Newspaper Page Text
GUNLOCK
•RANCH*
®UDS»BaB«BM«HnSBBEI
by
FRANK H. SPEARMAN
■
Copyright Frank H. Spearman
WNU Service
CHAPTER IX—Continued
—l4
“Will he see again?”
“Jane, my girl, give me another two
weeks. If I thought anybody, anywhere,
Would do anything more than I’m do
ing, I'd put him on the cars tonight.
It’s time, Jane, time.”
If Jane expected to get much in
formation about the Denison tire at
home, she was disappointed. When
she reported it to her father, he was
silent —professing still to feel outraged
at her insubordination. McCrossen was
more communicative, even sympathet
ic: but he knew little about the fire.
After a painful night, Jane rose early
to go again into town. In the yard
she encounutered McCrossen.
“Ridin’ out?” he asked.
“I am.”
“I’ll saddle up for you.”
“Have the horses been fed?”
“Yep.”
“I'll saddle up myself.”
“Your father rode over to the pas
tures with Page this mornin’,” volun
teered McCrossen, walking alongside
Jane. She made no answer; indeed,
she rather quickened her pace; her
companion stepping up his own.
“Your father left word I was to
ride out with you, if you went off the
ranch.”
“I don’t need anybody to ride out
with me.”
“1 don’t care a rap what the old
man says. I’ll ride out with you if
you want me. If you don’t, say so.”
“I don’t.”
"O. K.”
Jane undertook to mount.
“Look here, girlie!” said McCrossen
suddenly. “Why don’t you like me?”
Without further preface than a laugh
he caught her in his arms. "I’ll do
anythin’ to please you.”
Jane, struggling angrily, stood
pinned. He laughed immoderately at
her efforts to tear herself away. She
rained blows on him with her fists.
"Let me go 1” she panted. “I hate
you.”
Still laughing, he tried to talk down
her anger. She got away from him.
"Hate me as much as you like, Janie,
but I’m goin’ to have you. I’ll kill any
man that tries to take you away from
me,” he continued coolly. "I don’t
care a damn who he is—just remember
that, girlie. And I’d kill you, too, if
you married another man.”
Panting, and furious with anger and
fear, she got into her hand the riding
whip dangling from her wrist and
lashed him across the face and head.
As she dashed away, McCrossen
drew paper and tobacco from his pock
et. rolled a cigarette, and licking the
paper’s edge as he looked after Jane
riding toward Denison's ranch, struck
a match, lighted up, and started for
the bunkhouse.
Jane, her heart beating tumultuous
ly, galloped swiftly along the trail,
completely upset by McCrossen’s bully
ing and the worry in her breast.
Instead of heading first for town, she
rode over to Denison’s ranch.
The sight of the ranch-house ruins
was a shock, even though she tried to
steel herself against it. A man down
near the corral was leading one of
Denison’s horses to the barn.
“Are you Ben Page?” asked Jane
abruptly.
“Yes’m.”
“How did this happen, Ben?” she
asked sympathically.
"You tell,” he returned sullenly.
“Tell me all about it, Ben. I’m from
Gunlock and a friend of Bill Deni
son’s.”
He regarded her with suspicion.
"Must be the only one he’s got over
there,” he growled.
Jane swallowed. “I hope it isn’t as
bad as that,” she exclaimed. “What
caused this dreadful fire, Ben?”
"How the hell should I know?”
“Don’t know what caused the fire,
eh? Well, you ought to at least know
how to be civil to a lady. Since you
don’t, I advise you to come over and
take a lesson from your brother Bull.”
Jane galloped swiftly away, more than
ever upset mentally. Once in town, she
sought Dr. Carpy.
She encountered him in the street.
They walked together back to his of
fice.
"How are you, Jane?” asked the doc
tor.
“I just rode in from Bill’s. He has
Ben Page there looking after things,
and the insolent blockhead wouldn’t
even answer me civilly when I tried
to find out how it happened—so I
rode away into town.”
“That fire has stirred Bill up terri
bly—out of all proportion to its im
portance. It maybe was done to annoy
him.”
Jane looked frightened. “Why. doc
tor! What do you mean? Do you be
lieve the ranch house was set on fire?"
Carpy was taken aback. He had said
more than he meant to. “Why, no one
can t-Jll for sure about that, of course.
Some drunken Indian might have set It
afire."
“To annoy Bill?” asked Jane incredu
lously.
“You can’t tell,” persisted the doc
tor, gathering courage as he proceeded.
“Bill may have made one of ’em mad
sometime —ordered him off the place
or something.
“How is he coming on, doctor?”
“All right, so far. It’ll take time to
tell the story, Jane, just’s I said.”
“Could I see him this morning, do
you think?"
"If it was anybody else on earth,
the answer would be no. If you go
over, don't stay long, and tell Sister
Virginia it’s O. K. with me.” “Be back
here at twelve to take lunch with me —
promise?”
“I promise.”
“And remember” —Carpy raised the
forefinger of his right hand —“mum's
the word.”
The utter absence of authentic de
tails concerning the cause of the fire
called for a more active effort on the
part of the imagination; and this in
turn indicated its stimulation at Jake
Spotts’ bar. So the old guard were
gathered on this morning still discuss
ing the “outrage.”
Among those grouped at the inner
end of Spotts’ long bar were three vet
erans of the frontier. Henry Sawdy.
calm, portly, puiled reflectively at his
long-horned mustachios and fingered
his well-filled glass without raising it
to his lips. John Lefever, likewise
full-bodied as old port, whistling “sotto
vokey,” as Sawdy described it, twirled
his glass and listened for the next fire
theory offered by Jim McAlpin, the
thin, nervous, weather-beaten-faced liv
eryman.
Toward this trio there now saun
tered, coming in the front door, the
raw-boned, lantern-jawed, unshaven
Bill Pardaloe.
“What's the last news, boys?” he
asked in a general appeal.
“Just like the first and that’s nothin’
at all,” said McAlpin. “Give me the
I
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rew
Three Veterans of the Frontier.
same, Oscar, with more bitters. Hold
on, boys! By the Lord, if I'm alive,
there comes Ben Page now.”
“Hey! Ben! This way,” cried
Sawdy as the stumpy bowlegged cow
man walked down the barroom towards
them. “Come along and wet up.”
“Well, Ben,” demanded Sawdy, when
the glasses were set down, .“what
about the fire?”
“I jumped through the window."
Neither questions nor alcoholic stim
ulation could draw out more definite
information than this. As to the origin
of the blaze, Page had no theory or
knowledge.
The longer the group tarried, the
more resentful they grew at the
thought of Bill Denison’s being burned
out. It was at last decided to let
Sawdy and Pardaloe ride to Deni
son's together to make an “official in
vestigation.” They took the Reserva
tion trail and halfway out met Bob
Scott riding into town.
The two adventurers halted Bob, ex
plained their errand, and asked him
to join them.
Scott wheeled his horse around, and
the three galloped for Denison’s
ranch.
That night, late, Sawdy, Lefever, Mc-
Alpin, Pardaloe, and Ben Page met by
the dim light of a lantern in the stuffy
smelling harness room of McAlpin's
barn.
“Boys,” began Sawdy, gravely, when
the doors were carefully shut and out
er approaches examined, “it’s just’s
we figured—dirty work out at Bill’s
ranch. It was lucky Pardaloe and I
picked up Bob Scott. He’s magic on
trailin’. If it hadn't been for Bob,
Pardaloe and me'd been scratchin’
around Bill’s place yet. There wasn’t
a thing to show where or how the
fire started —the job was too well done.
But what couldn’t be covered up was
the ground sign in the yard. Who'd
been there last? Lucky for us, there
wa'n’t many horses'd been runnin'
around the yard. Bob spotted three;
one was Music, Bill's horse —Ben’s been
ridin’ her. The other two were Gun
lock horses, boys. One that Jane rides
—that was fresh track. But there was
older track —of a Gunlock horse.”
"Gunlock horse?" echoed Lefever.
In the murky light of the lantern
Sawdy pulled his mustachio deliber
ately. "A Gunlock horse,” he repeat
ed. “And it was the sorrel gelding
that most of you've seen. Bob knows
every horse in the hills by his hoofs,
and as luck would have it, he himself
THE SUMMERVILLE NEWS: THURSDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1936
traded th*, sorrel to McCrossen about
ft year ago.
“That horse was over to Bill’s place
maybe thirty-six to forty-eight hours
before Seott read the sign. The man
that rode that horse over to Denison's
night before last knows a lot about
who started that fire. Who rode it?"
“That horse, boys, has been rode by
Barney Rebstock since he’s roosted
over at Gunlock with his old pal and
boss, Gus Van Tambel. After Bob fixed
on the sorrel. Pardaloe sends him up
around by Gunlock to scout the ques
tion, who rides the sorrel. Then Pard
aloe and I rode straight back to town
to send out Carpy. You see. Bob could
appear up at Gunlock casual-like and
ask questions and nobody would think
anythin’ about it. Bob rides in and out
there often.
“Os course, he had to be careful. But
there's two honest men over there,
Bull Page and the Chink. Bob set down
in the kitchen for a cup of coffee —
hadn't had no breakfast —and buzzes
the Chink. Finally he comes around
to the sorrel he’d traded wi to the
ranch, and asks who rides it now.
‘Rebstock,’ says the Chink.
“Then Bob waits for Bull Page.
He asks Bull whether he thinks there’s
any chance to get McCrossen to trade
the sorrel back to him. Finally he
asks Bull who’s ridin’ the sorrel. Bull
says since Barney Rebstock come back,
he asked McCrossen if he could fasten
onto the sorrel and McCrossen said
yes.”
Sawdy paused again. There was a
general silence.
“That’s the story, boys. No, hold
on! Barney and Van Tambel left the
ranch at daylight this mornin’ for the
pastures, with Barney on the sorrel!”
“Story enough,” grunted McAlpin.
“But,” he continued, “Barney’s pretty
cute. If he was goin’ to start a fire,
wouldn't he take somebody else’s
horse ?”
“I thought that way for a while,”
intervened Pardaloe. “But Barney can
be careless, too —you know that, boys.
So I asked Bob to find out, was Barney
out that night of the fire; was the
sorrel out. Old Bull is a nighthawk
around Gunlock —you know that. He
may have suspected what was in Bob’s
mind, but he wouldn’t give a whoop
anyway. He hates Barney like poison.
He told Bob that Barney was the only
man outside the bunkhouse that night.
And he heard him tidin’ away.”
Sawdy stopped the general discus
sion. "Boys, what you goin’ to do?"
Pardaloe rose. Some experience in
frontier courts of this kind had con
vinced him that it was time for a
sheriff or an ex-sheriff to be moving
on. As a one-time representative of
the law laid down in statute books,
he felt it incumbent on himself to take
no further part in the deliberations.
“Run along, Bill,” nodded Sawdy.
“We’ll see you later—maybe.”
With the ex-sheriff gone, Sawdy
called for opinion as to what, if any,
action should be taken.
“If any!” exclaimed McAlpin, echo
ing the words scornfully. “Man alive,
you know it ain’t a question of ‘if any’
action. It’s a question of what kind
of action.”
“Got a rope here, McAlpin?”
“Got ’em big and little, old and
new.”
“Don’t be too hard on Barney,” in
interposed Lefever. “The least you can
do is to soap the rope for him.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, boys," in
terposed Sawdy. “I want to string him
up and down a few times to get the
story out of him. A little argument
like that’ll bring it.”
“Boys,” said McAlpin, "I’ve an idea
you can catch Rebstock right here in
town. If lie set the tire, he's got
money aplenty. It's burnin’ holes in
his pockets. Catch your cat in the Red
Front saloon; call him out the back
door; set him on a horse and ride him
down to the bridge—that’s gentlemanly
and private.”
“It’s the first time in your life, but
I guess you are right, McAlpin,” said
Sawdy. "We’ve just got to set the rope
watch on Barney."
Ten minutes later found the worthies
concealed —except McAlpin, detained
at the barn —lined up at Jake Spott’s
bar.
Jake, still on crutches, was hobbling
around.
“How’s the leg, Jake?” asked Sawdy,
to be polite.
"By rights 1 ought to be in bed, but
I can’t afford it."
“Have you sen Barney Rebstock this
evenin’?” asked Lefever, casually.
Spotts’ face darkened —he, too, hated
Barney. “I ain't seen him, and don’t
ask nothin' like that to make me swear.
Boys,” he added, addressing the group,
“you know Panama spent a whole year
tryin’ to break me of my bad habit of
swearin’. Now, when it’s too late for
him to know, I’m goin’ to quit swearin’.
I give public notice, here and now, if
an/ d —d man gets me so angry I’ve
got to swear, I’m not goin’ to cuss him
out, like I used to. No! I’m just goin’
to lick h —l out of him then and there,
so you fellows can tell the boys what
to expect."
At that moment the back screen door
banged on its hinges and McAlpin,
sharp-faced, keen-eyed, and out of
breath, rushed into the room. With
much celerity and many patomimic ges
tures, the Scotsman drew Sawdy far
into an empty corner of the saloon.
“What’s up, Scotty?"
“He’s in there,” whispered McAlpin.
"He’s in there right now!"
“Who?”
“Barney!’’
“Where?”
“In Boland’s saloon! I seen the sor
rel standin’ at .the hitch rack in front
when I come along up street to join
you here, so I went in. Hurry, he’s
there!”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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