The Range Boss Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  HOW AN INSULT WAS AVENGED

  As the days passed, it became plain to Ruth, as it did to everyone elseon the ranch--Chavis, Pickett, and Masten included--that Vickers had nottalked extravagantly in recommending Randerson. Uncle Jepson declaredthat "he took right a-hold," and Aunt Martha beamed proudly upon himwhenever he came within range of her vision.

  There was no hitch; he did his work smoothly. The spring round-up wascarried to a swift conclusion, the calves were branded and turned looseagain to roam the range during the summer; the corral fences wererepaired, new irrigation ditches were laid, others extended--the numerousdetails received the attention they merited, and when summer came inearnest, the Flying W was spick and span and prospering.

  Chavis and Pickett still retained their old positions, but Ruth noticedthat they did not spend so much of their time around the bunkhouse asformerly, they seemed to have work enough to keep their time fullyemployed. Nor did Masten accompany them very often. He seemed to take anew interest in Ruth; he found various pretexts to be near her, and Ruthsecretly congratulated herself on her wisdom in securing her new rangeboss. She had scarcely expected such amazing results.

  She was conscious of a vague disappointment, though. For she would haveliked to see more of her range boss. Twice, under pretense of wanting tolook over the property, she had accompanied him to outlying cow camps,and she had noted that the men seemed to like him--they called him "Rex,"and in other ways exhibited their satisfaction over his coming. Severaltimes she had observed meetings between him and Chavis and Pickett;invariably Chavis was sullen and disagreeable in his presence, and anumber of times she had seen Pickett sneer when Randerson's back wasturned. No one had told her of the open enmity that existed betweenPickett and Randerson; the latter had not hinted of it.

  And Randerson was at the ranchhouse even less frequently than hispredecessor; he spent much of his time with the outfit. But he came inone afternoon, after Ruth's friendship with Hagar Catherson hadprogressed far, and met the nester's daughter on the porch as he wasabout to enter the house.

  By ingenious artifice and persuasion Ruth had induced the girl to acceptfor her own many of the various garments in the alluring trunk, and Ruthherself had been surprised at the wonderful transformation in herappearance when arrayed in them. Hagar was attired this afternoon in adark-blue riding habit, with short skirt--shortened by Aunt Martha--ridingboots, a waist with a low collar and a flowing tie, and a soft hat thatRuth had re-made for her. She had received lessons in hair-dressing, andher brown, wavy tresses were just obstinate enough, through long neglect,to refuse to yield fully to the influence of comb and brush; they bulgedunder the brim of the soft hat, and some stray wisps persisted in blowingover her face.

  She had just taken leave of Ruth who, at the instant Randerson stepped onthe porch, was standing inside the doorway, watching her. She had giventhe girl a trinket that had long been coveted by her, and Hagar's eyeswere bright with delight as she took leave of her friend. They grew evenbrighter when she saw Randerson on the porch, and a swift color suffusedher face.

  The girl stood still, looking at the range boss. A sudden whim todiscover if he recognized her, took possession of her--for she had knownhim long and he had been a friend to her father when friends were few;she stood looking straight at him.

  He gave her one quick, penetrating glance, and then stepped back,astonishment and recognition in his eyes. Then he took a quick stepforward and seized her hands, holding her at arm's length, his eyesleaping in admiration.

  "Why, if it ain't Hagar Catherson!" he said, wonder in his voice. "Haveyou just got out of a fairy book?"

  Old friendship was speaking here; Ruth could not fail to understand that.

  But he had not yet finished. "Why, I reckon--" he began. And then he sawRuth, and his lips wreathed in a delighted grin. "You're the fairy,ma'am." And then he sobered. "Shucks. I'm talkin' nonsense, ma'am. I'vecome to tell you that the grass ain't what it ought to be where we'vebeen, an' tomorrow we're drivin' past here to go down the river." He wasstill holding Hagar's hands, and now he seemed to realize that perhaps hehad been too effusive, and he flushed and dropped them. "You was justgoin', I reckon," he said to the girl. And at her nod, and a quick,pleased glance from her eyes, he added: "Tell your dad that I'm comin'over to see him, pretty soon. I'd have been over before, but I've beensort of busy."

  "We've been a-hopin' you'd come," answered Hagar. And with another smileat Ruth she stepped off the porch and mounted her pony.

  Randerson went directly to his room, and Ruth stood for a long time atthe door, watching Hagar as she rode her pony over the plains. There wasa queer sensation of resentment in her breast over this exhibition offriendship; she had never thought of them knowing each other. She smiledafter a while, however, telling herself that it was nothing to her. Butthe next time that she saw Hagar she ascertained her age. It wasseventeen.

  The outfit came in the next morning--fourteen punchers, the horse-wranglerhaving trouble as usual with the _remuda_, the cook, Chavis, and Pickett.They veered the herd toward the river and drove it past the ranchhouse andinto a grass level that stretched for miles. It was near noon when thechuck wagon came to a halt near the bunkhouse door, and from the porch ofher house Ruth witnessed a scene that she had been anticipating since herfirst day in the West--a group of cowboys at play.

  Did these men of the plains know that their new boss had been wanting tosee them in their unrestrained moments? They acted like boys--moremischievous than boys in their most frolicsome moods. Their movementswere grotesque, their gestures extravagant, their talk high-pitched andflavored with a dialect that Ruth had never heard. They were "showingoff"; the girl knew that. But she also knew that in their actions wasmuch of earnestness, that an excess of vigor filled them. They were liketheir horses which now unleashed in the corral were running, neighing,kicking up their heels in their momentary delight of freedom.

  The girl understood and sympathized with them, but she caught a glimpseof Chavis and Pickett, sitting close together on a bench at the front ofthe messhouse, talking seriously, and a cloud came over her face. Thesetwo men were not light-hearted as the others. What was the reason? Whenshe went into the house a few minutes later, a premonition of impendingtrouble assailed her and would not be dismissed.

  She helped Aunt Martha in the kitchen. Uncle Jepson had goneaway--"nosin' around," he had said; Masten had ridden away toward theriver some time before--he had seemed to ride toward the break in thecanyon which led to the Catherson cabin; she did not know where Randersonhad gone--had not seen him for hours.

  Hilarious laughter reached her, busy in the kitchen, but it did notbanish the peculiar uneasiness that afflicted her. And some time later,when the laughter ceased and she went to the window and looked out, thecowboys had vanished. They had gone in to dinner. But Chavis and Pickettstill sat on their bench, talking. Ruth shivered and turned from thewindow.

  She was in better spirits shortly after dinner, and went out to thestable to look at her pony. Because of the coming of the _remuda_ she hadthought it best to take her pony from the corral, for she feared that incompany with the other horses her own animal would return to thoseungentle habits which she disliked.

  She fed it from some grain in a bin, carried some water in a pail fromthe trough at the windmill, and stood at the pony's head for some time,watching it. Just as she was about to turn to leave the stable, she feltthe interior darken, and she wheeled quickly to see that the door hadclosed, and that Jim Pickett stood before it, grinning at her.

  For a moment her knees shook, for she could not fail to interpret theexpression of his face, then she heard a gale of laughter from thedirection of the bunkhouse, and felt reassured. But while she stood, sheheard the sounds of the laughter growing gradually indistinct anddistant, and she gulped hard. For she knew that the cowboys were ridingaway--no doubt to join the herd.

  She pretended to be interest
ed in the pony, and stroked its mane with ahand that trembled, delaying to move in the hope that she might bemistaken in her fears and that Pickett would go away. But Pickett did notmove. Glancing at him furtively, she saw that the grin was still on hisface and that he was watching her narrowly. Then, finding that he seemeddetermined to stay, she pretended unconcern and faced him, meeting hisgaze fearlessly.

  "Is there something that you wanted to talk to me about, Pickett?" shequestioned.

  "Yes, ma'am," he said respectfully, though his voice seemed slightlyhoarse, "I've got a letter here which I want you to read to me--I justcan't sorta make out the writin'."

  She almost sighed with relief. Leaving the stall she went to Pickett'sside and took from his hand a paper that he held out to her. And now, inher relief over her discovery that his intentions were not evil, itsuddenly dawned on her that she had forgotten that the door was closed.

  "It is dark here," she said; "open the door, please."

  Instead of answering, he seized the hand holding the paper, and with aswift pull tried to draw her toward him. But her muscles had been tensedwith the second fear that had taken possession of her, and sheresisted--almost broke away from him. His fingers slipped from her wrist,the nails scratching the flesh deeply, and she sprang toward the door.But he was upon her instantly, his arms around her, pinning her own toher sides, and then he squeezed her to him, so tightly that the breathalmost left her body, and kissed her three or four times full on thelips. Then, still holding her, and looking in her eyes with an expressionthat filled her with horror, he said huskily:

  "Lord, but you're a hummer!"

  Then, as though that were the limit of his intentions, he released her,laughed mirthlessly and threw the door open.

  She had spoken no word during the attack. She made no sound now, as shewent toward the house, her face ashen, her breath coming in great gasps.But a few minutes later she was in her room in the ranchhouse, on herbed, her face in the pillow, sobbing out the story of the attack to AuntMartha, whose wrinkled face grew gray with emotion as she listened.

  Masten came in an hour later. Ruth was in a chair in the sitting-room,looking very white. Aunt Martha was standing beside her.

  "Why, what has happened?" Masten took a few steps and stood in front ofher, looking down at her.

  "Aunty will tell you." Ruth hid her face in her hands and cried softly.

  Aunt Martha led the way into the kitchen, Masten following. Before hereached the door he looked back at Ruth, and a slight smile, almost asneer, crossed his face. But when he turned to Aunt Martha, in thekitchen, his eyes were alight with well simulated curiosity.

  "Well?" he said, questioningly.

  "It is most outrageous," began Aunt Martha, her voice trembling. "Thatman, Pickett, came upon Ruth in the stable and abused her shamefully. Heactually kissed her--three or four times--and--Why, Mr. Masten, theprints of his fingers are on her wrists!"

  Ruth, in the sitting-room, waited, almost in dread, for the explosionthat she knew would follow Aunt Martha's words.

  None came, and Ruth sank back in her chair, not knowing whether she wasrelieved or disappointed. There was a long silence, during which Mastencleared his throat three times. And then came Aunt Martha's voice, filledwith mingled wonder and impatience:

  "Aren't you going to do something Mr. Masten? Such a thing ought not togo unpunished."

  "Thunder!" he said fretfully, "what on earth _can_ I do? You don't expectme to go out and _fight_ that man, Pickett. He'd kill me!"

  "Mebbe he would," said Aunt Martha in a slightly cold voice, "but hewould know that Ruth was engaged to a _man!_" There was a silence. Andagain came Aunt Martha's voice:

  "There was a time when men thought it an honor to fight for their women.But it seems that times have changed mightily."

  "This is an age of reason, and not muscle and murder," replied Masten."There is no more reason why I should go out there and allow Pickett tokill me than there is a reason why I should go to the first railroad, laymy head on the track and let a train run over me. There is law in thiscountry, aunty, and it can reach Pickett."

  "Your self-control does you credit, Mr. Masten." Aunt Martha's voice waslow, flavored with sarcasm. Masten turned abruptly from her and went into Ruth. Her face was still in her hands, but she felt his presence andinvoluntarily shrank from him.

  He turned his head from her and smiled, toward the stable, and then helaid a hand on Ruth's shoulder and spoke comfortingly.

  "It's too bad, Ruth. But we shall find a way to deal with Pickett withouthaving murder done. Why not have Randerson discharge him? He is rangeboss, you know. In the meantime, can't you manage to stay away fromplaces where the men might molest you? They are all unprincipledscoundrels, you must remember!"

  He left her, after a perfunctory caress which she suffered in silence.She saw him, later, as he passed her window, talking seriously to Chavis,and she imagined he was telling Chavis about the attack. Of course, shethought, with a wave of bitterness, Chavis would be able to sympathizewith him. She went to her room shortly afterward.

  The sun was swimming in a sea of saffron above the mountains in thewestern distance when Ruth again came downstairs. Hearing voices in thekitchen she went to the door and looked. Aunt Martha was standing nearthe kitchen table. Randerson was standing close to her, facing her,dwarfing her, his face white beneath the deep tan upon it, his lipsstraight and hard, his eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched; she could seethe corded muscles of his lean under-jaw, set and stiff. Aunt Martha'shands were on his sleeves; her eyes were big and bright, and glowing witha strange light.

  They did not see Ruth, and something in their attitudes kept her fromrevealing herself; she stood silent, listening, fascinated.

  "So he done that!" It was Randerson's voice, and it made Ruth's heartfeel heavy and cold within her, for in it was contempt, intolerance, ragesuppressed--she felt that the words had come through clenched teeth. "Ireckon I'll be seein' Pickett, aunty."

  And then he patted Aunt Martha's shoulders and started for the back door.Ruth heard him open it; he must have been standing on the threshold whenhe spoke again. And this time he spoke in a drawl--slow, gentle:

  "I reckon I'll go wash. It was mighty dusty ridin' today. I passedCalamity, aunty. There ain't no mud there any more; Willard wouldn't getmussed up, now. The suck-hole ain't a foot deep any more."

  "You're a scapegrace," said Aunt Martha severely. Ruth felt that she wasshaking a deprecatory finger at him. "Your manners have been neglected."But Aunt Martha's voice gave the words an exactly opposite meaning, andRuth blushed.

  There had been a dread fear in Ruth's heart. For she had seen warning ofimpending tragedy in Randerson's face when she had looked at him. Itseemed to have passed. His, "I reckon I'll be seein' Pickett," meant,perhaps, that he would discharge the man. Relieved, she went upstairsagain and sat in a chair, looking out of a window.

  A little later she saw several of the cowboys come in. She saw Pickettstanding near a corner of the bunkhouse. She watched him closely, forthere was something strange in his actions. He seemed to be waiting forsomething, or somebody. Occasionally he leaned against the corner of thebunkhouse, but she noted that he kept turning his head, keeping a lookoutin all directions. Again a premonition of imminent trouble oppressed her.

  And then she saw Randerson going from the ranchhouse toward the men whowere congregated in front of the bunkhouse; saw Pickett's right hand fallto his side as though it rested on a holster, and she started out of herchair, for illumination now came to her.

  Half way to the bunkhouse, Randerson was met by Uncle Jepson. She sawRanderson stop, observed that Uncle Jepson seemed to say something tohim. She could not, of course, hear the words, "Look out, Randerson;Pickett's layin' for you," but she saw Randerson lay a hand on UncleJepson's shoulder.

  And then he continued on his way.

  She saw Randerson go close to Pickett, noted that the other men had allturned and were watching the two. Randerson seemed to be speakin
g, toPickett; the latter had faced him. Then, as she breathlessly watched, shesaw Pickett reach for his gun. Randerson leaped. Pickett's gun did notcome out, Randerson's hand had closed on Pickett's wrist.

  There was a brief, fierce struggle, blows were struck, and then the mensprang apart. Ruth saw Randerson's right arm describe a rapidhalf-circle; she seemed to hear a thud as his fist landed, and Pickettreeled and fell sideways to the ground, close to the wall of thebunkhouse. She heard him curse; saw him reach again for the gun at hiship. The toe of Randerson's right boot struck Pickett's hand, driving itaway from the holster; the hand was ground into the dust by Randerson'sboot. And then, so quickly that she could not follow the movement,Randerson's gun was out, and Pickett lay still where he had fallen.

  Presently Ruth saw Pickett get up, still menaced by Randerson's gun.Cursing, crouching, evidently still awaiting an opportunity to draw hisgun, Pickett began to walk toward the ranchhouse, Randerson close behindhim. At a safe distance, the other men followed--Ruth saw Masten andChavis come out of the bunkhouse door and follow also. The thought struckher that they must have witnessed the incident from a window. She sawthem all, the cowboys at a respectable distance, Pickett and Randerson infront, with Masten and Chavis far behind, come to a halt. Shedivined--she believed she had suspected all along--what the march to theranchhouse meant, but still she did not move, for she feared she couldnot stand.

  Ruth was roused, however, by Randerson's voice. It reached her, sharp,cold, commanding. Evidently he was speaking to Aunt Martha, or to UncleJepson, who had gone into the house:

  "Tell Miss Ruth to come here!"

  Ruth obeyed. A moment later she stood on the front porch, looking at themall. This scene seemed unreal to her--the cowboys at a distance, Mastenand Chavis in the rear, looking on, Pickett near the edge of the porch,his face bloated with impotent rage, his eyes glaring; the grim figurethat Randerson made as he stood near Pickett, gun in hand, his eyesnarrowed, alert. It seemed to her to be a dream from which she wouldpresently awaken, trembling from the horror of it.

  And then again she heard Randerson's voice. It was low, but so burdenedwith passion that it seemed to vibrate in the perfect silence. There wasa threat of death in it:

  "You can tell Miss Ruth that you're never goin' to play the skunk with awoman ag'in!"

  Pickett writhed. But it seemed to Ruth, as her gaze shifted fromRanderson to him, that Pickett's manner was not what it should be. He wasnot embarrassed enough, did not seem to feel his disgrace keenly enough.For though he twisted and squirmed under the threat in Randerson's voice,there was an odd smirk on his face that impressed her as nearlyconcealing a malignant cunning. And his voice sounded insincere toher--there was even no flavor of shame in them:

  "I'm sorry I done what I did, ma'am."

  "I reckon that's all, Pickett. You draw your time right now."

  Randerson sheathed his pistol and turned slightly sidewise to Pickett,evidently intending to come up on the porch.

  Ruth gasped. For she saw Pickett reach for his gun. It was drawn half outof its holster. As though he had divined what was in Pickett's mind,Randerson had turned slightly at Pickett's movement. There was a singlerapid movement to his right hip, the twilight was split by a red streak,by another that followed it so closely as to seem to make the twocontinuous. Pickett's hand dropped oddly from the half-drawn weapon, hisknees sagged, he sighed and pitched heavily forward, face down, atRanderson's feet.

  Dimly, as through a haze, Ruth saw a number of the cowboys coming towardher, saw them approach and look curiously down at the thing that layalmost at her feet. And then someone took her by the arm--she thought itwas Uncle Jepson--and she was led toward the door. At the threshold shepaused, for Randerson's voice, cold and filled with deadly definiteness,reached her:

  "Do you want to take his end of this?" Ruth turned. Randerson waspointing to Pickett's body, ghastly in its prone slackness. He waslooking at Chavis.

  Evidently Chavis elected not to avenge his friend at that moment. Forthere was a dead silence while one might have counted fifty. Then Ruthwas drawn into the house.

  The twilight was split by a red streak]