Sundown Slim Read online

  CHAPTER V

  ON THE CANON TRAIL

  The Loring homestead, a group of low-roofed adobe buildings blendingwith the abrupt red background of the hill which sheltered it from thewinter winds, was a settlement in itself, providing shelter and comfortfor the wives and children of the herders. Each home maintained asmall garden of flowers and vegetables. Across the somber brown of the'dobe walls hung strings of chiles drying in the sun. Gay blossoms,neatly kept garden rows, red ollas hanging in the shade of cypress andacacia, the rose-bordered plaza on which fronted the house of thepatron, the gigantic windmill purring lazily and turning now to theright, now to the left, to meet the varying breeze, the entire prospectwas in its pastoral quietude a reflection of Senora Loring's sweet andplacid nature. Innuendo might include the windmill, and justly so, forthe Senora in truth met the varying breeze of circumstance andinvariably turned it to good uses, cooling the hot temper of the patronwith a flow of soft Spanish utterances, and enriching the simple livesof the little colony with a charity as free and unvarying as the flowof the clear, cool water.

  Far to the east, where the mesas sloped gently to the hills, grazed thesheep, some twenty bands of a thousand each, and each band guarded andcared for by a herder and an assistant who cooked and at timesjourneyed with the lazy burros to and from the hacienda for suppliesand provisions.

  David Loring, erstwhile plainsman and scout, had drifted in the earlydays from New Mexico to Arizona with his small band of sheep, andsettled in the valley of the Concho. He had been tolerated by thecattle-men, as his flock was but a speck on the limitless mesas. Ashis holdings increased, the ranchers awakened to the fact that he hadcome to stay and that some boundary must be established to protecttheir grazing. The Concho River was chosen as the dividing line, whichwould have been well enough had Loring been a party to the agreement.But he declined to recognize any boundary. The cattle-men felt thatthey had given him fair warning in naming the Concho as the line ofdemarcation. He, in turn, considered that his right to graze his sheepon any part or all of the free range had not been circumscribed.

  His neighbor--if cattle-men and sheep-men may under any circumstancesbe termed neighbors--was John Corliss. The Corliss rancho was justacross the river opposite the Loring homestead. After the death oftheir parents the Corliss boys, John and his younger brother Will, hadbeen constant visitors at the sheep-man's home, both of them enjoyingthe vivacious companionship of Eleanor Loring, and each, in his way, inlove with the girl. Eventually the younger brother disappeared withoutany apparent reason. Then it was that John Corliss's visits to theLoring rancho became less frequent and the friendliness which hadexisted between the rival ranches became a kind of tolerantacquaintanceship, as that of neighbors who have nothing in common savethe back fence.

  Fernando, the oldest herder in Loring's employ, stood shading his eyesfrom the glare of noon as he gazed toward the distant rancho. His sonwas with the flock and the old man had just risen from preparing thenoon meal. "The Senorita," he murmured, and his swart features werelighted by a wrinkled smile. He stepped to his tent, whipped a gaybandanna from his blankets and knotted it about his lean throat. Thenhe took off his hat, gazing at it speculatively. It was beyondreconstruction as to definite shape, so he tossed it to the ground, ranhis fingers through his silver-streaked hair, and stepped out to awaithis Senorita's arrival.

  The sunlight flashed on silver spur and bit as the black-and-whitepinto "Challenge" swept across the mesa toward the sheep-camp. Intothe camp he flung, fretting at the curb and pivoting. His rider,Eleanor Loring, about to dismount, spoke to him sharply. Still hecontinued to pivot uneasily. "Morning, Fernando! Challenge is fussythis morning. I'll be right back!" And she disciplined Challenge withbit and spur, wheeling him and loping him away from the camp. Down thetrail she checked him and brought him around on his hind feet. Backthey came, with a rush. Fernando's deep-set eyes glowed withadmiration as the girl "set-up" the pinto and swung to the ground witha laugh. "Made him do it all over again, si. He is the big baby, buthe pretends he is bronco. Don't you, Challenge?" She dropped thereins and rubbed his nose. The pony laid back his ears in simulatedanger and nipped at her sleeve. "Straighten your ears up, pronto!" shecommanded, nevertheless laughing. Then a strain of her father's bloodwas apparent as she seized the reins and stood back from the horse."Because you're bluffing this morning, I'm going to make you do yourlatest trick. Down!" she commanded. The pony extended his foreleg andbegged to shake hands. "No! Down!" With a grunt the horse dropped tohis knees, rolled to his side, but still kept his head raised. "Cleardown! Dead, Challenge!" The horse lay with extended neck, butswitched his tail significantly. "Don't you dare roll!" she said, ashe gave evidence of getting up. Then, at her gesture, he heavedhimself to his feet and shook himself till the stirrups clattered. Thegirl dropped the reins and turned to the old herder. "I taught himthat, Fernando. I didn't make him do it just to show off. Heunderstands now, and he'll behave."

  Old Fernando grinned. "He always have the good manner, being alwayswith the Senorita," he said bowing.

  "Thanks, Fernando. You always say something nice. But I can't let youget ahead of me. What a pretty scarf. It's just right. Do you wearit always, Fernando?"

  "It is--I know--what the vaquero of the Concho call the 'josh' that yougive me, but I am yet not too old to like it. It is muy pleasure, si!to be noticed when one is old--by the Senorita of especial."

  The girl's dark eyes flashed and she laughed happily. "It's lots offun, isn't it--to 'josh'? But I came to see if you needed anything."

  "Nothing while still the Senorita is at thees camp."

  "Well, you'd better think up something, for I'm going in a minute.Have to make the rounds. Dad is down with the rheumatism and as crossas a grizzly. I was glad to get away. And then, there's Madre."

  Fernando smiled and nodded. He was not unfamiliar with the patron'stemper when rheumatism obliged him to be inactive. "He say nothing,the patron--that we cross the sheep to the west of the river, Senorita?"

  "No. Not lately. I don't know why he should want to. The feed isgood here."

  "I have this morning talk with the vaquero Corlees. He tell me thatthe South Fork is dry up."

  "John Corliss is not usually interested in our sheep," said the girl.

  "No. Of the sheep he knows nothing." And the old herder smiled. "Butmany times he look out there," he added, pointing toward the Loringrancho.

  "He was afraid father would catch him talking to one of the herders,"laughed the girl.

  "The vaquero Corlees he afraid of not even the bear, I think, Senorita."

  Eleanor Loring laughed. "Don't you let father catch you calling him abear!" she cautioned, provoking the old herder to immediate apology anda picturesque explanation of the fact that he had referred not to thepatron, but the grizzly.

  "All right, Fernando. I'll not forget to tell the patron that youcalled him a bear."

  The old herder grinned and waved farewell as she mounted and rode downthe trail. Practical in everyday affairs, he untied his bandanna andneatly folded and replaced it among his effects. As he came out of thetent he picked up his hat. He was no longer the cavalier, but astoop-shouldered, shriveled little Mexican herder. He slouched outtoward the flock and called his son to dinner. No, it was not so manyyears--was not the Senorita but twenty years old?--since he had wooedthe Senora Loring, then a slim dark girl of the people, his people, butnow the wealthy Senora, wife of his patron. Ah, yes! It was good thatshe should have the comfortable home and the beautiful daughter. Hehad nothing but his beloved sheep, but did they not belong to hisSenorita?

  At the ford the girl took the trail to the uplands, deciding to visitthe farthest camp first, and then, if she had time, to call at one ortwo other camps on her way back to the rancho. As the trail grewsteeper, she curbed the impatient Challenge to a steadier pace and rodeleisurely to the level of the timber. On the park-like level,clean-swept between the b
oles of the great pines, she again putChallenge to a lope until she came to the edge on the upper mesa. Thenshe drew up suddenly and held the horse in.

  Far out on the mesa was the figure of a man, on foot. Toward him camea horse without bridle or saddle. She recognized the figure as that ofJohn Corliss, and she wondered why he was on foot and evidently tryingto coax a stray horse toward him. Presently she saw Corliss reach outslowly and give the horse something from his hand. Still she waspuzzled, and urging Challenge forward, drew nearer. The stray, seeingher horse, pricked up its ears, swung round stiffly, and galloped off.Corliss turned and held up his hand, palm toward her. It was their oldgreeting; a greeting that they had exchanged as boy and girl longbefore David Loring had become recognized as a power to be reckonedwith in the Concho Valley.

  "Peace?" she queried, smiling, as she rode up.

  "Why not, Nell?"

  "Oh, cattle and sheep, I suppose. There's no other reason, is there?"

  Corliss was silent, thinking of his brother Will.

  "Unless--Will--" she said, reading his thought.

  He shook his head, "That would be no reason for--for our quarreling,would it?"

  She laughed. "Why, who has quarreled? I'm sure I haven't."

  "But you don't seem the same--since Will left."

  "Neither do you, John. You haven't called at the rancho for--well,about a year."

  "And then I was told to stay away even longer than that."

  "Oh, you mustn't mind Dad. He growls--but he won't bite."

  Corliss glanced up at her. His steady gray eyes were smiling, but hislips were grave. "Would it make any difference if I did come?"

  The girl's dark face flushed and her eyes sparkled. "Lots! Perhapsyou and Dad could agree to stop growling altogether. But we won't talkabout it. I'd like to know what you are doing up here afoot?"

  "Wouldn't tell you for a dollar," he replied, smiling. "My horse isover there--near the timber. The rest of the band are at thewaterhole."

  "Oh, but you will tell me!" she said. "And before we get back to thecanon."

  "I wasn't headed that way--" he began; but she interrupted quickly.

  "Of course. I'm not, either." Then she glanced at him with mischiefscintillating in her dark eyes. "Fernando told me you were talkingwith him this morning. I don't see that it has done you much good."

  His perplexity was apparent in his silence.

  "Fernando is--is polite," she asserted, wheeling her horse.

  Corliss stood gazing at her unsmilingly. "I want to be," he saidpresently.

  "Oh, John! I--you always take things so seriously. I was just'joshing' you, as Fernando says. Of course you do! Won't you shakehands?"

  He strode forward. The girl drew off her gauntlet and extended herhand. "Let's begin over again," she said as he shook hands with her."We've both been acting."

  Before she was aware of his intent, he bowed his head and kissed herfingers. She drew her hand away with a little cry of surprise. Shewas pleased, yet he mistook her expression.

  He flushed and, confused, drew back. "I--I didn't mean it," he said,as though apologizing for his gallantry.

  The girl's eyes dilated for an instant. Then she laughed with all thejoyous _abandon_ of youth and absolute health. "You get worse andworse," she said, teasingly. "Do go and have another talk withFernando, John. Then come and tell me all about it."

  Despite her teasing, Corliss was beginning to enjoy the play. As arule undemonstrative, he was when moved capable of intense feeling, andthe girl knew it. She saw a light in his eyes that she recognized; alight that she remembered well, for once when they were boy and girltogether she had dared him to kiss her, and had not been disappointed.

  "You are cross this morning," she said, making as though to go.

  "Well, I've begun over again, Nell. You wait till I get Chinook andwe'll ride home together."

  "Oh, but I'm--you're not going that way," she mocked.

  "Yes, I am--and so are you. If you won't wait, I'll catch you up,anyway. You daren't put Challenge down the canon trail faster than awalk."

  "I daren't? Then, catch me!"

  She wheeled her pony and sped toward the timber. Corliss, runningheavily in his high-heeled boots, caught up his own horse and leaped tothe saddle as Chinook broke into a run. The young rancher knew thatthe girl would do her best to beat him to the canon level. He fearedfor her safety on the ragged trail below them.

  Chinook swung down the trail taking the turns without slackening hisspeed and Corliss, leaning in on the curves, dodged the sweepingbranches.

  Arrived at the far edge of the timber, he could see the girl ahead ofhim, urging Challenge down the rain-gutted trail at a lope. As shepulled up at an abrupt turn, she waved to him. He accepted thechallenge and, despite his better judgment, set spurs to Chinook.

  Round the next turn he reined up and leaped from his horse. Below himhe saw Challenge, riderless, and galloping along the edge of thehillside. On the trail lay Eleanor Loring, her black hair vividagainst the gray of the shale. He plunged toward her and stoopingcaught her up in his arms. "Nell! Nell!" he cried, smoothing back herhair from her forehead. "God, Nell! I--I didn't mean it."

  Her eyelids quivered. Then she gasped. He could feel her trembling.Presently her eyes opened and a faint smile touched her white lips."I'm all right. Challenge fell--and I jumped clear. Struck my head.Don't look at me like that! I'm not going to die."

  "I'm--I'm mighty glad, Nell!" he said, helping her to a seat on therock against which she had fallen.

  Her hands were busy with her hair. He found her hat and handed it toher. "If my head wasn't just splitting, I'd like to laugh. You arethe funniest man alive! I couldn't speak, but I heard you call to meand tell me you didn't mean it! Then you say you are mighty glad I'malive. Doesn't that sound funny enough to bring a person to lifeagain?"

  "No, it's not funny. It was a close call."

  She glanced at his grave, white face. "Guess you were scared, John. Ididn't know you could be scared at anything. Jack Corliss as white asa sheet and trembling like a--a girl!"

  "On account of a girl," said Corliss, smiling a little.

  "Now, _that_ sounds better. What were you doing up on the mesa thisafternoon?"

  "I took some lump-sugar up for my old pony, Apache. He likes it."

  "Well, I'll never forget it!" she exclaimed. "How the boys would laughif they heard _you'd_ been feeding sugar to an old broken-downcow-pony! You! Why, I feel better already."

  "I'm right glad you do, Nell. But you needn't say anything about thesugar. I kind of like the old hoss. Will you promise?"

  "I don't know. Oh, my head!" She went white and leaned against him.He put his arm around her, and her head lay back against his shoulder."I'll be all right--in a minute," she murmured.

  He bent above her, his eyes burning. Slowly he drew her close andkissed her lips. Her eyelids quivered and lifted. "Nell!" hewhispered.

  "Did you mean it?" she murmured, smiling wanly.

  He drew his head back and gazed at her up-turned face. "I'm allright," she said, and drew herself up beside him. "Serves me right forputting Challenge down the trail so fast."

  As they rode homeward Corliss told her of the advent of Sundown andwhat the latter had said about the wreck and the final disappearance ofhis "pal," Will Corliss.

  The girl heard him silently and had nothing to say until they parted atthe ford. Then she turned to him. "I don't believe Will was killed.I can't say why, but if he had been killed I think I should have knownit. Don't ask me to explain, John. I have always expected that hewould come back. I have been thinking about him lately."

  "I can't understand it," said Corliss. "Will always had what hewanted. He owns a half-interest in the Concho. I can't do as I wantto, sometimes. My hands are tied, for if I made a bad move and lostout, I'd be sinking Will's money with mine."

  "I wouldn't make any bad moves if I were you,
" said the girl, glancingat the rancher's grave face.

  "Business is business, Nell. We needn't begin that old argument.Only, understand this: I'll play square just as long as the other sideplays square. There's going to be trouble before long and you knowwhy. It won't begin on the west side of the Concho."

  "Good-bye, John," said the girl, reining her pony around.

  He raised his hat. Then he wheeled Chinook and loped toward the ranch.

  Eleanor Loring, riding slowly, thought of what he had said. "He won'tgive in an inch," she said aloud. "Will would have given up the cattlebusiness, or anything else, to please me." Then she reasoned withherself, knowing that Will Corliss had given up all interest in theConcho, not to please her but to hurt her, for the night before hisdisappearance he had asked her to marry him and she had very sensiblyrefused, telling him frankly that she liked him, but that until he hadsettled down to something worth while she had no other answer for him.

  She was thinking of Will when she rode in to the rancho and turned herhorse over to Miguel. Suddenly she flushed, remembering John Corliss'seyes as he had held her in his arms.