Salt Springs was quick to rise to an occasion. It was equally quick to settle down after the crisis. For a week or so every man over fifteen years of age rode his horse to gauntness on the trail of Jess Dreer and then, as though by a sudden mutual agreement, every man returned to his habitual occupation. Jess Dreer, in a single day, was relegated to the past along with the raid of the Brown brothers, the fire of ten years back, and a few other upheavals which had wrecked the mental peace of Salt Springs for a fortnight.
Indeed, though each man would have given half of his life to gain the honor of capturing the outlaw, there was no personal bitterness to keep them on the trail; and as for the price on the head of Dreer, such money is not esteemed in the mountain desert.
Yet in spite of the numbers who had ridden their horses to a staggering condition during the past ten days, no one had been so busy as Morgan Valentine. Sheriff Caswell, seeing him come down the main street of the town this day, went out from the veranda of the hotel and stopped him. Purple pouches lay beneath the eyes of the rancher, and beside his mouth were deep grooves, and his cheeks were flattened.
The sheriff remarked these things aloud, and concluded: “Didn't know you'd been sick, Valentine.”
“Not sick; busy,” said the other. He added, looking closely at the sheriff: “You're staying with the old theory, Caswell? You're not following Dreer? You're waiting for him to travel in a circle and come back here?”
“Takes nerve for a gent to change his mind,” and he smiled. “I've got nerve. After the last little party, Jess won't come back to Salt Springs. His face is too well known.”
“You're taking your time about following him.”
“I've been hunting around for a new hoss, and I've got a beauty at last. Look yonder.”
He pointed to a pony chestnut with ratty mane and tail.
“Don't look particular like a picture hoss,” said Valentine, controlling a smile. “But they's a nice set of legs and plenty of size around the girth.”
“Yep; it ain't a picture hoss, but it's the nearest thing to Angelina that I could find. I tried him out a couple of days back, and he done fine.”
He added: “But sounds like you're set on having me catch Dreer, pardner?”
He was surprised to find that this question did not bring an indignant denial from the rancher. The latter merely rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his fist.
“Maybe I am,” he admitted openly.
“That don't sound nacheral, Valentine.”
“After what he's done for my boy, Charlie?”
“Yep. And then, him being the sort of a gent he is all around. I didn't figure you'd be hot on his trail.”
“I'll tell you,” said the rancher. “If he was square in the eyes of the law, he's the sort of a gent that I'd work my hands to the bone for. I'd set him up in life and ask no questions, and he could have what he wanted for the asking. Maybe you think I'm talking extravagant?”
“I don't. In your boots, I'd do the same things.”
“But,” said Morgan Valentine, “the point is this: he's not square in the eyes of the law, and he never will be. I have wires through which I can reach some of the political heads, and I've been working night and day at two governors, Sheriff. I've been trying to get them to call off the dogs and let this man live his life without being forced into harm to himself and the rest of the world. But they won't do it. In fact, they know what Jess Dreer is. He has a character that makes good talking, and every one of 'em knows that Jess would go straight if he had the chance—and that he never would have gone wrong if it hadn't been that he fell into a bad hole with no way out except by breaking the law.”
“That's what I've told a thousand people, most like.”
“Well, they know all these things as well as you and I do. But Dreer is too big a gun. He's too notorious. Here and there and the other place he's shot up the second son of some rich family. Or he's made a fool out of some sheriff who's strong in politics. I'm not hitting at you, Caswell.”
“It's all right if you are. I'd rather be made a fool of by Dreer than praised by most men.”
“The end of the story is that the governor who pardoned Dreer would be ruined in politics. He'd have a host of enemies, and most like he'd be accused of having taken a bribe. They'll hear reason. They'd even be glad to have Dreer taken in some state outside of their own. But when it comes to a pardon, they won't hear of it. I've tried 'em all.”
“You look worked out, Valentine; they ain't any doubt of that.”
“Yes. Because I've worked harder for him than I would have worked for myself. But he can't be saved. And besides—”
Now Sheriff Caswell was by no means an old acquaintance of the rancher, but he knew him well enough to understand that Valentine was not a man of many words. For that reason this sudden outburst of talk surprised him, made him suspicious. After the first moment he had begun to wait for some unusual climax to the talk, and now he said frankly: “Valentine, what is it?”
“I'm talking pretty free,” said the other.
“You're talking free to a man that keeps things to himself.”
“Well, it's this: If I can't save Dreer, I'm going to ruin him.”
The blow had fallen, but though the sheriff was prepared to be startled, he was nevertheless aghast at this revelation.
“That's free talk, and it's queer talk,” he said slowly. “I'm a sheriff and my chief job is to get Dreer. But I sort of think that I'd rather you hadn't said that, Valentine.”
“Do I sound like an ungrateful hound, Sheriff?”
“A gent like you has reasons for what he does. They ain't any yaller streak in you. But maybe some of your reasons is wrong, Valentine. And why do you tell me all this? What's behind it?”
“Because I can't very well touch Dreer with my own hand.”
“And I have to use someone else.”
“And you, Sheriff, are the man!”
Then: “Go on, Valentine. This sounds like a fairy tale.”
“Walk on down the street with me. I get nervous standing still. First, tell me your plans about Dreer.”
As they sauntered along, Caswell outlined his theory briefly. Dreer had headed north, in spite of the fact that other people were sure he was then riding south. He was heading north into a fresh country where his face was still unknown. He would travel slowly, not anxious to cover a great distance, for a man traveling too fast would be sure to excite suspicion. He might even stop here and there and work a few days. Such were the habits of Jess Dreer when he was on the road. Caswell intended to follow alone, weaving across the country loosely, like the line of a lariat tossed carelessly on the ground, until he found some traces of a tall man with exceptional arms, wide shoulders, and a long, lean face.
“Once seen, Dreer is never forgotten. And that's why I'll get him in the end—unless he gets me.”
The rancher waited until he was through and then said: “Caswell, you're wrong. Your first theory was right. Dreer will come back.”
He explained: “Out at my house my niece, Mary Valentine, is a changed girl. She doesn't go out to parties. She doesn't play around the house with the boys. When she's inside, she sits by herself with her hands in her lap, very grave. When she goes out, she rides alone.”
“She's grieving for Dreer, Valentine.”
“I know that. She gave up the trip East. When I pressed her, she said that rather than go she'd open up her father's house and live by herself, if I didn't want her.
“I was telling you that she spends a good deal of time out by herself on her horse. I thought at first that she was out to meet Dreer, who might be in hiding somewhere in the hills. So I had her trailed a few times. But she never met anybody. She'd get to the top of a high crest and sit her horse without budging for an hour. Always looking one way.”
“North,” the rancher nodded, surprised by this interruption.
“She acts, Caswell, like a half-breed wolf you've tried to raise as a dog. Tame while they're young, but some spring when they begin to rove around at night and stay away from the other dogs. And then one day they're gone, and you find a fine calf or two with its throat cut. You know what I mean?”
“That she's going to cut loose and go after Dreer?”
“That, or he'll come back to her. The two of 'em are a good deal alike in ways. The way one acts tells you what's going on in the other. Why, the girl is as silent as though her mind were a hundred miles away.”
He grew excited, but graver than ever, and his face, as he talked, withered into the face of an old man.
“She's got to be stopped, Caswell, and you're the man who must do it. You have the hand of the law. I tell you, if the girl were mine—I don't know—I might let her follow her own nature. But she's not mine. She was given to me as a trust, and I'll give her a chance at happiness in spite of herself. There's the spirit of her father in her, Caswell. He was a man of whims and impulses. His first thought was his last thought. I was the only living human being who could change him.
“But nothing on earth can change the girl. She's like fire when she sets her mind on a thing.”
They walked on again through a moment of silence. Both of them were thinking hard.
“I'll tell you,” said Caswell. “They may be fate behind all this. I ain't seen much of that girl, pardner, but what I've seen, I've liked. Just the way I like a hoss that may of throwed a dozen men. Along comes the right gent, and when he can ride that hoss he's got something to keep for life. Now, look at the way that girl's flirted around. They ain't anything else to call it. They say she's made eyes at everything that wears pants inside of fifty miles and fifty years. One hour—she's tired of that gent and throws him for another. And she keeps right on. Then along comes Jess Dreer. She sees him—more'n half an hour. But she's still interested. After a while he's gone, and she sits down and mourns for him. Or else she goes out on her hoss and waits to see if Jess won't come sloping over the hills. Valentine, if I wasn't so old, that'd put a tear in my eye!”
But the face of the rancher was set.
“Fate or no fate,” he said, “it can't happen. Go to a man like Dreer—lead the life of a wolf—hunted. No home—no children—my brother'd rise out of the grave, friend! Caswell, it's between Mary and Dreer, and Dreer has to go down. I'll strike him with you, if I can. If you fail, I'll try my own hand. But if she sees the man once more, it's fatal. Nothing'll hold 'em!”
