“Aw, the Pilgreens’ is comin’ anyway, if the old lady gits over her toothache,” Happy Jack cut in unwarily.
“Oh. So that’s where you was all yesterday forenoon! Lucky for you, ole timer, that Chip ain’t back yet.”
“Chip better git a wiggle on, by golly!” Slim cast an appraising glance out over the rolling hills, now brightly tinted with the green of new grass. “That there hot spell’s shore puttin’ grass on them hills.”
“Andy oughta be rollin’ in to-day or to-morrow,” Pink observed rather wishfully. “There’s a few snuffy ones in that last bunch we gathered that I’d sure like to see Andy go up against.”
“Why? Want all them nice new fillings jarred loose outa his teeth?”
“By golly, the way he talked ’fore he left, Andy’ll come home packin’ enough gold in his mouth to start a bank!” Slim chortled. “Swaller all that and we’d have to beef ’im to git it back.”
“By the looks of that last bunch, Andy’s gold fillings ain’t the only things liable to get jarred loose,” Weary predicted, with a laugh. “Come on, boys—let’s get this inquest over and done with. How much farther is it, Big Medicine?”
“Right around that next turn.” Big Medicine reined importantly in the lead and went galloping down the gulch to where the dead horse lay. The Happy Family, dismounting at the spot, gathered in a silent, staring group.
“What I can’t sabe is how that guy at the ranch escaped with a whole bone in his body,” Weary observed soberly at last.
“Well, he wasn’t touchin’ nothin’ but the horn and stirrups when she struck,” Big Medicine explained. “Prob’ly the lightnin’ slid in under ’im. Yuh might say that’s oncet a feller’s life was saved by his pore ridin’. If he’d been settin’ in the saddle like a human, he’d be playin’ a harp right now, chances is, and wonderin’ how he got there.”
“Moral, ride high and loose in a thunder-storm,” Pink declared in his clear treble.
“Say, I know that horse,” Cal suddenly exclaimed. “I sure remember that bob-wire scar on the shoulder. That horse come from the livery stable in Dry Lake. Grab a leg, boys, and turn him over. We oughta pull the saddle, anyway.”
They heaved the carcass to the other side, bringing the branded hip uppermost.
“Yeah, I could swore that was the horse,” Cal confirmed his first statement. “That’s the cayuse I rode to Box Elder after that locoed roan son-of-a-gun last spring, the time he busted his bridle and got away. Hard-gaited as the devil. I ain’t surprised that pilgrim was anchored to the saddle horn. I know my back bone like to punched a hole in my hat before I’d rode this old pelter a mile.”
“Well, the pilgrim’s got no kick coming, at that. He’s alive and the horse ain’t. Better take his outfit back to the ranch, hadn’t we?” Pink stopped and untied the small, leather bag that had evidently seen more hard usage than the storm would account for. The Happy Family gravely inspected it, discovered that it was locked and handed it over to Big Medicine as the natural guardian of the fellow’s belongings.
They removed the saddle and bridle from the dead horse, discussed the advisability of dragging the repulsive carcass off somewhere out of sight and smell of the road, and decided against doing it. For one thing, it would take a little time and they were in a hurry. For another, Weary raised the point of legal requirements. It might be wise, he thought, to leave the animal where it fell, so that the owner would have evidence of the manner of its death. Only lightning could work such havoc on bones without a surface mark. It might be important. Anyway, there was room to drive around the carcass, and they could come back later and drag it off.
All of which had a certain bearing on later developments, as they were soon to discover.
Chapter Four. The Unwelcome Guest
These seemingly small matters disposed of to their satisfaction, the Happy Family rode cheerfully homeward; all, that is, save Happy Jack, who galloped away on a narrow stock trail which led by a short cut to the Adams ranch and on up to Jackson’s; and Cal Emmett, who turned off at the upper gate on his way to bring Bert Rogers.
With a hundred and more horses fresh from the range and needing to know that man is master, no preparation for a bronk-riding contest was necessary. Give them an appreciative audience roosting on the top rails of the corral, and Monday’s hard work would become Sunday afternoon’s sport. They’d coax old Patsy to cook up a flock of blueberry pies and make plenty of coffee, and it would be a real picnic. Maybe some of the women would object to dancing that evening, on account of its being Sunday, but even old lady Jackson, who was said to be a member of the Baptist Church back East somewhere, allowed Rena to play games on Sunday. The Happy Family decided that there would be plenty doing, and if it didn’t rain again, there would be a full moon for good measure.
“If Bert’ll ride that Flopper horse of his over, I might give him a race with Glory. Any money in this crowd?” planned Weary.
Whereupon Slim had a sudden thought that brought a queer look into his eyes.
“Say, Weary, mebby I oughta told yuh b’fore—but that red-headed cousin of Bert’s is out here ag’in. Bert told me in town. You want to keep yer eye peeled.”
Certain men in the group had never heard of Bert Rogers’ cousin, who had caused Weary more trouble than one woman has any right to cause. Those who did not know the story asked questions which Slim, rolling uneasy eyes toward Weary, blunderingly tried to parry. Then suddenly Weary laughed and turned to face them.
“Ancient history, boys. Myrt Forsyth and I went to school together back in Chadville, Iowa, and I got a bad case of calf love over her. Then I got the notion she was double-crossing me, so I pulled out and came west. I never knew she was Bert’s cousin till she showed up out here at a dance in Dry Lake. I was all cured long ago, but mamma! It’s women that taught cats how to deal a mouse misery. Myrt—” For once Weary hesitated, groping for words.
“Shore, we know the rest.” Big Medicine laughed. “You went and had a relapse.”
Weary flashed a glance at him.
“That’s just the trouble; I didn’t. No woman—some women—never can seem to realize a man can fall out of love as easy as he falls in. Myrt wasn’t to blame, I guess, for trying a little spite work when she found out I wasn’t packing any busted heart on her account. She’s all right—”
“Aw, why don’t you tell the truth about ’er?” Slim growled. “How she went an’ lied about yuh, and tried to bust up you ’n’ Miss Satterly—an’ did, by golly! I always thought that was at the bottom of her pullin’ out fer home—”
“I don’t know as that’s important right now,” Weary rebuffed him. “The point is, Myrt Forsyth’s here, and it’s likely she’s forgotten the whole thing. I know I have, just about.”
Whereupon Slim twisted his bulky torso in the saddle and lowered a fat eyelid at the others.
“Fergive and fergit is what the Good Book says,” he stated sententiously. “I don’t guess it’ll spoil your riding any to have Myrt Forsyth hangin’ over the top rail watchin’ yuh.”
“Not what you could notice,” Weary grinned. “I’m going to try that glass-eye sorrel a whirl; the one that come up in that bunch from Wyoming.”
“Did you notice the spur marks on him?” the Native Son inquired. “But no mark of the saddle. A bad sign, amigo.”
“All signs are bad when you ease your saddle up on a bronk’s middle,”