Part 41 (1/2)

”Nels, don't make me forget we've been friends,” he said.

”Sh.o.r.e I ain't fergettin',” replied Nels. ”An' I resign my job right here an' now!”

His strange speech checked the mounting cowboy. Stewart stepped down from the stirrup. Then their hard faces were still and cold while their eyes locked glances.

Madeline was as much startled by Nels's speech as Stewart. Quick to note a change in these men, she now sensed one that was unfathomable.

”Resign?” questioned Stewart.

”Sh.o.r.e. What 'd you think I'd do under circ.u.mstances sich as has come up?”

”But see here, Nels, I won't stand for it.”

”You're not my boss no more, an' I ain't beholdin' to Miss Hammond, neither. I'm my own boss, an' I'll do as I please. Sabe, senor?”

Nels's words were at variance with the meaning in his face.

”Gene, you sent me on a little scout down in the mountains, didn't you?”

he continued.

”Yes, I did,” replied Stewart, with a new sharpness in his voice.

”Wal, sh.o.r.e you was so good an' right in your figgerin', as opposed to mine, that I'm sick with admirin' of you. If you hedn't sent me--wal, I'm reckonin' somethin' might hev happened. As it is we're sh.o.r.e up against a h.e.l.l of a proposition!”

How significant was the effect of his words upon all the cowboys!

Stewart made a fierce and violent motion, terrible where his other motions had been but pa.s.sionate. Monty leaped straight up into the air in a singular action as suggestive of surprise as it was of wild acceptance of menace. Like a stalking giant Nick Steele strode over to Nels and Stewart. The other cowboys rose silently, without a word.

Madeline and her guests, in a little group, watched and listened, unable to divine what all this strange talk and action meant.

”Hold on, Nels, they don't need to hear it,” said Stewart, hoa.r.s.ely, as he waved a hand toward Madeline's silent group.

”Wal, I'm sorry, but I reckon they'd as well know fust as last. Mebbe thet yearnin' wish of Miss Helen's fer somethin' to happen will come true. Sh.o.r.e I--”

”Cut out the jos.h.i.+n',” rang out Monty's strident voice.

It had as decided an effect as any preceding words or action. Perhaps it was the last thing needed to transform these men, doing unaccustomed duty as escorts of beautiful women, to their natural state as men of the wild.

”Tell us what's what,” said Stewart, cool and grim.

”Don Carlos an' his guerrillas are campin' on the trails thet lead up here. They've got them trails blocked. By to-morrer they'd hed us corralled. Mebbe they meant to surprise us. He's got a lot of Greasers an' outlaws. They're well armed. Now what do they mean? You-all can figger it out to suit yourselves. Mebbe the Don wants to pay a sociable call on our ladies. Mebbe his gang is some hungry, as usual. Mebbe they want to steal a few hosses, or anythin' they can lay hands on. Mebbe they mean wuss, too. Now my idee is this, an' mebbe it's wrong. I long since separated from love with Greasers. Thet black-faced Don Carlos has got a deep game. Thet two-bit of a revolution is hevin' hard times.

The rebels want American intervention. They'd stretch any point to make trouble. We're only ten miles from the border. Suppose them guerrillas got our crowd across thet border? The U. S. cavalry would foller.

You-all know what thet'd mean. Mebbe Don Carlos's mind works thet way.

Mebbe it don't. I reckon we'll know soon. An' now, Stewart, whatever the Don's game is, sh.o.r.e you're the man to outfigger him. Mebbe it's just as well you're good an' mad about somethin'. An' I resign my job because I want to feel unbeholdin' to anybody. Sh.o.r.e it struck me long since thet the old days hed come back fer a little spell, an' there I was trailin'

a promise not to hurt any Greaser.”

XIX. Don Carlos