MR. ROSS PAYS A CALL
The nearest ranch to that of Mr. Sherwood was the "Cross and Circle," which lay some twelve or fifteen miles to the northwest, toward and nearer the mountains, near the left bank of Elkhorn River, the ranch-house itself being not more than about a hundred yards from the water's edge. Being nearer the mountains, the ground upon which the ranch-house stood was of rock formation, and was over-shadowed by a high cliff.
While it was a rather valuable property, it did not compare with the Bar O, either in its extent, improvements, or in its grazing facilities. It was occupied by Samuel Ross, who had obtained it from its former owner about six months before the time this story opens.
In many ways Ross had allowed the ranch to run down. The house needed repair, the out-buildings and fences were not well kept, and there was no semblance of the discipline or morale that prevailed at the Bar O. It had perhaps somewhere between five hundred and a thousand head of cattle, but they were notoriously ill-cared for and neglected.
The ranch was not noted for its hospitality—in fact, exactly the reverse was the case; and any attempt to establish anything like neighborly intercourse was frowned upon or roughly declined. The men kept to themselves in a surly, clannish way, even when excursions were made into town and "festivities" were indulged in at the saloon and dance-hall and gambling-joint.
In one way, this was not resented. It is regarded as a man's right to keep to himself. In many parts of the West, even to-day, it is not well to start an investigation into a man's family and pedigree, or where he comes from and what his business is. Young readers may not understand why this is so.
In the early days, the West was a haven or refuge for all sorts of characters who, for reasons of their own, sought to lose their identities. Some desired to escape punishments for crimes committed elsewhere; some were ne'er-do-wells or failures who desired to start life over again with a clean slate. In the vast confines of the West, this was comparatively easy. In the case of criminals, the law had difficulty in reaching into its remote corners and dragging a man back to Justice. In the case of ne'er-do-wells and failures, they could start again on an even basis with other men, unhandicapped by their previous records. Thus it can be seen that all inquiry into a man's past was resented. So general did this become, that even those who had nothing whatever to hide grew to resent questions of this nature.
And the mistake must not be made of thinking that the West was overrun with people of shady records. Nothing could be further from the fact. There never has been a higher standard of manhood established anywhere in the world than that which prevailed, and does prevail, in the West. And naturally so. Nowhere were, or are, such great opportunities offered; but the taking advantage of these opportunities required not only brains, but physical fitness, courage, and a moral fiber of a high order as well. Nowhere in the world have people come to themselves—weeded out the bad, separated the wheat from the chaff, and purged themselves from uncleanness—in so short a time or in so effective a way as did the people of the West.
And another thing that the West has had to stand: any time a penny-a-liner with an inflamed imagination thought out some lurid, impossible tale of blood and thunder and crime and debauchery, he staged it in the West. It is safe to say that not one in a hundred of these "penny-dreadfuls" was ever written by a man who had been west of Hoboken, New Jersey! As said before, there is more gun-play in New York City in one month than there is in all the states west of the Mississippi in one year! And we'll throw in Alaska, too, for good measure! Of course, there are "skunks" in every community, but if there is one climate in the world where it is unhealthy for a "skunk" it is the climate of the West. They can't "get by" out there! Not for very long, they can't!
With this matter settled we can get back to the story.
Ross, himself, was a huge man, weighing in the neighborhood of two hundred and fifty pounds, and was of most forbidding mien. His red, bloated face was encircled by a closely cropped thatch of hair that came down within an inch or so of his eyes, and the lower part of his face was covered by a thick, rank growth of sandy whiskers. His whole person gave the impression of untidiness and neglect, and probably the impression did not belie the fact. He seemed to have a perpetual grouch, and enforced his wishes by sheer brutality. And even in the rough band about him he carried things with a high hand, and brooked no crossing of his will.
After he had taken possession of the ranch he had proceeded to carry on the business in his own way. The men about him—the ranch-hands—were a motley collection; many of them half-breeds, and all of a similar stripe to the boss. There was no attempt to conceal the frequent sprees and drunken brawls that occurred at the ranch, and there were rumors that more than one "killing" had taken place within the walls of the ranch-house. This, of course, was a difficult matter to prove; and as the alleged victim had invariably been a man who was not especially an ornament to the community, no thorough investigation of these rumors had taken place.
When a scorpion kills a tarantula, nobody feels very much like punishing the scorpion—on that account, at least.
But while the outfit at the Ross ranch had, in general, a bad name, there was nothing that one could put his finger on as being contrary to law. Ross paid his obligations—possibly reluctantly and late—but he paid them; and however much suspicion of sharp practice might be attached to him, suspicions are not evidence in a court of law. And however much his neighbors may have disliked him, the dislike had hardly gotten strong enough to warrant a visit from a Vigilance Committee.
One thing had caused considerable comment—no visitor had ever been permitted to enter the ranch-house proper. Many people had, at one time or another, come to the threshold; but that was as far as they ever got. The bulky form of Ross, or of some one equally hospitable, blocked further passage; and the conduct of any necessary business took place out in the ranch-yard. While this may have caused comment and aroused curiosity, the fact remained that "every man's house is his castle," and unless he has put himself outside of the pale of the law, nobody is justified in violating it. And thus, it will be seen that Ross, mean and underhand, as he undoubtedly was, in many ways was well within his rights.
Ross made his shipments of cattle in the regular way, but over a different branch of the railroad from that used by the Bar O, and as far as any one could see these shipments were regular and not disproportionate to the amount the ranch should make under proper handling. It is doubtful if anybody had ever kept actual tabs on these shipments; and as Ross was more than usually "reticent" about his business as well as his personal affairs, little was really known.
In view of the foregoing facts, it was somewhat surprising to see Mr. Sam Ross and two of his men ride into the Bar O ranch-yard early one afternoon. They were received civilly, if not with any very great cordiality by Bill Jordan, and after he had made them known to Mr. Sherwood, Ross opened up.
"Hev yo' all been losin' stock?" he asked. Mr. Sherwood glanced at Bill, putting the matter up to him.
"Well, yes," said Bill Jordan, cautiously, answering for Sherwood, "I reckon we hev had some losses—not nuthin' very much, but some, and pretty continual. Hev you?"
"We hev," said Ross, emphatically, "an' enough to speak 'bout, too! But we can't find hide ner hair ner no trace of any rustlers, 'less'n it be them Injuns thet's down toward the Fork. An' yet we can't find nuthin' to fix it onto 'em."
Bill pondered the matter for a time before he spoke. "Thet's 'bout the same fix we're in," he said. "We been givin' them Redskins the once-over right consider'ble frequent, but we're pretty well satisfied it ain't them. An' none o' the boys has seen any strangers hangin' 'round. But," he added, shaking his head, in a mystified way, "them steers don't evaporate! Somebody is puttin' somethin' over."
"What are y' goin' to do—let 'em get away with it, clean?" asked Ross.
"I dunno," said Bill, rolling a cigarette. "I thought I put the fear o' God into the hearts o' them rustlers some time ago, but I guess I hev bin kiddin' myself. What are you goin' to do?"
"It's got me guessin'," answered Ross. Then, after a moment, he said: "How's all your men? Be they all right? Never had no suspicions on none of 'em bein' in on the job?"
"The men is as straight an outfit as ever was got together!" answered Bill with a little asperity. "This here thing of our'n ain't no inside job. How's yours—know their pedigrees an' all that?"
"Same thing with me," said Ross, "I got a lot o' crackerjacks—honest and straight as day—no chanct fer any leakage thataway. I'm inclined to put it up to them Injuns. Don't see who else kin be at the bottom of it."
Bill was silent for a time; then he said, "Well, if 't ain't nobody else, it must be them," and Bill smiled, enigmatically.
"My men says thet they's one on 'em—a boy—hangs 'round here a good deal," said Ross, tentatively.
"You needn't give him a second thought, Mr. Ross," said Sherwood, quickly, in defense of Injun. "He is nothing but a boy, and he and my son occupy themselves in a perfectly legitimate way. Besides, he has very little to do with his own people and is seldom with the rest of his tribe."
"Well," said Ross, shaking his head, "I wouldn't put anything past an Injun. He may be givin' 'em a lot o' useful information. If he comes up my way, he'll get short shrift."
"I'll answer for him," said Whitey, butting into the conversation with indignation. "I'm with him most of the time, and he hasn't any more to do with stealing cattle than I have!"
Ross laughed. "Mebbe not, Son," he said. "Mebbe not. But I don't want him 'round my place." Ross and his two men rose. "I guess we'll be pullin' our freight," he said; "it's gittin' late. Let me know what yo' all intends to do, an' I'm with yo'. In the meantime, I'm goin' to keep my eye on them red devils—an' I advise yo' all to do the same."
When Ross and his men had ridden out of the ranch-yard and were well down the road, Bill Jordan looked quizzically at Mr. Sherwood, who gave back an answering look of inquiry.
"What do yo' make o' all this?" Bill asked.
"I don't quite know," said Mr. Sherwood. "Have you got any solution? I didn't know that there was any significance in the call other than appeared on the surface—to warn us against the Indians."
"Well," said Bill, slowly, "I dunno as the' is—'cept thet ol' bird knows 't ain't them Injuns thet's gettin' away with his stock—pervidin' anybody is gettin' away with it."
"Do you mean that he's lying about it?" asked Mr. Sherwood in a surprised way.
"Well," said Bill, smiling, "I dunno 's I'd want t' say jest thet, but I do say thet him an' Anannias is blood kin—proba'ly full brothers! He was boostin' the men in his outfit jes' now, wasn't he? Well, I know personal, thet the tall galoot he hed with him done time in San Quentin. He's named an' denominated as 'One-Card' Tucker an' he's one bad egg! The's some o' the rest of 'em thet wont assay up very good. Our boys wont hev nuthin' to do with 'em—the's a few Greasers an' half-breeds mixed in with 'em."
"You couldn't be mistaken about the tall man being a jail-bird, could you, Bill?" asked Mr. Sherwood. And then, smiling, he added, "How do you know—were you there with him?"
Bill laughed. "I was," he said. "I ain't mistaken—I brung him there an' handed him over—when I was Dep'ty Shur'ff, out San Diego way. He done got a lot o' somebody else's sheep mixed up with his'n. He was one lucky guy to get off with four years in prison—'Judge Lynch' come near settin' on the case. Oh, I know him, all right," said Bill, "an' I reckon he must of knowed me! I noticed he wasn't exactly easy in his mind when he set there jes' now. An' I think I know this Ross, too."
"Humph!" said Sherwood, reflectively, "that kind of association doesn't speak very well for Mr. Ross anyway. What do you think we better do? I understand that our man Walker reports that he came across a place where a bunch of our cattle had been stampeded. He followed the trail, but lost it at the creek—couldn't pick it up anywhere. I don't suppose it could have been a grizzly?" he asked.
"Grizzly, nuthin'!" said Bill. "It had been rainin' shortly before the cattle was drove off, an' the' was no sign of a grizzly's tracks—I rode out there an' seen it myself," said Bill with positiveness. Then he added: "But the' was horses' hoofs! I ain't heard of no grizzlies wearin' iron shoes—not this summer, I ain't! Besides, if they was stampeded, they'd of scattered more. Them beeves kep' together—they was drove!"
"And you think——" Mr. Sherwood paused, and Bill nodded his head:
"Jest a plain case o' rustlin'—nuthin' else to it!" and Bill spat disgustedly.
There was a silence for a moment or so while the two men pondered the matter, and Whitey waited almost breathlessly for what would follow. Here was a mystery—a vital ranch mystery—and he was in the thick of it! He had tried to imagine the situation, many times, when he had read of such things in books; and now he was face to face with it. Suddenly the thought came to him that here was something for him to solve, and he instantly determined that he would take a hand in the game—though he was wise enough (or, perhaps foolish enough) to keep this determination to himself. He knew that once he broached the subject to his father, he would receive positive orders to keep his hands off; but, in the absence of those orders, he intended to "mix in." In that way, he was going to justify himself in his own mind!
Finally Mr. Sherwood broke the silence: "Does the creek run near Ross's ranch?" he asked.
"No," said Jordan, "it's quite a ways from his line. His ranch is way down on the Elkhorn—this is a branch thet empties into the Elkhorn a few miles below where we lost the trail. It's too deep there fer cattle to ford; besides, there wasn't no place on the opposite bank where we found they'd come out—not fer two er three mile down—where she empties into the Elkhorn. We went over the hull ground careful."
"Do you think they could have been drowned?" asked Sherwood. "If they went into the river and didn't come out, that would seem to be the only alternative," he added.
"Mebbe!" said Jordan, enigmatically. The two men rose and walked toward the corral, much to Whitey's disgust. And though he tried to follow and hear the rest, he was not able to do so. But strong in his bosom the mystery burned, and more than ever he was determined to conduct an independent investigation, taking Injun, of course, into partnership.