'Firebrand' Trevison Read online

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  INSTINCTIVELY EACH KNEW THE OTHER FOR A FOE. [Page 25]]

  "FIREBRAND" TREVISON

  BYCHARLES ALDEN SELTZER

  AUTHOR OFTHE VENGENCE OF JEFFERSON GAWNE,THE BOSS OF THE LAZY Y,THE RANGE BOSS, Etc.

  ILLUSTRATED BYP. V. E. IVORY

  GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS--NEW YORK

  Made in the United States of America

  CopyrightA. C. McClurg & Co.1918

  Published September, 1918

  Copyrighted in Great Britain

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I The Rider of the Black Horse 1 II In Which Hatred is Born 10 III Beating a Good Man 30 IV The Long Arm of Power 42 V A Telegram and a Girl 53 VI A Judicial Puppet 71 VII Two Letters Go East 79 VIII The Chaos of Creation 82 IX Straight Talk 93 X The Spirit of Manti 100 XI For the "Kiddies" 109 XII Exposed to the Sunlight 113 XIII Another Letter 130 XIV A Rumble Of War 137 XV A Mutual Benefit Association 146 XVI Wherein A Woman Lies 151 XVII Justice Vs. Law 155 XVIII Law Invoked and Defied 169 XIX A Woman Rides in Vain 183 XX And Rides Again--in Vain 192 XXI Another Woman Rides 209 XXII A Man Errs--and Pays 221 XXIII First Principles 234 XXIV Another Woman Lies 253 XXV In the Dark 264 XXVI The Ashes 273 XXVII The Fight 290 XXVIII The Dregs 310 XXIX The Calm 321

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  PAGE

  Instinctively each knew the other for a foe. Frontispiece

  "You are going to marry me--some day. That'swhat I think of you!" 97

  "You men are blind. Corrigan is a crook whowill stop at nothing." 283

  "FIREBRAND" TREVISON

  CHAPTER I

  THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE

  The trail from the Diamond K broke around the base of a low hill dottedthickly with scraggly oak and fir, then stretched away, straight andalmost level (except for a deep cut where the railroad gang and a steamshovel were eating into a hundred-foot hill) to Manti. A month before,there had been no Manti, and six months before that there had been norailroad. The railroad and the town had followed in the wake of a party ofkhaki-clad men that had made reasonably fast progress through the country,leaving a trail of wooden stakes and little stone monuments behind.Previously, an agent of the railroad company had bartered through,securing a right-of-way. The fruit of the efforts of these men was a darkgash on a sun-scorched level, and two lines of steel laid as straight asskilled eye and transit could make them--and Manti.

  Manti could not be overlooked, for the town obtruded upon the vision fromwhere "Brand" Trevison was jogging along the Diamond K trail astride hisbig black horse, Nigger. Manti dominated the landscape, not because it wasbig and imposing, but because it was new. Manti's buildings werescattered--there had been no need for crowding; but from a distance--fromTrevison's distance, for instance, which was a matter of three miles orso--Manti looked insignificant, toy-like, in comparison with the vastworld on whose bosom it sat. Manti seemed futile, ridiculous. But Trevisonknew that the coming of the railroad marked an epoch, that the two thin,thread-like lines of steel were the tentacles of the man-made monster thathad gripped the East--business reaching out for newer fields--and thatManti, futile and ridiculous as it seemed, was an outpost fortified byunlimited resource. Manti had come to stay.

  And the cattle business was going, Trevison knew. The railroad company hadbuilt corrals at Manti, and Trevison knew they would be needed for severalyears to come. But he could foresee the day when they would be replaced bybuilding and factory. Business was extending its lines, cattle mustretreat before them. Several homesteaders had already appeared in thecountry, erecting fences around their claims. One of the homesteaders,when Trevison had come upon him a few days before, had impertinentlyinquired why Trevison did not fence the Diamond K range. Fence in fivethousand acres! It had never been done in this section of the country.Trevison had permitted himself a cold grin, and had kept his answer tohimself. The incident was not important, but it foreshadowed a day when adozen like inquiries would make the building of a range fence imperative.

  Trevison already felt the irritation of congestion--the presence of thehomesteaders nettled him. He frowned as he rode. A year ago he would havesold out--cattle, land and buildings--at the market price. But at thattime he had not known the value of his land. Now--

  He kicked Nigger in the ribs and straightened in the saddle, grinning.

  "She's not for sale now--eh, Nig?"

  Five minutes later he halted the black at the crest of the big railroadcut and looked over the edge appraisingly. Fifty laborers--directed by amammoth personage in dirty blue overalls, boots, woolen shirt, and awide-brimmed felt hat, and with a face undeniably Irish--were workingfrenziedly to keep pace with the huge steam shovel, whose iron jaws werebiting into the earth with a regularity that must have been discouragingto its human rivals. A train of flat-cars, almost loaded, was on the trackof the cut, and a dinky engine attached to them wheezed steam from asafety valve, the engineer and fireman lounging out of the cab window,lazily watching.

  Patrick Carson, the personage--construction boss, good-natured, keen,observant--was leaning against a boulder at the side of the track, talkingto the engineer at the instant Trevison appeared at the top of the cut. Heglanced up, his eyes lighting.

  "There's thot mon, Trevison, ag'in, Murph'," he said to the engineer."Bedad, he's a pitcher now, ain't he?"

  An imposing figure Trevison certainly was. Horse and rider were outlinedagainst the sky, and in the dear light every muscle and feature of man andbeast stood but boldly and distinctly. The big black horse was a powerfulbrute, tall and rangy, with speed and courage showing plainly in contour,nostril and eye; and with head and ears erect he stood motionless,statuesque, heroic. His rider seemed to have been proportioned to fit thehorse. Tall, slender of waist, broad of shoulder, straight, he sat looselyin the saddle looking at the scene below him, unconscious of theadmiration he excited. Poetic fancies stirred Carson vaguely.

  "Luk at 'im now, Murph; wid his big hat, his leather pants, his spurs, an'the rist av his conthraptions! There's a divvil av a conthrast here now,if ye'd only glimpse it. This civillyzation, ripraysinted be thisrailroad, don't seem to fit, noways. It's like it had butted into apitcher book! Ain't he a darlin'?"

  "I've never seen him up close," said Murphy. There was none of Carson'senthusiasm in his voice. "It's always seemed to me that a felluh who rigshimself out like that has got a lot of show-off stuff in him."

  "The first time I clapped me eyes on wan av them cowbhoys I thought so,too," said Carson. "That was back on the other section. But I seen somanny av them rigged out like thot, thot I comminced to askin' questions.It's a domned purposeful rig, mon. The big felt hat is a daisy for keepin'off the sun, an' that gaudy bit av a rag around his neck keeps the sun andsand from blisterin' the skin. The leather pants is to keep his legs fromgettin' clawed up be the thorns av prickly pear an' what not, which he'sgot to ride through, an' the high heels is to keep his feet from slippin'through the stirrups. A kid c'ud tell ye what he carries the young cannonfor, an' why he wears it so low on his hip. Ye've nivver seen him upclose, eh Murph'? Well, I'm askin' him down so's ye can have a good lookat him." He
stepped back from the boulder and waved a hand at Trevison,shouting:

  "Make it a real visit, bhoy!"

  "I'll be pullin' out of here before he can get around," said Murphy,noting that the last car was almost filled.

  Carson chuckled. "Hold tight," he warned; "he's comin'."

  The side of the cut was steep, and the soft sand and clay did not make asecure footing. But when the black received the signal from Trevison hedid not hesitate. Crouching like a great cat at the edge, he slid hisforelegs over until his hoofs sank deep into the side of the cut. Thenwith a gentle lurch he drew his hind legs after him, and an instant laterwas gingerly descending, his rider leaning far back in the saddle, thereins held loosely in his hands.

  It looked simple enough, the way the black was doing it, and Trevison'sdemeanor indicated perfect trust in the animal and in his own skill as arider. But the laborers ceased working and watched, grouped, gesturing;the staccato coughing of the steam shovel died gaspingly, as the engineershut off the engine and stood, rooted, his mouth agape; the fireman in thedinky engine held tightly to the cab window. Murphy muttered inastonishment, and Carson chuckled admiringly, for the descent was a fullhundred feet, and there were few men in the railroad gang that would havedared to risk the wall on foot.

  The black had gained impetus with distance. A third of the slope had beencovered when he struck some loose earth that shifted with his weight andcarried his hind quarters to one side and off balance. Instantly the riderswung his body toward the wall of the cut, twisted in the saddle and swungthe black squarely around, the animal scrambling like a cat. The blackstood, braced, facing the crest of the cut, while the dislodged earth,preceded by pebbles and small boulders, clattered down behind him. Then,under the urge of Trevison's gentle hand and voice, the black wheeledagain and faced the descent.

  "I wouldn't ride a horse down there for the damned railroad!" declaredMurphy.

  "Thrue for ye--ye c'udn't," grinned Carson.

  "A man could ride anywhere with a horse like that!" remarked the fireman,fascinated.

  "Ye'd have brought a cropper in that slide, an' the road wud be minus acoal-heaver!" said Carson. "Wud ye luk at him now!"

  The black was coming down, forelegs asprawl, his hind quarters sliding inthe sand. Twice as his fore-hoofs struck some slight obstruction his hindquarters lifted and he stood, balanced, on his forelegs, and each timeTrevison averted the impending catastrophe by throwing himself far back inthe saddle and slapping the black's hips sharply.

  "He's a circus rider!" shouted Carson, gleefully. "He's got the coolesthead of anny mon I iver seen! He's a divvil, thot mon!"

  The descent was spectacular, but it was apparent that Trevison caredlittle for its effect upon his audience, for as he struck the level andcame riding toward Carson and the others, there was no sign ofself-consciousness in his face or manner. He smiled faintly, though, as acheer from the laborers reached his ears. In the next instant he hadhalted Nigger near the dinky engine, and Carson was introducing him to theengineer and fireman.

  Looking at Trevison "close up," Murphy was constrained to mentally labelhim "some man," and he regretted his deprecatory words of a few minutesbefore. Plainly, there was no "show-off stuff" in Trevison. His feat ofriding down the wall of the cut had not been performed to impress anyone;the look of reckless abandon in the otherwise serene eyes that heldMurphy's steadily, convinced the engineer that the man had merelyresponded to a dare-devil impulse. There was something in Trevison'sappearance that suggested an entire disregard of fear. The engineer hadwatched the face of a brother of his craft one night when the latter hadbeen driving a roaring monster down a grade at record-breaking speed intoa wall of rain-soaked darkness out of which might thunder at any instantanother roaring monster, coming in the opposite direction. There had beena mistake in orders, and the train was running against time to make aswitch. Several times during the ride Murphy had caught a glimpse of theengineer's face, and the eyes had haunted him since--defiance of death,contempt of consequences, had been reflected in them. Trevison's eyesreminded him of the engineer's. But in Trevison's eyes was an addedexpression--cold humor. The engineer of Murphy's recollection would havemet death dauntlessly. Trevison would meet it no less dauntlessly, butwould mock at it. Murphy looked long and admiringly at him, noting thedeep chest, the heavy muscles, the blue-black sheen of his freshly-shavenchin and jaw under the tan; the firm, mobile mouth, the aggressive set tohis head. Murphy set his age down at twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Murphywas sixty himself--the age that appreciates, and secretly envies, thevirility of youth. Carson was complimenting Trevison on his descent of thewall of the cut.

  "You're a daisy rider, me bhoy!"

  "Nigger's a clever horse," smiled Trevison. Murphy was pleased that he wasgiving the animal the credit. "Nigger's well trained. He's wiser than somemen. Tricky, too." He patted the sleek, muscular neck of the beast and theanimal whinnied gently. "He's careful of his master, though," laughedTrevison. "A man pulled a gun on me, right after I'd got Nigger. He hadthe drop, and he meant business. I had to shoot. To disconcert the fellow,I had to jump Nigger against him. Since then, whenever Nigger sees a gunin anyone's hand, he thinks it's time to bowl that man over. There's noholding him. He won't even stand for anyone pulling a handkerchief out ofa hip pocket when I'm on him." Trevison grinned. "Try it, Carson, but getthat boulder between you and Nigger before you do."

  "I don't like the look av the baste's eye," declined the Irishman. "Iwudn't doubt ye're worrud for the wurrold. But he wudn't jump a mon divvila bit quicker than his master, or I'm a sinner!"

  Trevison's eyes twinkled. "You're a good construction boss, Carson. ButI'm glad to see that you're getting more considerate."

  "Av what?"

  "Of your men." Trevison glanced back; he had looked once before, out ofthe tail of his eye. The laborers were idling in the cut, enjoying thebrief rest, taking advantage of Carson's momentary dereliction, for thelast car had been filled.

  "I'll be rayported yet, begob!"

  Carson waved his hands, and the laborers dove for the flat-cars. When thelast man was aboard, the engine coughed and moved slowly away. Carsonclimbed into the engine-cab, with a shout: "So-long bhoy!" to Trevison.The latter held Nigger with a firm rein, for the animal was dancing at thenoise made by the engine, and as the cars filed past him, running fasternow, the laborers grinned at him and respectfully raised their hats. Forthey had come from one of the Latin countries of Europe, and for them, inthe person of this heroic figure of a man who had ridden his horse downthe steep wall of the cut, was romance.