"I'll just anchor these cayuses to a rock, to make dead-sure of them,"Keith remarked. "It wouldn't be fun to be set afoot out here; now, would it? How would you like the job of walking home, eh?""I don't think I'd enjoy it much," Beatrice said, showing her one dimple conspicuously. "I'd rather ride.""Throw up your hands!" growled a voice from somewhere.
Keith wheeled toward the sound, and a bullet spatted into the yellow clay, two inches from the toe of his boot. Also, a rifle cracked sharply. He took the hint, and put his hands immediately on a level with his hat crown.
"No use," he called out ruefully. "I haven't anything to return the compliment with.""Well, I've got t' have the papers fur that, mister," retorted the voice, and a man appeared from the shelter of a rock and came slowly down to them--a man, long-legged and lank, with haggard, unshaven face and eyes that had hunger and dogged endurance looking out. He picked his way carefully with his feet, his eyes and the rifle fixed unswervingly at the two. Beatrice was too astonished to make a sound.
"What sort of a hold-up do you call this?" demanded Keith hotly, his hands itching to be down and busy. "We don't carry rolls of money around in the hills, you fool!""Oh, damn your money!" the man said roughly. "I've got money t' burn. Iwant t' trade horses with yuh. That roan, there, looks like a stayer.
I'll take him."
"Well, seeing you seem to be head push here, I guess it's a trade,"Keith answered. "But I'll thank you for my own saddle."Beatrice, whose hands were up beside her ears, and not an inch higher, changed from amazed curiosity to concern. "Oh, you mustn't take Redcloud away from Mr. Cameron!" she protested. "You don't know--he's so fond of that horse! You may take mine; he's a good horse--he's a perfectly splendid horse, but I--I'm not so attached to him."The fellow stopped and looked at her--not, however, forgetting Keith, who was growing restive. Beatrice's cheeks were very pink, and her eyes were bright and big and earnest. He could not look into them without letting some of the sternness drop out of his own.
"I wish you'd please take Rex--I'd rather trade than not," she coaxed.
When Beatrice coaxed, mere man must yield or run. The fellow was but human, and he was not in a position to run, so he grinned and wavered.
"It's fair to say you'll get done," he remarked, his eyes upon the odd little dimple at the corner of her mouth, as if he had never seen anything quite so fetching.
"Your horse won't cr--buck, will he?" she ventured doubtfully. This was her first horse trade, and it behooved her to be cautious, even at the point of a rifle.
"Well, no," said the man laconically; "he won't. He's dead.""Oh!" Beatrice gasped and blushed. She might have known, she thought, that the fellow would not take all this trouble if his horse was in a condition to buck. Then: "My elbows hurt. I--I think I should like to sit down.""Sure," said the man politely. "Make yourself comfortable. I ain't used t' dealin' with ladies. But you got t' set still, yuh know, and not try any tricks. I can put up a mighty swift gun play when I need to--and your bein' a lady wouldn't cut no ice in a case uh that kind.""Thank you." Beatrice sat down upon the nearest rock, folded her hands meekly and looked from him to Keith, who seethed to claim a good deal of the man's attention. She observed that, at a long breath from Keith, his captor was instantly alert.
"Maybe your elbows ache, too," he remarked dryly. "They'll git over it, though; I've knowed a man t' grab at the clouds upwards of an hour, an'
no harm done."
"That's encouraging, I'm sure." Keith shifted to the other foot.
"How's that sorrel?" demanded the man. "Can he go?"Keith hesitated a second.
"Indeed he can go!" put in Beatrice eagerly. "He's every bit as good as Redcloud.""Is that sorrel yours?" The man's eyes shifted briefly to her face.
"No-o." Beatrice, thinking how she had meant to own him, blushed.
"That accounts for it." He laughed unpleasantly. "I wondered why you was so dead anxious t' have me take him."The eyes of Beatrice snapped sparks at him, but her manner was demure, not to say meek. "He belongs to my brother," she explained, "and my brother has dozens of good saddle-horses. Mr. Cameron's horse is a pet.
It's different when a horse follows you all over the place and fairly talks to you. He'll shake hands, and--""Uh-huh, I see the point, I guess. What d'yuh say, kid?"Keith might seem boyish, but he did not enjoy being addressed as "kid."He was twenty-eight years old, whether he looked it or not.
"I say this: If you take my horse, I'll kill you. I'll have twenty-five cow-punchers camping on your trail before sundown. If you take this girl's horse, I'll do the same."The man shut his lips in a thin line.
"No, he won't!" cried Beatrice, leaning forward. "Don't mind a thing he says! You can't expect a man to keep his temper with his hands up in the air like that. You take Rex, and I'll promise for Mr. Cameron ""Trix--Miss Lansell!"--sternly.
"I promise you he won't do a thing," she went on firmly. "He--he isn't half as fierce, really, as--as he looks."Keith's face got red.
The man laughed a little. Evidently the situation amused him, whether the others could see the humor of it or not. "So I'm to have your cayuse, eh?"Keith saw two big tears tipping over her lower lids, and gritted his teeth.
"Well, it ain't often I git a chance t' please a lady," the fellow decided. "I guess Rex'll do, all right. Go over and change saddles, youngster--and don't git gay. I've got the drop, and yuh notice I'm keeping it.""Are you going to take his saddle?" Beatrice stood up and clenched her hands, looking very much as if she would like to pull his hair. Keith in trouble appealed to her strangely.
"Sure thing. It's a peach, from the look of it. Mine's over the hill a piece. Step along there, kid! I want t' be movin'.""You'll need to go some!" flared Keith, over his shoulder.
