sun.
Up on top, however, the air was cool, and the wind whipped at the pine thickets. Cappy did not see Rich and Sam again. He let his horse walk and found the miles and hours too short for the problem on his mind. The Tate ranch at Spring Valley appeared to have been vacated by its human inhabitants, of whom there were many. The wide green pastures were dotted with horses and colts. Wild ducks on the way south had descended to sport in the pond. Well-cared-for acres and fences, the numerous corrals and barns, and the big rambling house surrounded by cabins attested to the prosperity of the Tates. The whole range south of Spring Valley was under their dominance, if it did not actually belong to them. Possessions, however, were not the sole attributes that rendered the Tates formidable. Slink Tate, a nephew of the rancher, bore a bad repute and had taken the initiative in several fatal shooting affrays. Veiled Tonto rumor linked his name with the ambush of Rich Ames’ father. Most of the younger Tates were hard riders, hard drinkers, and not slow with guns. Lee Tate, however, did not shine with horses, ropes, or guns; but as a damsel-killer he stood supreme in the Tonto.
Cappy Tanner rode by Spring Valley with these reflections gradually rousing rancor in his usually mild breast. He had a lonely ride and ample time for cogitation. Darkness fell before he reached Shelby, and it was something more than an hour later when he rode down the wide dark street, with its dim yellow lights, its high board fronts. Cappy had anticipated that the tavern would be full, so he went to the house of a blacksmith, Henry, by name, a friend who did a little trapping, who welcomed him heartily. The blacksmith’s genial wife filled Cappy’s ears with the current gossip, and the last of it, anent the supposed jilting of Sam Playford by Nesta Ames, in the interest of a wild infatuation for devil-may-care Lee Tate, augured ill for the hopes and plans of Rich Ames.
Cappy went out, ostensibly to do the same as all visitors, stroll from tavern to store and from store to saloon, to chat or drink with acquaintances, to watch the gambling games; but in reality he was anxious to find Rich Ames. Presently he encountered Sam Playford, who, even in the dim light, appeared pale and gloomy.
“Where’s Rich?” queried Tanner, brusquely, without even a greeting.
“Just put him to bed an’ locked him in,” replied Playford.
“Bed!—Aw, don’t say Rich went an’ got drunk?”
“We had a couple of drinks,” admitted the other, seriously. “But they never phased me. Went to Rich’s head or somethin’. You know he drinks very little, an’ can’t stand much. We heard some talk right off. Must have upset Rich. He sure had a chip on his shoulder. Was goin’ to punch some fellow with Jim Tate. But I blocked that. Then this damn sheriff, Stringer, threatened to arrest Rich. His meanness sure came out, an’ his friendship for the Tates. . . . My God, but Rich scared me! He said: ‘Go ahaid, Stringer, an’ try it!’—Stringer laughed it off, but he was scared, too. So I dragged Rich off to bed an’ I’ll go back to our room pronto. He might climb out of the window.”
“What talk did you hear?” queried Tanner, gruffly.
“It’s all over town that Nesta has jilted me for Lee Tate. An’ worse, they say it won’t do her any good. Tate is only playin’ with her. They say his father wouldn’t hear of him marryin’ into the Ames family.”
“Ahuh. Is there any ground for this jilt talk?”
“Nesta has never even hinted it to me. Yesterday she was somethin’ like her old self. Lately, though, she has been queer an’ cold when we met, then little by little she’d grow more natural. Yesterday she even thawed out. I’m afraid I cain’t understand it all.”
“Wal, I reckon I can,” responded Cappy. “You don’t need to. But stick to thet girl till hell freezes over.”
“You bet,” replied Sam, with emotion. “But just now it’s Rich who worries me most.”
“Huh! Rich ain’t worryin’ me none,” declared Tanner. “I’ve a hunch lately he’s on the right trail to clear up this mess. He’s got blood in him, Playford. An’ it’s workin’. But Rich has sense. Even if he got drunk he’d never lose his head. If he breaks loose you can gamble there’s reason. All we want to do is stand by an’ back him, if it comes to a fight. Are you packin’ a gun?”
“I reckon I am,” replied Sam, tersely. “But for Nesta’s sake—her good name—I hope we dodge a fight.”
“Dodge nothin’. So far as this two-bit of a town is concerned, gossip has already done for Nesta’s good name. An’ a healthy fight would help more’n hurt her. But let’s keep Rich from drinkin’. You go back to your room an’ stick with him. I’ll mosey around an’ listen. See you early in the mornin’.”
They parted. Tanner went the rounds of all the places in town where men congregated, and while pretending to be a little loquacious from liquor, he had a keen ear for all the talk. Late at night he returned to his lodgings, stirred to deep resentment, sorry for the loyal Sam Playford, bitter at Lee Tate, thrillingly conscious that he was not alone in his estimate of the latent potentialities of Rich Ames.
Tanner awoke to the onslaught of the merry blacksmith on his door. Late hours and sleeping indoors were not conducive to early awakening. Tanner had breakfast with his friend, accompanied him to the forge, and presently went on into town. The wide street, by day, presented an interesting spectacle. Normally, and even on Saturdays, a few saddle-horses were hitched to the rails, a wagon or two and a buckboard standing in front of the buildings. But today there was not a space left in the main block. The whole population of the Tonto, at least the northern half of the basin, had turned out to see Lil Snell married. For that matter, they turned out for any wedding. Such events were rare in this isolated community.
Troops of children romped up and down the street, unmindful of their Sunday garb; groups of brightly clad women and girls in gaudy colors paraded from store to tavern, with tremendous interest in the big house of James Snell, where the bride and her contingent were supposed to be mysteriously ensconced.
Cappy had neglected to find out from Sam Playford where he and Rich were located, but he expected to see them at one of the few centers of intercourse. He failed, however, and it took him some little while to find their room. At his knock the door was opened by Sam, whose greeting certainly did not lack relief.
“Howdy, boys!” said Tanner, with good cheer, as he entered.
Rich sat on the bed, clean-shaven, his hair wet and plastered down. If Cappy had expected to find him sullen or thick he was vastly mistaken. Never had Rich appeared so handsome, so cool and self-contained. Again Cappy sustained a nervous shock at the subtle possibilities emanating from the scion of old Texas fighting-stock.
“Hello, Cap!” drawled Rich. “We was just debatin’ whether to get outside a gallon of red liquor an’ take some shots at Jeff Stringer’s boots, or keep sober, lay low, an’ watch the whole show. What say you?”
“Wal, I incline to the first, but common sense an’ regard for Nesta decide me on the last,” replied the old trapper, sententiously.
“Shore you’d fetch Nesta in,” declared Rich, almost mockingly. “Damn her lovely face! . . . All right, Cap, we’ll stick to your hunch an’ stand a hell of a lot from these hombres. But my Gawd! I’d like to start somethin’! Sam heah is rarin’ to. First time he’s showed any spunk, Cap. He came boltin’ in heah, fire in his eye, a chip on his shoulder. An’ then he won’t tell me nothin’.”
“Anythin’ rile you, Sam?” queried Cappy, bending speculative eyes upon the young homesteader.
