CHAPTER XIII
THE FRAME-UP
The water in Devil's Hole was fenced.
It was the Reverend who brought word of the fencing. He had made a circuit of the ranches, holding services and selling pens, and on his way back from the lower reaches of Coyote Creek he stopped to call on the Coles. His visit was not financially productive but he did see long rows of posts set by three Mexicans, and saw wire being stretched on them.
Another thing he saw, which he did not mention to Hepburn: He saw Bobby Cole riding beside a man, a man who did not wear the dress of her country but who wore swagger riding clothes; who did not talk with the self consciousness of a mountain man who rides beside a pretty girl, but who leaned toward her and talked engagingly, so engagingly that the girl lost her hostile attitude and looked up into his face with wide, eager eyes.
The fencing stirred the country as nothing had done since the first and only time sheep bands attempted to come in. There was talk of it in town, there was talk of it when men met on trail or road, there was talk of it in ranch houses down the creek and there was talk of it elsewhere, at length, in stealthy jubilation....
Riley of the Bar Z rode the thirty miles from his ranch to discuss it with Jane Hunter.
"I don't guess you quite understand how serious it is, Miss Hunter," he said after they had talked a time. "Do you realize that if we have a dry summer—and it's startin' out that way—that this is goin' to cut your cattle off some of your best range. It may break you."
"I understand that, Mr. Riley," she said, leaning across her desk, "but there are other things I do not understand and I am inclined to believe that they are of first importance. Without understanding them, this condition can not be remedied."
He gave evidence of his surprise.
"I'm not wanted here," she went on. "I'm not wanted because the HC is a rich prize. It seems to be the accepted opinion that I cannot stay, that I will be unable to stand my ground.
"I want to know why! I want to know who is going to drive me out. Some one is behind this nester, I am convinced, and it is the influence behind the things we can see that is dangerous. Loss of range is serious, surely; but by what manner has that range been lost. That is what I want to know!"
Riley eyed her with approval.
"I came up here with the idea that you didn't understand but I guess you do," he said quietly. "You've got the situation sized up right, but there's one thing I want to tell you: So far only one blow has been struck; it has fallen on you. The next and the next may fall on you, but every time you are hurt it's goin' to hurt the rest of us. That makes your fight our fight.... If you fail, others are likely to fail.
"I've lived here too long in peace after fighting for that peace, to stand by and see trouble start again if I can help it. I'm of the old school, Miss Hunter; your uncle and I came in here together. I think a lot of his ranch and ... well, if it comes to a fight I can fight again beside his heir as I fought by his side.
"It won't be pleasant for a woman. Cattle wars ain't gentle affairs. They can't be if they're going to be short wars. There's three things to be used; just three: guns an' rope and nerve."
"I trust I can stand unpleasantness if necessary," was her reply.
Riley was impressed with the girl's courage but like the others he was reluctant to believe that she was made of the stuff that could recognize disaster and fight it out, her strength unweakened by panic.
Another visitor was there that day: Pat Webb. Jimmy Oliver had found one of his colts badly cut by wire and had brought it in. Webb had come to see the animal and had lingered to talk intimately with Hepburn.
This gave Beck much to think about.
He was saddling his horse at noon when Hepburn approached and asked his plans for the balance of the day.
"It depends on what I find. I'm after horses first, but I might have a look at other things. There's so damned much happenin' around here that it pays a man to look sharp."
"You'd better cut out that sort of talk, Beck!"
"What talk?"—mockingly. "Seems to me if you didn't know any more than I do you wouldn't be so easily roiled up, Hepburn."
"You mind your business and I'll look after mine," the foreman warned, breathing heavily. "About one more break from you and we'll part company."
His eyes glittered ominously and his face was malicious.
"I wouldn't be surprised. This outfit's a little too small for you and me. It seems to shrink every day, Dad. Maybe, sometime, you'll have to go, but just keep this in your head: I've promised Miss Hunter to stay and my word is good."
He mounted and Hepburn, walking slowly toward the stable, twirled his mustache speculatively, one eye lid drooped as though he saw faintly a plan which promised to solve perplexities.
Beck was cautious that afternoon, as he had trained himself to be when riding alone. He kept an eye on the back trail and scanned both gulches when he rode a ridge; but cautious as he was he did not see the two riders who sat on quiet horses beneath a spreading juniper tree at the head of Twenty Mile.
It was after dark when he returned to the ranch and the moon was just commencing to show. The others were at supper. He threw his gun and chaps into the bunk house and fed his horse. As he walked down toward the ranch house the other men were straggling out and their dining room was empty. Carlotta brought him steaming food and he ate with gusto.
When he had nearly finished Jane entered and he started to rise, but she made him remain seated.
"What do you suppose that man Webb is doing here?" she asked. "Hepburn explains that he is trying to arrange to send a representative with our round-up."
"Whatever he's doin' here, it ain't for your good," he replied.
"Nor yours."
"Don't you worry about mine, ma'am and unless he's a lot smarter than I think he is, or unless he's got lots of help, don't figure he's goin' to do you any great harm. He's just a low-down—"
A man was running toward the house and he broke off to listen.
Two-Bits came hurriedly into the room, eyes wide, face white, showing none of his usual confusion at Jane's presence.
"Tommy, they want you," he said unnaturally.
"Yeah? What for, Two-Bits?"
"I don't know, Tommy. Hepburn an' Riley an' Webb an' the rest want you. I don't know what it is, Tommy, but it must be serious."
Tom saw the anxiety in Jane's eyes. She did not put her query into words; it was not necessary; he knew and answered:
"I ain't got an idea, ma'am, but I'll go find out. You're all wound up, Two-Bits!"—laughing.
"My gosh, Tommy, they acted funny. Have you done anything?" the cowboy asked in an undertone as they left the house.
"A lot, Two-Bits. I sure hope they don't go proddin' into my awful past! There's some terrible things they might find!"
He hooked his arm through the other's and laughed at the boy's apprehension.
But Beck knew that something of grave consequence impended the instant he set foot in the bunk house for the men, who had been talking lowly, stopped and eyed him in sober silence. Afterward he had a distinct recollection of Two-Bits slipping along the wall, looking at him over his shoulder with the freckles showing in great blotches against his white skin. Hepburn, Riley and Webb sat on one bed. The foreman was leaning back, hands clasping a knee, but he chewed his tobacco with nervous vigor.
"The Reverend about to offer prayer?" Tom asked easily.
There was no responsive smile on any face. Someone coughed loudly and sharply as if it had been an unnecessary cough. Tom halted.
"I'm here. What's up?" he asked quietly. "This is like a funeral ... or a trial."
At that Hepburn cleared his throat.
"Want to ask you somethin', Beck. I want you to tell these other men what you said to me this noon."
Tom hitched up his belt.
"If you want 'em to know, why don't you speak the piece yourself? You recall it, don't you?"
"Better talk, Tom," Riley advised.
"I don't know what this is all about; I don't know what difference what I said to Hepburn can make to the rest of you, but I respect your opinions, Riley, and if he's willing for you to know what I said, I sure am willing to repeat it.
"Hepburn and I've had a little argument. It's been goin' on for some time. He'd be pleased to have me move on, I take it, but I sort of like this outfit."
"Go on," Hepburn said impatiently.
"I told you, Hepburn, and I'll tell you again that this ranch is gettin' a little small to hold both of us. It seems to shrink every day and I don't get good elbow room any more, but so far as I'm concerned I'm more or less permanent."
Webb nodded and Riley shifted uneasily, looking from Beck to Hepburn, frankly puzzled.
"Yes, that's what you said to me. Now will you tell the boys where you rode this afternoon?"
Beck eyed him a long moment and the foreman stared back, assured but not quite composed, his little eyes dark. Once he bit his chew savagely but his expression did not change.
"I rode out of here straight up Sunny Gulch, climbed out at the head, rode those little dry gulches as far down as Twenty Mile and came up the far ridge. Then I took a circle to the east and came home by the road."
"You admit bein' at the head of Twenty Mile, then?"
"Admit it? Yes."
"What time?"
"Three o'clock or thereabouts,"—after a pause in which he considered.
"See any other men?"
"Not a man until I got back."
Hepburn looked about. Two-Bits muttered lowly to himself. Riley dragged a spur across the floor slowly. Every eye in the room was on Beck, and Beck's eyes were on Hepburn.
"Then will you tell the boys how come this?"
The foreman drew a gun and holster from behind him. It was Beck's gun. He drew it from the scabbard, broke it and dropped the cartridges into his palm.
Three of the shells were empty.
The two gave one another stare for stare. Hepburn was breathing rapidly but his look was of a man who faces a crisis with all confidence. Beck did not move or speak. His eyes smouldered and his face settled into stern lines. Then that smouldering burst into blaze and before the glare of will the foreman's hand, holding the contents of the revolver chambers, trembled. He closed it quickly and looked away and where a moment before he had been the accuser he was now on the defense. It was determination against determination and in the conflict words were wrung from him.
"Somebody fired three shots at me at the head of Twenty Mile at three o'clock this afternoon."
And that sentence, though it was an indictment, was voiced more in a manner of defense than in accusation. With it Beck's expression changed; it became alert, as though following some play upon which great stakes hung, but following intelligently, not blind to the way of the game.
"I can explain those empty shells. I took a shot at a coyote on the way back. I didn't see you, Hepburn, after I left here this afternoon until I got back."
Webb got up.
"I guess that makes the case," he said to no one in particular.
Then to Tom: "I was with Dad; he was ten rod ahead of me. Th' shots come from above and landed all around him.
"We didn't have to look very hard for somebody who wants to get rid of Dad, but we wanted it from you, Beck."
Triumph was in his little beady eyes and on his mottled face. There was a shuffling of feet and Tom hooked one thumb in his belt, with a slow, uncertain movement. His eyes held on Hepburn's face, prying, searching, striving to force a meeting but the other would not look at him, he busied himself stuffing the evidence into his shirt pocket.
Riley rose and the low stir which had followed the revelation subsided.
"Isn't there something else you want to say, Beck?" he asked. "Didn't you see any other man? Can't you say something for yourself?"
"I didn't see another man this afternoon," the other replied, still striving to make Hepburn meet his gaze, "an' besides there don't seem to be much to say. I've told my story. It's simple enough.... You've heard the other story, which seems simple enough. Now it's my word against Hepburn's ... an' Webb's,"—as though the last were in afterthought, and of little matter.
Riley faced the circle of listeners.
"This is no boy's play," he said grimly. "The foreman of the biggest outfit in this country has been shot at, shot at by somebody who didn't come from cover and give him even a fair show for a fight. We know that there's been bad blood between these two men; Tommy's admitted that. I hate like hell to think he lost his head over a quarrel and that he'd fight a man from cover, but it looks bad.
"We can't have this go on! There's been stealing and rumors of stealing for months. There's trouble comin' over water and fence. We've gotten along like good neighbors for years but now trouble seems to be in the air. I don't see that there's much to it but to take Tom to town an' turn him over to the sheriff.
"Unless,"—facing Beck. "Tommy, ain't there anything you want to say? You've refused once but I keep thinkin' you've got something else you could tell us."
"No, Riley, I'd be taking a chance by doing more talkin' tonight. I'll do it when it'll do me more good," he said, but at his own words, brave though they sounded, his heart sank and a rage boiled up in him.
"Then I'm afraid it's jail for you, son," Riley said. "I can—"
"Jail?"
Jane Hunter had stepped into the bunk house. It was the first time she had ever been there and that was reason enough to rivet attention on her; but now she came under circumstances which were stressed, her face was white, lips parted, eyes wide with a child-like wonder and as she paused on the threshold, one hand against the casing, dread was in every line of her figure.
"Jail?" she repeated in a strained voice. "And why?"
The silence was oppressive and for a breath no one moved or spoke. Beck had not turned to face her; his eyes never left Hepburn's face and it was he who broke the suspense with one word, addressed to the foreman.
"Well?"—a challenge.
Hepburn moved slowly toward the girl.
"There's been a little trouble, Miss Hunter," with an attempt at a laugh, which resulted dismally.
"Trouble?"—with rising inflection.
She took a step forward, looking about at the serious faces. She looked back at Hepburn; then at Beck. Her eyes clung to him a moment, then swept the circle again.
"Trouble? About what? Who is in trouble?"
"I didn't want to bother you with it," her foreman said, his assurance coming back, for Beck had ceased looking at him. "It's a nasty mess; I don't like it. None of us like it. Even if he is inclined to be a little hot-headed, we all thought better of Tom—"
"Tom?"
Slowly she turned to face Beck.
"Yes. Tom. We're.... We're sorry, ma'am," Dad stammered; then recovered and with an effort to belittle the situation by his manner proceeded: "Somebody did a small amount of shootin' at me this afternoon. Webb, here, an' I was at the head of Twenty-Mile and somebody fired three times at me. Tom come in tonight with three empty shells in his gun. He.... He didn't explain well enough to suit us because all he could say was that he fired at a coyote comin' down the road, but—"
"And you're going to take him to jail?"
Her hand had gone slowly to her throat, fingers clamping on the gold locket as if for support. Her eyes had become very dark.
"Well, ma'am, that's about all we can do: turn him over to the sheriff," Hepburn said.
She drew a deep breath, a second interval of tense silence prevailed and then Jane, putting one arm across her eyes, began to laugh. The laugh started low in her throat and rippled upward until it was full and as clear as the ringing of a glass gong. She swayed back against the wall and pressed her extended palms hard against the tough logs....
"On that evidence?" she cried. "On such evidence you would charge a man with attempted murder and turn him over to the law? Because there were empty shells in his revolver?
"Why, I was with him when he came down the road and he did shoot at a coyote ... three times ... I heard it; I saw it ... I was there."
She leaned her head back and her body shook with silent, nervous laughter.
"Praise ye the Lord!" chanted the Reverend, "For his ways are wonderous and strange to behold!"
A babel of comments, loud, profane, excited, relieved, arose. Hepburn stood as if struck dumb, mouth agape and then, face growing dark with a rush of blood under the bronzed skin, he said:
"I thought you said you didn't see a soul!"
"I said I didn't see a man, you pole-cat!" Beck retorted and his eyes danced. Webb sat down on a bunk as though suddenly weakened. Riley, voice husky, took Tom's hand, shook it gravely.
"Why didn't you tell us, my boy?" he questioned.
The rest stopped to hear the answer:
"I didn't want to spill my case before this ... this hombre showed his full hand," he lied.
He turned to look at the other who had lied ... but Jane Hunter had fled.