The Coming of the Law

Hollis pulled out a cigar case, selected a cigar, lighted it, and smoked in silence.

So her name was Hazelton. Admiration over the manner in which she had held the men at bay before Dunlavey got to his feet still lingered; she had impressed him deeply. But a deeper satisfaction overshadowed his thoughts of the girl, for he had slugged Dunlavey, his father’s enemy. His satisfaction grew to amusement. Did Dunlavey know who had slugged him? He must have suspected, for Hollis recalled the man’s significant expression when, after he had risen from the ground he said: “I’ve got an idea that you an’ me will meet again.”

Hollis’s thoughts flitted rapidly from Dunlavey to the girl. Now that he had decided to stay he had determined to search her out. He remembered that Dunlavey had spoken slightingly of her brother and he assured himself that he would not be entirely satisfied until he had uncovered the mystery. He might have questioned Norton or the judge, for both men evidently knew the girl, but he was reluctant to betray his interest in her to either man.

He heard Norton make an exclamation of surprise, and looking up he saw him holding his right hand out, the palm upward, examining it. There was a splotch of blood on the palm and another on the under side of the thumb.

“Shucks!” Norton was saying. “Now where in thunder did I get that?” He looked again at the hand and then suddenly dove forward to Hollis’s side, seized his right hand, peered at the knuckles and held the hand triumphantly aloft.

“I reckon this is where I got it!” he grinned.

Hollis looked ruefully down at his knuckles. The skin was gashed–evidently where it had come in contact with a bone in either Dunlavey’s or Yuma’s jaw. He had intended to keep the story of adventure to himself. But he saw that Norton had stepped back and was gazing soberly at the suitcases, which Hollis had deposited near the door. Norton suddenly let out a chirp of delight.

“Two of them!” he said, suppressing his excitement; “Two grips! Red Eggers said there was two an’ that the tenderfoot had come down toward the court house!” He walked to Hollis and halted in front of him, looking at him with admiration and satisfaction.

“Own up now!” he said. “You ain’t tellin’ us that it wasn’t you, durn you! Oh, say!” He uttered a whoop that must have startled the horses in front of the building. Then he sobered down, speaking in a low, regretful voice: “You durn tenderfoot! Here I’ve been waitin’ for years to get a crack at that big four-flusher, an’ here you come, a-fannin’ along from your little old East an’ get ahead of me!” He stifled a cackle of mirth. “An’ so you’re lookin’ for action? Lordy! If you don’t call what you done to Dunlavey an’ Yuma action this country’s goin’ to set up an’ take notice when you get to goin’ in earnest!”

Judge Graney loomed somberly over the table. “I suppose it must have been you?” he said gravely.

Hollis nodded. “I may as well confess,” he said. “I saw a man giving a young lady a mighty bad moment and I slugged him. Another man called me a vile name and I slugged him, too. That was all.”

The judge sat down again, his face slightly pale. A significant glance passed between him and Norton, but the latter laughed grimly.

“I reckon he’s opened the ball, right off the reel,” he suggested.

Judge Graney drew a deep breath. “Yes,” he returned. “I suppose that way is as good as any other. It was bound to come anyway. It will be war to the finish now!”

CHAPTER IV

AT THE CIRCLE BAR

In the two weeks that followed his arrival at Dry Bottom, Hollis had much time to meditate upon the great change that had come into his life. His conclusion that there was nothing in common between cattle raising and journalism was not a result of an involved process of reasoning, and had he not been endowed with a sense of humor he might have become embittered. Though a sacrifice be made cheerfully, there lingers always its ghost to draw mental pictures of “what might have been.” Hollis would have been more than human had he not felt some little regret over his sacrifice.

It had seemed to him, as two weeks before he had ridden away from the court house–sitting on the seat of the buckboard beside Neil Norton, his suitcases tucked snugly away underneath–that he was once and for all severing his connection with the big, bustling world in which he had moved; in whose busy scenes he had been so vitally interested. His had been a big work; seated at his desk in the “city” room of his newspaper he had many times likened himself unto an argus-eyed recording angel whose business it was to keep in view each of the many atoms of a busy multitude and to accord to them that amount of space that their importance seemed to demand. He had loved his work; it had broadened him, had provided him with exactly the proportion of mental exercise needed to keep him on edge and in a position to enjoy life. He had lived in the East–really lived. Out here he would merely exist, though, he assured himself grimly, his enemies would have to pay dearly for his sacrifice.

The picture of his journey to the Circle Bar ranch was still fresh in his mind as he rode slowly away from Neil Norton, whom he had left sitting in his saddle on a ridge, watching him. The long twilight had brought its lengthening shadows that night before Norton had struck the Circle Bar trail, and before they had traveled a mile of the ten that lay before them night had come. Hollis had been little inclined to talk and Norton did not disturb him, but gave his attention to the horses. There had been no moon and few stars, and darkness, as under a blanket, had settled over them before they were many miles from Dry Bottom.

The country seemed nothing more than a vast plain, broken here and there by ridges and depressions. Occasionally a low hill loomed out of the darkness, the shadows deepening around it; now and then the buckboard passed through a draw, the wheels sinking hub-deep in the loose sand. Several dry arroyos crossed the trail, but with a knowledge that seemed almost marvelous Norton cleverly avoided these pitfalls. Hollis could not see a foot ahead, but the location of the trail seemed to be no mystery to the range boss, for he drove the horses steadily on, hesitating for nothing.

Once during the ride Norton broke the silence with a subdued cackle of mirth, and at another time he laughed aloud.

“I’d liked to have seen Big Bill when you hit him!” he observed, regret in his voice. “I reckon he might have been just a little surprised!”

To which Hollis made no reply. At another time Norton broke the silence long enough to inquire:

“I reckon mebbe you wouldn’t have hit him so hard if you’d knowed who he was?”

“I think I should have hit a little harder,” returned Hollis quietly.

“Why, hell!” declared Norton with a laugh; “I reckon you would have done just that!”

About ten o’clock they came in sight of some straggling posts, and Norton assured Hollis that the posts were strung with wire, forming a fence which skirted one side of the Circle Bar pasture. A few minutes later a dog barked and at Norton’s call came bounding up to the buckboard, yipping joyously. Hollis could make out his shape as he cavorted about.

“My dog,” offered the range boss. “Half wolf, the other half just dog.” He chuckled over his joke. “Best dog you ever see,” he boasted; “money couldn’t buy him. Like dogs?”

Hollis nodded and then realizing that Norton could not see him in the darkness, voiced a quick “yes”.

In the distance Hollis saw a sudden square of light illuminate the wall of darkness into which they had been driving; a door had been opened. Evidently the dog’s barking had aroused the inmates of the building, for as the buckboard drew nearer Hollis saw several figures flit out of the door-way. Norton drove the horses close to the building and brought them to a halt with a sonorous “whoa”! Then he turned to Hollis and spoke with a drawl: “This here building is the Circle Bar bunkhouse; them’s some of your men.”

Hollis remarked the size of the building and Norton laughed grimly. “There was a time when it wasn’t any too big,” he said. “Five years ago your dad had twenty-seven men on the pay-roll. If Dunlavey an’ his damn association hadn’t showed up he’d have had them yet.” He turned toward three men who were lounging in the doorway. “Hey, you guys!” he yelled; “this here’s your new boss. If you-all ain’t glued there you might grab his grips an’ tote them up to the ranchhouse. Tell the missus that I’ll be along directly with the boss.”

Amusement over the Southern twang that marked Norton’s speech filled Hollis. He had noticed it before and it had made plain to him the reason of Norton’s unhurried movements, his slow humor, his habit of quiet scrutiny.

But he had little time for reflection. At Norton’s words two men sprang forward to the buckboard and he saw his suitcases disappear into the darkness in the direction of a light that he now saw flickering from some little distance. He jumped out of the buckboard and saw another man spring to the horses’ heads and lead them away into the darkness. Then he followed Norton into the light from the open doorway. Presently he was shaking hands with a man who stood there, whose chief articles of raiment were overalls, boots, and a woolen shirt. Almost instantly, it seemed, two of the others had returned and Norton was introducing them as “Ace,” “Lanky,” and “Weary.” These pseudonyms were picturesque and descriptive, though at the time Hollis was in a state of pained incomprehension concerning them. Later he was informed that Ace had been so named on account of having once been caught slipping a playing card of that character into his bootleg during a game of poker. Incidentally–Hollis was told–gun-play had resulted. That Ace was still active proved that the other man might have profited by keeping his knowledge to himself. Obviously, Lanky deserved his appellation–he was a trifle over six feet tall and proportioned like a young sapling. Weary had been born tired–so Hollis was told by the latter’s defamers; defamers, for later Hollis discovered that no man in the outfit could show more surprising agility on occasion than this same Weary.

Hollis found himself inside the bunkhouse, where he was critically inspected by the three men–and before he left, by the fourth, who answered to the name of “Bud.” Norton told him that these four comprised his outfit–Bud acting as blacksmith. Hollis remained with the men only long enough to announce that there would be no change; that he intended to hang on and fight for his rights. When Norton told them that Hollis had already begun the fight by slugging Dunlavey and Yuma Ed, the enthusiasm of the four men was unbounded. They assured him profanely that they were with him to the “finish”–whatever it might be. After which Hollis departed to the ranchhouse.

He found Mrs. Norton to be a pleasant faced woman of twenty-seven or eight, who had–according to Norton–“bossed him for seven years.” Norton grinned hugely over his wife’s embarrassed protest.

“I haven’t ‘bossed’ him,” she told Hollis, while Norton looked on with amusement, “though there have been times when he richly deserved it.” There was a spirited flash in the lady’s eyes as she looked at her lord.

“I don’t wish to take sides in any marital controversy,” Hollis told them. “I don’t care to parade my ignorance. However,” he smiled, with a wink at Norton, “most men need a boss, if for no other reason than to teach them the value of discipline.”

“There!” said Mrs. Norton with a triumphant laugh, and immediately left the two men and went into the kitchen.

After partaking of a hearty meal Hollis and Norton went out on the porch for a smoke and a talk, and it was near midnight when Hollis tumbled into bed, distinctly pleased with the range boss and his admirable wife. He was asleep within five minutes.

The sun was streaming into his window when he hopped out of bed the next morning, refreshed and eager to make a trip of inspection over his property. He came down stairs lightly, in the hope of being able to slip outside without disturbing anybody, but upon opening the stair door he was surprised to find the cloth on the table in the dining room already spread and hot food steaming upon it. Mrs. Norton was bustling about from the kitchen to the dining room. Evidently the Nortons had been astir for hours.

Mrs. Norton smilingly directed him to a wash basin on a bench just outside the door and stood in the opening a moment, watching him as he drenched his face with the cold water. There was in her manner only the solicitous concern of the hostess whose desire is to place a guest at ease. Hollis decided that Norton had been most fortunate in his choice of a “boss.”

“Neil has gone down into the big basin to look after the men,” she told him from the doorway. “I don’t expect him to return for some little time. Come in to breakfast when you are ready.”

To his protest that he would wait until Norton’s return before breakfasting she replied with a smile that her husband had already breakfasted, telling him also that in this part of the country everyone rose with the sun.

He stood on the edge of the porch for a moment after washing, drinking in the air that came to him from the plains–a breeze laden with the clear aroma of the sage-brush moist with the dew of the night. When he entered the house Mrs. Norton was nowhere to be seen and he drew up a chair and breakfasted alone.

A little later he embarked upon a tour of inspection. All of the buildings, with the exception of the ranchhouse, which was constructed of logs, with a gable roof and plastered interstices–were built of adobe, low, squat structures with flat roofs. There were six of them–the bunkhouse, mess house, blacksmith shop, the range boss’s private shack (from which Norton and his wife had removed after the death of the elder Hollis), the stable, and one other building for the storing of miscellaneous articles. Hollis inspected them all and was not quite convinced that they had reached the stage of dilapidation suggested by Judge Graney.

During his inspection Hollis had seen a patch of garden, some chickens, and down in a small pasture some cows that he supposed were kept for milking. He was leaning on the top rail of the corral fence after he had concluded his trip of inspection when he heard a clatter of hoofs behind him and turned to observe Norton, just riding up to the corral gate. The range boss wore a grin of pleasure.

“How you findin’ things?” he questioned.

“In better shape than I expected–after listening to Judge Graney,” smiled Hollis.

Norton looked critically at him. “Then you ain’t changed your mind about stayin’ here?” he inquired.

“No,” returned Hollis; “I believe I shall get used to it in time.”