice between Main Street and here. He s all right now. 
 He was trying to kick Twinkles when I watered them this 
 morning." 
 
 Dorothy pushed back a falling lock of brown hair with 
 a floury hand, and reached for the bowl of filling. She had 
 
 78 
 
DOROTHY BURR 79 
 
 a dab of flour on the bridge of her pretty nose, her waist 
 was open at the neck, and her rolled-up sleeves made man 
 ifest the dimples in her attractive elbows. She looked a 
 very delectable young person, as she stood there, her 
 smooth, cheeks pink with the heat of the kitchen. 
 
 Johnny sat down on the door-sill, braced his toes against 
 the jamb, and built himself the inevitable cigarette. He 
 stared lazily across his humped knees at the lady. He 
 did not find her in the least hard to look at. She was hand 
 somer than she used to be, he told himself. No two ways 
 about it, she certainly filled a fellow s eye. 
 
 "What s that?" asked she, raising dark eyes to his. 
 
 "I I didn t say nothin ," denied Johnny, going red to 
 the ears. "She she s a nice day." 
 
 "I beg your pardon. I thought you said something 
 about eyes." 
 
 "Who? Me? Nun-no, ma am." 
 
 "All right." Indifferently. 
 
 "Come to think of it, maybe now I did say somethin* 
 about eyes," he observed, imbued with sudden daring. 
 " I was just thinkin how yore eyes are a plumb dark brown, 
 almost black, an yore eyebrows the same, an yore hair 
 is a li l lighter, an yet they all kind o match." 
 
 She gazed at him with parted lips, the aforesaid almost 
 black eyebrows inquiringly arched. Then she smiled 
 adorably and spooned up some more filling. 
 
 "The wonders of nature," she twinkled at him. "Keep 
 your eyes open and you ll learn something new every day. 
 You never used to be so observant." 
 
 "My eyesight s gettin better," was his dry comment. 
 
 "I know," she said, leveling the spoon at him, "you ve 
 been reading novels. You re getting romantic. You stop 
 it, do you hear? Eyebrows and eyes and hair, indeed!" 
 
8o HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 She sniffed quite audibly. 
 
 " But they look so kind o kind o pretty," he protested. 
 "I was just tellin yuh. Why, ma am, even that smear o 
 flour on yore nose looks nice." 
 
 "Never mind about my nose," said she, rubbing the 
 feature in question vigorously with the corner of her apron. 
 "Of course I know I have a certain element of charm, as it 
 were. My perfectly good mirror tells me that. But it 
 isn t at all necessary for you to tell me about it. I don t 
 like it, and I won t have it." 
 
 "Won t yuh?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Darn the man! I declare, when it comes to fool ques 
 tions you re worse than a brat! What you need is a little 
 exercise, and what I need is some fresh water. The pail s 
 in that corner. Do you think you can find the well with 
 out being led to it by the hand?" 
 
 "I know I can t," he declared promptly. " Besides, yuh 
 need some fresh air. This kitchen s kind o hot. C mon 
 out." 
 
 "After. Get a move on with that water, and stop your 
 nonsense." 
 
 When Johnny had gone, Dorothy sat looking through 
 the open window at the green and distant Government 
 Hills. There was a tender little smile on her lips. At the 
 sound of his returning step she went on with her pie-making. 
 
 "Where s yore ma ? " he asked, suddenly bethinking him 
 self of Mrs. Burr as he set the full pail in the corner. 
 
 "She s over at Mis Acker s on Jack Creek." 
 
 "I thought you said yuh done sent Sammy Barnes for 
 her," said he, recollecting what Dorothy had told the mar 
 shal the previous afternoon. 
 
DOROTHY BURR 81 
 
 Dorothy giggled. 
 
 "I sort of told a fib," she confessed. "I didn t really 
 send for ma. You see, I knew Scotty and some of his 
 boys would be fencing in that quicksand at Wagon Slue 
 on the Dogsoldier yesterday, so I sent Sammy for Scotty 
 instead. But I thought Dan Smith and the rest of that 
 mob had better keep right on believing as long as possible 
 that they had nearly two hours in which to try you and 
 and instead of the thirty minutes or so necessary for the 
 ride to Wagon Slue and back." 
 
 "I know what yore an an" means," said he soberly. 
 "They was shore out to hang me. They d a done it, if 
 it hadn t been for you." 
 
 "Nonsense!" she exclaimed, sliding the pies into the 
 oven and kicking the door shut. "Jim Mace and Soapy 
 were there. I didn t really do anything." 
 
 "I m thinkin different," he told her earnestly, took a 
 step toward her, and paused, overcome by sudden shyness. 
 "Cue call me Johnny, will yuh?" 
 
 Dorothy deliberately turned her back on him and crossed 
 the room to the tiny mirror hanging beside the china-closet. 
 Here she busied herself in pulling and patting her coiffure 
 into shape. Head cocked on one side, she surveyed the 
 effect. 
 
 Johnny scraped an uncomfortable foot. He thought he 
 had made her angry, and mentally called himself a fool. 
 Yet at the time, his request seemed a natural one to make. 
 
 Dorothy turned, still without looking at him, walked to 
 the table, reached for a can of peas and the can-opener, 
 and proceeded to travel round the top of the can. When 
 the peas had been neatly slid into a saucepan and the can 
 thrown out the lady fixed Johnny with a cool and tantaliz 
 ing eye. The young man was now wishing himself else- 
 
82 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 where. But to retire gracefully was beyond his powers. 
 He was perspiring a little. Dorothy smiled the peculiar 
 smile of the entomologist about to impale a rare insect on a 
 large pin. 
 
 "How long have you known me?" she inquired coldly. 
 
 "Three three years," stuttered Johnny. 
 
 "I think not," she contradicted. "You haven t seen me 
 for at least two years." 
 
 " But the year before I seen quite a lot of yuh," defended 
 Johnny. 
 
 "Three times," enumerated she with increasing chilli 
 ness of demeanour. 
 
 "It was more n that," he insisted. 
 
 "It was not. Three times exactly no more, no less. 
 And I don t believe you said a dozen words to me during 
 any of the three times." 
 
 "Oh, ma am, yo re mistaken!" Johnny s tone was 
 piteously horror-stricken. 
 
 Her lips twitched. 
 
 "I am not mistaken," she insisted. "I am never mis 
 taken in anything I may do. Under the circumstances, 
 having known me such a short time and all that, you know, 
 don t you really think it s the least bit nervy to ask per 
 mission to call me by my first name?" 
 
 "It would be worse if I called yuh that without askin* 
 yuh," said he matte r-of-factly. 
 
 "Answer my question?" The dark eyes held him. 
 
 " Y-yes, ma am, o course it would," he affirmed hastily. 
 " I m sorry. I didn t mean I guess I ll go now." 
 
 "Why not wait a moment? I haven t quite finished." 
 
 "You ve made it more n plain, ma am." 
 
 Nevertheless Johnny halted on his way to the door. 
 
 "Have I, Mister Blind Man? I was just about to say 
 
DOROTHY BURR 83 
 
 that I think it would be very nice indeed to call you 
 Johnny . I ve been wondering how soon you d ask me." 
 
 "You have! Then what did yuh make all that row 
 for?" 
 
 "Just to tease you. You re so easily teased even for 
 a boy." 
 
 "Boy! "he frowned. 
 
 "Oh, very well, Mister Methuselah. How s that?" 
 
 "Well, I ain t no gran pa, but I ain t a kid neither. I ve 
 been roamin up an down this vale o tears a long, long 
 time." 
 
 "My, what a lot you must know!" She stared at him, 
 round-eyed. 
 
 "Aw, leave me alone," he begged. "I can t talk like 
 you can, an yuh know it. Remember, I m just a young 
 fellah tryin hard to get along. I may make mistakes now 
 an later, but outside o that, my heart beats reg lar all 
 same alarm-clock." 
 
 "I know," she said seriously, "in some ways you re 
 almost human. You may call me Dorothy, if you like." 
 
 "Thanks," he observed drily. "I do like Dorothy. 
 Has kind of a smooth sound, ain t it? Yessir, I shore 
 always did like that name Dorothy. Spect I ll be usin 
 it quite a lot from now on." 
 
 "Take care you don t strain your throat," she answered 
 solemnly, then promptly dazzled him with a radiant smile. 
 "Reach me down a can of tomatoes from the top shelf, 
 will you Johnny?" 
 
 "All right, Dorothy." 
 
 There was more than joy in his grin as he brought her 
 the tomatoes. 
 
 "A whole can o tomatters!" the disapproving voice of 
 Scotty Mackenzie exclaimed from the doorway. "An a 
 
84 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 whole can o peas! An a skillet full o hashed Hogans 
 an ham! I ain t namin no names, but they s such a 
 thing as havin a healthy appetite an they s such a thing 
 as bein a hawg. Not meanin nothin or nobody in par- 
 tic lar, o course." 
 
 "Of course not, old-timer, we understand perfectly," 
 Dorothy assured him. "You re merely shedding sunshine 
 in your own sweet way. Johnny, while you re setting a 
 place for yourself at the table set another for the old gentle 
 man with the whiskers." 
 
 "I didn t know I was a-goin to stay?" Johnny strove 
 to inject the correct degree of surprise into his tone. 
 
 "Yuh didn t, huh?" cackled Scotty. "That s a good 
 one, that is. Just as if yuh haven t been sittin round all 
 mornin with yore tongue hangin out an yore mouth open 
 a-honin for an invite. Can t fool me. I know." 
 
 "Is that so?" snarled Johnny. "An if I was she s none 
 o yore business." 
 
 "You bet she s my business. First thing I know one 
 o you young fellers 11 be stealin my gal away, an I ain t 
 a-goin to let nothin like that happen, not while I have my 
 health, yuh bet yuh. What a fine an dandy colour yuh 
 got this mornin , Dor thy. I just noticed it." 
 
 The terrible old man smirked shamelessly at the two 
 of them, straddled a chair and sailed his hat into a far 
 corner. 
 
 "Yeah, yo re shore as nice-lookin as a li l red wagon 
 with that colour an all," he remarked after a space devoted 
 to the rolling of a cigarette. 
 
 "You leave my colour alone," Dorothy told him, forking 
 over the sizzling ham, "or I won t feed you." 
 
 "Can t scare me that way," declared Scotty tranquilly. 
 "Yuh know I never eat nothin here. I don t dast. If I 
 
DOROTHY BURR 85 
 
 did, I wouldn t have no appetite for ranch chuck, an that s 
 whatever." 
 
 "I merely wished to be polite," sniffed disdainful Dor 
 othy. 
 
 "That s all right. I don t mind. Be as polite as yuh 
 like. Johnny, while Dor thy is wrastlin that ham round 
 the pan s pose you n me traipse over to the corral. I 
 wanna show yuh somethin on my saddle." 
 
 At that particular moment, a saddle was not Johnny s 
 idea of something to look at. He greatly preferred re 
 maining with Dorothy. He accompanied Scotty in si 
 lence. 
 
 "Yo re a fine detective," remarked Scotty, as they ap 
 proached the Burr corral. 
 
 "Who said I was?" yapped Johnny. 
 
 "Not me," Scotty told him. "I always tell the truth. 
 There, there, crack yore face an smile. Yuh look so 
 gloomersome yuh hurt my feelin s." 
 
 "Damn yore feelin s. What yuh wanna come mussin 
 round here for makin fool remarks? She don t like em." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "No, I don t." 
 
 "All right, all right, I was just wonderin . It shore 
 beats all how a well-meanin gent gets tromped on now 
 adays. It wasn t like that when I was a kid back East in 
 Macpherson. No sirree, a pore ol feller like me was re 
 spected in them days." 
 
 Scotty gurgled out a sob and affected to wipe away a 
 tear. 
 
 "Yuh got somethin to say," accused Johnny. "Y* al 
 ways have when y act more like a fool than usual. Spit 
 her out." 
 
 "Spit her out!" groaned Scotty. "Such language! 
 
86 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 An* my Johnny raised a Christian! Djuh know where 
 you ll go when yuh die, huh? You ll go to hell, that s 
 where yuh ll go. Yessir, yuh ll fry. An it ll be yore own 
 fault. Gawd knows I ve warned yuh till my neck s as 
 dry as a covered bridge." 
 
 "Stop it!" commanded Johnny. "What yuh goin to 
 say?" 
 
 "Yuh don t deserve to hear me say it. But me, I m a 
 forgivin sport. Yessir, yuh won t find a more forgivin , 
 Gawd-fearin individual in ten days ride. Look, darlin , 
 look at this." 
 
 Scotty Mackenzie fished something from the staple 
 pocket on his cantle and held it toward Johnny. The latter 
 took it wonderingly. "It" had once been a cheap silver 
 watch. Now it was smashed beyond all hope of repair. 
 It lay in Johnny s palm, a battered glassless case, sprouting 
 a tangle of springs and cogwheels. 
 
 "Pretty li l thing," commented Scotty. 
 
 "What s it for?" asked the puzzled Johnny. 
 
 "It ain t to keep time, but I thought maybe it might 
 come in handy for yuh. I found it this mornin right at 
 the edge o that quicksand I m fencin in at Wagon Slue." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Turn her over." 
 
 Johnny obeyed. On the back of the case had been 
 rudely scratched the initials "W. H." 
 
 "Bill Roman s initials," Scotty said quietly. "She s 
 Bill s watch. I seen him look at her more n once." 
 
 "An yuh found it right at the edge o the quicksand?" 
 
 "Shore, this mornin ." 
 
 "Did any o yore outfit see it?" 
 
 "Nary a one. I was there three minutes ahead of em. 
 An here this thing lay. An they wasn t a hoofmark or 
 
DOROTHY BURR 87 
 
 heelmark within forty feet. I m tellin yuh, Johnny, that 
 this timepiece was throwed from across the river some time 
 durin* the night. I know she was throwed cause she d 
 dug into the ground where she landed an they was the 
 mark o how she d rolled a li l bit after landin . An I 
 know she was throwed durin the night cause if she d been 
 daylight the gent who slung her would -never have over- 
 th rowed an missed the quicksand shore. Course he 
 was tryin to sink the watch in the quicksand. What 
 else?" 
 
 "I guess yo re right," concurred Johnny. "This watch 
 shore goes to show the road agents live in town or near it." 
 
 "Shore does," said Scotty Mackenzie. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 THE OTHER WOMAN 
 
 JOHNNY spent the afternoon with the hospitable 
 Dorothy. The lady, as she tidily darned her father s 
 socks, did not find Johnny an inspiring companion. 
 
 She was neither accustomed to silence nor monosylla 
 bic replies. She did not realize that her visitor was deep 
 in a mathematical problem and making an exceedingly 
 boggy ford of it. One and one will simply not make four 
 no matter how many times you add or multiply them 
 together. But Johnny was a persistent soul. He kept 
 right on juggling Bill Homan s watch and his own suspi 
 cions till supper-time arrived and brought not the remotest 
 hint of a satisfactory answer. Whereupon Johnny put on 
 his hat, and departed hotelward to see a man. 
 
 "Yeah, he s a great friend o mine," he told )orothy. 
 "I d like to stay to supper, honest I would, but I got my 
 own sinful pride, an moochin one meal a day off a lady 
 is my limit. G by." 
 
 Dorothy was left sputtering indignantly. 
 
 After supper, and a most indifferent meal it was in 
 comparison with his dinner, he went over to Ragsdale s 
 store and spent a tobacco-laden hour gossiping with Soapy. 
 Jim Mace came in and the hour lengthened to two, and 
 darkness fell, and it was night. 
 
 About ten o clock Johnny stood up on his feet and yawned 
 and stretched his long arms and legs till they cracked. 
 
THE OTHER WOMAN 89 
 
 "I guess I ll kind o take a look round town," he ob 
 served. 
 
 "Yeah," said Jim Mace, his eye lighting. "Is that a 
 saloon across the street, or do my eyes deceive me?" 
 
 "You, Buster!" bawled Ragsdale, "c min here an take 
 the store. I gotta go out on a li l business." 
 
 Johnny s chief wish at that moment was to be about his 
 own business. But his two friends did not seek to further 
 that wish. Their earnest desire was to make it a large 
 evening. To which end they hung Johnny and themselves 
 over the bar of the Three Card and invited all and sundry 
 to join them. 
 
 Johnny took a small part of one drink, after which, by 
 the exercise of some strategy and all his natural agility, he 
 contrived to escape through a rear window. 
 
 Standing well back and to one side of the splayed light 
 from the window, Johnny heard Soapy and Jim call on 
 him by name, and finally leave hurriedly by the front door. 
 
 "Let em hunt," he grinned. "Me, I got business." 
 
 He turned and looked along the irregular line of rear 
 elevations. There was the Golden Rule those three 
 small glowing windows. Beyond it the houses were dark 
 private residences. Beyond these again was a dim light 
 the stage station. The dark bulk adjoining the stage 
 station was, he knew, the rear of the Broken Dollar saloon 
 and gambling-joint. There were six windows and a door 
 way in the rear wall of the Broken Dollar s back room, but 
 all were dark. 
 
 "Slay s shore economical o light in that back room," 
 was Johnny s idle comment, as he started toward the stage- 
 company s corrals. 
 
 Johnny s objective was the Broken Dollar, which palace 
 of chance he intended to surreptitiously approach from 
 
90 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 the other end of Main Street in order that his friends might 
 not see him enter. For, should they see him, they would 
 undoubtedly join him for his better protection. And 
 Johnny wished to study his enemy unhampered by any 
 one. That Slay was his most vindictive enemy was cer 
 tain. 
 
 Why? Johnny could not understand why, and he in 
 tended to know why. That there was a certain element of 
 risk attached to such close-range observation was true. 
 But Johnny held to the cheerful opinion that hostilities 
 would be riskier for Slay than for himself. As has been 
 stated, Johnny was no marvel on the draw, but he pos 
 sessed the ability to shoot accurately from the hip and 
 through the bottom of his holster. 
 
 Johnny, skirting the rear of the stage company s two 
 corrals, turned the corner of the second enclosure and fell 
 over the projecting tongue of a tiltless freight wagon. 
 He arose, swearing softly and rubbing barked shins. His 
 hat had fallen off. He felt about for it in the darkness, 
 and swore some more. He found it, and straightened just 
 as the six windows in the bark room of the Broken Dollar 
 sprang into dusty radiance and a line of light showed 
 yellowy at the bottom of the door. 
 
 "That door always did hang slanchways," observed 
 Johnny, and thoughtfully edged behind the freight- wagon. 
 
 The door opened. For an instant the form of a woman 
 was silhouetted against the light within, then the door 
 closed behind her. 
 
 From the freight wagon to the Broken Dollar was not 
 more than seventy yards. Johnny heard the tink of a 
 kicked tin can. A high heel clicked on a flat stone. A 
 triangular splotch of white, gliding toward the freight 
 wagon, gradually took shape in the darkness. The white 
 
THE OTHER WOMAN 91 
 
 splotch reached the hind wheels, and Johnny heard the 
 pleasant whisper of silk. Noiselessly, Johnny scuttled 
 to the safer shelter of the corral stockade. Body flattened 
 against the posts, he waited. 
 
 The white splotch appeared at the fore wheels of the 
 freight-wagon, and bobbed upward as the woman swung 
 herself into the driver s seat. 
 
 Followed then the scratch of a drawn match. Johnny 
 stared. The woman was lighting a cigarette. The puls 
 ing flame revealed the face of Slay s sister, Mrs. Lotta 
 Wallace. 
 
 At this close range her extreme beauty was more than 
 ever apparent. The black hair growing low in a widow s 
 peak on the forehead, the finely arched eyebrows, the 
 long and curving eyelashes, the straight nose, the wide, 
 full-lipped mouth, and the firm and pointed chin above 
 the round, smooth throat and lovely shoulders, were in 
 dividually sufficiently striking. In combination with 
 each other the effect was bewildering. Yet Johnny was 
 left cold. He remembered Scotty s leopard and became 
 colder. 
 
 The situation was becoming impossible. The spark 
 that was Mrs. Wallace s cigarette was not twenty feet 
 distant. At any moment the lady might climb down, 
 walk along the stockade and discover him. Naturally, 
 she would think he was spying on her, and to be suspected 
 of that by such an unknown quantity as Slay s sister was 
 unthinkable. Why hadn t he kept on going along the 
 stockade when he had the opportunity? Scotty was 
 right. He was a fine detective, making mistakes this way. 
 Johnny sweated clammily and breathed as little as possi 
 ble. 
 
 Suddenly he saw Mrs. Wallace s cigarette describe a 
 
92 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 firefly arc in the air and strike the ground in a sputter of 
 sparks. There was no sound of a movement on the driver s 
 seat. Wasn t the woman ever coming down? 
 
 A long minute s silence, then a whisper: 
 
 "My God, what a life!" 
 
 The exclamatory sentence was followed by a pro 
 nounced sniffle, then more sniffles, and finally choky little 
 sobs. It was evident that Mrs. Wallace was striving to 
 fight down her emotion. But her grief was too great to be 
 stifled easily. 
 
 "I wish I were dead!" she moaned, and began to cry 
 quietly and steadily. 
 
 Johnny, hating himself acutely, began to itch between 
 the shoulders. The itch wore itself out after centuries of 
 torture and a cramp fastened sullenly on the muscles of his 
 left foot. Something alive and many-legged fell off the 
 stockade and landed on his shoulder. The something 
 crawled along his shoulder to his neck and tickled his ear. 
 
 With infinite caution he raised a nervous hand, removed 
 a night-riding spider and endeavoured to drop the loath 
 some thing at a distance. With the perversity of vermin 
 it clung whole-heartedly to his finger, and he was forced to 
 slat it ofF against a post of the stockade, detaching in the 
 process a loose piece of dry bark. The bark fell with a 
 rustle. Johnny caught his breath, and tensed his muscles 
 for a flying start. But the sound of weeping abated not. 
 
 Johnny took heart of hope and a long breath. The 
 taking of the latter was injudicious. For many months 
 dust of the corral, stirred into action by the hoofs of the 
 stage-horses, had been sifting and settling behind that 
 loose piece of bark. The fall thereof released an atomic 
 cloud that, at the intake of the long breath, promptly 
 smote the sensitive membrane of Johnny s nostrils. 
 
THE OTHER WOMAN 93 
 
 Johnny gritted his teeth, violently rubbed his nose and 
 otherwise by main strength and a robust will contrived 
 to suffocate the sneeze before it was born. He almost 
 strangled in the effort, and was left with tear-wet eyes and 
 throbbing temples. But he had made not the slightest 
 sound. And Mrs. Wallace wept on forlornly. 
 
 Johnny s gambling spirit urged him to take a chance 
 on departure. Between spiders and itchings and incipient 
 sneezes the locality was fast losing its charm. But knowl 
 edge of the many tin cans held him back. There was an 
 ancient cast-off stove somewhere about, too. If he should 
 fall over that! 
 
 Centuries became eons, and eons became eternity before 
 there was an appreciable lessening of that distressful sob 
 bing on the wagon-seat. Johnny s first-formed estimation 
 of Mrs. Wallace had been gradually altering. By the 
 time her sobs gave way to long-drawn gasping breaths his 
 opinion utterly opposed that of Scotty. He could not 
 understand how she could remind Scotty of a leopard. 
 Why, she was just a little wretched girl crying her heart 
 out, and that was all. Johnny felt quite sorry for her. 
 Which, could he have but known it, is a most dangerous 
 feeling when the lady concerned is as beautiful as was 
 Mrs. Wallace. 
 
 There was a deep sigh from the aforesaid lady, and then 
 a rustling and a scraping as she swung down over the 
 double-tree to the ground. White shawl trailing across 
 one shoulder she headed back toward the Broken Dollar. 
 Johnny stretched legs and arms in aching relief and dodged 
 round the pole of the freight-wagon to where he could 
 follow her with his eyes. 
 
 He saw her figure become one with the darkness and 
 then reappear with magic-lantern abruptness under one of 
 
94 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 the lighted windows of the Broken Dollar. Here she 
 halted, produced from her bosom a small glittering object, 
 held it before her face, and dabbed at her features with an 
 article the size and shape of a small apple. 
 
 "Powderin her face, poor li l thing," commented 
 Johnny. "I ll bet her eyes are some swole." 
 
 The back door of the saloon opened. Slay stood in the 
 doorway. 
 
 "Lotta! Lotta!" he called. 
 
 " Here I am," she replied, almost at his elbow. "There s 
 no need to yell your head off." 
 
 "Didn t see you," he said crossly. "Come in here, 
 quick. What s the matter with you ? Why did you leave 
 the wheel?" 
 
 "Because I felt like it!" she flung back, smoothing a per 
 fect eyebrow with the ball of her thumb. 
 
 "Oh, I see. Suppose you come in then if you feel 
 like it." 
 
 "When I feel like it, I will." 
 
 She powdered her nose again with maddening delibera 
 tion. 
 
 "Come in here at once!" The command lost most of 
 its force because Slay pettishly stamped his foot. 
 
 "Of course, you frighten me to death when you do that," 
 she observed sweetly. "Why don t you drag me in by the 
 hair?" 
 
 "Are you coming in?" 
 
 "I meant to, but since you ve been so pleasant, I think 
 I ll go home." 
 
 Slay stepped back and slammed shut the door. Mrs. 
 Wallace returned mirror and powder-pufF to their hiding- 
 place, blew a kiss at the closed door, and walked slowly 
 round the corner of the building. 
 
THE OTHER WOMAN 95 
 
 "Shore got a mind of her own, that one/ remarked 
 Johnny. " Maybe she ain t such a poor li l thing after all." 
 
 Pondering the unexpectedness of woman, Johnny 
 cautiously diagonalled across the open ground to where, 
 beyond the outermost shack, Main Street became a trail. 
 Here he turned townward and, walking leisurely, came to 
 the Broken Dollar, pushed open the door, and entered. 
 
 The long wide barroom was filled with tobacco-smoke and 
 customers. The tobacco-smoke hung in layers in the at 
 mosphere. The customers hung in suspense upon the 
 turn of the cards and the caprice of a tiny ball dancing 
 within a sunken wheel of many pockets. 
 
 Johnny did not pause at the door. He walked without 
 haste between the tables to the bar at the other end of the 
 room. There were only three men standing at the bar. 
 One was the hard-faced Tom Keen, he of the two guns, 
 Ganey of the dyed mustache, and a sharp-featured citizen 
 known as Spill Harper. These three turned and surveyed 
 him as he approached. Johnny gave them stare for stare, 
 fronted up to the bar, rang down a quarter and called for 
 whiskey. The bartender shoved forward a bottle and a 
 glass. Johnny poured out a scant two fingers, cupped his 
 left hand round the glass, and leaned sidewise against the 
 bar. 
 
 His attitude was lazy and his demeanour careless, but 
 his half-shut sardonic eyes missed no detail of what was 
 passing under the hanging lamps in that big room. He 
 perceived that fully half the men in the place were neg 
 lecting their play to watch him. Some of them nudged 
 each other and whispered among themselves, but when his 
 eyes fell upon these they ceased nudging and whispering 
 and affected an air of extreme unconcern. 
 
 As Johnny s gaze fell upon the roulette table he smiled 
 
96 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 slightly. He understood Slay s anger at Mrs. Wallace s 
 defection. Harry Slay was behind the table now, and the 
 patronage was slim. With his sister to spin the wheel 
 roulette would have been the most popular game in the 
 room. 
 
 The gambler s face as he dropped the ball and worked 
 the lever was wooden. He paid and took in bets without 
 once lifting his eyes above the level of the table. Abruptly 
 he turned to a friend. 
 
 "Spin her, will you, Bill?" he asked. "I have a little 
 matter of business to arrange." 
 
 "Shore," replied friend Bill, and Slay stepped out from 
 behind the table and walked straight toward Johnny Ram 
 say standing at the door. 
 
 Johnny had not been expecting any such sudden move 
 as this, but he was in readiness. The heel of his right 
 hand just touched the butt of his gun. Slay s hands were 
 swinging at his sides, but this meant nothing. Johnny 
 had seen Slay throw down once before. 
 
 As Slay approached Johnny the room, following the 
 hasty shuffling of folk intent on leaving the zone of fire, 
 became as still as midnight in a church. Johnny wondered 
 where Slay s bullet would make its little hole. He himself 
 intended to put as many pieces of lead as he could into 
 Slay s abdomen. Johnny had killed three men since his 
 entry into the cattle business. But he had killed them in 
 an impersonal way, that is, at long range, with a rifle. 
 He had borne no special animosity against these men. 
 He had shot them simply as a matter of course. They had 
 been rustlers, outlaws of the range, wolves to be destroyed 
 on sight. And he had not seen them die; 
 
 But here was a man he must shoot at close range with a 
 six-shooter. How would it feel to perforate an enemy and 
 
THE OTHER WOMAN 97 
 
 watch him pass out under one s very eyes? It suddenly 
 struck him that he himself would in all likelihood be too 
 dead to observe with any thoroughness the demise of an 
 other. The idea tickled his sense of humour, and he 
 chuckled audibly. 
 
 Not ten feet away Slay halted, his hands held well away 
 from his sides. 
 
 "Looking for me?" Slay asked, his pale slanting eyes 
 meeting Johnny s fixed gray stare. 
 
 "I never hunt trouble," replied Johnny. 
 
 "Any hard feelings?" 
 
 "Never use em." 
 
 "Have a drink?" 
 
 "Shore." 
 
 The bartender made ludicrous haste to serve the boss 
 and Johnny. Eye to eye the two men drank off their 
 liquor. Johnny, as etiquette required, called for another 
 round. They drank again. Then Slay nodded to Johnny, 
 mentioned that he would see him later, and went back to 
 his roulette table. The incident was closed, and the spec 
 tators resumed their pursuit of pleasure with noisy avidity. 
 
 Johnny, standing alone at the bar Tom Keen, Ganey, 
 and Spill Harper had gone elsewhere sought to probe the 
 true inwardness of the gambler s motive in seeking peace. 
 
 "Trying to make me believe he s willin to be friendly," 
 he reflected. "But he shore is a bigger man than I took 
 him to be, comin right out an facin it thisaway. Nerve 
 an slickness he s got em both. An yet not ten minutes 
 ago he stamped his foot at his sister, which is shore one 
 kid s trick." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 THE LIGHT THAT LIES 
 
 THE following afternoon Johnny, ensconced on the 
 Burr doorsill, saw Slay and his sister coming up the 
 street. Slay, frock-coated in spite of the heat, was 
 leading a saddled horse, and Mrs. Wallace, radiant in 
 gray and old rose, held a parasol between her complexion 
 and the sun. She was talking animatedly to her brother. 
 
 "Here come some friends o yores," Johnny announced, 
 tapping the back of the chair on which Dorothy sat darning 
 religiously. 
 
 "Who s with Harry?" she asked calmly. 
 
 "Yuh knowed he was comin !" he accused. 
 
 "Why, of course," she told him with a quick sidewise 
 glance. "We re going riding to-day." 
 
 "So that s why yuh ve got yore boots on." Johnny 
 was not in the least pleased, and his tone showed it. 
 
 "My dear man, what would you have me wear?" 
 
 "I don t mean yore boots. I mean yuh might a told 
 me." 
 
 "What? "she teased. 
 
 Johnny glared his displeasure at her levity. Dorothy 
 smiled. 
 
 "What does it matter about me?" inquired Johnny bit 
 terly. "I was only spendin the afternoon. I d like to 
 know why yuh couldn t a gone ridin with me, Dorothy?" 
 
 " You never asked me, sir, she said. There, there, 
 
 98 
 
THE LIGHT THAT LIES 99 
 
 Johnny, you ll ruin your perfectly good features if you per 
 sist in frowning that way. Who s with Harry?" 
 
 "His sister." Glumly. 
 
 "She is!" Dorothy s dark eyes sparkled. 
 
 She bit off a thread with a vicious click of white teeth. 
 The colour in her cheeks deepened. Johnny was totally 
 oblivious to these manifestations of feminine interest. He 
 was too busy feeling abused. 
 
 The Slay tribe arrived. The gambler and Johnny 
 were gravely restrained in their greeting. Not so the 
 ladies. They kissed each other with great fervour and 
 "My dear" before and after, and bestowed compliments 
 with a buttery lavishness. 
 
 The gambler introduced Johnny to Mrs. Wallace, and 
 asked Dorothy if she was ready. 
 
 "Right away," she told him, reaching inside the door 
 way for her quirt, "Be with you in three shakes. You 
 go on and saddle up." 
 
 Slay lifted his hat to his sister and Johnny and departed 
 for the corral. Dorothy followed a moment later, after 
 strictly enjoining Mrs. Wallace and Johnny to make them 
 selves at home till she returned. Johnny trailed Dorothy 
 with sulky eyes. He hated Slay. What right had the 
 man to take Dorothy riding? 
 
 "Won t you?" Mrs. Wallace was saying. 
 
 "Won t I what?" He stared at her without friendliness. 
 
 "Won t you talk to me? I ve already asked you three 
 times." 
 
 She had closed her parasol and now stood with her hands 
 clasped over the round handle. There was a talented 
 patch of court-plaster on her left cheek-bone. Her lips 
 were slightly parted and her eyes were warmly pleading. 
 She was very lovely, and she wanted him to talk to her. 
 
ioo HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 What small hands she had. The prospect of a long after 
 noon, full of empty hours and shimmering heat, decided 
 Johnny. 
 
 " Ma am, I d shore admire to talk to yuh," he declared 
 solemnly. 
 
 "It s dear of you to say that," she said. "I know you 
 don t mean it, but I really would like to make up to you for 
 Dorothy s absence if if I could and you d let me." 
 
 This was spreading the jam rather thickly, but man is 
 an obtuse animal. Johnny grinned. 
 
 " I guess now you an I d oughta get along together real 
 well," was his hearty endorsement. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace smiled, and a fugitive dimple showed for 
 an instant in her right cheek. 
 
 "Suppose we go over to my house," she suggested. 
 "It s near the river, and there s almost always some 
 breeze." 
 
 "That shore listens well," said Johnny. "Let s go." 
 
 They went. Half Main Street saw them go, and the 
 whole town knew it ten minutes later. 
 
 "Just watch her grin at him!" urged Mrs. Mace, 
 flattening a snubby nose against a window-pane in her 
 kitchen. 
 
 "That s the first time I ever seen her out walkin with 
 a man," declared Mrs. Ragsdale. "Move over, dear. 
 I can t see a thing. She s wearin the gray again, ain t she ? 
 Makes her look hump-shouldered, don t it?" 
 
 "Shore does, an that rose colour ain t fit for a sallow 
 thing like her to wear. She hasn t colour enough. Look! 
 Look! See her walk close to him. The brazen creature!" 
 
 "I always knew she was a hussy for all her quiet ways. 
 The cat!" 
 
 "Oh, she s a sly minx. They re the ones, Ella. The 
 
THE LIGHT THAT LIES 101 
 
 putty-faced things who act as if butter wouldn t melt in 
 their mouths, they re the ones to look out for." 
 
 "She s skinny as a rail," contributed Mrs. Ragsdale, 
 holding resolutely to the main road. "I ll bet her legs 
 ain t thicker n matches." 
 
 "Whose legs ain t thicker n matches?" asked Jim Mace, 
 entering at the moment. 
 
 "None of your business," his wife told him. "Didja 
 see that widow woman an Johnny Ramsay?" 
 
 "Yuh bet yuh. Johnny always was a lucky jigger." 
 
 "Oh, is that so? Well, if you think so, Jim Mace, I ll 
 just thank you to keep such opinions to yoreself, an don t 
 you forget it neither! C mon, Ella, let s go in the side 
 room. I believe she s takin him home, an if they sit 
 on the porch we can watch em fine." 
 
 But Mrs. Wallace and Johnny did not sit on the porch. 
 The fascinating widow knew all about a small town, and 
 she took her guest into the house. The puncher s eyes 
 widened at sight of the sitting-room and its appointments. 
 There were several water-colours and three small paintings 
 on the walls. Above the door the mounted head of a 
 buffalo bull faced a splendid Sioux warbonnet hanging on 
 the opposite wall. Chairs, broad and deep, a wide table, 
 a long sofa covered with fat pillows, a book-case full of 
 books, and a thick, soft carpet, completed the picture. 
 Even the sitting-room at the Bar S was not so fine as this 
 one. Johnny moved cautiously. Spurs are scratchy 
 things. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace excused herself and vanished through a 
 doorway hung with a pair of striped Zuni blankets. Johnny 
 slid across the carpet to the nearest chair. He sat, having 
 care to his spurs, and absentmindedly pulled out the mak 
 ings. He remembered his manners as he was on the point 
 
102 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 of striking a match and disgustedly shot the white roll 
 out of the window. He began to wish he hadn t come. 
 It was no fun sitting alone this way. Where was Mrs. 
 Wallace anyway? 
 
 At that moment she pushed aside the Zuni blankets and 
 came toward him, smiling delightfully. She was carrying 
 a small tray. There were two tall glasses and a square 
 bottle on that tray. Times immediately began to im 
 prove. Johnny s somber eye brightened. 
 
 " You may not like this," she said, holding out the tray. 
 "It s something I invented myself. I call it Texas Pete." 
 
 Texas Pete was of a light brown colour and both glasses 
 were full of him. Johnny s fingers wrapped themselves 
 round one of the glasses. Mrs. Wallace took the other, 
 set the tray on the table, and sat down on the sofa. She 
 tucked one leg under her, and swung theother child-fashion. 
 Raising the glass to her lips, she looked at Johnny across 
 the rim and sipped slowly. 
 
 Johnny did not sip slowly. He was not accustomed to 
 drinking that way. He lowered the half-emptied glass 
 to the arm of the chair and grinned cheerfully. 
 
 "Reg lar shore- nough drink," he assured her. "What s 
 ink?" 
 
 She told him. He stared aghast at the tale of ingredi 
 ents, and looked down at his glass with sudden respect. 
 
 "One more o this here Texas gent an I d shore push 
 the bridge over," said he. "No, ma am, no more. I ll 
 just finish this an call it a day." 
 
 " You re not going yet ! " she exclaimed piteously. "Oh, 
 you mustn t! I ll be so lonely if you do." 
 
 Once more the jam and the trowel. Such flattery would 
 have held Johnny even if he had intended going, which he 
 hadn t. 
 
THE LIGHT THAT LIES 103 
 
 "I wasn t thinkin o goin ," he told her with an ease 
 born of Texas Pete and the lady s blandishments. "Can 
 I smoke?" 
 
 "Surely. Try one of mine." 
 
 He did, and she taught him how two cigarettes may be 
 simultaneously lit by the one match. Besides being econ 
 omical this method of starting a smoke has a charm all its 
 own. Of course it necessitated Johnny s moving to the 
 sofa. He did not return to the chair. With every passing 
 minute he was feeling more at home. He almost forgot 
 that the lady s brother was his enemy. He watched her 
 leaning back among the puffy cushions. Her eyes were 
 deep as wells. Then it suddenly struck him that for the 
 last hour he had been doing most of the talking. She had 
 asked questions, apparently casual questions, but they 
 required lengthy answers. 
 
 "Well," he said, with a slight laugh, "I m shore warmed 
 up to-day. Bet I ve talked an arm offyuh." 
 
 "Don t stop," she begged, in her earnestness leaning 
 forward and clasping her hands round her silken knee. 
 "I m enjoying it so. I just love to hear how men do 
 things." 
 
 "Doyuh?" 
 
 "Of course. Tell me some more about those Indians. 
 Did they keep right on stealing horses?" 
 
 "Nobody keeps right on stealin bosses, ma am. He 
 steals one hoss too many an gets stretched. An* them In 
 juns did an they was." 
 
 " I suppose it always turns out that way," said she softly. 
 
 "Yes m, an* it s always that one hoss too many does 
 it," he moralized. "If a gent would only be satisfied. 
 But No, he says, when it comes to stealin bosses I m the 
 original Solomon forty ways from the Jack, an* out he 
 
io 4 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 prances, foolish an certain, an gloms onto that extra 
 cayuse. It s the same in everythin else thataway, ma am 
 killin , hold-ups, an all. They ain t no difference." 
 
 "And yet nothing seems to stop the road agents in this 
 county." She was looking up into his face with brilliant 
 eyes. 
 
 "No," he admitted, "they seem to be playin in right 
 good luck. But you wait. Maybe yuh ll have to wait 
 a year or two, maybe longer, but you wait. They ll be 
 got, ma am." 
 
 "I m sure I hope so," she declared, leaning back and 
 patting her hair with long, slim fingers. "I had some silk 
 for a gown coming all the way from Chicago, and the 
 stage was stopped that trip, and it was raining, and they 
 ripped open the package and left it there in the mud. 
 I could have wept when the agent told me. My pretty 
 yellow silk ruined! I hope they do catch them." 
 
 "That s shore too bad about yore dress," he sym 
 pathized. "Likely them bandits didn t know what it was, 
 or they wouldn t a touched it." 
 
 He was watching a tiny pulse on the side of her round 
 throat. He hadn t noticed it before. The little telltale 
 was throbbing steadily and fast. Yet the colour in her 
 cheeks had not altered a shade. It was her own colour, 
 too. He had made sure of that at the cigarette-lighting. 
 
 "I wish you were the sheriff or a deputy or something," 
 said she. 
 
 "Me? Why?" 
 
 "Because I believe you could catch them. I believe 
 you could do more than this idiotic sheriff." 
 
 "He s doin his best, ma am. Ain t yuh takin the loss 
 o that dress mighty hard?" 
 
 "Oh, it isn t the dress. It s the idea of these bandits 
 
THE LIGHT THAT LIES 105 
 
 being able to do what they please. They make a perfect 
 joke of the sheriff and his men. Oh, if I were a man, I d 
 get out and do something! I d give these road agents a 
 run for their money. You said yourself there s always one 
 horse too many. I d make the Fane job that one horse. 
 There are two thousand dollars apiece offered for those 
 bandits. Did you know that?" 
 
 "I d heard." He nodded a grave head. 
 
 "It would certainly be worth almost any man s while. 
 I should think you d try it out." The brilliant eyes had 
 narrowed ever so slightly, and the little pulse was beating 
 quite rapidly now. 
 
 "I ain t a fool," he said seriously. "I never hunt 
 trouble, not never. An two thousand dollars ain t enough 
 for me to bet my life against nohow. S pose, now, I lose 
 the life. What good s two thousand wheels to me? No 
 sirree, you hear me talkin , if anybody wants to hunt road 
 agents, let em. I wouldn t think o spoilin their fun. 
 I got me a good job at the Flyin M, an I aim to keep it, 
 yuh bet yuh." 
 
 "What are you doing in town then?" 
 
 "Oh, I ain t exactly started in yet," the answer came pat. 
 "Yuh see, I figure to spend all my money first. Maybe 
 by the first o next week I ll go to huntin Scotty s strays." 
 
 "Scotty Mackenzie must be an easy-going employer 
 to let you begin work with a vacation." 
 
 "Men are scarce." This was true "I told him I 
 wouldn t ride for him unless I could have these few days 
 off. Shucks, I don t draw wages till I start, so what s the 
 difference to Scotty ? Scotty said he wished I was twins." 
 
 "Twins?" 
 
 "Shore, so s he could hire the other. He wants another 
 man. They s a whole heap o country to cover more n 
 
io6 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 one stray man can swing. I tell yuh what, ma am, yuh 
 ride when the Flyin M hires yuh." 
 
 Was the little pulse beating less strongly now? He 
 thought it was. Mrs. Wallace turned her eyes away and 
 inspected the pink tips of her pretty fingers. 
 
 "Do you know," she remarked suddenly, "I like you." 
 
 "That s that s fine," said he lamely, for he was some 
 what taken aback. 
 
 "Yes," she continued, "you tell funny stories, and you 
 aren t fresh. I I like it. There s not much for a woman 
 to do in this town. Of course, I m busy here in the morn 
 ings, and the Broken Dollar fills in the evenings, but the 
 afternoons are awfully long when there s no one to play 
 with. I m pretty lonely sometimes." 
 
 "That s shore a fright, ma am." He did not know what 
 else to say. 
 
 "Will you come to see me sometimes?" She gave him 
 another of her straight looks. 
 
 "I d admire to," he declared, and meant it, too. 
 
 And in a little while he said good-bye and walked away 
 up Main Street. 
 
 "Is she, or ain t she?" he asked himself. "I shore 
 dunno. One thing, she s a shore- nough lady, even if she 
 did show me that new way o lightin a cigarette. An she 
 likes me cause I don t get fresh, huh ? I d like to see my 
 self. Bet she d smack my face good if I did." 
 
 He turned in at Ragsdale s. The storekeeper was alone 
 in the place and greeted him with a portentous wink. 
 
 "I ain t got no sofys nor goose-hair pillers nor stuffed-up 
 chairs to offer yuh," Soapy observed, "but yuh can sit on 
 the counter if yo re a good boy." 
 
 Johnny stared coolly at the storekeeper. 
 
 "Yuh seem to know a lot," he drawled. 
 
THE LIGHT THAT LIES 107 
 
 Ragsdale put his head on one side and looked Johnny 
 up and down. Then he scratched his ear. 
 
 "Nobody ever called you good-lookin , did they, 
 Johnny?" asked Soapy anxiously. 
 
 "Whatnell " Johnny began indignantly. 
 
 "Well, I was wonderin ," explained his friend. "Yuh 
 know, Johnny, my eyes are good. I can always see where 
 I m lookin , an I never seen nothin beautiful about yuh, 
 exceptin the way yuh handle a rifle. But she ain t seen 
 yuh handle a rifle." 
 
 He paused in evident perplexity and scratched the other 
 ear. 
 
 "It s that butter yuh don t sell," remarked Johnny. 
 " She s gone to yore head. I don t wonder neither. The 
 smell s thick enough to cut. Why don t yuh open another 
 window?" 
 
 "It ain t the butter," denied Soapy. "It s yore looks, 
 an you ain t got none, so that ain t possible. She s magic, 
 that s what she is, magic. No offence meant, an I know 
 it ain t none o my business, but I m a married man an 5 
 maybe I can use the information. Howdja do it? Be a 
 good feller an tell." 
 
 "How dldowhat?" 
 
 "Howdja get to go see Mis Wallace?" 
 
 "What s unusual in that?" 
 
 "Nothin , only yore the first gent ever went to her home 
 to see her. An walkin up with her, too. That s why I 
 say it s magic." 
 
 "Don t nobody ever go see her?" 
 
 "Plenty would like to, but she won t have em. Not 
 that she s standoffish. No sirree, it s Good-mornin" 
 with her an H are yuh, ma am? an she smiles an bows 
 pleasant as yuh please an twice as pretty. An that s all. 
 
loS HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 She ll take yore money or pay bets at the wheel with a 
 word for all the boys. But it s always Not to-night, I m 
 sorry, or Some other time, when a gent only wants to 
 walk home with her. An she does it all without hurtin 
 a feller s feelin s. So this here is yore lucky day, Johnny. 
 I ll bet if you was to go down to the Broken Dollar yuh d 
 break the bank/ 
 
 The only man she had ever allowed to call. And she 
 had asked him to call again. What was her purpose? 
 There was one. She was not the woman to break her 
 custom for a mere whim. Johnny wore his best poker 
 face, but his eye w r as sardonic. 
 
 "For a storekeeper, Soapy, yo re one wise Abraham," 
 said Johnny Ramsay, and changed the subject with a re 
 quest for rifle cartridges, caliber forty sixty-five. 
 
 But Soapy Ragsdale did not stock the odd calibers. 
 Johnny departed for the Golden Rule. Again he was out 
 of luck. Forty sixty-fives were apparently a dead card 
 in Paradise Bend. Johnny reflected that there were other 
 towns and other stores and took heart of hope. 
 
 That evening Johnny went to see Dorothy Burr. Her 
 greeting was casual elaborately so. There was a five- 
 pound box of candy on the table. 
 
 "Have some," invited Dorothy. 
 
 Johnny thought he wouldn t eat any candy, thank you 
 just the same. A tooth had been troubling him. He 
 feared to excite the little brute. Dorothy smiled oddly. 
 
 "You weren t here when I got back," she remarked, the 
 smile becoming a trifle fixed. 
 
 "Why, no, I wasn t," confessed Johnny. "I was some- 
 ers else." 
 
 "Isn t Lotta a dear?" The tone was ingenuous, but 
 the smile was now quite fixed. 
 
THE LIGHT THAT LIES 109 
 
 "Mis Wallace? Shore, she s all that. Just as folksy 
 as yuh please. Nothin stuck-up about her." 
 
 "I heard she took you home with her." 
 
 "I guess she thought I was lonesome." 
 
 "All the same, it was rather a conspicuous thing to do, 
 I think. She never has any one to call." 
 
 "Sol heard." Dryly. 
 
 Dorothy stared at Johnny open-mouthed. 
 
 "Well," she burst out, "of all the smug, conceited men 
 you re the smuggest and conceitedest!" 
 
 Then she laughed. But the laughter did not ring true. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 VERY STRAY MEN 
 
 HE SHORE wanted me stretched bad," conceded 
 Johnny. 
 "Wat you t ink dees Slay she was one of dem 
 bush wackair?" inquired Laguerre, his hard black eyes 
 glittering. 
 
 "He wasn t one of em," Johnny said decidedly. 
 
 "How you know?" 
 
 The half-breed was now wholly the Indian. One saw 
 back of those hard eyes the long line of relentless hunters 
 of men. 
 
 " In the first place the bosses they rode was two chest 
 nuts an a blacktail dun. His boss was a big black. 
 He s got several two grays an a red-an -white pinto, 
 too." 
 
 "Huh," grunted Laguerre. "I weel look at de face of 
 dees man. I have de feelin but I weel firs look at hees 
 face, me. How far now to de plass w ere dey keel Ol Man 
 Fane un Beel Homan?" 
 
 "About two mile." 
 
 "Lemme see dat watch, Johnnee." 
 
 Johnny handed his friend the shattered watch that had 
 once been Homan s. 
 
 "Dees ees deir firs meestak," observed Laguerre. 
 " Bimeby dey mak anudder un anudder, un den we catch 
 dem, by gar. De meestak, de meestak, alway de meestak. 
 
 no 
 
VERY STRAY MEN in 
 
 I have been de scout, I have leeve wit Enjun, un I know, 
 me." 
 
 So, holding converse on the ways of malefactors, red and 
 white, they came to the scene of the murders and their 
 attendant robbery. Three parts eaten by wolves, an 
 offence to eye and nostril, Fane s dead horse lay by the 
 side of the road. Breathing through their mouths, the 
 two men forced their mounts up the side of the spur to 
 the pocket among the pines where the road-agents had 
 tied their horses. 
 
 The sign was more than seventy-two hours old, and it 
 had been partly obliterated by the feet of Scotty and the 
 investigating committee, yet Laguerre looked quite pleased. 
 
 "Dey tie two pony to dat pine," said he. "She ees de 
 same pine un dem cayuse nevair move. One of dem stand 
 on tree leg un point de off toe. See how deep ees de mark 
 o dat toe. She was stand dere long tarn un was not 
 move, dat cayuse. Dere was not de skeetair to mak dem 
 move mabbeso. Dey was de pony wit de good nature 
 lak de lamb. Dey was tie wit de rein. Dey was not 
 even gnaw de bark. But look dere. Look w ere de odder 
 hoss was tie. She was move roun de tree geet all tangle 
 up. She was switch de tail see dem hair on de quakin 
 asp. Un dem hair ees black. She was de dun hoss. She 
 bite de bark. She pull back on de rope. How I know 
 dat? Well, den, I have de eye, me, un I see w ere leetle 
 t read o de rope ees steeck een de bark. Dey ees steeck 
 een hard, un dat ees how I know de hoss pull back. Dat 
 dun was kick, too. See de mark o hees shoe on dat pine. 
 Here w ere hees fore feet stan . Long way tween dem 
 two mark. She was de long-leg hoss, dat dun cayuse. 
 Shore I know you could not see all dat w en dey was cross 
 de creek. Dey was ride fas un de watair was fly roun . 
 
ii2 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 But I know, lien sur. Un all t ree pony was shod. Gim 
 me de match, my frien . No hurry goin to de Ben* now. 
 I wan t for geet dere aftair de sun have set." 
 
 "We ve got somethin to go on," remarked Johnny, 
 when both cigarettes were burning well. 
 
 "We have got one ole lot for go on," softly corrected 
 Laguerre. "We know dat one dese men use de forty- 
 seexty-five W 7 inchestair, two pony ees de good-nature 
 ches nut un one ees de long-leg blacktail dun w at enjoy 
 for bite de tree un keeck un pull back un have for be tie 
 wit de rope. Dat blacktail dun, I tell you, my frien , 
 she ees anudder meestak. Dere can not be many pony 
 lak dees hoss. No, dere can not. You will see." 
 
 Laguerre inhaled complacently. He stretched his arms 
 lazily and blew smoke through his nostrils and smiled a 
 slow smile and licked his lips cat-fashion. 
 
 Johnny had given his friend a circumstantial account of 
 events at the Bend. Which account, it must be said, 
 lacked completeness in that Johnny neglected to mention 
 Mrs. Lotta Wallace, her actions, and his call upon her. 
 Somehow he did not feel it was necessary. Why drag her 
 in? 
 
 At dusk Johnny and Laguerre separated, the latter to 
 ride the trail in to the Bend, the former to cross the Yellow 
 Medicine, and, ever keeping that stream on his left hand, 
 skirt the sprawling length of Crow Mountain, strike the 
 Flying M trail at Wagon Slue, and arrive in town from the 
 north. 
 
 Between eleven and twelve Johnny dismounted at the 
 hitching-rail of the Three Card. He was to meet Laguerre 
 at the Three Card. But the half-breed was not in the 
 saloon, norwas he at the Jacks Up, nor at Soapy Ragsdale s. 
 Buster was in charge of the store, but he didn t know 
 
VERY STRAY MEN 113 
 
 where pop was. Guessed he must be round some ers. 
 Johnny guessed so too and, on his way to the Broken 
 Dollar, looked in at the Golden Rule. Cal Mason was 
 there buying tobacco, and Dan Smith, the marshal, was 
 picking out a shirt, a beautiful thing of savage orange, 
 thickly besprinkled with a chaste design of purple horse 
 shoes. 
 
 Cal Mason greeted Johnny with a grave "H are % yuh?" 
 behind which lurked the smile of friendship, but Dan 
 Smith did not go beyond a stiff nod. Johnny, his sar 
 donic eye fixed on the marshal s ultrabilious choice, leaned 
 against the counter. 
 
 "Now, that s what I call a shirt," he observed cheer 
 fully. 
 
 "I dunno as yuh got any license to call it anythin ," 
 said the liverish Dan Smith. 
 
 "I was just admirin it, Marshal," insisted Johnny. 
 "No offence, but yuh ll shore be right up in style. Back 
 East they sell shirts like this here so fast that the factories 
 all have to work overtime. Yessir, shore do. An why, 
 cause all the laundrymen buy em. No soap-wrastlin 
 Chink o the lot thinks he can go out walkin Sunday after 
 noons less n he s inside one o these shirts. Funny, ain t 
 it?" 
 
 Johnny s eyes were no longer sardonic. They were 
 calm and sweetly innocent as they gazed into the face of 
 the marshal. The latter, very angry, could have slain him 
 willingly. But there are times when to take offence means 
 to make oneself ridiculous. Dan Smith did not wish to 
 appear ridiculous. He compromised by according Johnny 
 no further attention and taking the shirt. 
 
 Johnny, allowing him thirty seconds handicap, followed. 
 He was in time to see the marshal pause a hundred feet 
 
n 4 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 away, swing his arm, and hurl something in between two 
 houses. After which the marshal went into the Jacks Up 
 Saloon. 
 
 Johnny hurried to where the marshal had stood and 
 dived into the space between the two houses. Groping 
 purposefully in the darkness, his fingers encountered a 
 paper-wrapped parcel. He swept it up and returned to 
 the street. In the light from an open window he tore off 
 a corner of the wrapping. A vivid purple horseshoe 
 backed by savage orange stared him out of countenance. 
 
 The marshal, drinking with friends at the Jacks Up 
 bar, felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned to behold the 
 too-familiar features of Johnny Ramsay. The puncher 
 laid a parcel on the bar, a parcel from whose torn wrapper 
 protruded the tail of Dan Smith s recent purchase. 
 
 "Yore shirt," Johnny announced distinctly. "Yuh 
 dropped it in the street." 
 
 The pause between the two halves of the explanatory 
 sentence was obvious. The marshal knew that he was 
 being maliciously badgered, and he knew that Johnny 
 knew that he knew. But again this was one of those times. 
 Besides, Cal Mason, expectantly solemn, was watching 
 from the doorway. The marshal mumbled his thanks, 
 tucked in the dangling shirt-tail, and stuck the package 
 under his arm. Johnny went out into the street. There 
 the delighted Cal Mason fell into step at his side. 
 
 "Yore style suits me," averred Cal. "Let s licker." 
 
 So they crossed the street to the Three Card and said 
 "How" twice. After which ceremony Johnny drifted 
 down to the Broken Dollar and Cal went home to tell his 
 wife how Scotty Mackenzie s stray man had run a blazer 
 on Dan Smith. 
 
 At the Broken Dollar Johnny found Laguerre playing 
 
VERY STRAY MEN 115 
 
 poker with the express-agent, hard-faced Tom Keen, and 
 one of Slay s dealers. Johnny smiled inwardly. For the 
 half-breed was skilful at cards, and his skill was costing 
 the others much money. All the blue chips on the table 
 were in front of Laguerre, and a blue chip in the Broken 
 Dollar was standard at ten dollars. 
 
 Johnny, on his way to the bar, passed the roulette table. 
 Mrs. Wallace was behind the wheel and business was very 
 brisk. Leaning against the wall at her back stood her 
 brother. His hands were in his trouser-pockets and a long 
 black cigar was clamped between his jaws. He glanced 
 at Johnny with twinkling, merry eyes and nodded. Mrs. 
 Wallace did not see the puncher. She was busy raking in 
 several bets. 
 
 While Johnny was still eyeing his first drink, in marched, 
 to his intense disgust, Racey Dawson. Racey was not 
 due for two days, and here he was on the heels of Telescope. 
 Johnny yearned to tell Racey what he thought of him. 
 
 As Racey came through the doorway he slapped his 
 sides with a full sweep of both arms. Dust flew from his 
 clothing in a gray cloud. His face was ashen with it. 
 Grinning widely, he crossed the floor straight to where 
 Johnny stood at the bar, and Johnny saw that there was 
 dust inside his ears and down his neck. 
 
 "Thought you d get away from me, huh?" cried Racey, 
 teetering on his heels in front of Johnny. "Tried to give 
 me the slip, huh? Just because I had a li l business over 
 on the Two Deer an was maybe now a day late, yuh run 
 off an left me." 
 
 Racey in his teetering apparently lost his balance and 
 fell forward against the dismayed Johnny, who foresaw 
 the crumbling of his plans under Racey s blundering. But 
 Racey s hand, flung out to save himself, gripped Johnny s 
 
ii6 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 arm, and Johnny felt that member squeezed three times 
 before Racey regained his equilibrium. 
 
 "Aw, yuh d oughta come sooner," Johnny said instantly. 
 "Djuh think I got nothin to do but wait for yuh while 
 yo re hellin round all over the country?" 
 
 Their voices were not pitched low, but Laguerre, facing 
 them at his table across the room, gave no sign that he 
 heard. 
 
 "Well, yuh might a waited," grumbled Racey. "Le s 
 irrigate." 
 
 While they stood in silence, the bottle between them, 
 a man slouched in from the street and halted inside the 
 doorway. He was a stocky citizen with a sandy mustache 
 and an aggressive chin. He pushed back his hat and one 
 perceived that his head was curiously pinched-in at the 
 temples. This characteristic, combined as it was with 
 total absence of eyebrows and a wall-eye, did not make for 
 attractiveness. The stocky man surveyed the roomful 
 with a cold and fishy stare. His oblique gaze passed over 
 Johnny and Racey and fixed itself on a corner of the bar. 
 Still looking at the corner of the bar, Wall-eye swaggered 
 bow-leggedly up to Racey Dawson and suggested drinks. 
 He likewise smiled amiably, revealing the lack of two upper 
 front teeth. 
 
 "This here s my friend, Johnny Ramsay," said Racey, 
 flicking a tactful thumb at Johnny. "What might I call 
 you?" 
 
 "Now I shore did forget to tell yuh my name, didn t I ?" 
 smiled the stranger, his crooked eye missing Racey by 
 four feet. "Which she s Bale Harper. Barkeep, got a 
 lame arm ? I m waitin for a glass." 
 
 The bartender hastily slid a bottle and a glass across the 
 bar. As the newcomer tilted the bottle Johnny noticed 
 
VERY STRAY MEN 117 
 
 that the third finger of his right hand was cut off at the 
 second joint. Bale Harper downed his liquor at a gulp 
 and instantly poured out another glassful. Two or three 
 fingers were not for Harper. He filled his glass a-brim 
 and slopping over. 
 
 "Nothin like good measure," said he with a leer, and 
 added with emphasis, "that s somethin I always aim to 
 get." 
 
 Johnny made no comment. He did not like this Bale 
 Harper. 
 
 "Got a brother round here some ers," remarked Mr. 
 Harper, with his gap-toothed grin. "Been lookin for 
 him ever since I drifted into town. You ain t seen him, 
 have yuh, Mister Ramsay feller about my size he is, 
 sandy hair an face likewise, called Spill?" 
 
 "Ain t seen him to-day," answered the puncher, shaking 
 an indifferent head. "Yesterday he was around. Him 
 an Tom Keen was together. There s Tom over there. 
 Maybe he ll know." 
 
 But Johnny s hint did not bear fruit. Bale Harper 
 frowned in the general direction of Tom Keen and said he 
 guessed he d wait and see Spill later. 
 
 "Good whiskey," he declared, and had another. 
 
 "I m tired," announced Racey. "Guess now I ll give 
 an imitation of a young feller rollin in. How about the 
 hotel, Johnny got a bed?" 
 
 "Shore. C mon." 
 
 They departed, despite strong urging to the contrary 
 by Bale Harper. But they did not go to the hotel. For 
 privacy in conversation was impossible in that hostelry. 
 The partitions were too thin and there were many cracks. 
 Hence it was that Johnny and his friend, walking without 
 haste, slid silently betw r een Soapy Ragsdale s house and 
 
ii8 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 his corral and felt their cautious way in among Soapy Rags- 
 dale s neatly corded stacks of winter firewood. 
 
 "What s up?" demanded Johnny, when they were 
 squatting on their heels between two stacks. 
 
 "All hell," was Racey s answer. "Lute Holloway s 
 downed and Slim Berdan s shot through both legs an 
 his shoulder." 
 
 "Is that why yuh " 
 
 "You wait. Lemme tell it my own way, will yuh?" 
 
 "Shore, but yore way is such a funny way, Racey. 
 Y always travel ten mile to go two." 
 
 "Aw, shut up, I m travelin straight now. An 
 speakin o travelin ! Say, if you d done the ridin I been 
 doin these last three days you d cash, yuh hear me talkin . 
 My hoss is wore down to a whisper an I don t feel like 
 much more n a short stutter myself. Say 
 
 "There yuh go, a whirlin that wide loop! I m shore 
 sorry to hear yo re tired. I d cry for yuh if I could. But 
 I don t see why yuh didn t wait till it was time to start like 
 we planned. The stage would a brought the news about 
 Holloway an Slim." 
 
 "Gimme a chance, gimme a chance! My Gawd, yuh 
 want the whole thing all at once! You lemme alone 
 Who s talkin loud? I ain t. Yo re doin the bellerin . 
 Well, Telescope he sifted out o town four days ago in the 
 mornin. I stayed. That night Bill Lainey an me are in 
 the Blue Pigeon about one o clock listenin to Mike 
 Flynn gas about them South Sea Islands o his, when 
 B angety-B ang! goes a rifle down street a ways. Bangety- 
 Bang! goes another, then a couple more mixes in, an they s 
 a whole hatful o noise. The South Sea Islands stopped 
 immediate, an we sits down on the floor where the 
 counter s thickest. An a good thing we did. A forty 
 
VERY STRAY MEN 119 
 
 sixty-five comes in a window, grooves the counter over 
 my head, busts a can o peaches on the opposite shelf an 
 sticks in the wall. An - 
 
 "A forty sixty-five, yuh say?" 
 
 "Shore, a forty sixty-five. Lemme tell it, lemme tell 
 it huh ? Of course I know. Mike he dug the lead out of 
 the wood later an he told me. Well, that one bullet was 
 all that come our way. They s only a few shots, not 
 more n thirty at the outside, then tuckety-tuck, tuckety-tuck 
 up the street come four jiggers a-ridin an a-quirtin an 
 a-spurrin like they hadn t a minute to live. They 
 wasn t out o town before they s a pile o hollerin down in 
 front o Slim Berdan s house. The three of us goes down, 
 an they s the two Holland boys carryin Slim Berdan, 
 bleedin like a stuck steer, into his house. Across the 
 sidewalk Lute Holloway s lyin on his face. They s five 
 holes in Lute an* one o them holes is in his heart." 
 
 "As good a deputy as they ever was in Fort Creek 
 County, Lute was," put in Johnny. 
 
 "Shore. Jake Rule was worse n wild. Well, what with 
 Lute downed an* Slim shot up, they s all kinds o friskin* 
 round, but we got started in maybe fifteen minutes 
 Jake Rule, Kyle, his other deputy, yores truly, Two Spot 
 Riley, Piney Jackson, maybe they s twenty-five of us an* 
 we punched the breeze. We knowed they d headed north 
 on the Bend trail an that s all we did know." 
 
 "Didn t nobody see em close?" 
 
 "Slim did, but she was too dark to see much. They 
 was all on their hosses anyhow." 
 
 "What did they try to do rob the express office?" 
 
 "They did not. They come in to get Slim. An* 
 Holloway, because he lived with Slim, got into the muss." 
 
 "Howdjaknow?" 
 
120 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Why, they all four come a-gallopin* up to Slim s 
 house, an one of em rides up on the sidewalk an hammers 
 on Slim s door, an yells for Slim to come out quick, he s 
 wanted. Slim he says he thought right away they was a 
 fraycas in town, so him an Holloway jumps out o bed 
 an runs for the door. Lute reaches the door first an runs 
 out. They got him instanter before he could even pull. 
 Slim had time to pull all right an flip the hammer twice 
 before they shot the gun out of his hand and throwed three 
 bullets into him in other places." 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 "We rode after them killers like I said, an it s night an* 
 all an we over-rode their tracks. So we had to work 
 back an when it come daylight we found where they d 
 left the trail just south o Bear Mountain an headed 
 northwest. That settled it for Jake Rule. Northwest 
 meant them killers couldn t be bound nowhere else but the 
 Emigrant Hills on the Dogsoldier. So we spraddled 
 right along, losin the trail an findin her again, an 
 bimeby we lost her good an proper like I knowed we 
 would in a creek. 
 
 "Shore, they rode the water like ducks, an we never 
 did pick up the trail again. But that didn t bother Jake 
 Rule. The Emigrant Hills, boys, says Jake. We ll 
 catch em there. We stopped at the Anvil ranch for 
 fresh horses, but no news. Nobody stopped there in two 
 weeks, an they hadn t missed a single cayuse." 
 
 "The B bar B s west o the Anvil an Hall s is east," 
 suggested Johnny. 
 
 "Shore, but we didn t have time to go there. We went 
 on an we hit the Emigrants an never seen a measly hoof- 
 mark anywhere. We met Burns, the Wagon Wheel 
 stray man, an he hadn t seen nobody. I knowed they 
 
VERY STRAY MEN 121 
 
 was behind us some ers they had to be. But Jake s 
 stubborn like he always is, an* he combs the Emigrants 
 industrious. Where we was in the Emigrants wasn t 
 more n ninety or a hundred miles to the Bend, so I decided 
 to come right along on an let Jake an the others scatter 
 round all they wanted." 
 
 "But what did yuh come bawlin out in the Broken 
 Dollar for about me not waitin for yuh, huh ?" 
 
 "On account o that Bale Harper feller. This mornin* 
 at Rocket I spent the last half o the night at Sinclair s, 
 an he was there, too he saddles up when I do an allows 
 if I m going north he ll trail along. Says he gets lonesome, 
 an likes to talk. Now he ain t exactly curious, this Bale 
 ain t, but he shore does like to talk an is one easy sport to 
 make friends with. He don t make it hard for yuh to 
 up-end yore whole life s history into his ears if yuh want 
 to. No sir, yuh could do it without a struggle. An I 
 can t get rid o him. 
 
 "We stopped at a ranch along about noon, an he wants 
 to rest his hoss, so I says I ll be pushin along. He says 
 maybe his hoss ain t so tired after all an he strings his 
 chips with mine all the way to the Bend. So I figured 
 when he come into the saloon after me the only thing I 
 could do was to bluff him by partly tellin the truth. I 
 dunno nothin about that jigger outside o what I m tellin 
 yuh, but I m bettin he s a bad actor. He s got a bad eye 
 more ways than one." 
 
 " An yuh say he didn t ask any questions ? " 
 
 "None to take offence at." 
 
 "No, he wouldn t, but did he say anythin a-tall about 
 any places?" 
 
 "Places?" 
 
 "Shore, places towns, hills, creeks, the like o that." 
 
122 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Racey thought hard. 
 
 "Seems to me now he did say somethin about the 
 Dogville trail. * 
 
 Now Dogville is an infinitesimal hamlet dotting the 
 bluff at the junction of the Dogsoldier and the Lazy rivers. 
 Yet an occasional freighter goes to Dogville, and there is a 
 trail connecting the village with the Bend trail north of 
 Cutter. This trail runs within a mile of the Anvil ranch 
 house. 
 
 "What did he say about the Dogville trail?" questioned 
 Johnny. 
 
 "Said, Wasn t she a helluva trail? or somethin ." 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "I says I didn t know never followed the trail in my 
 life." 
 
 "Yuh didn t!" painful amazement rode Johnny s 
 tone. 
 
 "Shore, why not?" 
 
 "Tell yuh later. Was the Dogville trail all he asked 
 about?" 
 
 "Cutter yeah, Cutter. Had Tommy Mull changed 
 the whiskey at his hotel yet, an I says, No, same old 
 whiskey she always was. Playin foxy myself, see lettin 
 him think I come through Cutter." 
 
 "Oh, yore a ringtail whizzer, Racey! Honest, if yuh 
 had any more sense you d be half-witted!" 
 
 "What did I do I d like to know. Didn t I hafta say 
 somethin to yuh in the saloon? Didn t I hafta, huh? 
 I m askin yuh, didn t I?" 
 
 "You was all right in the saloon. It was before yuh 
 got there yuh was all wrong." 
 
 "I d admire to know why," grumbled the offended 
 Racey. 
 
VERY STRAY MEN 123 
 
 "This is why: yuh was ridin* an Anvil hoss, wasn t 
 yuh? An* yuh said yuh never rode the Dogville trail in 
 yore life. Harper met yuh on the Bend trail. All right, 
 yuh never seen the Dogville trail, so he tries yuh again 
 with Tommy Mull s whiskey at Cutter. You told him she 
 was the same old whiskey, didn yuh ?" 
 
 "Shore." 
 
 "Right there he got yuh. Ten days ago Tommy Mull 
 got religion an* run every drop o whiskey he owned out on 
 the grass. Since then yuh couldn t get a drink in Tommy s 
 place if yuh was dyin . An you played foxy by blattin* 
 out * She s the same ol whiskey !" 
 
 Racey was dumb for a space. 
 
 "I shore put my foot in it, I guess," he mourned, when 
 Johnny had rolled a scornful cigarette. 
 
 "That Anvil hoss showed yuh d been west o the Bend 
 trail some ers," said Johnny, sticking the cigarette in his 
 mouth for a dry smoke, "an because yuh didn t know 
 nothin o the Dogville trail nor Tommy s gettin religion 
 showed yuh d been romancin round the country north 
 an west o Cutter. He could see by the condition o the 
 hoss yuh d been shovin along hard an fast. An a fellah 
 in this country don t shove his hoss unless he s a hoss thief 
 or in a posse." 
 
 "Maybe he took me for a hoss thief," suggested Racey, 
 hopefully. 
 
 "O course if you was yuh d ride along with him the 
 way yuh did an yuh d bring the hoss here to the Bend, 
 where the brand*s known, wouldn t yuh ? " 
 
 "Well 
 
 "Racey, I ll bet he knows yuh was part of a posse." 
 
 " Can t help it. How could I guess all this ? " 
 
 "If we re agoin to corral these road agents you ll hafta 
 
i2 4 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 guess a lot more n this. Djever stop to think Harper may 
 be one o the Farewell killers ? " 
 
 "He ain t/ said Racey, eager to be of some use. "He 
 was at Rocket nearly a week. I heard Dave Sinclair say 
 so." 
 
 "He was, was he? Guess now I ll just go down an 
 have a li l talk with Dave." 
 
 "Do yuh think that Bale Harper feller is in with the 
 road agents?" asked Racey, lugubriously hugging his 
 knees. 
 
 "I dunno. He s somethin off colour, whatever his 
 game is, or he d never a made them breaks about the 
 Dogville trail an Tommy Mull s whiskey. Look here, 
 Racey, didn t nobody see nothin o the jiggers that 
 downed Lute Holloway ?" 
 
 "It was dark, I tell yuh. All Bill Lainey an . Mike 
 Flynn an me could see was so many shadders a-flyin 
 past." 
 
 "Think now. Scratch yore head if yuh gotta, but 
 think. You talked to Slim after he was shot, didn t 
 yuh?" 
 
 "Shore, but " 
 
 "An yuh heard him talk, didn t yuh ? Now, what " 
 
 "Everybody was runnin round, I tell yuh, Johnny. 
 How can I remember?" 
 
 "If yuh ll shut up about a minute an gimme a chance 
 I ll show yuh how yuh can remember maybe. You an as 
 many as could was all in the room with Slim. There was 
 Slim a-layin on the bed with Doc Kramer swabbin at his 
 nicks an puttin on bandages. They s the lamp lit, an* 
 somebody s a-holdin it so s Doc can see to work, an* 
 Bill Lainey s breathin hard an shufflin his feet, an* 
 Slim s a-talkin kind o gaspy, an* yuh gotta scrouge 
 
VERY STRAY MEN 125 
 
 forrard so s yuh can hear what he s sayin . Now what did 
 he say besides that about they bein four of em an* Lute s 
 runnin out first? Nemmine how I know it. I know. 
 Now, what did Slim say ? " 
 
 Thus adjured, Racey strove to live again his part in 
 the scene reconstructed by Johnny Ramsay. There was 
 Slim lying on the blood-stained blankets of the bed. Doc 
 Kramer had cut his shirt and trousers away. There were 
 tourniquets on both legs. Slim was talking wheezing 
 rather. What was he saying something about a horse, 
 wasn t it? Yes, that was it. A light-coloured horse. 
 And one of the riders wore no hat. Slim saw him against 
 the stars. Was there anything else? Racey Dawson 
 scratched his head, closed tight his eyes, but could not 
 remember another word of what Slim had said. He opened 
 his eyes and hitched nearer his friend. 
 
 "I thought maybe yuh could tell me somethin if yuh 
 tried," observed Johnny, when Racey had unbosomed him 
 self. "A light-coloured cayuse, huh? Dun, maybe?" 
 
 "Can t say. Slim didn t." 
 
 "An the gent with no hat was he ridin this light 
 hoss?" 
 
 "He was ridin one o the others. I remember Slim 
 sayin that. He seen him plain against the stars after he d 
 fell down Slim fell down." 
 
 "No hat. Now, why wouldn t he wear a hat, I won 
 der?" pondered Johnny. 
 
 "Maybe he lost it," contributed Racey. 
 
 "Maybe he had it tied to his saddle-strings. Maybe 
 she was a odd hat or somethin an he was afraid some- 
 body d recognize it. Maybe she was a wide white hat 
 with a high crown, higher than most. Djever see a hat 
 like that, Racey?" 
 
i 2 6 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "The red-head!" Racey s whisper was sharp. "He 
 had a hat like that!" 
 
 "He shore had, an comin back after Slim would be 
 what he d do if he got the chance." 
 
 "Slim did run him out o town kind o abrupt." 
 
 "That light-coloured hoss yuh can t tell. She might 
 a been a dun." 
 
 " S pose she was. What of it ? " 
 
 "A lot maybe. Wait till to-morrow an we ll go over 
 
 the whole thing with Telescope Oh, that was easy. 
 
 I guessed it. O course Slim was a-layin on the bed. 
 Where else would he lay? An somebody d hafta hold the 
 lamp so s Doc could work, an Bill Lainey always breathes 
 hard an shuffles his feet when he s interested, an Slim 
 couldn t help talkin gaspy if he had three holes in him. 
 So there y are. Le s go to bed." 
 
W 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 LAGUERRE TALKS 
 
 HAT was Mat Neville comin north for?" de 
 manded Johnny. 
 "I know, but 
 
 "Aw, yuh make me sick, Racey. It stands to reason, 
 don t it, Telescope?" 
 
 "S pose now dey fin de hat een Farewell, un she ees 
 not a w ite hat?" evaded the half-breed. 
 
 "I m gamblin they won t find it. Anyhow I m writin 
 to Jake Rule to find out for sure. But you can bet she s 
 them three hold-ups an the red-head, an he tied his hat 
 on his saddle so s she wouldn t give him away. It s just 
 what he would do." 
 
 " He would if he did." Thus cryptically Mr. Dawson. 
 
 "An three men with him. Where d he get three men 
 together to try an down Slim an Holloway outside o the 
 road agent crowd ? " 
 
 "Holloway had enemies. So d Slim." 
 
 "Shore, but scatterin . A gent here, another there, an 
 all in different parts o the county. They might lay for 
 Lute an Slim separate, but they d never organize four in 
 a bunch. If I could only be sure that light-coloured boss 
 was a black-tail dun. Anyway, one of em was usin a 
 forty sixty-five. That s somethin ." 
 
 "One t ing," observed Laguerre: "eef de red-head she 
 belong to de hold-up outfit, w y don she stop de stage 
 
 127 
 
128 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 wit de res ? De men w at have do dat are seex foot mab- 
 beso, but dees man wit de red hair she ees seex foot four, 
 un no one was ever see man tall as dat stop de stage or 
 rob de minair." 
 
 "I know that," agreed Johnny. "I ve asked a heap o 
 folks an none of em have ever seen a gent like this red 
 head, but djever stop to think that the folks he holds up 
 might be too dead to talk about it afterward?" 
 
 " Dat ees true," nodded Laguerre. 
 
 " But somebody s got to see him if he is one of em," 
 said Racey. 
 
 "Somebody will if he is. How about that stage- 
 station job, Racey, or would yuh rather toss up for the 
 stray man end?" 
 
 "Not me. I ll get a job in town myself. She s a right 
 nice li l place good scenery, good folks." 
 
 "Yeah." Suspiciously. 
 
 "They s a right handsome-lookin lady in the Bend, an* 
 I aim to meet her. Yessir, I m satisfied to give my hoss a 
 rest." 
 
 "Who s the lady?" acute interest mixed with the sus 
 picion. 
 
 "The one behind the wheel at the Broken Dollar. 
 Say " 
 
 "He s off!" cried the greatly relieved Johnny. "When 
 Racey Dawson starts talkin about a girl, he s good for all 
 day. Le s go away an leave him, Telescope." 
 
 The three had rendezvoused in a thickly wooded gulch 
 on the eastern slope of Old Baldy. In accordance with 
 their plan Johnny and Laguerre rode from there straight 
 to the Flying M and Racey Dawson returned to the Bend. 
 Racey had not informed his two friends of his intention to 
 loaf about town a few days before starting to work. 
 
LAGUERRE TALKS 129 
 
 There was no hurry. And roulette is a fascinating game. 
 Besides, there was Bale Harper to be investigated. He 
 couldn t do that very well if he were working. Of course 
 not. He had more than a hundred dollars in his poke, 
 and there wasn t a cloud in the sky. Racey crooked a leg 
 round his saddle-horn and whistled the "Rakes of Mallow" 
 with joy and abandon. An easy conscience is a wonderful 
 thing. 
 
 Johnny and Laguerre were openly and loudly hired by 
 Scotty Mackenzie ten minutes after their arrival at the 
 Flying M. The foreman, Doubleday of the sharp nose 
 and sharper eye, took them at their face value and sent 
 them down to the bunkhouse. Doubleday did not fully 
 comprehend the necessity of two stray men, but he knew 
 Scotty to be a creature of whims. No one ever even 
 dreamt of questioning Scotty s whims. So when the old 
 ranchman said that he himself would give the new men 
 their orders, Doubleday merely shifted his quid and dis 
 missed the subject from his mind. 
 
 The next morning Johnny and Laguerre rode away 
 southward. That men might know of the place and man 
 ner of their employment the two rode Flying M horses 
 and carried open letters signed by Scotty. 
 
 "Guess maybe we d better stop in the Bend, Telescope," 
 said Johnny when the town was less than a mile away. 
 "I we gotta see what Racey s doin ." 
 
 "Shore, un I wan for see w at dat Meestair Slay she was 
 do." 
 
 "Got any idea what for a gent he is yet, Telescope? I 
 didn t see yuh look him over very close." 
 
 "I was look all right. But I do not let you see me look, 
 un I do not let heem see me look. I am not de fool, me. 
 Well, I tell you, Johnny, she ees not easy for tell what she 
 
130 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 ees lak. I know dees, she ees de one w at do de beeg 
 t ing. She would not be satisfy wit* less." 
 
 "What yuh mean?" 
 
 "I mean eef she ees de rustlair she would not rustle 
 forty cow, she would rustle ole dam herd. Eef she steal 
 de money, she would steal not feefty-seexty dollar, she 
 would tak ten t ousan . Now you see." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "Un she ees clevair, dees man. By gar, she have de 
 brain. Dose t ing I see. More dan dat, no." 
 
 The half-breed s expressive shrug was a direct legacy 
 from his French father. 
 
 "But," he continued harshly, "w at I can not see, I can 
 guess." 
 
 "That s easy. So can I guess." 
 
 "We do not guess de same, mabbeso. Leesten. Las 
 night I was talk wit Scotty un she tell me w at she know 
 about dees Slay un hees seestair, how dey was come from 
 Cheecawgo, un de seestair she ride de pony lak one bustair 
 un was not run round wit de men un Slay she mak money 
 een de Broken Dollar. All right, dat ees fine, hones bees- 
 ness, but she ees small beesness. She ees too small for 
 man lak Slay. Un de seestair Johnny, have you ever 
 see de beeg ceety?" 
 
 "I been east to Cheyenne once." 
 
 "Yeah, Cheyenne ees de ceety, but she ees not de 
 beeg ceety. By gar, me, I have see Kebec un Montreal 
 un Ottawa w en I was boy, un dere een dat plass I was 
 see les grandes demoiselles, not de dance-hall girl wit 
 de paint un de smile lak one spidair, but de great, 
 great lady all dress up een de seelk un de feddair wit de 
 fine leetle buckle shoe, un I tell you dey was somet ing 
 for see. 
 
LAGUERRE TALKS 131 
 
 "Bon Dieu, I was so close to dem I could touch dem, me. 
 But I deed not. I was fraid, un I step off de sidewalk. 
 But I was watch, always I was watch, un I was een dat 
 plass t ree year, un I say dat w en I go way I know de 
 lady w en I see her. Un dat ees w at Mees Wallace ees. 
 She ees all same one o dem grandes demoiselles een Kebec 
 un Montreal un Ottawa." 
 
 "You mean you seen her there?" Johnny was ob 
 viously skeptical. 
 
 "No, I was not see her. I mean she ees lak dem. She 
 ees une grande demoiselle, un she have de brain behin de 
 eye, too. Well den, I say, me, w y a man un a lady, bot 
 wit* de brain un de lady a grande demoiselle, w y dey come 
 here to dees plass, dees plass w ere dere ees nuttin but de 
 heel un de cow un de pony?" 
 
 Johnny bethought him of Texas Pete, the two cigarettes 
 and the one match. Did grandes demoiselles act that way? 
 He wondered. Laguerre misinterpreted his silence. 
 
 "Dere now, you see w at I see," he exclaimed in triumph, 
 "un you guess w at I guess. Money was bring dem, un 
 eet was not de money een de Broken Dollar." 
 
 "I been thinkin some o Friend Slay that way, myself," 
 admitted Johnny, "an the more I think of it, the more I 
 like the notion. But that ain t provin 5 it s so none. Yuh 
 know it s plumb easy to believe a thing when yuh want to. 
 When I said somethin to Scotty about Slay an the bandits 
 he couldn t see it a-tall. Don t like Slay none, he says, 
 but he s gotta give him his due an say they ain t a thing 
 against him. Slay s always in town when they s hold-ups, 
 except this last one, o course, an I know he wasn t in 
 that. 
 
 "Deed I not say Meestair Slay she have de brain?" 
 asked Laguerre softly. 
 
132 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Sort o sits back an lets the other feller work, huh?" 
 
 "We weel see, mabbeso." 
 
 On their way through town they stopped at the Burr 
 house. 
 
 "She ain t home," the voice of young Sammy Barnes 
 shouted from the corral. Young Sammy poked his head 
 turtle-wise through the bars of the gate and smiled a 
 knowing smile that reached clear across his face. And 
 it was a wide face. 
 
 "Ain t Mis Burr got back from Jack Creek yet?" A 
 clever blend of surprise and dignity on the part of Mr. 
 Ramsay. 
 
 "You didn t come to see Mis Burr!" retorted the turtle 
 in loud, unsympathetic tones. " You come to see Dor-thy ! 
 Whatcha blufflin for, huh? Can t fool me! I seen yuh! 
 Yo re stuck on Dor thy, that s whatcha are!" 
 
 Had the state of being stuck on Dorothy been a most 
 flagitious offense Johnny could not have reddened more 
 enthusiastically. He seethed inwardly with a great seeth 
 ing. Mrs. Mace, residing a few houses nearer Main Street, 
 hurried outdoors to shake a dust-rag. Mrs. Carey and 
 Tug Wilson s sister both had business on their doorsteps. 
 Interested heads appeared at various open windows. 
 
 "Harry-Slay-give her- nother-box o -candy-yest day- 
 why-don tchu-give-her-some ? " 
 
 Which breathless and run-together combination state 
 ment and question was delivered in the childish squawk 
 of Mrs. Carey s eight-year-old. Mrs. Carey disappeared 
 within. Followed then the sound of smackings punc 
 tuated by anguished wails. An appreciative giggle, start 
 ing with Tug Wilson s sister, ran about the street. 
 
 Johnny Ramsay, illogically hating women and small 
 children with cordial intensity, wheeled hisliorse and rode 
 
LAGUERRE TALKS 133 
 
 off at a restrained walk that he mistakenly hoped would 
 not be construed as a retreat under fire. But the giggle 
 followed him to the corner of Main Street. 
 
 It is true that all the world loves a lover. But it does 
 not love two lovers. It laughs heartily and makes bets 
 on the outcome. Johnny, recognizing with mental writh 
 ing the factuality of these things, failed to comprehend why 
 he should be classed as one of the lovers. True, he had 
 called on the lady, but not conspicuously. True again, he 
 admired the lady, but likewise not conspicuously at least 
 this is what he told himself. 
 
 That he should be stirred to irritation by Dorothy s 
 seemingly complacent acceptance of Slay s attentions was 
 but natural. The gambler was much too equivocal a 
 character to be comradely with a young girl. Such a 
 friendship did the aforesaid young girl no good. Johnny s 
 concern was all for the young girl. Of course, she was 
 precisely what he had told Scotty, merely a friend. Abso 
 lutely nothing more. Quite so. The greatest playwright 
 of them all says something somewhere relative to protest 
 ing too much. The rule doubtless will continue to hold 
 good till the end of time. 
 
 Johnny did not forget his declaration to Scotty to the 
 effect that, as no one else seemed disposed to protect 
 Dorothy from the man Slay, he himself would attend to 
 the matter. He realized in bitterness of soul that he was 
 not making good. 
 
 "Look dere!" Laguerre said surprisedly. 
 
 Johnny looked. Ahead of them the stage company s 
 horses were being driven by a hostler to water. Racey, 
 in overalls, mounted bareback on a shoeless animal, was 
 talking to the hostler. 
 
 "When yuh get back," Racey was saying, "put on some 
 
134 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 axle-grease to keep the flies off that V T hoss where he cut 
 himself an* scout round after that neck-yoke. Tug says 
 she s near the big corral some ers." 
 
 The hostler departed in the dust of his tittuping charges, 
 and Racey looked into the faces of his two friends and 
 smiled one-sidedly, his upper lip being bruised and puffed 
 to twice its normal size. Racey s right eye was thoroughly 
 blackened and an abrasion marked the left side of his jaw. 
 There were several scratches on his nose and the knuckles 
 of both hands were skinned. 
 
 "What hit yuh?" asked Johnny. 
 
 "Skinny Devinney, the station boss," replied Racey. 
 
 "Don t blame him. What was yuh tryin to do?" 
 
 "I was just arguin with him." 
 
 "Arguin ?" 
 
 "Shore. I asks him for a job all so pretty and polite, 
 an he says somethin about not wantin no feller in hair 
 pants a-workin for him. Then I just naturally had to 
 argue with him." 
 
 Johnny s eyes strayed toward the combined stage station 
 and express office. Below one of the windows pieces of 
 broken glass and splintered sash littered the ground. 
 
 "Looks like the window got busted," hazarded Johnny. 
 
 "He done it on his way out," explained Racey. "He 
 didn t want to go," he added thoughtfully. 
 
 Johnny s eyes rested on Racey s battered features. 
 
 "I expect," he said dryly. "I notice he gave yuh a 
 job." 
 
 "Yeah, he gimme his. Yuh see, after he d went, there 
 was the job left an orphan an there was me, an Tug 
 Wilson he says it looked just like Providence. He never 
 did like the other feller anyway. Me, I m the station boss 
 myself." 
 
LAGUERRE TALKS 135 
 
 "Lucky for you Devinney didn t have a gun," observed 
 Johnny. "Yuh better keep yore eye skinned, Racey. 
 She s just possible he may organize with one an come back 
 a-huntin him his job." 
 
 "He he had a gun," Racey said in some embarrass 
 ment. "I kind o had to pry it away from him before he d 
 act decent a-tall." 
 
 Laguerre laughed delightedly. 
 
 "Didn t he try to throw down?" demanded Johnny. 
 
 "Oh, he tried," admitted Racey. 
 
 "Yuh bat s-eyed ol son-of-a-gun," Johnny drawled in 
 keenest admiration. 
 
 "See yuh later," grinned Racey. "Gotta take this 
 accordeen to the blacksmith. So long." 
 
 Johnny stared after Racey, and his brows drew together. 
 
 "More I think of it," he observed to Laguerre, "the less 
 I like this rastlin round with Skinny Devinney. Seems 
 like she was kind of unnecessary an a heap likely to come 
 high for Racey. He s only a kid, an he s reckless. An 
 I ve heard Skinny was a hard customer." 
 
 "Le s go see heem," was Laguerre s suggestion. 
 
 But the ex-station-boss was not to be found in the Bend. 
 Following the removal of his gun from his person, and his 
 person from his job, Skinny Devinney had saddled a horse 
 and pulled his freight. 
 
 "An I always thought Skinny was a fighter," their 
 bartending informant remarked with disgust. "After 
 gettin his cork pulled thataway he can t never show up in 
 
 this town again, that s a cinch Shore, but throat s a 
 
 leetle raw this mornin . I ll take a cigar, if yuh don t 
 mind." 
 
 "Help yoreself. We ll take about twenty-five apiece 
 ourselves. I like a good smoke, I do, an I don t guess 
 
136 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 we ll run up on any cigars like these here in the Yellow 
 Medicine country." 
 
 "Ridin there, huh?" 
 
 "Between the Medicine an* Dry Creek. Seven an* 
 four-bits? Here y are. Le s wander, Telescope." 
 
 "Good morning, Mister Ramsay." 
 
 It was a gay and Sunday morning voice that spoke, and 
 Johnny, in the act of mounting, slid his foot from the stir 
 rup and turned, dragging off his hat. Mrs. Wallace smiled 
 up into his face with eyes and mouth. 
 
 "G mornin , ma am," said Johnny, and wished Telescope 
 would go away. 
 
 But the halfbreed had no intention of doing any such 
 thing. He sat quite still in the saddle, rolling a cigarette, 
 and unobtrusively observing the lady from under his hat 
 brim. Johnny, greatly against his will, was forced to in 
 troduce him. Laguerre swept off his hat, bowed to the 
 saddle-horn, and commented upon the state of the weather. 
 
 The lady, with her brilliant friendly smile, concurred as 
 to the heat, and again turned her graceful head toward 
 Johnny. 
 
 "You haven t forgotten about coming to see me?" she 
 said in a low tone. 
 
 "Now, ma am, how could I?" was Johnny s answer. 
 
 "To-night?" The black eyes pleaded. 
 
 "I thought " He jerked his head toward the 
 
 Broken Dollar. 
 
 "I m not working to-night. I take a vacation now and 
 then. This evening will be then. Do come. I ll be all 
 alone." The black eyes pleaded harder. 
 
 "I d shore like to. But I can t to-night. I ain t a-goin* 
 to be in town. I m workin for Scotty now." 
 
 "It isn t far from the ranch if if you really want to 
 
LAGUERRE TALKS 137 
 
 come." The long curving lashes were lowered and she 
 was poking with her parasol at a crack in the sidewalk. 
 
 "It ain t case o want, ma am," protested Johnny. 
 "But by to-night I ll be in Rocket. To-morrow me an* 
 my friend ll be over east o the Yellow Medicine some ers. 
 We ll work back to the Flyin M by way of Dry Creek, 
 the Seven Lazy Seven, an Cavalry Valley. Two weeks, 
 ma am, before I ll see the Bend again." 
 
 "Oh, I am sorry," said she; "but you ll come to see me 
 when you return, won t you?" 
 
 "Shore will." 
 
 Again the red lips parted in their fascinating smile. 
 She inclined head and shoulders in a little bow that in 
 cluded Laguerre, swung her parasol and strolled away along 
 the sidewalk, a joy to all beholders. 
 
 "You know Mees Dorothy Burr, huh?" asked the half- 
 breed, when they had passed from Main Street to the Fare 
 well trail. 
 
 "Shore, I know her. Why?" 
 
 "She un Slay dey was ride by w ile you was talk wit de 
 grande demoiselle" 
 
 "Yeah." Outwardly uninterested. 
 
 ""Yeah, she look at you leetle, den leetle more, den she 
 was look at Slay, un laugh un talk fas ." 
 
 "Huh." Still the outward lack of interest. 
 
 "Eet ees hard for drive two pony," said Laguerre. 
 
 "What s drivin two cayuses gotta do with me, I d like 
 to know?" 
 
 " I was jus say so." Laguerre shrugged .Gallic shoulders. 
 "I have been de scout, I have leeve wit Enjun. I see 
 w at I see. I be damfool eef I do not." 
 
 "Say, Telescope, what yuh talkin about anyhow?" 
 
 * f l was jus talk," evaded Laguerre, dropping his off 
 
I 3 8 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 eyelid. "You deed not say you was know dees Mees 
 Wallace w en I was talk about her de firs tarn." 
 
 "Guess I must a forgot. Don t make no difference, 
 does it?" 
 
 "She ees smart," Laguerre side-stepped neatly. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "You have tell her lak you tell de bartender w ere we 
 
 go." 
 
 "Shore I did. I had to. We may be trailed. If we 
 say before we start where we re a-goin to, an then go 
 there, they won t be so suspicious. They ll never think 
 we d say right out where we was lookin for evidence, would 
 they now?" 
 
 "I understan . You have walk een de watair by tellin 
 de trut . But deed I not say dat lady she ees smart ? She 
 weel t ink dat ees jus w at you would do, mabbeso." 
 
 "She ain t as smart as that," Johnny denied vigorously. 
 
 "She ees damsight smarter dan dat, my frien . I tell 
 you dat lady ees hard for fool, bien sur" 
 
 "Yo re always lookin on the black side, y ol wet 
 blanket." 
 
 "Aw right, you weel see," said Laguerre, nodding sagely. 
 "Gimme de match." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 RIDERS AT ROCKET 
 
 JOHNNY S face was not wearing its usual expression 
 of cheer and well-being as its owner rode the trail 
 to Rocket. At times he reddened and shifted un 
 comfortably in the saddle. For the voice of the turtle 
 and the squawk of Mrs. Carey s chicken kept tingling in 
 his ears. It did not alleviate his sense of oppression that 
 Miss Burr had passed unseen while he dallied with Mrs. 
 Wallace. Dorothy would surely think he had meant to 
 slight her. Of course she would. He knew girls possessed 
 the objectionable habit of reasoning things out the wrong 
 way. Not that it made any real difference. Why should 
 it? 
 
 "W at you swear for all tarn?" inquired the mildly 
 curious halfbreed. 
 
 "I m so hot," was the sole explanation he got from 
 Johnny. 
 
 Late in the evening they reached that collection of two 
 dozen houses, three saloons, one store, and one hotel 
 known as Rocket. They were forced to awaken Dave 
 Sinclair, the hotel-keeper. But he received them joyfully, 
 for they were his friends, and set before them cold beans 
 and fried ham. 
 
 "Hear about the shootin down at Farewell?" asked 
 Dave, humanly anxious to tell a good story. 
 
 "Yeah," Johnny replied. 
 
 139 
 
140 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Tough on Lute," said the disappointed Dave, "but 
 Whiskey tells me Slim will pull through all fine an* dandy. 
 Good feller, Slim." 
 
 "She ees all dat," averred Laguerre. 
 
 "How s tricks, Dave?" Thus Johnny, between stuffed 
 mouthfuls. 
 
 "Don t do no good to kick." 
 
 "Many folks stoppin here?" 
 
 "Not so many. Had Bale Harper for a week an a 
 young feller from the Anvil leastwise he was ridin that 
 brand for a night. But both of em drifted north to 
 gether. There ain t nobody but me here now, an you 
 fellers. Guess that coffee d oughta be about b iled. Shore. 
 Here she is." 
 
 "That wall eye of Bale s gives me the creeps," observed 
 Johnny, spading in the sugar. 
 
 "She is kind of gloomersome. Always lookin where he 
 ain t, Bale is. I ve heard he can shoot a few with a Win 
 chester, but damfino how he does it, unless he aims with 
 both eyes an strikes an average before he cuts loose." 
 
 "Bale s got a li l ranch some ers, ain t he?" hazarded 
 Johnny. 
 
 "Shore has, him an* Spill together," affirmed the guile 
 less Dave. "Some ers back of the Medicine Mountains 
 on Dry Creek." 
 
 "She ain t much of an outfit, I guess." 
 
 "Not much. Just a few cows an hosses. They don t 
 need steady lookin after." 
 
 "Guess that suits Bale." 
 
 "Shore. He ain t there a whole lot. Aw, he s like his 
 brother Spill too strong to work. How s Scotty Mack 
 enzie?" 
 
 "Same old silvertip. Got the notion now, he has, that 
 
RIDERS AT ROCKET 141 
 
 a black-tail dun is the only colour o hoss worth cinchin a 
 hull on. Course a black-tail dun is a tough, strong colour, 
 but she ain t the only hoss in the world by a jugful. Me 
 personal I think a heap of the chestnut with a black stripe. 
 Any black-tail duns round here, Dave?" 
 
 "Ain t seen a black-tail dun in two years. A buck was 
 ridin that one." 
 
 "Injun, hey? Stallion, was he? Old?" 
 
 "Mare, an young." 
 
 "That s just as good. Maybe Mister Warwhoop would 
 sell. What was his name?" 
 
 "Black Bear." 
 
 "Fort Yardley Reservation?" 
 
 "I guess. You ain t thinkin of ridin there, are yuh?" 
 
 "I ain t makin a point of it, but if I m ever over toward 
 the Hatchet Creek country I ll shorely look up Mister 
 Black Bear an see will he sell. Likely he has though 
 if she was a good hoss." 
 
 "She was that all right full o life like a charge o giant. 
 Droppin the rein never did to anchor her. Black Bear 
 used to carry a rope for that special." 
 
 "He did, huh? Must a been a reg lar hoss. Coffee 
 pot dry, Dave?" 
 
 Thuddy-thud, thuddy-thud, a pony was being loped along 
 the trail from the south. Before Johnny finished filling 
 his cup the pony had stopped in front of the hotel. There 
 was no immediate sound of the rider s dismounting, and 
 Johnny saw that the man was looking into the dining room 
 through the open doorway. The horse moved forward a 
 step or two. 
 
 "Lookin through the window now," Johnny told him 
 self, stirring rapidly. "He shore is one careful gent." 
 
 Twenty seconds later there was a creak and a thump 
 
i 4 2 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 as the cautious one dismounted. He entered with spurs 
 a-jingle, hooked out a chair with his toe and plumped him 
 self down opposite Johnny. The latter s nerves were 
 under too excellent control to permit a start of surprise. 
 He looked pleasantly instead into the face of the tall red 
 headed stranger who had killed Mat Neville. 
 
 "Howdy, gents," nodded the red-head to the three men, 
 displaying as he slightly smiled the canines at the left side 
 of his mouth. "I m in luck. I shore never expected to 
 get anythin to eat at this time o night." 
 
 "Yore expectations may be right at that," said Dave 
 Sinclair sourly. 
 
 "Oh, I got money." 
 
 The stranger laughed in sinister fashion and spun a silver 
 dollar on the oilcloth. His eyes gleamed yellowly in the 
 shadow of his high-crowned white hat. 
 
 "I d shore like some hot coffee," he added softly. 
 " Stranger" to Johnny "will yuh shove them beans this 
 way so they ll be all ready when my plate an trimmin s 
 arrive." 
 
 "This here runnin a hotel ain t a business," gloomed 
 Dave on his way to the kitchen, "it s a exercise." 
 
 The red-head winked solemnly at Johnny and Laguerre 
 and planted bony elbows on the table. 
 
 "Cool night," he remarked genially, smiling his dog- 
 oothed smile, turning his blank, fixed stare on Johnny. 
 
 The eyelids dropped a trifle. The man passed a hand 
 across his hairless face. "Damn cool night," he added, 
 and began to spoon beans from the dish to his plate. 
 
 Johnny wondered whether the red-head had recognized 
 him and Laguerre. He determined to find out. 
 
 "She s a long ride from Farewell kind of," observed 
 Johnny. 
 
RIDERS AT ROCKET 143 
 
 "Shore," said the red-head, looking up from his plate, 
 "I recognized yuh both of yuh. I don t forget faces. 
 Can t afford to. Yuh ll notice I m keepin away from 
 Farewell now." 
 
 "Meanin P" Johnny asked easily. 
 
 "Meanin that I might come back. Yuh never can 
 tell." 
 
 "That s right. Yuh can t." 
 
 Johnny and Laguerre left the red-head to his beans and 
 departed bedward. In whispers, at the open window of 
 their room, they debated the significance of the red-head s 
 arrival. Laguerre was of the opinion that it disposed of 
 Johnny s theory that the man had been concerned in the 
 murder of Lute Holloway and the wounding of the mar 
 shal. 
 
 "Eef she was meex up een dat she was not come w ere 
 de deputy can fin heem," pronounced the halfbreed. 
 
 "That s just what he would do," declared Johnny. 
 "He s no fool, an besides he dunno he s suspected." 
 
 "W y she not know? You jus say she was no fool. 
 She guess eet easy, I tell you." 
 
 Thus they argued in a circle, after the fashion of detec 
 tives, amateur and professional, and each went to bed 
 convinced that the other fellow did not know what he was 
 talking about. 
 
 In the morning Johnny was up very betimes. He first 
 visited the bar-room, where, in a corner, the red-head s 
 saddle lay. Johnny dragged the Winchester from the 
 worn scabbard under the near fender, found the caliber 
 to be forty-five ninety, and disappointedly slid the rifle 
 back. Then he went to the corral and carefully inspected 
 the red-head s horse, an unbranded blue, the same animal 
 on which he had ridden away from Farewell. With due 
 
144 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 consideration for eyes, prying and otherwise, Johnny, 
 while apparently having great difficulty in bridling his 
 own astonished pony, forced the red-head s blue to skip 
 briskly hither and yon. 
 
 Clumsily Johnny buckled the throat-latch and reached 
 one hand down into a side pocket of his trousers. When 
 he withdrew the hand, a handkerchief and several pieces of 
 small change came with it. The handkerchief went to 
 wipe his face. The small change bounded gaily in all 
 directions. Swearing heartily, Johnny stooped and set 
 about retrieving his wealth. When the last coin was in 
 his pocket and he straightened he had an excellent working 
 knowledge of the size, shape and appearance of the four 
 shoe-marks of the brandless blue. 
 
 In order to carry out the illusion he threw on and cinched 
 his saddle and led his horse to the hitching-rail in front 
 of the hotel. Then he went in to breakfast. The red 
 head, his mouth a-yawn, came down as Johnny and La- 
 guerre were finishing. 
 
 "Coin my way, gents?" he asked, rubbing his tousled 
 red hair. 
 
 "If yo re goin* south," Johnny said smilelessly. 
 
 "Now that s shore a calamity," mourned the other. 
 "Fm travelin north, but I shore hoped for company." 
 
 While Laguerre was catching up his mount Johnny sat 
 slouched in his saddle and smoked and watched an ap 
 proaching dust-cloud on the trail they were to take. By 
 the time Laguerre was mounted Johnny saw within the 
 dust-cloud the hazy outlines of three horsemen. 
 
 "Looks like Bill Stahl s boss?" suggested Johnny. 
 
 "She ees Beel Stahl," declared Laguerre. 
 
 Humanly curious, they waited in front of the hotel. 
 
 "Jack Murgatroyd, too," said Johnny. 
 
RIDERS AT ROCKET 145 
 
 Murgatroyd was one of the sheriff s two deputies, a 
 silent, swarthy man with eyes small and bright as black 
 beads. 
 
 "The middle one s wearin the come-alongs," amplified 
 Johnny. "Know him?" 
 
 Laguerre shook his head. The trio rode up and the 
 sheriff and his deputy dismounted. The officers nodded 
 and gave brief greeting to the two stray men and turned 
 to help down their handcuffed prisoner. Before the three 
 could enter the hotel Johnny contrived to catch the sheriffs 
 eye. 
 
 "Take him in an give him his breakfast, Jack," said the 
 sheriff instantly. "I ll be in later." 
 
 Sheriff Stahl picked up the bridles of the three horses and 
 led them round the corner of the hotel. 
 
 "Gimme a lift, will yuh, Johnny?" he called back. 
 
 "We both will," cried Johnny. 
 
 "This is shore neighbourly," said the sheriff, his china- 
 blue eyes twinkling, when they relieved him of two horses. 
 
 "Ain t it?" grinned Johnny. "Who s yore friend?" 
 
 " Murderer named Hen Riley. Killed a barkeep over 
 at Single. He didn t really mean to do it. He was drunk 
 at the time an nobody liked the barkeep anyway, so I guess 
 Hen 11 get off all right." 
 
 "I thought maybe he might be one o the bandits." 
 
 "Not Hen. He s a prospector. Wouldn t hurt a 
 flea when he s sober." 
 
 "The fellah that killed Mat Neville s inside." Johnny 
 jerked his head toward the hotel. 
 
 "He is!" 
 
 "Shore as yo re a foot high. Yuh ll find him in the 
 dinin -room eatin beans by the mile." 
 
 "Wait here till I come back," ordered the sheriff. 
 
146 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Bill Stahl entered the hotel by way of the kitchen. 
 Within three minutes he returned, rolling a sorrowful 
 cigarette. 
 
 "Dunno him a-tall," he informed the two. "An he 
 don t remind me o nothin or nobody I ever seen before." 
 
 "That s tough," said Johnny simply. "I guess we ll 
 be weavin along, Bill." 
 
 But, as they wove, they stopped at the Blue Front Store 
 and asked for forty sixty-five cartridges. 
 
 "Don t keep em," the proprietor told them. "No call 
 for them half an half calibers. Forty-five ninety an* 
 thirty-eights all I got." 
 
 "Djever keep forty sixty-fives?" persisted Johnny. 
 
 "Not since I been keepin store here, an that s more n 
 three years." 
 
 This was final and seemed to dispose of Rocket as an 
 ammunition dump for the bandit with the odd-calibered 
 rifle. Johnny and Laguerre went into the street and picked 
 up their bridles. Before they could mount a hatless man 
 on a pinto dashed round the corner of the hotel corral. 
 Somewhere behind the hotel sounded the smacking thud of 
 a six-shooter. The hatless man, looking from side to side, 
 raced his pony down the street. He glimpsed Johnny 
 and Laguerre and cut in toward them instantly. The 
 rider s mouth was open, his eyes were staring, his scanty 
 gray hair flickered in the breeze. He looked frightened. 
 He probably was. 
 
 Another horseman swung past the corner of the hotel 
 corral. He threw down with a jerk. Johnny and La 
 guerre, dragging their horses by the bridles, scrambled 
 across the sidewalk. Bang ! The pony of the pursued 
 fell on its knees. The gray-haired man tumbled over the 
 saddle-horn, rolled to one side, struggled to his feet, and 
 
RIDERS AT ROCKET 147 
 
 ran toward Johnny and Laguerre, wildly flapping his 
 arms. 
 
 "Gents! Gents!" he gasped, his eyes now fairly starting 
 out of his head. "Listen! I can tell! 
 
 Bang ! The accurate six-shooter of his pursuer put in 
 its period. The expression of the gray-haired man under 
 went a change in a breath. From extreme fright it veered 
 to one of intense surprise. The upraised leg came down. 
 But there was no strength in the knee-joint, and the man 
 fell forward on the ground in the grotesque attitude of one 
 praying in a mosque. There he remained, quite still, and 
 thin trickles of blood seeped downward from a hole in each 
 temple and soaked into the dust of the street. 
 
 Johnny and Laguerre returned across the sidewalk. 
 The man with the six-shooter rode up and dismounted. 
 He was a tall young man with alert, animal eyes, prominent 
 jawbones, and a silver star. Johnny knew him. He was 
 Chance Blaisdell, Sheriff Stand s other deputy. 
 
 From saloons, houses, the store and the hotel, folk came 
 hurriedly and gathered about the deputy sheriff and the 
 poor huddled thing that lay at his feet. Blaisdell non 
 chalantly threw out the cylinder of his six-shooter, ejected 
 the spent shells and reloaded. Sheriff Stahl, wiping his 
 mustache on his sleeve, pushed through the silent crowd 
 and stood beside the deputy. 
 
 "What s the trouble, Chance?" he asked, his eyes on 
 the body of the dead man. 
 
 Chance gave a perceptible start. Then he laughed 
 shortly. 
 
 "Didn t know you was in town, Bill," he said. "Bein* 
 as yo re here it ll save me makin out a report. This feller 
 got away from me, an I had to down him." 
 
 "Who was he?" 
 
i 4 8 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "One o the hold-ups that robbed the Wells-Fargo office 
 at Cutter night before last." 
 
 "Huh?" The crowd murmured surprisedly. 
 
 "Shore. Didn t yuh know? Yep. The gang they 
 was three of em blowed in the safe, creased the agent 
 twice in one leg, shot the gun out of his hand an got away 
 with twenty-five hundred dollars. Me, I m sleepin at 
 the hotel with that brand-blotter I m takin down to 
 
 Farewell for Jake Rule, an* I hopped out immediate 
 
 Shore, he s safe. Barkeep s guardin him with a shot-gun. 
 I rustled a posse an we trailed them bouncin jiggers 
 toward the Emigrant Hills. Half-way there they separ 
 ated an we done the same. Yesterday afternoon I was 
 scoutin up the country round Crow Creek, an I jumped 
 this here feller. 
 
 "I throwed down on him, an he tried to get away. I 
 dropped his hoss, an he caves. I herds him along to 
 Cooley s ranch, got him this pinto an brought him along. 
 I didn t tie him or nothin he acted so like he was sick 
 I felt sorry for him. Would yuh believe it, Bill, he got 
 away from me back there on the woods a piece an I didn t 
 come up on him till he surged in back o the corral. I 
 missed him the first shot, but I shore got his hoss the second. 
 That didn t satisfy him. He kept right on tryin to jump 
 the reservation, an I had to down him. I ll bet yuh," he 
 added regretfully, "he d a had a lot of interestin stuff 
 to tell at the trial." 
 
 "Yuh d oughta been more careful," chided the sheriff. 
 "Next time you drill a leg or somethin . It s just as good, 
 an don t hinder the feller s talkin a little bit." 
 
 "Maybe I was a little excited," admitted the deputy. 
 
 "Don t let it happen again, then. Howdja know he s 
 one o the hold-ups? Follow his trail alia time?" 
 
RIDERS AT ROCKET 149 
 
 "Naw, I lost his trail a heap. But we don t need tracks 
 for evidence with this jigger. I found some o* the express 
 money on him in a busted-open Wells-Fargo package an* 
 I found one o Old Man Fane s buckskin bags with some 
 dust left in her, too." 
 
 "Where s the package an the bag?" 
 
 The deputy fumbled importantly in a saddle pocket, 
 drew out a torn packet that gave forth a chinking sound, 
 and a limp, buckskin bag that closed with a drawstring 
 and bulged at one end. 
 
 The sheriff and as much of the crowd as could find space 
 Johnny and Laguerre were among the first to find that 
 space examined the evidence. The torn packet was in 
 dubitably a Wells-Fargo express package designed to con 
 tain, as indicated by the figures, five hundred dollars in 
 gold. There were in it precisely twenty-five double eagles. 
 The buckskin bag, when the sheriff had slacked off the 
 drawstring, was found to contain between three and four 
 ounces of gold dust. Marked on the side, in crude letter 
 ing, were the initials L. F. Old Man Fane s given name 
 had been Lucius. 
 
 "Looks like he done it all right," chattily remarked the 
 red-head, craning his long neck over the hats of two other 
 men. 
 
 "Looks are shore queer things sometimes," drawled 
 Johnny Ramsay, in whose mind the germ of an idea had 
 suddenly been born. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 BECAUSE 
 
 W HEN S Chance goin to send my pinto back?" 
 demanded querulous Mr. Cooley, combing his 
 whiskers. 
 
 "He didn t say," Johnny told him. "Shore y ain t 
 missed any cayuses?" 
 
 "I should say not. Which if I had yuh could hear me 
 yellin from here to the Yellowstone. Naw sir, the whole 
 seventeen was in the corral this mornin . I counted em. 
 Didja see the prisoner?" 
 
 "Shore." 
 
 "Hard customer, an kind o old, Chance said. It s 
 about time them road agents was beginnin to be caught. 
 Shore too bad Chance had to down him. I " 
 
 "Didn t you see him the prisoner?" 
 
 "Me? No. Chance he left him tied an handcuffed 
 to a tree near the Twin Springs while Chance rid over 
 for a hoss for him. I told Chance to ride by here on 
 his way to Rocket so i s the wife could see a real road 
 agent she don t have much fun, Mary don t but I 
 guess Chance was in a hurry. I ain t seen him since. 
 Say, yo re shore that paint pony was in good health, 
 huh?" 
 
 "Yo re shore y ain t seen any strangers, are yuh?" 
 dodged Johnny. 
 
 "No, I ain t. Say, they ain t nothin* happened to that 
 
 150 
 
BECAUSE 151 
 
 pinto, did they?" Lively suspicion brightened Mr. 
 Cooley s faded blue eyes. 
 
 "Well " hesitated Johnny. 
 
 "What happened him, huh?" Genuine alarm on the 
 part of Mr. Cooley. 
 
 "Chance sort o killed yore pinto by mistake," was 
 Johnny s answer. 
 
 "- - Chance Blaisdell to !" whooped Mr. 
 
 Cooley, hopping with rage. "My pinto! I ll learn the 
 ! My pinto! By - - I ll take it out o 
 Chance s hide! What n does he think he is, shootin 
 other folks bosses ! I ll make the county pay for that boss ! 
 By- -I will!" 
 
 Having extracted all possible information from Mr. 
 Cooley they left that bereft gentleman to enjoy his woe 
 in private. But they could hear his heartfelt curses for 
 quite a while. 
 
 From Cooley s ranch they rode to Hall s, a small ranch 
 east of the Anvil. But no one at Hall s had seen any 
 strangers. Nor were any of the horses missing. 
 
 At the Anvil, as was to be expected, their luck was sim 
 ilar. The foreman told them what he had told Jake Rule s 
 posse. They rode on to the B bar B. "Baldy" Barbee, 
 the genial old citizen, received them joyously, pressed upon 
 them food and whiskey, but neither he nor his men had 
 cut the trails of any strangers, and all the B bar B horses 
 were accounted for. 
 
 From the B bar B to Dogville is a scant half-day s ride. 
 So Johnny and Laguerre rode to Dogville. They departed 
 as they came none the wiser. 
 
 "S pose we might as well hit for the Yellow Medicine," 
 said Johnny. 
 
 "Shore," grunted Laguerre. "Funny ting nobody 
 
152 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 lose de pony. Dem hol up shore mus have de strong 
 hoss." 
 
 "They must have," drawled Johnny. "What s the 
 use o ridin this trail, Telescope? If we turn off here an* 
 head straight for Longhorn Mountain an then swing north 
 east we ll cross the Bend trail way north o Cutter an 
 strike the Yellow Medicine south o Big Tepee. Ought to 
 save us a good thirty mile." 
 
 Ridge and wooded valley, mountain and wash and draw, 
 passed beneath their horses feet and they came at last to a 
 brook a few miles south of Cooley s ranch, where the moun 
 tain ash flaunted its bunches of gaudy berries above a riot 
 of box-elder bushes. The tired horses thrust hot noses 
 bit under in the water and the men crooked their knees 
 round their saddle-horns and rolled cigarettes. 
 
 "Somethin s dead round here," observed Johnny, 
 flirting a blackened match into the bushes. 
 
 A little breeze got up and blew among the box-elders. 
 
 "Somethin shore is dead a whole lot," amplified Johnny, 
 wrinkling an offended nose. 
 
 "Over dere beyond dem mountain ash," Laguerre said. 
 
 Breathing through their mouths they rode beyond the 
 ash trees. They saw the cause of the nauseous odour. 
 The cause was a dead gray horse in full bloom. Saddled 
 and bridled it lay there a loathly thing in the sunlight. 
 Seven gorged crows sat upon the body and stared torpidly 
 at the intruders. Laguerre waved an arm. Cawing 
 raucous protest, the birds flapped heavily away. 
 
 "Legs ain t broken or nothing," observed Johnny, in 
 specting the horse with a professional eye. "Good hoss, 
 too. H L brand. Ain t been dead more n a week." 
 
 "Hot weadair for tell sartain shore," said Laguerre 
 critically, "but she ees less dead dan a week I tink, me." . 
 
BECAUSE 153 
 
 " Maybe she s the hoss o the old feller Chance downed. 
 Didn t he say he jumped him near Crow Creek an had to 
 kill his hoss? Shore he did. An right now from here to 
 the creek ain t more n a few miles. This here s the hoss all 
 right." 
 
 "Odder hoss been here too." 
 
 "Yeah?" 
 
 "Shore. Two tree four hoss was tie here to dem 
 mountain ash." 
 
 He pointed toward some trees ten yards off. 
 
 "How long ago?" asked Johnny. 
 
 "I can not tell dat. You know dat lightnin* we see un 
 dat t undair we hear way way yondair een de nort eas* 
 las night? Well, den, dat storm she come ovair dees 
 plass see w ere de rain was t row leetle mud on dead hoss 
 un she wash way heap o sign. But she leave nough 
 to show dere was four hoss tie to dem ash." 
 
 Johnny rode forward and leaned over the saddle-horn, 
 his eyes on the ground. 
 
 "Not a hoofmark," he mourned, "an me with a photo 
 graph in my mind o every one o that blue s shoes." 
 
 "De redhead she was not een dat beezness at Cuttair 
 mabbeso," cheered Laguerre, who had dismounted and 
 was examining closely the trees to which the four horses 
 had been tied. 
 
 "Maybe not," gloomed Johnny. 
 
 "One o dese pony was tie wit de rope," said Laguerre, 
 pulling several threads of manila from the bark of one of 
 the trees. 
 
 "Blacktaildun?" 
 
 "Dunno. Don see no hair." 
 
 "Must be him. But Chance didn t say a word about 
 jumpin five men. He only said one." 
 
154 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 " Dey was not all here den, mabbeso. De sign does not 
 say de four odder boss was bere w en dat gray was 
 keel." 
 
 "Come to think of it, if they had been here Chance 
 Blaisdell would a been shot shore. He d a cashed right 
 there, no two ways about it." 
 
 "Chance she say dere was t ree men een dat Cuttair 
 beezness. Here ees five cayuse de sign o four un one 
 dead." 
 
 "Maybe this dead one was one o the four." 
 
 "I do not tink she was, me. Look how she was head for 
 dem tree w ere de four was tie w en she was keel. Eef she 
 was one o de four she would head away from de tree." 
 
 "Maybe the old feller was ridin away from here an* 
 seen Chance an turned back with Chance on his trail." 
 
 "Ah," exclaimed Laguerre in triumph. "W en a man 
 ees chasse he ride fas he can. Look de ground behin* de 
 dead boss. Sof, you see. Well, den, eef de boss was 
 gallop hees hoofmark was show, bien sur. She was be 
 drive een so deep she was stay dere eef she rain all day 
 steady. Un I know she was not rain more dan one two 
 hour, un dere ees no mark. Dat show de gray boss was 
 walk to dees plass. She was stand steel or walk w en she 
 was keel. Now you tink de ol man was ride heem, huh ?" 
 
 "I dunno," Johnny said helplessly. "I dunno what to 
 think. She s one puzzle. That s a good saddle an bridle 
 on that gray boss," he added with apparent irrelevance. 
 
 "I don t want em," declared Laguerre. 
 
 "Me neither, but it seems kind of a pity to leave em 
 there to be all chewed up. Them crows ain t done the 
 leather a bit o good already." 
 
 So Johnny, holding his breath, cut the cinches and throat 
 latch and freed the bloated body of saddle and bridle. 
 
BECAUSE 155 
 
 He tossed the saddle into the convenient fork of a mountain 
 ash. 
 
 ""You ll nevair see eet again/ observed Laguerre, eyeing 
 his comrade curiously. 
 
 "I know, but they s silver conchas on that saddle an 
 bridle, an real hand-carved leather. Yuh don t see that 
 kind every day. Maybe they ll help to run down the rest 
 o the road agents. An if the saddle is able to do us any 
 good there she is safe in that ash fork where we can find 
 her again." 
 
 "S pose anudder man fin her." 
 
 "Small loss. I know what she looks like. An anyway 
 I don t guess nobody 11 find her right soon. Yuh ll notice 
 that twenty feet away them other branches an trees hide 
 her pretty complete." 
 
 "But w at you do wit de bridle dere on de ground?" 
 
 "That bridle s goin to travel with me inside the slicker 
 on the back of my saddle. That s right, laugh! You 
 think you know it all, don t yuh ? Well, you ll see where 
 she s just a li l thing like this bridle that ll maybe trip em 
 all up." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 TARGET PRACTISE 
 
 KDING with all care for the strength of their 
 mounts there might be desperate need of that 
 strength later they came at last to where the tall 
 cone of Big Teepee Mountain rears its timberless top above 
 the Yellow Medicine. Yet they did not swing north along 
 the river. They had decided to visit the ranch of Bale 
 Harper, and they held on due east toward the Medicine 
 Mountains and Dry Creek. Dave Sinclair, in his mention 
 of the ranch, had not definitely located the place. But the 
 range of the Medicines is not more than a hundred miles 
 long, and the flat country between the mountains and the 
 creek, even at the widest of the stream s many loops, is a 
 short five miles across. 
 
 In places the creek runs through the tangles of box-elder 
 and sumac at the very base of the long slopes where the 
 bull pine and the spruce grow in a sprawling confusion of 
 clumps and patches. The Indians, those that are allowed 
 off the reservation, shun the Medicine Mountains with a 
 great enthusiasm. For, in their simple aboriginal way, 
 they believe that the eternal sound of the wind as it griev 
 ously sighs and soughs through the pines that crowd the 
 narrow canons is the outward expression of the spirits of 
 their ancestors. In common with more enlightened folk 
 they greatly fear such spirits, especially when the sportive 
 shades gambol and frolic among the tree-tops. 
 
 156 
 
TARGET PRACTISE 157 
 
 On a cool and blowy morning the two stray men saw 
 the shallow waters of Dry Creek a-shine in the sunlight 
 beyond the fringing cottonwoods. When they and their 
 horses had drunk long and deep they rode northward be 
 tween the mountains and the river. 
 
 Occasionally they saw cattle. The brand was B H. 
 Several times they saw unbranded three-and-four-year-olds 
 following their mothers. 
 
 "Looks like friend Bale was kind o j careless," observed 
 Johnny. That makes the ninth over two years old. 
 Bull too, that one." 
 
 "De way de cow she sell now, dat mak hunder tirty 
 hunder forty dollar run roun loose not even de earmark." 
 
 "It d be a pickup for some gent. Guess Dave spoke 
 the truth when he said Bale didn t fuss round his ranch a 
 whole lot. Still, yuh d think he d have a round-up once 
 in a while." 
 
 The sun was high on the following day when they heard, 
 beyond some cottonwoods standing above a thicket of box- 
 elders, the sudden excited barking of a dog. They skirted 
 the box-elders, rode through the cottonwoods, and saw 
 across a flat a log ranch-house and stockaded corral backed 
 by tall pines. 
 
 The flat was a long two hundred yards in width. In the 
 middle of it a small yellow dog faced them with set legs 
 and barked out his little soul in shrill fury. On a bench 
 outside the door of the ranch-house a man sat and cleaned 
 a Winchester. At least there was a rifle across his knees 
 and he was industriously swabbing out the breech with a 
 rag. The man eyed them steadily as they advanced and 
 did not cease to swab. 
 
 "Shut up, Biscuit!" called the man on the bench. 
 
 Instantly the yellow dog ceased to shriek, loped to the 
 
158 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 bench and sat down at the man s feet. Johnny waved a 
 friendly arm. The man waved back, dropped his rag, 
 clacked-to the lever, and laid the Winchester across his 
 knees. Johnny noted that he did not lower the hammer to 
 safety. He wondered if there was a cartridge in the cham 
 ber. There are great possibilities in a man with a cocked 
 rifle in his lap. 
 
 And now they were close enough to recognize the sharp- 
 featured face in the dark shadow of the hat. Johnny s 
 eyes widened. The man was Bale Harper s brother, Spill, 
 he of the sandy hair and mean expression. 
 
 "Howdy," said Johnny gravely, stopping his horse in 
 front of Harper. 
 
 "Howdy/ returned the amiable Spill, his little eyes flick 
 ering between the faces of Johnny and Laguerre. 
 
 It was notable that Spill s nimble eyes never squarely 
 encountered those of another. Their roving gaze was as 
 elusive as a handful of smoke. Johnny, slouching side- 
 wise in the saddle, rolled a slow cigarette and silently and 
 vainly strove to engage those quick and dodging eyes. 
 
 "Got a match, Harper?" he inquired gently. 
 
 "Shore," replied Spill, and took one from his hatband. 
 
 "Good layout yuh got here," observed Johnny, when the 
 cigarette was going well. 
 
 "Yeah," was the indifferent reply. 
 
 "Bale s ranch, ain t it?" persisted Johnny. 
 
 "Mine an his." Accompaniment of an elaborate yawn. 
 
 "We knowed yuh had a ranch over this way. We was 
 hopin to find it. Kind o thought we d spend one civilized 
 night anyway." 
 
 "Yeah." 
 
 Johnny hurdled this without a stagger and kept right 
 on. 
 
TARGET PRACTISE 159 
 
 "Seen any Flyin M bosses around here?" 
 
 "No, I ain t!" Sharply. 
 
 "No offense," said Johnny mildly. "I was just won- 
 derin . Yuh see, we re scoutin after a passel of our hosses. 
 A whole heap of em has done strayed lately." 
 
 "Yeah." Further bored indifference on the part of 
 Mr. Harper. 
 
 ""Yeah," echoed Johnny, beginning to find the art of 
 conversation a very boggy ford. 
 
 Sounded then the abrupt scuffle of boot soles on the 
 floor of the ranch-house, and a lean and craggy person 
 appeared in the doorway. He wore two black eyes, a 
 scratched and puffy nose and a genial expression. In 
 one hand was a chunkof bacon, in the other a butcher knife. 
 Known among men as Skinny Devinney, he was numbered 
 in the list of acquaintances of both Mr. Ramsay and Mr. 
 Laguerre. 
 
 "Howdy, gents," cried the ex-station-boss heartily. 
 "Light an rest yore hats. Dinner s most ready. All I 
 gotta do is slice off some more hawg. Bacon, can to- 
 matters, coffee an real shore- nough sugar. Sounds good, 
 huh?" 
 
 "Shore does, but " Johnny looked pointed at the 
 
 half-owner. 
 
 "Oh, that s all right," grinned Skinny Devinney. "He 
 was just studyin about askin yuh. He s slow, Spill is. 
 Takes him a while to cinch the hull on his mind. He don t 
 mean nothin by it, so don t yuh mind him none. He s a 
 real two-legged man behind his face." 
 
 "Oh, I got a heart o gold all right," said Spill Harper, 
 with a snarl of a laugh. "Me n that idjit there been 
 a-fightin all.mornin/ an I ain t got over it yet. He says 
 the best hosses come from Texas, an any fool knows Ari- 
 
160 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 zona has the call. Light, gents, throw yore hosses in the 
 corral an be miserable with the rest of us." 
 
 They "lighted" and ate with Skinny and Spill. After 
 dinner all four sat on the bench outside the door and 
 smoked and discussed the bleak news of the cow country. 
 Among other incidents Johnny mentioned the robbing of 
 the express office at Cutter. At the news the amazement 
 of Mr. Harper and Mr. Devinney was profound and colour 
 ful with oaths. 
 
 "They re shore bluebirds," nodded Johnny. 
 
 "Yuh d think they d take a rest once in a while," said 
 Skinny. 
 
 "They ll get dumped soon," declared Spill Harper. 
 "They may be hellamile, but they can t keep it up. 
 Tain t natural." 
 
 The logical Mr. Harper nodded his head sagely and 
 looked about him for indorsement. Mr. Ramsay also 
 looked about him. In an unobtrusive way he had been 
 doing little else since his arrival. His lazy gray eyes rested 
 for an instant on a cottonwood sapling two hundred 
 yards distant, passed on to a few bullet-riddled tin cans 
 in the foreground, then came back to the sapling. 
 The trunk of the cottonwood was chipped and scarred 
 and feathery with freshly splintered wood. Beyond it 
 another sapling had been broken off some four feet from 
 the ground. Stub and top were held together by a 
 single strip of bark. Johnny s eyes as he looked became 
 lazier. 
 
 "Been shootin some," he drawled, nodding toward 
 the two saplings. 
 
 "Nothin much else to do when we ain t ridin ," ex 
 plained Skinny. 
 
 "Well, I don t claim to be great shakes with a rifle," 
 
TARGET PRACTISE 161 
 
 pursued Johnny, "but I got a good mind to try maybe a 
 few shots." 
 
 "Help yoreself," invited Spill, his close-set little eyes 
 beginning to gleam. "Maybe now me n Skinny an yore 
 friend ll shoot with yuh." 
 
 "Not me," said Laguerre. "I weel not waste de car 
 tridge." 
 
 Spill Harper and Skinny Devinney switched contemptu 
 ous eyes to the half-breed. They seemed to be on the point 
 of saying something. But they switched their eyes away 
 without saying it. And somehow the contempt in their 
 eyes had disappeared. Laguerre smiled inwardly and 
 rolled another cigarette. 
 
 Johnny, who had gone to the corral for the rifle on his 
 saddle, came back with the long arm and sat down on the 
 bench. 
 
 "See that cottonwood child there," he observed care 
 lessly, "the one yuh ve shot in two an* busted off. They s 
 just a li l strip o bark a-holdin it to the stub. Looks to be 
 about as wide as yore thumb. I m aimin to cut her in 
 two an drop the trunk." 
 
 "Three shots?" asked Skinny Devinney. 
 
 "One," Johnny said gently. 
 
 "Bet yuh ten even yuh can t do it!" exclaimed Spill. 
 
 "Go yuh." Johnny took him up, and turned sleepy 
 eyes on Skinny. "Anybody else want any of this? I got 
 twenty more says I can cut that bark in two." 
 
 "Make it fifty," suggested Skinny, imbued with the 
 gambler s spirit, and keen to make an honest dollar. 
 
 "I m yore ladybug," Johnny told him. 
 
 "How about raisin my ante?" Spill asked eagerly. 
 "S pose we make it same as Skinny s, huh?" 
 
 "So s they won t be any hard feelin s s pose we do. 
 
i6 2 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Gents, I will now give yuh an imitation of a young man 
 puttin one hundred wheels, five twenty-dollar gold babies 
 of Uncle Sammy s money in the hands of a stakeholder, 
 said office bein ably filled by Mister Laguerre." 
 
 "I hope the money ain t imitation," smiled Skinny, as 
 he made his ante, " cause I ve got mine spent already." 
 
 "Yuh ll owe that bartender a whole lot in less than five 
 minutes," Johnny assured him. "Watch my smoke." 
 
 "We will," sneered Spill Harper. "Here s mine, Mister 
 Laguerre. Not that she s really necessary, cause yuh ll 
 be handin her back with somethin added on before a 
 great while." 
 
 "Yeah," laughed Johnny. "In some ways you an 
 Mister Devinney think a lot alike. You just watch my 
 smoke. Watch the professor take the rabbits out o 
 grandpa s hat. Look closely, Ferdinand, or yuh ll miss 
 somethin . See the professor has ab-so-lutely nothin 
 up his sleeve but his arm. Watch now, you folks in 
 the front row, an yuh ll learn all about how to make 
 one hundred dollars in three movements an a hatful o 
 smoke." 
 
 Johnny tossed up his Winchester. There was a flash 
 and a bang and a cloud of gray smoke. The strip of bark 
 parted. The heel of the sapling s severed top scraped 
 down the side of the stub. 
 
 Johnny ejected the empty shell, clicked in a fresh cart 
 ridge, lowered the hammer to safety and looked inquiringly 
 at Skinny and Spill. 
 
 "That wasn t a shot," said Skinny with an uncertain 
 laugh; "that was a miracle." 
 
 "Was it?" grinned Johnny. 
 
 "Yuh couldn t do it again!" Spill declared emphatically. 
 
 "No? Well, we ll see about that later. Just now, 
 
TARGET PRACTISE 163 
 
 there s a li l business to talk over. You gents are satisfied 
 I done what I said I would?" 
 
 "Oh, take the money!" snapped the sulky Harper. 
 
 "Yo re welcome to mine, an that s whatever," Skinny 
 put in tardily. " Miracle or no miracle, that was shorely 
 one in the black." 
 
 "It don t hardly seem right to take this without givin 
 you gents a chance to come again," Johnny averred, 
 pocketing the clinking handful of gold. "S pose now you 
 fellers try a shot or two." 
 
 "I can t shoot with you," Skinny said, strangely modest, 
 "but Spill here s most as good as his brother, an Bale he s 
 a medicine man with a rifle." 
 
 "Aw, I ain t nothin like Bale," grunted Spill, "but I ll 
 get my rifle if you want. Get yores, Skinny. Maybe 
 Mister Laguerre would like to make it four-handed." 
 
 "Meestair Laguerre ees plenty satisfy for watch de 
 sharpshootair." Thus Laguerre. "But," he added with a 
 sinister smile, "jus for show you, I weel was e de car 
 tridge." 
 
 The half-breed pulled his gun without haste and rolled 
 the cylinder. It was his habit, as it is the habit of any 
 thoughtful man, to carry the hammer on an empty cham 
 ber. He drew a cartridge from his belt and filled that 
 empty chamber. He cocked the six-shooter and shifted 
 sidewise on the bench. 
 
 "See dat stone," he remarked softly, nodding toward 
 a large white pebble twenty yards distant. 
 
 The gun, apparently held with great carelessness in the 
 half-breed s lap, cracked sharply. The white pebble 
 jerked upward and danced along the ground. Crack ! 
 Again that spasmodic leap and skipping roll. Four times 
 more the half-breed fired, and every time the white pebble 
 
164 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 jumped and hopped under the sting of those accurate 
 bullets. 
 
 Laguerre calmly turned out his cylinder, prodded forth 
 the empties, and reloaded. 
 
 "I learn dat treeck w en I was seeck un have plenty 
 tarn," he explained. "You do eet, mabbeso?" 
 
 The smile with which he accompanied these words was 
 not sinister. It was chilling. 
 
 "I guess likely," said Skinny, his eyes wide with wonder 
 at what he had just seen. "I guess I will not. What 
 yuh tryin to do, make us jealous? By Gawd, if I ever 
 get mad at you I ain t a-goin to tell you about it while 
 you an* me are inhabitin the same county. I guess maybe 
 now I d better write you a letter an play safe complete. 
 Spill, I m tellin yuh, I used to think I knowed somethin 
 about guns an rifles an such, but I m free to admit that 
 the last five minutes has been a liberal education with 
 trimmin s. C mon, Spill, an le s take our licker like li l 
 men. We ll die game anyhow." 
 
 Johnny knew that Spill s rifle was a forty-five ninety. 
 During the meal he had noticed two other rifles leaning 
 together in a corner of the room. One was the same size 
 as Spill s, but the other was smaller. It was either a 
 thirty-eight or forty sixty-five. Johnny yearned to lay 
 hands upon it, but one may not shatter etiquette and 
 arouse suspicion so far as to paw another man s weapon. 
 One must resort to strategy and duplicity. 
 
 When Skinny appeared with his rifle it was, as Johnny 
 had expected bread always falls on the buttered side 
 the other forty-five ninety. So he shot a dozen rounds 
 with the two men while Laguerre watched sleepily. But 
 the astute Johnny did not out-shoot his rivals by more 
 than a narrow margin. It would not do to beat them too 
 
TARGET PRACTISE 165 
 
 handily. He knew that they believed his first shot to be 
 more or less of an accident, and he was content that they 
 should so believe. He endeavoured to place another bet 
 with them, but their belief was not quite strong enough 
 for that and they refused. 
 
 "Tell yuh what," Johnny said suddenly, "let s try an 
 other way. We ve done our li l shootin at that sardine 
 can, an* Harper an me are about tied." 
 
 "Yes, you are!" cried Skinny Devinney. "I ve got to 
 admit I can t shoot for shucks alongside you two, but 
 you ve outshot Spill forty ways, Ramsay." 
 
 "I ain t so shore," denied Spill uglily. 
 
 " Listen here to my idea," Johnny said smoothly. " I ve 
 been usin my own rifle right along. Bein used to it 
 helps a lot." 
 
 "Why shouldn t yuh use yore own rifle?" queried the 
 puzzled Skinny. 
 
 "No reason a-tall. But I seen a thirty-eight inside. 
 Lemme use that, an gimme three sightin shots it s only 
 fair I d oughta know if she throws off an I ll go yuh a 
 hundred or two hundred if yuh like over six hundred yards 
 at any ol target." 
 
 Spill looked at Skinny and winked. As every one knows, 
 a weapon with which one is unfamiliar does not make for 
 accuracy. 
 
 "I ll go yuh," said Skinny briefly, and hurried into the 
 house. 
 
 He returned with the smallest of the three rifles and 
 handed it to Johnny. 
 
 "She ain t a thirty-eight like you said," he told Johnny. 
 "She s a forty sixty-five." 
 
 "Oh yeah, a forty sixty-five." 
 
 Johnny took the gun into his hand and weighed it spec- 
 
1 66 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 ulatively. He slewed it round and worked the lever with 
 his usual uncanny speed. A stream of yellow dragonflies, 
 the cartridges rocketed over his shoulder. 
 
 "Want to see how she works," he explained to the 
 watching three, and stooped to retrieve the scattered 
 cartridges. 
 
 He was a little slow in rilling the magazine. There 
 seemed to be a certain difficulty in pushing the shells 
 through the loading-gate. 
 
 "Got any more shells?" he asked, looking at Skinny. 
 "They s only seven here." 
 
 "Seven s more n enough," protested Spill, but the 
 obliging Skinny reentered the house and came out with a 
 fat handful of cartridges and tossed the lot across to 
 Johnny, who had removed himself several yards from the 
 doorsill. 
 
 "There s eight more," observed Skinny, " At s all we 
 got." 
 
 "Oh, I guess I ain t goin to need em all," Johnny said 
 and proceeded to make it a full magazine. 
 
 He had six cartridges left over, and slipped one into the 
 barrel. The remaining five he dropped into a pocket of his 
 chaps. 
 
 "All right," remarked Johnny, sliding his hand into his 
 pocket and briskly clinking the five cartridges. "All 
 right, what are we a-goin to shoot at?" 
 
 "Y ain t taken yore sightin shots yet," Spill grunted 
 sourly. 
 
 "I ll shore take em if yuh say so/ smiled Johnny. 
 
 At varying ranges he fired three shots at as many cotton- 
 woods. He levered in a fresh cartridge, put the hammer 
 on safety and executed a pas seul. His sliding toe struck 
 one of the spent shells and kicked it under the bench. 
 
TARGET PRACTISE 167 
 
 Just then Biscuit, who had absented himself on some busi 
 ness of his own, sidled round the corner of the house. 
 
 "Hiyah feller!" called Johnny, stooping and picking 
 up another of the empties at his feet. " Bone, feller, bone ! " 
 
 He flipped the spent shell whirling toward the yellow 
 dog. But his aim was poor and the brass cylinder struck 
 six feet ahead of the dog and rolled under the bulge of the 
 foundation log of the ranch-house. Biscuit sniffed at the 
 cartridge case, sneezed, then sat down on lean haunches 
 and meditatively scratched himself. 
 
 It is not necessary to relate in detail how Johnny in 
 three shots at six hundred yards amazed beyond measure 
 Skinny and Spill and won another hundred dollars. Let it 
 suffice that he did this, and with an air positively apologetic 
 in its mildness returned the forty sixty-five Winchester to 
 Skinny. 
 
 "The magazine s full," said Johnny. "I put in three 
 of the five shells I had in my pocket. Here s the other 
 two." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 THE AGENCY 
 
 TEEPEE MOUNTAIN on Hatchet Creek is almost 
 the twin of Big Teepee on the Yellow Medicine in 
 everything but name. It stands among lesser hills 
 thirty miles north of Paradise Bend. Twenty miles be 
 yond the Teepee, at the junction of the Hatchet and Little 
 Knife creeks, sprawls Johnson s Peak. High, wide and 
 bare, unlovely as rockslides and deep gulches can make it, 
 the base of the great peak covers more ground than several 
 townships. The northern slopes marked the southern 
 boundary of the Fort Yardley Indian Reservation. 
 
 The post itself lay along the banks of the Little Knife, 
 and the Indian agent lived trustfully at the agency in the 
 middle of the reservation. And the reservation was 
 it has been plowed and harrowed by the settler these six 
 teen years fifty miles across at the narrowest part. But 
 Indian agents in those days were not supposed to have 
 nerves. 
 
 In order to locate a certain Indian, it was necessary, for 
 the redskin is a restless soul, to call upon the agent. Some 
 times he knew where to find the desired Indian, more often 
 he did not, but he could at least pass one on to the Indian 
 police who always knew. 
 
 So it was that Johnny and Laguerre, their ponies adrip 
 from the ford of the Little Knife, rode into the post of 
 Fort Yardley at guard-mount. The guard was at parade 
 
 168 
 
THE AGENCY 169 
 
 rest as the two punchers trotted up the trail. Which trail 
 crossed the end of the parade. The adjutant gave the 
 command : 
 
 "Sound off!" 
 
 The field music, six fifers and four drummers, imme 
 diately swung out to pass in front of the officers of the 
 guard to the left of the line. As they swung the fifes and 
 drums shrilled and crashed into "Yankee Doodle." 
 
 At the horrific and unexpected racket both cow-ponies 
 went out of their heads. They sprang into the air, came 
 down stifF-legged, and then proceeded, in long bucking 
 leaps to travel across the parade ground. Johnny s horse 
 in its frantic terror charged down upon a major, two cap 
 tains, and half-a-dozen lieutenants who were peaceably 
 watching guard-mount from the boardwalk in front of the 
 C. O. s. They stood their ground like officers and gentle 
 men till it was evident that the horse had no intention of 
 stopping. Whereupon they retreated rapidly in several 
 directions. 
 
 Johnny, hot and angry, swearing for that he had lost his 
 hat, adopted extreme measures just as his mount s fore- 
 hoofs pounded on the boardwalk. He gave two terrific 
 right and left yanks at the horse s mouth to the inevitable 
 end that the animal crossed its forelegs and stood on its 
 neck. Johnny did not stop going. He landed on his face 
 in Mrs. C. O/s pet flower bed. He bounced to his feet, 
 all fresh dirt and crushed pansies, and caught his horse 
 by the bit in time to prevent that nimble quadruped, which 
 had regained its feet with remarkable celerity, from tres 
 passing upon the sacred precincts of the C. O. s porch. 
 
 "Hell s bells!" panted Johnny swinging at the head of 
 his capering horse. " Whatsa matter with yuh, yuh goggle 
 eyed accordeen? This ain t no dance!" 
 
i 7 o HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 But, as the fifes and drums continued to rattle and 
 squeak on their way back to the right of the line, the horse 
 appeared to think it was a dance, and there was bedlam 
 and hullabaloo on that boardwalk. 
 
 Finally the field music ceased playing, to the disgust of 
 every one save the sweating Johnny. When the music 
 stopped the horse did too. Johnny, muttering many 
 words, raised scowling eyes to the row of grinning faces on 
 the C. O. s porch. His glance, caught by a movement in 
 their rear, swept past them to the front door. There 
 stood the tall and dignified C. O. The officer stared balefully 
 at Johnny. But the puncher remained unimpressed. He 
 was not a soldier, so he winked pleasantly at the C. O. 
 and gazed with much interest at the face of the man look 
 ing over the C. O. s shoulder. 
 
 The man was the red-head, and he had, as Johnny met 
 his eyes, made a sudden movement as if to dodge out of 
 sight. The puncher wondered why. He also wondered 
 why the red-head should call upon the commanding officer 
 at Fort Yardley. What could a colonel of regulars have 
 in common with such a man? And then Johnny remem 
 bered that for all he himself knew to the contrary the 
 yellow-eyed red-head was as pure as any number of square 
 miles of freshly fallen snow. Johnny nodded to the red 
 head, hopped into the saddle and rode back across the 
 parade for his hat. 
 
 He joined Laguerre, who had contrived to stop his horse 
 by the simple expedient of steering the animal into the 
 log wall of the quartermaster s storehouse, and they rode 
 away together. 
 
 "That red-headed jigger s here," Johnny told the half- 
 breed. " I seen him at the colonel s house. Inside he was, 
 standin right behind the colonel all comfortable an serene. 
 
THE AGENCY 171 
 
 I flapped my ears at him an* he flapped back, but I don t 
 guess he was awful glad to see me. He looked like he 
 wanted to dodge, but wasn t quick enough." 
 
 "Funny ting she ees here, dat red-head," puzzled La- 
 guerre. 
 
 "She s worse n that. We needn t bother about goin 
 to see the agent now. If he s what we think he is he ll 
 shore trail us an find out our business. Oh, yeah, lookin 
 for what became o Black Bear s dun mare. Then good-by 
 Mister Red-head, an what he knows will go to the right 
 place an you an me will be all tangled up in our rope. 
 Are you me?" 
 
 "I am you all right. But we mus do somet ing. We 
 mus go to de agen un tell heem de long lie. We mus 
 have de raison for come here to de reservation. Den de 
 red-head weel be satisfy we are not trailin de hold-up. 
 She ees smart, dat tnsieu" 
 
 "So are we smart. An you leave the lyin* to me. I ll 
 think up a real fancy one. An another thing, we d oughta 
 hang round an find out when the red-head goes to the 
 agency an what happens an all like that. But, s pose he 
 don t go?" 
 
 "She weel go, by gar," was the confident assurance of 
 Laguerre. "Eet weel be de job for fin Black Bear now. 
 We cannot ask even de police. Dey might tell. Sacre 
 nom de Dieuf de luck!" 
 
 "Don t yuh know any of these Injuns here, Telescope?" 
 
 "De only Enjun w at belong here I know ees Willie s 01* 
 Brudder-een-Law, un she ees ofFde reservation down on de 
 Lazy." 
 
 "Lot o good that ll do us. We just gotta do the best 
 we can then, an keep Mister High Pockets Red-Head 
 breathin easy about us. Yessir, Telescope, he mustn t 
 
172 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 get to takin us serious, not for a minute. I m tellin yuh 
 all he needs is one li l suspicion for him to paint for war 
 prompt an* right away, an* a battle with that gent means 
 him lyin all so free an comfortable behind an outcrop or a 
 tree an you an me wanderin into sight round a bend in 
 the trail all ready to be plugged. An I m free to admit 
 this here trip of ours to Fort Yardley is a heap likely to 
 strain his good nature a few an set his imagination to turn- 
 in flip-flops. An yuh gotta admit the reservation is a mile 
 or two out o the way for Flyin M stray men." 
 
 "I see dat all right, un s posin we mak de leetle trap 
 for dat man, Johnny?" 
 
 "Not a-tall," Johnny said hastily, instantly divining the 
 fell purpose at the bottom of Laguerre s "leetle trap." 
 "Yuh see, Telescope, this has all gotta be a heap legal. 
 An she wouldn t be right to go to quarrelin with the red 
 head yet. We gotta wait." 
 
 "S pose now she don wait? S pose now she go to for 
 bushw ack us ? " Laguerre turned ominous eyes on Johnny. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I tink eet be good t ing for bushw ack heem firs , mab- 
 beso." 
 
 "Is that yore li l plan?" Johnny exclaimed, precisely 
 as if he had not from the first correctly fathomed the half- 
 breed s thoughts. "Why, Telescope, I m shore surprised 
 at yuh. Yuh shore won t get no white card at Sunday- 
 school next week." 
 
 "Aw !" grunted Telescope. "You ees jus lak 
 
 Tom Loudon we n heem un me was trail dat Blakeley 
 gang. By gar, Beel Archer un a frien hees was foller 
 
 Tom un me out o Marysville, un Tom was raise w en 
 
 I wan for bushw ack dem. Well, we do not bushw ack 
 dem, un dey mak us plenty trouble aftair. More better 
 

 THE AGENCY 173 
 
 we bushw ack dem at firs ah, we weel not talk about 
 eet. We weel let de red-head go dees tarn. But she 
 have keel Mat Neville, un nobody was cry eef de red 
 head she was keel." 
 
 "We gotta be legal about it, I tell yuh." 
 
 "You be too legal un you die queeck, bien sur." 
 
 "This hold-up huntin shore ain t a safe business, is it, 
 Telescope?" grinned Johnny Ramsay. 
 
 To which frivolity Laguerre made reply by repeating 
 that the red-head s calling upon the Fort Yardley C. O. was 
 an odd chance. Johnny made no comment, and conver 
 sation languished while the ponies steady walk-along ate 
 the long miles down. 
 
 When now and then they topped the long and sunbaked 
 ridges they looked back over the way they had come. 
 But they saw no moving speck on the back trail betoken 
 ing a following rider. They did not turn aside to lie in 
 wait and spy patiently. For the man might well be a 
 trailer. In which case it was necessary that their pony 
 tracks lead without deviation to the agency. 
 
 Johnny and Laguerre reached the agency in the early 
 afternoon. They had met no Indians on their journey 
 and none was in sight among the gray-brown buildings. 
 The agent, an old-young man with bored eyes, was sitting 
 on his porch gloomily reading a month-old newspaper. 
 At their coming he folded the paper carefully and stuck it 
 in his hip pocket, for a paper is a precious thing and may, 
 when the printing has been read, be used for cigarettes. 
 
 Some Indian agents are oppressed with the importance 
 of their stations, but this agent was a human being and 
 lonely. He welcomed the two riders to the shade of his 
 porch and the comfort of his barrel-chairs and proffered 
 refreshment. 
 
174 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Water pail s right inside the door," said the agent. 
 "Watering trough s round the corner of the house." 
 
 So, being horsemen, they first attended to their thirsty 
 mounts, then came back and drank three dipperfuls apiece 
 and joined the agent on the porch. 
 
 "Well," said the agent, when the length and dust of the 
 trail had been commented upon, "well, what s the trou 
 ble?" 
 
 "Trouble?" Johnny raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "Of course, trouble." The bored eyes lifted wearily. 
 "What have my Indians been doing?" 
 
 Johnny had devised a most excellent lie for the good of 
 the agent, but the latter s remark threw that lie into the 
 discard and substituted another, equally excellent. 
 
 "I dunno," said Johnny, "but we ve got a sneakin 
 notion they ve maybe been runnin off our bosses." 
 
 "I know," nodded the agent sympathetically. "They 
 will do it. They re like children." 
 
 "Yeah, but spankin won t do em no good. We think 
 them bosses are on this reservation now." 
 
 "What brand?" 
 
 "Flyin M. Here s a letter tellin what we are." 
 
 "Why, that s Scotty Mackenzie s outfit, down on the 
 Dogsoldier," said the agent, his eyes skimming the lines of 
 writing. 
 
 "Shore, an* she s from Scotty Mackenzie s ranch the 
 hosses have been took." 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 "We ve missed eight," lied Johnny. 
 
 "Willie s Old Brother-in-Law and his family are the 
 only ones out on pass." The agent was thinking aloud. 
 
 " Tain t him not by no manner of means." Johnny 
 was thoroughly determined to absolve once for all that 
 
THE AGENCY 175 
 
 much-respected redskin, Willie s Old Brother-Jn-Law. 
 "For one thing that Injun is down on the Lazy, an for 
 another he s a personal friend of yore s truly, an for another 
 he wouldn t rustle no hosses nohow. No sir, they s been 
 Injuns seen near the ranch, an right after they was seen 
 the hosses was missed. Of course, I don t say yore Injuns 
 done it, but they s a chance." 
 
 "You may be right," sighed the agent, "But my In 
 dians, most of them, range north and w r est as a rule. 
 However, the only thing to do is to look around." 
 
 "My idea exactly. We thought we d come to you first 
 maybe yuh could help us." 
 
 "I can t, except to send a policeman with you. And 
 let me impress upon you if you find these horses there 
 must be no violence. Horses and suspects must be brought 
 by the policeman before me and I will judge the case." 
 
 "Fine," said Johnny. "We won t do nothin illegal. 
 We aim to please. But we shore want them horses." 
 
 "Of course. I ll send for a policeman at once." 
 
 This was rushing matters much too speedily to suit 
 Johnny. He had been talking for time, lots of time, the 
 more time the better. And now the agent spoke of a 
 policeman. But Johnny was not at a loss. He made a 
 grimace and rubbed his stomach. 
 
 "Guess I musta drank too much o that water," he 
 muttered. 
 
 "What s that?" asked the agent. 
 
 " Bellyache," was the jejune reply. 
 
 "Dat watair she was too col mabbeso," suggested La- 
 guerre, who had caught the significance of a dropped eye 
 lid. 
 
 "And you probably didn t stop to make coffee at noon, 
 if you stopped at all," said the agent. 
 
176 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "We didn t," groaned Johnny, entering into the spirit 
 of the moment. 
 
 "I thought so. Stomach s had nothing to do all day, 
 and you pour a quart of cold water in it. You sit here. 
 I ll fix you up." 
 
 The agent went indoors, and Johnny gave himself up 
 to his acting and to pleasant thoughts of a small and in 
 vigorating drink of whisky. The private stock of the 
 Indian agent was reputed to be aged, mellow, and potent 
 to a degree. The agent returned with a thick and 
 brimming tumbler. A pleasant glow of anticipation 
 warmed Johnny s whole being. He almost smiled, but 
 remembered himself in time to make a face and hug his 
 stomach. 
 
 "Drink this," said the agent kindly. 
 
 Johnny held out a trembling hand, took the glass, and 
 gulped down a large and healthy swallow. Then, well nigh 
 strangling, tears starting from his eyes, he sprang to his 
 feet with a cough and a splutter, and clung to one of the 
 porch uprights. His outraged throat burned. The roof 
 of his mouth and his tongue seemed on fire. 
 
 "You only took a little bit," said the agent reprovingly, 
 as he stopped to pick up the fallen glass. "I don t believe 
 it was enough to help your colic." 
 
 "Wha what is that stuff"?" gasped Johnny. 
 
 "Jamaica ginger," the agent told him. "You seemed 
 in such pain that I made it a little stronger than usual." 
 
 "She s great stuff," Johnny said without enthusiasm. 
 "Bet my tongue s raw." 
 
 He hung the organ in question out of his mouth and 
 waggled it in the open air. Laguerre choked in an odd 
 way and slid hurriedly round the corner of the house. 
 Johnny followed him with angry eyes. He could see noth- 
 
THE AGENCY 177 
 
 ing to laugh at. He was suffering the preliminary tor 
 tures of the damned. 
 
 "I ll get you some more," said the agent, who had been 
 watching him closely. "I ll have that colic cured in no 
 time." 
 
 "Never mind," was Johnny s hasty injunction. "I feel 
 better already. I I ll just sit down a H l while, I guess. 
 That s all I need now. I ll be right in two shakes." 
 
 But Johnny spoke to empty air. He heard indoors the 
 clink of bottle neck on tumbler rim. 
 
 "Wish I d chose to fall off the porch an sprain my ankle 
 instead," he groaned to himself. "That ginger stuff 
 would shore do a lot more good rubbed on than swallered. 
 Bet he made a mistake and gimme hoss-liniment any 
 way," he added morosely. 
 
 The agent appeared and pressed on Johnny a fresh 
 tumblerful of colic s first aid. In vain did Johnny affirm 
 upon oath that the pain had almost entirely departed. 
 The agent was an unbelieving citizen. 
 
 "Drink it right down," the agent insisted in a tone that 
 was meant to be soothing. "Swallow it quickly. The 
 first glass seemed to bother you a little, so I made this a 
 trifle weaker. Come, come, man, what s the matter with 
 you? This is the best thing in the world for what ails 
 you." 
 
 Mentally anathematizing the agent for a liar Johnny 
 drank the awful draft, clamped his jaws, and slumped 
 down on the small of his back in complete bitterness of 
 soul. 
 
 "You ll do finely now," the agent assured him, "but if 
 you don t I ll mix you another in jig time." 
 
 "Not while I have my health you won t," muttered 
 Johnny. 
 
1 78 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "What s that?" The agent spoke from the doorway. 
 
 "I was just sayin how the last dose shore stampeded 
 that bellyache," Johnny cried hastily. Li l oP tummy s 
 shore listenin to reason now, yuh bet yuh." 
 
 Laguerre silently drifted up and sat down on the edge 
 of the porch. He settled an upright comfortably between 
 his shoulder-blades and placidly fished out the makings. 
 Johnny ached to grab Laguerre by his self-satisfied ankles 
 and pull him off the porch. What right had he to sit there 
 and blandly enjoy himself smoking cigarettes while his 
 Johnny s little insides were causing their possessor acut- 
 est agony? 
 
 Johnny wondered dismally whether he himself would 
 ever be able to smoke. It seemed doubtful. The world 
 was a dark place, full of woe and tribulation. A moving 
 speck on the Fort Yardley trail hardly served to rouse 
 Johnny s interest in life and its work. 
 
 An hour later the moving speck had resolved itself into 
 a horse and rider. The animal was blue. The horseman 
 wore a high-crowned white hat. 
 
 "S pose we might as well be movin ," the unhappy 
 Johnny grunted to the agent. 
 
 "Sure you re able?" With maddening solicitude. 
 
 "Shore." Ungraciously. 
 
 "I ll get a policeman." 
 
 The agent stepped off the porch and crossed to one of 
 the other buildings. 
 
 "How you feel?" Laguerre asked gravely. 
 
 "Like !" 
 
 Laguerre looked across the baked and shimmering land 
 scape and winked his off eye at Johnson s Peak. 
 
 When the agent returned with an Indian policeman in 
 tow the blue horse and its white-hatted rider were racking 
 
THE AGENCY 179 
 
 in between the agency buildings. The horseman dis 
 mounted in front of the agency and trailed his reins. He 
 stuck one foot on the edge of the porch and let his blank 
 yellow stare travel from Laguerre to Johnny. 
 
 " Beats all how I m forever meetin you gents," he re 
 marked smilelessly. 
 
 "Don t it," Johnny said gravely. 
 
 " Shore does," nodded the red-head. "Almost seems 
 as if we d ought to get acquainted or somethin ." 
 
 Came then that odd and dog-toothed smile that carried 
 no joy whatever and lifted the left side of the man s upper 
 lip. Johnny chuckled as a man chuckles at a most excel 
 lent joke. 
 
 " Does seem like we d ought or somethin ," he drawled. 
 
 The red-head watched them silently as they mounted 
 and rode away with the Indian policeman. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 THE INEXPLICABLE RED-HEAD 
 
 THE two stray men won the good will of the Indian 
 policeman with tobacco and a very good jack-knife. 
 He was a Piegan, this policeman, and it developed 
 that Laguerre had at one time married a Piegan girl. 
 Which fact made the Indian almost a blood brother. 
 
 Nevertheless neither the half-breed nor Johnny was in 
 the least loose in his talk. They spoke casually and 
 with great caution of many things other than Black Bear 
 and his dun mare. But in camp that evening the con 
 versation was turned by Laguerre on horses. Like most 
 Indians, the policeman knew a horse from tail to foretop. 
 It seemed most natural as the discussion progressed for 
 Johnny to assert that there were many horses that could 
 not be broken to stand to the trailing rein, and that a 
 gelding was easier than a mare to break. 
 
 The policeman concurred warmly. He had a friend, he 
 said, one Black Bear, who had once owned a dun mare 
 that would not stand without being tied, pulled back on 
 the rope, was incredibly vicious in the biting and kicking 
 line, bucked like a pinwheel twice a week regularly, but 
 that could be ridden down to a whisper without giving 
 out. 
 
 "By Gawd," swore the policeman, "dat mare she go 
 forever all same fire hoss on de relroad. She mak you 
 tire fore she tire." 
 
 180 
 
THE INEXPLICABLE RED-HEAD 181 
 
 "Yeah," Johnny said with interest. "Yore friend got 
 her now?" 
 
 "Naw, sol her." Disgustedly. 
 
 Who to?" 
 
 "Dat man wit* de red head un blue hoss wat come to de 
 agency fore we go way," was the sufficiently unexpected 
 reply. 
 
 "Him," Johnny almost stuttered. Then to cover his 
 surprise, he added. "He ain t ridin her now." 
 
 "Naw. Ride de blue pony now." 
 
 "Guess he must be in the hoss business." 
 
 "I dunno." 
 
 "Don t he come here often, huh? 
 
 "Naw, she no come of en. Come w en she buy de mare. 
 Come to-day. Two tarn, mabbeso." 
 
 "Funny I can t remember his name. What did he say 
 it was, Telescope?" Johnny turned toward the half-breed. 
 
 Laguerre shook his head and looked inquiringly at the 
 policeman. 
 
 "Never know hees name. She no tell Black Bear. 
 Black Bear no giveadam. Hees money good, un dat ees 
 all Black Bear wan for know." 
 
 Since the information they had been seeking was now 
 theirs, it was unnecessary to see Black Bear, but it was 
 necessary to maintain their bluff of "rustled horses." 
 So they spent the next day riding hither and yon with their 
 friend the Indian policeman. They looked at many horses 
 but they had covered only a small section of the reserva 
 tion when, in the afternoon of the third day, they an 
 nounced their intention of returning to the agency. 
 
 "Guess our hosses ain t here, after all," remarked 
 Johnny, with a fine air of regret. "No use a-combn the 
 whole reservation." 
 
182 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Dey a ole ban o pony over dem heel mabbeso you 
 fin* you hoss," suggested the policeman hopefully, for the 
 horse-band over the hill belonged to a wealthy enemy of his 
 and he the policeman was humanly desirous of seeing 
 the mighty brought low. 
 
 But the horse-band was allowed to graze in peace and 
 the policeman, mentally lamenting the lack of enterprise 
 displayed by the two stray men, was compelled to return 
 with them to the agency. 
 
 They reached the huddle of low buildings in the last of 
 the twilight, and, by the light of the lantern hanging on a 
 nail beside the agent s door, they saw on the floor of the 
 agent s porch, seven neat McClellan saddles lying all along. 
 
 As they dismounted, a soldier strolled round the corner 
 of the house and halted at sight of them. The lantern 
 light shone dully yellow on the three faded stripes marking 
 the blue sleeves. The "non-com" faced about and walked 
 quickly in the direction of the corrals. They could hear 
 him calling for Mack, Thomas, and GofF. Somewhat more 
 than vaguely uneasy, Johnny stepped up on the porch. 
 The agent came to the open doorway. 
 
 "Hello," said the agent cordially. "I was wondering 
 
 when you d drift in. Any luck ? Too bad. Never mind. 
 
 Maybe I ll run across em. Come in, come in, both of 
 you. Yellow Bird" to the Indian policeman "take the 
 horses to the corrals and tell Boom Kettle to feed them." 
 
 The agent led the way through the dark front room to a 
 blanketed doorway outlined by narrow lines of light. He 
 pulled aside the heavy blanket, letting out a golden glow of 
 radiance, and signed for them to enter. 
 
 They passed in, their eyes slitted against the dazzle of 
 the two round-wicked lamps on the table in the middle of 
 the room. 
 
THE INEXPLICABLE RED-HEAD 183 
 
 Facing them, his elbows on the table, sat an officer. 
 His shoulder-straps bore the gold oak-leaves on yellow of a 
 cavalry major, his body was lean, and his face was round, 
 moon-round, and burned red as a brick. The eyes he 
 raised at their entrance were a hard black, and there was 
 nothing moony about them. You often see judge- 
 advocates with just such eyes. The major nodded jerkily, 
 and Johnny and Laguerre nodded back, and wondered 
 what on earth he wanted and why the agent was fidgeting 
 in the background. 
 
 "Sit down," said the major. "I want to ask you a few 
 questions." 
 
 "Help yoreself," smiled Johnny. "We aim to please." 
 
 He hooked a chair forward, slid into it sidewise, and 
 pushed his hat back. He brought out the makings and 
 proceeded to build himself a cigarette. Far be it from him 
 to be either impressed or intimidated by the military. 
 He blew a ring and looked through it at the moon-faced 
 major. Laguerre, slumping comfortably down on his 
 shoulder-blades, smiled an untender smile. He foresaw a 
 jape. 
 
 "You two are from Paradise Bend, aren t you?" asked 
 the major. 
 
 "Us?" Johnny quirked a surprised eyebrow. "Oh, 
 no, we ain t from the Bend." 
 
 "I was told differently." Thus the major severely. 
 
 "Yo re apt to hear most anythin in this country," 
 Johnny s grin did not quite take the curse off the imperti 
 nence. 
 
 "You d better tell me what I wish to know," cautioned 
 the major. 
 
 "If I only knowed what it was yuh wanted," Johnny 
 suggested gently. 
 
184 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Who and what are you two men?" The major s tone 
 was that of one addressing a squadron. 
 
 "Wrong," declared Johnny. "Wrong twice. We ain t 
 over in the next county, an we ain t what, not for a 
 minute." 
 
 Laguerre began to eye the major with extreme disfavour. 
 The half-breed knew that there was a soldier standing on 
 the porch. He had heard the scrape of a carbine butt and 
 the jingle of spurs. 
 
 The major, omitting the "what," repeated his question. 
 Johnny promptly gave the required information. 
 
 "How do I know you are telling the truth?" the major 
 inquired with mistaken keenness, and now Johnny per 
 ceived what he had not at first, that the hard black eyes 
 of the major were set a little too close together. 
 
 "How do yuh know I m tellin the truth ?" Johnny cooed 
 softly as a sucking dove. " Y ain t been west o the Mis 
 sissippi long, or yuh d just naturally know I was tellin 
 the truth. I dunno but what the colonel would a done 
 better to send along a shavetail if he s got one with 
 brains." 
 
 The barbed rebuke stuck and clung. The major was 
 not exactly a fool. But even as Johnny had divined, he 
 was not long from the East and a New England post where 
 an examining officer might say pretty much what he liked. 
 Some day sense of proportion would be his, but it was de 
 cidedly not now. The brick-red of his countenance deep 
 ened a shade. The black eyes turned spiteful. 
 
 "Now, now, steady," Johnny advised earnestly. "You 
 ain t doin what the colonel told you to do. Find out 
 all yuh can about em, says he, an treat em right/ 
 Ain t that correct? Well, don t answer if it hurts yuh. 
 Good old feller, the colonel. I seen him this mornin . 
 
THE INEXPLICABLE RED-HEAD 185 
 
 He s got a nice, kind face, but I m afraid he believes every- 
 thin that s told him." 
 
 Johnny shook his head and sighed. It was evident that 
 he was grieving over the trusting nature of the Fort Yard- 
 ley C. O. Laguerre snickered openly. From the porch 
 came a sound midway between a cough and a snort. 
 
 "I believe I ll put you under arrest," said the major. 
 
 "No, you won t," Johnny informed him decidedly. 
 "Yore orders don t say nothin like that." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "Easy. You got one buck out there on the porch. I 
 heard him scufflin round. If more o yore boys had come 
 up on the porch or surrounded the house, then I might 
 a thought somethin . But nothin like that. The other 
 five are down at the corrals. One s doin sentry over yore 
 horses, an the sergeant, with three to help him, is goin 
 through the warbags on our saddles." 
 
 The major started up in his chair and rapped out a 
 sharp oath. 
 
 "Yuh see," continued Johnny, "they ve got a lantern 
 an I can see em right plain through the window behind 
 yuh. An another thing, if yuh don t want a feller to know 
 how few men yuh got, don t leave yore saddles all out in 
 plain sight on the porch for anybody to count. But don t 
 yuh care," he added kindly. "Everybody makes mis 
 takes at first." 
 
 The major was understood to damn the West and all its 
 Westerners. 
 
 "Now, look here," said Johnny, "I know yore feelin s 
 are saddle-galled somethin terrific, but you rub salve on 
 em an listen to Li l Willie an stop cussin so a gent can 
 get a word in edgeways. S pose you don t walk in the 
 water so much. S pose you tell us just what yo re after. 
 
1 86 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 We re good fellers, an helpin out the Army is right where 
 we live." 
 
 "I believe you re a pair of scoundrels," the major said 
 uncertainly. 
 
 Laguerre s brows drew together, but Johnny Ramsay 
 merely laughed. 
 
 "We re worse than that," he averred, and laughed again. 
 " But we don t go snoopin through other folks belongin s." 
 
 "It was necessary," the major declared gruffly. 
 
 "Yuh mean you thought it was. Loosen up, can t yuh, 
 an tell us what yo re suspectin us of? Here, read this. 
 It ll prove what I ve been tellin yuh. Guess I d ought to 
 showed it to yuh sooner." 
 
 He handed Scotty s letter to the major. The latter read 
 it carefully, and handed it back to Johnny. 
 
 "Of course, it could be a forgery," grumbled the major. 
 
 "Of course she could, an yuh might be a masquerade 
 yore own self!" barked the indignant Johnny. "How do 
 we know yo re what yuh claim to be? Yuh might be a 
 lightnin -rod agent, for all we can tell." 
 
 "Now, now, no recriminations, please," soothed the 
 agent, stepping forward to the table. "I told you, Major, 
 that these men carried a letter from their employer, and 
 that I knew they were what they claimed to be. I tell you 
 quite frankly that I think you re making a mess of it and 
 that the colonel will not be pleased." 
 
 The close-set black eyes of the moon-faced major stared 
 angrily up into the bored ones of the Indian agent. 
 
 "This matter requires a certain delicacy of treatment, 
 as it were," the agent went on suavely, "and you, Major, 
 are a trifle too direct. Better let me do it." 
 
 "Oh, very well," snarled the major. "Have it your 
 own way." 
 
THE INEXPLICABLE RED-HEAD 187 
 
 He rose, kicked back his chair with unnecessary 
 violence, and stalked thumpingly from the room. The 
 agent sat down on the edge of the table, stuck his hands 
 into his pockets, and smiled at the two ruffled stray 
 men. 
 
 "Mustn t mind the major," he remarked. "He means 
 well, and all that sort of thing, but he will try to browbeat 
 people, and that doesn t work ever. I m afraid," he 
 added, "that the major has a suspicious nature." 
 
 "Oh, no, not a-tall," grinned Johnny, his good humour 
 completely restored. 
 
 "There have been quite a few robberies and murders in 
 Sunset and Fort Creek counties lately," observed the agent 
 suddenly serious. "I understand that all these crimes are 
 supposed to have been committed by the same gang, and 
 that the gang is a large one. Am I right?" 
 
 "S posin an knowin are two different horses." 
 
 "You don t know anything definite about the gang, 
 then?" 
 
 "Nobody, in the Territory exceptin the gang does, I 
 guess." 
 
 "Well, I d hoped that you might be able to tell me some 
 thing. You see, within two or three weeks the Army pay 
 master will arrive at Fort Yardley. The troops will have 
 a three-months pay-day forty or fifty thousand dollars. 
 And that amount of money is not to be sneezed at by any 
 band of outlaws. The colonel has been warned that the 
 bandits are planning to attack the paymaster and his escort 
 somewhere between Damson where he will leave the 
 railroad and the fort. So, knowing that you two came 
 from the vicinity of the Bend, the colonel thought you 
 might be able to give us a little information concerning 
 these robbers." 
 
1 88 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Did the colonel expect to find the information in our 
 warbags?" inquired Johnny. 
 
 The agent s cheeks reddened. 
 
 "That was the major s idea," he declared warmly. 
 "I advised against it. I m afraid the major came pre 
 pared to dislike you." 
 
 "He still does/ supplemented Johnny. Then he asked 
 curiously, "When was the colonel warned o this hold-up?" 
 
 "Two or three days ago." 
 
 "Would yuh mind tellin who warned him?" 
 
 "It was that red-headed man the one who arrived here 
 as you were leaving with Yellow Bird. Says his name s 
 Camp, Barry Camp." 
 
 "The red-head! HimP 
 
 "You seem surprised," said the agent with a sharp look. 
 "Why shouldn t it be he?" 
 
 "No reason a-tall," Johnny replied hastily. "Kind o 
 funny-lookin jigger, ain t he?" 
 
 "Hm-m-m." 
 
 The agent pursed his lips and stared steadily at Johnny. 
 After a moment he nodded as if in answer to a self-asked 
 question, and locked long-fingered hands behind his 
 head. 
 
 "Tell me what you know about him," he said quietly. 
 
 "I don t know nothin much," drawled Johnny, and 
 gave the agent a brief account of the killing of Mat Neville. 
 
 Of his own surmises concerning the red-head he made no 
 mention. 
 
 "Quick on the trigger, eh ?" was the agent s comment on 
 the tale. "He looks the part. I don t like him. He has 
 the face of a criminal. He s been on the reservation before 
 once. Bought a horse, I think. He s greatly interested 
 m you two and your doings." 
 
THE INEXPLICABLE RED-HEAD 189 
 
 "Is he?" The eyes of Johnny shifted sidewise and met 
 those of Laguerre. 
 
 You d think so," the agent said. "After you d gone 
 away with Yellow Bird, he tried to pump me about you. 
 I ll admit he was clever enough. No open questioning or 
 anything like that. But I knew what he was trying to do. 
 I haven t lived with the wily Indian all these years for 
 nothing. He got small satisfaction, I m afraid. I don t 
 lead well." 
 
 "Maybe it would a been just as well if yuh d led better 
 this time," remarked Johnny. 
 
 "So that s it," chuckled the agent. "Well, I didn t 
 know, and I don t know anything much." 
 
 "What I meant was that we don t care if the red-head 
 did know we was after some rustled bosses," Johnny ex 
 plained smoothly. "He ain t our idea of somethin to be 
 afraid of." 
 
 "Exactly," agreed the agent. "You re a man of dis 
 cernment. On certain subjects I believe we think alike. 
 I hope we do." 
 
 "Why yeah," said Johnny. "I ain t none shore what 
 yo re whirlin yore loop at, but help yoreself." 
 
 "My estimate of your character is more firmly based 
 
 then ever," chuckled the agent. " the luck! If it 
 
 hadn t been for the major I m sure you d have talked to 
 some purpose. That s all right. Look as innocent as you 
 please." 
 
 "Well, I didn t steal the chicken," grinned Johnny, who 
 was rapidly losing his initial dislike for the agent. "An 
 I don t like white meat a li l bit, but would yuh mind tellin 
 me whether our red-headed friend was the one put the 
 colonel up to investigatin our records?" 
 
 "You wrong the red-head. He cast no suspicion on 
 
190 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 you. Indeed, so positive was he in his statements that 
 your probity was all that it should be that the colonel 
 began to think you were too good to be true. Hence the 
 major and his rough-hewn tongue." 
 
 Johnny shook a helpless head. Laguerre looked up 
 at the ceiling and scratched his left ear. 
 
 "I dunno what s the matter with that red-head," 
 Johnny said slowly. "He dunno us except to say How 
 dy, he ain t got no special call to love us, an j he don t owe 
 us a sou marquee. Whyfor should be spread himself to 
 give us a recommend?" 
 
 "You ll have to ask him." 
 
 "If he d only called us hoss thieves or something I 
 could understand it," pursued Johnny, unheeding. "That 
 would be natural, but this ain t. She s shore a cruel world 
 for the wicked. Gimme the makin s, will yuh, Telescope? 
 I m plumb afoot for tobacco." 
 
 "Well," said the agent, with an air of mock sadness, 
 "the United States Army will have to do the best it can 
 without your help. I certainly wish you luck in your 
 business of locating stray horses." 
 
 "Thanks," Johnny said dryly. "Is the red-head round 
 the reservation now?" 
 
 "He may be, but I imagine he s gone back to the fort. 
 He didn t stay here more than an hour or two." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 TWO AND TWO 
 
 JOHNNY and Laguerre spent the night in their blan 
 kets on the hospitable porch of the agent. In the morn 
 ing they took the trail for Fort Yardley. They started 
 before the moon-faced major had his detail. But half 
 way to the fort the soldiers, their horses dripping with 
 sweat and white with lather where leather touched hair> 
 overtook and passed them. The officer gazed over the 
 heads of the stray men, but they were not the sort to be 
 ignored against their will. 
 
 "Tell the colonel we re comin , Major, shouted Johnny. 
 "Yuh might ask him to have a li l drink or two on ice 
 while yo re about it." 
 
 "You ride so fas you weel foundair de hoss," bawled 
 
 Laguerre. "Un den M sieu le Colonel weel raise wit 
 
 you." 
 
 The two rearmost cavalrymen risked court-martial to 
 turn in their saddles and grin their appreciation. It is not 
 often that the soldier s heart is made merry by civilian 
 chaffing of an unpopular officer. And the major was dis 
 tinctly not popular in his squadron. 
 
 "That colonel may just be fool enough to put us in the 
 mill," said Johnny, coughing in the dust of the cavalry s 
 passing, "but we gotta risk goin through the fort. Any 
 way, they can t prove nothin ." 
 
 "We re all right," averred Laguerre. " Less dat major she 
 lie." 
 
 191 
 
192 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "I wouldn t put it beyond him. Leastwise I bet yuh 
 he could stretch the truth an not strain his conscience a 
 heap, Gawd bless him." 
 
 Laguerre nodded absently. 
 
 "Eef dat red-head be de bad man why she say we good 
 boy?" he puzzled, after a long minute s silence. "De 
 blame for de hold-up o de paymaster mus be on some 
 body. Ere we are? W y not us?" 
 
 "That s just the natural thing for a gent to do," Johnny 
 said promptly. "I ve been scratchin the head about this, 
 an I figure her this away. Yore ordinary swizzletail who s 
 figurin on other folks money does his best to set the blame 
 on some gent. When he s done that, the poor fool thinks 
 he s safe. He don t realize that chuckin the blame that- 
 away is the first step in cinchin it on himself. Cause, 
 do yuh see, straight gents ain t quick nohow to put 
 the kibosh on anybody. An* they ain t quick to give a 
 jigger they dunno a good recommend either. See any- 
 thin ?" 
 
 "I see w at you mean, but " 
 
 "Didn t that agent tell us the red-head went out of his 
 way to say what li l Sunday-school scholars we was? He 
 ain no shorthorn, an he suspects us o bein after him, 
 I tell yiih, an he guesses right that to have the soldiers 
 corral us or even suspect us, we d shore suspect him o 
 bein somethin besides a long-legged stepladder with 
 funny eyes an red hair. There yuh got it in words of one 
 syllable." 
 
 "Yes, yes," Laguerre broke in impetuously, "but she 
 have warn de colonel, dat red-headed man. I dunno 
 w y she do eet, but I ave tink un tink, un by gar she ees 
 hones ting for do." 
 
 "Aw! Three hells an a dam, Telescope!" exclaimed 
 
TWO AND TWO 193 
 
 Johnny in amazement. "What yuh talkin about? Are 
 yuh crazy?" 
 
 "Naw, I ain crazy. You are de crazy, mabbeso." 
 
 "Say, look here," entreated Johnny, and tapped his 
 saddlehorn with a stiffened forefinger. "Don t yuh know 
 it ain t natural to warn the soldiers of nothin in this coun 
 try? If the Injuns or rustlers run off any o their bosses, 
 don t we think she s a fine joke ? S pose some of em come 
 to town an get skun at draw, don t we laugh some more? 
 S pose now their paymaster is robbed ? Serve him right, 
 says we. Them officers never had any sense nohow, an 
 we d laugh ourselves sick. 
 
 " Do yuh think we d go outa our way to warn em to 
 look out for their dinero? Do yuh think so? I guess not, 
 old-timer, I guess not. We wouldn t travel two feet to do 
 it. An now here this red-headed skinumarink rides from 
 hell to breakfast to tell em some naughty men in the dark 
 an lonesome hills are a-layin for their darlin paymaster 
 an his li l box o gold beads. An yuh think the red 
 head s doin somethin natural an honest! Aw , 
 
 Telescope. Aw some more!" 
 
 "But w y she do eet, den?" demanded the unconvinced 
 half-breed. 
 
 "I dunno why, I m aimin to find out." 
 
 "Yuh weel see den, by gar." 
 
 "Meanin that yo re right, huh? I ll just go yuh, 
 Telescope, one hundred to fifty, or higher if yuh like, that 
 warnin the C. O. is some kind o trick." 
 
 "I weel not bet wit you," Laguerre declared hastily. 
 "Yuh ees too lucky. 
 
 Whereupon Johnny overwhelmed him with derision. 
 
 When the two stray men rode into Fort Yardley a full 
 troop was standing to horse in front of the stables. The 
 
i 9 4 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 punchers stopped at the post trader s for tobacco, matches, 
 and air-tights. While the trader was handing down the 
 canned tomatoes from an upper shelf the troop, in column 
 of twos, thudded jinglingly past the door. 
 
 "Whatsa matter?" asked Johnny. "Why for the 
 army?" 
 
 "Damfino," replied the trader. "Them cavalry s al 
 ways ridin round some ers." 
 
 "I s pose they gotta earn their li l ol* pay somehow," 
 nodded Johnny. "Seen anythin o Barry Camp here 
 lately?" 
 
 "Barry Camp?" 
 
 "Red-headed gent with lots o legs." 
 
 "That long-geared feller? Shore, he was here. Went 
 away this mornin ." 
 
 "Did he say where he was goin ?" 
 
 "Shore did. Seymour City." 
 
 "Are yuh shore he said Seymour City?" 
 
 "O course I m shore. I remember it was Seymour 
 City, cause he done said so more n once while he was 
 talkinV Thus the trader, with some heat. 
 
 "No offence, stranger," soothed Johnny. "I was just 
 kind o surprised Barry didn t leave no word for us. He 
 didn t, did he?" he added hastily. 
 
 "Not with me." 
 
 "Well, I guess maybe it don t matter. Better gimme 
 six more sacks o that tobacco, an another box o matches." 
 
 "Deed yuh see who was officier een dat troop?" inquired 
 Laguerre, when they had remounted, and were riding 
 south in the wake of the cavalry. 
 
 "Yuh was nearest the door," said Johnny, shaking his 
 head. 
 
 "Dat major wit de face all same full moon," nodded 
 
TWO AND TWO 195 
 
 Laguerre, "un two lieut nant," he appended, with an eye 
 to accuracy. 
 
 Johnny swore sharply. 
 
 "Yeah, she ees one fool," said the half-breed. 
 
 "I didn t mean that so much. But he ll make trouble 
 for us if he can, an* I was kind o figurin on taggin along 
 south to Damson. That red-head, Telescope, is a feller 
 we gotta watch." 
 
 "Mabbeso she go to Seymour City. We weel go dere 
 too. I know girl een Seymour City." Laguerre cocked 
 a hopeful eye at Johnny. 
 
 "The red-head ain t never goin to Seymour City, 
 declared Johnny, "or if he does she s only for a blind. He 
 won t do nothin important there, yuh can gamble on it. 
 Didn t that trader say the red-head says twice how he was 
 goin to Seymour? An he ain t the kind to tell his busi 
 ness free for nothin to a gossipin gent like a post trader 
 without a reason. An we can look for that reason a lot 
 nearer than Seymour City." 
 
 "You ees worse dan Ol Crook, Johnny," sighed Laguerre. 
 " By gar, w en I was scout for de Gray Fox I was ride ovair 
 de country lak de speerit was chasse me, but I was have 
 res now un den. I t ink I was eedjit fool for follow you, 
 mabbeso. Huh? Naw, I weel not leave yuh. Yuh 
 would geet los or somet ing." 
 
 Laguerre laughed slyly, and began to hum an old, old 
 song of faraway Quebec. 
 
 An hour out of Fort Yardley the two stray men thought 
 it well to leave the trail. For the red-head was suspicious 
 of them. Both had been witnesses of Mat Neville s death. 
 And there were many places on the trail south where an 
 ill-intentioned man might lie in ambush and calm security 
 and shoot and shoot again. 
 
196 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 So they rode the canons to the east and came out at 
 last into the valley of the Dogsoldier on the range of the 
 Flying M. Scotty and Doubleday were with the outfit 
 somewhere in Cavalry Valley, the cook told them, when 
 they came to the ranch-house kitchen demanding food. 
 
 Being a regular person, the cook asked no questions, but 
 he stood in the doorway and scratched his head and looked 
 after them as they rode away. 
 
 "They been out Gawd knows how long," he muttered. 
 "They come in at four in the aft noon, stuff emselves to 
 the back teeth with chuck, catch up fresh hosses, an away 
 they go like they hadn t a minute to live. Them s shore 
 the most energetic stray men I ever seen." 
 
 From the Flying M Johnny and Laguerre rode straight 
 to Paradise Bend, their object to make judicious inquiry 
 concerning the red-head. But that labourwas saved them. 
 Passing the hotel they saw the man himself, his heels 
 higher than his head, sitting in a tip-tilted chair on the hotel 
 porch. He nodded gravely to them, and they returned 
 the nod and rode on to the hotel corral, where they un 
 saddled. Within the stockade the red-head s blue horse 
 was dozing on three legs. There were no sweat-marks on 
 the horse s hide. 
 
 "That hoss ain t been rode today," Johnny murmured 
 to Laguerre. "The red-head s waitin round for some- 
 thin ." 
 
 Dragging their saddles, they entered the hotel by the 
 side door. They left their saddles in the barroom and 
 drifted across the street to Soapy Ragsdale s store. But 
 Soapy was not in, and small Buster knew not his where 
 abouts. 
 
 "Le s go down to the stage station," suggested Johnny. 
 
 They went and, outside the stables, they found Racey 
 
TWO AND TWO 197 
 
 Dawson polishing two mules with a trace-chain. It 
 appeared that Racey wished to harness the mules to a 
 buckboard. The mules harboured other intentions. 
 
 "An I thought Racey didn t know how to cuss," ob 
 served Johnny with placid delight, and squatted down on 
 his heels to enjoy the view. "Ain t them the fightin est 
 mules?" 
 
 "They are," agreed a gloomy voice above him. 
 
 Johnny looked up into the face of a corporal of cavalry. 
 
 "An me," continued the corporal, unhappily watching 
 the mules try to shuck themselves out of their collars, "an 
 me I gotta drive them bunches of dynamite from here to 
 the railroad an back to Fort Yardley. Gawd!" 
 
 The corporal departed muttering. Johnny, a thought 
 ful crease between his eyes, rose to his feet and with La- 
 guerre went to help Racey. The latter was not grateful. 
 He desired, profanely, to know why they hadn t come 
 sooner. He dwelt monotonously on this point till a mule 
 bit his leg and distracted his attention. 
 
 Came then a cavalry lieutenant and the Wells-Fargo 
 agent, Tug Wilson. The latter, fairly drunk, essayed to 
 assist the three in their labours. 
 
 "Gotta help get the bu-buckboard ready," he gabbled, 
 clinging to a front wheel and diffusing abroad the rank 
 odour of raw whisky. "Bu-buckboard for pup-pup-pay 
 master. Rashey, ol boy, I wu-wish say! Whasher 
 matter?" 
 
 For the lieutenant had slipped a muscular arm under 
 Wilson s elbow and was striving gently to pry the agent 
 from his point of support. 
 
 "Let s go into the office," was the officer s earnest sug 
 gestion. "Let s go right now." 
 
 "I wan* hell-help harnesh mu-mu-mu-hools for pup-pup- 
 
198 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 pupple-paymaster," Tug Wilson declared with owlish 
 intentness. "Pup-paymaster goin bring money losh 
 money thu-thu-thoushands an thoushands!" 
 
 In order fully to impress upon his hearers the magnitude 
 of the amount, Tug Wilson released his grip on the wheel 
 and spread wide his arms. The lieutenant profited by 
 the opportunity to draw away the agent from the buck- 
 board and tow him bargewise in the direction of the office. 
 
 "Paymaster, huh!" exclaimed Racey, battering the off 
 mule into his proper place. "Now why can t the pay 
 master use a ambulance, I d shore like to know?" 
 
 Johnny knew the answer to Racey s question. But 
 he said nothing, and, by dint of a quick-working eye and 
 much natural agility, contrived to hook the traces of the 
 off mule without being kicked. 
 
 "Gawd help the corp ral!" grunted Racey Dawson, 
 when the vivacious team was finally hooked in. "Betcha 
 ten they bust the buckboard on him, Johnny." 
 
 "Gimme one to ten an I ll go yuh, hawg," countered 
 Johnny. "What yuh want, a shore thing?" 
 
 "That s the only way I d ever win any of yore money, 
 old-timer. Where s that corp ral? Wow- wow-whoop! 
 Cavalry here s yore team!" 
 
 The corporal came, wiping his mouth, and climbed, 
 swearing under his breath, into the buckboard. 
 
 "Turn em loose," he grunted, his feet braced, the reins 
 wrapped round his wrists. 
 
 Johnny and his friends moved quickly. So did the 
 mules. The buckboard, bouncing limberly, careered away 
 into the soft dusk. 
 
 "It s a wild life in the Far West," observed Johnny, look 
 ing after the retreating vehicle. "The corp ral, he didn t 
 say nothin about no paymaster." 
 
TWO AND TWO 199 
 
 "I guess maybe he forgot/* Racey hazarded lightly. 
 
 "I expect maybe he did," drawled Johnny, and went 
 on to tell Racey a few things. 
 
 "Oh, yeah," said Racey, when his brain had grasped 
 the significance of Johnny s words. "Oh, yeah, I did 
 notice how the loot looked worried when Tug began to 
 chatter about the paymaster an his coin. A full troop s 
 here now. They re camped north o town a ways. Shore, 
 they re the outfit you seen at Fort Yardley. That cussin 
 corporal told me they d just come from there. Say, if 
 she wasn t so serious, I d laugh. Think o that shavetail 
 tellin Tug what he wanted the buckboard for! Tug!" 
 
 Racey snorted in vast contempt. From the rear of the 
 stage station drifted the sound of voices raised in argu 
 ment. 
 
 "Listen to the loot tryin to sober up Tug," chuckled 
 Johnny. 
 
 "It ll take more n language to do that," said Racey. 
 "C mon over. Maybe they ll fight or somethin ." 
 
 "Nemmine what they do. We want to know what 
 happened since we left." 
 
 "Not a thing. The Bend s been stiller than a church 
 on Monday." 
 
 "How long s the red-head been here?" 
 
 "Got in yesterday Now, wait, wait, before yuh go 
 bawlin questions. I ain t quite a witless! I been watchin* 
 him all I could ever since he got in an he ain t been inside 
 the Broken Dollar." 
 
 "That don t prove nothin . He might a " 
 
 "He might," interrupted Racey, "but he didn t, old- 
 timer. Cause yest day afternoon Slay went ridin with 
 Dorothy Burr, an this mornin him an his sister an Doro 
 thy went ridin again, so " 
 
200 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Again!" Blankly. 
 
 "Yeah, again," Racey declared with relish. "What s 
 it to yuh?" 
 
 "Me? Nothin !" Ruffled indignation on the part 
 of Johnny. 
 
 "Seems to me I heard " began the irritating Racey, 
 
 and paused, his expression demurely innocent. 
 
 "It don t matter what yuh heard," Johnny averred 
 hastily. "Them long ears o 5 yores are liable to hear 
 most anythin . Y ought to pin em back, Racey, oP 
 boy." 
 
 "I expect," grinned Racey. "As I was sayin , Johnny, 
 before yuh began to stutter an get so red an funny- 
 lookin , this here Slay and the red-head didn t have no 
 chance to get together. I d a knowed it, if they had. 
 Maybe they dunno each other." 
 
 "Maybe. We ll see. When did the soldiers sift in?" 
 
 "S afternoon. Guess they ll be driftin in the mornin ." 
 
 "When they do I m goin to trail em." 
 
 "Whaffor?" 
 
 "I want to see what s goin to happen." 
 
 "Nothin ll happen. Them soldiers won t let it. Yo re 
 wastin time. Ain t he, Telescope?" 
 
 The half-breed shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I dunno, me," said he. "One thing good as anudder, 
 I guess." 
 
 "That s right, let Johnny think he knows it all!" railed 
 Racey. "He s bad enough now, but first thing yuh know 
 he won t be fit to live with. Tell yuh what, Johnny, s pose 
 now I go south with yuh stead o Telescope." 
 
 "Telescope s gotta watch out for the red-head." 
 
 "Fine, then I ll go with yuh." 
 
 "No, yuh won t. Somebody s gotta stay here an look 
 
TWO AND TWO 201 
 
 after Harry Slay. Maybe the red-head will leave, see? 
 Then where d we be with nobody in the Bend?" 
 
 "Then you stay here an lemme go," urged Racey. 
 "I m sick o wrastlin bosses an mules." 
 
 "Whatsa matter?" Johnny demanded keenly. "Don t 
 yuh enjoy goin to the Broken Dollar an playin the 
 wheel?" 
 
 It was Racey s turn to flush, which he did grandly. 
 
 "Luck s only a word to me," he said self-consciously. 
 
 "She is to some folks," agreed Johnny. "They s a 
 right pretty lady runnin the wheel. Didja notice her?" 
 
 " I never did like black hair," dodged Racey. " Yaller s 
 my favourite." 
 
 "Good strong colour," was Johnny s comment as he 
 winked at Laguerre. "Feel like goin down to the Broken 
 Dollar with us, Racey, for a li l whirl?" 
 
 "I shore don t," was Racey s answer. 
 
 "Maybe the Harper boys ll be there, an " began 
 
 Johnny. 
 
 "Maybe they won t," interrupted Racey. "Spill ain t 
 been round town for quite a while, an Bale he slides out 
 some ers yest day." 
 
 "Yest day, huh. Before or after the red-head drifted 
 in?" 
 
 "After." 
 
 "Oh, he did, did he? Ain t he the cunnin li l rascal? 
 Mis Burr or the cap n home yet?" 
 
 "The cap n s still out on his route, but the Missus she s 
 home I heard." 
 
 "Ain t yuh seen her?" 
 
 "How would I see her?" demanded Racey with what 
 seemed most unnecessary heat. "I don t go romancin 
 that end o town." 
 
202 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 " Yuh don t," drawled Johnny, his eye-corners puckering. 
 "Well, I wouldn t, either considerinV 
 
 "What yuh mean by that?" snarled Racey, with a very 
 red face. 
 
 "I was just thinkin it s a wild night on the canal," 
 twinkled Johnny. "Yessir, them waves must be some 
 thing tremendous." 
 
 "You go to an the Broken Dollar," Racey told 
 
 him. "Me, I m gonna look at that red-head person." 
 
 Racey, stiff-backed to exaggeration, marched away. 
 Johnny and Laguerre dropped down to the Broken Dollar. 
 As they passed the few playing the wheel it was before 
 the evening rush of customers the radiant Mrs. Wallace 
 saw them and nodded brightly. Harry Slay, standing 
 tall and watchful at the end of the long bar, saw them and 
 nodded not so brightly. 
 
 The two stray men drank sparingly of their liquor and 
 watched the occupants of the room with carefully casual 
 eyes. They were hoping that the red-head would appear. 
 But of the many who came in at the open door that evening 
 the red-head was not one. When the hands of the wall 
 clock above the bar came together at midnight, Johnny 
 yawned prodigiously and in a loud voice suggested 
 bed. 
 
 Once in the outer dark the two separated, Johnny to go 
 in search of Racey, and Laguerre to watch the Broken 
 Dollar from the vantage-point of Finnegan s wood-pile 
 across the street. Johnny did not find Racey at the hotel. 
 The bartender did not know where the young man had 
 betaken himself. The red-head was nowhere to be seen, 
 and Johnny inwardly and heartily cursed the recreant 
 Racey. Then he reflected with an incongruous sense of 
 deep injury that it was just like Racey to go off without a 
 
TWO AND TWO 203 
 
 word. Might know it! If a man wanted things done 
 right he had to do em himself! 
 
 The red-head s saddle lay in a corner of the barroom. 
 But Johnny was not satisfied. He borrowed a lantern 
 and looked over the horses in the corral till he found the 
 red-head s blue. 
 
 "He must be round town some ers," Johnny told himself, 
 as he closed the gate. 
 
 Johnny, wishing he was triplets, went down to the stage 
 station. He shook a hostler awake, vehemently demand 
 ing tidings of the station-boss. But the hostler was equally 
 vehement in his denial of any knowledge concerning Racey 
 and his movements. 
 
 The baffled Johnny was now more than ever out of pa 
 tience with the world and its works. Hurriedly leaving 
 the vicinity of the station and careless as to the placing 
 of his feet, he walked straight into the business end of a 
 horse that had in some manner escaped from the corral. 
 Johnny did not know that this particular horse happened to 
 be a mule, but he knew that there was no time to dodge. 
 
 Those intimately acquainted with the horse and its 
 hybrid know that when there is no time to dodge, one must 
 heartily crowd the hindquarters in question. In this way 
 the kick is transformed into a push. Johnny crowded 
 hard. The mule delivered its nudge with both heels. 
 The stray man moved sharply to the rear and sat down 
 splashily in the overflow from the station watering-trough. 
 The mule went elsewhere at a gallop. 
 
 Johnny swore aloud for he had meant to rock the mule. 
 
 He rose hastily, feeling very wet and itchy, and tenderly 
 fingered his well-barked shins. Hobbling and muttering, 
 he returned to Laguerre. The Broken Dollar was still in 
 full blast. 
 
204 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 " Slay s gotta go home some time," Johnny said, half 
 an hour later. "Guess I better go an scout up the house. 
 Maybe the red-head s there waitin for him. Wish I 
 could find Racey. Hell s bells, she s a wonder I didn t 
 break my leg!" 
 
 The unsympathetic half-breed chuckled, and Johnny 
 departed wrathfully. At a little distance he halted and 
 removed his spurs. 
 
 The house of the gambler was, of course, dark, but 
 Johnny circled it with no more noise than that made by a 
 light-footed cat and lay down between two little balsams 
 some thirty feet from the edge of the front porch. He 
 would have been pleased to go closer, but, were the red 
 head within, such a manoeuvre would be disastrous. 
 
 Thus he lay and waited, while the flying squadrons of 
 the night lit and made merry upon exposed portions of his 
 anatomy. In the intervals of killing midges and buzz-bugs 
 he found time to think on a subject that more than hazily 
 filled the far background of his mind. 
 
 "It s a shame," he reflected, "the way that jigger Slay 
 is makin himself too popular. This is shore gettin serious. 
 First thing Dorothy knows she ll wake up an find herself 
 married to this feller." 
 
 Johnny rolled his eyes at the very idea and slew a buzz- 
 bug that was creeping into his ear. 
 
 "If I could only show how Slay s a road agent quick an 
 sudden," he went on glumly, "it would be a heap provi 
 dential, an it d save me trouble a whole lot o trouble. 
 I wouldn t have to go fussin round cuttin Slay out with 
 the lady. As if I wanted to marry Dorothy! Scotty s a 
 plumb fool, the oF bushwhacker. Why, if I did I bet she d 
 make me save money! Yessir, I ll bet she she was 
 plenty pretty when she was makin them pies. An she 
 
TWO AND TWO 205 
 
 can shore cook. Aw, what I wanna get married for! 
 Time enough when I get to be an old man." 
 
 He conjured before his mind s eye a vision of the lady 
 he would like to marry when an old man. Strangely 
 enough the vision bore a most remarkable resemblance to 
 the young and winsome Dorothy Burr. 
 
 "Well, if she ain t married by then, maybe I will marry 
 her," he told himself generously. 
 
 In some ways, Johnny Ramsay was tediously young. 
 
 The slithering sound of a pebble kicked into action by 
 an advancing foot flattened Johnny to the ground. A 
 bobbing spark appeared above the path leading to the 
 house. The spark glowed as the smoker inhaled deeply 
 and revealed the thin-lipped mouth and long pointed nose 
 of the gambler, Slay. Johnny heard the thin rustle of 
 taffeta and then: 
 
 "Don t walk so fast, Harry," begged a soft, sweet 
 voice. 
 
 "You will wear high heels," replied Harry, slackening 
 not his pace. 
 
 "You want me to." Reproachfully. 
 
 "Well, I- 
 
 " Let s not quarrel to-night, please," urged the sweet 
 voice. "I m so tired." 
 
 ""You re always tired lately," said Slay irritably. 
 "What s the matter with you, anyway?" 
 
 "I think it s my nerves." 
 
 "Nerves! You re a fine one to have nerves. What are 
 you going to do give w r ay?" 
 
 "I only know I m awfully tired." The sentence trailed 
 off in a weary little sigh. 
 
 "You can rest on the porch," grunted Slay. "Here we 
 are." 
 
206 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Two figures were silhouetted a moment against the 
 stars and Johnny perceived that the smaller was a good 
 ten feet behind the larger. 
 
 "Guess she s his sister all right enough," thought the 
 cynical Johnny. 
 
 The figures vanished in the utter darkness of the porch. 
 Chair-legs scraped along the boards. A V-shaped splotch 
 of white showed against the blackness. 
 
 "I would take off my shawl if I were you!" observed 
 .Slay sarcastically. "You -wore it wrapped round you all 
 the way up, and now " 
 
 Obediently the V-shaped splotch disappeared. 
 
 "What do you want to do catch cold?" went on the 
 petulant Slay. 
 
 "How solicitous we have become!" A rising note of 
 "hysteria was in the tone of her voice. 
 
 "You re needed in the business," came the direct state 
 ment pat as a slap in the face. 
 
 "Some day I shall certainly leave you." The lady s 
 voice was no longer hysterical. It was icy with anger. 
 
 "No, I don t think you will." 
 
 "Oh, won t I?" 
 
 "No, Sis, I don t believe you could ever bring yourself 
 to leave darling brother." 
 
 "You natter yourself." 
 
 "Do I?" 
 
 There was no answer, and then Slay laughed a low, un- 
 cheerful laugh. 
 
 "We ve got to stick together, and you know it," he said 
 earnestly. "We may have our little spats now and then, 
 but they don t mean anything. We both have tempers 
 and must make allowances accordingly." 
 
 "Oh certainly, by all means we must make allowances! 
 
TWO AND TWO 207 
 
 You mean that you may be as hateful as you please and I 
 must make the allowances." 
 
 "Try and preserve your sense of proportion, can t you?" 
 
 Mrs. Wallace laughed aloud. Oddly enough, it was a 
 laugh of genuine amusement. 
 
 "You re more insufferable than a husband," she ex 
 claimed. 
 
 "Oh, you know." 
 
 "I do. I do indeed. I ve known a few men, and of all 
 the masses of conceit I ever ran across, you are the most 
 massive." 
 
 "Huh." Contemptuously. 
 
 "Huh all you please. You think I m tied to you, do 
 you? By what, if you please? Common interests? 
 Have we any? If so, what are they? Sisterly affection? 
 My dear man, that vanished long ago. Remains then 
 what? 
 
 "I tell you quite frankly that I don t know what keeps 
 me in the neighbourhood. I ve put up with your nagging 
 and utter selfishness for a great deal longer than has been 
 good for me, and some day, Mister Man, you will receive 
 
 a vivid surprise That s right, swear, do! Be just 
 
 as disagreeable as you can! But remember I ve warned 
 you." 
 
 Johnny heard Mrs. Wallace rise, heard the brisk click 
 of her high heels as she walked across the porch into the 
 house, heard the vicious slam of the front door, and cursed 
 inwardly. 
 
 "That s always the way," he mourned. "Just when 
 she s ready to blat out somethin worth while she gets mad 
 an hops in the house. An all I wanted was a li l word. 
 Now, I ll bet the red-head won t even come." 
 
 Johnny disconsolately watched the firefly spark and 
 
208 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 glow of Slay s cigar end. The midges and buzz-bugs 
 revelled undisturbed. Johnny did not dare make any noise. 
 He did not know how acute might be the gambler s hear 
 ing. 
 
 At long last Slay threw away his stub and lit another 
 cigar and still nothing happened. This was not in the 
 least like a detective story Johnny had once read. In 
 the said absorbing tale the hero had eaves-dropped with 
 great abandon, obtaining thereby the most important in 
 formation. In one instance the villain, while the hero lay 
 concealed under a bed, soliloquized at some length to his 
 own ultimate confusion and the profit of the clever sleuth. 
 
 "The feller that wrote that book shore didn t know what 
 he was talkin about," concluded Johnny. "Here s all the 
 chance in the world for Slay to tell the story of his life an* 
 he sits there like a dumb bump on a log. It ain t right." 
 
 Silence endured on the porch and among the balsams 
 for the greater part of two hours. The east began to 
 lighten and Johnny began to perspire. For he knew that 
 he could not depart unheard, and he was averse to shoot 
 ing Slay beneath the bedroom window of his sister, as it 
 were. It would be too much like murder. Yet, should 
 Slay continue to sit and the east continue to lighten he 
 would be compelled to do that very thing or be himself 
 shot. Johnny cautiously dragged out his six-shooter. 
 
 Ten minutes later Slay went into the house. The door 
 had barely closed when Johnny was wriggling backward 
 along the ground. Within three minutes he was walking 
 to the hotel in the cool grayness of the new day. 
 
 Johnny had two hours sleep and appeared at breakfast 
 a trifle blear-eyed. He found Laguerre and the red-head 
 eating side by side. Johnny nodded to them, wolfed his 
 meal in silence, and hurried down to the stage station. 
 
TWO AND TWO 209 
 
 "I thought you was goin* to watch the red-head last 
 night," he said to Racey, in the comparative privacy of 
 the open space in front of the corrals. 
 
 "I did watch him till him an* Soapy an Jim Mace an* 
 Carey got to playin draw over in Soapy s place. Then I 
 drifted after tellin Soapy to come wake me when they got 
 through. I knowed Soapy could be trusted thataway, 
 an I was Gawd awful sleepy, so I bedded down adjacent 
 under that freight-wagon beyond the waterin -trough. 
 But Soapy didn t come, an I slept till mornin except once 
 when some drunkard come stumblin round an got all 
 tangled up with Smith s mule Dolly, an Dolly she kicked 
 the poor fool into the waterin -trough, an he went off cuss- 
 in an swearin . 
 
 "Serve him right. I felt like kickin him myself, wakin 
 me up an all. Whatsa matter? What yuh lookin at me 
 
 so funny for, huh ? Look Say, they s dried mud on 
 
 yore chaps! I ll bet you was that drunkard, Johnny! 
 It was you! By Gawd I know it was or yuh wouldn t 
 look at me thataway. Didn t yuh know no better n to 
 go pullin Dolly s tail? Gee, that s rich. Here! What- 
 yuh tryin to do?" 
 
 SPLASH! 
 
 For Racey, in his carelessness, had been leaning against 
 the upper end of the watering-trough, and Johnny, a-tingle 
 with the memory of Dolly and the futile hours spent with 
 buzz-bugs, had yielded to the impulse of the moment. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 BUSHWHACKERS 
 
 NO, JOHNNY, Dorothy ain t home. She went out 
 ridin with Harry Slay. So yo re workin for 
 Scotty, now, huh? How s tricks with you? 
 Yo re lookin fine. When did yuh leave the Cross-in-a- 
 box? An how s that good-for-nothin Jack Richie brother 
 o mine? I declare, yuh d think he d never had a sister 
 the way he don t write. Land sakes, here I am a-keepin 
 yuh a-standin there an not askin yuh in. But that s 
 me. I always was careless about my manners. 
 
 "C min, Johnny, an rest yore hat. There s Benjamin s 
 partic lar chair, an yuh can roost yore feet on the rung an* 
 talk to me while I mix up a cake chocolate cake, Johnny. 
 
 Yuh ll stay to dinner, o course What? One o 
 
 Benjamin s partic lar personal friends an* yuh trot right 
 off thisaway? Yuh gotta stay to dinner. I wanna hear 
 all about Tom an Kate an that li l Junior child. I know 
 you ve seen em. Just you go right now an put that ca- 
 yuse in the corral." 
 
 Tall, angular Mrs. Burr slapped her arms akimbo. Her 
 harsh features radiated hospitality as she beamed at Johnny 
 Ramsay. But that perturbed young man took no com 
 fort in her smiles. Dorothy had gone riding again with 
 Slay! 
 
 "I can t stay, Mis Burr," he told her, forcing his pleas- 
 antest expression. "I d shore like to, but I got my job 
 
 210 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 211 
 
 to look out for. I guess I ll be weavin along. S long. 
 See yuh later." 
 
 Johnny stuck foot in stirrup, slid into the saddle, and 
 whirled his horse. Mrs. Burr followed his progress to 
 Main Street with wistful eyes. She liked Johnny Ramsay. 
 
 The red-head was not visible on the hotel porch when 
 Johnny passed down Main Street. But his horse, as 
 Johnny took good care to make sure, as he rode by, was 
 in the corral. On two chairs, tiptilted against the facade 
 of Ragsdale s store, sat the proprietor and Telescope La- 
 guerre. The attitudes of both men were patently lethar 
 gic, but they came alive sufficiently to nod to Johnny. 
 Laguerre even jiggled a languid hand. After which the 
 half-breed pulled his hat-brim forward and appeared to 
 fall into a gentle doze. 
 
 Johnny s mouth-corners quirked with satisfaction. 
 From the sidewalk in front of Ragsdale s store a man might 
 without effort observe all that went on in the vicinity of 
 the hotel and the corral. Likewise, Main Street, from the 
 same vantage-point, was open to the view throughout its 
 breadth and length. 
 
 Beyond the river the trampled trail was evidence enough 
 that the cavalry had passed that way. Johnny, to whom 
 the grind of trailing appealed not at all, suddenly resolved 
 to change his plans and precede the military to the railroad. 
 
 "Why for have I gotta swallow their dust for a week?" 
 he asked himself. "Maybe if I hit Damson ahead of em 
 I ll learn somethin real nice an* nifty, which is me, yores 
 truly, forty ways from the jack." 
 
 To avoid a meeting with the soldiers Johnny and his 
 mount departed from the trail and the canons of the region 
 swallowed them up. 
 
 Four days later Chuck Morgan s wife, swabbing out her 
 
212 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 dish-pan in the old C Y ranch-house on Soogan Creek, 
 was startled by the abrupt arrival of a scrubby-faced young 
 man who said he was hungry. Jane Morgan was not an 
 inquisitive person, but she wondered as she fed the traveller, 
 why Johnny Ramsay was in such a hurry and why he 
 wasn t even decently communicative. It wasn t like him 
 either the hurry or the short answers. Poor boy, he 
 looked tired out. 
 
 "Have another cup?" she asked, poising the coffee-pot 
 invitingly. 
 
 " I m full to the roof o my mouth," said Johnny, shaking 
 his head. "Guess I ll just smoke a pill while the li l hoss 
 rests his feet. The oats yuh gimme will put new life in 
 him. How s Chuck?" 
 
 It is to be feared that Johnny was in an abstracted mood 
 that day. For he could not have definitely told how 
 Chuck was two minutes after Jane Morgan had replied. 
 
 Within two days Johnny Ramsay, choosing the night 
 time for his entry, oozed unostentatiously into Marysville, 
 the county seat of Fort Creek County. He went at once 
 to the house of Judge Allison, his very good friend. The 
 jurist, wise in his generation, made no comment when 
 Johnny drew down every blind in the judicial sitting room. 
 He gave Johnny a drink of excellent whisky, hearkened 
 while the stray man asked a question, and slowly shook 
 his white head. 
 
 "The local bad men are accounted for/ he said. "We 
 only had three. The Circle S outfit lynched Dave Long 
 last week, and Little Bill and Slim Edwards became em 
 broiled in the small matter of an extra ace day before yes 
 terday and most considerately eliminated themselves 
 Yes, I know there are in town two or three others that will 
 bear watching, but these few are small fry, lacking the 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 213 
 
 heart for great enterprise. Is it a fair question to ask 
 why you " 
 
 The judge put his finger points together and looked in 
 quiringly at Johnny. 
 
 "Well, yuh see " hesitated the stray man. 
 
 " There, there, that ll do," said the judge hastily. 
 " Don t bother to explain. I shouldn t have asked. How s 
 business up where you are?" 
 
 Johnny s eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Yo re a real human man, Judge," he said. "I wish 
 I could tell yuh, but I ain t none too certain about a lot o* 
 things myself. Know a jigger named Bale Harper, 
 Judge?" " 
 
 Judge Allison was one of those happily gifted folk that 
 never forget names or faces. 
 
 " When I was in the Bend two years ago," was the judge s 
 answer, "Jim Mace pointed out Bale Harper to me. 
 Why?" 
 
 "I was just wonderin if by any chance the gent had 
 been in Marysville?" 
 
 "He is." " 
 
 "Oh, he is, is he?" chuckled Johnny, his eyes glinting 
 in the lamplight. "How long has he been here?" 
 
 " Since day before yesterday. I was on the porch of the 
 Sunrise when he rode in." 
 
 "Come alone?" 
 
 "No, there was a man with him, a customer even more 
 tough-looking than Friend Bale, name of Keen." 
 
 Johnny banged a resentful fist on his knee. 
 
 "Might a knowed it!" he cried. "I clean forgot all 
 about Tom Keen when I was in the Bend. When did 
 yuh see em last, Judge?" 
 
 "This afternoon in the Sunrise." 
 
2i 4 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Maybe they ve gone." 
 
 "We can easily decide that point. Suppose we step 
 down to the Sunrise for a smile. If they re not there we ll 
 look about." 
 
 "I ain t a heap anxious to have em see me," objected 
 Johnny. 
 
 "In that case allow me to play the detective," suggested 
 the accommodating judge. "There s a Chicago paper on 
 that shelf." 
 
 While Johnny sat and waited and read the Chicago paper 
 came the sound of footsteps on the sidewalk. The feet 
 stopped at the judge s door and knuckles rapped on the 
 panel. 
 
 Johnny muttered appropriately at this mischance and 
 started to tiptoe across the floor. 
 
 Before he could reach the doorway giving access to the 
 dining room, the front door opened. Johnny promptly 
 altered course toward a match safe hanging on the wall 
 and glanced over his shoulder. The man looking in out 
 of the night was Jack Murgatroyd, the slimmer and older 
 half of Sheriff Stahl s force of deputies. His eyes, small 
 and bright as black beads, stared at Johnny. He nodded 
 curtly, entered, closed the door behind him, wiped his 
 swarthy features on his sleeve and remarked that it was a 
 hot night. Johnny Ramsay, busily engaged in stuffing 
 his hatband with the contents of the match safe on the 
 wall, observed that it was hotter than that. 
 
 The deputy appeared to ponder this statement a mo 
 ment. Then he crossed the floor to the nearest chair, sat, 
 and rolled him a cigarette. Ever a silent person Jack acted 
 in character for fully fifteen minutes before he spoke. 
 Johnny had long since returned to his friend the Chicago 
 paper. 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 215 
 
 "Seen the judge?" asked the deputy. 
 
 Johnny affected to be startled. 
 
 "For Gawd s sake, Jack," he exclaimed with admirably 
 simulated irritation, "might as well kill a man as scare 
 him to death thisaway. I d clean forgot there was any 
 body else in the room. Some day, I m tellin yuh, yuh ll 
 strain yore throat talkin so much." 
 
 Jack smiled wintrily. 
 
 "I shore gotta look out for that throat," he said, and 
 smiled again his January smile. "I was askin yuh about 
 the judge." 
 
 "He s down street some ers," replied Johnny. "Didja 
 look in the Sunrise?" 
 
 "No." Jack shook his head. 
 
 Ensued another long silence. 
 
 "Did the judge have a game on or somethin ?" inquired 
 the deputy suddenly. 
 
 "There yuh go again an me with my weak heart." 
 
 "Guess yore heart an my throat d make a pair, 
 huh?" 
 
 "Not to draw to," denied Johnny, at which Jack Murga- 
 troyd laughed as at the most side-splitting joke and re 
 peated his question. 
 
 "I dunno," said Johnny, and turned a sheet. "He 
 didn t say nothin about no li l game. But you know 
 Judge Allison, Jack, he don t always say what he s goin to 
 do next." 
 
 "I expect," said Jack Murgatroyd. 
 
 An hour later Judge Allison returned. He greeted the 
 deputy briefly and sat down before his table. Murgatroyd 
 dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it beneath a 
 spurred heel. 
 
 "Just stopped in to tell yuh Judge, that they won t be 
 
216 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 no trial o s Hen Riley next week," remarked Mr. Murga- 
 troyd. 
 
 "Why on earth did they lynch him? * queried the judge, 
 jumping at the most natural conclusion. "That Single 
 bartender wasn t popular?" 
 
 "They didn t lynch him. He done picked the lock of 
 the calaboose door at Rocket an* e-loped on the sheriff s 
 own hoss." 
 
 "Which is rather ironical when you stop to consider," 
 observed the judge. 
 
 "Ain t it," said Murgatroyd, quite at sea as to the mean 
 ing of the word "ironical." "The sheriff an Chance is 
 trailin Hen now he rode north. But Bill Stahl s Steam 
 boat is one fast, sur-vigorous cayuse." 
 
 "Did you ride from Rocket merely to tell me this about 
 Hen?" 
 
 "No, I m just passin through on my way to the railroad? 
 an Bill he told me to be shore to stop an tell yuh so s 
 yuh d know what to expect when Hen didn t show up on 
 time. Bill s sendin me to Damson an Piegan an them 
 towns to scout round. He s got a idea maybe them road 
 agents that s been hellin around has got friends or some- 
 thin on the railroad. So long, Judge. So long, Johnny. 
 Hot night." 
 
 Jack Murgatroyd tilted his hat and was gone. 
 
 "I ll bet that s the first long speech he ever made in his 
 life," observed Johnny. 
 
 The judge nodded, and poured himself a modest two 
 fingers. 
 
 "He must have been drinking," he suggested. "There s 
 the bottle, Johnny. It s your move. When you ve made 
 it, we ll adjourn, if you don t mind, to the bench back of 
 the stable. There s a breeze there." 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 217 
 
 "An* that s more n they is here with the blinds down 
 an* the lamp goin ," grinned Johnny. "No more, thank 
 yuh, Judge. Yore whisky ain t the stuff to make a habit 
 of. It spoils the taste for ordinary paint. Any time yo re 
 ready." 
 
 There was not much of a breeze on the bench behind 
 the stable, but such as it was they unbuttoned their shirts 
 and prepared to make the most of it. 
 
 "They re at the dance-hall," said the judge in a low 
 tone, "and not in the main part of the building either. 
 That s why it took me so long to find them. They were 
 in one of the small back rooms. Tom Keen was sitting 
 at the table with his face in his hands, looking at nothing. 
 Bale was walking up and down. Every now and then 
 he d stop, pour himself a fresh drink and gulp it down. 
 They looked as if they were waiting for something." 
 
 "Maybe they are," observed Johnny. 
 
 The judge shot him a sidewise glance and fanned his 
 hot face with his hat. 
 
 "What did they do when yuh went in the room?" ques 
 tioned Johnny. 
 
 "I didn t go in the room," was the judge s ingenuous 
 denial. "I saw them through the window." 
 
 "Judge, I m a-goin to tell yuh somethin ," Johnny said, 
 suddenly feeling that Judge Allison had earned an explana 
 tion, and went on to tell the jurist of his present mission in 
 life. The judge s interest was flattering. 
 
 "An that s all I know," concluded Johnny. "What do 
 you think?" 
 
 The judge lit a cigar before replying. He regarded the 
 glowing tip in silence a moment. 
 
 "I think I know Barry Camp," he said at last. "The 
 description tallies with that of a tinhorn who used to oper- 
 
218 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 ate in Piegan City about three years ago. Dave Yule was 
 the name he used. Reddy Yule the boys called him. 
 He stayed about six months, then he shot one of the boys, 
 and public opinion bringing pressure to bear he thought it 
 well to leave town. Your friend Camp is Yule. No doubt 
 of it. That hairless face, those blank staring yellow eyes, 
 and the man s other characteristics haven t any duplicates 
 
 in this territory What? No, he can t be arrested for 
 
 the Piegan City killing. It looked like an even break." 
 
 "Yeah," nodded Johnny, thinking of the manner of 
 Mat Neville s death. "That s the red-head s specialty 
 makin it look like an even break." 
 
 "He s clever." 
 
 "He s worse n that. Yuh don t remember ever seein 
 him round this part o the country, do yuh?" 
 
 "I do not. I never even heard of him since the Piegan 
 City days till you spoke of him to-night. But I think 
 you re wrong in one premise, Johnny. That red-headed 
 tinhorn and Harry Slay are not partners in this hold-up 
 business." 
 
 "You must a seen Mis Wallace," Johnny said keenly. 
 
 "Petticoats never have influenced me," shot back the 
 judge. "I know Slay played draw with him every time 
 I ve visited the Bend, and he s anjionest gambler. When 
 a gambler is straight in his profession he doesn t walk 
 crookedly otherwise. Slay s all right. Just because he 
 formed a slight dislike for you " 
 
 "Slight dislike!" cut in the indignant Johnny. "He 
 tried to have me lynched!" 
 
 "But then you sec he thought you were a road agent," 
 the judge explained smoothly. "His action was natural." 
 
 "Maybe it was, but it don t make me love him none. 
 You act like I d ought to kiss him or somethin ." 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 219 
 
 "You re prejudiced against Slay," insisted the judge. 
 "He s no friend of mine, but I shouldn t care to see in 
 justice done him or any one. By the way, I hear he s 
 engaged to Dorothy Burr. Is it true?" 
 
 "It s a lie!" cried Johnny. "He s only a friend of hers, 
 that s all." 
 
 Judge Allison smiled into the darkness. He believed 
 he knew the reason for Johnny s vehemence. Rumour 
 wears swift wings in the cow country and Captain Burr s 
 daughter was a very pretty girl. 
 
 "Guess maybe I ll borrow yore a-larm clock, Judge," 
 said Johnny, yawning and stretching elaborately. "I ll 
 roll in on yore hay in the stable. I m gonna drift 
 south at four so s nobody will see me. I might be back 
 later." 
 
 "You ll sleep in the house," the judge declared firmly. 
 "I ve an extra bed, and it s yours. Let s go in. I m 
 sleepy myself." 
 
 At a few minutes past four in the morning Johnny Ram 
 say was riding the Damson trail. At six o clock, when his 
 horse topped a wooded ridge, a backward glance revealed 
 to Johnny that two horsemen were up and coming on the 
 dusty track. Johnny rode on thoughtfully, thankful 
 that he and his horse were invisible among the trees. 
 
 At the foot of the reverse slope the trail crossed a gravelly 
 wash. Johnny swung his horse into the wash, rode along 
 it for a quarter-mile, found a tiny stream, and followed 
 its bed to where it bisected a round and grassy basin set 
 cup-like among hills. Which hills were covered with a thin 
 growth of mournful pines. 
 
 Twenty minutes later Johnny s horse, tied to a pine, 
 was beginning to doze peacefully in his favourite three- 
 cornered attitude, while his master lay on his stomach 
 
220 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 behind a low and twisted jack-pine and watched the dis 
 tant trail with alert eyes. 
 
 The two horsemen lifted into sight at the top of the 
 sway-backed ridge. Black dots against the gray-green 
 slope, they slid down to the gravelly wash, paused not at 
 all, and held on along the trail. 
 
 "Wish I d thought to find out what colour bosses Bale 
 an Keen was ridin ," lamented Johnny, his eye-corners 
 puckered. "Bay or red, these two, but they might be 
 straddled by first an foremost citizens for all I can tell. 
 Why didn t I get the judge to find out for me?" 
 
 He frowningly constructed a cigarette, lit it, and rolled 
 over on his back to wait a decent interval before riding on. 
 The trail and the two riders that rode it were hidden behind 
 a swelling fold of rising ground that ran in a long half 
 moon across the face of the land. The arc of the half 
 moon bent northward and the trail showed again in a 
 short white strip beyond the western horn before it van 
 ished in the pale green coolness of the cottonwoods lining 
 the banks of Bubbling Creek. 
 
 On the farther side of the creek the trail slanted into 
 sight across the broad breast of a pillow-shaped hill with a 
 notched shoulder and lost itself in the notch. 
 
 Johnny, flat on his back, finished his cigarette. It was 
 eminently peaceful on the top of his hill. A friendly wind 
 blew softly in among the pines and made them sing. 
 Johnny pulled his hat over his face. 
 
 He awoke with a start, rolled over on his elbows and 
 looked about him suspiciously. But everything was as it 
 should be: the horse dozed three-cornered, the sweet, sharp 
 odour of the singing pines was in his nostrils, the peace 
 of ages continued to hang upon the landscape. Johnny s 
 eyes instinctively sought that part of the countryside 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 221 
 
 where the trail showed white beyond the western horn of 
 the half moon of rising ground. And as he looked two 
 darkish dots came into view upon that streak of trail and 
 vanished where it vanished in the shadow of the cotton- 
 woods along the creek. 
 
 Johnny waited for the two dots to reappear on the trail 
 where it crossed the slope of the pillow-shaped hill with 
 the notched shoulder. They did not. But within fifteen 
 minutes he saw them doubling back toward the tip of the 
 half moon s western horn. 
 
 "They s boulders there, an one fine long outcrop," 
 said Johnny aloud. 
 
 He nodded his head as the dots left the trail and stopped 
 several hundred yards beyond it, and well inside the horn 
 of the half moon. 
 
 "Leavin their hosses so far away they won t whinner," 
 he went on. 
 
 Two specks detached themselves from the dots, moved 
 back toward the trail slanted up the slope to the horn and 
 disappeared among the boulders. 
 
 "Ain t they the tadpoles!" Johnny observed admiringly. 
 "Yuh might almost think them fellers was layin to bush 
 whack somebody. Yessir, yuh shore might. Maybe 
 it s another hold-up though. The Damson stage ought to 
 pull through in an hour. Guess Li l Willie better wait an 
 watch the pretty birdies." 
 
 So little Willie waited and watched apathetically till a 
 cloud of dust lifting and drifting above the horn of the 
 half moon heralded the coming of the southbound stage. 
 There were no sudden smoke-puffs above the boulders. 
 The stage appeared on the streak of trail leading to the 
 creek. The two men in ambush made no hostile move. 
 The stage continued without interruption to the creek, 
 
222 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 rolled in under the cottonwoods, rolled out beyond the 
 ford, and snailed upward toward the notch in the pillow- 
 shaped hill. 
 
 "I guess I m elected all right," murmured Johnny. 
 "Range is two thousand easy," he added, pondering 
 deeply. "I d shore like to know guess now I might as 
 well go n find put." 
 
 He rose to his feet, went to his horse, and mounted. 
 Taking care to keep happily placed ridges between himself 
 and the men lying on the half moon s horn Johnny worked 
 his way to the creek. Heading up-stream toward the ford 
 he rode warily among the cottonwoods till no more than a 
 half mile of level ground separated him from the horses of 
 the bushwhackers. 
 
 It looked like a good place to stop. For there were red 
 willows growing above a cutbank, below which Bubbling 
 Creek ran among rocks and gossiped to itself with a pleas 
 ant sound of splashing. 
 
 Johnny tied the horse between the bank and the willows, 
 dragged Daisy Belle from the scabbard under the left 
 fender and "Injuned" forward on foot. When he came 
 near the ford he stopped and squatted on his heels behind 
 a thick little red willow. 
 
 The horses of the two bushwhackers were not more 
 than three hundred yards distant. Of the men themselves 
 he could see nothing. But on the ridge of the half moon s 
 horn he could see plainly the rocks and the angling white 
 outcrop that hid the precious pair. 
 
 Crack! A rifle spoke among the rocks. A spurt of 
 smoke drifted across the outcrop. Crack! Crack! Crack! 
 Another Winchester joined the first. The marksman, by 
 the smoke, was fortified behind a large boulder on the 
 outcrop s right flank. 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 223 
 
 Cra-ack! A pause. Cra-ack! Another pause. Cra-ack! 
 Some one several hundred yards beyond the bushwhackers 
 was shooting very methodically. The first two shots 
 evidently struck and stopped, but the third ricochetted 
 and keyholed with a tearing whistle high above Johnny s 
 head. The two rifles among the boulders snarled furiously, 
 Occasionally the painstaking rifle in the distance would 
 reply. 
 
 "By the racket these two are making" observed Johnny, 
 with a grin, " Mister Slowfire on the other side must V 
 tickled em up. Maybe they ain t after me by Gawd!" 
 
 The oath was called forth by the idea that had struck 
 him. It was an excellent idea, and it contained a large 
 element of risk. 
 
 "But they ll be too busy to look round," reasoned 
 Johnny, greatly taken with his excellent idea. "An if 
 they do " 
 
 He left the sentence unfinished, rose to his feet, cocked 
 his rifle, and started toward the horses of the bushwhackers. 
 He reached them without incident, calmly picked up the 
 trailing reins and led both animals back to the cottonwoods. 
 
 Once in the shelter of the belt of trees, he unhurriedly 
 searched the saddle-bags and cantenas. Among other 
 articles in the pocket of one cantena he found a flannel 
 shirt with an ancient envelope in the breast pocket. The 
 envelope was filled with cigarette papers. So ancient was 
 the envelope that Johnny could not at first decipher the 
 address. But finally, by holding the envelope at a certain 
 angle, he made out that it was addressed to William Harper 
 at Paradise Bend. Bale Harper s other name was William. 
 
 "Wish they hadn t tore the stamp an postmark off," 
 grumbled the never-satisfied Johnny Ramsay. "I d 
 shore like to know where she was mailed." 
 
224 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Johnny s busy fingers pried into the saddle-bags on the 
 other horse. There was nothing in them to give a hint 
 to the owner s identity. Nor was there anything revealing 
 in the cantenas. He loosed the slicker tied behind the 
 cantle. There were no marks save those of wear on that 
 slicker, but its removal bared to public gaze a staple 
 pocket on the back of the cantle. Some one had burnt, 
 with a running iron, on the flap of the staple pocket, the 
 initials T. K. 
 
 "Tom Keen," smiled Johnny, listening to the sounds of 
 battle on the half moon s horn. "They ain t ridin this 
 trail for no good, that s a cinch. Mister! just listen to 
 em a-wastin cartridges like they cost nothin . They 
 must be packin a couple o belts apiece. Wonder who 
 they re shootin at." 
 
 Johnny felt no great curiosity as to the identity of the 
 unhappy individual. Whoever he might be, he was no 
 friend of his, of course. He might even be a horse thief 
 or some one equally nefarious, and Messrs. Harper and 
 Keen might be engaged in a kindly deed. Who could tell? 
 Johnny, being a sensible person with business of his own, 
 had no intention of mixing in the private affairs of other 
 men. He did not consider the removal and search of the 
 bushwhackers property in the least out of the way. It 
 was necessary. 
 
 "Guess I ll just lead these cayuses along with me 
 awhile," observed Johnny. "Settin Bale an Tom afoot 
 will do em a whole heap o good." 
 
 He mounted one of the animals and, leading the other, 
 rode back to his horse. Arrived at the clump of red willows 
 and his tail-switching pony, he began to be intrigued in 
 spite of himself by that intermittent firing in the distance. 
 It was palpably none of his business, yet. . . . 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 225 
 
 The man lying behind the dead horse in the middle of 
 the trail swore feelingly and tucked up his legs as a bullet 
 grazed his left heel. That plunging piece of lead had been 
 the tenth nearly to make him a cripple. He levered in a 
 cartridge, shoved his Winchester across the neck of che 
 horse and took a snapshot at a smoke-filled opening be 
 tween two boulders on the crest of the half moon s horn. 
 He did not expect to score a hit. By the manner in which 
 his two enemies fought he judged them to be gentlemen 
 of experience, and gentlemen of experience in warfare 
 either dodge or change position after each shot, and these 
 had been doing both. 
 
 It was an exceedingly one-sided affair, this little wayside 
 brush. The sun was directly in the eyes of the man behind 
 the dead horse, and it was only a question of time when one 
 of his foes would work round to the flank and rear. Luck 
 ily there was no cover except three lone cottonwoods and 
 an outcrop on either flank or the rear nearer than a thou 
 sand yards. 
 
 The man in the road was confident of being able to drop 
 any one sufficiently ill-advised to attempt to reach the 
 cottonwoods or the outcrop. He had ammunition in suf 
 ficient quantity to make it interesting for a while. If he 
 could stick it out till nightfall or if a friend would hap 
 pen that way; even the arrival of a nodding acquaintance 
 or a total stranger, so that he were well-disposed, would be 
 welcome. 
 
 The man behind the horse, having emptied his magazine, 
 awkwardly, for he was cramped for room, began to stuff 
 the long brass shells through the loading-gate. Before 
 he completed the operation three bullets had furrowed 
 the hide of his breastwork and one had grazed his shoulder. 
 He could feel the blood, warm as perspiration, trickling 
 
226 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 down his chest. The wound stung and made him thirsty. 
 He wished for a drink of the tepid water in his canteen, 
 but that useful article was lying well down beneath some 
 nine hundred and fifty pounds of dead pony. 
 
 Cra-ack! The report of a rifle sounded faintly on his left 
 front. He thought instantly that the enemy had begun 
 to work round him. But no buzzing piece of lead sailed 
 over his head or tucked into the body of his mount! The 
 rifles of his enemies ripped into hysterical action. No lead 
 came his way. The inference was obvious. The friend 
 had arrived. 
 
 The man behind the dead horse backed his rescuer shot 
 for shot. The latter must have had a good position, for, 
 while the fire of the bushwhackers dwindled to some ex 
 ceedingly scattered shooting, the other s increased steadily. 
 
 A quarter of an hour after the first shot from that dis 
 tant Winchester the bushwhackers rifles were silent. A 
 less prudent man than the one behind the horse would have 
 gone forward to investigate. But he had fought the 
 Indian many times. There might be a trick. He was 
 content to remain where he was. 
 
 Minutes later he heard shots fired on the other side of 
 the half moon. The friendly Winchester had not ceased 
 to fire. The smoke of it was thick among the distant 
 boulders. The sound of the shots behind the crescent be 
 came fainter and fainter. 
 
 Suddenly the man behind the dead horse jumped to his 
 feet and ran as swiftly as his high heels would allow toward 
 the tip of the half moon s horn. It was a run of several 
 hundred yards. He arrived out of breath and puffing and 
 plunged down behind a jagged rock. What he saw was in 
 a measure gladdening. Toward the cottonwoods lining 
 the bank of the creek, two men were scuttling for dear life 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 227 
 
 literally. About their hurrying feet jets of dust sprang 
 up and mushroomed in little filmy clouds. The man threw 
 his rifle forward and fired again and again. But he was 
 too shaken with fast running for anything even approach 
 ing accurate shooting. The two men charged in among 
 the trees. The man sent seven shots to hasten their going. 
 There was no reply. 
 
 So he lay and watched the belt of green trees for a time. 
 But nothing happened. He took off his hat and raised his 
 head above the level of the rock. Not a shot. Then 
 he rose to his feet, went back to his horse, and, with his 
 rifle-barrel, levered up the body and freed the canteen. 
 
 Over the bulge of the tilted canteen he saw riding toward 
 him down the slope of the half moon, a young man. The 
 young man was leading two horses, and he was coming at a 
 sharp lope. The man s black eyes glittered. 
 
 "Good boy, dat Johnny Ramsay," said Telescope 
 Laguerre. 
 
 "Yay, old-timer!" bawled the approaching rider. "I 
 never knowed it was you they was tryin to rub out till I 
 come scoutin along the rimrock an recognized yore dead 
 hoss. Even then I wasn t a heap shore." 
 
 "I am glad you was tak a chance," said Laguerre simply. 
 "I tell you, my friend, I t ink one tarn she was all day wit 
 me, mabbeso. Were you geet de two cayuse?" 
 
 "They belong to them bushwhackers, Mister Harper 
 and Mister Tom Keen," grinned Johnny. "They was 
 standin there all so free an handy, so I just glommed on 
 to em. Climb on, Telescope. We ain t got time to blat 
 round here thisaway." 
 
 " Yuh wait tell I geet my saddle ofF. I wan for see w ere 
 dem men was hide. I heet one, I think, me." 
 
 "You did not. They ran away too fast." 
 
228 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "I crease one mabbeso." 
 
 "Like say, Telescope, yo re nicked yoreself! Yore 
 shirt s all blood. How- 
 
 "Small leetle graze," Laguerre interrupted impatiently. 
 "Not hurt tall/ 
 
 He fastened his own saddle behind Bale Harper s cantle, 
 swung up with a nimble legsweep and galloped up the slope 
 with Johnny. 
 
 Carefully refraining from exposing their persons on the 
 skyline they inspected the places where the bushwhackers 
 had lain. There were many spent forty-five ninety shells 
 scattered about, and on a flat rock between two boulders 
 a splash of red. 
 
 "Told yuh so!" Johnny, who had done nothing of the 
 kind, hastened to say. "Daisy Belle an* me are shore 
 reg lar folks. We never miss." 
 
 "You tell me so!" cried Laguerre indignantly. "Yuh 
 tell me so! I tell yuh, Johnny, dat was my shot do dat. 
 I was see dees man right troo de sight, an " 
 
 "Well, all right, s posin yuh did," flashed Johnny, 
 switching to the rightabout with pliant ease. " S posin 
 yuh did. What good did yuh do ? Lookit the way he run 
 ofF. Ragged work, Telescope, ragged work. But don t 
 yuh care. Some day, if yuh watch my smoke real careful 
 an profuse, an if yuh can get as good a rifle as Daisy 
 Belle, which yuh can t, yuh 11 maybe learn how to shoot. 
 I don t say yuh will certain shore. But maybe yuh 
 will." 
 
 Laguerre, moved to wrathful reply, incautiously stepped 
 forward beyond the outcrop. Instantly, from the spot 
 where the trail entered the cottonwoods, a rifle cracked. 
 A bullet struck a rock at his right hand and buzzed ofF at an 
 angle. The half-breed dropped behind the outcrop, 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 229 
 
 clicked in a cartridge and fired at the drift of gray smoke. 
 He would have fired again, but Johnny grabbed him by 
 the toe of his boot. 
 
 "C mon, c mon," urged Johnny. "Them sharps ll 
 keep. I dunno what yo re agoin to do, but I m agoin 
 somewhere, an* I m agoin right now at once. I wanna 
 get to Damson an I can t do it by sittin here watchin* 
 you blow holes through li l cottonwood trees that never 
 didja any harm." 
 
 "Nevair you min about dem tree," Laguerre said 
 placidly, his good humour completely restored. "You 
 t ink yuh was de shore shot, but some day I show yuh, by 
 gar." 
 
 He crawfished to the rear, rolled over and sat upright. 
 Rifle across his knees he grinned up into Johnny s face. 
 
 "Eet ees bes I stay here, mabbeso," he suggested. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "W y yuh guess I come sout ?" 
 
 "I was meanin to ask yuh that only work s been sort 
 o brisk an busy the last few minutes. I bite. Why?" 
 
 Cause dat red-head she ees ride aftair de cavalry, she 
 was meet de cavalry, un she was ride wit de lieut nant, un 
 stay wit him, by gar. I do not unnerstan dat, me. So 
 I come for fin yuh. I tell yuh, Johnny, I have t ink at de 
 firs dat red-head she be hones -man. Yuh say no. Aw 
 right. Den w y she stay wit de cavalry? W at kin o* 
 chance have she for turn de treeck eef she stay wit de 
 cavalry?" 
 
 "How do yuh know he s still with the cavalry? May 
 be " 
 
 "Mabbeso yes. I know she ees wit de cavalry, cause 
 I was een de camp un talk wit de corp ral, UK I hear de 
 lieut nant ask heem for ride wit* de troop, un I hear de 
 
230 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 major say de same t ing, un dat red-head she say she glad 
 for ride wit* de troop. Now w at yuh t ink?" 
 
 The half-breed smiled a triumphant smile and rubbed 
 his rifle-stock with the palm of his hand. Johnny pushed 
 his hat back and scratched a perplexed head. 
 
 "I dunno," he said truthfully. "But there s somethin 
 funny about all this." 
 
 "Somet ing ees all tarn funny about dees," concurred 
 Laguerre sweetly, climbing into his saddle. 
 
 "But look here, Telescope " began Johnny, as they 
 rode off*. 
 
 "I look un I look," interrupted the half-breed, "un I 
 tell yuh, my frien , de more I look de less I see un, I t ink, 
 by gar, dat ees de way wit yuh." 
 
 "Yuh do, huh?" yapped Johnny, stung in a tender spot. 
 "Well, it ain t, not for a minute. Never think it, old- 
 timer. Just yuh wiggle along with me, an yuh ll see." 
 
 "W at will I see?" demanded Laguerre. 
 
 "Lots," was the somewhat vague reply. 
 
 "Mabbe I do un mabbe I do not. Anyway I t ink I see 
 somet ing eef I stay here. To-morrow de cavalry un de 
 red-head weel come, un I wan t for see w at dem bush- 
 w ackair do. Perhaps dey weel shoot de red-head." 
 Laguerre licked his lips and looked hopeful. 
 
 "Yo re crazy," averred Johnny. "There s no hope for 
 yuh, Telescope, not a-tall. I m the jigger they re after." 
 
 "You." 
 
 "Li l ol me. I m the hairpin they expected to down 
 when you come along an natur-ally you was better n 
 nothin so they cut down. But it was all more or less an 
 accident huh? Shore I know it was me. I was in 
 Marysville when Bale Harper an Tom Keen s there. I 
 light out before daylight an I look back when I m some 
 
BUSHWHACKERS 231 
 
 ways along an here they come. Yuh know that wash a 
 while back? 
 
 "Yeah, that s where I left the trail. Well I m on a hill 
 watchin when Harper an Keen rip down the trail, an 
 they don t stop at the wash at all, just kept foggin right 
 along like they knowed where they was a-goin an in a 
 hurry to get there, till they scattered round this ridge, 
 picked out their particular rocks, an lay down to wait. If 
 they d been trailin me they d a stopped at the wash an* 
 scouted up an down to see which way I went. Instead 
 o that yuh know what they did." 
 
 "They must see you track een de trail." 
 
 "Guess they did, but I m figurin they took em for 
 somebody else s, some gent who left town the night before 
 maybe or they d never a acted the way they did I tell 
 yuh the stage went by even. They didn t bat their eyes 
 at it. Yuh make me sick, Telescope. I tell yuh I know 
 it was me. I d shore admire to find out how they knowed 
 I was in town. The judge knowed an so did Jack Mur- 
 gatroyd. O course the judge didn t tell, an* Jack s an 
 other clam, an besides he never did train with that Harper 
 an Keen outfit anyway. 
 
 "Here s a good place for me to leave yuh, Telescope. 
 You can sift up that draw, swing east a ways, an there y* 
 are at the finest kind o hill all made to order for lookin 
 over the landscape. C mon in to Damson soon s yuh can. 
 Yuh might be needed. So long. Be a good boy an write 
 home often an don t forget to say yore li l prayers." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 GOVERNMENT MONEY 
 
 ONE store, two saloons, a blacksmith shop, a stage 
 station, four houses, a railroad station, and that 
 graceful structure, a large and dripping water- 
 tank, scattered as though by cheerful chance along the 
 flanks of a large railroad corral, made up the village that 
 was Damson. 
 
 Johnny stopped at the trough that the considerate agent 
 had built beneath the water-tank, allowed his horse and 
 himself a sparing drink apiece, and rode to the station. 
 
 He stood on the grimy door-sill and surveyed the in 
 terior. The agent, a young man with tremendously long 
 legs and a neck to match, sat well down in a wire-trussed 
 chair and slept tunefully. Johnny forbore to interrupt 
 his snores and crossed to one of the saloons. 
 
 "Got any ice?" he demanded of a sweating bartender. 
 
 The latter affected to faint. He seized the bar with 
 both hands and gasped. 
 
 "Ice! Ice! I done heard that name long, long ago 
 when I was a toddlin child wearin aperns an things, 
 but, stranger, I clean forgot what the word means. Will 
 whisky do?" 
 
 "No, gimme a beer." 
 
 The beer, washy-looking, almost colourless, was slid 
 in front of him. He picked up the glass, walked out into 
 the shimmering heat that filled the road, and solemnly 
 
 232 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 233 
 
 poured the tepid liquid on the ground. Which being 
 done he returned to the round-eyed bartender. 
 
 "Wanted to see if she d sizzle," he calmly explained. 
 "She did." 
 
 He spun a coin on the bar and retired to the watering- 
 trough and the shade of the water-tank, where he spent a 
 lonely hour. At the end of the hour, the agent, rousing 
 and hungry for human speech, joined him yawnfully. 
 
 "It s a wild life," observed Johnny. 
 
 "Shore is," agreed the agent. "If hell s any hotter n 
 this, I d just as soon stay alive. Yessir, fried my bacon 
 an part o ? myself where I fell down on the rails this 
 mornin . An I quit the S. P. an come up here cause 
 New Mexico was too hot!" 
 
 The agent laughed at the joke on himself and bit off a 
 large and generous chew from the plug he kept in the crown 
 of his cap. He seemed a guileless railroad man. Johnny 
 wondered. 
 
 "Passed a whole troop o cavalry yesterday," he lied 
 easily. "They was driftin this way. Coin to meet 
 the paymaster." 
 
 Johnny s gray eyes, the lids half-closed, were watching 
 the agent with electric intentness. The latter stretched 
 languidly and yawned anew and cavernously 
 
 " Coin to meet the paymaster/ huh?" he repeated 
 without interest. "A whole troop. He must be packin 
 a million dollars. Wish they was more of you an* me," 
 he added wistfully. "I d like a li l game." 
 
 " So would I, but seein as we ain t twins, mumblety peg s 
 about our limit." 
 
 Knife-flipping did not appeal to the agent, and Johnny 
 soon departed to make friends with the citizenry of Dam 
 son. 
 
234 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 The following morning Johnny, having exchanged pro 
 fitless conversation with every inhabitant, was roosting 
 on the agent s spare chair. He wished to be near the 
 agent, whom he did not quite trust. The long-legged 
 young man was thumbing waybills, and Johnny was look 
 ing across his bowed shoulders through the open door at 
 the heat waves that danced before the face of the stage 
 station. 
 
 And as he drowsily stared the down-stage rolled in and 
 creaked to a halt in front of the station. The passengers, 
 two citizens and a drummer, alighted. Johnny sat up 
 with a jerk and batted unbelieving eyes. For the two 
 citizens were Bale Harper and Tom Keen. 
 
 The drummer sat down on a bench beside the door of the 
 store and mopped a bald and shining head. Harper and 
 Keen went into the nearer of the two saloons. It seemed 
 to Johnny that Keen held his right shoulder a trifle stiffly. 
 
 Johnny took thought a moment. Then he shoved his 
 hat forward, rose to his feet and crossed the road to the 
 saloon. Harper and Keen were standing at the bar. They 
 did not turn at his entrance. Johnny walked quietly up 
 to Keen and slapped him heartily on the right shoulder. 
 Keen uttered a grunt of pain and whirled like a cat, his 
 right hand dropping to his holster. But his clutching 
 fingers gripped not the smooth wood of the butt. Instead 
 they encountered the back of Johnny s out-flung left hand. 
 
 "Whatsa matter?" demanded Johnny, with a grin. 
 "What yuh tryin to pull a gun on me for? Don t yuh 
 know me?" 
 
 "Well, whaja crack me on the shoulder for?" grumbled 
 Keen peevishly. 
 
 "Yuh ll have to excuse me," said Johnny with wide, 
 innocent eyes. "I didn t know yore shoulder was sore." 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 235 
 
 "It ain t," Keen denied hastily. "I don t like folks 
 to be so abrupt, that s all." 
 
 Mr. Harper looked his wall-eyed surprise at Johnny s 
 gaucherie and nodded curtly in acknowledgment of the 
 stray man s greeting. Johnny, abating his waiting watch 
 fulness not at all, suggested drinks. Mr. Harper and Mr. 
 Keen accepted the invitation. They drank, employing, 
 as etiquette required, their right hands, but Johnny used 
 his left. No one appeared to observe the solecism, even 
 when Johnny repeated it at the next round. At the third 
 round Johnny, pleading a disordered stomach, took a cigar. 
 
 Messrs. Harper and Keen, muttering something about 
 seeing Johnny later, went away. Johnny, lounging with 
 his best air of carelessness at a corner window, saw the 
 two enter the store. Later he saw them leave, carrying 
 no visible parcels, and go into the other saloon. Which 
 place, as set forth on a misspelt sign, accommodated trav 
 ellers. Johnny threw his cigar butt at a transient dog and 
 shuffled dispiritedly across to the store. 
 
 "My friend get his liniment all right?" he gloomily 
 asked the storekeeper. 
 
 " Liniment!" repeated that worthy. "They didn t get 
 no liniment. They bought cartridges and carbolic salve." 
 
 "Salve," Johnny echoed vacantly. "Oh, yeah, yeah, 
 I thought it was liniment for a hoss. Gimme four bags 
 tobacco, a box o matches, papers, an one box o cartridges, 
 forty-five ninety." 
 
 He departed, stuffing his purchases into various pockets, 
 and rejoined the station agent. The railroad man found 
 him a grievously unamusing companion. He could not, 
 of course, be aware that Johnny was speculating as to the 
 proper moment for entering the saloon that accommodated 
 travellers. 
 
236 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Some twenty minutes later Johnny came alive with 
 startling suddenness, slid to his feet, hitched up his chaps, 
 and walked out stiff-legged, his elbows bent. The agent 
 gazed after him in amazement. 
 
 "That s shore a funny jigger," he remarked to the relay. 
 "I wonder now is he crazy or somethin ." 
 
 Johnny crow-walked to the other saloon. As he went 
 he sang the heartening and well-known ballad, "Buena 
 Vista Battlefield." 
 
 "I am her only cherished child, 
 
 But tell her that I died 
 Rejoicin that she taught me young 
 
 To take my country s side." 
 
 At the tail of the cheery lines he leaned against the bar, 
 and wagged a solemn forefinger at the bartender. 
 
 "But, comrade, there s one more 
 
 She s gentle as a fawn, 
 She lives upon the slopin hill 
 
 That overlooks the lawn." 
 
 He broke off and gravely eyed the bartender. 
 
 "That s one sad song," he asserted, grinning widely. 
 "Always makes me feel like I was gettin over one good 
 drunk. Gimme a see-gar, a good see-gar. Trot out every 
 box yuh got." 
 
 There were ten boxes from which to choose, and Johnny 
 was frowning over the selection when Mr. Harper and Mr. 
 Keen passed through on their way to the street. Johnny 
 moved quickly and caught them at the door. 
 
 " Been looking for you gents ! " he cried amiably. " Have 
 a drink, just to show they s no hard feelin s." 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 237 
 
 The two men promptly turned about and draped them 
 selves against the bar. 
 
 "Name yore calf-killer," invited Johnny, placing him 
 self beside Tom Keen. 
 
 Johnny sipped down a scant one finger a disordered 
 stomach must not be abused and wrinkled a thoughtful 
 nose. There was about Mr. Keen a distinct and penetrat 
 ing aroma of carbolic salve. Johnny mentally slapped a 
 swelling chest. 
 
 When Messrs. Harper and Keen had gone he bit his 
 cigar and smoked complacently. Somehow the heat was 
 not so oppressive. It was a fine large day, and the path 
 way through the wilderness was beginning to straighten and 
 shed its obstacles. 
 
 At noon came Sheriff" Stahl s deputy, Jack Murgatroyd. 
 The silent, swarthy man put his horse in the stage station 
 corral, left his saddle with the station-boss, and spent four 
 unsociable hours sitting on a crate, waiting for Number 
 Six, the east-bound train. When the train arrived, fifty 
 minutes late, the deputy boarded the smoker. 
 
 The stamp of hoofs and the squeak and jingle of harness 
 followed the bell-clangour of the departing train. The 
 northbound stage was being hooked up. Johnny strolled 
 casually to where Whisky Jim stood leaning against a 
 wheel, examining the buckskin popper of his long bull- 
 whip. 
 
 "Did Bale an Tom ride with yuh all the way from 
 Marysville, Jim?" inquired Johnny, in a tone that would 
 not have carried twenty feet. 
 
 "They did not," replied the driver. "I picked J em up 
 six mile south o Bubblin Creek." 
 
 "Kind o funny place to be afoot this weather." 
 
 "They said their bosses was run off in the night. I 
 
238 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 guess Aw right, Bill? Say, what d I tell yuh about 
 
 a blind bridle on that off leader? Well, that s all right, 
 too. I m the one that s gotta drive em. Next time you 
 use a open one. So long, Johnny." 
 
 The stage lurched away northward in a thick cloud of 
 dust. Johnny glanced under his hat brim at the porch 
 of the store. Harper and Keen were sitting on the porch, 
 their heels cocked up on the low railing. 
 
 "Now I guess," said Johnny to himself, "they won t 
 find out from Whisky what I asked him not yet awhile." 
 
 The night brought Laguerre and the better part of the 
 bushwhackers two horses, a tall and rawboned red. 
 
 "What did yuh do with the other hoss?" asked Johnny. 
 
 "Turn him loose un leave de saddle on de heel aft air 
 I see dem go away een de stage," answered the half-breed. 
 "Bot dem men here, huh?" 
 
 "Shore. An they re the ones all right. Now listen 
 hard, Telescope. I gotta li l scheme I wanna work on 
 Bale an Tom to-morrow. They didn t see yuh sift in, so 
 it ll be a kind o surprise for em. She s thisaway " 
 
 Laguerre listened delightedly. Johnny s little scheme 
 promised sport after his own heart. 
 
 In the morning Johnny contrived to eat breakfast with 
 Harper and Keen. Johnny was the first to finish and stood 
 in the doorway looking out upon a dusty world. He heard 
 the scrape of pushed-out chairs, and raised his hand to his 
 hat and held it there a moment. As at a signal Laguerre 
 rode out from behind the chute at the railroad corral. His 
 mount was the tall and raw-boned red, and he was heading 
 toward the hotel. Harper and Keen stepped past Johnny 
 into the open air. They halted with great suddenness and 
 he saw their backs stiffen. Then they started to walk 
 on. 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 239 
 
 "Wait a shake, gents," he urged quietly. "There s 
 a friend o mine bringin up a hoss for you to look 
 at." 
 
 Messrs. Harper and Keen stopped and faced Johnny. 
 Harper, blessed with a wall-eye, was enabled to observe 
 without difficulty both Johnny and the approaching rider. 
 Tom Keen stared woodenly at Johnny Ramsay. No one 
 looking at the latter could have surmised that he expected 
 to kill or be killed within the next few minutes. His atti 
 tude was easy, his voice a drawl. Chance might well have 
 hooked his thumb in his belt so that the palm of the hand 
 almost touched the butt of the six-shooter. 
 
 "I heard yore bosses got run off the other night," 
 Johnny continued in his pleasant voice, "an* Telescope 
 he found this cayuse walkin* the trail by his lonesome right 
 after his own hoss was downed by road agents. Provi 
 dential, I call it. Shore saved him a long walk or a wait 
 anyway. But I remembered seein Bale ridin a hoss like 
 this here one once, so I told Telescope he remembered, 
 too." 
 
 Harper and Keen made no comment. They continued 
 to stare. Johnny made a mental bet with himself that 
 they would go after their guns before Laguerre crossed 
 the street. He lost. Tom Keen raised his arms, locked 
 his hands behind his ears and teetered back and forth on 
 his toes. His eyes left Johnny s face and gazed interest 
 edly upon Laguerre and his mount. Bale Harper cradled 
 his right elbow in the palm of his left hand, gently caressed 
 his stubby chin, and critically focused first one eye and 
 then the other on the half-breed. 
 
 Laguerre checked his horse at a distance of ten yards. 
 He smiled between the pony s ears at the two men from 
 Paradise Bend. It was an open smile, and showed most 
 
2 4 o HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 of the white teeth below the stubby black moustache. But 
 it was not a particularly pleasant smile. 
 
 "Mornin ," said Laguerre, his nod barely perceptible. 
 "Johnny say you lose you boss, Bale. Dees heem?" 
 
 "Now," thought Johnny, the fingers of his right hand 
 curling downward ever so slightly. 
 
 He meant to shoot through the bottom of his holster. 
 All was in readiness for the climax. But Mr. Harper did 
 not play up. He still caressed his stubbly chin. And 
 now he shook his head. 
 
 "That ain t my boss," he declared firmly. "My boss 
 was a rangy red all right, but his legs was different, an* 
 he was wider between the eyes, an* his tail was longer by 
 five-six inches. I wish he was my boss," he added regret 
 fully, and moved ofF, followed by Tom Keen. 
 
 "Wouldn t that make yuh sick?" Johnny observed, 
 when he and Laguerre were sitting on a foundation 
 beam beneath the tank. "I shore thought we had 
 em/ 
 
 "She ees sleeck," said the half-breed, and blew smoke 
 through his nostrils. "Guess eet was you heet Tom aftair 
 all only a small leetle graze. Me, I geet heem good or not 
 a-tall mabbeso." 
 
 He smiled at his friend in a way that robbed the words 
 of their sting, and Johnny laughed. 
 
 "He ain t hit hard," he admitted. "All the same, I was 
 watchin him when he put his hands behind his head an* 
 his eyelids wiggled. Hurt him all right. He just done 
 it for hell aimin to show they wasn t no nicks on him. 
 Guess he must think they ain t no smell to carbolic salve. 
 Whatsa matter?" 
 
 Laguerre lifted his lowered head, 
 
 "Cavalry comin ," he said. 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 241 
 
 Men powdered with dust, the horses caked and sweating, 
 the Fort Yardley cavalry rode into Damson with a brave 
 jingle of curbchains and clink of slung carbines. The red 
 head rode beside the first lieutenant. In the rear the 
 corporal drove his mules. He looked unhappy. 
 
 As the troop passed the water-tank the red-head glanced 
 sidewise at Johnny and Laguerre. 
 
 " Howdy," he called and smiled and flung up a friendly 
 hand. 
 
 The moon-faced major saw them, too, but he gave no 
 sign of recognition. The troop clicked across the rails 
 and made camp in a grove of cottonwoods a quarter-mile 
 beyond. 
 
 Johnny and Laguerre looked at each other. Above their 
 heads the windmill that supplied water to the tank 
 squeaked solemnly. At regular intervals it groaned and 
 rattled, but it never stopped while the wind blew. Happy, 
 happy windmill! No cause for it to worry. It had no 
 vexatious problems. All it had to do was whirl and turn 
 and pump day in, day out. 
 
 "But the thing can t travel," muttered Johnny. 
 
 "Huh?" Laguerre lifted inquiring eyebrows. 
 
 "Djuh notice how the red-head didn t pay no attention 
 to Bale an Tom?" Johnny said hastily. "An they was 
 sittin over there in plain sight." 
 
 He nodded toward the store. Laguerre grunted and 
 drew a match along the sole of his boot. 
 
 "She dunno dem mabbeso," he observed, when his 
 second cigarette was burning well. "I t ink dat long tam, 
 me." 
 
 "There yuh go, tryin to start a argument," complained 
 Johnny. "Ain t yuh never satisfied? Le s go in an ride 
 the agent round his collar." 
 
242 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 So they went in and devilled the lonely agent, but the 
 amusement palled. Laguerre wandered off to make 
 friends with the cook in the saloon where the traveller was 
 accommodated, and Johnny trundled over to the stage 
 station and helped the station-boss oil harness till the 
 dish-pan clanged for supper. 
 
 The next day nothing happened. Nor the next, nor 
 the next, nor the next after that. The cavalrymen loafed 
 in their camp, exercised their mounts, and got drunk on 
 occasion. The red-head hung about town. So did Har 
 per and Keen. 
 
 On the sixth day the red-head scraped acquaintance 
 with Harper and Keen. He accomplished this publicly, 
 when Johnny and Laguerre were within a scant five yards. 
 The most unbiased of spectators would have known by 
 the red-head s manner that he had never till that moment 
 so much as heard of Messrs. Harper and Keen. 
 
 "He s a fox, that feller," said Johnny, talking it over 
 later with the half-breed. " Camp s my name, says he. 
 Barry Camp, says he, an where can a feller pick up a 
 likely bunch o bosses? an let s all have a drink an* be 
 sociable ; an we did an we was, an all the time he spread 
 it on thick as plaster on a wall." 
 
 "We have watch all t ree dey have not talk togedder 
 teel to-day." 
 
 "An yet I ll go yuh fifty to two bits he knowed all about 
 yore brush with them two inside o twenty-four hours 
 after he pulled in. A likely bunch o bosses, huh. He 
 didn t say nothin* about no bosses up in Sunset County, 
 not that I knows of. No, he was goin to Seymour City, 
 he was. Looks like he was shore in a hurry to get there, 
 don tit?" 
 
 The red-head continued to remain in Damson. So did 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 243 
 
 Harper and Keen. Four times a day Laguerre told Johnny 
 that they were wasting their time. 
 
 At the end of ten days Johnny began to feel that there 
 might be a basis of fact for Laguerre s statements, but he 
 was too stubborn to admit it. There was wrangling and 
 language. 
 
 In the afternoon of the eleventh day the monotony was 
 broken by the red-head riding out with the first lieutenant. 
 Johnny promptly got his horse and trailed them. The 
 pair, riding slowly, fetched an aimless circle round Damson 
 and rode in at dusk. 
 
 The following day the manoeuvre was repeated. What 
 lay behind this strange passion for riding with the military? 
 That evening he and Laguerre, arguing the matter, almost 
 quarrelled. 
 
 On the thirteenth day the red-head left his horse in the 
 corral and sat with the first lieutenant on the porch of the 
 store. Johnny, perched in sullen loneliness on an empty 
 whisky keg upended in the shade of the station, did not 
 lift his eyes when the stage from the Bend rolled in. He 
 was endeavouring to concentrate on the problem in hand 
 and making a boggy ford of it. His thoughts persisted in 
 reverting to Paradise Bend and two of the inhabitants 
 thereof. 
 
 He just knew, so he did, that the gambler was riding 
 with Dorothy every single day. They might even be 
 married by this time. It was a shame. A nice girl like 
 Dorothy certainly deserved a better fate. In after years 
 Slay would probably beat her. He looked like that kind 
 of man, and Johnny had heard him speak very roughly to 
 his sister. Johnny began to get quite worked up about 
 it. Which state of mind was the most serious attack yet. 
 
 "If she ain t took him by the time I get back," he told 
 
244 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 himself, "I ll settle it. No two ways about it. I ll just 
 make the break an marry her myself. I ve been thinkin* 
 about it long enough. Now I ll do it. Dorothy has gotta 
 be saved." 
 
 "What are you muttering about?" asked a laughing 
 voice. 
 
 Johnny looked up dazedly into the amused face of Mrs. 
 Wallace. All in dust-coloured silk, a parasol of the same 
 shade and material slanting across her shoulder, she tilted 
 her beautiful chin and laughed at him frankly. 
 
 "I ve been watching you ever since I stepped out of the 
 stage," she said, shifting the broad black ribbons of a jet- 
 embroidered reticule to the hollow of her arm, "and you ve 
 done nothing but nod your head and mutter away at a 
 great rate. Been here long?" 
 
 "Ab bub-bout two weeks," stuttered Johnny, dragging 
 off his hat and getting to his feet. 
 
 "Those strayed Flying M horses are the most ambitious 
 animals I ever heard of," she said, the brilliant smile 
 hardening a trifle. "How many miles is it from here to 
 the Dogsoldier?" 
 
 "Oh, Scotty s got lots of other jobs besides bosses he 
 sends his men on," parried Johnny. " Yuh d be surprised," 
 he pursued, warming to his subject, "at the amount of 
 business Scotty has. He s very broad-minded that way." 
 
 He put on his hat and beamed upon her, his active brain 
 busily conjecturing as to the reason for her presence. 
 She continued to smile till the smile grew fixed. Then it 
 faded, and her mouth-corners drooped and she sighed. 
 
 "I suppose the train s late again," she murmured plain 
 tively. "It always is." 
 
 "I ll find out. Which one?" 
 
 "Number Six. I m going to Piegan City." 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 245 
 
 When he returned with the glad tidings that Number 
 Six, for the first time in many months, was on time, Mrs. 
 Wallace was sitting on the whisky keg. Her glistening 
 silk billowed about her it was one of those years when 
 skirts were bouffant to distraction. Her reticule lay in her 
 lap. Her hands were demurely folded on the handle of 
 her parasol. 
 
 "On time? How nice," said she, glancing at a tiny 
 watch. "Then I ve only an hour to wait. You may sit 
 there on the softest plank in the flooring and amuse me 
 if you like. I m bored stiff. I wish I could smoke." 
 
 "Everybody s lookin now," grinned Johnny, "an they d 
 all stand on their li l ears if yuh did." 
 
 He sat down cross-legged on the edge of the platform 
 and fished out the makings. 
 
 "I m a-goin to tantalize yuh," he observed with a smile. 
 
 "You do," she told him simply. 
 
 "Huh?" He stared, thumb poised in the act of snapping 
 a match alight. 
 
 She leaned forward, chin supported on her knuckles, her 
 dark and brilliant eyes holding his. 
 
 "I wonder if you know how much," she said softly. 
 
 A lieutenant from the cavalry camp, striding round the 
 corner of the building almost fell over the lady. He 
 snatched off his hat and, stammering apology, backed off 
 with hopeful slowness. But the radiant vision on the 
 whisky keg ignored his existence. She continued to gaze 
 upon Johnny. 
 
 "I I dunn began Johnny feebly, and stopped 
 
 and ran a bewildered finger round the inside of his collar. 
 
 "I wish you d be my friend," she persisted wistfully. 
 
 "I am!" he assured her hastily, and stood upon his feet. 
 ""Where s yore bag, Mis Wallace? Y ain t a-goin to 
 
246 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Pieganwith just that thing?" he indicated the reticule 
 "Tell me where it s at, an I ll get if for yuh." 
 
 "I told Whisky Jim to bring it when he finished with his 
 team. He s fetching it now. Do sit down." 
 
 Johnny looked at the approaching stage-driver and sat 
 down. Whisky Jim reverently set down the bag at the 
 lady s side, was sweetly thanked, and returned whence 
 he came. Johnny thought he d better try again. 
 
 "I gotta go see Telescope," he announced briskly, and 
 arose. 
 
 "Are you afraid of me?" she demanded, and caught 
 her lower lip between her teeth and gazed at him out of 
 the corners of her eyes. 
 
 "Why, Mis Wallace," he exclaimed, with what he in 
 tended should pass for a hearty laugh, "why, Mis Wal 
 lace " He gulped miserably and hitched up his chaps. 
 
 "You may call me Lotta if you like." 
 
 "Why uh thanks." 
 
 "You re welcome." 
 
 There was the barest flicker of mirth about her mouth, 
 and then she sighed quite deeply, and looked away from 
 him, and then looked back, and said: 
 
 "I need a good, true friend." 
 
 Johnny felt the hot and cold blushes skimming the flesh 
 of him. He was horribly uncomfortable and more than a 
 little annoyed. Strange that this should be when in the 
 Bend he had thoroughly enjoyed philandering with Mrs. 
 Wallace. He did not take thought as to the reason. He 
 hadn t time. Mrs. Wallace was speaking. 
 
 "I m in great trouble Johnny." 
 
 The dark eyes begged, appealed. The red lips parted 
 in a tremulous smile. No action could have bettered her 
 pose. 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 247 
 
 The cavalry lieutenant, furtively watching from a corner 
 of the railroad corral, ground his teeth. 
 
 "A lady!" he burbled to the nearest post. "A lady! 
 Divinity, by gad! hobnobbing with a beastly cowboy! 
 Pearls pearls before punchers!" 
 
 The officer was well out of earshot, of course, and could 
 not be expected to know that Johnny would have delight 
 edly paid real money for the privilege of changing places 
 with him. 
 
 "Trouble, " repeated Johnny. "Trouble. You tell 
 me who the gent is an I ll shore make him hard to 
 find." 
 
 "Oh, it s not that that is, not exactly. I when are 
 you coming back to the Bend, Johnny?" 
 
 "I dunno to-morrow next. week next month can t 
 tell." 
 
 "So long as that?" The red mouth drooped. 
 
 "Well, yuh see " 
 
 "Yes, I know you re awfully busy," she cut in, "but 
 but I need some one I can trust, and, Johnny, I think I can 
 trust you I know I can trust you. I suppose you think 
 I ought not to bother you," she "went on forlornly, her 
 graceful head bent, "that I should go to my brother, but 
 but brothers don t always understand/ 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "Whadda yuh want me to do?" he asked, his eyes on 
 the little pulse throbbing in her smooth throat. 
 
 "I can t tell you now," she said. "There isn t time. 
 Wait till I come back." 
 
 "I may not be here then." 
 
 "It doesn t matter. I don t need your help here. I 
 need it in the Bend." 
 
 The tiny pulse was beating rapidly. The smooth cheeks 
 
248 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 were flushed. There was a pitiful little catch in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Whatever you say goes," Johnny told her. "Bui 
 how ll I know 
 
 "Oh, I ll tell you in the Bend. I ll tell you everything 
 when you come to see me. And you will come, won t you, 
 just as soon as ever you strike town?" 
 
 "Shore will." 
 
 "I I hope you won t regret it." The trouble in the 
 dark eyes was very real. 
 
 "I guess I won t," Johnny said easily, thankful for a 
 sudden humming of the rails. "There she comes," he 
 added, and a deep and distant whistle whooped its warning. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace stood up. From her silken knees to the 
 ground the jet-embroidered reticule slid, and landed on 
 the planking with a solid thump. The lady stooped, but 
 Johnny was the quicker. He scooped up the reticule and 
 handed it to her. It was surprisingly heavy, that reticule. 
 Johnny did not know that powder-puffs and cold-cream 
 jars hefted like that. The thing weighed ten or twelve 
 pounds at least. Perhaps there was a gun in it. But 
 somehow, when he lifted it, the contents had not the feel of 
 a six-shooter. Besides, a revolver only weighed a light 
 two and a half pounds or so. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace took the reticule and thanked him and 
 slipped the broad ribbons over her arm. Johnny picked 
 up her bag. And the bag was heavy, too. True, it was 
 a generous bag, broad and long and high, but even so. . . 
 
 With a clanging grind and squeal of wheels and brakes 
 the long eastbound pulled in. Johnny saw Mrs. Wallace 
 into the Pullman, handed her bag to the porter and hopped 
 off as the train started. But, changing his mind on the 
 instant, he hopped on again. He calmly made his swaying 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 249 
 
 way through four day-coaches to the smoker, where he 
 hunched down in an empty seat and watched the scenery 
 drift by. 
 
 "She ain t a-goin to Piegan City for the trip," he told 
 himself. "I d shore admire to know what made them 
 bags so heavy." 
 
 It was night when the train clanked across the switches 
 of Piegan City s four sidetracks. Johnny dropped off the 
 smoker as the engine slid past the section-house, and was 
 standing beside a pile of ties beyond the range of the sta 
 tion lights when the train stopped. 
 
 He watched Mrs. Wallace descend from the Pullman 
 and go into the express office, followed by the porter with 
 her bag. Johnny sauntered across the tracks to the plat 
 form outside the express office and sat down on a hand- 
 truck. Through an open window he could see the express 
 office and all that went on therein. 
 
 He saw the bag lying on the counter. He saw Mrs. 
 Wallace open first the bag and then the reticule, take from 
 the former six, and from the latter two little square pack 
 ages, and slide them across the counter to the express 
 agent. The man made out a receipt, handed it to Mrs. 
 Wallace, and carried the eight packages to the safe, and 
 twirled the combination on them. The lady picked up her 
 bag and crossed the street to the hotel. 
 
 "They s money or dust in them eight li l boxes," con 
 cluded Johnny. "That s what made the two bags so 
 heavy. They s a Wells-Fargo office in the Bend. From 
 the Bend here is one long trip for a lady. Puzzle find the 
 joker." 
 
 Johnny stretched out his legs and looked about him. 
 Beyond the hotel, between a drugstore and the Star Saloon 
 a transparency proclaimed the presence of a restaurant. 
 
250 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 But he wasn t very hungry yet, not so hungry as he would 
 be later. He decided to wait. 
 
 While he waited, the telegraph operator he was like 
 wise the station agent the yellow envelope of a telegram 
 in his hand, flat-footed across to the Star and pushed 
 through the swinging doors. He came out almost immedi 
 ately and returned to his duties. Johnny heard him shift 
 ing boxes and cases in the freight shed. 
 
 A man came out of the Star Saloon and went into the 
 hotel. And the man was no stranger. He was that sharp- 
 faced citizen of Paradise Bend, Bale Harper s brother Spill. 
 
 "S funny," muttered Johnny. "S funny. What s he 
 doin here?" 
 
 He considered it even funnier when, within five minutes, 
 Spill emerged from the hotel doorway with another man, 
 the lean and craggy ex-station-boss, Skinny Devinney. 
 The two parted in front of the Star, Spill to enter the saloon 
 Skinny to cross to the station. After a time Johnny heard 
 him ask, above the complaining of the skinned wood, that 
 the agent "Send this now." A box dropped with a crash, 
 and there was silence in the freight shed. From the office 
 came the staccato clicking of the sounder. Johnny wished 
 he could read Morse. 
 
 "That s one odd number," he said to himself. "Skinny 
 sendin telegrams." 
 
 Skinny strolled from the office and walked scuffingly 
 back to the Star. Johnny continued to occupy his truck 
 and ruminate on the strangeness of life . 
 
 Came Number Five with a flaring Cyclopean eye and 
 rows of lighted windows and a whifF of cooking food from 
 the diner s kitchen that made Johnny really hungry. 
 When Number Five was gone away westward Johnny 
 betook himself to the restaurant. But before entering 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 251 
 
 the place he removed his six-shooter from his holster, 
 shoved it down inside the waistband of his trousers and 
 carefully pulled down his vest over the protruding butt. 
 
 For there was a marshal in Piegan City, a curious person 
 with notions about the masses not wearing firearms in 
 public, notions he w T as more than willing to uphold with 
 enthusiasm and both his guns. Johnny was always glad 
 to please a marshal when it did not interfere with busi 
 ness. In this case Johnny could see himself handing his 
 gun across the bar of the nearest saloon. With Spill and 
 Skinny and Lord knew who-all infesting the landscape, 
 he could indeed. 
 
 He made an excellent meal in the restaurant, then 
 went out and stood on the sidewalk, wondering what to do 
 next. 
 
 "I could V gone back on Number Five/ he grumbled. 
 "I might as well, too. I don t guess that Lotta is goin* 
 to do anythinV 
 
 At this juncture the lady herself issued from the hotel 
 and walked along the sidewalk toward him. Johnny did 
 not particularly care whether Skinny or Spill saw him, 
 but he decidedly did not wish to have Mrs. Wallace know 
 that he had followed her. He modestly withdrew to the 
 deep shadows between two buildings. Mrs. Wallace 
 passed without seeing him and entered the drugstore. 
 Johnny went across to the station and his hand-truck. 
 
 Whoo-up! The whistle came from the west. By its 
 shrillness he judged it to be the whistle of a freight engine. 
 It was. And the freight engine, one of those speedy 
 moguls, was pulling a short train of twenty cars of sheep 
 for the Chicago stock yards. 
 
 "Woolies," sniffed Johnny, turning up a scornful nose 
 at the blatting pests. 
 
252 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 The mogul stopping for water, and the train being a 
 short one, the caboose ground to a standstill opposite 
 where Johnny was sitting. Before the wheels ceased to 
 turn a frock-coated man hurried down the caboose steps 
 and into the station. Johnny took a long breath and ex 
 pelled it slowly. 
 
 "They ll all be here soon," he murmured. "Who s 
 next?" 
 
 The new arrival was the owner of the Broken Dollar, 
 and there was wrath in the way he swung his shoulders. 
 Johnny arose and edged toward the door of the waiting- 
 room. He was barely in time to hear the station-agent 
 say, "I think the lady went to the hotel," when Slay strode 
 through the doorway and, without looking to the right 
 or left, made his purposeful way to the hotel. 
 
 "He s shore all het up over somethin ," said Johnny, 
 peering across the platform of the caboose. "Yessir, he s 
 one mad man, that feller." 
 
 Slay came out of the hotel quicker than he went in. 
 Coat-tails flying he hurried, up the street to the drugstore. 
 He entered, emerging a few minutes later with Mrs. 
 Wallace. The two walked off together down the street. 
 Their progress was slow, for Mrs. Wallace dawdled. 
 
 "Gettin madder an madder," observed Johnny. "See 
 him stamp his foot." 
 
 It was obvious that the gambler was in a fine temper. 
 He took a cigar from his pocket, bit the end, then promptly 
 flung away the cigar, and jammed his hands deep down in 
 his trousers pockets. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace made as if to turn in at the doorway of 
 the hotel, but her brother caught her by the elbow and 
 said something that Johnny could not catch. The two 
 walked on down the street. In this direction lay the Y 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 253 
 
 track and the sidings, where stood strings of boxes and 
 gondolas. 
 
 "I don t like the look o that?" said Johnny. "He s 
 mad an bad." 
 
 Johnny thoughtfully slid round the tail of the caboose, 
 and walked down the track toward the sidings. He 
 dodged in behind a box car and. crouching, looked between 
 the wheels toward Main Street. Those two figures dark 
 against the scattered lights there they were. They were 
 still coming in his direction. Now they had stopped 
 now they were coming on. They had stopped again. 
 Their voices were only a murmur. He wished they would 
 come closer. 
 
 They didn t, so he tiptoed toward them, feeling his way 
 along the edge of the box car. The slag ballast was 
 crunchy, but he was careful. He negotiated the length of 
 three cars, two boxes and a gondola, and dared go no 
 farther. He could hear quite well, anyhow. 
 
 "It is mine to do with as I choose." the lady was saying. 
 
 "We ll talk about that later," averred Slay. "You 
 were trying to go away that s what you were trying to 
 do." 
 
 "If I d meant to do that, I wouldn t have been satisfied 
 merely to try I d have done it. You simpleton, do you 
 suppose I d stop here and wait for you to catch me! Hon 
 estly, at times I believe you think you possess all the brains 
 in the family." 
 
 "You were going to leave me." The man was doggedly 
 insistent. 
 
 "I wasn t." Impatiently. 
 
 "You were. You re lying." 
 
 A pause. Then: 
 
 "That s the first time you ever said that to me." 
 
254 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "I ll say more than that to you if I feel like it. You re 
 coming back with me to-morrow." 
 
 "Ami?" 
 
 "You are." 
 
 "Are you holding my arm to make sure? You hurt. 
 Let go, or I ll slap you!" 
 
 He evidently did not let go, for almost instantly some 
 body s face was slapped hard. Followed then the sting 
 ing crack of another smack, a choked scream, and the soft 
 thump of a fallen body. The next moment, Slay, bending 
 over Mrs. Wallace, saw a great light and strange constella 
 tions as he was knocked flat by a smashing blow on the 
 back of the head. For him the great light and the con 
 stellations were but momentary. They vanished and 
 black unconsciousness took their place before his forehead 
 struck the ground. 
 
 Johnny returned to his waistband the gun with who? 
 long barrel he had rapped the gambler, and stepped over 
 the sprawling legs to Mrs. Wallace. The lady was sitting 
 up, supporting herself on her arm. Her hat was over one 
 ear. Her black hair was pulled loose across her white 
 forehead. Slowly she lifted a hand and felt of her cheek. 
 
 "He struck me," she whispered. "He struck me." 
 
 Johnny slipped his hands under her armpits. 
 
 "Get up," he said, and pulled her to her feet. 
 
 She twisted, swaying, in his arms, and looked into his 
 face. 
 
 "How how did you get here?" she demanded hysteric 
 ally, her hands clutching the flannel of his sleeves. 
 
 "I just come/ he told her, "an a good thing, too." 
 
 She dropped on her knees beside her brother, felt of his 
 heart and listened to his laboured breathing. 
 
 "How badly is he hurt?" she asked. 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 255 
 
 "He ll come to in maybe half an hour or so," answered 
 Johnny, feeling with untender fingers the good-sized bump 
 on Slay s head. "I didn t hit him hard as I could. He s 
 all right. Don t you worry about him. It s yoreself yuh 
 gotta be thinkin of." Again he slipped his hands under 
 her armpits and set her on her feet. "Now you get a grip 
 on yore nerve an go back to the hotel. No use yore bein* 
 around when he comes to. An to-morrow you hit the grit 
 out o here east for choice, the farther the better. I ll 
 fix it so s he won t try to stop yuh." 
 
 "Yuh needn t," she said and shook her dishevelled head. 
 
 "Why, I thought " he began. 
 
 "I suppose so. How long were you listening?" 
 
 "I told yuh I just come. Sno use talkin about it. 
 I ll fix 
 
 "I said you needn t, once. I m returning to the Bend 
 to-morrow with him." 
 
 "But 
 
 "I know. He accused me of lying and then struck 
 me. Humiliating, I admit. I don t think he ll do either 
 again." 
 
 "Yuh d better go, ma am east, or south, or west. It 
 don t matter, so yuh go. It ll be healthier, yuh hear me 
 tellin yuh." 
 
 "Why will it be healthier because of possible beat- 
 ings?" 
 
 "Not exactly. Because Look here, you take my 
 
 word an skip out on Number Six to-morrow." 
 
 She gave him a long, steady look. 
 
 "What have I done?" she asked quietly. 
 
 "I dunno nothin about yuh not a thing. I don t 
 wanta know. I ve told yuh all I m aimin to tell yuh. 
 If yo re a-goin back to the Bend with him to-morrow yuh d 
 
256 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 better go to the hotel an* get some sleep. I d kind o* 
 square up my hat an push the hair out o my eyes first, 
 if I was you. No use havin them fellers in the hotel 
 think anythin ." 
 
 "What are you going to do?" she asked, her fingers busy 
 with her hair. 
 
 "I m a-goin to have a li l talk with him." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "Shore." 
 
 " Do you give me your word that s all you mean to do ?" 
 
 "That s a funny question to ask." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "If it ll do yuh any good I ll give yuh my word it s all 
 I mean to do now to-night." 
 
 "Now to-night! Why do you specify to-night?" 
 
 " Because in this country yuh never know what ll happen 
 to-morrow. I never like to make promises more n twenty- 
 four hours ahead. You run along now an be happy. 
 He won t be asleep much longer." 
 
 "I guess I ll stay," she told him stubbornly. "I ll 
 I ll take what comes." 
 
 He stared at her helplessly. It is a sufficiently difficult 
 thing to instruct a man in the proper treatment of a sister 
 even when that sister is not within sight and hearing. He 
 might in the process be compelled to throw a gun on the 
 gambler. Why couldn t she be reasonable and go? He 
 scowled down at her and wondered what to do. 
 
 From the station then came a faint shout. Johnny 
 saw the operator dash out and sprint across the tracks, 
 yelling at every jump. He was not yelling yells either. 
 He was saying something, and it sounded like: 
 
 "Hold-up!" 
 
 "You can stay with him if yo re a mind to," he told her 
 
GOVERNMENT MONEY 257 
 
 crossly. "If yuh don t wanna lemme talk to him, all 
 right, I won t. I m goin to see what s up " 
 
 He ran toward the lights of Main Street and pushed 
 into the Star Saloon. There was an excited crowd in the 
 Star. It centred about the operator, and everybody was 
 talking at once. 
 
 "Diamond, huh? How much? Anybody downed? 
 Fifty thousand dollars! Number Five Where s the sher 
 iff? How many men? Had pack-bosses shore Betcha 
 it s that Fort Creek County gang. Nicked the paymaster, 
 huh ? Fifty thousand of Gov ment money is one man s- 
 sizehaul!" 
 
 Thus the Piegan citizens ad lib. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 TELEGRAMS 
 
 THE engineer of Number Five, the flyer that had 
 passed through Piegan City just before Johnny 
 went to his supper, had seen the board set against 
 him at Diamond, a siding and demounted box-car station 
 sixty miles west of Piegan City. Thereupon he had 
 stopped his train had been incontinently boarded by 
 armed, masked men who had uncoupled the mail-, express-, 
 and baggage-cars from the remainderof thetrain, and forced 
 him to haul the three cars a mile farther into a deep cut. 
 Incidentally this business was not accomplished without 
 bloodshed, the army paymaster being badly wounded. 
 At the cut there was more trouble. The robbers put too 
 much dynamite in the charge they employed for shattering 
 the door of the baggage-car and blew the baggage-man to 
 pieces with his car and many trunks. 
 
 Then they were more careful and used a lighter charge 
 in attacking the express-car. They blew in the end and 
 side doors simultaneously and shot the fighting messenger 
 and one of the paymaster s guards to pieces and badly 
 wounded the other guard. 
 
 Then they had taken the sacks containing the govern 
 ment money and three other sacks consigned to Sun River 
 and, after rooting awhile among the widely scattered bits 
 of baggage, departed five horsemen and six pack-horses, 
 toward the south. 
 
 258 
 
TELEGRAMS 259 
 
 Debris from the wrecked baggage-car covered the line 
 so thickly that the engine could not back through it, so 
 the fireman ran all the way to Diamond. It is to be pre 
 sumed he ran quickly. Arriving with his story he found 
 the demoralized train crew searching for the telegraph 
 operator. 
 
 They finally found him, gagged, bound with strips torn 
 out of his own trousers, lying in the brush behind the sta 
 tion. On releasing him it was learned that the wires had 
 been cut. Not only that, they had been cut in two places, 
 and the lengths between removed. But the operator 
 was an ingenious person. He strapped on his climbing 
 irons, cut a length from a commercial wire and repaired 
 the break in the railroad wire. Such was the story of the 
 Diamond hold-up gleaned in disjointed scraps by Johnny 
 in the Star Saloon. 
 
 Johnny was of the opinion that it was the work of the 
 Fort Creek County outfit, and he did not believe that they 
 would ride south very far. They would double back 
 within a few hours, if noc sooner. 
 
 Johnny looked speculatively at the men in the saloon. 
 Jack Murgatroyd, popping up from nowhere, was helping 
 the local deputy organize a posse. Spill Harper and 
 Skinny Devinney were raucously to the fore. They 
 would ride in the posse, y betcha. It was with a smooth 
 brow but an exceedingly wrinkled mind that Johnny nodded 
 to the two men. The nod they accorded him was equally 
 brief. He thought he detected in Skinny Devinney s eyes 
 a startled look, but he could not be sure. Jack Murga 
 troyd pushed his way to Johnny s side. 
 
 "Comin with us, Johnny?" he asked. "They ve wired 
 for an engine an box-cars for our bosses. We d ought to 
 be at Diamond in less n two hours." 
 
26o HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "I ain t got a hoss," said Johnny. 
 Til get yuh one." 
 
 "All right." Indifferently. 
 
 Jack Murgatroyd went out and up the street. Johnny 
 went out and across the tracks. He wanted^to be alone 
 and think. The hand-truck was his seat for the next 
 twenty minutes. Then he went into the station. The 
 operator was alone. Piegan City was busy with its posse. 
 
 "Shore is a fright what them hold-ups are doin ," he 
 observed, leaning against the ticket window. 
 
 The operator agreed profanely. 
 
 "It s none o my business, stranger," continued Johnny, 
 "but would yuh mind tellin me where that telegram went 
 yuh sent awhile back the one that skinny feller wrote, 
 Skinny Devinney s his name?" 
 
 The operator stared. 
 
 "We re not allowed " he began. 
 
 "I know all that," nodded Johnny, "but I got one good 
 reason for askin . Can t yuh guess?" 
 
 The operator was fairly quick-witted. 
 
 "There wasn t anything in that telegram," he told 
 Johnny. "It was only about some stock, cattle, that s 
 all." 
 
 "Wasn t it sent to Diamond?" persisted Johnny. 
 "Knowed it," he added when the operator nodded. 
 "Who got it?" 
 
 "Say, who are you?" 
 
 "Me, I m just a stranger in a strange land, but I m a 
 heap interested in this li l hold-up. I wish you was." 
 
 The operator hesitated. 
 
 "This is against the rules," he said after a short minute. 
 "I d lose my job if it got out, but I m willing to take a 
 chance on you. The telegram was addressed to Moses 
 
TELEGRAMS 261 
 
 Peters at Diamond, and it read: Ship five cows to-day/ 
 He signed it Devinney/ 3 
 
 "About ten minutes before he sent it didn t a man 
 named Harper get a telegram, an* didn t that telegram 
 come from Damson?" 
 
 "You know quite a lot." 
 
 "Didn t it?" 
 
 "Yep, and it said: Lost five hundred dollars. Send 
 money to-day/ It was signed * Barry Camp/ 5 
 
 Johnny, pondering hard and rapidly, went out on the 
 platform and saw Slay and Mrs. Wallace going into the 
 hotel. Slay s walk was uncertain. Johnny smiled slightly 
 but his face sobered almost at once. 
 
 "Li l fool," he said to himself, "why couldn t she be 
 sensible an take a man s warnin . I wonder if she ll tell 
 him who hit him." 
 
 Probably she wouldn t, but if she did, Johnny was ready, 
 very ready. He had been ready a long time. 
 
 When the wired-for engine and the box-cars arrived, 
 the sheriff of Piegan County, a long person named 
 Stevens, came with them. The horses of the posse were 
 loaded aboard the two box-cars at the railroad chute, the 
 members climbed into the caboose, and the train pulled 
 out. 
 
 At two o clock in the morning they were unloading their 
 horses at Diamond. The Pullmans and day-coaches of 
 Number Five still stood before the tiny station. Discon 
 solate and peevish passengers none of them had been 
 robbed, but passengers are never satisfied roamed aim 
 lessly about. 
 
 The wrecking train from the west was not due for three 
 hours, the operator told Johnny, and the wrecked express- 
 car and the mail-car, blocked by the haggled remains of the 
 
262 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 baggage-car, were still where they were at the time of the 
 accident. 
 
 Johnny was glad of these things. While the posse 
 crowded close and listened to Sheriff Stevens and Jack 
 Murgatroyd fire questions at the fagged operator, Johnny 
 oozed quietly to one side, got his horse, and rode westward 
 along the tracks. 
 
 He had not proceeded three hundred yards when he was 
 overtaken by another member of the posse, an elderly 
 citizen with a bushy white beard and eyes that looked 
 sleepy but were not. 
 
 "Guess Fll traipse along with you, Mister Ramsay," 
 announced the other. "Bill Stevens is all right, but he 
 shore likes to gas. Last year I lost forty head o* stock 
 cause Bill he done more talkin than ridin . Jack Mur 
 gatroyd looks good." 
 
 There was the faintest emphasis in the world placed on 
 the word "looks." 
 
 "Bein a deputy ain t no cinch," defended Johnny. 
 
 "It seems to be in Fort Creek County," observed the 
 elderly citizen. "Leastawise, whadda they do? Hold 
 ups alia time." 
 
 "This one o that outfit s jobs?" queried Johnny. 
 
 "Whadda you think?" 
 
 "I think they headed south cause they was goin* north 
 or northwest." 
 
 "You n* me seem to think alike. Guess maybe yuh ll 
 find them five road agents in Fort Creek some ers if yuh 
 do find em." 
 
 The elderly citizen s name was Harmer. He and a friend 
 owned a ranch two days ride east of Piegan City. Just 
 luck his being in town and so in a position to go with the 
 posse, he had confided to Johnny during the ride from 
 
TELEGRAMS 263 
 
 Piegan City. Now he went on to speak of his friend, said 
 friend being mine-crazy, ever neglecting the ranch to go 
 on prospecting trips. 
 
 "He s up there in Fort Creek County now," said Harmer 
 "scoutin round for his mine, the mine that ll make us both 
 millionaires. I d rather make my millions out o cattle. 
 But don t yuh get the idea Tom Lander ain t all right," he 
 added loyally. "It s just he s got a notion about mines, 
 an outside o j that he s a human bein an my friend, an* 
 nobody s a-goin to say anythin again him while I m 
 around." 
 
 Harmer gazed truculently at Johnny, and the latter 
 nodded sympathetically. He understood. A man with 
 friends must of necessity put up with a great deal. 
 
 The two men were halted fifty yards from the cars by 
 a voice, a nervous voice with quavers in it. 
 
 "You come any closer," the voice assured them, "and 
 I ll shoot." 
 
 " Don t do it," called Harmer. "We ain t movin ." 
 
 "Whatsa matter with you?" demanded Johnny. "We 
 belong to the posse. Who are yuh, anyway?" 
 
 But the voice refused to be comforted no matter what 
 was said and kept them standing till the east lightened and 
 it was day. Then Johnny and Harmer saw, framed in 
 the end doorway of the mail-car, two white-faced mail- 
 clerks each holding one of those viciously lethal weapons 
 known as riot-guns. 
 
 "When yo re quite satisfied we ain t aimin to rustle the 
 mail," cried Johnny with some heat, "yuh might point 
 them howitzers of yores another way. We come up here 
 for evidence, an we ain t got all the time they is. Every 
 minute the road agents are gettin farther away." 
 
 "I tell you one thing, gents," the petulant Harmer broke 
 
264 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 in, "if yuh wasn t workin for Uncle Sam I d a argued 
 with yuh. I don t care nothin a-tall about bein held 
 up thisaway. Yo re damightyful ready with yore guns 
 now," he added pointedly. 
 
 "We didn t dare open the doors when we were held up," 
 defended the taller of the two clerks. "We barricaded 
 em, and we couldn t shoot through em, could we?" 
 
 "Shore not, yuh might a got shot doin it," grinned 
 Johnny. "Now, if you two fellers don t mind I m a-goin 
 to scout round a few." 
 
 "Round the cars?" asked Harmer. 
 
 "Yep, an I wish yuh d sort o trail along an* see what 
 I do. Might need a witness some time." 
 
 Harmer nodded and they dismounted and walked to 
 ward the two cars. As they went Johnny scanned closely 
 the ditches on either hand. The two mail-clerks watched 
 them, their expressions a grotesque blend of doubt and 
 curiosity. Neither Johnny nor Harmer paid them the 
 slightest attention. 
 
 When the two reached the mail-car they stepped down 
 into the left-hand ditch. In this ditch, about twenty feet 
 from the end of the express-car, Johnny found three spent 
 shells. Near the gaping, splintered side-doorway of the 
 express-car he picked up five more. Scattered here and 
 there along the ditch, or caught in the side of the cut, he 
 found many others. In all, when he and Harmer returned 
 to the end of the mail-car and the two clerks, there were 
 twenty-eight spent shells in Johnny s pockets. 
 
 "Where s the wounded guard?" asked Johnny. 
 
 "Took him west on the engine. He needed a hospital." 
 
 Johnny nodded and went back to his horse. Harmer 
 followed slowly. He was trying to build himself a cigar 
 ette, and that cut was filled with breeze. 
 
TELEGRAMS 265 
 
 Forty feet in advance, Johnny, his eyes on the ground, 
 saw the corner of a small package protruding beneath a 
 broken fish-plate. Johnny halted and knelt on one knee. 
 To the watching mail-clerks it looked as if Johnny were 
 fastening a loosened spur-strap. When Johnny stood up 
 and walked on the small package w&s in the inner pocket 
 of his vest. When the rancher joined him Johnny was 
 sorting into two neat piles the spent shells he had collected. 
 One pile, the larger, he put into the pockets of his 
 trousers. 
 
 "Yuh like to play solitaire, don t yuh?" observed 
 Harmer, his old eyes quizzical. 
 
 "When she s all yuh know yuh gotta like it," was John 
 ny s ambiguous reply. 
 
 "Here comes the posse," said Harmer, squinting east. 
 
 "An they ll be full o questions. Yore Mister Stev- 
 
 > 
 ens 
 
 "Don t call him mine. I never lost the gent." 
 
 "Well, anyhow, it s the questions. Maybe they ll want 
 to know did we find any shells. Maybe they ll want to 
 look at them shells. Yuh seen how I divided em?" 
 
 "I got eyes." 
 
 "Then they s plenty shells in that saddle-pocket for 
 them to worry about. No sense in lettin on too much 
 now." 
 
 "I dunno what yo re drivin at, Mister Ramsay," said 
 the elderly Mr. Harmer, "but whatever it is, hop to it. 
 Me, I m a clam." 
 
 The posse arrived. The sheriff was much upset, even 
 as Johnny had expected, for that he could find no spent 
 shells. Johnny gladdened his heart by turning over the 
 twenty-one shells in the saddle-pocket. 
 
 "All forty-five nineties," said Stevens, "an that s a 
 
2 68 HIDDEN TRALS 
 
 "No, he s a stranger." 
 
 "Know where he does live?" 
 
 "No. I said he was a stranger." 
 
 "Know him again if yuh saw hirr" 
 
 " Sure. He was an old gent with bshy white whiskers." 
 
 "Like Harmer s I mean the old ellah that rode with 
 the posse." 
 
 "Nothin like his. This jigger s card was cut square 
 across." 
 
 "Square across!" repeated Johnn, and dashed out of 
 the station. 
 
 He returned presently leading th gnome by the arm. 
 The gnome was greatly affrighted anamceasingly squealed 
 that he had done nothing. 
 
 "Where did yuh get them whiskers demanded Johnny. 
 
 "I didn t steal em, mister! Homt I didn t! I found 
 em found em lyin under a busl>ut there! I didn t 
 know they was yours." 
 
 Hastily the gnome snatched off is facial adornment 
 and forced it upon Johnny. The la:er gave the passen 
 ger s child a dollar. 
 
 " Don t be scared, sonny. Yo re alright, an I wouldn t 
 scare yuh for nothin . Lemme try 01 on." 
 
 Holding the whiskers in place he zrned to the agent. 
 
 "Might these belong to Mose?" h asked. 
 
 "They re a ringer for Mose s," relied the operator. 
 
 ""I ll just take em with me," saidfohnny, and stuffed 
 the false beard into his hip pockc. "See yuh later. 
 Sonny, howdja like to earn anothe dollar, huh? Yuh 
 would? All right. Show me now were yuh found yore 
 ticklers." 
 
 The passenger s child led Johnny : a bush a hundred 
 yards north of the right of way. 
 
TELEGRAMS 269 
 
 "Here s where Found it," said he. "It was lyin right 
 there." 
 
 He pointed to le ground. Certainly there were the 
 marks of high cov^oy heels in the vicinity of the bush. 
 Johnny cast aboi in various directions and within an 
 hour found where <even horses had stood for some time 
 four or five hours e thought. 
 
 Johnny returne to the box-car. Again he was forced 
 to arouse the operzor. But this time the man was more 
 approachable. 
 
 "I take it Mose eters come here for his telegram," said 
 Johnny. 
 
 "Naturally. \\ don t deliver from this station." 
 
 "Was Mose wain when the telegram came?" 
 
 "Waitin I Wh say, stranger, that old feller s been 
 spendin all his mrnin s and evenin s round here for the 
 last two weeks, b sure wanted that telegram." 
 
 "I guess he mu: a ," said Johnny Ramsay. "What 
 for a hoss did he rie?" 
 
 "Rode a mare a black-tailed dun. Vicious devil. 
 Kicked like a steei He had to tie her with a rope." 
 
 "A black-tail du: A black-tail dun /" 
 
 Here was luck, [ohnny could have whooped for joy. 
 Instead he wrote roidly on a telegraph blank. Two min 
 utes later the opeitor was clicking off Johnny s request 
 to the cavalry majc at Damson that he arrest Barry Camp 
 at once as an acces^ry to the hold-up of Number Five. 
 
 "I dunno whetKr accessory means what I think it 
 does, but I m tain a chance," he told the operator. 
 "Yuh might tack o I m a-comin with evidence. Guess 
 that oughta cinch i Hafta take a chance on that Dam 
 son agent," he adcd to himself. "I dunno, I guess he s 
 straight." 
 
268 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "No, he s a stranger." 
 "Know where he does live?" 
 "No. I said he was a stranger." 
 "Know him again if yuh saw him?" 
 " Sure. He was an old gent with bushy white whiskers." 
 "Like Harmer s I mean the old fellah that rode with 
 the posse." 
 
 "Nothin like his. This jigger s beard was cut square 
 
 across. 
 tt 
 
 Square across!" repeated Johnny, and dashed out of 
 the station. 
 
 He returned presently leading the gnome by the arm. 
 The gnome was greatly affrighted and unceasingly squealed 
 that he had done nothing. 
 
 "Where did yuh get them whiskers ? " demanded Johnny. 
 
 "I didn t steal em, mister! Honest I didn t! I found 
 em found em lyin under a bush out there! I didn t 
 know they was yours." 
 
 Hastily the gnome snatched off his facial adornment 
 and forced it upon Johnny. The latter gave the passen 
 ger s child a dollar. 
 
 " Don t be scared, sonny. Yo re all right, an I wouldn t 
 scare yuh for nothin . Lemme try em on." 
 
 Holding the whiskers in place he turned to the agent. 
 
 "Might these belong to Mose?" he asked. 
 
 "They re a ringer for Mose s," replied the operator. 
 
 "I ll just take em with me," said Johnny, and stuffed 
 the false beard into his hip pocket. "See yuh later. 
 Sonny, howdja like to earn another dollar, huh? Yuh 
 would ? All right. Show me now where yuh found yore 
 ticklers." 
 
 The passenger s child led Johnny to a bush a hundre.d 
 yards north of the right of way. 
 
TELEGRAMS 269 
 
 "Here s where I found it," said he. "It was lyin* right 
 there." 
 
 He pointed to the ground. Certainly there were the 
 marks of high cowboy heels in the vicinity of the bush. 
 Johnny cast about in various directions and within an 
 hour found where eleven horses had stood for some time 
 four or five hours he thought. 
 
 Johnny returned to the box-car. Again he was forced 
 to arouse the operator. But this time the man was more 
 approachable. 
 
 "I take it Mose Peters come here for his telegram," said 
 Johnny. 
 
 "Naturally. We don t deliver from this station." 
 
 "Was Mose waitin when the telegram came?" 
 
 "Waitin ! Why, say, stranger, that old feller s been 
 spendin all his mornin s and evenin s round here for the 
 last two weeks. He sure wanted that telegram." 
 
 "I guess he must a ," said Johnny Ramsay. "What 
 for a boss did he ride?" 
 
 "Rode a mare, a black-tailed dun. Vicious devil. 
 Kicked like a steer. He had to tie her with a rope." 
 
 "A black-tail dun ! A black-tail dun !" 
 
 Here was luck. Johnny could have whooped for joy. 
 Instead he wrote rapidly on a telegraph blank. Two min 
 utes later the operator was clicking off Johnny s request 
 to the cavalry major at Damson that he arrest Barry Camp 
 at once as an accessory to the hold-up of Number Five. 
 
 "I dunno whether accessory means what I think it 
 does, but I m takin a chance," he told the operator. 
 "Yuh might tack on I m a-comin with evidence. Guess 
 that oughta cinch it. Hafta take a chance on that Dam 
 son agent," he added to himself. "I dunno, I guess he s 
 straight." 
 
270 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 The operator had the telegram repeated and turned to 
 Johnny with awe-struck eyes. 
 
 "Howdja find it out?" he asked. 
 
 "I was always good at conundrums," bragged Johnny. 
 Easiest thing I do. If they s an answer comes I ll be 
 back later." 
 
 He went out and, to the amazement of several passengers 
 and the Pullman conductor, did a neat double-shuffle in 
 the dust. 
 
 "It s a wild life, old-timer," he remarked cheerfully to a 
 fat passenger. "You hadn t ought to eat so much not 
 in this weather." 
 
 The fat passenger shrank back in alarm, and Johnny 
 vaulted into his saddle without touching the stirrup. 
 He jumped the pony into full gallop on the instant, leaving 
 the fat passenger to make oration as to what he would 
 have done had the ruffling cowboy persisted in his im 
 pertinence. 
 
 Johnny rode to the spot where the eleven horses had 
 stood. From here he worl .ed back over the way they had 
 come. It was difficult, because in stretches there was a 
 deal of short grass. He wished for Laguerre. 
 
 Early in the afternoon he came upon his goal, the camp 
 of the five men. It was set far back at the very end of a 
 blind canon having an abundance of wood, grass, and water. 
 
 "Nothin mean about them," said Johnny. "All the 
 pleasures of home. An it s shore a heap out of the way. 
 Wiser than owls, ain t they? I guess yes." 
 
 He laughed silently, turned his horse on a nickel and 
 headed for Diamond. 
 
 "Quite a trail," he said aloud. "Camp to Spill, Spill 
 to Skinny, an Skinny to Mose Peters an his black-tail 
 dun an Harry Slay, if I can prove it on him." 
 
TELEGRAMS 271 
 
 Here Johnny experienced a severe twinge of com 
 punction for that corralling would doubtless involve the 
 gambler s sister He did not wish any harm to come 
 to Mrs. Wallace. He did not love her in the least, but 
 she was a woman and remarkably pretty and deserved 
 better things of life than arrest and imprisonment. 
 
 "She s in it the luck! She s bound to be." Johnny 
 
 pettishly whacked his saddle-horn with the butt of his quirt 
 and called Slay every evil name he could think of for 
 dragging his sister into the mess. "She d never a done 
 nothin only for him," he gloomily told his horse. "An 
 of course, bein a woman, she has to stick by darlin* 
 brother. Maybe after she s had a night to think it over," 
 he added, brightening slightly, "she ll do what I told 
 her." 
 
 There was no long line of passenger-cars at Diamond 
 when Johnny rode in. The wrecking train had come and 
 gone. Far in the east sounded the shrill whistle of a west 
 bound freight. He dismounted and stripped the saddle 
 and bridle from his horse and turned him loose. 
 
 " Kind o look after this truck," he said to the operator, 
 dropping the saddlery in a corner. "I ve hobbled the 
 horse. Guess he won t stray far. If he muddies up yore 
 spring jerk rocks at him. When the posse sifts in tell the 
 sheriff I had to go home." 
 
 He didn t tell the operator that he expected to return 
 soon. No sense in telling these railroad employees too 
 much. With a fairly light heart he boarded the caboose 
 of the westbound freight. 
 
 He swung off the steps at Damson in the twilight. 
 Laguerre met him. 
 
 "Were yuh been?" demanded the half-breed. "I 
 t ink yuh was los mabbeso. W y yuh go way?" 
 
272 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Tell yuh later, Telescope. Did the major arrest Camp 
 all right?" 
 
 "Arrest heem? Naw, she deed not. Camp was ride 
 way north wit Bale un Tom dees aftairnoon. W y she 
 arrest heem? Wat you find out. Wat about de hold-up 
 at Diamon ?" 
 
 "Plenty. Just now I wanna see that agent." 
 
 Johnny descended upon the station-agent and asked 
 questions. Yes, the telegram for the major had been re 
 ceived correctly, and one of the soldiers had taken it over 
 to the camp. Johnny, not yet wholly reassured as to the 
 agent s honesty, fled to the saloon for his saddle and bridle. 
 
 "Damfool boy," muttered Laguerre, staring after him. 
 "All tarn hurry, hurry. Wondair w at she know about 
 dat hold-up. She know all right." 
 
 He slowly went across to the corral where Johnny was 
 now cinching up. "See yuh later," was all Johnny would 
 say, and he dashed off. 
 
 Three minutes later the major, watching his men break 
 camp, was shocked by the tumultuous arrival of a horse 
 man. He did not like this wild-riding person. It was the 
 man who had made game of him, the stray man Ramsay. 
 The officer s eyes glittered coldly. 
 
 "What do you mean by riding into a camp in this fash 
 ion?" he barked in his parade voice. "What do yuh mean 
 by it? Here, corporal " 
 
 "Throw me out if yuh want," said Johnny, "but first 
 tell me if yuh got my telegram? Yuh, did, huh. Then 
 why didn t yuh arrest Barry Camp? What did yuh let 
 him get away for?" 
 
 "I m not taking orders from a civilian," snapped the 
 major. 
 
 "Oh, yo re not, huh? Well, lemme tell yuh one o the 
 
TELEGRAMS 273 
 
 mainsprings o this hold-up bunch has sloped because yuh 
 wouldn t take orders from a civilian. I got the evidence, 
 an* it leads straight back to this man Camp." 
 
 What do you mean?" 
 
 "What I say." 
 
 The major hesitated, then he motioned Johnny to dis 
 mount. 
 
 "Come into my tent," he snid, and Johnny followed. 
 
 "Tell me " began the major, but Johnny was already 
 doing it. 
 
 He told the major of the telegrams and Moses Peters 
 and his false whiskers, but he said nothing of the dun horse. 
 
 "Look at them two telegrams," Johnny almost wailed. 
 " Five an to-day in both of em. What else does it mean 
 but the paymaster s comin on Number Five to-day ? 
 It s as plain as a sergeant s stripes." 
 
 "But I don t see 
 
 " I ll begin at the beginning so yuh ll see how I ve worked 
 it out. This Camp man knowed there was goin to be a 
 big pay-day at Fort Yardley, but he dunno when. All 
 right, he goes an warns the colonel the road-agents are 
 plannin to bushwhack the paymaster on the trail. The 
 colonel called out a whole troop for a escort an sent em 
 to the railroad. Instead o takin along the ambulance 
 like yuh always do for the paymaster, yuh hire a buck- 
 board in the Bend, so s people won t guess nothin . It 
 works fine and dandy not. It just shows the paymaster 
 is comin right soon. 
 
 "By hangin round an pickin up a word here an there 
 I dunno how much, but you can be shore he got it out 
 of you an yore two lieutenants some way the red-head 
 found out what train an day the paymaster was due on. 
 The rest is easy. All he has to do is send a fake telegram, 
 
274 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 an who d be the wiser ? I m tellin yuh, Major, if I hadn t 
 just happened to be in Piegan City, an seen certain things 
 to make me suspicious an ask questions, no one would be 
 the wiser. An you let him go! You had him roped an 
 you let him go ! Honest, Major, if she wasn t so serious I d 
 laugh. I shore would." 
 
 The moon-faced major, who should have known enough 
 to keep his trouble to himself, lifted up his voice and swore. 
 He saw the whole affair with an appalling clarity of vision, 
 and it hurt him to the depths of his being. He was like 
 unto the dog upon whose tail the heavy foot has trod. He 
 wished to talk of his anguish, and he did. 
 
 He called in his lieutenants and talked to them. Need 
 less to say he blamed them severely for their loose tongues. 
 The first lieutenant was not one to take a lacing lying 
 down, and he talked back. It was a painful scene. 
 Johnny departed when the major began to threaten the 
 first lieutenant with arrest. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 WHAT DOROTHY SAID 
 
 IWEEL not! I tell yuh, Johnny, I weel not go to 
 Marysville for de warrant un let yuh go after Speel un 
 Skeeny. I go wit yuh." Laguerre scowled across 
 the room at his friend, who was sitting in the middle of his 
 cot hugging his knees." 
 
 "Have it yore own way," said Johnny. "I ve seen 
 mules now an* then, but of course we wasn t talkin of 
 mules, was we? Lordy, listen to her rain! We could be 
 trailin that red-head jigger now if it wasn t for the rain. 
 I dunno what luck is any more. Sling us a match, will 
 yuh, Telescope?" 
 
 "Dere y are. Nevair you min about Meestair Camp. 
 She weel come latair. Jus now eet ees Speel un Skeeny 
 un jus now I wan for sleep. Dat train she pull out een 
 t ree hour." 
 
 The rain had stopped when the two got off the train at 
 Diamond. Johnny s Piegan City mount was busily crop 
 ping grass in the neighbourhood of the spring. Johnny 
 caught him up and rode to a small ranch five miles west 
 to hire a horse for Laguerre. He was back in an hour and 
 a half with the horse and a supply of food. 
 
 In the first of the morning light they were riding south 
 ward on the trail of Stevens s posse. 
 
 "Dead or alive, the notice said." Johnny s mouth was 
 a straight line. 
 
 275 
 
276 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Two t ousand dollar apiece," chimed in Laguerre, his 
 black eyes bright with anticipation. 
 
 In all justice it must be said the the half-breed was think 
 ing not so much of the money as he was of the lively ex 
 citement he was riding into. Harper and Skinny would 
 certainly put up some kind of a fight. Laguerre had no 
 fear of the outcome. Neither had Johnny. There could 
 be no mercy for men aiding and abetting such a hold-up 
 as the one near Diamond. 
 
 Four days later they found the posse combing the breaks 
 of the Lost Soldiers, but they did not find Spill Harper 
 and Skinny Devinney. These two, said Harmer, were 
 scouting to the eastward. They had left the main party 
 on the second day. Harmer did not ask the reason for 
 Johnny s solicitude respecting the two men from the Bend, 
 but his old eyes were shrewdly speculative. 
 
 Nothing was said to Sheriff Stevens or the others of the 
 turpitude of Spill and Skinny. It would be common 
 property sufficiently soon. Besides, the size of a reward 
 is not increased by division. 
 
 Sheriff Stevens and all of the posse save Jack Murga- 
 troyd were about ready to go home when Johnny and La 
 guerre came upon them. Most of them had little busi 
 nesses of their own that would suffer should they remain 
 away for any length of time. It was the Government s 
 money anyway. They had not discovered a single clue 
 to the identity of the robbers, and they had long since 
 lost the trail. Indeed, they lost it twenty miles south of 
 the railroad. Now, after the rain, further searching was 
 hopeless. It is ridiculously easy, when the first enthusiasm 
 has worn off, to find excuses for not doing a certain thing. 
 
 The posse turned back, and Murgatroyd left them to ride 
 his own line. He had voiced his belief that the road agents 
 
WHAT DOROTHY SAID 277 
 
 had swung off toward the country south of Fort Seymour, 
 where there was a wild jumble of perpendicular scenery. 
 According to Murgatroyd it was a good place to hide in. 
 
 Reaching Diamond, Stevens and his men went east on 
 a local freight. Johnny and Laguerre, waiting for Number 
 Three, entered the saloon that catered to travellers and 
 found Harmer leaning against the bar. 
 
 "Yore train s gone," said Johnny. 
 
 Harmer shook his white head. 
 
 "Not mine," he smiled placidly. "I ain t lost any 
 trains. Sent my hoss back on it though. Sort o thought 
 I d prospect round here a spell. Lively li l mee-tropolis, 
 this town. Have a drink." 
 
 Later, crossing the road, Harmer turned his quizzical 
 eyes on Johnny. 
 
 "I m figurin on goin west," he said slowly. "I dunno 
 as I think much of that country south o Seymour. Livin 
 on a ranch is so kind of doleful, an here s a chance for 
 action. Besides, the railroad chunkers in them wrecked 
 cars never had a chance. A gent ought to have an even 
 break for his alley. An them hold-ups didn t give no even 
 break. Djuh know they found a piece o that baggage 
 man s heels, an not another smidgin of him? I didn t 
 like that." His eye-corners puckered and the steady 
 hands stroked the long white beard. "Maybe I m takin* 
 too much for granted, gents. Maybe maybe yore in 
 terest in this case is ended." 
 
 "Not a li l bit," cried Johnny heartily. "We re shore 
 a heap interested." 
 
 "Y bet yuh, Meestair Harmair," was the half-breed s 
 contribution. 
 
 "I m glad," said Harmer simply. "I shore do enjoy 
 playin out any hand I pick up." 
 
278 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "An that s one right good rule," said Johnny Ramsay. 
 
 So Mr. Harmer went with them to Damson. There 
 he said he guessed he d get him a horse and meander 
 around a spell. Johnny suggested that he ride north with 
 them. He was beginning to have doubts concerning Mr. 
 Harmer. There was something secretive about the old 
 fellow. Perhaps Johnny watched Mr. Harmer very 
 closely. 
 
 They pushed their horses to the limit on the northward 
 trail. Twice between Damson and Marysville they 
 passed small parties riding south to join a Federally hired 
 posse hunting the road agents. From one of these they 
 learned that word had been sent to Fort Yardley and Fort 
 Seymour and that four more troops of cavalry would be 
 out within a week. 
 
 "Which them hold-ups ain t got a chance," their in 
 formant flung back over his shoulder as he rode on after 
 his outfit. 
 
 "No," said Johnny gently, "I guess not." 
 
 Harmer chuckled, and accurately spat tobacco juice on 
 a small rock. 
 
 "Them fellers must be a-laughin themselves sick about 
 now," he observed. " Fifty thousand dollars an* whatever 
 else was in them ordinary express sacks. My Gawd, it s 
 so easy to fool a sheriff she s a wonder they s an honest 
 man left in the world." 
 
 The old cynic chuckled again. The perturbed Johnny 
 watched him like a cat. 
 
 Judge Allison was taking the air in the shade of his front 
 porch when the three men rode into Marysville. At sight 
 of them he uttered a joyful cry and ran out into the street. 
 
 "Bat Harmer!" he bawled. "V old scoundrel!" 
 
 To this remarkable greeting Harmer made response by 
 
WHAT DOROTHY SAID 279 
 
 jumping from his horse with a whoop and beating the 
 judge upon his broadcloth shoulders. 
 
 "I was just a-comin to see yuh, Bill," he said. "I 
 thought I d better. My friends here are suspicious of me. 
 They think I m somethin I ain t. Tell em I am." 
 
 "Why, Johnny, how could yuh?" reproved the judge. 
 "And Telescope Laguerre too, who should know better." 
 
 "I dunno what yo re takin about," Johnny disclaimed, 
 his face reddening smartly, while Laguerre grinned. 
 
 " Don t blame yuh," smiled Harmer. " I did kind o horn 
 in on yore privacy some. But I wanted to see this deal 
 through, an I ain t joyful none about playin a lone hand. 
 I like folks to talk to. That s the kind of a hairpin I am." 
 
 Like Harmer? A man couldn t help it. They all went 
 up on the judge s front porch where there was good cheer in 
 a bottle and good feeling in the air. 
 
 There was much to tell the judge. He made no bones 
 about issuing warrants for Barry Camp, Spill Harper, and 
 Skinny Devinney. 
 
 "I ll issue them at once," said he. "Evidence is more 
 than enough. I should say so No, I haven t seen any 
 of them. They wouldn t ride through here. Not now. 
 I m sorry you weren t closer to Bale and Tom. You see, 
 you can t actually identify them as the men who bush 
 whacked you." 
 
 " If I d been closer to em they wouldn t need warrants," 
 Johnny said naively. "But it don t matter. They ll 
 come alive again some ers." 
 
 "Will they stay alive?" queried the judge. 
 
 "Well," said Johnny, "yuh know yoreself she s a hard 
 world. Another thing, Judge: I told that Piegan City 
 operator an the one at Diamond not to talk, but o course 
 they will, an what we know everybody else will know soon 
 
280 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 an sudden. But they s no sense in showin our hand till 
 we gotta. Will yuh keep them warrants a while till till 
 we bring in the beef?" 
 
 "Good idea," nodded Judge Allison. "I will." 
 The three rode on to Farewell. There were few men 
 in sight. Sheriff Rule, it seemed, had organized the major 
 ity of the citizens into a posse and was riding the country 
 between Longhorn Mountain and Cutter. For Chance 
 Blaisdell had brought Sheriff Rule a message from Sheriff 
 Stahl to the effect that the escaped killer, Hen Riley, had 
 doubled south. 
 
 "Guess it s the hoss more n Hen that s botherin the 
 sheriff," observed Johnny. "Shore thinks a heap o that 
 cayuse, Bill Stahl does." 
 
 They forsook the trail at Farewell and rode northeast, 
 their objective the Harper ranch-house on Dry Creek. 
 They rode the canons and the draws, and reconnoitred 
 the place by night from the direction of the Medicine 
 Mountains. 
 
 "No light nowhere," remarked Harmer. 
 "Guess we might as well wait for daylight," said Johnny 
 Ramsay. 
 
 They waited lying down-wind among the pines at 
 the back of the ranch. This that the small dog, Biscuit, 
 might not scent their presence. At the first light they ap 
 proached the house by way of the corral. They did not 
 burst in the back door. They didn t have to. The latch- 
 string was out. Johnny pulled it, and pushed the door 
 open. There were no indignant yaps. No dog was in the 
 house. Nor was any human being. Nor were there any 
 firearms. Which last pleased Johnny. 
 
 It would have disappointed him beyond measure to have 
 found in the house the forty sixty-five with which he had 
 
WHAT DOROTHY SAID 281 
 
 shot against Spill Harper and Skinny Devinney. Leaving 
 the house, Johnny looked under the bench beside the 
 kitchen door. Half hidden by the leg of the bench, a spent 
 shell lay in the pale grass. Under the bulge of the founda 
 tion log on the other side of the doorway was another 
 spent shell. Johnny called Harmer s attention to these 
 two cartridge cases. He did not touch them himself. 
 
 "Would yuh mind pickin up them spent shells, an 
 puttin em in yore pocket?" he added. "I d do it myself 
 only I d rather have a third party do it. It it might look 
 better sometime. Take a good look at em while yo re at 
 it." 
 
 Harmer picked up the shells and turned them round and 
 round in his palm. He dropped the shells into a pocket 
 of his coat and looked at Johnny. 
 
 "I guess maybe yo re figurin on them empties comin 
 in handy later," he remarked. 
 
 "I guess maybe," said Johnny Ramsay, laying his rifle 
 in the hollow of his arm and fishing out the makings. 
 
 As they were constructing their cigarettes there galloped 
 from the woods the dog Biscuit with rabbit-fur on his 
 whiskers and assaulted their ankles. They fended him 
 off with all gentleness, for he was a small animal, but he 
 followed them with savage snarls while they examined 
 the ground roundabout. 
 
 "Nobody been here for t ree week," declared Laguerre, 
 when he had looked at the sign in the corral. "Guess we 
 
 go/ 
 
 "Might as well be the Bend," said Johnny. "Tom 
 Keen an Bale have friends there. It s just possible " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence. Harmer smiled. He 
 thoroughly approved of Johnny Ramsay. 
 
 Three tired men on three tired horses, they rode the 
 
282 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 length of Paradise Bend Main Street and unsaddled at the 
 hotel corral. 
 
 "Le s go see Racey," suggested Johnny when they had 
 flung down their saddles and bridles in a corner of the hotel 
 barroom. 
 
 But Racey had seen them ride in, and he was upon 
 them before they reached the street. Racey reported, 
 between swallows, that the red-head, Bale Harper, and 
 Tom Keen had not returned to Paradise Bend. 
 
 "Slay in town?" asked Johnny in a whisper. 
 
 "Shore is. Swapped drinks with him this mormV 
 Huh? Mrs. Wallace? Yuh bet yuh. Run the wheel 
 last night. What yuh wanna know about her for? I 
 thought " 
 
 "Nemmine what yuh thought," cautioned Johnny. 
 "Not so loud." 
 
 They were down at the end of the bar, far removed from 
 the other customers, but Racey s voice was prone to rise, 
 and Johnny was a fearful soul. 
 
 "Get off my toe!" cried Racey. "Stand on yore own 
 hoof, yuh splay-footed mule! What yuh so partic lar 
 for anyhow about yore liquor?" he amended wisely, 
 taking note of the peculiar gleam that had suddenly crept 
 into Johnny eyes. 
 
 "Didja say Slay was in the Broken Dollar?" asked 
 Johnny. 
 
 "I didn t, but he is. Hey! Where yuh goin ?" 
 
 But Johnny was already gone. Racey turned his head. 
 Laguerre, Harmer, and Soapy Ragsdale were listening to a 
 story the bartender was telling. Racey hitched up his 
 pants, shifted his holster forward a trifle, and went 
 out. 
 
 Johnny did not hurry down to the Broken Dollar. He 
 
WHAT DOROTHY SAID 283 
 
 walked quite casually, turned in at the saloon doorway 
 and went to the bar. Slay was standing behind the bar 
 talking to the bartender. He nodded briefly to Johnny 
 and himself set a bottle and a glass before him. 
 
 Both Slay s hands rested palms flat on the wood. But 
 the gambler was a wizard with a gun. Johnny canted the 
 bottle with his left hand. 
 
 "I didn t know you were left-handed," was Slay s dry 
 comment. 
 
 "I am sometimes," replied Johnny, and drank left- 
 handed. 
 
 Slay smiled. 
 
 "It s a queer world sometimes," he said, and swept 
 Johnny s money into the cash drawer. 
 
 He again rested his palms flat on the bar. His face was 
 inscrutable. The bafHed Johnny departed. 
 
 " He s shore a deep one," Johnny told himself. "They s 
 no tellin whether she told him or not. Wish she would 
 or somethin . I d like to get it over with." 
 
 In the street he came upon Racey. That young man 
 was just starting to walk away from one of the windows. 
 Johnny overtook him in one stride. 
 
 "Nice day," said Racey guiltily. 
 
 " Whadda you wanna mix in for ? " asked Johnny directly. 
 
 "Well, that Slay might a cold-decked yuh," defended 
 Racey. "Yo re so careless. Yuh know y are." 
 
 "Y old son of a gun," said Johnny, and affectionately 
 smote his guardian angel between the shoulder-blades with 
 a force that made him stagger. 
 
 "She s a hour to supper," Racey observed, returning the 
 blow with interest, and dodging Johnny s counter. "I m 
 thirsty. I didn t get no drink at the Broken Dollar," 
 he added pointedly. 
 
284 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Yuh don t need one," declared Johnny. "My Gawd, 
 Racey, yo re a sot now. The last thing Jack Richie says 
 to me was to look out for yuh an keep yuh away from the 
 red-eye. Honest, Racey, yore face right this minute is 
 one fine advertisement for most any saloon." 
 
 "Is that so?" was Racey s crushing repartee. "Is 
 that so? You ain t no pro-progprognosticker yore own 
 self." 
 
 "Ha-ha," cried Johnny, affecting to be overcome with 
 mirth, "listen to the man. Say, some time yo re a-goin 
 to strangle usin these big words yuh dunno the meanin* 
 of. Lemme tell yuh, yuh uneducated goat, a feller that 
 don t drink is a probationer. Now run along an don t 
 disturb papa no more, that s a good li l feller." 
 
 Leaving Racey speechless with emotion, Johnny walked 
 away rapidly. He was going to the Burr residence, and 
 hoped to find Dorothy in and her mother out. His hope 
 was realized both ways. 
 
 "Hello, stranger," smiled Dorothy, delicately tilting 
 the cover of the saucepan in which peas were bubbling. 
 "How the years have changed you." 
 
 "I can t say that for you," said Johnny, with his most 
 engaging grin. "You get better-lookin every day. It s 
 it s shore amazin ." 
 
 "Amazing?" She lifted her curving eyebrows at this. 
 "Not in the least. I was always a handsome girl. We get 
 more and more beautiful as we grow older, we Burrs. I 
 can t help it. It runs in the family." 
 
 "That listens fine. I I I 
 
 "Yes?" Sweetly, with a rising inflection. 
 
 "I was just wonderin if if " Here Johnny bogged 
 down completely, and nervously kicked the table. 
 
 "For Heaven s sake, stop battering the furniture and 
 
WHAT DOROTHY SAID 285 
 
 tell me what s on your mind ! Here, stand out in the middle 
 of the floor, where your feet can t reach." 
 
 He stood out meekly, fumbling his hat, red to the ears, 
 hot as to his head, but with a clammy coldness chilling 
 his backbone. How did a man propose, anyway? What 
 did he say? What was there to say? Johnny perspired 
 freely, gazing haggardly at Dorothy. His knees shook a 
 little. He hadn t realized that it would be anything like 
 this. But Dorothy had to be saved from the horrific 
 fate of marriage with Harry Slay. There were no two 
 ways about that. Johnny had not intended offering himself 
 as a sacrifice quite so soon, but the sight of the man stand 
 ing in the Broken Dollar, with the Lord only knew what 
 tale of crimes to his discredit, had forced his hand. 
 
 " I I been thinkin it over," he began desperately, see 
 ing Dorothy as through a glass, darkly, "an I been thinkin 
 I been thinkin 
 
 "Seems to me you said that before, didn t you?" Thus 
 helpfully the lady, sitting down on the edge of the table 
 and swinging a pretty ankle. 
 
 "Ibeenthinkin - 
 
 "For Heaven s sake, Johnny, where does it hurt the 
 most ? Do you have em often ? What you need is sulphur 
 and molasses. I know it s a little late in the summer for 
 a spring tonic, but it s the only thing we have handy. 
 Sit down, do, like a nice boy, and take things easy. Try 
 not to think." 
 
 "I been- 
 
 "If you say I been thinkin again I ll scream. Begin 
 again in some other part of the dictionary." 
 
 The goaded Johnny spread his legs and flapped a hand 
 at her. As he grew angry, he became correspondingly 
 cooler. 
 
286 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "Look here," he said distinctly, "you ain t gonna marry 
 Harry Slay." 
 
 Dorothy stared. Then she smiled very oddly. 
 
 "Ain t I?" she asked. 
 
 "No, you ain t. You been goin around with him too 
 much as it is." 
 
 "Have I?" With suspicious sweetness. 
 
 Johnny, as has been said, knew not the ways of woman. 
 Her mental processes were to him a sealed book. That 
 he was adopting entirely the wrong tone with Dorothy 
 Burr did not occur to him at the moment. Hurriedly, 
 with the utmost confidence, he rushed on to his doom. 
 
 "I ain t gonna see yuh make a fool of yourself with a 
 man like that," declared Johnny. "Yo re gonna marry 
 me." 
 
 "What is this a proposal?" demanded Dorothy 
 smilelessly. 
 
 "Shore." Now he had said it, Johnny felt a deal better. 
 
 "As a proposer," Dorothy said judicially, "you re a 
 first-class cow-puncher. This way out." 
 
 She had slid from the table, and one bare arm pointed 
 at the kitchen door. Johnny s jaw dropped. This wasn t 
 the way it worked out in books. She should have thrown 
 her arms round his neck or something. Was he being 
 turned down ? He was. Dorothy left no room for doubt. 
 
 "I " he began. 
 
 "Shut up!" she cried, and stamped her foot. "You 
 and your Ts ! You march right out that door and stay 
 out and don t you come back." 
 
 "But but " 
 
 " If you say another word I ll I ll box your ears. Git ! " 
 
 Johnny got. 
 
 When he was gone, Dorothy slammed the door with 
 
WHAT DOROTHY SAID 287 
 
 vicious force. She looked wildly and unseeingly into the 
 mirror on the wall, then slumped down on a chair beside 
 the table, laid her head on her arms, and began to cry. 
 
 She was still weeping into the tablecloth when her 
 mother came in five minutes later. Mrs. Burr dumped her 
 bundles on the table. Dorothy sat up, wiping her eyes 
 forlornly. Mrs. Burr had met Johnny on his way to Main 
 Street. He had not seen her. She had noted the sulky 
 expression on his face and that he was swearing under his 
 breath. 
 
 " What s the matter, Dot?" she asked. 
 
 "Bub-burnt my arm," was the pat reply. 
 
 "Oh." A pause, then another "Oh," and Mrs. Burr 
 proceeded to open her bundles, while Dorothy sniffled and 
 tried to choke down the catch in her breath. 
 
 "Didn t I meet Johnny Ramsay comin away from 
 here?" Mrs. Burr said suddenly. 
 
 "Did you?" sniffed Dorothy. 
 
 " I never knowed you to cry for a burn before," persisted 
 Mrs. Burr. 
 
 "Well, you d better believe I wasn t crying on account 
 of Johnny Ramsay!" exclaimed Dorothy, and got up and 
 ran stumblingly out of the kitchen into her own room. 
 The closing of her door shook the house. Mrs. Burr heard 
 the creak of bedsprings and the strangled sound of sobbing. 
 
 "Poor young ones," sighed Mrs. Burr. "What a lot 
 they got to learn." 
 
 Which remark might mean anything. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 A BURRO BRAYS 
 
 JOHNNY went straight from the Burr home to the 
 hotel and drank four whiskies in succession. But 
 he was so angry that the liquor had no more kick 
 than so much water. Furthermore, so engrossing were 
 his thoughts that he forgot to invite his friends to drink 
 with him. The bar might have been unlined for all the 
 attention he paid to the lining. 
 
 From the hotel bar-room Johnny went to the house of 
 Jim Mace. Big Jim was just sitting down to supper. 
 
 "Set," invited the plump and hospitable Mrs. Mace. 
 "They s twice as much steak there as Jim 11 eat." 
 
 "I d shore enjoy to, Mis Mace," said Johnny, "but I m 
 in a I gotta go way. Jim, my hoss needs a rest, an 
 I gotta go some ers. Lend me yore red hoss, will 
 yuh?" 
 
 Within fifteen minutes Johnny was astride the red horse. 
 He rode his own saddle and Daisy Belle cuddled in her 
 scabbard under his left leg. He was loping along Main 
 Street, heading for the trail to Rocket and the south, when 
 he bethought him of his promise to Mrs. Wallace. 
 
 "Well," he grunted, "if I gotta, I gotta." 
 
 He turned his horse toward the river. 
 
 But Mrs. Wallace was not at home, and Johnny splashed 
 thankfully across the Dogsoldier. He had not been keen 
 for the interview. 
 
 288 
 
A BURRO BRAYS 289 
 
 That whole night he rode the Rocket trail. Not till 
 the morning light did the angry soreness quit his injured 
 sensibilities. But it left in its place an odd feeling of great 
 personal loss. The feeling grew stronger and stronger. 
 Johnny had not realized that he cared so much for Dorothy. 
 In time the feeling of loss became an ache, a large and 
 healthy ache, that made him acutely wretched. When he 
 reached Rocket and Dave Sinclair s hotel Johnny Ramsay 
 knew what it was to be a blighted being. 
 
 "I ll get them road agents/ he told himself vindictively, 
 "an I ll get em good. I was just foolin round before, 
 but now I m gonna have a real party." 
 
 A blighted being is frequently possessed of an almost 
 uncontrollable desire to perform daring deeds and all that 
 sort of thing, thus showing the blighter what she has lost 
 by her inconsiderate action. 
 
 The blighted one ate his supper in such sullen silence 
 that Dave Sinclair was annoyed. This was not like Johnny 
 at all. He had tried several subjects, but Johnny had not 
 bitten once. He had monosyllabled extensively and eaten 
 at the same ratio. For his last meal had been a short 
 dinner the previous day, and even unhappiness cannot 
 continuously destroy the appetite of a healthy young man 
 who spends most of his time in the saddle. 
 
 Dave Sinclair slid another dish of beans across the table, 
 and hopefully began anew. 
 
 "Funny how Hen Riley come to escape?" he remarked. 
 
 "Ain t he been dumped yet?" Johnny asked indif 
 ferently. 
 
 "He ain t an he won t not on Bill Stahl s hoss," said 
 Dave emphatically. "Tell yuh somethin , Johnny. Some 
 body let that jigger out. Yessir, you can t tell me. The 
 door o that calaboose was unlocked by a key." 
 
290 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "That s shore a odd number. A key, huh? I always 
 thought they unlocked doors with a shovel." 
 
 "I mean somebody got Bill s keys an unlocked that 
 door. An Hen ain t got any friends here either. That s 
 what makes it so funny. Who stole the key?" 
 
 "Don t look at me so suspicious, Dave. I didn t steal 
 it. Who did steal it?" 
 
 "How d I know? But it s shore funny. The sheriff s 
 so mad he swears he ll chase Hen from hell to breakfast 
 an* back till he gets his hoss. Hen was shore a fool to 
 take that hoss. He might a knowed Bill wouldn t 
 like it." 
 
 Johnny s interest in the jail delivery was but momentary. 
 He relapsed into silence and a cigarette. Later he went 
 to bed and slept till supper time. 
 
 In the twilight he mounted his horse and rode on. The 
 red, with ten hours rest behind him, moved springily. 
 Johnny s plan was to go to Farewell first. From there he 
 meant to work east across the range of the Cross-in-a-box 
 to the Double Diamond A and the Hogpen. From the 
 two latter ranches he would comb the country north to 
 the Medicine Mountains and the Harper Ranch. It was 
 a sufficiently foolhardy enterprise to carry through on one s 
 "lonesome," for the party he was trailing in all probability 
 numbered ten men by now. But Johnny was in no mood 
 for company. 
 
 He did not follow the trail. He took the shortest way. 
 The rising sun shone down upon him as he forded the head 
 waters of Crow Creek seven or eight miles from Cooley s 
 ranch. To Cooley s ranch he rode for breakfast and a 
 sleep on the Cooley porch. 
 
 Breakfast was long over when Johnny reached the ranch, 
 but Mrs. Cooley promptly sliced bacon and set the coffee 
 

 A BURRO BRAYS 291 
 
 on to boil. Mr. Cooley joined him in a cup. Visitors 
 were rare at the Cooley ranch. 
 
 After breakfast Johnny sat on the porch with Mr. 
 Cooley. Above Johnny s head a double-cinch packsaddle, 
 burro-sawbuck tree, hung against the wall. The breech 
 ing, hanging down, made a convenient arm-rest. 
 
 "Get out o here!" It was the voice of Mrs. Cooley 
 speaking from the kitchen door. 
 
 The command was supplemented by a splash as of 
 thrown water. Around the corner of the house skipped 
 a frowsy gray burro, not too old, rapidly twiddling indig 
 nant ears. The burro s head was dripping wet. 
 
 He walked up to the porch, pointed his ears, and stared 
 at Mr. Cooley. Mr. Cooley combed his whiskers, his 
 faded blue eyes half closed. The burro elevated his nose 
 and brayed terrifically. After which he again pointed his 
 ears and looked expectant. 
 
 "Want yore chaw, huh?" queried Mr. Cooley, twisting 
 his body so that he could reach down into a deep hip- 
 pocket. 
 
 He produced a slab of chewing tobacco, haggled off a 
 jagged corner, and tossed it at the burro. The animal 
 caught it in his mouth with expert ease, shook his head 
 ecstatically, then trotted off to where the grass grew green 
 and tender behind the corral. 
 
 "Ain t he a jo-darter?" exclaimed Mr. Cooley admir 
 ingly. "Took me three weeks to find out it was tobacker 
 he wanted when he talked like that." 
 
 "Three weeks," murmured Johnny, his eyes on the left 
 hip of the retreating burro. "I never knowed you had a 
 Arizona Canary." 
 
 "I ain t Julius ain t mine. He belongs to a prospector 
 that stayed here awhile. The gent rode away final, an* a 
 
292 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 week later Julius, pack an all, come hee-hawin to the 
 kitchen door. So I unpacks him there s his saddle be 
 hind yuh now an turns him loose, expectin the gent will 
 come back for him when he finds he s strayed. But he 
 don t an there s Julius." 
 
 "How long was this prospector here?" 
 
 "About a month off an on. He was scoutin round 
 them hills north o here." 
 
 "When was he here?" 
 
 "Well, he pulled his freight maybe three-four days before 
 I seen you last." 
 
 "I thought you said when I asked yuh that time yuh 
 hadn t seen any strangers." 
 
 "He wasn t a stranger. I d knowed him a month. 
 Lander, Tom Lander, that was his name, an he d play 
 pedro all night." 
 
 "Yeah," said Johnny and went to his saddle where it 
 lay on its side near the edge of the porch and proceeded 
 to untie the strings that bound his slicker. "Did he 
 happen to be here the night of the twenty-third of June?" 
 
 Mr. Cooley scratched his head and pondered. 
 
 "I think maybe he was," said he. "I ll ask Mary. 
 She ll know." 
 
 He bawled his question and Mrs. Cooley came to the 
 door. 
 
 "The twenty-third o June?" she repeated. "Seems 
 to me now that was the day you broke the churn, Cooley, 
 gettin mad at it for stickin shore, yuh needn t mumble 
 an deny it. You remember all right. Shore, the twenty- 
 third. He wasn t here during the day, Mister Lander 
 wasn t, but he stayed all night." 
 
 "Then he was here the mornin o the twenty-fourth," 
 said Johnny, getting up from his knees. 
 
A BURRO BRAYS 293 
 
 "Of course/ Mrs. Cooley told him impatiently. 
 
 Johnny laid across Mr. Cooley s spread knees the article 
 he had taken from the folds of his slicker. It was a split- 
 ear bridle, hand-carved, silver rein-chains, and silver 
 buckle and conchas. Altogether a superior bridle, and 
 one not easily forgotten. Mr. Cooley blinked. 
 
 "That s Tom Lander s bridle," he said slowly, and raised 
 inquiring eyes to Johnny s face. 
 
 "I took that off a dead gray boss about five mile south 
 of here. The brand on that boss was H L, same as the 
 brand on that burro. Cooley, I don t guess Tom Lander ll 
 ever come back for Julius." 
 
 Johnny Ramsay did not ride to Farewell. Instead he 
 returned to Paradise Bend. With him rode Mr. Cooley, 
 a very quiet Mr. Cooley, who chewed a great deal of to 
 bacco and led Julius at the end of a rope. Julius was 
 packed. Under the diamond hitch was stuck a miner s 
 long-handled shovel and pick. On the way they stopped 
 at Rocket. 
 
 That their entry into the Bend might be unobserved 
 they rode in at night. Julius was turned into Soapy Rags- 
 dale s corral. Julius pack and the mining tools were 
 stowed away and out of sight under Soapy s counter. 
 
 In the back room of Soapy s store Johnny spoke at some 
 length to Laguerre, Harmer, Soapy, Jim Mace, Racey 
 Dawson and the quiet Mr. Cooley who ceased not to work 
 his jaws squirrel-wise. When Johnny finished talking 
 there was a silence while men looked at each other. 
 
 "I m damned," said Soapy Ragsdale after a space. 
 "I m shore damned." 
 
 "Bill Stahl s here now," murmured Jim Mace, drum 
 ming with his fingers on the table-top. 
 
294 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "I sarw him," Johnny nodded. 
 
 "Djuh know," drawled Racey Dawson, "I never did 
 believe Hen Riley doubled back." 
 
 "It didn t sound natural," admitted Soapy Ragsdale. 
 
 Harmer said nothing. He sat as still as still, his eyes 
 fixed on nothing, his features set like flint. 
 
 "How long has Bill Stahl been here?" inquired Johnny. 
 
 "Three days," Jim Mace told him. "He s goin back 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Will he?" said Johnny softly. "I wonder." 
 
 "Scotty Mackenzie will want in on this," put in Soapy 
 Ragsdale. "I m gonna go out to the Flyin M." 
 
 Soapy Ragsdale departed. So did Johnny. But he 
 did not go to the corral. He went down the street to the 
 Broken Dollar and had a lonely one finger at the bar. 
 Across the room, beside the high stool of one of the look 
 outs, stood Harry Slay. 
 
 And that was the man Dorothy Burr intended to marry. 
 For that low-flung bandit, tinhorn, and in all probability 
 murderer as well, she had turned down Johnny Ramsay. 
 Johnny had strong hopes that circumstances arising in the 
 next few days would effectually prevent the marriage. 
 Yet he was no happier, for he himself would not be bene 
 fited thereby. Dorothy had refused him, and the world 
 was a dark place to live in, and his life was completely 
 spoiled. 
 
 Johnny, sulkily regarding his successful rival, was 
 caught staring and had to nod. To give him an excuse 
 for turning his back, Johnny bought a cigar he didn t 
 want, stuck it unlighted between his teeth and side- 
 wheeled slowly out. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 A FAIR AND SUMMER MORNING 
 
 MANY horses were being saddled at the various 
 corrals in the morning. The men that cinched 
 on the heavy hulls were a serious-faced outfit of 
 citizens. None of them smiled. They rarely spoke one 
 to another. 
 
 "I m takin one bunch south to Harper s/ Johnny said 
 to Scotty Mackenzie, " an Laguerre s goin west. Whad- 
 da yuh think o Crow Creek way for you an yore boys?" 
 
 Scotty was looking down Main Street toward the Rocket 
 trail. His blue eyes turned frosty as he looked. He did 
 not reply for a moment. Then he said : 
 
 "I guess none of us will have to go. Here they come 
 now." 
 
 Johnny swung round. 
 
 "Don t look quite like we expected, do they?" said he. 
 
 "De black-tail dun," remarked Laguerre, edging up to 
 Johnny. 
 
 Up Main Street five men were riding. The leader was 
 Chance Blaisdell. The others were Jack Murgatroyd and 
 three strangers. One of the strangers was riding a black- 
 tail dun. 
 
 Four saddled led horses accompanied the riders. Across 
 each empty saddle a corpse was lashed pack-fashion a 
 dead and gruesome body with dangling arms and legs that 
 flopped and jerked indecently. 
 
 295 
 
296 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 The five rode up and stopped. 
 
 "Howdy, gents," said Chance Blaisdell, his alert animal, 
 like eyes sweeping the crowd. 
 
 "What yuh got?" asked Soapy Ragsdale. 
 
 "We got the fellers that helped hold up the train," de 
 clared Chance, smiling, and swinging to the ground. 
 "Caught em over on Crow Creek an rubbed out four of 
 em. Where s Bill Stahl?" 
 
 "Be here in a minute," said Johnny. "Howdja know 
 they re the hold-ups?" 
 
 "Trailed em. Skinny squealed before he died." 
 
 "Got the cash?" 
 
 "Naw, they must a cached it some ers." 
 
 "We ll find that later," contributed the stranger on th 
 dun. 
 
 He was a clean-shaven young man with a hard face an<? 
 a slight stoop. 
 
 "But I know Skinny an Spill Harper was in Piegan 
 City when the train was held up," said Johnny. "They 
 was in the posse with us, Jack, an you know it." 
 
 "Shore I know it," said the dark-faced deputy. "They 
 didn t actually hold up the train. They just fixed it so 
 it would be held up telegrams an things," he added 
 vaguely. 
 
 "Oh, yeah, I see," Johnny said, looking at the dead 
 bodies. 
 
 Chance, relating swiftly the manner in which the four 
 had met their deaths, helped his friends unpack the bodies 
 and prop them sitting against the stockade of the corral. 
 It was noticeable that Chance did all the talking. 
 
 "A good job," observed Chance, and rested his knuckles 
 on his hips and spread his legs. 
 
 The crowd muttered and swayed closer to the stockade. 
 

 A FAIR AND SUMMER MORNING 297 
 
 Those four dead men were well-known citizens the Har 
 per boys, Skinny Devinney and Tom Keen. 
 
 "I wish we could a got the other six," said Chance, 
 "but she s like I says, gents, their hosses was too handy, 
 an* ours was beat out. We got part of the gang, anyway, 
 an " 
 
 Johnny had heard enough. He pushed free of the crowd, 
 twitching Racey s sleeve as he passed him. 
 
 "Get em into the bar an keep em there," said Johnny, 
 when they were behind the kitchen lean-to. " I got a idea. 
 It s a bird. I m gonna get Julius." 
 
 "Wait a shake," begged Racey, greatly mystified by the 
 cryptic sentences. 
 
 But Johnny evaded the clutching hands and ran round 
 the corner. 
 
 "Talkin s dry work," suggested Racey in Chance s ear. 
 "Let s irrigate all of us." 
 
 Which was a large order, but as Racey intended making 
 Johnny foot the bill, what did he care for money? 
 
 Chance and his friends in the van, the crowd jostled 
 into the hotel and lined the bar four deep. Bottle-neck 
 clinked on tumbler-rim and there was merriment and 
 joy. 
 
 "Meet my friend, Mister Crail," said Chance Blaisdell, 
 indicating the hard-faced young man who had ridden the 
 black-tail dun. 
 
 Racey shook hands with this person and they drank 
 together. 
 
 "Dunno what we d have done without Sam Crail," 
 Chance averred loudly. "It was him done most o the 
 trailin ." 
 
 "It wasn t no trouble," deprecated Mr. Crail, and filled 
 his glass. 
 
298 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 Ten minutes later the hotel proprietor, carefully primed 
 by Johnny Ramsay, entered the barroom. 
 
 "Hey, Chance!" he called. "How long yuh gonna 
 leave them four remainders in the hot sun? They re too 
 near the kitchen, an the cook don t like it. You ll have to 
 move em." 
 
 "Fair enough," said Chance, and he and his four com 
 panions went out to the corral. Near the row of bodies, 
 tied to the bar of the gate a melancholy gray burro stood 
 and fanned his ears and tail at the flies. The burro was 
 packed as if in readiness for the trail. Under the diamond 
 hitch was thrust a pick and a long-handled shovel. Across 
 the top of the pack lay a bridle a beautifully hand-carved 
 split-ear with silver buckle and conchas. 
 
 At sight of the burro Chance s eyelids twitched and he 
 stumbled. Then he walked on and laid hold of dead Bale 
 Harper s shoulders. 
 
 "Take his feet, Jack," said Chance. 
 
 Jack stooped. Mr. Crail and the other two strangers 
 bent over the body of Keen. 
 
 "Just stay right there," said Johnny Ramsay. "An 9 
 don t move yore hands" 
 
 There was something in Johnny s tone that told them 
 he was not joking. The five turned their astonished heads 
 and stared into the muzzles of a large and varied assort 
 ment of firearms. At least four deadly weapons were 
 trained on Chance Blaisdell. None of the five men 
 budged. 
 
 "What yuh tryin to do!" cried Chance after an amazed 
 moment. 
 
 "I m doin it," said Johnny, removing Chance s gun, 
 while Laguerre and a few friends similarly served Chance s 
 comrades. 
 
A FAIR AND SUMMER MORNING 299 
 
 "I d shore like to know " began Mr. Crail. 
 
 "So would we lak to know," Laguerre said brutally. 
 "Let dat dead man down easy so. You come wit me." 
 
 Chance, Crail, Jack Murgatroyd and the other two men 
 did not cease to complain bitterly as they were all herded 
 into the Jacks Up Saloon and crowded into a corner under 
 guard. 
 
 "By Gawd!" exclaimed Chance, in a rage. "Whadda 
 you fellers tryin to do?" 
 
 "We just want to talk to yuh a li l bit," said Johnny 
 mildly, "an ask yuh a few questions. If yuh answer em 
 all free an plenteous yuh can go on yore way rejoicin ." 
 
 "When I do," averred Chance, "you won t go on yore 
 way rejoicin ." 
 
 "Maybe," nodded Johnny. "We oughta appoint a 
 jury an a judge." 
 
 "I ll be judge," said Dan Smith, the marshal. 
 
 But Soapy Ragsdale was the people s choice for that 
 office. Dan Smith did not even get on the jury. Much 
 disgusted, he remained to grumble at the proceedings. 
 
 "The court bein made up, we ll begin," Johnny said, 
 and dangled in front of Chance s eyes the bridle with the 
 silver conchas. "Chance," he continued, "djever see 
 this split-ear before?" 
 
 Chance hesitated. Then he said: 
 
 "Shore. I seen it. It was the bridle on the hoss of the 
 aid road agent I had to kill down there at Rocket. You 
 seen me down him when he was tryin to break away. I 
 s pose you took the bridle offen his dead hoss over south 
 o Cooley s. Shore it s his bridle." 
 
 As Chance spoke Harmer s finger-nails dug deep into 
 the palms of his hands. 
 
 "Djever see that burro before?" pursued Johnny. 
 
300 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "What burro?" 
 
 "That gray burro with the pack, tied to the corral bars." 
 
 "Never seen it before in my life." 
 
 " Shore o that?" 
 
 "Shore." 
 
 "Yet that burro is branded L H on the left hip, same as 
 that dead gray boss south of Cooley s was branded. An 
 you say you never seen the burro?" 
 
 "No, I tell you!" 
 
 "Then what made yuh wiggle yore eyes an stub yore 
 
 foot when yuh seen him, huh? Dunno? All right, 
 
 we ll let it go at that. Here s somethin else. Djuh re 
 member, Chance, how the old gent yuh downed that time 
 in Rocket, how he come runnin for Telescope an me 
 shoutin , I can tell an that s as far as he got, cause 
 you downed him. I wonder what it was he could tell, 
 Chance?" 
 
 "I dunno," said Chance defiantly. 
 
 Crail was scratching his head nonchalantly. The other 
 three looked uncomfortable. 
 
 "Yuh ll swear yuh found a busted Wells-Fargo package 
 with some money in her an one of Old Man Fane s buck 
 skin bags on this man you downed in Rocket?" 
 
 "Of course I do." 
 
 Johnny called Mr. Cooley. That gentleman testified 
 before the pop-eyed crowd that the man killed in Rocket, 
 as described by Johnny Ramsay, was, to the best of his 
 knowledge, none other than Tom Lander, a prospector 
 who had stayed off and on at his ranch, for a month. The 
 bridle Johnny had in his hand was the bridle of Lander s 
 gray horse. He had seen it often, had Mr. Cooley. On 
 the afternoon of the date of the Fane hold-up Lander had 
 been playing pedro with Mr. Cooley at the ranch-house. 
 
A FAIR AND SUMMER MORNING 301 
 
 The night of the Cutter robbery Tom Lander had slept 
 the night through at Cooley s. 
 
 "What s Tom Lander gotta do with me?" snarled 
 Chance. 
 
 Johnny took from his pocket a penknife. 
 
 "When I was ridin in from Cooley s me an* Cooley 
 stopped at Rocket," he said. "Naturally I asked Dave 
 Sinclair a few questions. It come out that it was Dave 
 an the marshal who buried the man you killed, Chance. 
 They searched him first, an* all they found was this pen 
 knife. Dave, he kep it. This is it. Mister Harmer, 
 have you ever seen this knife before?" 
 
 Mr. Harmer looked dully at the knife. 
 
 "It s my knife," he said quietly. "I lent her to Tom 
 Lander just before he rode away north." 
 
 "I seen it too," piped up Mr. Cooley. "I often seen 
 Tom Lander pick his teeth with that knife." 
 
 "I guess that s enough," Johnny said. "I knowed they 
 was somethin off when you downed that feller, Chance. 
 It was so damn unnecessary. He couldn t a got away. 
 But I never really was satisfied till I talked to Cooley. 
 Listen here, Chance. Wasn t you an three other men 
 sittin near them mountain ash trees south of Cooley s 
 dividin the proceeds of the Cutter deal, when along come 
 Tom Lander an surprised yuh ? You wasn t, huh ? An 
 I m shore you was cause we knowed by they bein no 
 tracks behind the dead gray that he was walkin when he 
 was downed. 
 
 "After takin Lander prisoner yuh went to Cooley s 
 for a pony for him. Cooley asked yuh to bring him past 
 the ranch so s his wife could see a real live road agent, but 
 yuh took good care not to go near no houses till yuh 
 reached Rocket. There yuh let him try to escape so s 
 
302 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 yuh d have an excuse to down him right in plain sight of a 
 lot o folks an get a name for doin yore duty. Ain t that 
 the how of it, Chance?" 
 
 "I was sleepin in Cutter the night o the hold-up, an* 
 I can prove it!" roared Chance. 
 
 "I know that," said Johnny. "I don t believe y ever 
 were in many o these robberies. Yuh sort o laid back 
 an* let some other fellah do the work. Yuh done things 
 like fake trailin an tollin the sheriff off on a wild trail 
 whenever somethin was goin to happen an yuh didn t 
 want him round. Yuh played foxy, Chance, but that 
 ain t sayin yuh wasn t near them mountain ashes 
 south o Cooley s when Lander s horse was downed. 
 Why didja let the burro get away, Chance? Yuh d oughta 
 downed him an buried his pack. Instead o that yuh 
 let him get away. An why didn t yuh bury the saddle 
 an bridle of that gray boss? Was yuh in a hurry, or 
 what?" 
 
 "Yuh can t prove nothin on me on us!" grated 
 Chance, his eyes glaring. 
 
 "I m gonna try," averred Johnny. "I m gonna work 
 this thing out from the beginnin . I want you to be sat 
 isfied, Chance." 
 
 "You go to !" blared the baited deputy. 
 
 Jack Murgatroyd looked his contempt of the fuming 
 Blaisdell. Crail yawned. Their two comrades shifted 
 from one foot to another and swapped tobacco for 
 matches. 
 
 "Crail," said Johnny, "does that mare you rode in on 
 belong to you?" 
 
 "Think I rustled her?" Crail sneered. 
 
 "I dunno. I m askin ." 
 
 "You can take it that she s mine." 
 
A FAIR AND SUMMER MORNING 303 
 
 "Owned her long?" 
 
 "Wouldn t yuh like her birth certificate an* where she 
 was born, an* the name of her pa and ma?" 
 
 "It would shore help," was Johnny s grave reply. "But 
 seein as yuh ain t likely to have all that information in 
 yore breast-pocket a answer to what I asked yuh will have 
 to do. Have yuh owned that mare long?" 
 
 "Three years." 
 
 "Where djuh get her?" 
 
 "Fort Worth. That cayuse is all the way from Texas, 
 an I wish she was back there with me on her back. By 
 Gawd, I never seen such a suspicious lot o badgers as 
 you gents, an I ve travelled a lot. Gimme the makin s, 
 Chance." 
 
 "Gents," said Johnny, turning to the jury, "one o the 
 three men that shot Old Man Fane an Bill Homan rode 
 a black-tail dun. Telescope an me found where these 
 three tied their bosses. By the hoofmarks, by black hairs 
 caught on the brush, by threads of rope stickin into the 
 bark of a tree, we made out that the black-tail was a ner 
 vous boss an pulled back when tied. Some time ago a 
 black-tail dun mare was sold by Black Bear, a Piegan on 
 the Fort Yardley reservation, to that red-headed jigger, 
 Barry Camp. 
 
 "This mare was a whizzer, kicked, bit, pulled the 
 whole layout. Bucked, of course. Four bosses had been 
 tied to the trees south o Cooley s where Tom Lander went 
 out. They was li l threads of manila ground in the bark 
 of one of them trees. Yuh remember what I told yuh 
 this mornin about Mose Peters an his black-tail dun mare 
 at Diamond. Gents, that mare there was a biter, a kicker, 
 an a puller. One o the eleven bosses belongin to the hold 
 ups had a black tail an was a puller, too. Gents, take a 
 
3 o 4 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 look out the window at the hitchin -rail in front of the 
 hotel." 
 
 Instantly the doorway and windows were crowded with 
 eager heads. Tied by the neck, not to the hitch ing-rail 
 proper, but to the much stronger anchorage of the middle 
 post, a dun mare alternately swayed back on her rope and 
 snapped her teeth at the empty air. This exercise she 
 varied by lashing out with both hind legs at any dog ap 
 proaching within five yards of her. Decidedly, that dun 
 mare was not a children s pet. 
 
 As the steel is drawn to the magnet, public attention 
 was drawn to the hard-faced gentleman known as Crail. 
 Public opinion voiced itself strongly. The younger set 
 clamoured for the rope. 
 
 " Gents, this has gotta be legal! * bawled Soapy Rags- 
 dale, and the solid citizens backed him up, arguing that 
 it was precisely these hasty, unthinking lynchings that 
 gave the West a bad name and retarded immigration. 
 Which was good logic, and made the hotheads pause. 
 
 "Y ain t proved nothin !" cried Chance, taking ad 
 vantage of the lull. 
 
 "Chance," said Johnny, "you an yore friends are 
 shorely foxy. Gotta give yuh credit. Which one of yuh 
 was it that thought of lettin Hen Riley slide out of the 
 Rocket calaboose on Bill Stahl s boss so that Bill would 
 chase him from hell to breakfast an get Jake Rule to help 
 him, thereby allowin the road agents to make a heap o J 
 trail north while the sheriffs was all busy some ers else? 
 That was one slick trick, that was. An J Murgatroyd 
 gettin Bill Stahl to let him go to Piegan to look up evi 
 dence against the road agents! 
 
 "Jack, I never suspected you till that night at Marys- 
 ville when yuh come bulgin into the judge s house an 
 
A FAIR AND SUMJMER MORNING 305 
 
 seen me there. It was one hot night, remember, an the 
 shades was all down, makin it hotter. An* you just sat 
 there an* sweated an* never asked why was the shades 
 pulled. Also I never heard yuh talk so much in my life. 
 Which wasn t natural, Jack." 
 
 "Say, gents," broke in Crail, "I ask you what has this 
 idjit proved? Hosses that pull back an* shades pulled 
 down! If you can stretch a man on stuff like that, a gent 
 won t dast to look sideways no more without bein sus 
 pected of murder!" 
 
 "I m doin my best," said Johnny, "an I ain t all 
 through neither. Listen, she was a forty sixty-five killed 
 Bill Homan, a forty sixty-five was used in the fight at 
 Farewell when Holloway was downed an SJim Berdan 
 nicked. They was a forty sixty-five at Harper s ranch. 
 Crail, they s a forty sixty-five under yore left fender. 
 Where did yuh buy the cartridges for that rifle? I asked 
 at more than one place, but nobody kept forty sixty-fives 
 
 in stock Now, now, don t tell me if yuh don t wanna. 
 
 It don t make no difference. I was just wonderin , thassall. 
 If Mister Mace would kindly get that rifle." 
 
 Mr. Mace kindly would and did. Johnny took the rifle 
 and held it level across his middle. 
 
 "Now " began Johnny. 
 
 "Hell s bells," interrupted Crail, "they s lots o forty 
 sixty-fives. Anybody could easy own one." 
 
 "Are yuh shore Skinny Devinney didn t own this rifle?" 
 said Johnny. "Are yuh shore yuh didn t change guns 
 with him after yuh killed him, on account of bustin yore 
 own or somethin ?" 
 
 Johnny looked hopefully at Crail, but Crail was not to 
 be caught by leading questions. He was too clever a bird 
 for that. 
 
306 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 "She s my own Winchester," he declared with an oath. 
 "Ask my friends here," he urged. 
 
 The four of them eagerly swore to the ownership. The 
 two strangers went further. They said they had seen 
 Crail buy the rifle down in the Panhandle. 
 
 "You ve had this rifle with yuh right along, then?" 
 said Johnny. 
 
 "Shore," Crail told him. 
 
 "All right. Gents, you hear what he says. Now you 
 listen hard. Telescope an I was at the Harper ranch one 
 day. They was a forty sixty-five there. I shot against 
 Skinny an Spill with it, an I managed to nick the loadin - 
 gate with my knife without them seein me so it scratched 
 the cartridge in two places when yuh put it in. I got the 
 idea from my own loadin -gate bein scratched when I first 
 came here an you all tried me for the murder of Fane an* 
 Homan. I throwed one o the empties under the bulge 
 of the foundation log of the ranch-house, another I kicked 
 under a bench by the door. Mister Harmer, will yuh take 
 them two spent shells out of yore pocket an tell the boys 
 where yuh got em." 
 
 Mr. Harmer did this. When his testimony was con 
 cluded the empties were stood on end on a chair seat, and 
 Johnny took from his pocket seven other spent shells and 
 aligned them with the first two. 
 
 "Gents," said he, "Mister Harmer seen me pick up 
 these seven shells near the express-car after the robbery 
 in the cut west o Diamond. They s a few cartridges 
 in this magazine by the heft. I ll just work em 
 out." 
 
 Rapidly he pumped the lever. Four cartridges whirled 
 over his shoulder and clattered on the floor. He picked 
 them up and placed them in a row behind the nine empties. 
 
A FAIR AND SUMMER MORNING 307 
 
 Grail s eyelids twitched. He was beginning to perceive 
 the true inwardness of Johnny s leading questions. 
 
 "I d like the jury to look at the scratches on them thir 
 teen pieces o brass," said Johnny Ramsay. 
 
 The gentlemen of the jury looked. They and Soapy 
 Ragsdale examined with great care the spent shells and 
 the live cartridges. Judge and jury went back to their 
 places. 
 
 "No use a-talkin , boys," said Soapy, addressing the 
 prisoners. "That forty sixty-five Winchester Johnny s 
 holdin was used in the Diamond hold-up. Do yuh still 
 swear she s Crail s Winchester?" 
 
 The five men made no reply. 
 
 "They was five men actually in that hold-up," continued 
 Soapy. "We know by what Johnny told us last night 
 that Camp, Devinney, Tom Keen, an the Harper boys 
 was only accessories. We know Chance an Jack Murga- 
 troyd was busy some ers else. That leaves a couple besides 
 you, Crail, an them two gents at the end. Who an where 
 is the missin pair? Won t tell, huh ? All right. Where s 
 Barry Camp? Dumb again, huh? Where s the money, 
 then?" 
 
 "Yo re so smart you ve found out so much," grunted 
 Chance, "s pose now you just find that money." 
 
 "Maybe we will, but you won t be alive when we do. 
 Chance, you an them other four gents are about the lowest 
 set o things that crawl. I d call yuh snakes, only I d 
 have to apologize every time I meet a reptyle. You an* 
 them four dead men outside was pardners. You downed 
 em so s yuh could have their share an somebody to lay 
 the blame on. You was bright-witted enough to know that 
 folks wasn t none likely to bust their necks askin where, 
 how, an whyfor when yuh told yore li l tale about these 
 
308 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 dead men bein* accessories before an after, so I guess yuh 
 was bright-witted enough to make it a full hand by rubbin* 
 out Camp an the missin pair. We hope so. 
 
 "We only wish yuh d brought em into camp along with 
 the rest. Was Camp an any o you fellers, Crail for in 
 stance, in the Farewell racket when Holloway was downed 
 an Slim Berdan nicked? Was yuh, huh? They was a 
 forty sixty-five in that riot, yuh know Can t say, huh? 
 All right, let it go at that. I guess some of yuh was there 
 all right, but after all, it don t really signify now. Look 
 here, how about Bill Stahl? Was he in cahoots with 
 you fellers? We lynched him on suspicion this mornin* 
 early." 
 
 "What did yuh hang him for?" cried Jack Murgatroyd. 
 "He didn t know nothin about nothin*. We used to 
 laugh. Foolin him was like foolin a baby. He was just 
 plain simple-minded, that feller. All the same, yuh 
 shouldn t a lynched him." 
 
 "We didn t," said the amazing Mr. Ragsdale. "We 
 kind o thought he was just a mark like you say, so we 
 locked him up in the calaboose till we could find out for 
 shore. We ve caught yuh in a heap of lies, but we ll take 
 it yo re tellin the truth about the sheriff seein as they 
 ain t a hoofmark to mix Bill into this. Carey, you got the 
 key. Might as well let Bill out. Chance, an you other 
 boys, here s a idea! We want to know where that money 
 is, an who the other gents are in this hold-up business. 
 I guess the boys will be willin to let one of yuh go free if 
 he ll tell us what we want to know. I ll get a pack of cards, 
 an yuh can cut for high card to win. Hey, barkeep, 
 where s a pack of cards?" 
 
 "Nemmine about no cards!" exclaimed Crail. "We ll 
 stand pat, I guess." 
 
A FAIR AND SUMMER MORNING 309 
 
 Four sullen, defiant faces corroborated Grail s pro 
 nouncement. 
 
 "You know best," Soapy said gently, and, with a nice 
 regard for the feelings of the condemned, leaned his head 
 close to Jim Mace s ear while he whispered behind his 
 hand, "Jim, will you slide out an collect five ropes? The 
 newest an stiffest, Jim. We ll be along in a minute." 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 GREEN AND GOLD 
 
 IDIDNT see Slay at the trial this mornin ," said Racey 
 Dawson to Johnny, as they sat on the reach of a 
 boxless freight-wagon in the cool of the evening. 
 
 "I seen him. He wasn t right up under the pulpit, but 
 he was there. At the lynchin too, he kind of stayed back 
 where it was cool." 
 
 "He oughta be down in them cottonwoods with the 
 other five," declared Racey. 
 
 "They ain t a thing against him. Nobody snitched on 
 him like I expected. What can yuh prove?" 
 
 "Nothin ," admitted Racey. " the luck! Chance 
 
 was gonna squeal when he was sittin there on the hoss un 
 der the limb with the rope round his neck. An* you had 
 to let Jack Murgatroyd start the hoss!" 
 
 "I ve told yuh forty times I was excited. Yuh make 
 me sick! What difference does one man make?" 
 
 "It makes a lot of difference," grumbled Racey. "You 
 was the one suspected him in the first place, an when 
 they s a good chance to get him you gotta spoil it. Y 
 oughta been more careful. Hell s bells, they s two thou 
 sand apiece on them gents! You must think money grows 
 out of the ground like grass." 
 
 "There yuh go again, talkin about money! Ain t 
 yuh never satisfied? Lookit all the money I earned for 
 
 310 
 
GREEN AND GOLD 311 
 
 you an* Telescope. You don t hear me bawlin my head 
 off cause I gotta divide with you two, do yuh?" 
 
 "Huh? Say, look The money you earned for Tele 
 scope an me! Which I shore admire yore nerve! The 
 money you earned! I guess now Telescope didn t do no 
 ridin* round an trailin an all, huh ? No, I guess he didn t! 
 An me, I didn t wrastle a lot o mules an hosses that tried 
 to bite me in the pants an pat my face with their hind feet 
 every chance they got, did I, just so s I could find out 
 things for yuh ! 
 
 "Oh, no, I didn t. Not a-tall. An* you got the gall 
 to say the money you earned for us. You wait till I tell 
 Telescope. You wait. You two gimme the Dutch rub 
 one time for not talkin half so loud. You see what hap 
 pens to you. You see. The money you earned well, 
 by Gawd, Johnny, the dictionary ain t got the words to 
 describe what I think o yuh." 
 
 "An* that s lucky for you, yuh flathead," Johnny de 
 clared tranquilly, " cause you might say somethin I 
 didn t like, an then what them jacks done to you won t 
 be a marker on what I d do to yuh." 
 
 "Oh, is that so?" cried the provoked Racey. "Now 
 ow wow! That s a new shirt!" 
 
 "I m a-goin away," Johnny told him, hurriedly with 
 drawing into the darkness. " Cause if I stayed first 
 thing yuh know you an me would be quarrelin What 
 yuh squallin about? I didn t tear yore shirt much." 
 
 Johnny dodged a hurled rock and fled. 
 
 He had fooled with Racey, but he did not feel in a fooling 
 mood. Life since his last conversation with Dorothy was 
 a serious affair. Soberly he went up to his room in the 
 hotel, lit the lamp, turned it low and sat down on the cot. 
 For the twentieth time he took from his pocket the small, 
 
312 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 square package with the obliterated address, that he had 
 picked up at the scene of the Diamond hold-up. For the 
 fifteenth time he opened the package and dribbled into his 
 open palm some of the coarse dust therein. 
 
 In order to see better he turned up the lamp, and his 
 elbow, brushing the top of the table, knocked to the floor 
 the heavy outer wrapping of the package. Stooping, and 
 retrieving the brown manila paper, he held it for a chance 
 instant between him and the light. 
 
 His eyes widened. The chance instant became a long 
 two minutes during which he continued to hold the paper 
 between him and the lamp. 
 
 "Of course I knowed it," he told himself as he put the 
 paper down, "but I wasn t shore, an anyway what good 
 does it do? If I only knowed where you come from/ 1 
 he added wistfully, eyeing the dust in the hollow of his 
 palm. 
 
 Idly and absent-mindedly he began to pour from one 
 hand to the other that tiny heap of coarse dust. In the 
 bright flame of the lamp the gold shone dully. Here and 
 there in it minute particles were tinged a lambent green. 
 Johnny had not previously remarked this greenish colour. 
 
 Quickly he poured back the dust into the package, wrap 
 ped it, tied it, and put it in his pocket. 
 
 "She s a chance," he said, "but maybe he can tell. 
 Funny I never thought o that before." 
 
 He blew out the lamp, and clattered down the stairs 
 to the bar-room and the street. 
 
 An hour later Johnny issued from the doorway of a house 
 not far from Soapy Ragsdale s store. In front of the store 
 he paused, built himself a cigarette, and looked down the 
 street where glowed the lighted windows of the Broken 
 Dollar. 
 
GREEN AND GOLD 313 
 
 "No sense in waitin ," he said to himself, and strode 
 briskly down the street. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace was not in her accustomed place behind 
 the roulette table when Johnny looked through the nearest 
 of the open windows. One of the faro dealers was spining 
 the wheel, and Slay, cold, immobile, a dead cigar up thrust 
 beneath his pointed nose, was watching the plays. 
 
 Johnny went down to the end of Main Street where his 
 view of the Slay residence on the river bank was not 
 blocked by the houses of the town. There was a light be 
 hind the drawn shades of the sitting-room. Johnny 
 walked across the street and turned into the path that led 
 to the house. 
 
 He stepped up on the porch and knocked on the door. 
 Almost instantly it opened, and Mrs. Wallace stood be 
 fore him. She was in evening dress. Her smooth shoul 
 ders gleamed satiny in the light of the lamp on the table 
 behind her. She smiled her quick bright smile when she 
 saw the visitor was Johnny. 
 
 "Come in," she said, and, when he had entered, closed 
 the door and indicated an armchair near the window. 
 
 "Take that chair," said she. "It s the same comfort 
 able one you sat in before." 
 
 Johnny sat, and found himself back to the door and fac 
 ing the light. The lady sat down sidewise on the couch. 
 Table and lamp were at her left. 
 
 "You ve been very remiss," chided Mrs. Wallace. 
 "You promised to come to see me the first time you 
 were in town, and this is the second time you ve been 
 in." 
 
 "I did come here the first time I was in town, but you 
 was out some ers. I couldn t wait. I had business. But 
 I m here now, an you can tell me what kind of trouble 
 
314 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 yo re in an* what yuh want me to do that is, if yuh still 
 want me to help yuh?" 
 
 "Why, of course I do Bless that lamp! It shines right 
 in my eyes." 
 
 She rose swiftly, moved the lamp from the centre of 
 the table to the end opposite Johnny, and went to one of 
 the windows and raised the lowered shade halfway to the 
 top. 
 
 "Pretty hot," said she. "We ll raise the shade a trifle 
 even if it does let in the insects. I wish I dared to raise 
 them all" 
 
 She sat down again with a pleasant rustle of silk and 
 clasped her hands round one of her knees. Her profile was 
 as much in the light as ever. 
 
 "Before yuh tell me anything" said Johnny, "I wanna 
 tell you somethin . They s five men hangin down in them 
 cottonwoods." 
 
 He paused, and her face paled the least bit. 
 
 "Yes," she murmured. "I I saw them." 
 
 "What yuh didn t see was how Chance Blaisdell was 
 gonna snitch an Jack Murgatroyd kicked the hoss Chance 
 was on, an the hoss started an swung Chance off. I had 
 hold of Jack at the time, an I could a stopped him, but 
 I let him go just long enough for him to kick the hoss." 
 
 "Why did you?" 
 
 "Why do yuh s pose? Who was Chance gonna snitch 
 on?" 
 
 "I m sure I don t know." 
 
 "Yes yuh do too. He was gonna squeal on yore brother, 
 an you know it." 
 
 "My brother! Why- 
 
 "Whatsa use playin innocent? I ve been shore from 
 the day Harry Slay brought me in to the Bend an tried 
 
GREEN AND GOLD 315 
 
 to have me hung that he was the head o this road agent 
 outfit. Findin Bill Homan s watch near the wagon slue 
 quicksand made it a cinch the gang s headquarters was 
 here in the Bend. Yeah, Bill Homan s watch, I said. 
 Harry sort o overthrowed for once or was it you? 
 Makes yuh wink, don t it? Now listen here, I lost one 
 good opportunity to dump Harry by lettin Jack start 
 Chance s hoss cause I wanted you to get clean away be 
 fore the dam broke. If it hadn t been for you here Blais- 
 dell could a talked his head off an welcome. I gave you 
 a chance at Piegan City. You could a drifted yoreself 
 then, an you could a taken yore brother with yuh. But 
 yuh couldn t see it that way. Yuh had to come back 
 with him. 
 
 "I m givin yuh one more chance. Go now. If yuh 
 don t yo re a heap liable to be squeezed between the cow 
 an the corral when Harry gets dumped. He s gonna get 
 dumped. Don t think he ain t. I ll see to that. Re 
 member what I told yuh about them Injun rustlers an* 
 the one hoss too many? This paymaster hold-up is that 
 one hoss. Now you do what I tell yuh hit the trail an 
 hit it quick. I expect yuh ll tell Harry what I said. 
 
 "Maybe it ll save a lot of trouble all round if yuh do. 
 Maybe he ll want the other way. Shootin it out always 
 does make a deal simpler. Suit yoreself. Anyway you ve 
 got the warnin . Honest, I don t wanna see anythin* 
 happen to you. Can t yuh see I don t when tellin you 
 means yore brother will have his chance, too?" 
 
 "You ve talked a lot, but you ve said hardly anything. 
 You suspect what does suspicion amount to? You can 
 prove absolutely nothing." 
 
 The words were sufficiently brave and her eyes were 
 steady as she vainly endeavoured to stare him down. But 
 
3 i6 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 her face was absolutely colourless. The little pulse in 
 her throat was throbbing frantically. 
 
 "I was hopin yuh d take my word for it an* git," he 
 told her. "Yuh want proof. I had to figure before on 
 some jigger snitchin for that proof, but now I got it my 
 own self. Here she is." 
 
 From the pocket of his chaps he produced a small square 
 package wrapped in thick brown manila paper. The eyes 
 of Mrs. Wallace dilated. She uttered a faint gasp. Johnny 
 held up the package. 
 
 "I picked this up under the express-car in the cut near 
 Diamond," said he. "The address was all smooched up 
 with dirt so s yuh couldn t read it. Last night I just hap 
 pened to hold the outside wrapper against the lamp-light. 
 Yuh could read the address quite plain then. I guess 
 when yuh addressed them eight li l packages to yoreself 
 care o the Sailors National in San Francisco, yuh never 
 expected they d go out on the same train that carried the 
 paymaster, now did yuh?" 
 
 "My brother will certainly kill you, Mister Ramsay. 
 Never doubt it. That package you hold in your hand is 
 mine and it is one of the eight. How does it or its contents 
 prove anything? I suppose I m stupid, but " 
 
 "No, you ain t stupid. That s the last thing you ever 
 will be. Yo re clever as forty foxes, but why yuh ain t 
 more mad is what I can t see. You d oughta be hollerin 
 an denyin* everythin ." 
 
 "A scene is low and ineffective. As I said, my brother 
 will kill you. I d like to, myself. About that proof " 
 
 "Shore. In this package, as yuh know better than I do, 
 they s gold dust. They s tiny speckles of green in this 
 dust. I took this dust about two hours ago to Aronson. 
 You know Aronson. He s one good assayer, an what he 
 
GREEN AND GOLD 317 
 
 dunno about mines well. Aronson says that this dust 
 comes from Old Man Fane s mine. Which that mine is 
 the only one within five hundred miles that has traces of 
 copper in the dust. Do yuh still say this package is yores ?" 
 
 Mrs. Wallace ran the tip of a pink tongue along the 
 edges of her lips. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" she asked with admirable 
 calm. 
 
 "Give you time to slope. Take yore brother with yuh 
 if yuh like. Whatever yuh decide will suit me. They s 
 a stage south to-morrow. I keep my mouth shut about 
 this package for three days. After that " 
 
 He left the sentence unfinished and returned the little 
 square package to his pocket. 
 
 "Now yuh know," he told her. 
 
 "Now I know," she said. "I know a great deal more 
 than I did. I wonder if you know something, too. I 
 wonder if you know why I asked you to come to see me 
 the first time you came to town." 
 
 "I was waitin for you to tell me." 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE CLAWS OF THE LEOPARD 
 
 THERE was a row of sofa-cushions ranged along 
 the back of the couch. She slid her hand under 
 the nearest, withdrew it quickly and in somewhat 
 less than the blink of an eye, a sawed-off, double-barreled 
 eight-gauge Greener lay across her knees, the twin muzzles 
 trained on Johnny s abdomen. Furthermore, both ham 
 mers were cocked and two white fingers hung on the trig 
 gers. 
 
 "Now I know why yuh didn t get mad," observed 
 Johnny, looking death in the eye, so to speak. "With 
 four aces like that in yore hand yuh could afford not to. 
 Tell yuh what, if that shotgun s loaded, an you keep on 
 a-fiddlin with them triggers they s gonna be one awful 
 mess in this armchair." 
 
 He grinned at her, but he was careful not to move his 
 hands from where they rested on the arms of the chair. 
 
 "You should have had better sense than to come spying 
 on us," said she. 
 
 "Yore sawed-off shore says so." 
 
 "Why couldn t you mind your own business? Why 
 did you have to come up here?" 
 
 "Somebody had to." 
 
 "You didn t have to be the somebody." 
 
 "Maybe not, but what yuh worryin about? I won t 
 be somebody after you ve pulled them triggers.* 
 
 318 
 
THE CLAWS OF THE LEOPARD 319 
 
 She contemplated him, her expression a mixture of 
 speculation and regret. 
 
 " I wish there were some means of arranging this thing," 
 she said. "I rather like you. You ve amused .me in a 
 way." 
 
 " In a way." 
 
 Johnny laughed quite heartily. And he had thought she 
 was in love with him. Had he been a Frenchman he 
 would have shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "But, of course," she went on, "we have to make sure." 
 
 "They s only one way to make shore." 
 
 "I know. I m sorry. It was very decent of you to 
 warn me and give me my chance. I do appreciate it. 
 Unfortunately I cannot show my appreciation." 
 
 By her manner she might have been declining a cup of 
 tea. 
 
 "You shore can make the old dictionary sit up, play 
 dead an roll over," he remarked admiringly. " But ain t 
 that Wells-Fargo cannon yo re a-dandlin* across yore knees 
 kind o heavy? Why don t yuh use a derringer?" 
 
 What a foolish question to ask with death a breath away. 
 He wondered what death would be like. Once, long ago, 
 he had seen an Indian killed by a shotgun fired at close 
 range. The charge had blown out half the redskin s 
 ribs. Somehow, it seemed to Johnny that he was not 
 actually a participant in the grim situation staged by Mrs. 
 Wallace. 
 
 This person in the armchair simply could not be Johnny 
 Ramsay. The scene was too unreal. It was like a dream, 
 a peculiarly disagreeable nightmare. He would wake 
 up in a moment and find himself crosswise on his bed, 
 fighting the pillow, with Laguerre desiring profanely to 
 know why he couldn t let other folks sleep. 
 
320 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 He repeated his question regarding the derringer. 1 
 
 "Better not talk," she advised. 
 
 At which Johnny was provoked to irritation. 
 
 "You ve shore got a nerve!" he cried. "Can t yuh let 
 a man talk? Why don t yuh pull the trigger? What 
 yuh waitin for?" 
 
 "I m waiting for Harry. When he comes home he ll 
 do what s necessary. I m just keeping you here till he 
 comes. He should be here almost any time." 
 
 "Oh, he should, huh? I was wonderin why yuh 
 moved the lamp an raised the shade. If Harry walks 
 down to the end of Main Street he can see the signal plain 
 as yuh please. That s shore one nice trick to work on a 
 orphan child like me." 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 "You ll both be lynched," declared Johnny. 
 
 "Oh, no, that s all fixed. Harry ll simply say he came 
 home and found me struggling in your arms, and I ll swear 
 to it." 
 
 " Strugglin in yore arms sounds like a book. I read 
 that some ers. Maybe they won t believe yuh." 
 
 "Yes, they will. I ll tear my dress and scratch my arms 
 so everything will look natural. We ll be believed. Don t 
 worry." 
 
 "I ain t much. It don t seem necessary somehow. 
 Yuh think of everything don t yuh ? Wiser n forty owls, 
 yuh bet yuh. An I let you come honeyfugglin round 
 me an pile on the sawder a foot thick! But yuh didn t 
 find out much till I chose to let yuh, did yuh?" 
 
 "I didn t find out a thing till I caught you in Damson 
 watching Harper and and the others, when you should 
 have been hunting the Flying M strays. Then I knew 
 what you had come to the Bend for, But Harry suspected 
 
THE CLAWS OF THE LEOPARD 321 
 
 you from the very first. He d have finished you before 
 this, but I couldn t let him till I was sure." 
 
 No saleswoman selling notions could have been more 
 painfully matter-of-fact than Mrs. Wallace as she talked 
 so fluently of eliminating a human being. The pungent 
 humour of it suddenly struck johnny full force. He 
 laughed till the tears came. 
 
 "Scotty was right," he said, when he could speak. 
 "He told me yuh was prettier than a li l red wagon, but 
 always yuh reminded him of a leopard. I never under 
 stood what he meant. It s shore a stand-ofFwho gets the 
 credit though you or the leopard." 
 
 She began to tap the floor with an impatient toe. 
 
 "What s the hurry?" he jibed. "Don t grudge me 
 the last few minutes, do yuh? Well, I seen yore click- 
 clackin away an I though yuh was gettin nervous. Say, 
 look here, Mrs. Wallace, djuh remember one evenin goin* 
 out back o the Broken Dollar, climbin into a empty 
 freight-wagon, an cryin . My Gawd, "what a life! was 
 what yuh said a couple o times. I was right close an 
 heard yuh. Now yuh wouldn t a bawled an said that 
 if yuh enjoyed stayin with Harry Slay. Whatsa use of 
 stickin by him. He don t treat yuh right. Some day 
 he ll hit yuh again like he did out near the sidetracks in 
 Piegan City. 
 
 "Yo re a-figurin* on quittin some day. I heard yuh 
 say yuh would. Besides, if you wasn t figurin thataway 
 why did yuh take the trouble of packin yore share of the 
 stuff* that was stole clear to Piegan City? You done it 
 so s yore brother wouldn t be likely to find out where yuh 
 sent it. He d a stopped yuh if he could. You know it. 
 Yo re aimin to have a nice li l stake all ready waitin in 
 the Sailors National when you get ready to pull yore 
 
322 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 freight. An you don t wanna divide it with any*one either. 
 Shore. Ain t I right?" 
 
 "If it does you any good you are." 
 
 "Well, then, why wait? You slide out now, an I ll help 
 yuh get away. Remember them Injun rustlers an* the 
 last hoss. The cards ll turn that way for you. They 
 always do if yuh play long enough. They gotta. Now " 
 
 "Please stop talking. It s useless. I advise you to 
 think of something else." 
 
 Her voice was cold. Her face was as hard and expres 
 sionless as that of a graven image. Johnny watched her 
 intently, his muscles tense to take advantage of the 
 slightest waver in her eyes, of the least deflection of the 
 Greener s barrels. But there was no waver and no 
 deflection. 
 
 Johnny s ears were alert to catch the sound of footsteps 
 on the path or on the porch, and the squeak of an opening 
 door. Perhaps Slay would elect to shoot him through 
 the window. In that case. . . . 
 
 Johnny s eyebrows drew together in a scowl. His sar 
 donic gray eyes turned sullen. What a failure he had 
 made of the affair. True, he had ferreted out oddments 
 of evidence in one place and another, but they did not 
 piece together into a harmonious whole. There were bits 
 that he had hoped to work out, and now he would never 
 work them out. His own impending demise troubled 
 him less than the thought that the gambler, his saddlebags 
 and cantenas stuffed with other men s money, would 
 go on his way rejoicing and doubtless marry Dorothy 
 Burr. The hair on the back of his neck began to 
 rise. 
 
 "Don t try to hitch your chair round!" The words 
 of caution came sharp and clear. 
 
THE CLAWS OF THE LEOPARD 323 
 
 The fingers poised on the triggers stiffened. 
 
 "Me!" exclaimed Johnny. "Me hitch my chair 
 round! Yo re crazy. My leg s asleep, that s all." 
 
 "Don t try to wake it up." 
 
 Ensued a period of silence while a man might draw ten 
 slow full-lunged breaths. Then, without a preliminary 
 sound from the porch, the door gave a gentle creak. The 
 face of Mrs. Wallace altered subtly. For the merest frac 
 tion of a second her eyes flickered toward the doorway. 
 Johnny needed no further encouragement. He hurled 
 himself out of the chair, dodged sidewise, and struck up 
 the barrels of the shotgun. 
 
 BANG-G-G! The Greener roared like a cannon in that 
 confined space. With the flash of the gun Johnny was 
 crouching down and forward, his gun was out, and he was 
 shooting at two hazy figures blocking the doorway two 
 figures whose spitting six-shooters blazed redly through 
 the swirling smoke. There had been a third man, but 
 the shotgun had called him, and now he sprawled face 
 downward on the floor. 
 
 When Johnny s gun was empty so was the doorway. 
 Of the two men formerly occupying the space one lay upon 
 the floor, kicking and jerking, a bloody froth bubbling 
 at his lips. The other, gunless, hatless, the breast of his 
 shirt heavy with a crimson sogginess, leaned against the 
 wall and clutched his middle with both hands. Even 
 as Johnny looked the long legs gave at the knees, the body 
 crumpled to the floor, jackknifed as in a cramp, then 
 straightened and lay still. So passed out Barry Camp, 
 well and unfavourably known to Johnny and his friends as 
 the Red-head. 
 
 In the pressing excitement of the moment Johnny had 
 forgotten Mrs. Wallace. He whirled to face her and saw 
 
324 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 her, a tumbled heap of silken draperies and soft white flesh, 
 huddled across the couch. His first thought was that she 
 had stopped a bullet. Searching eyes and fingers dis 
 covered no mark of one. She had simply fainted. 
 
 Johnny reloaded his six-shooter, lowered the hammer on 
 an empty chamber, slid the weapon into its holster and 
 crossed to the other side of the room. The citizen who 
 had taken his death-wound so hardly, the first to fall of 
 the two with whom Johnny had joined issue, lay twisted 
 and motionless, his head on the doorsill. Johnny looked 
 at the face with its slack-jawed, bloody mouth and glazing 
 eyes. He did not know the man. 
 
 His gaze passed over the body of Barry Camp and rested 
 on that of the man who had received the Greener s double 
 charge. Johnny heaved the corpse over on its back and 
 stared into the stiff countenance of Harry Slay. Appar 
 ently not a buckshot had missed the gambler. The right 
 side of the throat was torn, shredded and pulped. The 
 right arm, ripped off at the shoulder, lay three yards away, 
 the fingers clenched on the butt of a discharged derringer. 
 There was a welter of blood about. It was seeping into 
 the cracks between the floor-boards. 
 
 Johnny went out on the porch, propped himself on a 
 chairback and was frankly sick at his stomach. The 
 paroxysm past, he went in to Mrs. Wallace. She had not 
 yet come to. Johnny sat down to wait. 
 
 While he waited he became aware of a faint sound, a 
 sound that brought back with a rush the days of his boy 
 hood when he had lived in a house with a cellar. But 
 this house had no cellar. There was not a cellar in Sunset 
 County, or Fort Creek either, for that matter. Yet the 
 sound continued, the sound of water leaking down into 
 a cellar. Then, quite suddenly, Johnny understood. It 
 
THE CLAWS OF THE LEOPARD 325 
 
 was not water that was dripping so regularly, nor was it a 
 regular cellar. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace stirred, moaned, and put a groping hand 
 to her head. Johnny went to her quickly. The dark 
 eyes opened slowly, painfully, and the woman looked up 
 stupidly into Johnny s face. He stepped back. She 
 raised herself on an elbow. She caught sight of what lay 
 beyond the table. 
 
 "Dead?" she whispered in a dry voice. "Dead?" 
 
 Johnny nodded. He wondered that she should sud 
 denly look so old. Her eyes wide, staring at the silent 
 dead, she dragged herself to a sitting position. She 
 swayed uncertainly to her feet and stumbled round the 
 table. Clinging for support to the edge of the door, she 
 looked down at the body of the red-head lying at her feet. 
 Then slowly she sank to her knees and with an utterly 
 inadequate handkerchief strove to wipe the dust and dirt 
 from the still face. 
 
 Johnny stooped beside her and very gently took hold 
 of her arm. 
 
 "This this ain t yore brother," he told her. "He s 
 yonder. You come along with me now till we can fix 
 things up so they re fit to look at. Come along, Mis 
 Wallace. This ain t yore brother," he repeated, as she 
 made no movement to obey. 
 
 She raised a gray face. 
 
 "I know he isn t my brother," she said. "He s my 
 husband my Dave. Oh, Dave! Dave!" 
 
 As if the name had been the lever to the floodgate of 
 pent emotion she burst into a storm of wild sobbing. 
 
 Her husband! Johnny retreated to the far side of the 
 room and rubbed an amazed forehead. The evening 
 had been sufficiently crammed with surprises, but this 
 
326 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 rather capped the climax. But Johnny s was a snap and 
 faulty judgment. The climax was not yet. 
 
 In the red-head s belt a long bowie lay snug in its sheath. 
 Mrs. Wallace raised a tear-stained face. A lock of hair 
 twisted down across her forehead. She put up a hand and 
 pushed the lock back into place. Her eyes were fixed and 
 staring. Her right hand, groping along the red-head s 
 belt, rested an instant on the hilt of the bowie. Then 
 she jerked out the long knife and jammed the point against 
 her body under the left breast. 
 
 Johnny could move swiftly on occasion. And now he 
 moved very swiftly. But he was not swift enough. Her 
 two hands steadying hilt and blade, Mrs. Wallace fell 
 forward on the steel. 
 
 When Johnny picked her up and laid her on the sofa 
 she was dead. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 THE END THEREOF 
 
 TALK about luck!" cried Soapy Ragsdale for the 
 tenth time. "If them fellers hadn t bled like stuck 
 pigs an* run down into that cache of a cellar nobody 
 would ever thought of lookin under the floor. You d 
 oughta been there, Jim. All the paymaster s money, 
 nearly all of Old Man Fane s dust an the money stole from 
 Cutter, besides a raft of gold slugs an dust rustled Gawd 
 knows where. My eyes stuck out a foot when me an 
 Johnny pried up them boards an seen it all. Bet yuh 
 they s two hundred thousand there when Aronson gets 
 through weighin her all." 
 
 "Shouldn t be surprised," Mace nodded. "That outfit 
 shore didn t do a thing while they lasted." 
 
 "The Greener shore didn t do a thing to Slay," contri 
 buted Mr. Cooley, stroking his whiskers. 
 
 "When yuh come to think of it, Johnny s atomizer 
 sort o put a crimp in them other two boys," said Scotty 
 Mackenzie. "Gents, they was three holes in the red 
 head two in his stummick, an one just over his heart, 
 an 7 the other feller had one hole in his lung an another 
 right through his face the longest way. Pretty shootin 
 lemme tell yuh, pretty shootin ." 
 
 "Wonder who that other feller was," puzzled Racey 
 Dawson. 
 
 "He s one o them two besides the red-head we didn t 
 
 327 
 
328 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 account for at the trial," said Mr. Ragsdale. "Now they s 
 only one missin . Only one li l outlaw runnin round 
 loose an* promiscuous." 
 
 "We d oughta got him too," mourned Mr. Cooley. 
 
 "Yuh can t expect everythin not in this world," 
 emphasized Mr. Mace. "What gets me is why Mis 
 Wallace killed herself. She didn t have no call to do 
 it." 
 
 "Guess findin out what her brother was sort of throwed 
 her. He was shore slick to keep it from her if he did 
 keep it from her." Scotty Mackenzie cocked a shrewd 
 eye at his friends. 
 
 "Shore he did," defended Jim Mace warmly. "She 
 didn t have no hand in the business. Johnny said so, an* 
 we all know " 
 
 "Aw, have it yore own way," interrupted Scotty. "I ll 
 own up I never thought Slay was in the gang, but leopards 
 is a harp with another tune entirely. Yessir, now I know 
 the inside of the deal the more I m shore I don t like 
 leopards none." 
 
 "What s leopards gotta do with it?" asked Carey. 
 
 "A lot," grinned Scotty, "only yuh wouldn t understand 
 if I told yuh. Where s Johnny ? " 
 
 "Down by the Dogsoldier skippin* stones when he 
 ain t bawlin out his friends," grumbled Racey Dawson, 
 who, by his manner, knew painfully whereof he spoke. 
 
 "Whatsa matter with him?" asked Scotty. "Ain t 
 he pleased?" 
 
 "Pleased, nothin ! An I dunno what s the matter 
 with him. I located him down there behind the tamaracks 
 by the big rock, an he s squattin on his heels skippin* 
 li l flat stones across the river. A good night s work, 
 Johnny/ says I, an he grunts at me like a pig. So I seen 
 
THE END THEREOF 329 
 
 he needs cheerin up, an I cracked him on the back an 
 told him how Telescope an* me s been figurin up an* his 
 share o the reward is near five thousand five hundred 
 dollars. It ain t worth it, says he, kind of dreary like. 
 Djuh want it all? I screeched at him, an he cusses an 
 I cusses, an after I d clumb out o the water I come away 
 an left him. Which Johnny s too playful to-day to suit 
 yores truly." 
 
 "I was wonderin how yuh got wet," chuckled Ragsdale, 
 winking at the others. 
 
 " S funny how Johnny come to use the Greener," 
 Racey, with a very red face, said abruptly. "Yuh would 
 n t think he d have time to handle both a shotgun an a 
 six-shooter against them three fellers." 
 
 "He says himself everythin happened so quick an sud 
 den he don t really know how he done it," explained Mr. 
 Cooley. "It s likely to be that way sometimes. A 
 gent ll do things an he dunno how he does em. Curious, 
 that is, ain t it?" 
 
 On the top of a wooded knoll north of Paradise Bend a 
 man sat nursing his knees and a worry. 
 
 "Dave an Lefty shore oughta be back before this," 
 he told himself, and got up and began to walk back and 
 forth. "My Gawd yes. Twelve hours they been gone 
 on a two-hour job." 
 
 He began to swear and scuff his boot-toes through the 
 pine-needles. He was a long-jawed citizen, this man, 
 with light blue eyes and hair the colour of old rope. His 
 cheeks and chin were covered with a nine-days growth 
 of stubble. He was not at all a prepossessing person, and 
 his age was a scant thirty years. 
 
 "Fool trick lettin Slay keep the money an dust," he 
 
330 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 grunted. "Bet I ll never see my share of it. Bet some- 
 thin happened." 
 
 Tied to the trunks of near-by pines were three horses. 
 One of these horses was the red-head s blue. 
 
 " !" suddenly exclaimed the long-jawed man. "I 
 
 ain t a-goin to take root here, that s a cinch." 
 
 He zigzagged down the slope of the knoll and began to 
 walk through the woods in the direction of Paradise Bend. 
 From a side-pocket of his coat he took a pair of field-glasses 
 and began to wipe them with a none-too-clean handker 
 chief. 
 
 Within the hour he returned more speedily than he went. 
 
 "Four new-laid graves/ he kept repeating between his 
 teeth. "Four new-laid graves. An they was a crowd 
 on the front porch an a feller with scales, an he was 
 
 a-weighin dust an slugs to beat Two hundred an* 
 
 fifty thousand! Might a knowed they d look under the 
 floor." 
 
 Steadily swearing, he went directly to the three horses 
 and stripped the saddles and bridles from two of them. 
 
 "There now," said he, "I guess you won t be needed no 
 more. Let her flicker." 
 
 He slapped his quirt across the rump of one. They 
 both fled with whisking tails. The man then loosed and 
 mounted the red-head s blue. 
 
 " S funny," said he, as he rode away into the woods, 
 " I always wanted to swap cayuse an boot for you, hoss, 
 an Dave Yule just never would trade, said he had a hard 
 enough job swappin that black-tail dun with Sam for 
 yuh. I told Crail he was a idjit to swap. Yo re twice 
 the hoss that yaller killdevil ever will be. S funny, all 
 right. She ll be funnier when you an* me come back, 
 hoss. Yessir, you an me are a-goin to make Paradise 
 
THE END THEREOF 331 
 
 Bend sit up on her hind legs an* play tunes before we re 
 through. Nobody can get my share away from me an 
 not pay for it, nawsir, they can t. What s that piece 
 about the mills o Gawd grind slowly but they git there in 
 the end? That s me. I m one o them mills. I git there 
 in the end." 
 
 But how he got there has nothing to do with the story. 
 
 Johnny, alternating the skipping of stones with the 
 smoking of many cigarettes, ceased not to wallow in the 
 swamp of despair. He wanted Dorothy Burr, and wanted 
 her so much that it hurt. He knew that he might as well 
 wish for the moon. Dorothy s refusal of him had been 
 too definite. There was no getting around that. 
 
 And Racey Dawson, the deluded imbecile, trying to 
 hearten him up with the news that almost fifty-five hun 
 dred was due him. What did he care for fifty-five hun 
 dred? Damn the money! Damn Racey! Damn every 
 body! He just guessed he d go back to the Cross-in-a-box, 
 he would. This travelling round wasn t what it was 
 cracked up to be, not by a jugful. 
 
 Johnny stuck disgusted hands into his pockets and 
 walked morosely back to the hotel. He paid his bill and 
 went into the barroom for his saddle and bridle. Neither 
 was there. 
 
 "Must a left em out to the corral," said Johnny, and 
 went there. 
 
 But the saddle and the bridle were not at the corral, 
 nor was Johnny s horse within the stockade. Greatly 
 perturbed, Johnny returned to the barroom and spoke to 
 the bartender. 
 
 "Why shore," said the bartender, "Buster Ragsdale 
 took yore saddle an bridle about an hour ago. Said they 
 
332 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 was wanted, so I thought it was all right an let him take 
 em Huh? No, he didn t say nothin about yore hoss." 
 
 Johnny hurried to the Chicago Store. But Buster was 
 not there, nor had his mother seen him since breakfast. 
 Johnny went out into the street and made inquiries. The 
 third man he met told him that he had seen Buster Rags- 
 dale putting Johnny s horse into the Burr corral. 
 
 Johnny worriedly pushed back his hat and whistled. 
 His horse in the Burr corral, and the previous night he had 
 taken on his own shoulders the burden of Slay s death! 
 His quixotic chivalry toward a dead woman was apt to 
 cost him dearly. He could not get his horse out and away 
 unobserved. And what would Dorothy say? More than 
 he would care to hear, probably. As has been said, Johnny 
 was not conversant with the mental processes of a woman. 
 He was still the small boy fearful of the rod and the lashing 
 tongue. 
 
 Hugely uncomfortable, heartily cursing the day he left 
 home, Johnny made his perspiring way to the Burr corral. 
 
 "The fool kid!" muttered the exasperated Johnny. 
 "That s shore one fine trick to play on me!" 
 
 Stealthily he approached the corral from the rear and 
 looked through the stockade. There was his horse, right 
 enough, touching noses with one of the Burr mares. The 
 horse was not saddled. The bars of the gate faced the 
 kitchen door. 
 
 "Oh well," said Johnny, or words to that effect, and he 
 hitched up his chaps and went to face the worst. 
 
 The kitchen door was shut. Johnny, his soul a-squirm 
 with apprehension, knocked with lax knuckles on the 
 door. For a breathless moment there was no sound 
 within. Perhaps they had all gone out. A long breath 
 of relief parted Johnny s lips. Vain hope. The door 
 
THE END THEREOF 333 
 
 opened, and Mrs. Burr appeared, her angular face beam 
 ing. Johnny Ramsay did not see the smile. He saw the 
 herald of the executioner and quite plainly too. 
 
 "Go right in," invited Mrs. Burr, stepping over the 
 door-sill. "I m a-goin down street a while. You you 
 go in." 
 
 She gave his arm a pat and a shove. Johnny found 
 himself inside the kitchen. The door closed at his back. 
 There was nobody else in the kitchen. In a corner lay 
 his saddle, his bridle snaked across the seat. Johnny took 
 one quick step forward and stopped. 
 
 Framed in the doorway giving into the other part of the 
 house stood Dorothy Burr. Her hands were clasped be 
 hind her back. She looked at him coolly. Johnny s 
 knees shook a little. He was scared to death. 
 
 "I I cue-come for my saddle," stuttered Johnny 
 Ramsay. 
 
 "Did you?" Dorothy said composedly. 
 
 She came into the room and stood in front of him and 
 looked him steadily in the eye. Johnny gulped. He was 
 suffering the tortures of a lost soul. He strove to return 
 stare for stare. He couldn t. With a mental jerk he 
 became conscious that Dorothy was speaking. 
 
 "How do you suppose your horse and saddle got here?" 
 she asked, patiently repeating her question a second time., 
 
 "I I dunno Buster brought em." 
 
 "I told him to." 
 
 "You told him to!" 
 
 She nodded, and for the first time since the interview 
 began her eyes wavered. But they came bravely back 
 to meet his. 
 
 "I I wanted to see you before you went away, and 
 and I wanted to make sure I would see you." 
 
334 HIDDEN TRAILS 
 
 It was coming now. In about ten seconds she would 
 begin telling him what she thought of him. 
 
 "Well, yo re seein me." 
 
 Behind her back her hands twisted together. Her 
 round chin quivered. 
 
 "You said something to me once. I I wanted to hear 
 you say it again." 
 
 But he didn t say it again. Instead he took her in his 
 arms and kissed her hard several times. 
 
 "Let me breathe just once dear," she said in a 
 muffled voice. 
 
 "Plenty o time for that later," he told her, and kissed 
 her again. 
 
 At this juncture Mrs. Burr peered in at a convenient 
 window. 
 
 "My fathers!" she whispered ecstatically and wiped 
 her misting eyes. "Ain t that just too nice for anythin ! 
 I remember when Benjamin used to hug me thataway. 
 Johnny s a real good boy," she added, and sat down on 
 the chopping-block to wait. 
 
 Inside the house Johnny and Dorothy were occupying 
 one chair. It was not a large chair, but they managed. 
 
 "I thought yuh liked " began Johnny, and left the 
 
 sentence unfinished. 
 
 The arm round his neck tightened. 
 
 "I did like him in a way," said Dorothy soberly. 
 "He was good company and all that, and he was nice to 
 me, and nice men are scarce in the Bend." 
 
 "Yuh rode with him a lot." But he pressed his lips 
 to her hair at the end of the sentence. 
 
 " Before you came I did it to amuse myself. After you 
 came I did it to stir you up, and you wouldn t stir for the 
 longest time. Why didn t you?" 
 
THE END THEREOF 335 
 
 "I did. Yuh know I did, an* yuh turned me down 
 cold." 
 
 She stirred in his arms, her cheek snuggled against his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, that," said she, tranquilly, "was your fault." 
 
 "My fault!" Surprisedly. 
 
 "Certainly, silly. I had it all planned out just how you 
 were going to propose and everything. It was to be in the 
 moonlight when I had on my best silk and a big bow in my 
 hair and you were to get down on your knees when you 
 asked me to marry you. Instead of that you came busting 
 into the kitchen when I was getting supper and laid down 
 the law in your loudest bellow. You didn t even ask me 
 whether I wanted to marry you or not, you just took 
 everything for granted and said I had to. You spoiled 
 all my nice plan and you made me good and mad, and after 
 you d gone I cried, and I didn t eat any supper, and I cried 
 some more." 
 
 "An yuh wanted to marry me all the time?" said 
 Johnny in amazement. "Even when yuh was tellin 
 me to drift?" 
 
 "Of course, you simple thing. Don t you see " 
 
 "Never mind," he interrupted hastily. "It don t 
 signify now, does it?" 
 
 "No," said Miss Burr comfortably, "of course not." 
 
 THE END 
 
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