Part 11 (1/2)

”I don't mind telling you that I have,” she returned, looking straight at him.

It suddenly burst upon him. His face crimsoned. He felt like bolting.

But he managed to grin, though she could see that the grin was forced.

”It's gettin' late, ma'am,” he said, as he turned toward his pony. ”I reckon I'll be gettin' back to the Two Diamond.”

She laughed mockingly as he settled into the saddle. There was a clatter of hoofs from around the corner of the cabin.

”Wait!” she commanded. ”Ben is coming!”

But there was a rush of wind that ruffled her ap.r.o.n, a clatter, and she could hear Mustard's hoofs pounding over the matted mesquite that carpeted the clearing. Ferguson had fled.

CHAPTER X

DISAPPEARANCE OF THE ORPHAN

During the night Ferguson had dreamed dreams. A girl with fluffy brown hair and mocking eyes had been the center of many mental pictures that had haunted him. He had seen her seated before him, rapidly plying a pencil. Once he imagined he had peered over her shoulder. He had seen a sketch of a puncher, upon which she appeared to be working, representing a man who looked very like himself. He could remember that he had been much surprised. Did writers draw the pictures that appeared in their books?

This puncher was sitting in a chair; one foot was bandaged. As he watched over the girl's shoulder he saw the deft pencil forming the outlines of another figure--a girl. As this sketch developed he saw that it was to represent Miss Radford herself. It was a clever pencil that the girl wielded, for the scene was strikingly real. He even caught subtle glances from her eyes. But as he looked the scene changed and the girl stood at the edge of the porch, her eyes mocking him. And then to his surprise she spoke. ”I am going to put you into a book,” she said.

Then he knew why she had tolerated him. He had grown hot and embarra.s.sed. ”You ain't goin' to put me in any book, ma'am,” he had said. ”You ain't givin' me a square deal. I wouldn't love no girl that would put me into a book.”

He had seen a sudden scorn in her eyes. ”Love!” she said, her lips curling. ”Do you really believe that I would allow a puncher to make love to me?”

And then the scene had changed again, and he was shooting the head off a rattler. ”I don't want you to love me!” he had declared to it. And then while the snake writhed he saw another head growing upon it, and a face. It was the face of Leviatt; and there was mockery in this face also. While he looked it spoke.

”You'll nurse him so's he won't die?” it had said.

When he awakened his blood was surging with a riotous anger. The dream was bothering him now, as he rode away from the ranchhouse toward the gully where he had found the dead Two Diamond cow. He had not reported the finding of the dead cow, intending to return the next morning to look the ground over and to fetch the ”dogie” back to the home ranch.

It would be time enough then to make a report of the occurrence to Stafford.

It was mid-morning when he finally reached the gully and rode down into it. He found the dead cow still there. He dismounted to drive away some crows that had gathered around the body. Then he noticed that the calf had disappeared. It had strayed, perhaps. A calf could not be depended upon to remain very long beside its dead mother, though he had known cases where they had. But if it had strayed it could not be very far away. He remounted his pony and loped down the gully, reaching the ridge presently and riding along this, searching the surrounding country with keen glances. He could see no signs of the calf. He came to a shelf-rock presently, beside which grew a tangled gnarl of scrub-oak brush. Something lay in the soft sand and he dismounted quickly and picked up a leather tobacco pouch. He examined this carefully. There were no marks on it to tell who might be the owner.

”A man who loses his tobacco in this country is mighty careless,” he observed, smiling; ”or in pretty much of a hurry.”

He went close to the thicket, looking down at it, searching the sand with interest. Presently he made out the impression of a foot in a soft spot and, looking further, saw two furrows that might have been made by a man kneeling. He knelt in the furrows himself and with one hand parted the brush. He smiled grimly as, peering into the gully, he saw the dead Two Diamond cow on the opposite side.

He stepped abruptly away from the thicket and looked about him. A few yards back there was a deep depression in the ridge, fringed with a growth of nondescript weed. He approached this and peered into it.

Quite recently a horse had been there. He could plainly see the hoof-prints--where the animal had pawed impatiently. He returned to the thicket, convinced.

”Some one was here yesterday when I was down there lookin' at that cow,” he decided. ”They was watchin' me. That man I seen ridin' that other ridge was with the one who was here. Now why didn't this man slope too?”

He stood erect, looking about him. Then he smiled.

”Why, it's awful plain,” he said. ”The man who was on this ridge was watchin'. He heard my gun go off, when I shot that snake. I reckon he figgered that if he tried to ride away on this ridge whoever'd done the shootin' would see him. An' so he didn't go. He stayed right here an'

watched me when I rode up.” He smiled. ”There ain't no use lookin'

for that dogie. The man that stayed here has run him off.”