Paradise Bend

by William Patterson White

CHAPTER XII

SCOTTY ADVISES

When Loudon and Scotty reached Paradise Bend, they separated, Scotty going to the Burrs', while Loudon strolled leisurely about the streets. Loudon visited all the saloons and drew into conversation the bartenders and other prominent citizens. In less than an hour he met Scotty behind the Burr corral.

"Five days ago an' early in the mornin'," said Loudon, "a Seven Lazy Seven boy met O'Leary ridin' the trail to the Flyin' M. O'Leary told him, an' it wasn't none necessary, that he was goin' to Sucker Creek. That's away north a good eighty mile.

"Well, that same day in the evenin' a freighter, camped on the trail half-way between the Bend and Rocket, seen O'Leary a-peltin' south. The freighter only got a flash at him by the light of his fire, but he knowed him all right, an' he hollered a howdy. O'Leary never notices. Just leans over his horn an' keeps a-foggin' right along. There yuh have it—the Flyin' M trail in the mornin', an' twenty-five mile south o' the Bend in the evenin'. Now who mailed that letter?"

"It looks like O'Leary," admitted Scotty. "But what yuh goin' to do about it? Yuh can't do nothin', Tom. I tell yuh, yuh got to wait. Now don't yuh go projeckin' round O'Leary an' kick up any fuss. It won't do no good, an' yuh might reap some lead. Yo're needed at the ranch, Tom. Just you keep that in mind."

"Don't fret. I ain't goin' to say nothin' to O'Leary—yet. I'll give him plenty o' rope to hang himself with. But I wish you'd let me Injun round some, Scotty. Gimme two weeks, now. Yuh won't regret it."

"Now, Tom, there yuh go again. I need yuh to home, I tell yuh."

"Oh, all right; have it yore own way. But if yuh won't gimme the two weeks now, I'll take 'em later on my own account. I aim to get my hoss back."

"We'll talk about that later," said Scotty. "You go on in an' see Dorothy. Y'ought to be ashamed o' yoreself—stickin' out here when there's a pretty little girl like that in the house."

"Thought yuh didn't like ladies any."

"Depends on the lady. There's brands an' brands, Tom. But that little girl o' the Cap'n's—well, say, she always makes a gent feel right to home. Wish I was younger. Yes, sir, I shore wish I didn't have so many rings on my horns. I'd have you boys runnin' in circles, I would. Go on in now, Tom, an' if yuh work it right Mis' Burr'll ask yuh to grub."

Loudon went.

"Just in time for supper," was Mrs. Burr's greeting. "Dorothy's out front. Pete O'Leary's here again. He's stayin' to supper, too. Thank Heaven, I'll have a crowd for once. I do enjoy seein' folks eat. Say, Tom," she added, lowering her voice, "is O'Leary a friend o' yores?"

"I know his name, Mis' Burr," said Loudon, "an' that's about all."

"Well, I was just wonderin'. I dunno whether to like that fellah or not. He strikes me as bein' conceited a lot. He always acts to me like he thought every girl he knowed was in love with him. He's good-lookin' an' all that, but I don't cotton to his eyes. They look as if they was holdin' somethin' back all the time. See what I mean? Like he was sayin' one thing an' thinkin' another."

"I see," Loudon nodded. He understood perfectly.

"He ain't never hung round Dorothy till lately. But yuh can't say nothin', I s'pose. Still—oh, well, no use chatterin' about it."

Loudon wondered whether Scotty had known O'Leary was in the house when he urged Loudon to go in and see Dorothy. The presence of O'Leary did not forecast an enjoyable meal.

"I just come in for a drink, Mis' Burr," said Loudon. "I wish I could stay for supper. Thank yuh kindly, all the same, but I got to see a man down street."

"Huh," grunted Mrs. Burr, skeptically. "Yuh don't like O'Leary neither, do yuh?"

"I didn't say nothin' about that, ma'am."

"No, o' course not. Yuh can't fool me, Tom Loudon. There's cool water in that covered pail. Say, it's too bad about that hoss o' yores. Scotty told me yuh didn't have no luck in Rocket. It shore is too bad. He was a right good hoss."

"He is a good hoss, ma'am. He ain't a goner yet, by a jugful. I'll get him back."

"I hope so, an' I hope yuh lynch the thief, or shoot him anyway. He hadn't ought to live a minute. The Flyin' M cook, too. Yuh can't hardly believe it."

Loudon got his drink and departed. As he rode past the house he saw Dorothy and O'Leary sitting on the doorstep. Dorothy waved her hand and smiled. O'Leary positively beamed. Had Loudon been his oldest friend O'Leary's greeting could not have been more cordial.

"Now I'd like to know," thought Loudon, as he rode down the street, "what license he's got to be so cheerful. Is it 'cause I ain't stayin' to supper, or is it 'cause he's got some other card up his sleeve?"

"Why didn't you stay to supper?" chuckled Scotty, when Loudon dropped into the chair next him at the hotel dining-table.

"I couldn't stand it to be away from you so long," retorted Loudon, and helped himself generously to the butter.

"I kind o' thought it might be that way. Try them pickles. They taste like they'd been used for tannin' saddles."

Night had not yet fallen when Loudon and Scotty started for the Flying M. As they passed the house of Big Jim Mace, Scotty groaned.

"Here comes that female girl o' Old Salt's," he whispered, perturbedly. "She's headin' our way. She's a-callin' to yuh, Tom! She's a-callin' to yuh! I'm goin' on. I'll wait for yuh on the trail."

There was no disregarding Kate Saltoun. She had even stepped out into the street in her efforts to attract Loudon's attention. Scotty loped onward, and Loudon twisted his horse toward the sidewalk.

"Well," said Kate, smiling up at him, "you are a nice one! I believe you'd have passed right by without speaking if I hadn't called to you. Come on in and see Mrs. Mace and me. Jim's down street, and we want someone to talk to."

"Just someone?"

Loudon could have bitten his tongue off for uttering this flirty remark. But for the life of him he could not help saying it.

Kate smiled.

"Someone would probably do for Lil," she said, "but I want you. I've an awful lot to tell you, Tom."

"I can't, Kate. Honest, I'd like to come in an' see yuh a lot. I shore would. But I got to ride out to the ranch with Scotty Mackenzie."

"Is that funny old person with the parti-coloured sleeve Scotty Mackenzie? I've heard Dad speak of him. They never liked each other, I believe. Bring him over, I'd like to meet him. Then he can talk to Lil."

"That'd be fine, but yuh see Scotty's in a hurry to get back to the ranch. I'm afraid we couldn't manage it nohow."

Kate's face fell. Loudon glanced up and saw Dorothy Burr and Pete O'Leary approaching. Interest, polite in Dorothy's case, speculative in O'Leary's, was manifest in their expressions. Kate moved closer to Loudon and laid a hand on the neck of his horse.

"Tom," she whispered, "I just heard what Block tried to do. Lil told me. You don't believe I had anything to do with it, do you?"

"Why, no, o' course I don't."

"Are you sure?"

"Why, Kate, I know you couldn't do a thing like that. Don't yuh think any more about it."

"I believe you do, just the same. Tom, no matter how much I disliked a person I wouldn't betray him."

"I believe yuh. Honest, I do."

Dorothy and O'Leary passing at this juncture, Loudon lifted his hat. Kate turned and looked after the pair. When her eyes once more met Loudon's there was a faint trouble in their black depths.

"Who are they?" she queried.

"Cap'n Burr's daughter an' Pete O'Leary."

"Oh." There was deep meaning in that "oh."

"She lives up yonder a ways. Mis' Mace knows her, I guess."

"How nice! Perhaps I shall meet her. I should like to, really. Tell me, do you know her well?"

"Not very well. Yuh see, I ain't in town such a lot. Say, Kate, did Mis' Mace write an' tell yuh I was up here at the Bend?"

"Yes, I believe she did." Kate's tone was ingenuous. But the quick upward fling of her eyes was not.

"Did yuh tell yore father an' the boys?"

"Why, I don't remember, Tom. I might have. Very possibly I did. Why?"

"I was just a-wonderin'."

"You mean——" gasped Kate, her eyes widening with genuine horror.

At first, misinterpreting the trend of his questioning, she had believed him brazenly fishing. Now she understood the significance underlying his words. She wanted to scream. But half the street was watching them. Underlip caught between her teeth, she sucked in her breath. Piteously her eyes searched Loudon's face.

"Tom!" she breathed. "Tom! You do think I betrayed you after all. Oh, Tom, Tom!"

It was Loudon's turn to be distressed.

"Yo're on the wrong trail, Kate," he soothed. "I know yuh didn't tell Block or the 88 outfit. But if the Bar S boys knowed I was up here it could easy get around. Richie o' the Cross-in-a-box an' Cap'n Burr knowed, too. They might 'a' let it out. I'm sorry I asked yuh if it makes yuh feel that way."

"Oh, I see it now. I must have told. And it was my telling that sent Block up here. Tom, if he had taken you south and—and anything had happened, it—it would have killed me. Life just wouldn't have been worth living any longer."

Was ever mortal man in a similar predicament? Here was a beautiful woman baring her heart to him in broad daylight on a public thoroughfare. Cold prickles raced madly up and down Loudon's spine. What could he say? He had a wild impulse to whirl his horse and gallop after Scotty. Obviously this was the safer course to follow. Weakly he temporized.

"Kate, do yuh know what yo're sayin'?"

"Of course. Why shouldn't I say it? I love you, don't you know that? There, it's out! I suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself, but I'm not. I'm glad."

Throughout the latter part of the conversation Kate had barely spoken above a whisper, but to Loudon it seemed that she fairly shouted. He was positive that all the town had heard. His dismayed eyes slid round. He half-expected to see Mrs. Mace and her neighbours craning their necks with their hands cupped round their ears. But Mrs. Mace was not visible, and the score of people in view were not displaying undue interest. Loudon breathed more easily.

"Yuh—yuh——" he stammered, his face beet-red. "Yuh hadn't ought to 'a' said that."

"Why not?" she demanded, coolly. "It's true."

Her self-possession was extraordinary. She was not even blushing. This was a Kate that Loudon did not know. In the face of her bald assertion he could not tell her that matters had completely changed; that he loved her no longer. No, not that. He realized his disadvantage acutely, and squirmed. Kate looked expectant. He must say something, and quickly, too, or she would propose to him on the spot.

"I—I got to be goin'!" he exclaimed, desperately. "Scotty's waitin' for me. Gug-gug-good-bye."

"Good-bye, Tom," said Kate, with a radiant smile. "I'll see you some other time."

"Some other time!" groaned Loudon, as he galloped down the street. "Some other time! She will, too. An' what'll I do? What'll I do? I don't like her any more. I don't like her a little bit. This is shore one helluva of a fix!"

"What did she do to yuh?" inquired Scotty, when Loudon joined him.

"Do to me! What do you mean?"

"Yuh look like yuh'd just missed being hugged to death by a b'ar. No offence, Tom, but yuh sure do look a heap shivery."

"It's them pickles I had for supper, Scotty. I knowed they'd make me sick."

"They was rich, for a fact."

They loped in silence for a half-hour.

"Scotty," said Loudon, suddenly, "if anybody comes out to the ranch a-lookin' for me, tell 'em I've pulled my freight yuh dunno where."

"Anybody?" Scotty quirked an eyebrow.

"Anybody—man, woman, or child."

"Well, say, look here, Tom!" exclaimed Scotty in alarm. "Yuh don't mean to say that Miss Saltoun girl is a-comin' out to the Flyin' M."

"I dunno. I hope not."

"Which I hope not, too. She's so good-lookin' she scares me, she does. I don't want to go nowheres near her, an' I won't, neither. No, sirree. If she ever comes a-traipsin' out to the ranch yuh can do yore own talkin'."

"Aw, keep yore shirt on. I guess now she won't come."

"I'll bet she's a-aimin' to, or yuh wouldn't 'a' said what yuh did. Yuh can't fool me, Tom. She'll come, an' she'll bring Jim Mace's wife along for a chaperon, an' they'll most likely stay for two meals, an' I'll have to grub in the corral. Great note this is! Druv out o' my own home by a couple o' female women!

"Laugh! It's awful funny! I never could abide Mis' Mace, either. She's always talkin', talkin'. Talk the hide off a cow, an' not half try. How Jim stands her I can't see nohow. If she was my woman I'd feed her wolf-pizen, or take it myself."

"I guess now yuh never was married, was yuh, Scotty?"

"Me married! Well, I guess not! Come mighty close to it once. I must 'a' been crazy or drunk, or somethin'—anyway, when I was a young feller over east in Macpherson, Kansas, me an' Sue Shimmers had it all fixed for hitchin' up together. Nice girl, Sue was. Good cook, a heap energetic, an' right pretty in the face. The day before the weddin' Sue cuts stick an' elopes with Tug Wilson, the blacksmith.

"I felt bad for mighty nigh a week, but I've been a heap joyous ever since. Yes, sir, Sue developed a lot after marriage. Why, if Tug took so much as one finger of old Jordan Sue'd wallop him with a axe-handle. Poor old Tug used to chew up so many cloves he got dyspepsy. Between the axe-handle an' the dyspepsy Tug had all he could swing to keep alive. I've never stopped bein' grateful to Tug Wilson. He saved my life. Yes, sir, as a rule, females is bad medicine."

"How about Mis' Burr an' her daughter?"

"I said as a general rule. Like I told yuh once before, Mis' Burr an' Dorothy are real ladies, all silk an' several yards wide. A gent can talk to them just like folks. An' Dorothy can have my ranch an' every cayuse on it, includin' my mules, any time she wants. Nothin's too good for that little girl."

"She's shore a winner."

"She's all o' that. Now there's a girl that'll make a ace-high wife. She wouldn't use no axe-handle. She'd understand a gent's failin's, she would, an' she'd break him off 'em so nice an' easy he wouldn't know nothin' about it. Yes, sir, the party that gets Dorothy Burr needn't worry none 'bout bein' happy."

"I guess now there ain't no party real shore-enough fit to make her a husband."

"There ain't. No, sir, yuh can bet there ain't. But she'll marry some no-account tinhorn—them kind always does. Say, why don't you make up to her?"

"Well, I would," said Loudon, gravely, "only yuh see it wouldn't be proper. I ain't a no-account tinhorn."

"You ain't, but O'Leary is."

"It ain't gone as far as that!"

"Yuh never can tell how far anythin's gone with a woman. Yuh never can tell nothin' about her till it happens. She's a heap unexpected, a female is. Now I don't say as Dorothy'd marry yuh, Tom. Yuh may not be her kind o' feller at all. But yo're a sight better'n Pete O'Leary."

"Thanks," said Loudon, dryly.

"Then again," rushed on Scotty, deeply engrossed in his subject, "it ain't noways necessary for yuh to marry her. All yuh got to do is give O'Leary the run. Chase him off—see? I've been thinkin' some serious o' doin' it myself, but I'd have to beef him, an' that wouldn't suit Dorothy. A lady don't like it none to have her admirers shot up. It only makes her more set to have 'em. But you, Tom, could go about it in a nice, refined way, an' get Dorothy to likin' yuh better'n she does O'Leary, an' there yuh are. No blood's spilt, an' the lady is saved."

"But s'pose she didn't cotton to me for a cent?"

"Yuh got to risk that, o' course. But you can win out over O'Leary, I'll gamble on that."

"But why am I elected? Why me at all?"

"Well, say, yuh'd ought to be ashamed o' yoreself, raisin' objections thisaway. Here I am, tryin' to help out as nice a little girl as ever breathed, an' yuh got to kick. Selfish, I call it. Can't yuh see I'm tryin' to do you a good turn, too? There's gratitude for yuh! Well, it's like I always said: Old folks is never appreciated, no matter what they do. Yes, sir, I might 'a' saved my breath. Dorothy, she talked just like you do, only worse."

"What—why, you ain't been talkin' about this to Dor—Miss Burr, have yuh?" demanded Loudon in horror.

"Why, shore I did," said Scotty, placidly. "I feel like a father to her, so why not? I didn't say much. I just told her O'Leary was a pup an' a sheepman an' not fit for her to wipe her feet on, an' why didn't she take a shine to some other gent for a change? She says, 'Who, for instance?' An' I says, 'Tom Loudon,' an' that's as far as I got. She goes up in the air like a pony, instanter."

"Which I should say she might. You had yore nerve, ringin' me into it! Ain't yuh got no sense at all?"

"Lots. Yo're the witless one. If yuh had any brains yuh'd take my advice."

"I can't now, even if I wanted to."

"Shore yuh can. She spoke to yuh all right this aft'noon, didn't she?"

"Yes, but——"

"Well, I'd given her my opinion o' things just about twenty minutes before yuh met me at the corral. So, yuh see, she wasn't mad at you. She wasn't really mad at me. I seen the twinkle in her eye all the time she was givin' me fits. Why, look here, Tom, when she says, 'Who, for instance?' I couldn't think o' nobody but you. It was impulse, it was, an' impulses are always right. Wouldn't be impulses if they wasn't.

"So there y'are. Yuh don't have to marry each other if yuh don't want to. Shore not. But yuh'd ought to give each other a whirl anyway. Yuh might hit it off amazin'. I'm bettin' yuh will, I don't care what either o' yuh say."

Loudon, divided between anger and horrified amazement, was speechless. Scotty Mackenzie was more than astounding. He was hopelessly impossible.

"Well," remarked Loudon, when he was able to speak, "yuh sure are three kings an' an ace when it comes to other people's business. Some day, Scotty, yuh'll go bulgin' into the affairs o' some party who don't understand yore funny little ways, an' he'll hang yore hide on the fence."

"I s'pose likely," said Scotty, glumly. "It shore is a ungrateful world. But," he added, brightening, "yuh'll do what I say, won't yuh, Tom? I tell yuh I know best. I've sort o' cottoned to yuh ever since I found out who yuh was an' all, an' I always did like Dorothy Burr. Here's you, an' there she is. Why, it's Providence, Tom, Providence; an' nobody has a right to fly in the face o' Providence. Yuh won't never have no luck if yuh do. I ask yuh like a friend, Tom—an' I hadn't ought to have to ask yuh, not with such a good-looker as Dorothy—I ask yuh like a friend to go see this little girl, an'——"

"An' prove yo're right," interrupted Loudon.

"Well, yes. Though I know I'm right, an' I tell yuh plain if you two don't hook up for keeps yuh'll be sorry. Yes, sir, yuh will. Now don't say nothin', Tom. Just think it over, an' if yuh want any help come to me."

"Yuh make me sick. Yuh shore do."

"Think it over. Think it over."

"Think nothin' over! I ain't in love with Miss Burr, an' I ain't a-goin' to be. Yuh can gamble on that, old-timer. As a woman-wrangler I'm a good hoss an' cowman, an' hereafter from now on I'm a-stickin' to what I know best."

Loudon relapsed into sulky silence. Yet for the life of him he could not be wholly angry with Scotty Mackenzie. No one could. Scotty was Scotty, and, where another man would have been shot, Scotty went scatheless.

"Slick!" said Scotty, ten minutes after arriving at the Flying M; "Slick, I guess yes. The feller that wrote that letter knowed my writin' better'n I do myself. Don't blame yuh a mite, Doubleday, for bein' fooled. Don't blame yuh a mite.

"I'll fix this trick for good and all. Hereafter I don't write no more letters to yuh, see? Then if our forgin' brother takes his pen in hand again it won't do him no good.... What? No, I'm too sleepy. You go down an' ask Loudon. He was the centre o' curiosity, an' he knows more about that riot at the Bend than I do."

When Doubleday had gone Scotty Mackenzie did not act like a person overcome by sleep. He lit a cigarette, slid down in his chair, and put his feet on the desk.

"Yo're a great man, Scotty," he chuckled. "Yes, sir, I dunno as I ever seen yore like. I didn't know yuh was such a deeplomat. No, sir, I shore didn't."

But Mr. Mackenzie did not realize that Loudon in his statements regarding possible affection for Miss Dorothy Burr meant exactly what he said.

On the corral fence Loudon sat with Telescope Laguerre and related his adventures. The half-breed hearkened sympathetically. Occasionally he removed the cigarette from his lips in order to swear.

"And," said Loudon in conclusion, "I'm goin' south after the little hoss in two or three weeks."

"Queet?"

"Yep."

"I queet, too. I go wit' you."

"What for? No need o' you losin' yore job, too."

"—— de job! I been here long tam—two, t'ree year. I wan' for move along un see w'at happen een de worl'. Een you' beesness, two gun ees better dan only wan. Are you me?"

"Oh, I'm you all right enough. I'll be glad to have yuh with me, Telescope, but——"

"Den dat ees settle'," interrupted Telescope, his eyes glittering in the glow of his cigarette. "Wen you go, I go, un togedder we weel geet de leetle hoss. Ah, my frien', eet ees de luck I have you to go wit'. I been knowin' for week now I mus' go soon."

"Gettin' restless?"

Telescope nodded, his eyes fixed on the far-away line of saw-toothed mountains black against the stars. When he spoke, his voice had altered.

"Tom, de ole tam have come back to me, un w'en de old tam do dat I can not stay. I mus'—— My frien', have you evair love a woman?"

"Once I did."

"Den you weel understan'. Wan tam, fifteen year ago, I have woman. I have odder woman now un den—five, six mabbe, but dey was Enjun un breed. Dees woman she was not Enjun. She was Française, un we was marry un leeve over on de Sweetwatair Rivière near de Medicine Mountain.

"Well, we was happy, she un me, un I was hunt de buffalo for Ole Man Rantoul. Rantoul she have de post dere on de Sweetwatair. Dere was odder men keel de buffalo for Rantoul, un wan of dese men she see my wife Marie w'en she go wit' me to de post. Dees man she yong man name' Taylor—Pony George dey call heem, 'cause she was all tam bust de pony.

"Well, wan tam I go 'way two—t'ree week, mabbe. I come home een de afternoon. No leetle dog she play 'roun' de log-house. No smoke from de chimeny. No Marie she stan' at de door.

"I go queeck to de house. Leetle dog lie dead in front de door. Door shut. I go een. I fin' Marie—I fin' Marie!" A wild, fierce note crept into the low monotone. "I fin' my Marie on de floor. She varree weak, but she can talk leetle. She tell me w'at happen. Two day before I geet back Pony George come to de log-house. Pony George she try for mak' de love to my wife. Marie she go for rifle. Pony George geet de rifle firs'. Dog try for bite heem. Pony George keeck de dog out un shoot heem.

"My wife she grab de knife. She fight. But Pony George strong man. Get cut leetle, but not bad. He—he—well, I can do nothin' for my wife. Nex' day she die.

"I ride to de post of Ole Man Rantoul. Pony George not dere. Rantoul say Pony George go 'way t'ree day before—not come back. I go after Pony George. I not fin' heem. I go sout' to de Nation. I go to Dakota. I go all de way from Canaday to de Rio Grande. Five year I heet de trail, but I never fin' Pony George.

"Now I work on de ranch, but always I can not stay. W'en de ole tam come back I mus' go. Well, my frien', some day I fin' Pony George, un w'en dat day come I weel hang hees hair on my bridle. Ah, I weel keel dat man—keel heem slow, so she weel have plenty tam for see hees deat' before she die."

Abruptly Telescope Laguerre slipped down to the ground and vanished in the darkness.