Crooked Trails and Straight Read online

  CHAPTER V

  LAURA LONDON

  Kite Bonfils and Maloney took Curly back to Saguache and turned him overto Sheriff Bolt.

  "How about bail?" Maloney asked.

  The sheriff smiled. He was a long lean leather-faced man with friendlyeyes from which humorous wrinkles radiated.

  "You honing to go bail for him, Dick?"

  "How much?"

  "Oh, say two thousand."

  "You're on."

  "What!"

  A cowpuncher with fifty dollars two weeks after pay day was a rarity. Nowonder Bolt was surprised.

  "It's not my money. Luck Cullison is going bail for him," Maloneyexplained.

  "Luck Cullison!" Maloney's words had surprised the exclamation from Curly.Why should the owner of the Circle C of all men go bail for him?

  The sheriff commented dryly on the fact. "I thought this kid was the onethat shot him."

  "That was just a happenstance. Curly shot to save his bacon. Luck don'thold any grudge."

  "So I should judge. Luck gave you his check, did he?"

  Bolt belonged to the political party opposed to Cullison. He had beenbacked by Cass Fendrick, a sheepman in feud with the cattle interests andin particular with the Circle C outfit. But he could not go back on hisword. He and Maloney called together on the district attorney. An hourlater Dick returned to the jail.

  "It's all right, kid," he told Curly. "You can shake off the dust ofSaguache from your hoofs till court meets in September."

  To Flandrau the news seemed too good for the truth. Less than twenty-fourhours ago he had been waiting for the end of the road with a rope aroundhis neck. Now he was free to slip a saddle on his pony Keno and gallop offas soon as he pleased. How such a change had been brought about he did notyet understand.

  While he and Maloney were sitting opposite each other at the New OrleansHash House waiting for a big steak with onions he asked questions.

  "I don't savvy Cullison's play. Whyfor is he digging up two thousand forme? How does he know I won't cut my stick for Mexico?"

  "How do I know it?"

  "Well, do you?"

  Maloney helped himself to the oyster crackers to pass the time. "Sure Ido."

  "How?"

  "Search me. But I know you'll be here in September if you're alive andkicking."

  Flandrau persisted. "But Luck don't owe me anything, except one pill sentpromiscuous to his address. What's he going down into his jeans for? Willyou tell me that? And shove them crackers north by east. Got to fill up onsomething."

  "Ain't you as good a guesser as I am, Curly?"

  "Well then, here's my guess. Miss Kate made him."

  "I reckon maybe she influenced him. But why did she? You don't figure thatcurly topknot of yours is disturbing her dreams any, do you?"

  "Quit your joshing and tell me why."

  "I can't tell you for sure. But here's my guess. Don't cost you a cent ifyou ain't satisfied with it. First off, there was poor Mac shot by theCircle C boys. Course Mac was a horse thief, but then he was a kid too.That worried the little girl some. She got to thinking about brother Samand how he might be in the same fix one of these days as you are now. He'son her mind a good deal, Sam is. Same way with the old man too, I reckon,though he don't say much. Well, she decided Soapy Stone had led you astraylike he's doing with Sam. It got to worrying her for fear her brothermight need a friend some time. So she handed over her worry to the old manand made him dig up for you."

  "That's about it. Tell me what you know of Sam. Is he as white as the restof the family?"

  "Sam is all right, but he has got off wrong foot first. He and the old mangot to kind of disagreeing, for the kid was a wild colt. Come by ithonestly from the old man too. Well, they had a row one time when Sam gotinto trouble. Luck told him he never wanted to see him again. Sam lit out,and next folks knew he was trailing with Soapy's gang. Consequence is,Sam's hitting the toboggan for Tophet by all accounts."

  "Looks like some one ought to be able to pry him loose from that bunch,"Curly mused aloud.

  Maloney grinned across at him. "You try it, son. You've always led a goodpious life. He sure would listen to you."

  He had said it as a jest, but Curly did not laugh. Why not? Why shouldn'the hunt up Sam and let him know how his folks were worrying about him?What was to hinder him from trying to wipe out some of the big debt heowed the Cullison family? He was footloose till September and out of ajob. For he could not go back to the Map of Texas with his hat in his handand a repentant whine on his lips. Why not take a hike into the hills andround up the boy? Of course Sam might not listen to him, but he could nottell that till he had tried. It had taken him scarcely a moment to make uphis mind. The smile had not yet died out of Maloney's eyes when he spoke.

  "Damn if I don't take a crack at it."

  The man on the other side of the table stared at him.

  "Meaning that, are you?"

  "Yep."

  "Might be some lively if Soapy gets wise to your intentions," he said in acasual sort of way.

  "I don't aim to declare them out loud."

  That was all they said about it at the time. The rest of the evening wasdevoted to pleasure. After dinner they took in a moving picture show. Thefirst film was a Western melodrama and it pleased them both immensely.

  "I'd be afraid to live in a country where guns popped like they do inmoving picture land," Curly drawled. "Where is it anyhow? It ain't Texas,nor Oklahoma, nor Wyoming, nor Montana, nor any of the spots in between,because I've been in all of them."

  Maloney laughed. "Day before yesterday that's the way I'd a-talked my ownself, but now I know better. What about your little stunt? Wasn't thatwarm enough for you? Didn't guns pop enough? Don't you talk about movingpictures!"

  After the picture show there were other things. But both of them trod thenarrow path, Maloney because he was used to doing so and Flandrau becausehis experiences had sobered him.

  "I'm on the water wagon, Dick." He grinned ruefully at his friend."Nothing like locking the stable after your bronc's been stole. I'd a-beena heap better off if I'd got on the wagon a week ago."

  Since their way was one for several miles Maloney and Curly took the roadtogether next morning at daybreak. Their ponies ambled along side by sideat the easy gait characteristic of the Southwest. Steadily they pushedinto the brown baked desert. Little dust whirls in the shape of invertedcones raced across the sand wastes. The heat danced along the road infront of them in shimmering waves.

  Your plainsman is a taciturn individual. These two rode for an hourwithout exchanging a syllable. Then Curly was moved to talk.

  "Can you tell me how it is a man can get fond of so Godforsaken a country?Cactus and greasewood and mesquite, and for a change mesquite andgreasewood and cactus! Nothing but sand washes and sand hills, except thenaked mountains 'way off with their bones sticking through. But in themo'ning like this, when the world's kind o' smiley with the sunshine, orafter dark when things are sorter violet soft and the mountains lose theiredges--say, would you swap it for any other country on earth?"

  Maloney nodded. He had felt that emotion a hundred times, though he hadnever put it into words.

  At Willow Wash their ways diverged. They parted with a casual "So-long;see you later." Curly was striking for the headwaters of Dead Cow Creek,where Soapy Stone had a horse ranch.

  He put up that night at the place of a nester in the foothills. His hostlooked at him curiously when he mentioned his destination, but he did notsay anything. It was none of his business how many young fellows rode toSoapy's ranch.

  Flandrau took the trail again next morning after breakfast. About twoo'clock he reached a little park in the hills, in the middle of which, bya dry creek, lay a ranch.

  The young man at first thought the place was deserted for the day, butwhen he called a girl appeared at the door. She smiled up at him with thelively interest any ranch girl may be expected to feel in a stranger whohappens to be both young and good looking.

>   She was a young person of soft curves and engaging dimples. Beneath thebrown cheeks of Arizona was a pink that came and went very attractively.

  Curly took off his dusty gray hat. "_Buenos tardes; senorita!_ I'll betI'm too late to draw any dinner."

  "_Buenos, senor_," she answered promptly. "I'll bet you'd lose yourmoney."

  He swung from the saddle. "That's good hearing. When a fellow has had hisknees clamped to the side of a bronch for seven hours he's sure ready forthe dinner bell."

  "You can wash over there by the pump. There's a towel on the fence."

  She disappeared into the house, and Curly took care of his horse, washed,and sauntered back to the porch. He could smell potatoes frying and couldhear the sizzling of ham and eggs.

  While he ate the girl flitted in and out, soft-footed and graceful,replenishing his plate from time to time.

  Presently he discovered that her father was away hunting strays on SunkCreek, that the nearest neighbor was seven miles distant, and that Stone'sranch was ten miles farther up Dead Cow.

  "Ever meet a lad called Sam Cullison?" the guest asked carelessly.

  Curly was hardly prepared to see the color whip into her cheeks or to meetthe quick stabbing look she fastened on him.

  "You're looking for him, are you?" she said.

  "Thought while I was here I'd look him up. I know his folks a little."

  "Do you know him?"

  He shook his head. She looked at him very steadily before she spoke.

  "You haven't met him yet but you want to. Is that it?"

  "That's it."

  "Will you have another egg?"

  Flandrau laughed. "No, thanks. Staying up at Stone's, is he?"

  "How should I know who's staying at Stone's?"

  It was quite plain she did not intend to tell anything that would hurtyoung Cullison.

  "Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I ain't lost him any to speak of," the youngman drawled.

  "Are you expecting to stop in the hills long--or just visiting?"

  "Yes," Curly answered, with his most innocent blank wall look.

  "Yes which?"

  "Why, whichever you like, Miss London. What's worrying you? If you'll askme plain out I'll know how to answer you."

  "So you know my name?"

  "Anything strange about that? The Bar 99 is the London brand. I saw yourcalves in the corral with their flanks still sore. Naturally I assume theyoung lady I meet here is Miss Laura London."

  She defended her suspicions. "Folks come up here with their mysteriousquestions. A person would think nobody lived on Dead Cow but outlaws andsuch, to hear some of you valley people tell it."

  "There's nothing mysterious about me and my questions. I'm just alunkheaded cowpuncher out of a job. What did you think I was?"

  "What do you want with Sam Cullison? Are you friendly to him? Or aren'tyou?"

  "Ladies first. Are _you_ friendly to him? Or aren't you?"

  Curly smiled gaily across the table at her. A faint echo of his pleasantrybegan to dimple the corners of her mouth. It lit her eyes and spread fromthem till the prettiest face on the creek wrinkled with mirth. Both ofthem relaxed to peals of laughter, and neither of them quite knew thecause of their hilarity.

  "Oh, you!" she reproved when she had sufficiently recovered.

  "So you thought I was a detective or a deputy sheriff. That's certainlyfunny."

  "For all I know yet you may be one."

  "I never did see anyone with a disposition so dark-complected as yours. Ifyou won't put them suspicions to sleep I'll have to table my cards." Fromhis pocket he drew a copy of the Saguache Sentinel and showed her a markedstory. "Maybe that will explain what I'm doing up on Dead Cow."

  This was what Laura London read:

  From Mesa comes the news of another case of bold and flagrant rustling. On Friday night a bunch of horses belonging to the Bar Double M were rounded up and driven across the mountains to this city. The stolen animals were sold here this morning, after which the buyers set out at once for the border and the thieves made themselves scarce. It is claimed that the rustlers were members of the notorious Soapy Stone outfit. Two of the four were identified, it is alleged, as William Cranston, generally known as "Bad Bill," and a young vaquero called "Curly" Flandrau.

  At the time of going to press posses are out after both the outlaws and the stolen horses. Chances of overtaking both are considered excellent. All likely points and outlying ranches have been notified by telephone whenever possible.

  In case the guilty parties are apprehended the _Sentinel_ hopes an example will be made of them that will deter others of like stamp from a practice that has of late been far too common. Lawlessness seems to come in cycles. Just now the southern tier of counties appears to be suffering from such a sporadic attack. Let all good men combine to stamp it out. The time has passed when Arizona must stand as a synonym for anarchy.

  She looked up at the young man breathlessly, her pretty lips parted, herdilated eyes taking him in solemnly. A question trembled on her lips.

  "Say it," advised Flandrau.

  The courage to ask what she was thinking came back in a wave. "Then Iwill. Are you a rustler?"

  "That's what the paper says, don't it?"

  "Are you this man mentioned here? What's his name--'Curly' Flandrau?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're a rustler?"

  "What do you think? Am I more like a rustler than a deputy sheriff? Standsto reason I can't be both."

  Her eyes did not leave him. She brushed aside his foolery impatiently."You don't even deny it."

  "I haven't yet. I expect I will later."

  "Why do men do such things?" she went on, letting the hands that held thepaper drop into her lap helplessly. "You don't look bad. Anyone wouldthink----"

  Her sentence tailed out and died away. She was still looking at Curly, buthe could see that her mind had flown to someone else. He would have bet amonth's pay that she was thinking of another lad who was wild but did notlook bad.

  Flandrau rose and walked round the table to her. "Much obliged, MissLaura. I'll shake hands on that with you. You've guessed it. Course, mebeing so 'notorious' I hate to admit it, but I ain't bad any more than heis."

  She gave him a quick shy look. He had made a center shot she was notexpecting. But, womanlike, she did not admit it.

  "You mean this 'Bad Bill'?"

  "You know who I mean all right. His name is Sam Cullison. And you needn'tto tell me where he is. I'll find him."

  "I know you don't mean any harm to him." But she said it as if she werepleading with him.

  "C'rect. I don't. Can you tell me how to get to Soapy Stone's horse ranchfrom here, Miss London?"

  She laughed. Her doubts were vanishing like mist before the sunshine."Good guess. At least he was there the last I heard."

  "And I expect your information is pretty recent."

  That drew another little laugh accompanied by a blush.

  "Don't you think I have told you enough for one day, Mr. Flandrau?"

  "That 'Mr.' sounds too solemn. My friends call me 'Curly,'" he let herknow.

  She remembered that he was a stranger and a rustler and she drew herselfup stiffly. This pleasant young fellow was too familiar.

  "If you take this trail to the scrub pines above, then keep due north forabout four miles, you'll strike the creek again. Just follow the trailalong it to the horse ranch."

  With that she turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen.

  Curly had not meant to be "fresh." He was always ready for foolery withthe girls, but he was not the sort to go too far. Now he blamed himselffor having moved too fast. He had offended her sense of what was theproper thing.

  There was nothing for it but to saddle and take the road.