They bedded that night under the great vault-roof where twinkle a million stars.
There were three of the outlaw's men with him, and both Mcwilliams and his friend noticed that they slept a little apart from their chief.There were other indications among the rustlers of a camp divided against itself.Bannister's orders to them he contrived to make an insult, and their obedience was as surly as possible compatible with safety.For all of the men knew that he would not hesitate to shoot them down in one of his violent rages should they anger him sufficiently.
Throughout the night there was no time that at least two men were not awake in the camp.The foreman and the sheepman took turns keeping vigil; and on the other side of the fire sat one of the rustlers in silent watchfulness.To the man opposite him each of the sentinels were outposts of the enemy, but they fraternized after the manner of army sentries, exchanging tobacco and occasional casual conversation.
The foreman took the first turn, and opposite him sat a one-eyed old scoundrel who had rustle calves from big outfits ever since Wyoming was a territory and long before.Chalkeye Dave, he was called, and sometimes merely Chalkeye.What his real name was no man knew.Nor was his past a subject for conversation in his presence.It was known that he had been in the Nevada penitentiary, and that he had killed a man in Arizona, but these details of an active life were rarely resurrected.For Chalkeye was deadly on the shoot, and was ready for it at the drop of the hat, though he had his good points too.One of these was a remarkable fondness for another member of the party, a mere lad, called by his companions Hughie.Generally surly and morose, to such a degree that even his chief was careful to humor him as a rule, when with Hughie all the softer elements of his character came to the surface.In his rough way he was ever humorous and genial.
Jim McWilliams found him neither, however.He declined to engage inconversation, accepted a proffer of tobacco with a silent, hostile grunt and relapsed into a long silence that lasted till his shift was ended.
"Hate to have y'u leave, old man.Y'u're so darned good company I'll ce'tainly pine for you," the foreman suggested, with sarcasm, when the old man rolled up in his blankets preparatory to falling asleep immediately.
Chalkeye's successor was a blatant youth much impressed with his own importance.He was both foul-mouthed and foul-minded, so that Jim was constrained to interrupt his evil boastings by pretending to fall asleep.
It was nearly two o'clock when the foreman aroused his friend to take his turn.Shortly after this the lad Hughie relieved the bragging, would-be bad man.
Hughie was a flaxen-haired, rather good-looking boy of nineteen.In his small, wistful face was not a line of wickedness, though it was plain that he was weak.He seemed so unfit for the life he was leading that the sheepman's interest was aroused.For on the frontier it takes a strong, competent miscreant to be a bad man and survive.Ineffectives and weaklings are quickly weeded out to their graves or the penitentiaries.
The boy was manifestly under great fear of his chief, but the curly haired young Hermes who kept watch with him had a very winning smile and a charming manner when he cared to exert it.Almost in spite of himself the youngster was led to talk.It seemed that he had but lately joined the Teton-Shoshones outfit of desperadoes, and between the lines Bannister easily read that his cousin's masterful compulsion had coerced the young fellow.All he wanted was an opportunity to withdraw in safety, but he knew he could never do this so long as the "King" was alive and at liberty.
Under the star-roof in the chill, breaking day Ned Bannister talked to him long and gently.It was easy to bring the boy to tears, but it was harder thing to stiffen a will that was of putty and to hearten a soul in mortal fear.But he set himself with all the power in him to combat the influence of his cousin over this boy; and before the camp stirred to life again he knew that he had measurably succeeded.
They ate breakfast in the gray dawn under the stars, and after they had finished their coffee and bacon horses were saddled and the trail taken upagain.It led in and out among the foot-hills slopping upward gradually toward the first long blue line of the Shoshones that stretched before them in the distance.Their nooning was at running stream called Smith's Creek, and by nightfall the party was well up in the higher foot hills.
In the course of the day and the second night both the sheepman and his friend made attempt to establish a more cordial relationship with Chalkeye, but so far as any apparent results went their efforts were vain.He refused grimly to meet their overtures half way, even though it was plain from his manner that a break between him and his chief could not long be avoided.
All day by crooked trails they pushed forward, and as the party advanced into the mountains the gloom of the mournful pines and frowning peaks invaded its spirits.Suspicion and distrust went with it, camped at night by the rushing mountain stream, lay down to sleep in the shadows at every man's shoulder.For each man looked with an ominous eye on his neighbor, watchful of every sudden move, of every careless word that might convey a sudden meaning.
Along a narrow rock-rim trail far above a steep canon, whose walls shot precipitously down, they were riding in single file, when the outlaw chief pushed his horse forward between the road wall and his cousin's bronco.The sheepman immediately fell back.
"I reckon this trail isn't wide enough for two--unless y'u take the outside," he explained quietly.
