It was the patient man who said to Sheriff Clancy of Salt Springs, a little later: “Clancy, have you been looking around over the ground this morning?”
“Around the house, where Dreer got away.”
“Yep. I ran over a little of the sign.”
“It was all pretty clear reading, I thought. I seen the place where he dropped out of the window and camped for a minute waiting, before he whistled to that hoss of his, that Angelina you're always talking about.”
“I'll tell you something then, pardner. They's some new sign this morning. Something added on top of what they was last night. I seen where that long-stepping Angelina went away—and I seen where she come back.”
“Unless that hoss traveled alone, which ain't likely, I'd say.”
Sheriff Claney cursed fluently.
“He come back to the house, with you and me inside it?”
“Yep, with you and me inside it, asleep. And he didn't only come back and look things over. He come back and went inside the house.”
Claney gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Positive certain. And now, Claney, I think my hard work is over.”
“It's the first time that ever Dreer took a back step on a trail. It's the first time that ever he took a useless chance. What was they for him to gain by coming back here?”
“Dreer wouldn't even sass a two-year-old kid. It means that he ain't the same man that he used to be. It means that he ain't working alone. Well, Claney, you know it's a hundred times easier to catch two men that travels together than it is to catch one.”
“I don't foller you, pardner.”
“I don't mean that they's really another man with Jess Dreer. What I mean is that he's found something in this house that he came back to. And I'd even talk up and say what it is.”
“It's the black-haired girl, I figure.”
“And if he come back to her once, he'll come back to her ag'in. It's his nature.”
“Never looked twice at one before, so far as I know. That's why I'm sure that this means something. Dreer has played a lone hand, but now that he's got somebody besides himself to think about, he's lost. Claney, you write this down in red and remember it. As sure as they's rain and sunshine, I'm going to get Jess Dreer, and where I get him ain't going to be far away from this house.”
“You're going to camp here and wait for him to come back?” asked Claney, smiling.
“I'm going to camp near here,” replied the sheriff from the southland, “and I'm going to wait. Time and the black-haired girl, Claney, will win for me in the end.”
It happened that at this moment Charlie Valentine and his brother Louis were standing on the veranda together and overlooking this scene.
“What beats me,” said Charlie, “is the idea of a gent like this Caswell taking a crack at Jess Dreer. Why, big Dreer would bust him in two with one hand.”
“I dunno,” replied Louis in his mild way, “they's something about Caswell. Speaking personal, I'd sort of hate to have him on my trail.”
“That's another one of your hunches,” Charlie said in good-natured banter. And they watched the two sheriffs ride side by side up the road.
They had hardly disappeared around the hill when another horseman galloped into view from the opposite direction.
“It's Tom Waite,” said Charlie Valentine after a moment.
“How d'you tell?” asked his brother.
“By the way he rides, slanting. They ain't anybody has the same seat as Tommy.”
“Well,” murmured Louis, “I'll tell you another thing. Tom Waite is bringing us bad news.”
Louis Valentine scratched his head.
“I dunno, Charlie. Look at the way he keeps his head down and the brim of his hat blowing across his eyes. Take a gent that's just riding, and he'd be riding with his head up. But Tom comes as if he was trying to get away from something behind him.”
His brother looked askance at Louis. He constantly felt his superiority as the better fighter, stronger man, sharper wit; but all of these qualities were being continually discounted by a singular power in Louis. It might have been called second sight, these odd premonitions. It often made him laughed at, ridiculed; but there was an undercurrent of respect for the superstitions of the youngest Valentine. For instance, though he was a capable broncobuster, he had been known several times to refuse positively to mount a horse considered by no means dangerous; and it had been noted, on these occasions, that the horse was exceedingly apt to develop a bad streak after Louis Valentine refused to take the saddle. Not that Louis was considered a prophet, but he was widely known as “a gent that's got hunches.”
Accordingly, Charlie looked side wise at his younger brother on this day and frowned uneasily. Indeed, the prophecy was instantly verified, for Tom Waite ran up the steps and came to a panting halt before them. He wasted no words.
“Charlie, you're going to Salt Springs tomorrow?”
“Yep. To get that saddle I won at the bucking contest last month.”
“Then lemme give you some advice. Keep away from Salt Springs tomorrow. Keep right here at home. It ain't healthy for you to go into town.”
The brothers exchanged significant glances, but Louis showed no pleasure at seeing his “hunch” come true.
“Talk sharp, Tom,” said the elder of the Valentine boys. “What's up?”
“The Normans are up,” replied Tom Waite, drawing his first easy breath after the ride and the run up the steps.
“That news ain't altogether news.”
“Not about the Normans at the ranch, but now they's another twist to things.”
“Go ahead. Are they going to mob me when I come in?”
“Some say that the Normans was thinking of that very thing, but they found out mighty quick that around Salt Springs we wouldn't stand for any crowd jumping on one man. No matter what you've done, Charlie—and between you and me they's a good many think you're too free with a gun play—but no matter what you've done, it's always been man to man, a clean break, and a fair chance all around.”
“Oh, I'm with you, solid enough; and they's a lot more of us younger gents that's all behind you. But with some of the older men it's different. They figure that you've got a lesson coming, or something like that. The long and short of it is, Charlie, that if somebody was to jump you single-handed, they wouldn't be many men that would go out to help you.”
“Thanks again,” remarked Charlie coldly. “I don't ask for no help agin' one man, Tommy.”
At this, the young fellow shook his head.
“They's men and men,” he said, with a probably quoted wisdom. “Stack you up agin' a common kind of fighter, and you'd come off first rate. But they's some that makes a business of fighting. Even with most of them you'd have a good chance, Charlie, because you've got a good idea of the hang of a gun. You shoot fast, and you shoot straight. You got plenty of nerve, too. But they's some you wouldn't have a chance agin'. And the Normans have found a gent like that.”
“What's his name? What's the name of this pet murderer of theirs?” asked Charlie, sneering, but a little white about the lips.
“Hired murderer is the right thing to call him,” said Tom Waite. “And his name is Jud Boone!”
He paused, expectant, and the results were not such as would disappoint him. The pallor which had begun on the face of Charlie now swept completely over it. Yet he maintained a steady front while Louis Valentine, as though it were he whom the danger threatened, fairly collapsed against the railing of the veranda and stared at Tom Waite.
For the name of Jud Boone was far known and known as a man of evil. A fighter and gamester by instinct and profession, he was one of those men about whose past few know many details, but regarding whom there is a general murmur of suspicion. One death near Salt Springs was charged already to his account, but that one killing was the sort whose mention would strike a whole circle of men silent.
“Seems he's some sort of relation to the Normans, and they've looked him up. I suppose they've paid him a bunch of money. Anyway, there's gossip around the town that the plan is for Jud Boone to be somewheres around Carrol's saloon when you go in there for the saddle. And then, of course, he'll pick a fight. So the thing for you to do is to stay home, Charlie.”
The latter stood motionless. Plainly he was badly frightened, but he had not yet made up his mind. It seemed that Louis was in fear of some rash decision.
“Don't be a fool, now,” he pleaded. “Do what Tommy says!”
“I dunno,” muttered Charlie. “I know I got no chance agin' a man like Jud Boone. But—since folks expect me to be in Salt Springs tomorrow—if I stay home—”
“Folks will say you got good sense, that's all.”
“I got to see Dad about that,” replied Charlie.
He led the others into the house, and finding his father, he related to him briefly the news which Tom Waite had brought. In the distance Mrs. Valentine heard and said nothing save with her eyes.
