Part 35 (1/2)
”Thought you wasn't comin' back for a week yet?”
”Tommy,” proffered Billy Ellis dreamily, ”when you go to Tucson next you watch out until you sees a little, squint-eyed Britisher. Take a look at him. Then come away. He says he don't know nothin' about poker. Mebbe he don't, but he'll outhold a warehouse.”
But here Senor Johnson broke in: ”Billy, you're just in time. Jed has hurt his foot and can't get on for a week yet. I want you to take charge. I've got a lot to do at the ranch.”
”Ain't got my war-bag,” objected Billy.
”Take my stuff. I'll send yours on when Parker goes.”
”All right.”
”Well, so long.”
”So long, Senor.” They moved. The erratic Arizona breezes twisted the dust of their going. Senor Johnson watched them dwindle. With them seemed to go the joy in the old life. No longer did the long trail possess for him its ancient fascination. He had become a domestic man.
”And I'm glad of it,” commented Senor Johnson.
The dust eddied aside. Plainly could be seen the swaying wagon, the loose-riding cowboys, the gleaming, naked backs of the herd. Then the veil closed over them again. But down the wind, faintly, in s.n.a.t.c.hes, came the words of Jim Lester's song:
”Oh, Sam has a gun That has gone to the bad, Which makes poor old Sammy Feel pretty, d.a.m.n sad, For that gun it shoots high, And that gun it shoots low, And it wabbles about Like a bucking bronco!”
Senor Johnson turned and struck spurs to his willing pony.
CHAPTER TEN
THE DISCOVERY
Senor Buck Johnson loped quickly back toward the home ranch, his heart glad at this fortunate solution of his annoyance. The home ranch lay in plain sight not ten miles away. As Senor Johnson idly watched it s.h.i.+mmering in the heat, a tiny figure detached itself from the ma.s.s and launched itself in his direction.
”Wonder what's eating HIM!” marvelled Senor Johnson, ”--and who is it?”
The figure drew steadily nearer. In half an hour it had approached near enough to be recognised.
”Why, it's Jed!” cried the Senor, and spurred his horse. ”What do you mean, riding out with that foot?” he demanded sternly, when within hailing distance.
”Foot, h.e.l.l!” gasped Parker, whirling his horse alongside. ”Your wife's run away with Brent Palmer.”
For fully ten seconds not the faintest indication proved that the husband had heard, except that he lifted his bridle-hand, and the well-trained pony stopped.
”What did you say?” he asked finally.
”Your wife's run away with Brent Palmer,” repeated Jed, almost with impatience.
Again the long pause.
”How do you know?” asked Senor Johnson, then.
”Know, h.e.l.l! It's been going on for a month. Sang saw them drive off.