Part 12 (2/2)

”Uncle Joe, how long have you known your wagoners?” he asked.

”Long enough to know 'em well.” The trader regarded him quizzically.

”Not worryin' about your merchandise, are you?”

”I'm wondering where Hank is.”

”In some trapper's rendezvous; he'll show up in th' mornin' with nothin'

worse than a headache.”

”I'm not treating him right,” soliloquized Tom. ”A man shouldn't forget his friends, especially when they're as close as Hank is. I'm goin'

lookin' for him. Good night.”

Uncle Joe watched him push his way directly through the crowd, leaving a few scowls in his wake, and pop out of the door; and the older man nodded with satisfaction. ”A man shouldn't, Tom, my boy,” he muttered.

”Stick to them that's stuck to you--always--forever--in spite of h.e.l.l.

That's good medicine.”

A tour of the places where trappers congregated was barren of results until he had reached the last of such resorts that he knew, and here he found Enoch Birdsall and Alonzo Webb, who welcomed him with such vociferous greetings that he knew they had nearly reached the quarrelsome stage. To his inquiries as to the whereabouts of his partner they made boisterous replies, their laughter rattling the windows.

”Ol' beaver's settin' a-top his house--no, 'tain't no house. Settin'

a-top yer pile o' goods cached with Cooper's--you tell 'im,” yelled Alonzo, slapping Enoch across the back and nearly knocking him out of the chair. ”You tell 'im, Ol' Buff'ler!”

”Prairie hen on his nest is more like _him_,” shouted Enoch, returning his friend's love tap with interest, whereupon Alonzo missed twice and fell to the floor.

”Prairie hen on yer nose!” yelled the prostrate trader, trying to swim toward his partner. ”Thar ain't no prairie beaver as kin knock me down an' _keep_ me thar! Stan' up like a man, ye polecat! An' I kin lick _you_, too!” he yelled, as Tom avoided his sweeping arm and hastened toward the door. ”Better run! Better run! Git 'im Enoch, ye fool!”

Tom did not reach the front door, for with astonis.h.i.+ng speed and agility for one so far in his cups Enoch, taking up the quarrel of his friend, whom he presently would be fighting, leaped from the table, vaulted over a chair, and by some miracle of drunken equilibrium landed on his feet with his back to the door and swung both fists at the surprised plainsman. Tom's eyes glinted, and then twinkled. He had few better friends than these two quarrelsome traders and, stepping back, he leaped over the prostrate and anything but silent Alonzo and darted out through the back door, laughing at the furious squabbling he left behind.

Reaching the corner of the building, he fell into his habitual softness of tread and slipped along the rear of the shacks on a direct course for the place where his and Cooper's merchandise was stored.

Schoolcraft's corral loomed up in front of him and he skirted it silently. He almost had reached its far corner when a Mexican's voice, raised in altercation inside the inclosure, caught his ear and checked him, balanced on one foot.

”For why he do eet?” demanded the Mexican, excitedly. ”I tol' heem that he mus' leeve Tomaz tr-rade goods by themselves. He ees goin' to Santa Fe weethout for-rce; an' now eet ees all spoil! For what he do eet? Bah!

For hees revenge he say. What ees hees revenge like Armijo's?”

”Oh, shut yer mouth an' stop yer yowlin',” growled a gruff voice. ”Eph allus knows what he's a-doin'.”

The poised listener outside the corral paused to hear no more but was off like a shadow, his stride a long, swinging lope, for he was too wise to dash at full speed and waste fighting breath for the sake of gaining a few seconds. He made his devious way across a plain studded with wagons, piles of freight and heaps of debris, and before he reached his objective the sounds of conflict singled it out for him had he been in any doubt.

The open wagon-shed loomed suddenly before him and he made out a struggling ma.s.s on the ground before it, his partner's grunted curses and the growls of Cooper's wagoner saving them from his attack. He went into the ma.s.s feet first, landing with all his weight and the momentum of his run on a crouched man whose upraised arm was only waiting for a sure opening. The knife user grunted as he went down, and his head struck the edge of a wagon-wheel with such force that he no longer was a combatant. Tom had fallen to his knees after his catapulting impact and when he arose he held a squirming halfbreed over his head at the height of his upraised arms. One heave of his powerful body and the human missile flew through the air and struck two of the half-breed's friends as they sprang to their feet in sudden alarm. They went down like tenpins and before they could gain their feet again Tom dropped on one of them, his knees squarely in the pit of the man's stomach, his right hand on the throat of the other, while his left gripped his adversary's knife hand and bent it steadily and inexorably back toward the wrist.

”Th' little bobcat's j'ined us,” panted Hank, crawling onto the man he now rolled under him. ”Tom Boyd, Armijo's pet, with his fangs bared an'

his claws out. Take _this_, you----!” he grunted as his shoulder set itself behind the smas.h.i.+ng blow. ”How ye makin' out with yer friend, Abe?” he asked of the other rolling pair.

It seemed that Abe was not making out according to Hank's specifications, so he crawled over to help him, and reached out a hand.

It fastened onto a skinny neck and clamped shut, whereupon Abe rolled victoriously free and paused to glower at his victim. His surprise, while genuine, was of short duration, and he shook his head at the cheerful Hank and then pounced onto the man who had been used as a missile, and pinned him to the ground. In a few moments the fight was over, and the victors grinned sheepishly at each other in the semi-darkness and re-arranged various parts of their clothing.

”I saw somethin' smash inter th' waggin wheel an' sorta reckoned you war some'rs 'round,” panted Hank. ”Then I saw somethin' else sail inter th' air an' knock over two o' th' thieves. Then I knowed ye war hyar. Me an' Abe war doin' our best, but we war beginnin' ter slip, like fur at th' end o' winter.”

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