Part 26 (1/2)

A MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT

McCalmont was hid up at the _ranchita_ La Soledad, with a sentry out to the south-west watching La Morita, a sentry out to the west to keep tab on the Bisley trail, a sentry out to the north on the Grave City road, and Buck Hennesy, his segundo, riding from point to point with feed and water. When anything happened the sentries flashed a signal to Buck, who warned the chief. At sunrise McCalmont had news of our raid on La Morita, and that made him think for sure that the kids were rescued.

He'd been riding all night, so he got his eye down quick for a big sleep. The storm rolled up, burst, and trailed off to the eastward; the sun shone out, lifting white steam from the desert; then came the heat.

At two o'clock, away southward through the quivering haze, Buck sighted the three-flash signal, which means ”Help!” He threw back the two-flash, ”Coming.”

So he and the chief loped out, taking a canteen of cold tea, which is the proper medicine for thirst, and a led horse each, to bring the youngsters in to the little ranche. By four o'clock they had Curly bedded down in the shack, supposing herself to be a prairie-dog, and wanting to know who'd come and stole her tail. McCalmont nursed her, Buck went off to spoil the trail from the hill, and Jim squatted down on the doorstep for a feed of pork and beans, with las.h.i.+ngs of coffee.

The main outfit of the robbers was camped at Las Aguas, some miles to the north-east, and three of them came in at dusk to get their supper and relieve the sentries around La Soledad. They were heaps shy when they saw what looked like a greaser _vaquero_ sitting in the doorway of the cabin. One of them rode right at him.

”Here, you,” he shouted. ”Git out 'er here _p.r.o.nto_! Vamoose!”

”_Poco tiempo_,” says Jim.

”Who are you, anyways?”

”_Quien sabe?_”

”Wall, ye cayn't stay here, so ye'd best get absent.” He pulled his gun on Jim's feet. ”Now jest you prance!”

Jim laughed at him.

”_Manana_,” he said. Then in English, ”You bark a lot, my friend. Whose dog are you?”

Then he heard McCalmont's slow, soft drawl. ”I sure enjoy to see the sire's grit show out in the young colt. Spoke like a man, Jim! And as to you, Crazy Hoss, I want you to understand that if you don't learn deportment I'll politely lam yo' haid, you, you double-dealing foogitive, low-flung, sheep-herdin' son of a lop-eared thug! Hain't you got no more sense than a toorist, you parboiled, c.o.c.k-eyed, spavined, broken-down, knock-kneed wreck o' bones? You----!”

With such genteel introductions McCalmont sure spouted burning wrath into that robber, scorching holes until he lost his breath.

”The evil communications of this young polecat,” says he to Jim, ”is sh.o.r.ely spoiling my manners. And now, you--you turtle-doves, you'll jest get away out of here and cook your supper thar by the barn. You want to be mighty quiet too, 'cause my Curly is lying in here wounded. Git over now!”

The robbers trailed off grinning, while the chief sat down on the doorstep next to Jim.

”The children make me peevish,” he said, and began to roll a cigarette in his fingers. ”Wall, do you remember, Jim? I allowed we'd be better friends when we met again.”

Jim looked round sharp and sat there studying McCalmont. He didn't look bad or dangerous, but just a middle-aged cattle-man of the old long-horn desert breed. Our folks are rough and homely; we've got a hard name, too, but we stay alive in a country which kills off all but the fighters. McCalmont had a cool blue eye, humorous and kind, and grey hair straggling down over a face that was tanned to leather. The stiff-brimmed cowboy hat was jammed on the back of his head, the white silk handkerchief hung loose about his shoulders. He wore a grey army s.h.i.+rt, blue overalls, stuffed anyhow into his boots, and a loose belt of cartridges, slinging the Colt revolver on his hip. Somehow the youngster felt drawn to him, knowing he'd found a friend of the kind that lasts.

”And you were that sky-scout?” says he.

”A most unworthy shepherd! Jest you look at my sheep,” says McCalmont.

Jim asked how long it was since they met that day on the range.

”It seems a year to you, eh, lad? That was six days ago, the way I reckon time.”

”So much has happened--sir--can it be less than a week? I was only a boy then--and Curly----”

”My son has struck you serious.”

”She has told me everything, sir.”

”Yo' goin' to remember to speak of Curly as a boy. He is allooded to as a boy, or I get hawstile. You understand that?”