Part 49 (2/2)

”If that old cuss 'uld let 'em water once it'd be a cinch, but he's a bad _hombre_; he won't. There's something back of this, Reverend.”

Beal scratched his chin and blinked and looked across to where Cole sat. One of his Mexicans also was armed and had taken up his position further down the fence.

”So it would appear,” he replied. ”As Joshua said to Moses, 'There's a noise of war in the camp.'

”I see a relations.h.i.+p between the smiting of my beloved brother and the refusal of this outfit to grant water.

”Oh, another watcher!”

He indicated Pat Webb who evidently had gained the Cole ranch by a circuitous route and had taken up his position within the fence, armed with a rifle.

Night came on with a dry wind in the trees on the heights. Its draft did not reach the Hole but the sound did and that uneasy, distant roar served to intensify the distress of the cattle.

Beds were made on a knoll not far from the bunched steers and the Reverend was the first to rest, while the others, singing, whistling, slapping chaps with quirts rode round and round the herd keeping them away from the fence to give the riflemen no opportunity to shoot.

Azariah did not sleep but rolled uneasily on his tarp watching the bright, dry stars, muttering to himself now and then.

Once he got up and fussed about his blankets and Curtis, riding by, stopped.

”No, I can't rest,” the Reverend replied to his query. ”I believe I have lost one pen....

”By the way, brother, if these were your cattle how many head would you give just to get them to water tonight?”

”I'd give several,” Curtis answered bitterly. ”Yes, I'd give a good many and look at it as a good investment. Without water we're goin' to make lots of feed for buzzards an' coyotes, tryin' to make up that trail tomorrow!”

”A good many.... A good many,” the clergyman muttered as Curtis rode on. ”She is for peace, but when she speaks, they are for war,” he paraphrased the Psalm.

”'They that war against thee shall be as nothing.'... An investment ...

a good investment....”

He sat hunched on his bed for some time, whispering over and over....

”A good investment ... investment....”

Then suddenly he rose and pawed about him for a dried bough of cedar which he had cast aside to make his bed. With trembling fingers he sought a match, struck and applied it.

The flame licked up the tinder and burst into a brilliant torch. The bawling of the cattle cut off sharply. Whites of terrified eyes showed for an instant and then vanished as heads were quickly turned away.

The herd stirred, like a concentrated ma.s.s, body crowding body; it swayed forward, a rumbling of hoofs arose. And from the far side came the shrill yipping of hors.e.m.e.n as they broke into a gallop and sought to set the cattle milling.

Futile effort! Driven mad by thirst it would have required a much less conspicuous disturbance than that flare of fire to start the wild rush.

With a roll of hoofs, a sickening, overwhelming sound, heads down, crowded together into a knitted body of frightened strength the bunch was in full stampede!

Down the far side rode Curtis, high in his stirrups, his revolver spitting fire into the air. A big white steer charged straight at his horse like a blinded thing and the animal carried his rider to momentary safety with a hand's breath to spare.

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