Part 16 (2/2)
”Blood?” queried the engineer; and Bigelow nodded.
”Blood everywhere.”
”A falling-out among thieves, I suppose,” said Ballard, half-absently; and again Bigelow said: ”I don't know.”
”The boy knows,” was Ballard's comment. ”He knew before he left the ranch this morning. I haven't been able to get a dozen words out of him all day.”
Just here both stream-noise and trail-narrowing cut in to forbid further talk, and Bigelow drew back to let Ballard lead in the single-file progress along the edge of the torrent.
It was in this order that they came finally into the Arcadian gra.s.s-lands, through a portal as abrupt as a gigantic doorway. It was the hour of sunset for the high peaks of the Elk range, and the purple shadows were already gathering among the rounded hills of the hogback.
Off to the left the two advanced riders of the posse cavalcade saw the evening kitchen-smoke of Riley's ditch-camp. On the hills to the right a few cattle were grazing unherded.
But two things in the prospect conspired to make Ballard draw rein so suddenly as to bring him awkwardly into collision with his follower. One was a glimpse of the Castle 'Cadia touring car trundling swiftly away to the eastward on the river road; and the other was a slight barrier of tree branches piled across the trail fairly under his horse's nose.
Stuck upon a broken twig of the barrier was a sheet of paper; and there was still sufficient light to enable the chief engineer to read the type-written lines upon it when he dropped from the saddle.
”Mr. Ballard:” it ran. ”You are about to commit an act of the crudest injustice. Take the advice of an anxious friend, and quench the fire of enmity before it gets beyond control.”
There was no signature; and Ballard was still staring after the disappearing automobile when he mechanically pa.s.sed the sheet of paper up to Bigelow. The Forestry man read the type-written note and glanced back at the sheriff's posse just emerging from the canyon portal.
”What will you do?” he asked; and Ballard came alive with a start and shook his head.
”I don't know: if we could manage to overtake that auto.... But it's too late now to do anything, Bigelow. I've made my complaint and sworn out the warrants. Beckwith will serve them--he's obliged to serve them.”
”Of course,” said Bigelow; and together they waited for the sheriff's posse to close up.
XIII
THE LAW AND THE LADY
It touched a little spring of wonderment in the Forestry man when Ballard made the waiting halt merely an excuse for a word of leave-taking with Sheriff Beckwith; a brittle exchange of formalities in which no mention was made of the incident of the brush barrier and the type-written note.
”You have your warrants, and you know your way around in the valley; you won't need me,” was the manner in which the young engineer drew out of the impending unpleasantness. ”When you have taken your prisoners to the county seat, the company's attorneys will do the rest.”
Beckwith, being an ex-cattleman, was grimly sarcastic.
”This is my job, and I'll do it up man-size and b'ligerent, Mr. Ballard.
But between us three and the gate-post, you ain't goin' to make anything by it--barrin' a lot o' bad blood. The old colonel 'll give a bond and bail his men, and there you are again, right where you started from.”
”That's all right; I believe in the law, and I'm giving it a chance,”
snapped Ballard; and the two parties separated, the sheriff's posse taking the river road, and Ballard leading the way across country in the direction of Fitzpatrick's field headquarters.
Rather more than half of the distance from the canyon head to the camp had been covered before the boy, Carson, had lagged far enough behind to give Bigelow a chance for free speech with Ballard, but the Forestry man improved the opportunity as soon as it was given him.
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