Authors: Zane Grey
"Funny he didn't complain to me. I've seen something of hi
m
lately."
"Ide's not thet kind, Judge," replied Day, warmly. "He's as gam
e
as they come. An' his sister--say, she's a thoroughbred. Sh
e
stands to lose 'most as much as Ide."
The two men, warming to the subject, might have been alone for al
l
the notice they took of Texas Jack. He leaned far over the porc
h
rail, his face hidden, his long lithe form strung like a whipcord.
It was the strained position of a listening deer.
"Tom, I admire Miss Ide very much indeed, and her brother, too,"
r
esponded the judge. "I regret exceedingly the reception Arizon
a
has given these two fine young people. I am ashamed. We all ough
t
to be ashamed. We must end this damned wholesale cattle-stealing."
"Ahuh! . . . Boss, I reckon I feel it more than you, as I've com
e
to be friends with the Ides. Why, he paid Burridge's debt to me.
Four thousand! An' then I'm a son-of-gun if he didn't send fo
r
Elam Hatt an' pay the lien he had on Burridge. Don't know ho
w
much. But the Hatts were drunk fer a week."
"Well!" ejaculated Franklidge.
"Every since then the rustlers have been bolder than I ever see
n
them yet in Arizonie."
"Who are these rustlers, Tom?"
"Huh! If I said what I think it'd be old to you. But I recko
n
there is a new leader workin' now. Shore they're all workin'. Bu
t
there's some big chief who's keen as a wolf."
"Where are these stolen cattle driven?" asked the judge
,
wonderingly. "I've been twenty years in this business. Yet thi
s
beats me."
"Reckon the stock gets drove everywhere," replied Day.
"Not to the railroad?" queried Franklidge, aghast.
"Shore to the railroad. Not to Winthrop. But, man, there's othe
r
stations along the line. Then I had a Mexican sheepherder tell m
e
he'd seen herds of cattle drove over the Rim, down into the Tonto.
Thet's a wild country. Shore no cow outfits are followin' rustler
s
down into the Tonto."
"Tom, the Hatts are a bad outfit," rejoined the Judge, thoughtfully.
"Some years ago I had trouble with Elam Hatt. The Stillwells ar
e
another. Surely these backwoodsmen run with these rustler outfits."
"Shore they do," snorted Day. "But I reckon the Hatts ain't th
e
ringleaders. Cedar Hatt is the wust of thet bad lot. He'
s
dangerous. Bad hombre with guns! Ever' once in a while I heah o
f
some shootin' scrape he's been in out there, among his own kind.
The Mexican herders are afraid of Cedar. But they're close-
m
outhed. In the years I've lived heah I've known of severa
l
sheepherders bein' murdered."
"Cedar Hatt?" mused the Judge. "Yes, I know of him. Bad name; gun-
f
ighter. . . . How many Hatts in the family?"
"I know the whole outfit," replied Day. "Elam an' me always go
t
along pretty good. But I've no use fer Cedar. He's the eldes
t
son. Then there's Henny an' Tobe--packrats if I ever seen any i
n
the woods. An' last there's a girl--Rose. Reckon she'll be aboo
t
sixteen. Pretty slip of a lass, whose mother died when she was
a
baby."
"What a pity! No mother. No decent home. No schooling. Ther
e
are many such unfortunate girls in this wild country, alas! Wh
y
don't some cowboys take this Rose away and marry her? She migh
t
turn out a good woman."
"Shore she might. An' so I've said often. But I ain't hit on an
y
cowboy yet who cared to risk his skin down there in the brakes."
"What has Ide done in regard to the raids on his stock?" asked th
e
judge, curiously.
"Aboot all any man could," replied Day, admiringly. "He has spen
t
a lot of money hiring extra hands to trail stock. He took ove
r
this Dillon at a high salary. An' I reckon he puts a good deal o
f
confidence in Dillon. Funny about Ben Ide, though. He gets sor
e
when the rustlers make a raid. But he really don't care a dam
n
aboot the cattle. He's shore afraid fer his horses, though
,
specially thet California Red. There's a grand hoss, Judge. I'l
l
bet if the rustlers got thet stallion Ben Ide would hit the trai
l
himself. Strikes me he's seen some wild life. He shore is
a
rider. Strange, wonderful sort of chap Ben Ide is. I'm jus
t
gettin' acquainted with him. He always struck me as a ranche
r
whose heart wasn't in his ranch. There's somethin' he wants. Bu
t
he worships his wife an' kid an' thet handsome sister. It ain'
t
thet. I cain't explain what I don't savvy. But I've a hunch youn
g
Ide has been hurt. Mebbe he killed some one over in California an'
h
ad to get out. I've often wondered if thet could be it. Then i
t
might be he's LOOKIN' fer some man. Like a Texan, you know, wh
o
never FORGOT."
Before the judge could reply to Day's earnest statement the cowboy
,
Texas Jack, whirled round with a silent wrestling violence tha
t
indicated a suppressed and poignant passion. Under the shadow o
f
his broad sombrero his eyes gleamed like clear coals of fire.
"I'm--heahin'--all--you say!" he burst out, pantingly.
"Suppose you are, Jack?" queried the judge, in kindly surprise.
"If I'd minded about being overheard I'd have sent you away."
Tom Day stared, and it was evident he was not so surprised a
s
expectant. He had lived with cowboys all his life.
"Wal, what the hell ails you, son?" he growled.
Jack whirled away in the same sudden violent action with which h
e
had faced them, only now it seemed there was added a fierc
e
struggle of mind over body. He bent over the rail. He sprang u
p
erect and rigid. In a moment more he turned toward the men again
,
to present a remarkably transformed front.
"I'm shore beggin' pardon, Mr. Franklidge, an' of you too, Tom," h
e
drawled, in slow, cool, easy speech. "I couldn't help heahin' al
l
you said, an'--wal, it knocked me off my balance."
"No offense, Jack," replied the judge, kindly. "I think Tom's tal
k
sort of locoed me, too."
"Wal, see heah, you long, lean, hungry-eyed Texan," spoke up Day
,
forcefully, "jest WHY did I knock you off your balance?"
"Tom, I reckon I happened to hit on a way to fix the rustlers,"
r
eplied Jack, nonchalantly.
"The hell you did!" ejaculated Day. He accepted the statemen
t
without doubt or ridicule. He was pondering deeply. His shar
p
light-blue glance was riveted on the shadowy, half-concealed eye
s
of the cowboy.
Judge Franklidge sat up with a jerk, but his smile robbed hi
s
action of a convincing sincerity.
"Jack, we'd be grateful for any suggestions from one as well prove
n
as you on the range."
"Wal, what is this heah idee you hit on?" added Day, sharply.
"Shore it's as simple as a-b-c," rejoined the cowboy, blandly.
"Somebody has got to ride down into the brakes an' get thick wit
h
the rustlers."
"Oh-ho! I see!" quoth Day, almost derisively.
The cowboy's mild manner changed subtly, in a way to impress hi
s
listeners, though they could not have told how.
"Somebody has got to shoot up the Hatts an' mebbe the Stillwells.
An' kill some of that Pine Tree outfit--in particular the hombr
e
who's at the haid of it."
"Is THET all? My Gawd! Jack, I shore thought you'd hit o
n
somethin' hard to pull off," returned Day, with infinite scorn.
"Shore it'd be hard enough," admitted Texas Jack, who refused t
o
see the ridicule.
"Hard! Fly, cowboy, you're loco!" exploded the other. "Shore yo
u
hit on the way to fix the rustlers. Shore! But who'n hell's goin'
t
o do it? Was you figurin' on us hirin' some fancy gun-slingers t
o
do the little job? Kingfisher from Texas, huh? An' Wess Hardin?
Or mebbe you had in mind some new Billy the Kid or Pat Garrett? O
r
more like, perhaps, Jim Lacey, who they say has been hidin' quie
t
in Arizonie for a long time!"
Texas Jack's tan appeared to become a shade less brown. He gre
w
tense, steely-eyed.
"Tom Day, how long have you known me?" he demanded, in a voice tha
t
rang.
"Two years an' more, son," replied Day, surrendering to somethin
g
compelling.
"Would you trust me?"
"I shore would. With my stock, my money, my reputation . . . wit
h
my life--so help me Gawd!"
"Judge Franklidge, how long have I worked for you!" queried th
e
cowboy, turning to the other.
"About a year and a half, as I remember."
"An' what is your opinion of me--as a man?" flashed the cowboy
,
growing more piercing of eye and voice.
"Jack, you're the squarest and best man, the finest hand who eve
r
worked for me!" responded the judge, feelingly.
"Thank you. Reckon you can have no idee what that means to me,"
r
eturned the cowboy. "An' you'd trust me?"
"As well as I would my own flesh and blood."
Texas Jack removed his sombrero and sailed it against the wall.
His brow was broad and pale, his clear light eyes seemed to bur
n
with a steady flame; there were white hairs in the long lock
s
smoothed back above his ears; under the thin bronze beard, cheek
s
and lips set hard.
"Wal, then, it's my job to fix the rustlers," he said
,
deliberately.
"You! Nonsense!" declared the judge. "You wouldn't tackle tha
t
alone?"
"It's got to be done alone."
"Nonsense! I say."
"Judge," interposed Tom Day, "it shore does look thet way. Bu
t
wait. This cowboy has got somethin' up his sleeve. I alway
s
knowed it. . . . Come heah, Texas Jack. Spring it."
What shrewd, hard, comprehending yet wondering light flashed fro
m
the old rancher's eyes!
"Listen," went on Jack, bending to his hearers. "To serve Arizon
a
an' you an' your good friends I've got to become a rustler. I ma
y
have to go a long way to find the leader of this heah Pine Tre
e
outfit. I'll have to drink an' steal an' kill. Shore I may los
e
my life finishin' the job. An' I want my secret kept till it'
s
ended. Then if I come back alive I want my name cleared."
"Who'n hell ARE you?" asked Tom Day, in low and husky voice.
"Man, you're forcing me against my will," said the judge, rising t
o
his feet. "I don't want you to attempt this thing alone. It's
a
wild cowboy idea. You'd only be killed. But I admire you, Jack."