Part 1 (2/2)
The man nodded. ”Yes, that about fits the case.”
”But I did take the trail that turned to the left up the first creek beyond the canyon, and I haven't seen the slightest intimation of a ranch.”
”No, you see, this little creek don't count, because most of the time it's dry; an' this ain't a regular trail. It's an' old winter road that was used to haul out cord wood an' timber. Monte's Creek is two miles farther on. It's a heap bigger creek than this, an' the trail's better, too. Watts's is about three mile up from the fork. You can't miss it. It's the only ranch there.”
”How far is it back to the trail?” asked the girl wearily.
”About two mile. It's about seven mile to Watts's that way around.
There's a short cut, through the hills, but I couldn't tell you so you'd find it. There's no trail, an' it's up one coulee an' down another till you get there. I'm goin' through that way; if you'd like to come along you're welcome to.”
For a moment Patty hesitated but her eyes returned to the jug and she declined, a trifle stiffly. ”No, thank you. I--I think I will go around by the trail.”
Either the man did not notice the curtness of the reply, or he chose to ignore it, for the next instant, noting the gasp of pain and the sudden tightening of the lips that accompanied her attempt to raise her foot to the stirrup, he swung lightly to the ground, and before she divined what he was about, had lifted her gently into the saddle and pressed the reins into her hand. Without a word he returned to his horse, and with face flushed scarlet, the girl glared at the powerful gray shoulders as he picked up his reins from the ground. The next moment she headed her own horse down the back trail and rode into the deepening shadows. Gaining the main trail she urged her horse into a run.
”He--he's awfully strong,” she panted, ”and just _horrid!_”
From the top of the divide the man watched until she disappeared, then he stroked softly the velvet nose that nuzzled against his cheek.
”What d'you reckon, Buck? Are they goin' to start a school for that litter of young Wattses? There ain't another kid within twenty mile--must be.” As he swung into the saddle the leather covered jug b.u.mped lightly against his knee. There was a merry twinkle of laughter in his blue eyes as, with lips solemn as an exhorter's, he addressed the offending object. ”You brown rascal, you! If it hadn't be'n for you, me an' Buck might of made a hit with the lady, mightn't we, Buck?
Scratch gravel, now you old reprobate, or we won't get to camp till midnight.”
”Anyway, she ain't no kin to the Wattses,” he added reflectively, ”not an' that clean, she ain't.”
CHAPTER II
AT THE WATTS RANCH
It was with a decided feeling of depression that Patty Sinclair approached the Watts ranch. Long before she reached the buildings an air of s.h.i.+ftless dilapidation was manifest in the ill-lined barbed wire fences whose rotting posts sagged drunkenly upon loosely strung wire. A dry weed-choked irrigation ditch paralleled the trail, its wooden flumes, like the fence posts, rotting where they stood, and its walls all but obliterated by the wash of spring freshets. The depression increased as she pa.s.sed close beside the ramshackle log stable, where her horse sank to his ankles in a filthy brown seepage of mud and rotting straw before the door. Two small, slouchily built stacks of weather-stained hay occupied a fenced-off enclosure, beside which, with no attempt to protect them from the weather, stood a dish-wheeled hay rake, and a rusty mowing machine, its cutter-bar buried in weeds.
Pa.s.sing through a small clump of cottonwoods, in which three or four raw-boned horses had taken refuge from the mosquitoes, she came suddenly upon the ranch house, a squat, dirt-roofed cabin of unpeeled logs. So, _this_ was the Watts ranch! Again and again in the delirium that preceded her father's death, he had muttered of Monte's Creek and the Watts ranch, until she had come to think of it as a place of cool halls and broad verandahs situated at the head of some wide mountain valley in which sleek cattle grazed belly-deep in lush gra.s.ses.
A rabble of nondescript curs came snapping and yapping about her horse's legs until dispersed by a harsh command from the dark interior of the cabin.
”Yere, yo' git out o' thet!”
The dogs slunk away and their places were immediately taken by a half-dozen ill-kempt, bedraggled children. A tousled head was thrust from the doorway, and after a moment of inspection a man stepped out upon the hard-trodden earth of the dooryard. He was bootless and a great toe protruded from a hole in the point of his sock. He wore a faded hickory s.h.i.+rt, and the knees of his bleached-out overalls were patched with blue gingham.
”Howdy,” he greeted, in a not unkindly tone, and paused awkwardly while the protruding toe tried vainly to burrow from sight in the hard earth.
”Is--is this the Watts ranch?” The girl suppressed a wild desire to burst into tears.
”Yes, mom, this is. .h.i.t--what they is of hit.” His fingers picked vaguely at his scraggly beard. An idea seemed suddenly to strike him, and turning, he thrust his head in at the door. ”Ma!” he called, loudly, and again ”Ma! _Ma!_”
The opening of a door within was followed by the sound of a harsh voice. ”Lawzie me, John Watts, what's ailin' yo' now--got a burr in under yo' gallus?” A tall woman with a broad, kindly face pushed past the man, wiping suds upon her ap.r.o.n from a pair of very large and very red hands.
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