Part 18 (2/2)

”I don't want shelter!” she said. ”And I can't think of anything else till after the Three Bar is a going concern.”

The voices of the three men round the fire drifted to them.

”Listen,” she urged.

”Blind Valley ought to summer-feed three hundred head,” the ranger was saying. ”I'll recommend permits for that many cows.”

”That'll suit me,” Slade nodded. ”I'll put in application through you?”

”Not if I can help it you won't,” Harris said. ”Why should you have permits right in the back yard of the Three Bar with all the rest of the hills open to you? There's a natural lead right down to the corrals; divides to form wings. It's up to Wilton, of course, but I'm going to make application to graze Blind Valley myself. They'll allow whichever one he recommends.”

”Harris has first call,” the ranger stated mildly. ”This is the logical range for his stuff--this and one or two others right close.

We can fix you up in a dozen other good gra.s.s countries further on, Slade, if it's all the same.”

Slade nodded agreement. The ranger had authority to recommend the issuing of permits and his superiors would not go contrary to his suggestions in any but exceptional cases--certainly not in this matter.

Slade's eyes turned frequently toward the two figures on the log, silhouetted against the white of the moonlit meadow, and his slashed mouth set in disapproval. Harris noted this and smiled as it occurred to him that Slade's views on the subject of Deane's appropriating the girl for himself were about on a par with Deane's ideas relative to her touring the hills with four men.

The two came back and sat with the others round the dying fire, then all turned in for the night, Billie in her teepee and the men in their bed rolls with no other overhead shelter than the trees. In less than an hour Harris raised on one elbow. The ranger woke just as Harris slipped from his bed roll and tugged on his chaps. The steady thud of hoofs had penetrated each man's consciousness and apprised him of the fact that the horses were coming down.

Wilton closed his eyes as Harris departed to head them back. Three times during the night Deane was roused as one or the other of the three men left his bed roll to frustrate an attempt of the horses to make a break for home. Near morning he was once more wakened by a clammy dampness on his face. A fine drizzle was falling. Slade was on his feet, shoving a few sticks of wood inside the flap of Billie's teepee.

In the first gray light of morning Harris was up and slicing shavings from the few dry sticks Slade had so thoughtfully tucked away.

Breakfast was cooked under the dripping trees. The ranger was soaked to the knees as he waded through the tall gra.s.s to the picketed horse.

He saddled him and went up-country after the other horses. The outfit was packed up and the little procession filed away toward the next valley--and Carlos Deane proved his real caliber to Harris.

Throughout the day they rode in a fine drizzle; in the timber the wet branches whipped them and sprayed water down the necks of their slickers; in the boggy meadows of the bottoms the mosquitoes hovered round them in humming swarms. The horses stamped, shook their heads angrily and switched their tortured flanks with dripping tails till at last the men greased their noses, eyes and flanks to protect the animals from the singing horde. When they dismounted to lead their horses up precipitous game trails leading to the crest of some divide Deane's Angora chaps flapped like dead weights and seemed to drag him back. From the lofty ridges they gazed down upon white clouds floating in the valleys; and at night they made camp and slept in damp bed rolls with the clammy mist chilling them. The next day was the same.

Harris knew that a man might evidence great courage in the face of danger, risk his life in the heat of excitement, but that the true test of iron control is to experience grinding discomfort and smile.

Deane's neck was raw and chafed from the wet neckband of his flannel s.h.i.+rt and his hands and cheeks were puffed with the bites of the buzzing pests. But Deane had been cheerful throughout and had uttered no complaint.

Toward evening of the second gloomy day Harris rode up beside him.

”You'll do,” he said.

”How's that?” Deane asked.

”There's maybe one man out of every two hundred that can go along like this and not get to blaming every one in sight for what's happening to him. I don't know as I'd have blamed you any if you'd been cussing us all out for the past two days.”

Deane laughed and shook his head.

”I've been rather enjoying it,” he said.

”You're just a plain, old-fas.h.i.+oned liar, Deane,” Harris returned.

”You haven't been enjoying it any more than the rest of us--which is mighty little; but you've got insides enough to let on like it's considerable sport--which is a whole lot.”

”No one else has done any beefing,” Deane said. ”So why should I?”

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