CHAPTER X
DAVE WONDERS
Giving utterance to this sneering remark Len Molick began to urge his horse forward, but, though his face flushed, and a sense of anger choked him, Dave remained cool as he put out a hand and caught the bridle of the other's steed.
"Not so fast, Len Molick!" Dave exclaimed.
"You may not want to talk to a nobody—that's your business—but you're going to talk to a somebody right now, and that somebody is I!"
"Huh! you don't even know your name!" Len sneered, but he did not try to break away.
"Names don't matter," said Dave, trying to retain his calmness. "You can call me Injun Jack if you like, but I want to ask you a few questions."
"Well, I'm not going to answer them," snapped Len, "and I want you to let me go! If you don't—"
He raised a riding quire he carried, and seemed about to lash it into
Dave's face.
"Look here!" Dave cried. "If you try to strike me with that I'll pull you off your pony and give you the best drubbing you ever had." He snatched the quirt from Len's wrist, breaking the thong, and flung the little whip far out on the prairie.
"Oh!" mumbled Len, and he shrunk away in fear.
"I won't touch you—at least not now—if you don't try any more of your underhand work," promised Dave. "But I'm going to converse with you right here and now. Why did you cut the posts of our special corral? Answer me that!"
"I didn't cut any posts!" was the sullen answer.
"You didn't; eh? Well, I think you did, and I'll prove it too, sooner or later. What are you hanging around here for now?"
"Isn't this a free range? Haven't I a right to ride it if I want to?"
"Yes, you have, but you must have some object in it, and I believe you want to see our cattle stampede. But I fooled you that time, Len Molick, and I'll fool you again. Now I want to know something else. Is Whitey Wasson the only one who told you I—that I wasn't Mr. Carson's son?"
For the life of him Dave could not help the falter that crept into his voice.
"Yes; he's the only one who told me," was Len's sullen answer.
"How did he find out about it?"
"Huh! How should I know? Ask him!"
"I intend to after I get through with you."
Len winced again.
"Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to thrash you—at least not now," said Dave, grimly. He was willing that Len should get what satisfaction he could out of that promise.
"Well, if you're through with me, you let me go!" the bully demanded. "You haven't any right to hold me up this way."
"I've just as much right as you have to take a saw and cut through our fence posts, so that the least pressure by the cattle would crack 'em off short," retorted Dave.
"I didn't saw any of your posts, I tell you!" insisted Len.
Dave was working his horse around to get closer to Len. Before the bully suspected it Dave had suddenly slipped his hand in under Len's coat, and had pulled out a short saw.
For a moment Len was too surprised to utter a word. Then he cried:
"Here! Give me that!"
"No, I don't think I will," Dave said, coolly. "I may need it as evidence.
I thought you said you didn't saw any posts."
"I—I didn't!"
"Then Whitey Wasson, or some of your crowd, did. I suppose they passed the saw to you to get rid of, which you would have done if you were wise."
"I—I found that saw on the plains," stammered Len.
"Probably where Whitey dropped it," Dave retorted. "Now look here Len Molick," he went on. "You say you didn't saw those posts, but I think you did, and I'm going to try to prove it. This saw is part of the proof. I guess I'll just keep it.
"And one thing more. If I catch you hanging around our special corral, even if you are on free range land, I'll tackle you. Don't forget that!"
"If you dare to touch me!" fairly screamed Len, for he was very angry now, "if you dare to touch me I'll have you arrested! My father knows the sheriff—"
"You can't scare me by any talk like that," Dave said, coolly. "You know
I'm a nobody, and I can't be disgraced like any one who bears the name of
Molick!" and he laughed mockingly, though there was a sore spot in his
heart.
After all it is small satisfaction to be a "nobody."
Dave released his hold on the bridle of Len's horse, and urged his own steed back toward Bar U ranch.
"You just wait! I'll fix you for this," Len threatened.
"I'm a good waiter," Dave told him. Then, speaking to Crow, he galloped off through the gathering darkness.
On reaching the ranch Dave found that Mr. Bellmore was very comfortable. Mr. Carson had applied rough and ready, but effective treatment to the injured ankle, and the two men were deep in a talk of irrigation matters when Dave entered the room.
"Back again, son?" remarked Mr. Carson, and there was no hesitancy in his endearing tone. For of course he had known, all along, that Dave was not his son, though, as he had said, he so loved and so regarded him.
"Yes—Dad, back. Perkins sent word about that bunch he was speaking of," and he delivered the message left with Pocus Pete.
"Well, Dave, you have done a good day's work since morning," commented Mr.
Carson.
"You saved that valuable bunch of special cattle, and you bring me as a guest a man, who, I think, can do me a lot of good."
"I'm glad to hear it, Dad!"
"Yes, your father and I have been talking irrigation, Dave," said Mr. Bellmore, who had taken a sudden liking to the young cowboy. And to himself Dave could not but admit that the more he saw of Mr. Bellmore the better he liked him. "We think we can get together on this irrigation project," the Chicago man went on.
"Of course that is if we can deal with Molick," suggested the ranchman.
"Oh, yes, it depends a great deal on Molick," Mr. Bellmore admitted.
"I wish it didn't," Dave said.
"Why, son?" asked Mr. Carson.
Then Dave told his story, which was received with rather ominous shakes of the head on the part of Mr. Carson.
"Well," said the owner of Bar U ranch, when Dave had finished, "there's no two ways about it! I wish it hadn't happened, and I think as you do, Dave, that Molick, or some of his friends, had a hand in it. However, that isn't proof, and we can't move until we get better evidence than just a saw.
"Another thing I'm sorry for—this may make more bad feeling between Mr. Molick and myself. There's not much love lost between us as it is," he went on, "and this will only add to his feeling."
"I'm sorry, Dad," Dave began.
"Oh, it isn't your fault," said Mr. Carson, quickly. "You acted as you thought best, and I haven't a word of fault to find. It just had to be so, I reckon. But I'll know how to act—that's one thing sure. I'll be on my guard from now on."
"It will be best so," said Mr. Bellmore.
A little later Pocus Pete and one of the cowboys returned, to report that the fence had been repaired.
"Where's Gimp?" asked Dave, referring to the other cowpuncher who had ridden with him.
"Oh, he stayed there on guard. Thought it best t' leave him there—to-night anyhow," the foreman said to Mr. Carson.
"I understand," was the answer. "We can't afford to lose any of those steers."
They were all up late at Bar U ranch that night, for the day had been a momentous one. Then, too, the visit of Mr. Bellmore had created a little diversion. He and Mr. Carson sat up for some time after the others had retired, talking irrigation matters.
"I wonder if I'll ever have a part in them?" reflected Dave, as he went to his room. "How long can I stay here, now that I know I am not Dave Carson—but somebody else? And who am I?"
Dave's wonderings were not of the most cheerful sort as he fell into an uneasy slumber.