Part 11 (1/2)

”How many did you scatter?”

”Dunno, boss,” replied the first judicially. ”From the noise they made I allow there was at least a thousand.”

”Well, I bet you a month's wage there wasn't more'n a hundred,” said Bissell, glaring at the puncher.

”Won't take yer, boss,” returned the other calmly. ”Why?”

”Because practically the whole flock is beddin' down at Little Creek now.

Chuck seen 'em. Now I want all you fellers to get supper an' then rope an'

saddle a fresh hoss. There is sh.o.r.e goin' to be some doin's to-night.”

CHAPTER IX

THE MAN IN THE MASK

As Bud Larkin jogged along on Pinte, apparently one of the group of men with whom he was riding, he wondered mechanically why his captors insisted on traveling ten miles to a tree sufficiently stout to bear his weight.

”I should think they'd stand me up and do the business with a bullet,” he thought.

But a moment's reflection furnished the answer to this query. These men were cattle-rustlers and horse-thieves, than which no more hazardous existence ever was since the gentle days of West Indian piracy, and to them merely a single pistol shot might mean betrayal of their whereabouts, capture and death.

The character of the country through which they rode gave sufficient evidence of their care in all details, for it was a rough, wild, uninhabitable section that boasted, on its craggy heights and rough coulees, barely enough vegetation to support a wild mustang.

It was three o'clock of the afternoon and behind them the party could still see the place where they had camped. Joe Parker, fearful of stirring about much until the thoughts of range-riders were turning homeward like their ponies' steps, had delayed the departure beyond the hour first intended.

The rustlers really did not want to dispose of Larkin. Being plainsmen, their acute sense of justice told them that this man was absolutely guiltless of any crime deserving of death. Untoward circ.u.mstances had forced him into their hands, and, like the boy with the fly-paper, they were unable to get rid of him peaceably. Their abuse of his insane folly was colorful and vivid.

But Larkin had reasons for his stubborn att.i.tude. With the arrogance of youth and the inexperience of real danger, he had resolved that as soon as his sheep should be safely up the range he would devote some time, money, and effort to the running down of these rustlers. Some of their faces were unforgetably stamped on his memory now, and he had no doubt that he could be of great service to Wyoming Territory, which was just at this time pet.i.tioning for the dignity of Statehood.

He had known the losses and insolence of rustlers on his own sheep ranch in Montana, and, like every sympathizer with justice and order, had sworn to himself many times that all of them should be run to earth.

The longer Bud remained with the rustlers the more nervous some of them became. Since morning a number had been wearing masks made of their neckerchiefs, and one man had not shown his face since the moment he rode into camp after the all-night drive. This man's peculiar actions piqued Bud's curiosity, and he tried a number of times to draw him into conversation. But the rustler refused to speak and moved away whenever he found himself in the prisoner's vicinity.

About five o'clock the cavalcade arrived at a point where, ahead of them, through the barren b.u.t.tes and hogbacks, they could see the long, level expanse of the range; and, about half-way to the horizon, a line of trees that indicated the snake-like progress of a river. Here Joe called a halt and gave orders that the party should lie concealed until after dark, as the remainder of their business could then be conducted with less danger to themselves.

Accordingly the hors.e.m.e.n turned away from the trail they had been following and after fifteen minutes of tortuous riding, made camp on the other side of a particularly uninviting wall of rock.

After eating supper prepared around the little fires Larkin saw the rustlers all gather into a circle and start drawing lots. He s.h.i.+vered a little at the thought that this was his execution party being made up.

Four men had been designated as the number to see Larkin off on his long journey, and when at last the drawing was finished it was found that Joe Parker, the masked rider, and two others had been selected.

As darkness drew on Parker began to lose his patience with Bud.

”Look-a-here, Larkin,” he drawled, ”I don't love no sheepmen, noways, an'

I never did, but you ain't no ordinary 'walker' an' I ain't ashamed to talk with y'u. Now the boys want to meet y'u half-way on this business, an' you won't do it. All you got to say is that you won't appear agin any of us in any court, an' won't ever say anythin' agin any of us. Now what in blazes you're actin' like a mule balkin' at a shadder for, I dunno. Be sensible.”

But to all such entreaties Larkin remained unmoved.