Bertram’s grip on the seat in front of him tightened, as the cowboy departed, called by some riotous members of the gang.
The young Texan knew that the cowboy had spoken the truth. Bertram had been traveling a fast pace, even for the great outdoor land, where restrictions were few. He had been brought up on a ranch on the Brazos, where he had spent as much of his time as he could induce his devoted mother to let him subtract from school. He had even attended college at Austin, but his mother’s death, before he had graduated, had brought to light the fact that the ranch had been mortgaged to pay for Bertram’s education.
Before Bertram realized what had happened, the ranch had passed from his control. He sought to drown in wild companionship his sorrow at his mother’s death and the poverty he had unwittingly brought upon her. At last he had been offered a job as cowpuncher on the big ranch of his uncle, one of the large landowners in the southern part of the State. He had accepted, but he had found no consolation in the change, as his uncle was an utterly uncompanionable man. Bertram tried to put up with the old fellow’s caprices for a while, but soon they became unbearable. There were open disagreements between the men. Bertram did his work well, as there were few who could equal him in the saddle, but nothing could stop the old man’s harsh complaining. Finally the old attractions began to summon the youth. There were wild excursions to near-by frontier towns. Bertram became a leading spirit among the daredevils who frequented the bar and the gambling tables. His name became known along the trail for its owner’s wild exploits.
One day there came an open break with his uncle. Laughing at the old man’s senile anger and turning his back upon the reproaches which his uncle hurled at him, Bertram rode to the big town, where, in just the right mood for any adventure, he had been picked up by Asa Swingley and had been enlisted in the adventure which Archie Beam had foreshadowed as something desperate in character.
“He’s right. I’d gone farther than I ever imagined,” declared Bertram, as he glanced about him and made a mental note of those in the car.
There was Tom Hoog, who killed for the love of killing. Hoog had been a figure in much range warfare. He had played a part in a cattle war in that country, which had assumed such proportions, that the governor of the State had intervened. It had been said that Hoog had fought on both sides in that war, putting his services at the disposal of whichever side happened to bid the higher at the moment. He had fought men single-handed and in groups. He had been captured and had escaped, generally leaving a trail of death behind him. Yet his killings had always gone unpunished, because the fear of the man even extended to officers of the law.
Others in the party were the possessors of reputations only a shade less evil than Hoog’s. A few, like Archie Beam, were merely wild and irresponsible, and they had joined the expedition for a lark.
Swingley passed among the men, loudly solicitous of their welfare. Food was brought in, and there was some drinking. Several of the men were maudlin before Denver was reached. Others were at the quarrelsome stage. Swingley stopped several incipient gun fights, but otherwise let the men behave as they pleased. Bertram took no part in the drinking, though he joined an occasional game of cards. He was not inclined to depart from the letter of his bargain with Swingley, but he was thinking hard, as the train pounced over the desert, beside the long, blue chain of the Rockies.
Noticing his abstraction Swingley rallied Bertram about it. “Things’ll be more lively, soon after we leave Denver,” he said, pausing at the young Texan’s seat. “We’ve got some more people to meet there, and we’ll be tied up several hours. I want you to help me keep an eye on some of these drunken punchers, to see that they don’t wander away where we can’t get ’em.”
At Denver the motley crew piled off the special and swooped down upon the station. Swingley’s orders against “seeing the town” were strict, but some of the cow-punchers attempted to slip away and were turned back. It was evening, and, in the half-light on the station platform, Bertram thought he recognized a woman’s figure, as it flitted around the corner of the building. A few hasty steps brought him to the side of the young lady whose ticket he had purchased.