The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Read online

  CHAPTER III

  A WARNING

  That first and unforgettable year on the homestead was the happiestyear of Pete's life. Intensely active, tireless, and resourceful--asare most youngsters raised in the West--he learned to milk the tamecow, manipulate the hay-rake, distinguish potato-vines from weeds andhoe accordingly, and through observation and Annersley's thriftyexample, take care of his clothing and few effects. The old man taughtPete to read and to write his own name--a painful process, for YoungPete cared nothing for that sort of education and suffered only that hemight please his venerable partner. When it came to the plaiting ofrawhide into bridle-reins and reatas, the handling of a rope, packingfor a hunting trip, reading a dim trail when tracking a stray horse, orany of the many things essential to life in the hills, Young Pete tookhold with boyish enthusiasm, copying Annersley's methods to the letter.Pete was repaid a thousand-fold for his efforts by the old man'soccasional:

  "Couldn't 'a' done it any better myself, pardner."

  For Annersley seldom called the boy "Pete" now, realizing that"pardner" meant so much more to him.

  Pete had his rifle--an old carbine, much scratched and battered by thebrush and rock--a thirty-thirty the old man had purchased from a cowboyin Concho.

  Pete spent most of his spare time cleaning and polishing the gun. Hehad a fondness for firearms that almost amounted to a passion.Evenings, when the work was done and Annersley sat smoking in thedoorway, Young Pete invariably found excuse to clean and oil his gun.He invested heavily in cartridges and immediately used up hisammunition on every available target until there was not an unpuncturedtin can on the premises. He was quick and accurate, finally scorningto shoot at a stationary mark and often riding miles to get to thevalley level where there were rabbits and "Jacks," that he occasionallybowled over on the run. Once he shot a coyote, and his cup ofhappiness brimmed--for the time being.

  All told, it was a most healthful and happy life for a boy, and YoungPete learned, unconsciously, to "ride, shoot, and Tell the Truth," asagainst "Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic," for which he cared nothing.Pete might have gone far--become a well-to-do cattleman or rancher--hadnot Fate, which can so easily wipe out all plans and precautions in aflash, stepped in and laid a hand on his bridle-rein.

  That summer occasional riders stopped at the cabin, were fed and housedand went on their way. They came chiefly from the T-Bar-T ranch--somefew from Concho, a cattle outfit of the lower country. Peteintuitively disliked these men, despite the fact that they rodeexcellent horses, sported gay trappings, and "joshed" with him asthough he were one of themselves. His instinct told him that they werenot altogether friendly to Annersley. They frequently drifted intowarm argument as to water-rights and nesters in general--matters thatdid not interest Young Pete at the time, who failed, naturally, tograsp the ultimate meaning of the talk. But the old man never seemedperturbed by these arguments, declining, in his good-natured way, totake them seriously, and feeling secure in his own rights, as ahard-working citizen, to hold and cultivate the allotment he had earnedfrom the Government.

  The T-Bar-T outfit especially grudged him the water that they hadpreviously used to such good advantage. This water was now underfence. To make this water available to cattle would disrupt thehomestead. It was at this time that Young Pete first realized thesignificance of these hard-riding visitors. He was cleaning hismuch-polished carbine, sitting cross-legged round the corner of thecabin, when two of the chance visitors, having washed and discardedtheir chaps, strolled out and squatted by the doorway. Old manAnnersley was at the back of the cabin preparing supper.

  One of the riders, a man named Gary, said something to his companionabout "running the old man out of the country."

  Young Pete paused in his task.

  "You can't bluff him so easy," offered the companion.

  "But a thirty-thirty kin talk business," said the man Gary, and helaughed.

  Pete never forgot the remark nor the laugh. Next day, after the ridershad departed, he told his pop what he had heard. The old man made himrepeat the conversation. He shook his head. "Mostly talk," he said.

  "They dassent to start runnin' _us_ off--dast they?" queried Young Pete.

  "Mostly talk," reiterated Annersley; but Pete saw that his pop wastroubled.

  "They can't bluff us, eh, pop?"

  "I reckon not, son. How many cartridges you got?"

  Young Pete thrilled to the question. "Got ten out of the last box.You got any?"

  "Some. Reckon we'll go to town to-morrow."

  "To git some cartridges?"

  "Mebby."

  This was Young Pete's first real intimation that there might be troublethat would occasion the use of cartridges. The idea did not displeasehim. They drove to town, bought some provisions and ammunition, andincidentally the old man visited the sheriff and retailed theconversation that Pete had overheard.

  "Bluff!" said the sheriff, whose office depended upon the vote of thecattlemen. "Just bluff, Annersley. You hang on to what you got andthey won't be no trouble. I know just how far those boys will go."

  "Well, I don't," said Annersley. "So I was jest puttin' what you callbluff on record, case anything happened."

  The sheriff, secretly in league with the cattlemen to crowd Annersleyoff the range, took occasion to suggest to the T-Bar-T foreman that theold man was getting cold feet--which was a mistake, for Annersley hadsimply wished to keep within the law and avoid trouble if possible.Thus it happened that Annersley brought upon himself the very troublethat he had honorably tried to avoid. Let the most courageous man evenseem to turn and run and how soon his enemies will take up the chase!

  But nothing happened that summer, and it was not until the followingspring that the T-Bar-T outfit gave any hint of their real intent. Theanonymous letter was a vile screed--because it was anonymous and alsobecause it threatened, in innuendo, to burn out a homestead held by oneman and a boy.

  Annersley showed the letter to Pete and helped him spell it out. Thenhe explained gravely his own status as a homesteader, the law whichallowed him to fence the water, and the labor which had made the landhis. It was typical of Young Pete that when a real hazard threatenedhe never said much. In this instance the boy did not know just what todo. That evening Annersley missed him and called, "What you doin',pardner?"

  From the cabin--Annersley, as usual, was seated outside, smoking--camethe reply: "Countin' my cartridges."

  Annersley knew that the anonymous letter would be followed by somehostile act if he did not vacate the homestead. He wasted no timeworrying as to what might happen--but he did worry about Young Pete.If the cattlemen raided his place, it would be impossible to keep thatyoung and ambitious fire-eater out of harm's way. So the old manplanned to take Pete to Concho the next morning and leave him with thestorekeeper until the difficulty should be solved, one way or the other.

  This time they did not drive to Concho, but saddled up and rode downthe hill trail. And during the journey Young Pete was unusuallysilent, wondering just what his pop planned to do.

  At the store Annersley privately explained the situation to thestorekeeper. Then he told Young Pete that he would leave him there fora few days as he was "goin' over north a spell."

  Young Pete studied the old man with bright, blinking eyes thatquestioned the truth of this statement. His pop had never lied to him,and although Pete suspected what was in the wind, he had no ground forargument. Annersley was a trifle surprised that the boy consented tostay without demur. Annersley might have known that Young Pete's verysilence was significant; but the old man was troubled and only too gladto find his young partner so amenable to his suggestion. WhenAnnersley left the store Young Pete's "So-long, pop," was as casual assunshine, but his tough little heart was thumping with restrainedexcitement. He knew that his pop feared trouble and wished to face italone.

  Pete allowed a reasonable length of time to elapse and then approachedthe storekeeper. "Gimme a box of thirty-thir
ties," he said, fishing upsome silver from his overall pocket.

  "Where'd you get all that money, Pete?"

  "Why, I done stuck up the fo'man of the T-Bar-T on pay-day and made himshell out," said Pete.

  The storekeeper grinned. "Here you be. Goin' huntin'?"

  "Uh-huh. Huntin' snakes."

  "Honest, now! Where'd you git the change?"

  "My wages!" said Young Pete proudly. "Pop is givin' me a dollar a weekfor helpin' him. We're pardners."

  "Your pop is right good to you, ain't he?"

  "You bet! And he can lick any ole bunch of cow-chasers in thiscountry. Somebody's goin' to git hurt if they monkey with him!"

  "Where 'd you get the idea anybody was going to monkey with your dad?"

  Young Pete felt that he had been incautious. He refused to talkfurther, despite the storekeeper's friendly questioning. Instead, theboy roamed about the store, inspecting and commenting upon saddlery,guns, canned goods, ready-made clothing, and showcase trinkets, hisears alert for every word exchanged by the storekeeper and a chancecustomer. Presently two cowboys clumped in, joshed with thestore-keeper, bought tobacco and ammunition--a most usual procedure,and clumped out again. Young Pete strolled to the door and watchedthem enter the adobe saloon across the way--Tony's Place--therendezvous of the riders of the high mesas. Again a group of cowboysarrived, jesting and roughing their mounts. They entered the store,bought ammunition, and drifted to the saloon. It was far from pay-day,as Pete knew. It was also the busy season. There was some ulteriorreason for so many riders assembling in town. Pete decided to find outjust what they were up to.

  After supper he meandered across to the saloon, passed around it, andhid in an empty barrel near the rear door. He was uncomfortable, butnot unhappy. He listened for a chance word that might explain thepresence of so many cowboys in town that day. Frequently he heardGary's name mentioned. He had not seen Gary with the others. But thetalk was casual, and he learned nothing until some one remarked that itwas about time to drift along. They left in a body, taking the mesatrail that led to the Blue. This was significant. They usually leftin groups of two or three, as their individual pleasure dictated. Andthere was a business-like alertness about their movements that did notescape Young Pete.

  The Arizona stars were clear and keen when he crept round to the frontof the saloon and pattered across the road to the store. Thestorekeeper was closing for the night. Young Pete, restlessly anxiousto follow the T-Bar-T men, invented an excuse to leave the storekeeper,who suggested that they go to bed.

  "Got to see if my hoss is all right," said Pete. "The ole fool's liketo git tangled up in that there drag-rope I done left on him. ReckonI'll take it off."

  "Why, your dad was tellin' me you was a reg'lar buckaroo. Thought youknew better than to leave a rope on a hoss when he's in a corral."

  "I forgot," invented Pete. "Won't take a minute."

  "Then I'll wait for you. Run along while I get my lantern."

  The storekeeper's house was but a few doors down the street, which,however, meant quite a distance, as Concho straggled over considerableterritory. He lighted the lantern and sat down on the steps waitingfor the boy. From the corral back of the store came the sound oftrampling hoofs and an occasional word from Young Pete, who seemed tobe a long time at the simple task of untying a drag-rope. Thestore-keeper grew suspicious and finally strode back to the corral.His first intimation of Pete's real intent was a glimpse of the boyastride the big bay and blinking in the rays of the lantern.

  "What you up to?" queried the storekeeper.

  Young Pete's reply was to dig his heels into the horse's ribs. Thestorekeeper caught hold of the bridle. "You git down and come homewith me. Where you goin' anyhow?"

  "Take your hand off that bridle," blustered Young Pete.

  The trader had to laugh. "Got spunk, ain't you? Now you git down andcome along with me, Pete. No use you riding back to the mesa to-night.Your dad ain't there. You can't find him to-night."

  Pete's lip quivered. What right had the store-keeper, or any man, totake hold of his bridle?

  "See here, Pete, where do you think you're goin'?"

  "Home!" shrilled Pete as he swung his hat and fanned the horse's ears.It had been many years since that pony had had his ears fanned, but heremembered early days and rose to the occasion, leaving the storekeeperin the dust and Young Pete riding for dear life to stay in the saddle.Pete's hat was lost in the excitement, and next to his rifle, the oldsombrero inherited from his pop was Pete's dearest possession. Buteven when the pony had ceased to pitch, Pete dared not go back for it.He would not risk being caught a second time.

  He jogged along up the mesa trail, peering ahead in the dusk,half-frightened and half-elated. If the T-Bar-T outfit were going torun his pop out of the country, Young Pete intended to be in at therunning. The feel of the carbine beneath his leg gave him courage. Upto the time Annersley had adopted him, Pete had had to fight and schemeand dodge his way through life. He had asked no favors and expectednone. His pop had stood by him in his own deepest trouble, and hewould now stand by his pop. That he was doing anything especiallyworthy did not occur to him. Partners always "stuck."

  The horse, anxious to be home, took the long grade quickly, restrainedby Pete, who felt that it would be poor policy to tread too closelyupon the heels of the T-Bar-T men. That they intended mischief was nowonly too evident. And Pete would have been disappointed had they not.Although sophisticated beyond his years and used to the hazards of arough life, _this_ adventure thrilled him. Perhaps the men would setfire to the outbuildings and the haystack, or even try to burn thecabin. But they would have a sorry time getting to the cabin if hispop were really there.

  Up the dim, starlit trail he plodded, shivering and yet elate. As hetopped the rise he thought he could see the vague outlines of horsesand men, but he was not certain. That soft glow against the distanttimber was real enough, however! There was no mistaking that! The logstable was on fire!

  The horse fought the bit as Young Pete reined him into the timber.

  Pete could see no men against the glow of the burning building, but heknew that they were there somewhere, bushed in the brush and waiting.Within a few hundred yards of the cabin he was startled by the flatcrack of a rifle. He felt frightened and the blood sang in his ears.But he could not turn back now! His pop might be besieged in thecabin, alone and fighting a cowardly bunch of cow-punchers who dare notface him in the open day. But what if his pop were not there? Thethought struck him cold. What would he do if he made a run for thecabin and found it locked and no one there? All at once Pete realizedthat it was _his_ home and _his_ stock and hay that were in danger.Was he not a partner in pop's homestead? Then a thin red flash fromthe cabin window told him that Annersley was there. Following theflash came the rip and roar of the old rifle. Concealed in the timber,Pete could see the flames licking up the stable. Presently a longtongue of yellow shot up the haystack. "The doggone snakes done firedour hay!" he cried, and his voice caught in a sob. This was too much.Hay was a precious commodity in the high country. Pete yanked out hiscarbine, loosed a shot at nothing in particular, and rode for the cabinon the run. "We're coming pop," he yelled, followed by his shrill"Yip! Yip! We're all here!"

  Several of the outlying cow-punchers saw the big bay rear and stop atthe cabin as Young Pete flung out of the saddle and pounded on thedoor. "It's me, pop! It's Pete! Lemme in!"

  Annersley's heart sank. Why had the boy come? How did he know? Howhad he managed to get away?

  He flung open the door and dragged Pete in.

  "What you doin' here?" he challenged.

  "I done lost my hat," gasped Pete. "I--I was lookin' for it."

  "Your hat? You gone loco? Git in there and lay down!" And though itwas dark in the cabin Young Pete knew that his pop had gestured towardthe bed. Annersley had never spoken in that tone before, and YoungPete resented it.

  Pete was easil
y led, but mighty hard to drive.

  "Nothin' doin'!" said Pete. "You can't boss me 'round like that! Yousaid we was pardners, and that we was both boss. I knowed they wascomin' and I fanned it up here to tell you. I reckon we kin lick thehull of 'em. I got plenty cartridges."

  Despite the danger, old man Annersley smiled as he choked back a wordof appreciation for Pete's stubborn loyalty and grit. When he spokeagain Pete at once caught the change in tone.

  "You keep away from the window," said Annersley. "Them coyotes outthere 'most like aim to rush me when the blaze dies down. Reckonthey'll risk settin' fire to the cabin. I don't want to killnobody--but--you keep back--and if they git me, you stay right still inhere. They won't hurt you."

  "Not if I git a bead on any of 'em!" said Young Pete, taking couragefrom his pop's presence. "Did you shoot any of 'em yet, pop?"

  "I reckon not. I cut loose onct or twict, to scare 'em off. You keepaway from the window."

  Young Pete had crept to the window and was gazing out at the sinkingflames. "Say, ain't we pardners?" he queried irritably. "You said wewas when you brung me up here. And pardners stick, don't they? Ireckon if it was my shack that was gittin' rushed, you 'd stick, andnot go bellyin' under the bunk and hidin' like a dog-gone prairie-dog."

  "Say, ain't we pardners?"]

  "That's all right," said Annersley. "But there's no use takin'chances. You keep back till we find out what they're goin' to do next."

  Standing in the middle of the room, well back from the southern window,the old man gazed out upon the destruction of his buildings andcarefully hoarded hay. He breathed hard. The riders knew that he wasin the cabin--that they had not bluffed him from the homestead.Probably they would next try to fire the cabin itself. They couldcrawl up to it in the dark and set fire to the place before he wasaware of it. Well, they would pay high before they got him. He hadfed and housed these very men--and now they were trying to run him outof the country because he had fenced a water-hole which he had everyright to fence. He had toiled to make a home for himself, and the boy,he thought, as he heard Young Pete padding about the cabin. Thecattlemen had written a threatening letter hinting of this, yet theyhad not dared to meet him in the open and have it out face to face. Hedid not want to kill, yet such men were no better than wolves. And aswolves he thought of them, as he determined to defend his home.

  Young Pete, spider-like in his quick movements, scurried about thecabin making his own plan of battle. It did not occur to him that hemight get hurt--or that his pop would get hurt. They were safe enoughbehind the thick logs. All he thought of was the chance of a shot atwhat he considered legitimate game. While drifting about the countryhe had heard many tales of gunmen and border raids, and it was quiteevident, even to his young mind, that the man who suffered attack by agun was justified in returning the compliment in kind. And to this endhe carefully arranged his cartridges on the floor, knelt and raised thewindow a few inches and cocked the old carbine. Annersley realizedwhat the boy was up to and stepped forward to pull him away from thewindow. And in that brief moment Young Pete's career wasshaped--shaped beyond all question or argument by the wanton bulletthat sung across the open, cut a clean hole in the window, and droppedAnnersley in his tracks.

  The distant, flat report of the shot broke the silence, fired more inthe hope of intimidating Annersley than anything else, yet the man whohad fired it must have known that there was but one place in the brushfrom where the window could be seen--and to that extent the shot waspremeditated, with the possibility of its killing some one in the cabin.

  Young Pete heard his pop gasp and saw him stagger in the dim light. Ina flash Pete was at his side. "You hit, pop?" he quavered. There cameno reply. Annersley had died instantly. Pete fumbled at his chest inthe dark, called to him, tried to shake him, and then, realizing whathad happened threw himself on the floor beside Annersley and sobbedhopelessly. Again a bullet whipped across the clearing. Glass tinkledon the cabin floor. Pete cowered and hid his face in his arms.Suddenly a shrill yell ripped the silence. The men were rushing thecabin! Young Pete's fighting blood swelled his pulse. He and pop hadbeen partners. And partners always "stuck." Pete crept cautiously tothe window. Halfway across the clearing the blurred hulk of runninghorses loomed in the starlight. Young Pete rested his carbine on thewindow-sill and centered on the bulk. He fired and thought he saw ahorse rear. Again he fired. This was much easier than shooting deer.He beard a cry and the drumming of hoofs. Something crashed againstthe door. Pete whirled and fired point-blank. Before he knew what hadhappened men were in the cabin. Some one struck a match. Young Petecowered in a corner, all the fight oozing out of him as the lamp waslighted and he saw several men masked with bandannas. "The old man'sdone for," said one of them, stooping to look at Annersley. Anotherpicked up the two empty shells from Annersley's rifle. "Where's thekid?" asked another. "Here, in the corner," said a cowboy. "Must 'a'been him that got Wright and Bradley. The old man only cut loosetwict--afore the kid come. Look at this!" And dragging Young Pete tohis feet, the cowboy took the carbine from him and pointed to the threethirty-thirty shells on the cabin floor.

  The men were silent. Presently one of them laughed. Despite Pete'sterror, he recognized that laugh. He knew that the man was Gary, hewho had once spoken of running Annersley out of the country.

  "It's a dam' bad business," said one of the men. "The kid knows toomuch. He'll talk."

  "Will you keep your mouth shut, if we don't kill you?" queried Gary.

  "Cut that out!" growled another. "The kid's got sand. He downed twoof us--and we take our medicine. I'm for fannin' it."

  Pete, stiff with fear, saw them turn and clump from the cabin.

  As they left he heard one say something which he never forgot. "Must'a' been Gary's shot that downed the o1e man. Gary knowed the layoutand where he could get a line on the window."

  Pete dropped to the floor and crawled over to Annersley. "Pop!" hecalled again and again. Presently he realized that the kindly old manwho had made a home for him, and who had been more like a real fatherthan his earlier experiences had ever allowed him to imagine, wouldnever again answer. In the yellow haze of the lamp, Young Pete roseand dragging a blanket from the bed, covered the still form and theupturned face, half in reverence for the dead and half in fear thatthose dead lips might open and speak.