Starlight Riders Boxed-Set 50 Western Classics in One Edition. Ernest Haycox
a bonfire like you never have seen before!"
"How do yuh feel?" inquired Lyle Bonnet, facing Denver in the big room of the D Slash house.
"That's the fourth time you've asked me in the last half hour," said Denver. "I look sound, don't I? Well, that's the way I feel."
"I wish yuh didn't limp thataway," muttered Bonnet, "and I wish that left arm wasn't tied in no sling. It's bound to affect yore speed."
"If you keep harpin' on disaster much longer, Lyle, I'll tie crêpe on your arm. Stop squintin' out of the window. What do you see, anyhow?"
"A blamed dark day," gloomed Bonnet. "It's goin' to rain before night. That mebbe don't mean a thing, but it's funny it should cloud up just before we move against Redmain."
"The sooner dark falls tonight the better."
"Yeah? Say, do yuh realize that this is Friday and it falls on the thirteenth? I ain't got a lick of superstition in me, but I don't see the necessity of goin' outa our way to borrow trouble."
"Get out of here before you break down and cry," said Denver. He looked at his watch. "Time to roll the ball. I guess we're organized right. There's ten men along the Copperhead on roundup. Seven out draggin' the Little Bull Canyon for strays. Four left here. Five scouting for sign of Redmain. That's twenty-six. The three boys that took their walkin' papers brings it to twenty- nine. All of 'em nicely scattered. That's the big point, Lyle. We can't go toward Sundown in a bunch. You managed to get word to the fellows on scout?"
"They're to drift toward Sundown," said Lyle Bonnet, "and meet in the timber back of Lola Monterey's house. Ahuh."
"That's right. The seven in Little Bull Canyon will wait until dusk and ride for the same place. But the bunch on the Copperhead will come to the ranch, eat supper, and walk around the yard. Then sift off one by one. We can get away with that. If anybody's watchin' us from the brush they won't be the wiser, for there'll be about five to stay behind and act as a sort of blind. We should all be behind Lola's house by eight o'clock and ready to move."
"Leavin' them five behind pulls us down to twenty-four," observed Bonnet. "And if I can't get in touch with Gallup and Limerick Lane durin' the afternoon that'll reduce us to twenty- two. Ain't enough."
"Plenty, if things go right," returned Denver.
"Supposin' things don't go right," Bonnet wanted to know.
"Did you ever hear of anything absolutely sure and certain in this crooked universe, Lyle?"
"Death an' taxes," grumbled Bonnet. "And the trickiness of Lou Redmain."
"Time for you to pull out. When you get to the Copperhead, send one man over to Nightingale's and tell Steve to be behind Sundown by seven o'clock."
"That helps," said Bonnet. "How are yuh feelin'?"
"Get out of here!"
Bonnet departed. Denver took up a slow tramp about the room, trying to work the stiffness from his muscles; trying to suppress the wild impatience feeding into his veins.
Hank Munn, who had been dispatched by Lyle Bonnet to warn Steve, reached Nightingale's about noon and found the home part of the crew eating. Both Nightingale and Steve were at the table and Munn drew up a chair willingly. Not until he had quieted his appetite and risen from the table did he speak of business, and then it was in a very casual way.
"We got nine o' yore strays held out for yuh, Steve."
"I'll send a couple hands right over," said Steve and idly walked with Munn to the latter's horse. Munn swung up, observed that they were beyond earshot, and murmured, "Denver says to be in the little clearin' above Lola Monterey's house around seven o'clock tonight. That's all." And he rode away.
Steve built himself a cigarette and walked for the porch. En route, he called two of his men over and told them to lope after the strays. Then he settled himself on the porch steps and waited until Nightingale came from the table.
"I think," mused Steve, "I had ought to hit Sundown this aft'noon."
"You're the boss," agreed Nightingale.
"I mebbe won't be back till late."
Nightingale stuffed his pipe, azure glance flickering along the back of the foreman's neck. "The world will meanwhile toss along its accustomed orbit," he observed.
"In fact, I dunno just when I will be back."
Nightingale's match waved gently across the pipe bowl. There was a prolonged silence. "One would infer," the Englishman presently reflected, "that the nature of your business is vague to the border of doubt."
"Ahuh," said Steve. "Just so, only more so."
"One is led to wonder," proceeded the Englishman with the same indifferent calm, "whether or not there might be some mystical connection between the D Slash gentleman's arrival and your departure."
"Was it that plain?" grunted Steve, turning to his boss. Alarm showed on his face.
"Not so," said the Englishman. "I was merely applying the ineluctable law of physics. Action and reaction. The little pebble dropped into the pool produces ripples that run their concentric course."
"No doubt yore right," agreed Steve. "Anyhow, it sounds like it ought to be somethin' swell."
"Old fellow," said the Englishman, "don't be so dashed shy. Y'know, you are not as hard to read as a Babylonian tablet. Two and two do not always make four, but it is a safe thing to count it so. I should not wish to pry into your affairs, but I will remind you I liked Denver. And I've had no huntin', no fishin' durin' the age of an extr'ord'n'ly mature coon."
Steve faced the Englishman. "All right. I'll say it. Denver ain't dead."
"My sacred aunt," said Nightingale, hauling the pipe from his mouth. The ruddy angular face did not bend to every passing emotion, and it scarcely showed astonishment now; but there was a brightening of the blue eyes.
"I said worse than that when I found out," said Steve. "Well, he ain't dead. He's only played 'possum to throw Redmain off. And he's got a plan to get Lou. It ain't for me to say how or when. Only, I'm ridin' to Sundown, and yuh'll see me when yuh see me." The Englishman carefully knocked out his ashes, rose to his full length, and turned into the house. "Ad interim," he called back, "remain as you were."
Steve gloomed into the distance. "Some of these days I'm goin' to get a toe holt on one o' them outlandish words and pin it to the mat. Meanwhile I just look intelligent and hope he ain't swearin' at me. It goes to show how ignorant folks can be. Here I been all these years thinkin' Englishmen talked the same language as us."
Nightingale returned, hat on, and gun strapped to his hip. "All we need to complete this tale of border warfare is a set of heathenish bagpipes. You may like it or not, my estimable superintendent, but whither thou goest I shall follow. Lead on."
Steve got up. "Mr. Nightingale, this ain't goin' to be no joke. God only knows—"
"The disposition of Providence," said the Englishman gravely, "is not to be questioned. One prays and follows the light of conscience."
Steve got in the saddle. Nightingale swung beside him, and together they cantered north-west. Steve found his first admiration of the man strongly kindled. He never pretended to understand the Bucket owner's moods. Humor and gravity were too closely blended; the man's thoughts were too contained, never breaking out into the broad wild fancies of the range. Sometimes Steve was certain Nightingale caught very little of what went on; and at other times, such as the present one, he had the uncomfortable feeling the cattleman's aloof indifference covered a sharp and penetrating mind. But, nevertheless, Steve usually felt at ease with Nightingale, for something about the Englishman kept reminding him of Denver.
They ran down the trail without a word between them, crossed the open flats of the upper Bucket range, and went over the Helen Creek ford. Beyond a ridge they pursued a broad wagon leading by Lunt's home quarters. Steve intended to turn aside, but abreast the house he heard his name called in that crisp, assured