Partners of Chance Part 11

CHAPTER VIII

HIGH HEELS AND MOCCASINS

Bartley suggested that, perhaps, the horses had strayed.

Cheyenne shook his head. "My hosses ain't leavin' good feed, or leavin'

me. They know this here country."

"Perhaps Dobe left for home and the rest followed him," said Bartley.

"Nope. Our hosses was roped and led south."

Bartley stared at Cheyenne, whose usually placid countenance expressed indecision and worry. Cheyenne seemed positive about the missing horses.

Then Bartley saw an expression in Cheyenne's eyes that indicated more sternness of spirit than he had given Cheyenne credit for.

"Roped and led south," reiterated Cheyenne.

"How do you know it?"

"I been scoutin' around. The bunch that rode by last night was leadin'

hosses. I could tell by the way the hosses was travelin'. They was goin'

steady. If they'd been drivin' our hosses ahead, they would 'a' gone faster, tryin' to keep 'em from turnin' back. I don't see nothin' around camp to show who's been here."

"I'll make a fire," said Bartley.

"You got the right idea. We can eat. Then I aim to look around."

Cheyenne was over in the bushes rolling his bed when Bartley called to him, and he found Bartley pointing at a pair of dice on a flat rock beside the fire.

Cheyenne stooped and picked up the dice. "Was you rattlin' the bones to see if you could beat yourself?"

"I found them here. Are they yours?"

"Nope. And they weren't here last evenin'."

Cheyenne turned and strode out to the road while Bartley made breakfast.

Cheyenne was gone a long time, examining the tracks of horses. When he returned he squatted down and ate.

Presently he rose. "First off, I thought they might 'a' been some stray Apaches or Cholas. But they don't pack dice. And the bunch that rode by last night was ridin' shod bosses."

Bartley turned slowly toward his companion. "Panhandle?" he queried.

"And these here dice? Looks like it. It's like him to leave them dice for us to play with while he trails south with our stack. I reckon it was that Dobe hoss he was after. But he must 'a' knowed who was campin'

around here. You see, when Wishful kind of hinted to Panhandle to leave town, Panhandle figured that meant to stay out of Antelope quite a spell. First off he steals some hosses. Next thing, he'll sell 'em or trade 'em, down south of here. He'll travel nights, mostly."

"I can't see why he should especially pick us out as his victims," said Bartley.

"I don't say he did. But it would make no difference to him. He'd steal any man's stock. Only, I figure some of his friends must 'a' told him about you--that seen you ridin' down this way. He would know our camp would be somewhere near this water-hole. What kind of matches you got with you?"

"Why--this kind." And Bartley produced a few blue-top matches.

"This here is a old-timer sulphur match, cut square. It was right here, by the rock. Somebody lit a match and laid them dice there--sixes up. No reg'lar hoss-thief would take that much trouble to advertise himself.

Panhandle done it--and he wanted me to know he done it."

"You've had trouble with him before, haven't you?"

"Yes--and no man can say I ever trailed him. But I never stepped out of his way."

"Then that c.r.a.p game in Antelope meant more than an ordinary c.r.a.p game?"

said Bartley.

"He had his chance," stated Cheyenne.

"Well, we're in a fix," a.s.serted Bartley.

"Yes; we're afoot. But we'll make it. And right here I'm tellin' you that I aim to shoot a game of c.r.a.ps with Panhandle, usin' these here dice, that'll be fast and won't last long."

"How about the law?"

"The law is all right, in spots. But they's a whole lot of country between them spots."

Cheyenne cached the bed-roll, saddles, and cooking-outfit back in the brush, taking only a canteen and a little food. He proffered a pair of moccasins, parfleche-soled and comfortable, to Bartley.

"You wear these. Them new ridin'-boots'll sure kill you dead, walkin'.

You can pack 'em along with you."

"How about your feet?"

"Say, you wouldn't call me a tenderfoot, would you?"

"Not exactly."

"Then slip on them moccasins. But first I aim to make a circle and see just where they caught up our stock."

Bartley drew on the moccasins and, tying his boots together, rolled them in his blanket. Meanwhile, Cheyenne circled the camp far out, examining the scattered tracks of horses. When he returned the morning sun was beginning to make itself felt.

"I'll toss up to see who wears the moccasins," said Bartley. "I'm more used to hiking than you are."

"Spin her!"

As Bartley tossed the coin, Cheyenne called. The half-dollar dropped and stuck edge-up in the sand.

"You wear 'em the first fifteen miles and then we'll swap," said Cheyenne.