Rimrock Trail. Dunn Joseph Allan
east and scudded up the sky, silvering the distant peaks. For almost a mile they rode at top speed, then they settled down to a lope that ate up the miles – a walk at the end of three – then lope and walk again, until the giant cottonwoods of the Three Star rose from the plain, leaves shimmering in the moonlight, the ranch buildings blocked in purple pin-pointed with orange – the pin-points enlarging, resolving into two lighted windows as they passed shack and barn and rode into the home corral at last, to unsaddle, wipe down the horses and dismiss them for the time with a smack on their lathery flanks, knowing they would be too wise to overdrink at the trough, promising them grain later.
Mormon tiptoed heavily out on the creaking porch with a husky, "Hush!"
"What fo'?"
"Molly's asleep. 'Sisted on waitin' up for you."
"Well, we're here, ain't we?" demanded Sam. "Me, I got a scrape in my arm an' some son of a wolf spiled my saddle. Sandy, he sorter evened up fo' it."
"Bleedin'?" asked Mormon.
"Nope. Tied my bandanner round it. Cold air fixed it. Shucks, it ain't nuthin'! Sandy's got a green kale plaster fo' it. Come to think of it, I got ninety bucks myse'f."
"You won?"
"Did we win? Wait till we show you."
Molly met them as they went in, her eyes wide open, all sleep banished.
"Was it a luck-piece?" she demanded.
Sandy produced the package of bills, divided it, shoved over part.
"Your half," he said. "Five thousand bucks. Bu'sted the bank. An' here's the 'riginal bet." He showed the gold eagle, put it into her palm.
"Served me, now you take it," he said. "I'll git you a chain fo' it. It's sure a mascot – same as you are – the Mascot of the Three Star."
She looked up, her eyes, cloudy with wonder at the sight of the money, shining at her new title. They rested on Sam's arm, bandaged with the bandanna.
"There's been shootin'," she said. "You're hit. Oh!"
"More of a miss than a hit," replied Sam.
Molly turned to Sandy. Anxiety, affection, something stronger that stirred him deeply, showed now in her gaze.
"You hurt?"
"Didn't hardly muss a ha'r of my head. Jest a li'l' excitement."
"Tell me all about it."
Sandy gave her a condensed and somewhat expurgated account to which she listened with her face aglow.
"I wisht I'd been there to see it," she said as he finished.
"It warn't jest the time nor place fo' a young lady," said Sandy. "Main p'int is we got the money for yo' eddication, like we planned."
The light faded from her face.
"Air you so dead set for me to go away?" she asked.
"See here, Molly." Sandy leaned forward in his chair, talking earnestly. "You've got the makin' of a mighty fine woman in you. An' paht of you is yore dad an' paht yore maw. Sabe? They handed you on down an', if you make the most of yo'se'f, you make the most of them. Me, I've allus been trubbled with the saddle-itch an' I've wanted the out-of-doors. A chap writ a poem that hits me once. It stahts in,
"I want free life an' I want free air,
An' I sigh fo' the canter afteh the cattle,
The crack of whips like shots in battle;
The melly of horns an' hoofs an' heads
That wars an' wrangles an' scatters an' spreads,
The green beneath an' the blue above,
An' dash an' danger an' life…
"Somethin' like that. I mayn't have got it jest right, but that's me. The chap that wrote that might have writ pahts of it jest fo' me. He sure knew what he was writin' erbout. It's called In Texas, Down by the Rio Grande. I've been there. Arizony ain't much differunt."
"It's called Lasca," put in Sam. "I seen it in the movies. Had the po'try strung all through it. It was a love story. This Lasca, she – "
Mormon put a heavy foot over Sam's and he subsided.
"So you see I lost out on a heap," said Sandy. "An' I'm a man. I can git erlong with less. But fo' a gel, learnin's a grand thing. An' there's the big cities, an' theaters, fine clothes an' fine manners. Like livin' in another world."
"Where they wear suits like Sam's spiketail," said Mormon. "I mind me when I was to Chicago with a train of steers one time, the tall buildin's was higher than cañon cliffs. On'y full breath I drawed was down on the lake front where they was a free picter show in a museum. Reg'lar storm there was out on the lake; big waves. Wind like to curl my tongue back down my throat an' choke me."
"Who's hornin' in now?" asked Sam. "Go on, Sandy."
"But," said Molly, wide-eyed, "that's the life I like. I mean out here. I don't want to be different."
"Shucks," said Sandy. "You won't be. Jest polished up. Skin slicked up, hair fixed to the style, nails trimmed an' shined. Culchured. Inside you'll be yore real self. You can't take the gold out of a bit of ore any more than you can change iron pyrites inter the reel stuff. But, if the gold's goin' to be put into proper circulation, it's got to be refined. Sabe?"
"I ain't refined, I reckon," said Molly with a sigh. "I don't know as I want to be. I can allus come back, can't I?"
"You sure can."
"An' there's Dad. He's where he wanted to be. I w'udn't want to go away from him."
"He'd want you to make this trip, sure," said Sandy. "An' that settles it. You go off to bed an' dream on it. We got to figger out where you go an' that'll take some time an' thinkin'. I'm some tired myse'f. I've been out of trainin' lately fo' excitement. Sam, I'm goin' to soak that place on yore arm with iodine. Good night, Molly."
She got up immediately, went to Mormon and to Sam and gravely shook hands, thanking them.
"You-all are damned good to me," she said. Opposite Sandy she hesitated, then threw her arms round his neck and kissed him before she ran from the room, with Grit leaping after her. Sandy's bronzed face glowed like reflecting copper.
"Some folks git all the luck," said Mormon.
"There you go," bantered Sam, stripping his arm for the iodine. "You been married three times, reg'lar magnet fo' the wimmin, an' you grudge Sandy pay fo' what he done. Me, I helped, but I ain't grudgin' him. Though I sure envy him."
"Yes, you helped an' left me to home to count fingers."
"Shucks! You matched for it, didn't you? An' didn't you have yore li'l' session with Plimsoll all to yorese'f. What's eatin' you? You want to be a five-ringed circus all to yorese'f an' have all the fun. Ef that stuff heals like it smahts, Sandy, I'll say I'm cured now."
"It don't amount to much, Sam," said Sandy. "Yore flesh allus closed up quick. What you goin' to do with yore ninety dollars?"
"I thought of buyin' me a new saddle. Mine's spiled. Couldn't trust that tree fo' ropin' now. But I figger I'll buy me a fine travelin' bag fo' Molly. Loan me yore catalogue, Mormon, so's I can choose one."
So, bantering one another, they bunked in.
CHAPTER VI
PASO CABRAS
They did not make butter on the Three Star.
Since the arrival of Molly an unwilling and refractory cow had been brought in from the range and half forced, half coaxed to give the fresh milk that Mormon insisted the girl needed. Until then evaporated milk had suited all hands. But butter – to go with hot cakes and sage-honey – was an imperative need for the riders. Riders demanded the best quality in the "found" part of their wages and the three partners supplied it. The butter came over weekly from the Bailey ranch to be kept under the spring cover for cooling. Usually the gangling young Ed Bailey brought it over in the crotchety flivver. When Sandy saw the sparsely fleshed figure of