Bruce of the Circle A Part 16

He paused to overcome the shaking of his voice.

"We hung on there an' was doin' right well with th' mine, workin' out a spell now an' then, goin' back an' developin' as long as our grub an'

powder lasted. We got her right to where we thought she was ready to boom, when hard times come along, an' made us slow up. I started out, leavin' th' old man home, 'cause he was gettin' so old he wasn't much use anywhere an' it ain't right that old folks should work that way anyhow.

"I landed over in California and was in an' 'round th' Funeral Range for over two years, writin' to pap occasional an' hearin' from him every few months. I didn't make it very well an' our mine just had to wait on my luck, let alone th' hard times. We wouldn't sell out, then, 'cause we'd had to take little or nothin' for th' property. It worried me; my old man was gettin' old fast, he'd never had nothin' but hard knocks, if he was ever goin' to have any rest an' any fun it'd have to come out of that mine....

"Well, while I was away along come this here Eastern outfit, promised to do all sorts of things, formed a corporation, roped th' old man in with their slick lies, an' give him 'bout a quarter value for what we had.

They beat him out of all he'd ever earnt, when he was past workin' for more! Now, Bruce, a gang of skunks that'd do that to as fine an old man as my dad was, ought to be burnt, hadn't they?"

"They had. Everybody sure loved your daddy, Ben."

"Well, the' was nothin' we could do. Them Eastern pups just set down an'

waited for us to get tired an' let 'em have a clear field. So we moved out, left our house an' all, went to Prescott an' went to work, both of us, keepin' an eye on th' mine to see they didn't commence to operate on th' sly. After a while I got what looked like a good thing down on th'

desert in a new town an' I went there.

"While I was gone, along comes this here Lytton an' finishes th' job.

His dad had owned most of th' stock, an' he'd come here to start somethin'. He begun with my pappy. He lied to him, took advantage of an old man who was trustful an' an easy mark. He crooked it every way he could, he got everythin' we had; all th' work of my hands,"--holding their honest, calloused palms out--"all th' hopes of a good old man. It done him no good; he couldn't get enough backin' to do business.... But it killed my dad."

He stared vacantly ahead before saying:

"You know th' rest. Dad died. That killed him, Bruce, an' Lytton was to blame. Ain't that murder? Ain't it?"

"It's murder, Benny, but they won't call it that."

"No, but what they call it don't make no difference in th' right or th'

wrong of it, does it? An' it don't matter to me. I've got a law all my own, Bruce, an' it's a d.a.m.n sight more just 'n theirs!" He had become suddenly alert, intent. "Th' last thing that my old man said was that th' wickedest of th' world had killed him. He wouldn't blame no one man but I will ... I do!"

He moved quickly on the box, bringing himself to face Bayard.

"I come back to this country an' waited. I've been thinkin' it over most two years, Bruce, an' I don't see no way out but to fix my old man's case myself. Maybe if things was different, I'd feel some other way about it, but this here Lytton is worse 'n sc.u.m, Bruce. You know an'

everybody knows what he is. He's a drunken, lyin' ----! That's what he is!

"I've been watchin' him close for weeks, seein' him drink every cent of my dad's money, seein' him get to be less 'n less of a man.

"One day I was in town. I'd been drinkin' myself to keep from goin'

crazy thinkin' 'bout this thing. Just at dusk, just when th' train come in an' everybody was down to th' station, I walked down th' street toward Nate's corral to get my horse. I seen him comin' towards me, Bruce. He was drunk, he could just about make it. He didn't know me, never has knowed who I was, but he looks up at me an' commences to cuss, an' I ... Well, I draws an' fires."

He leaned back against the building.

"He dropped an' I thought things was squared, so I lit out. But I found out I shot too quick ... or maybe I was drunker 'n I thought.

"Where was he hit, Bruce?"

"Left forearm, Benny ... right there."

"Hum ... I thought so. I had a notion that gun was shootin' to th'

right."

They sat silent a moment, then he resumed:

"When I got to thinkin' it over I was glad I hadn't killed him. I made up my mind that wasn't the best way. That's a little too much like killin' just 'cause you're mad, so I made up my mind I'd go on about my business until I was meddled with.

"I'm livin' at my home, now, Bruce. I'm back at th' Sunset, livin' in th' cabin me an' my folks built with our hands, workin' alone in our mine, waitin' for good times to come again. I'm goin' to stay there ...

right along. It's goin' to be my mine 'cause it rightfully belongs to me, no matter what Lytton's d.a.m.n corporation papers may say.

"Some day, when he sobers up, he'll start back there, Bruce. I'll be waitin' for him. I won't harm a hair, I won't say a word until he steps on to them claims. Then, by G.o.d, I'll shoot him down like he was a coyote tryin' to get my chickens!"

Bayard got up and thoughtfully stroked the hip of the pinto horse.

"I guess I understand, Benny," he said, after a moment. "I'm pretty sure I do."

"He's ... He's as low as a snake's belly, ain't he, Bruce?"--as if for rea.s.surance.

"Yes, an' he'd be lower, Benny, if there was anythin' lower," he remarked, grimly.

"He can shoot though; watch him, Benny! I've seen him beat th' best of us at a turkey shootin'."

"That's what makes me feel easy about it. I wouldn't want to kill a man that couldn't shoot as good as I can, anyhow."

Benny Lynch departed, still unsmiling, very serious, and, as Bayard watched him ride away, he shook his head in perplexity.

"I wish I was as free to act as you are," he thought. "But I ain't; an'

your tellin' me has dug my hole just that much deeper!"

He looked out over the valley a long moment. It was bright under the afternoon sun but somehow it seemed, for him, to be queerly shadowed.

CHAPTER X

WHOM G.o.d HATH JOINED

The next day the puzzled cowman rode the trail to Yavapai to find that Ann was out. He was told that Nora had taken her riding, so he waited for their return, restless, finding no solace in the companions.h.i.+p that the saloon, the town's one gathering place for men, afforded.

He stood leaning against the front of the general store, deep in thought, when a distant rattle attracted his attention. He glanced down the street to his right and beyond the limits of the town saw a rapidly moving dust cloud approach. As it drew near, the rattling increased, became more distinct, gave evidence that it was a combination of many sounds, and Bayard smiled broadly, stirring himself in antic.i.p.ation.

A moment more and the dust cloud dissolved itself into a speeding mantle for a team of ponies and a buckboard, on the seat of which sat the Rev.

Judson A. Weyl. The horses came down the hard street, ears back, straining away from one another until they ran far outside the wheel tracks. The harnesses, too large for the beasts, dangled and flopped and jingled, the clatter and clank of the vehicle's progress became manifold as every bolt, every brace, every bar and slat and spoke vibrated, seeming to shake in protest at that which held it to the rest, and, above it all, came the regular grating slap of the tire of a dished hindwheel, as in the course of its revolutions it met the metal brake shoe, as if to beat time for the ensemble.

The man on the seat sat very still, the reins lax in his hands. The spring under him sagged with his weight and his long legs were doubled oddly between the seat and broken dash. He appeared to give no heed to his team's progress; just sat and thought while they raced along, the off horse breaking into a gallop at intervals to keep pace with its long stepping mate.

Across from where Bayard stood, the team swung sharply to the right, shot under a pinyon tree, just grazing the trunk with both hubs of the wheels, and rounded the corner of a low little house, stopping abruptly when out of sight; and the rancher laughed aloud in the sudden silence that followed.

He went across the thoroughfare, followed the tracks of the buckboard and came upon the tall, thin, dust covered driver, who had descended, unfastened the tugs and was turning his wild-eyed, malevolent-nosed team of half broken horses into a corral which was shaded by a tall pine tree. He looked up as Bayard approached.

"Hel-_lo_, Bruce!" he cried, flinging the harness up on a post, and extending a hearty hand. "I haven't seen you in an age!"