The Coming of the Law. Seltzer Charles Alden
regret over his sacrifice.
It had seemed to him, as two weeks before he had ridden away from the court house–sitting on the seat of the buckboard beside Neil Norton, his suitcases tucked snugly away underneath–that he was once and for all severing his connection with the big, bustling world in which he had moved; in whose busy scenes he had been so vitally interested. His had been a big work; seated at his desk in the “city” room of his newspaper he had many times likened himself unto an argus-eyed recording angel whose business it was to keep in view each of the many atoms of a busy multitude and to accord to them that amount of space that their importance seemed to demand. He had loved his work; it had broadened him, had provided him with exactly the proportion of mental exercise needed to keep him on edge and in a position to enjoy life. He had lived in the East–really lived. Out here he would merely exist, though, he assured himself grimly, his enemies would have to pay dearly for his sacrifice.
The picture of his journey to the Circle Bar ranch was still fresh in his mind as he rode slowly away from Neil Norton, whom he had left sitting in his saddle on a ridge, watching him. The long twilight had brought its lengthening shadows that night before Norton had struck the Circle Bar trail, and before they had traveled a mile of the ten that lay before them night had come. Hollis had been little inclined to talk and Norton did not disturb him, but gave his attention to the horses. There had been no moon and few stars, and darkness, as under a blanket, had settled over them before they were many miles from Dry Bottom.
The country seemed nothing more than a vast plain, broken here and there by ridges and depressions. Occasionally a low hill loomed out of the darkness, the shadows deepening around it; now and then the buckboard passed through a draw, the wheels sinking hub-deep in the loose sand. Several dry arroyos crossed the trail, but with a knowledge that seemed almost marvelous Norton cleverly avoided these pitfalls. Hollis could not see a foot ahead, but the location of the trail seemed to be no mystery to the range boss, for he drove the horses steadily on, hesitating for nothing.
Once during the ride Norton broke the silence with a subdued cackle of mirth, and at another time he laughed aloud.
“I’d liked to have seen Big Bill when you hit him!” he observed, regret in his voice. “I reckon he might have been just a little surprised!”
To which Hollis made no reply. At another time Norton broke the silence long enough to inquire:
“I reckon mebbe you wouldn’t have hit him so hard if you’d knowed who he was?”
“I think I should have hit a little harder,” returned Hollis quietly.
“Why, hell!” declared Norton with a laugh; “I reckon you would have done just that!”
About ten o’clock they came in sight of some straggling posts, and Norton assured Hollis that the posts were strung with wire, forming a fence which skirted one side of the Circle Bar pasture. A few minutes later a dog barked and at Norton’s call came bounding up to the buckboard, yipping joyously. Hollis could make out his shape as he cavorted about.
“My dog,” offered the range boss. “Half wolf, the other half just dog.” He chuckled over his joke. “Best dog you ever see,” he boasted; “money couldn’t buy him. Like dogs?”
Hollis nodded and then realizing that Norton could not see him in the darkness, voiced a quick “yes”.
In the distance Hollis saw a sudden square of light illuminate the wall of darkness into which they had been driving; a door had been opened. Evidently the dog’s barking had aroused the inmates of the building, for as the buckboard drew nearer Hollis saw several figures flit out of the door-way. Norton drove the horses close to the building and brought them to a halt with a sonorous “whoa”! Then he turned to Hollis and spoke with a drawl: “This here building is the Circle Bar bunkhouse; them’s some of your men.”
Hollis remarked the size of the building and Norton laughed grimly. “There was a time when it wasn’t any too big,” he said. “Five years ago your dad had twenty-seven men on the pay-roll. If Dunlavey an’ his damn association hadn’t showed up he’d have had them yet.” He turned toward three men who were lounging in the doorway. “Hey, you guys!” he yelled; “this here’s your new boss. If you-all ain’t glued there you might grab his grips an’ tote them up to the ranchhouse. Tell the missus that I’ll be along directly with the boss.”
Amusement over the Southern twang that marked Norton’s speech filled Hollis. He had noticed it before and it had made plain to him the reason of Norton’s unhurried movements, his slow humor, his habit of quiet scrutiny.
But he had little time for reflection. At Norton’s words two men sprang forward to the buckboard and he saw his suitcases disappear into the darkness in the direction of a light that he now saw flickering from some little distance. He jumped out of the buckboard and saw another man spring to the horses’ heads and lead them away into the darkness. Then he followed Norton into the light from the open doorway. Presently he was shaking hands with a man who stood there, whose chief articles of raiment were overalls, boots, and a woolen shirt. Almost instantly, it seemed, two of the others had returned and Norton was introducing them as “Ace,” “Lanky,” and “Weary.” These pseudonyms were picturesque and descriptive, though at the time Hollis was in a state of pained incomprehension concerning them. Later he was informed that Ace had been so named on account of having once been caught slipping a playing card of that character into his bootleg during a game of poker. Incidentally–Hollis was told–gun-play had resulted. That Ace was still active proved that the other man might have profited by keeping his knowledge to himself. Obviously, Lanky deserved his appellation–he was a trifle over six feet tall and proportioned like a young sapling. Weary had been born tired–so Hollis was told by the latter’s defamers; defamers, for later Hollis discovered that no man in the outfit could show more surprising agility on occasion than this same Weary.
Hollis found himself inside the bunkhouse, where he was critically inspected by the three men–and before he left, by the fourth, who answered to the name of “Bud.” Norton told him that these four comprised his outfit–Bud acting as blacksmith. Hollis remained with the men only long enough to announce that there would be no change; that he intended to hang on and fight for his rights. When Norton told them that Hollis had already begun the fight by slugging Dunlavey and Yuma Ed, the enthusiasm of the four men was unbounded. They assured him profanely that they were with him to the “finish”–whatever it might be. After which Hollis departed to the ranchhouse.
He found Mrs. Norton to be a pleasant faced woman of twenty-seven or eight, who had–according to Norton–“bossed him for seven years.” Norton grinned hugely over his wife’s embarrassed protest.
“I haven’t ‘bossed’ him,” she told Hollis, while Norton looked on with amusement, “though there have been times when he richly deserved it.” There was a spirited flash in the lady’s eyes as she looked at her lord.
“I don’t wish to take sides in any marital controversy,” Hollis told them. “I don’t care to parade my ignorance. However,” he smiled, with a wink at Norton, “most men need a boss, if for no other reason than to teach them the value of discipline.”
“There!” said Mrs. Norton with a triumphant laugh, and immediately left the two men and went into the kitchen.
After partaking of a hearty meal Hollis and Norton went out on the porch for a smoke and a talk, and it was near midnight when Hollis tumbled into bed, distinctly pleased with the range boss and his admirable wife. He was asleep within five minutes.
The sun was streaming into his window when he hopped out of bed the next morning, refreshed and eager to make a trip of inspection over his property. He came down stairs lightly, in the hope of being able to slip outside without disturbing anybody, but upon opening the stair door he was surprised to find the cloth on the table in the dining room already spread and hot food steaming upon it. Mrs. Norton was bustling about from the kitchen to the dining room. Evidently the Nortons had been astir for hours.
Mrs. Norton smilingly directed him to a wash basin on a bench just outside the door and stood in the opening a moment, watching him as he drenched his face with the cold water. There was in her manner only