The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox. Ernest Haycox

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СКАЧАТЬ think," mused Steve, "I had ought to hit Sundown this aft'noon."

      "You're the boss," agreed Nightingale.

      "I mebbe won't be back till late."

      Nightingale stuffed his pipe, azure glance flickering along the back of the foreman's neck. "The world will meanwhile toss along its accustomed orbit," he observed.

      "In fact, I dunno just when I will be back."

      Nightingale's match waved gently across the pipe bowl. There was a prolonged silence. "One would infer," the Englishman presently reflected, "that the nature of your business is vague to the border of doubt."

      "Ahuh," said Steve. "Just so, only more so."

      "One is led to wonder," proceeded the Englishman with the same indifferent calm, "whether or not there might be some mystical connection between the D Slash gentleman's arrival and your departure."

      "Was it that plain?" grunted Steve, turning to his boss. Alarm showed on his face.

      "Not so," said the Englishman. "I was merely applying the ineluctable law of physics. Action and reaction. The little pebble dropped into the pool produces ripples that run their concentric course."

      "No doubt yore right," agreed Steve. "Anyhow, it sounds like it ought to be somethin' swell."

      "Old fellow," said the Englishman, "don't be so dashed shy. Y'know, you are not as hard to read as a Babylonian tablet. Two and two do not always make four, but it is a safe thing to count it so. I should not wish to pry into your affairs, but I will remind you I liked Denver. And I've had no huntin', no fishin' durin' the age of an extr'ord'n'ly mature coon."

      Steve faced the Englishman. "All right. I'll say it. Denver ain't dead."

      "My sacred aunt," said Nightingale, hauling the pipe from his mouth. The ruddy angular face did not bend to every passing emotion, and it scarcely showed astonishment now; but there was a brightening of the blue eyes.

      "I said worse than that when I found out," said Steve. "Well, he ain't dead. He's only played 'possum to throw Redmain off. And he's got a plan to get Lou. It ain't for me to say how or when. Only, I'm ridin' to Sundown, and yuh'll see me when yuh see me." The Englishman carefully knocked out his ashes, rose to his full length, and turned into the house. "Ad interim," he called back, "remain as you were."

      Steve gloomed into the distance. "Some of these days I'm goin' to get a toe holt on one o' them outlandish words and pin it to the mat. Meanwhile I just look intelligent and hope he ain't swearin' at me. It goes to show how ignorant folks can be. Here I been all these years thinkin' Englishmen talked the same language as us."

      Nightingale returned, hat on, and gun strapped to his hip. "All we need to complete this tale of border warfare is a set of heathenish bagpipes. You may like it or not, my estimable superintendent, but whither thou goest I shall follow. Lead on."

      Steve got up. "Mr. Nightingale, this ain't goin' to be no joke. God only knows—"

      "The disposition of Providence," said the Englishman gravely, "is not to be questioned. One prays and follows the light of conscience."

      Steve got in the saddle. Nightingale swung beside him, and together they cantered north-west. Steve found his first admiration of the man strongly kindled. He never pretended to understand the Bucket owner's moods. Humor and gravity were too closely blended; the man's thoughts were too contained, never breaking out into the broad wild fancies of the range. Sometimes Steve was certain Nightingale caught very little of what went on; and at other times, such as the present one, he had the uncomfortable feeling the cattleman's aloof indifference covered a sharp and penetrating mind. But, nevertheless, Steve usually felt at ease with Nightingale, for something about the Englishman kept reminding him of Denver.

      They ran down the trail without a word between them, crossed the open flats of the upper Bucket range, and went over the Helen Creek ford. Beyond a ridge they pursued a broad wagon leading by Lunt's home quarters. Steve intended to turn aside, but abreast the house he heard his name called in that crisp, assured manner so familiar. Instantly he checked in. Nightingale overran him and looked questioningly back. Steve grinned and muttered, "Be with yuh in a minute," and cantered to the ranch gate.

      Debbie Lunt came down the path, her pretty, sharply defined face studying him.

      "Were you going by without stopping in?"

      "Sort of busy today, Debbie."

      "I haven't seen you since the afternoon in Sundown."

      "Been all over the map meanwhile."

      "Apparently so," said Debbie. "I sent Bill over yesterday, but you weren't around."

      "Whistled for Rover but he wouldn't come, uh?"

      "That's not funny, Steve," said Debbie with increasing force. "I don't like that kind of humor, if you meant it as humor. If it was sarcasm, you ought to be ashamed. I wanted to see you yesterday. I have heard something. Can't you come to the house a minute?"

      Steve shifted in the saddle, looked at Nightingale waiting in the distance, and shook his head. "Debbie, I can't do it now."

      Debbie moved her shoulders impatiently. "I suppose I shouldn't insist. But you will have to listen to me. Steve, I have heard a horrible story, and I don't believe it. Dad was in Sundown yesterday and somebody told him a ghastly lie. That you had shot Dann."

      Steve waited. Debbie kept her eyes on him and finally said, "Well?"

      "No lie. I shot him."

      "Steve!"

      She drew back, put a hand to her face; and suddenly the color on her cheeks faded. She stared at him as if he were a stranger. A quick breath came out of her. "I don't believe it."

      "I told you, Debbie."

      "Oh, Steve! Why—why?"

      "Because I said I would," answered Steve. The girl clenched her palms together—a sign he knew of old, a sign he dreaded. Debbie's anger cut deep.

      "Because of Dave Denver?"

      "That's right."

      "So you dirtied your hands, made a killer out of yourself—because of him! What right does a dead man have to make you do a thing like that? I know he was your friend! What of it? I never liked him, and I don't now! The man despised me! And he could wrap you around his finger any time he chose! A friend! How far do you go for your friends?"

      Steve sat like a rock, taking the punishment without a change of expression. "As far as a friend would go for me. As far as Dave would have gone—which was all the way to hell if I'd asked him."

      "You thought more of Denver than you thought of me!" cried Debbie. "You do now!"

      "If you'd think straight," replied Steve, "you wouldn't say that. It's the same as sayin' a beefsteak tastes better than a rose smells. The things ain't the same."

      She flung back her head. "We must fight this out, Steve! We must settle it! I'll be expecting you for supper tonight."

      Steve sighed. "Debbie, it seems like yore askin' me to do things today I can't. I'll be in Sundown tonight."

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