Hope Hathaway Part 24

"Now that you know as much as you do, I suppose I've got to tell you or you'll be getting yourself into trouble, too," she replied. Then impulsively, "Sydney, they're a lot of cattle thieves!"

"Why, of course! What did you expect?" he laughed.

"And I actually _caught_ them in the very act of branding calves that didn't belong to them!"

The young man's face paled perceptibly.

"You didn't do anything as reckless as that, Hope!" he cried in consternation. "It's a wonder they didn't kill you outright in self-protection! Didn't you know that you have to be blind to those things unless you're backed up by some good men!"

"You talk like a coward!" she exclaimed.

"Not much! You know I'm not that," he replied. "But I talk sense. Now, if they know that you have positive proof of this, you'd better watch them!"

"They all need watching up here. I believe they're all just the same.

And, Syd, I wanted to know the truth for myself, I wanted to _see_."

Then she reviewed to him just what had happened at old Peter's.

"I'll have them locked up at once," said Carter decisively. "That's just where they belong."

"You won't do anything of the kind, Syd--not at present, anyway, for I refuse to be witness against them."

"You're foolish, then," he replied, "for they're liable to do something."

"If they're quicker than I am, all right," she replied fearlessly. "But they are afraid of me now, and I've got them _just where I want them_."

He tried to reason with her, but in vain. She was obstinate in her refusal to have the men arrested, and though Sydney studied the matter carefully, he could find no plausible excuse for this foolish decision.

As Hope rode back once more toward Harris' the face of Shorty Smith, insinuatingly leering, as she had seen it at the trout stream, came again to torment her. She leaned forward in her saddle, covering her face with her hands, and felt in her whole being the reason of her decision.

CHAPTER XX

Larry O'Hara rode up to Sydney's camp late one afternoon, some two or three weeks later, and finding the place deserted went in the cook-tent and made himself at home. It had been a long, hot, dusty ride from Hathaway's home-ranch. He had experienced some difficulty in finding the place, and, having at length reached it, proceeded with his natural adapt.i.tude to settle himself for a prolonged stay.

He was a great, handsome, prepossessing young fellow, overflowing with high spirits and good-nature. Though a natural born American, he was still a typical Irishman, retaining much of the brogue of his Irish parents, which, being more of an attraction in him than otherwise, he never took the trouble to overcome. All the girls were in love with Larry O'Hara, and he, in his great generosity of heart, knew it, and loved them in return.

His affection for Hope Hathaway was something altogether different, and dated two or three years back when he first saw her skimming across the prairie on an apparently unmanageable horse. He proceeded to do the gallant act of rescuing a lady. For miles he ran the old cow-pony that had been a.s.signed him, in hot pursuit, and when he had from sheer exhaustion almost dropped to the ground she suddenly turned her horse about and laughed in his face. It was an awkward situation. The perspiration streamed from his forehead, his breath came in gasps. She continued laughing. He mopped his face furiously, got control of his breath, and exclaimed in deep emotion:

"Sure and is ridicule all I get when I have followed you for ten miles on this baist of a horse, to offer you a proposition of marriage?"

Their friends.h.i.+p dated from that moment, and though Larry had renewed his proposition of marriage every time he had seen her, yet there had never been a break in their comrades.h.i.+p.

He looked about the well-appointed camp with a sigh of contentment. This was something like living, he thought. His enforced confinement at the ranch had been slow torture to him. He missed the presence of Hope and Sydney, for to him they were the very spirit of the place, and he was filled with anxiety to get away from it and join them.

After was.h.i.+ng the dust from his face and hands he went through the cook's mess-box, then, having nothing else to do, laid down for a nap on one of the bunks in the second tent and was soon sleeping peacefully.

He never knew just how long he slept, though he declared he had not closed his eyes, when a whispered conversation outside the tent brought him to his feet with a start. It was suspicious to say the least, and he tore madly at his roll of belongings in search of his revolver, which he found in his hip-pocket, after he had scattered his clothes from one end of the tent to the other.

It was not yet dark. The whispers came now from the opposite tent.

O'Hara's fighting blood was up. He gloried in the situation. Here was his opportunity to hold up some thieving rascals. It was almost as good as being a real desperado. It flashed upon him that they might be the real article, but he would not turn coward. He would show them what one man could do!

He peered cautiously out of the tent. Two horses with rough-looking saddles stood at the edge of the brush not far away. Larry O'Hara would not be afraid of two men.

He moved cautiously up to the front of the cook-tent, and throwing open the flap called out in thundering tones: "Throw up your hands, ye thieving scoundrels, or I'll have your loives!"

A pair of arms shot up near him like a flash, while a choking sound came from the farther side of the mess-box. Two startled, pie-be-grimed boys gazed in amazement into the barrel of Larry's gun, which he suddenly lowered, overcome with surprise as great as their own.

"May heaven preserve us!" he cried. "I thought you were murdering thieves! But if it's only supper you're after, I'll take a hand in it meself!"

The soft-voiced twin recovered first.

"Say, where'd you come from? I thought that was the cook sleepin' in there an' we wasn't goin' to disturb him to get our supper. What're _you_ doin' 'round here, anyhow?"

"I'm a special officer of the law, on the lookout for some dangerous criminals," replied Larry. "But I see I've made a great mistake this time. It's not kids I'm after! I'll just put this weapon back in my pocket to show that I'm friendly inclined. And now let's have something to eat. You boys must know the ins and outs of this place pretty well, for I couldn't find pie here when I came, or anything that looked loike pie. Where'd you make the raise?"

The boys began to breathe easier, although an "officer of the law" was something of which they stood in mortal terror. Yet this particular "officer" seemed quite a jovial sort of a fellow, and they soon reached the conclusion that he would be a good one to "stand in" with. The soft-voiced twin sighed easily, and settled himself into a familiar position at the table, remarking as he did so:

"Oh, we're to home here! This camp belongs to a friend of ourn." He pulled the pie toward him. "Here, Dave," he said to the other, who had also recovered from his surprise, "throw me a knife from over there. I reckon I ain't a-goin' to eat this here pie with my fingers! An' get out some plates for him an' you. No use waitin' for the cook to come in an'

get our supper. Ain't no tellin' where he's gone."

"You're a pretty cool kid," remarked O'Hara, helping himself to the pie.

"I'll take a piece of pie with you for company's sake, though I'm inclined to wait for the cook of this establishment. A good, warm meal is more to my liking. Where do you fellows live?"

"Over here a ways," replied Dan cautiously.

"Know of any bad men that wants arresting?" continued O'Hara. "I'm in the business at present."

"I reckon I do," replied the boy, lowering his voice to a soft, sweet tone. "There's a mighty dangerous character I can put you onto if you'll swear you'll never give me away."

"I'll never breathe a word of it," declared O'Hara; "just point out your man to me; I'll fix him for you!"

"What'll you do to him?" asked Dan, in great earnestness. O'Hara laughed.

"I'll do just whativer you say," he replied. "What's his crime?"

"Well, I'll tell you," said the boy deliberately, while Dave listened in open-mouthed wonderment. "He's a bad character, a tough one! He gits drunker'n a fool and thinks he runs the earth, an' he licks his children if they happen to open their heads! I never seen him steal no horses, er kill anyone, but he's a bad man, just the same, an' needs lockin' up for 'bout six months!" Dave, finally comprehending his twin, jumped up and down, waving his arms wildly above his head.

"You bet you! Lock him up, that's the checker! Lock the old man in jail, an' we can do just as we want to!" he exclaimed.

"But you know," said O'Hara impressively, his eyes twinkling with suppressed merriment, "it's like this. There's a law that says if a man--a _family_ man--be sent to jail for anything less than cold-blooded murder, his intire family must go with him to look after him. Didn't you ever hear of that new law? Now that would be a bad thing for his boys, poor things! It would be worse than the beating they get. But you just give Larry O'Hara the tip, and the whole family'll get sent up!"

"Not much you don't!" roared Dave to his twin, who for the instant seemed dumfounded by this piece of news from the "officer of the law."

"I reckon," said the soft-voiced schemer after a quiet pause, "his boys 'ud rather take the lickin's than get sent up, so you might as well let him alone. You're sure there ain't no mistake 'bout that? Don't seem like that's quite right."