CHAPTER SIX
CROSS-PURPOSES
"... and my name is John Dawson," continued the stranger, "and I'm on my way to visit my uncle at Jacksboro."
"Uncle! Jacksboro!" exclaimed Jonesy. "Pretty smooth and thin."
Tom Walton took no notice of Jonesy. "Where'd you work last?"
"Cross T in Redstone County."
Tom Walton nodded. "Turberville ranch? Left ribs cattle, left shoulder and jaw horses?"
"No, Tasker's," corrected John Dawson. "Left hip cattle and horses, no jaw brand."
"I know," said Tom Walton gently. "I knew it was Tasker's. I had to—be sure."
"Whatsa use of this gassing?" demanded Rafe. "I tell you, Tom, we caught this feller branding one of my calves, and I'll gamble he's the boy been doing all the rustling on your range too."
"You might be right. I don't know. But he tells a straight story."
"They all do. He's a rustler. Take my word for it."
"But he said in the beginning," objected Tom, "that he never was near that split draw."
"We saw him, I tell you!"
"All right. Soon as we eat, we'll all ride over to the draw and take a squint at the evidence."
"What for? Ain't my word enough?"
"I don't believe in gamblin' with a man's life," said Tom smoothly.
"Better be sure than sorry," said Billy.
"I won't be sorry none to hang him, the cow thief!"
"If I had my gun I'd argue that with you," remarked the prisoner pleasantly.
Rafe was understood to damn all creation. Oh, he was wild.
"Dinner!" called Hazel from the kitchen door.
"Too bad the sheriff ain't here," grumbled Rafe, on the way to the house.
"It is too bad," Tom Walton flung over his shoulder. "But I sent Roy for Sam Prescott. He'll meet us on the Hillsville trail."
Roy was the half of his outfit. The Walton ranch was a little one. Even in big seasons Tom could not afford to employ more than three men. In winter he let them all go. What little work there was to be done he managed to do himself. Small rancher though he was, Tom Walton was not a nonentity in the community. Folk trusted him. He was known to be honest.
After dinner the whole party, excepting Hazel, took horse and rode down the draw to the Hillsville trail. Rafe and his outfit would have ridden to the trail at once. But Billy Wingo carefully shepherded them from it.
"We'll keep off the trail," said Billy. "This Dawson man says he's never been off the trail till he got chased off by you fellers. We may want to examine that trail for tracks later."
The Tuckleton men muttered and swore, but they kept away from the trail. Soon after the party reached the vicinity of the trail, Roy, Sam Prescott and two of his men trotted into sight. Billy rode to meet them and turned them from the trail before they reached the spot where John Dawson said he had left it.
Sam Prescott listened in silence to the respective stories of Rafe Tuckleton and John Dawson. He seemed unimpressed by either. When he had heard all they had to say, he dismounted and examined the hoofs of Dawson's horse. Then he and Riley, closely followed by the others, rode along the edge of the trail scrutinizing the tracks upon its dusty surface.
"Here's where he says he left the trail all right," observed Bill. "You can't mistake the point of that near fore shoe. He says Tuckleton and his boys rode at him from over yonder, but if they chased him all-away from that split draw like they say they did, there wouldn't be a single track here. They'd all be on the other side of those cottonwoods."
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward said cottonwoods growing about a hundred yards to the south.
"Let's go over yonder where he said they came from," said Sam Prescott.
They all went over yonder. There they found the tracks of five horses. Not only that, but in a near-by depression behind some red willows they found where five horses had stood a considerable time.
Sam Prescott picked up in turn the hoofs of every Tuckleton horse.
"These five horses were standing here at least two hours," remarked Sam Prescott, staring at Rafe.
The latter said nothing. Really, there was nothing to say.
Led by Sam Prescott and Billy, the party followed the tracks of these five horses back to the trail and into the draw leading to the Walton ranch.
"You see," said Billy to Sam Prescott. "Those horses were coming on the dead jump. It's just like Dawson says. They were chasing him."
Although Billy's voice was loud enough for all to hear, none of the Tuckleton outfit took it upon himself to deny the statement. It may be said that they were growing a trifle discouraged.
"Le's go to the split draw," resumed Billy, when Sam Prescott had openly agreed with him. "Maybe we'll find that calf and the fire and the running-iron. But I expect that fire will be out by this time."
"I guess likely." Thus Sam Prescott, and turned his horse.
But they did not find the calf and the extinct fire and the running-iron. There was nothing in the split draw even remotely resembling any of these.
"Come to think of it," said Rafe, weakly attempting a last defense, "maybe it was another draw."
"Maybe it was," admitted Sam, turning to young Dawson. "Maybe it was, but I'm satisfied it wasn't. It was a good thing for you, young feller, that Billy Wingo and Riley Tyler were on the spot when your horse fell."
"I know it," responded young Dawson heartily. "I'm not forgettin' it. And maybe I can return the favor some bright and sunny day. Now if I can have my gun, I'll just have a word or two with the man you call Tuckleton."
"No words," said Sam Prescott firmly. "Not a word. This thing has gone far enough. There'll be no shooting round here. Rafe and his outfit are goin' home now, and you're riding with me back to Tom's ranch. And to-morrow morning I'll see you off to Jacksboro. Rafe, I don't want to hurry you——"
Rafe Tuckleton and his outfit took the hint.
"And you mean to tell me they can get away with a deal like that?" demanded John Dawson.
Sam Prescott smiled wearily. "What could they be arrested for—always supposing you could get the sheriff to arrest 'em, which he wouldn't."
"Well——"
"There y'are. Of course you could call it attempted assault. What's that? Under the statute, a week in jail. And who'd convict 'em?"
Tom Walton laughed bitterly. "You don't know this county, Mr. Dawson. Anything can happen here."
"Seemingly it can," said Mr. Dawson in frank disgust.
"You see," said Rafe, "I'd figured we'd have to find somebody to lynch for rustlin' so that infernal Tom Walton wouldn't be suspectin' us alla time. Shindle ran across this Dawson party in Hillsville and guessed he'd fill the bill, he being a stranger and all."
"So Skinny rode ahead and let you know he was coming, huh?" queried Sam Larder.
"Yeah. Oh, damn the luck! Who'd have expected Wingo and Tyler to be at Walton's?"
"They did put a crimp in your plans, sort of," assented Larder.
"And now Tom Walton is more suspicious than ever," contributed Tip O'Gorman.
"I can fix that Wingo, though," snarled Rafe Tuckleton. "He'll never get elected sheriff now."
Tip smiled. "Won't he?"
"No he won't he!"
"That's just the thing will cinch his election. I'm gonna play it up strong in the campaign."
"What! Why, he tried to show us up!"
"And succeeded in doing it, according to your tell. That's all right; Rafe, you were a little too raw, you know. I've cautioned you about being more careful. You wouldn't take advice and you'll have to take your medicine—this time. I'll explain matters to Bill, where you stand and everything. You'll find it won't happen again."
With which Tuckleton was forced to be satisfied.
That night Tip O'Gorman had a long talk with Billy Wingo. Tip did not tell him all he knew, by any means. Such was not his custom. To understand Tip one had to do a deal of reading between the lines. But when Tip went home, he carried with him the belief that Billy understood perfectly the desires and aims of the county machine and would be a willing worker.
Billy sat looking up at the ceiling for quite a long time after Tip was gone. Finally he laughed silently.
"Tip, you're an old scoundrel," he said aloud, "but I can't help liking you, just the same. I hope I don't have to step too hard on your toes."