Powder’s answer was oblique, as he pointed to a street sign up ahead. “Near as I can make out, the name of this town is Homestake. That right?”
“Yeah, that’s correct. An’ we’re tryin’ to make it a homelike place to live—”
“That’s a worthy ambition. I’ve heard of Homestake. Fact is, they tell me you’re that progressive that you have a mayor.”
“Why yes, we sure do. And I represent him—”
“You just think you do,” Powder contradicted. “I make it a rule never to talk with anybody but the top dog. So this I’ll discuss with the mayor. Where is he?”
“He was busy at his office. It won’t do you no good to bother—”
“Meanin’ that he ain’t a bandit by nature, and the methods the rest of you are usin’ kind of sticks in his craw. Which ain’t surprisin’. A Burns may get flopped off a cayuse an’ eat dirt, but he don’t make a steady diet of it. You go tell Mitch Burns that his cousin Powder wants a word with him, and nobody else. Go fetch him, now.”
They heard him with sagging jaw, proof that he knew what he was talking about. Powder delved into a pocket, and a coin flashed in the sun as he tossed it toward a half-grown boy.
“Catch, Bub. Now go find Mitch, an’ inform him I’ll get a slow burn less he’s a fast one.”
The boy grabbed the coin before it hit the ground and was off at a fast run. Homestake was far from big, though the buildings had been spread wide apart. Silence fell, an uneasy truce on the part of the committee, while time ticked away. Within five minutes the boy was back, accompanied by a middle-aged man who bore a strong family resemblance to Powder, though he walked with a duck waddle.
“Powder!” he exclaimed. “You old slab of saddle-leather, where’d you come from?”
Powder grinned, swung down from the saddle, and grasped the outstretched hand in a warm grip. “You know what the wind blows in,” he said. “Dog-gone, Mitch, you’re gettin’ fat!”
“I ain’t done much ridin’ lately,” Mitch Burns apologized. “What you doing here, Powder?”
“Tryin’ not to stagnate, like some folks I could mention. Also waitin’ for an official welcome from the Mayor. Reckon I have to congratulate you, Mitch. Guess you’re the first of the Burnses to climb the ladder of politics.”
“I been mayorin’ here going on a year now. You roddin’ this herd, Powder?”
“Takin’ ’em to Montana. McGill and his daughter got pushed plumb out of Texas. But Texans can be crowded only so far, Mitch.”
“Like folks from Powder River?” Mitch grinned. “Seein’ it’s you, there’s been a mistake. We ain’t dampenin’ our hospitality none by chargin’ any relative of mine. Not any.”
“That’s the spirit that’ll have me callin’ you Governor one of these days,” Powder approved. “Which way do we travel?”
“We’ll guide you when it’s time to go, but first we’re going to show our hospitality by entertainin’ you folks for the night,” the mayor insisted. “We’ll try mighty hard to make up for any seemin’ discourtesy which I assure you wasn’t intended. Everybody see to it,” he added. “We ain’t going to have no smirch on the fair name o’ Homestake while I’m mayor.”
That was a sentiment with which they found themselves in agreement, though there were certain handicaps in getting started the next morning. It was with a sense of relief that Powder saw the settled country falling behind, and unfenced land ahead once more.
“Not that this’ll last,” Kaintuck observed. “From what they tell me, towns are as thick as burrs on a cayuse’s tail for quite a spell now. One every fifty or a hundred miles.”
“Well, you sure got us past that one, Powder,” Jimmy said admiringly. “I knew you’d do it, though I couldn’t figger how.”
“It comes in handy, havin’ relatives scattered around the country,” Powder agreed. “And the Burnses are fiddle-footed. They spread out like tumbleweeds.”
The next town showed itself the following afternoon, but fences were few and there was plenty of room to veer to the side and pass. The chuck wagon had been restocked at Homestake, and Powder planned to give succeeding settlements a wide berth. But that was not to be. A deputation of citizens came riding to meet them, but with every evidence of friendliness.
“We’re a welcomin’ committee,” the leader explained. “An’ we’d take it kindly if you’d camp close to town and avail yorese’ves of our hospitality. We’re not forgettin’ that it was the cattlemen who opened this country up in the first place. We’d feel plumb honored to he’p pay our share o’ that debt in any way we can.”
“They want to sell whiskey,” Kaintuck grunted, but the townsmen were going on to explain that there were two courses open to the herd, up ahead. One would lead to another toll-gate trap. Such tricks, the emissaries declaimed righteously, were a blot on the fair honor of Kansas. The alternate route was preferable.
Powder hesitated, wary as a coyote watching a straying flock of hens. Instinct warned him to be shy, but such friendliness was hard to deny, and the herd camped near town. Powder led the visit, once they had cleaned up for the occasion. He swung down from his horse before a chewed hitch-rail and was looping the reins over the post when the door of a restaurant opened.
The eyes of the entire party went instinctively to the girl who stepped out into the sunshine. It seemed to focus radiantly on her, like a special jewel in a drab setting. Her skin was fair, with a faint sprinkling of freckles beneath the surface, her hair the color of new-mined nuggets. Golden flecks looked from wide brown eyes, and her lips, parted in rapture, rivaled the berries of a wild rose.
She stood slim and dainty, a breath-taking vision who made Mary Ellen feel dowdy in her own travel-stained dress. The next moment she came running across the boardwalk, heels beating out an excited tattoo, straight for Powder.
“Powder!” she exclaimed. “It is you!” And added on an ecstatic note, “Sweetheart, you’ve come back to me!”
Powder blinked. His arms had been half-looped as he tied the reins. The girl ducked in close, coming within their circle, standing on tip-toe to kiss him. Mary Ellen flushed but, like the others, she did not look away.
Powder stood frozen. The blood drained from his face, then seeped slowly back, while the old aloofness took possession of his eyes. His voice was politely formal.
“That’s a right warmin’ welcome to town, ma’am,” he said. “And now, if you’d be so kind as to tell me what it’s all about—”
Her answer was half wail, deep with hurt.
“Powder Burns! Are you tryin’ to disown your own lovin’ wife, your Sabine that’s been waitin’ with a breakin’ heart for you to come back? Oh, Powder darlin’, I never thought you’d treat me so! Beholdin’ you comin’ up the street, I was just raptured to see you again!”
For once, Powder seemed completely at a loss, like a small boy caught in mischief. He reddened, but his voice grew scrupulously polite. “I wasn’t expectin’ to find you here,” he said. “This kind of takes me off my feet.”
“Why now, it hadn’t ought to, darlin’. You knew I’d be waitin’ for you. And you with this big trail herd! Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“Why, I reckon that’s reasonable,” Powder conceded. His tone held no warmth or joy of reunion, but he turned to the others with a rocklike composure.
“This is Mary Ellen McGill, and McGill owns the herd. We’re headin’ for Montana.”
“Montana! Oh, Powder, I’ve always wanted to go there! I’m surely pleased to know all of you!” She dropped them a demure curtsy, followed by a devastating smile. “I’m so excited, sweetheart. I’m all atwitter! Wanderin’ husbands don’t come back to their ever-lovin’ wives every day!”
“Why, I reckon that’s a fact,” Powder agreed. “And I’d been thinkin’ it was a wide country!”
“Of course it’s wide, but shouldn’t I be permitted to do some roamin’ too, with you going off and forgettin’ me?” She pouted prettily. “Anyway, Powder, you wouldn’t have me just fold my hands and starve, would you? I had to come here to get a job and support myself. I’ve been workin’ as a waitress in this here little old restaurant for more’n a month!”
Powder’s eyes were hooded, like those of a hawk. Whatever thoughts rioted in his mind were carefully held beneath the surface. The others viewed them in amazement mixed with disapproval, though the latter was all for Powder, and it was strongest in the eyes of McGill and the other men. The notion that Powder should turn out to be a married man was bewildering, for never in any way had he suggested as much. Somehow it didn’t seem in keeping with what they had come to know of him; particularly that he would desert a wife and leave her to shift for herself.
Varying degrees of censure were in the eyes of his friends, and everyone could see the plain gold band which encircled Sabine’s finger as she held her left hand carelessly up to their gaze. Powder looked also, and his voice was not only unrepentant, but it held a new and sardonic note.
“Now that’s right int’restin’,” he murmured.
“I didn’t have any choice, Powder!” Sabine murmured plaintively. “Really I didn’t, sweetheart. You always did declare that I had the appetite of a bird, but I still like to peck! Now that we’ve found each other again, here in this wide wilderness, you’ll take me along with you to Montana! I’m getting kind of tired of supportin’ myself.”
“For a little birdie, you’re lookin’ right pretty an’ peart,” Powder said noncommittally, whereat she darted quickly in to give him another kiss.
“I declare, it’s mighty sweet of you to notice,” she said. “You wait now. I’m going in and give notice and get my things. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Her glance was warm, appealing, taking them all in. Mary Ellen spoke impulsively. “Can I help you?”
“Now that’s mighty sweet of you, Mary Ellen, I do declare, but I won’t need any aid—now I got my husband to look after me again!” She swung about, her walk a half-skip, half-dance, and seemed fairly to float back into the restaurant. The others had scarcely moved or drawn a deep breath since her appearance. Now they looked uncertainly from one to another and to Powder, accusingly.
Mary Ellen blazed at him. “Powder Burns, I’d think you’d be ashamed of yourself!”
“Why yes, ma’am, I reckon mebby I’d ought to be—more or less,” he conceded, and his voice was completely unrepentant. “Life,” he added philosophically, “is as full of surprises as some dogs are of fleas. That’s what makes it int’restin’.”
McGill cleared his throat. “I reckon we better be buyin’ a tent, here in town,” he suggested diffidently. “For, uh—you folks, eh, Powder, you sly old dog?”
Powder squinted at the sky. “Don’t see any sign of rain,” he said mildly. “No need of any tent for me. I’ll keep on rollin’ in my blanket side of the fire, or under the wagon if the weather’s bad, same as usual. Anyway, the weather’s getting better all the time.”
They eyed him between exasperation and incredulity, but at that moment Sabine reappeared, a carpetbag clutched in one hand. “I’m packed and ready to travel, and just thrilled to the heart,” she cried. “Mr. Dunlevy—he runs the restaurant—he was right put out at the notion of losin’ me, but he’s a gentleman, and mighty understandin’. Most folks are awfully good to a lone woman.”
“They should be!” Mary Ellen said scathingly. “Put your bag in the wagon, Sabine. There’s plenty of room for you to share it with me, just as long as you like—all the way to Montana, if you wish—or if it’s necessary!”
“Why now, Mary Ellen, that’s purely sweet of you,” Sabine agreed, with a look half-questioning, half-forgiving, at Powder, who was carefully examining the cinch of Blue Devil. Turning, with birdlike grace, Sabine was up and over the wheel to the seat beside Mary Ellen. “I’m that happy and excited, I just cain’t contain myself!” she added.
Mary Ellen, lips tightly clamped, swung the team in silence, heading back for camp, and the others fell in behind, the town and its delights forgotten. Powder finished toying with his saddle and followed at the rear of the procession, outwardly serene and unperturbed, giving no hint of awareness of the disapproval which the others showed.
Jimmy Dowst rode slowly, his mind in a turmoil with the shock of these revelations and their possible implications. To desert a wife was heinous enough under any circumstances, but when that wife was as pretty and sweet as Sabine it was past understanding, and Jimmy knew that all the others of the crew concurred in that opinion.
What made it worse was that it was Powder Burns. Jimmy had put him upon a pedestal, and the older men, hard-bitten as many of them were, had not been far behind in hero worship. Somehow it was unthinkable.
Jimmy stole a sidelong glance at Powder, saw his face in an unguarded moment, and swung his horse impulsively closer. The others were beyond earshot. “I don’t just understand all I know about this, Powder,” he said. “An’ anyway I reckon it’s none of my business. For a minute there I was thinkin’ kind of hard of you. But I just want you to know I don’t!”
Rain made its wide gray sweep across the land, warm and gentle by contrast with the early-season storms, but soggily persistent. It narrowed horizons and the view of men, and horses steamed as they moved, hoofs slipping and sliding, sucking soggily in the mud. In this the three riders whom Laredo had dispatched on the trail of the fugitive returned with their captive, overtaking the band in the murk of late afternoon.
Of the outlaw crew, none save Old Leather looked with any sympathy upon the wretch who huddled in his saddle and stared out of eyes sunken as burned-out camp fires. No-Brand Burley had taken a bullet in his left shoulder, and torment companioned with him for every jolting mile, just as it snatched fitful sleep away in the gloom of the night camps. The rain had added old aches to the new, bringing a new grayness to his face to match that in his hair.
Laredo confronted him, malicious triumph in his eyes. “That was good work, boys,” he commended the trio. “Queen’ll pay good money for the privilege of hangin’ him! I know Boake Queen!”
Burley stared back out of weary eyes and said nothing.
“Keep a close watch on him from now on,” Laredo warned, his voice petulant at this passive acceptance of fate. One of the three voiced a question.
“What about the herd?”
“They’re travelin’ the way we want them to go,” Laredo boasted. “And no effort to us.” He neglected to explain why this virtue had been a crime while Burley had been boss.
“I’m cookin’ up a devil’s brew for them,” he added. “Fixin’ to make it easy for us when the time comes.”
The Republican lay to the south, and it was not far to the North Platte, still to be crossed by the herd, somewhere beyond its confluence with the Sweetwater. Here Laredo found the combination of circumstances which he had been seeking.
The country had grown wilder, more rugged. Two days ahead of the slow-moving Broadaxe herd, another big bunch swung in to the trail from farther east. It was so huge as to be unwieldy, at least four thousand head, and it required only a little scouting to convince the man from Texas that here were the elements he had been looking for. For this bunch was made up of the components of many herds.
In an hour of riding he saw a score of brands, and guessed at twice that many in the herd. Satisfied, Laredo showed himself, riding boldly in to where the night camp had been made. There was a big crew with this drive, gun-hung men who fitted the pattern of the brands.
A tall man with a beard which rivaled the redness of the firelight looked up as he approached. About him was none of the easy friendliness or open hospitality common to the trail, only a cold calculation, echoed in his voice. “You lookin’ for somethin’, feller?”
“Yeah. The boss of this outfit,” Laredo retorted.
“I’m him.”
“My name’s Laredo.”
“You can call me Red.”
“Fine. I’m here to talk business. I notice you have a lot of brands in this bunch.”
Red shrugged. Casually he inserted half a plug of chewing tobacco into his cheek, and spoke from around the bulge. “If strays get mixed in, they stay,” he stated flatly.
“And a lot have mixed,” Laredo agreed. “That’s what made me figure we could do business. But we’ll talk by ourselves.” The boss studied him, nodded and came to his feet with the easy grace of a cat.
“We can take a little walk,” he conceded. “But you better have somethin’ to say.”
Back at the outlaws’ camp fire, tonight carefully hidden, Old Leather found chance for a word with his former boss.
“I’d help you to a horse, No-Brand,” he said. “Only it wouldn’t do you no good.”
Burley, head sunk on his chest, looked up from a fixed contemplation of the whitening coals. “The trouble with us, Leather, you and me, is that we got off on the wrong trail—and never found a turn-off. The Kid was lucky.”
“Yeah, I reckon so.”
“He’s dead, but that was the easy way, an’ the best. But wisdom’s a hard-won thing, Leather, and mostly we get it too late.”
“It might be easier just to make a run and be shot down—than to wait,” Leather suggested.
“It’s a kindly thought on your part, Leather. But I reckon I’ll go on. If I’m a fool, it won’t be the first time. Somehow I’ve got a hunch I’m not the only one!”
They were leaving the settled country behind, this time for the final time, though it was still a weary way to Montana. Jimmy Dowst had questioned Powder and the other old-timers who had been north out of Texas in days gone by. Kaintuck, next to Powder, had ridden farthest, but his knowledge extended only to the Platte.
“It’s a far cry from Texas to Wyoming,” Kaintuck observed sagely. “And that leaves plenty. Still an’ all, we ain’t doing bad. The weather’s good, and the critters are putting on flesh since Powder took over. I’ve traveled with a score o’ trail bosses and there ain’t none to beat him—that way.”
There was implied criticism in the last phrase, and Jimmy sensed it and was troubled. He felt the same resentment in everyone since Sabine had joined up. Of them all, Powder seemed least affected. He had given no word of explanation or apology for his past actions or apparent neglect. And on that subject, after her first remarks anent support from a husband, Sabine too had been reticent.
She rode with Mary Ellen on the chuck wagon and helped with the cooking. With Powder she was sweetly gracious, with an undertone of resigned forgiveness, gaily friendly with the others. It was funny business, Jimmy reflected. She’d certainly won everybody over—everyone but Powder.
Twice in the last few days Jimmy had gone on long rides with the new trail boss as he circled ahead, giving him plenty of opportunity to explain if he wished to unburden himself, and Powder had talked of a hundred other matters. It was the hurt in Billy’s eyes which bothered Jimmy most. The kid had put Powder on a high place, but these days he rested mighty shaky on that elevation.
There was a challenging, speculative look in Sabine’s eyes as time went on and Powder pursued his own way, and Mary Ellen was hard put to it to refrain from taking him to task. Only Sabine’s insistence that she allow matters to work out by themselves prevented.
“He’s a good trail boss, but it’s outrageous the way he treats you,” Mary Ellen declared. “One of these days, I—I’ll—”
“I’m purely convinced that you will, Mary Ellen darlin’,” Sabine agreed. “And I jus’ love you for thinkin’ so sweet to me. But it wouldn’t be the right way to go about helpin’. I’m half afraid I did wrong to come along on this trip, without askin’ his permission.”
“Why should you ask him?” Mary Ellen demanded hotly. “It was up to him to take you. Anyway, you’re going with me, as it happens.”
“I know, Mary Ellen honey. But sometimes I get all mixed up in my mind as to what I purely ought to do.”
It rested at that, and the pleasant weather gave place to long-continued rain. The cattle liked it, but the cowboys were not so pleased. Coming in as dark drew down, to steaming kettles of stew, helped briefly to revive their spirits.
Kaintuck, seated on the wagon tongue by the fire, tugged off a boot and then a fishily limp sock, the better to wiggle a gnarled big toe and survey the blister from continual soaking. He turned gratefully as Sabine brought his supper, tasted, and smacked approvingly.
“Now that’s what I call grub,” he complimented. “It sure hits the spot, Sabine. Tastes somethin’ special, this time.”
“Then eat hearty,” Sabine encouraged. “There’s plenty for everyone. We wouldn’t have you hard-workin’ men to starve in weather such as this.”
Presently she looked up anxiously to inquire about Powder, who had not come in. Drifting smoke and the reflected firelight made a halo about her face; the rain gave an illusion of tears.
“Powder’s watchin’ the herd while everybody else eats,” Billy explained. “Said we could all get warm and fed.”
Sabine’s face took on a thoughtful look. Mary Ellen, seated under the tarp of the wagon, watched her anxiously. “Have some supper yourself, Sabine,” she urged. “You haven’t had a mouthful. And don’t stand out there in the rain.”
“I’m not hungry,” Sabine excused herself. “I purely couldn’t eat a bit, thinkin’ of that contrary man of mine out there all cold and wet. I’ll wait till he comes in.”
“Now that’s consideration that ought to melt the heart of a frozen walrus,” Kaintuck asserted, tugging his boot back on. “If it don’t, he don’t deserve no stew.”
“Don’t you be hard on him, now,” Sabine protested. “He’s the hardest-workin’ man about, and that’s not demeanin’ any of the rest of you. I know what,” she added brightly, “I’m going to ride out and take him some stew while it’s good and hot.” Several of them sprang to saddle a horse, and Handsome pressed his slicker upon her—the only raincoat in the crew which had continued impervious to the penetration of rain. Carrying a covered kettle, she vanished in the lowering murk.
The men ate more slowly, the edge of their hunger blunted, rising to wash the supper down with strong potations of coffee and an unvoiced feeling that all was not well. Jimmy observed dolefully that some of them should be going out to relieve Powder and let him return, but Kaintuck’s reply was sharper than usual.
“Mebby he ain’t in no hurry to come in,” he growled. “Anyway, he’ll be enjoyin’ his supper, won’t he?”
It was Billy who answered indirectly, looking accusingly toward Mary Ellen. “I’m sick,” he groaned. “Don’t know what ails me, but I sure feel punk.”
Mary Ellen’s face was colorless. She climbed down from the wagon, clutching at the big front wheel for support, all but falling, and came across to him.
“I don’t feel well myself,” she confessed, and looked around at the others. “How about the rest of you?”
Reluctantly, they confessed to the same symptoms of distress. It was a feeling rapidly aggravated, with night closing grayly down.
“It must be that stew,” Mary Ellen said. “I made it myself, and I can’t understand it. But if something is making all of us sick, it couldn’t be anything else.”
“But you’ve made stew lots of times before,” Jimmy protested. “There’s never been anything wrong with it. Strikes me that there’s somethin’ funny about this.”
As if in confirmation, a gunshot came from out where the herd was now shut away by the dark—two quick shots, then a third. The signal of trouble, to come running.
Kaintuck, swinging sharp for the horses, staggered, groaned and sprawled headlong. The others were in no better shape.