Read Ebook: Arnold Böcklin by Schmid Heinrich Alfred B Cklin Arnold Illustrator

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Ebook has 226 lines and 23830 words, and 5 pages

Bertram's grip on the seat in front of him tightened, as the cowboy departed, called by some riotous members of the gang.

The young Texan knew that the cowboy had spoken the truth. Bertram had been traveling a fast pace, even for the great outdoor land, where restrictions were few. He had been brought up on a ranch on the Brazos, where he had spent as much of his time as he could induce his devoted mother to let him subtract from school. He had even attended college at Austin, but his mother's death, before he had graduated, had brought to light the fact that the ranch had been mortgaged to pay for Bertram's education.

Before Bertram realized what had happened, the ranch had passed from his control. He sought to drown in wild companionship his sorrow at his mother's death and the poverty he had unwittingly brought upon her. At last he had been offered a job as cowpuncher on the big ranch of his uncle, one of the large landowners in the southern part of the State. He had accepted, but he had found no consolation in the change, as his uncle was an utterly uncompanionable man. Bertram tried to put up with the old fellow's caprices for a while, but soon they became unbearable. There were open disagreements between the men. Bertram did his work well, as there were few who could equal him in the saddle, but nothing could stop the old man's harsh complaining. Finally the old attractions began to summon the youth. There were wild excursions to near-by frontier towns. Bertram became a leading spirit among the daredevils who frequented the bar and the gambling tables. His name became known along the trail for its owner's wild exploits.

One day there came an open break with his uncle. Laughing at the old man's senile anger and turning his back upon the reproaches which his uncle hurled at him, Bertram rode to the big town, where, in just the right mood for any adventure, he had been picked up by Asa Swingley and had been enlisted in the adventure which Archie Beam had foreshadowed as something desperate in character.

"He's right. I'd gone farther than I ever imagined," declared Bertram, as he glanced about him and made a mental note of those in the car.

There was Tom Hoog, who killed for the love of killing. Hoog had been a figure in much range warfare. He had played a part in a cattle war in that country, which had assumed such proportions, that the governor of the State had intervened. It had been said that Hoog had fought on both sides in that war, putting his services at the disposal of whichever side happened to bid the higher at the moment. He had fought men single-handed and in groups. He had been captured and had escaped, generally leaving a trail of death behind him. Yet his killings had always gone unpunished, because the fear of the man even extended to officers of the law.

Others in the party were the possessors of reputations only a shade less evil than Hoog's. A few, like Archie Beam, were merely wild and irresponsible, and they had joined the expedition for a lark.

Swingley passed among the men, loudly solicitous of their welfare. Food was brought in, and there was some drinking. Several of the men were maudlin before Denver was reached. Others were at the quarrelsome stage. Swingley stopped several incipient gun fights, but otherwise let the men behave as they pleased. Bertram took no part in the drinking, though he joined an occasional game of cards. He was not inclined to depart from the letter of his bargain with Swingley, but he was thinking hard, as the train pounced over the desert, beside the long, blue chain of the Rockies.

Noticing his abstraction Swingley rallied Bertram about it. "Things'll be more lively, soon after we leave Denver," he said, pausing at the young Texan's seat. "We've got some more people to meet there, and we'll be tied up several hours. I want you to help me keep an eye on some of these drunken punchers, to see that they don't wander away where we can't get 'em."

At Denver the motley crew piled off the special and swooped down upon the station. Swingley's orders against "seeing the town" were strict, but some of the cow-punchers attempted to slip away and were turned back. It was evening, and, in the half-light on the station platform, Bertram thought he recognized a woman's figure, as it flitted around the corner of the building. A few hasty steps brought him to the side of the young lady whose ticket he had purchased.

"I see that the ticket we got wasn't counterfeit, and you arrived here, all right," observed Bertram delightedly. He saw that she had smiled, as she greeted him, and she seemed genuinely pleased, in spite of the evident perturbation under which she was laboring.

"Yes," she said, "but I'm afraid all your generosity has been in vain."

"What's the trouble? Is there any way I can help you further?"

Bertram was looking at her, as he spoke. Her face was pale, but evidently owing to the mental strain. Her eyes just now were clouded with sadness, and her voice trembled with agitation.

"You've done enough as it is," she answered--"more than any other stranger has ever done for me. I've met friends here, and now I can pay you the money for my ticket."

"I didn't want you to bother about that," said Bertram, as she opened her pocketbook and counted out the bills into his reluctant hand. "Settling this thing deprives me of a chance of meeting you again, unless you're going to be kind enough to let me meet you, anyway."

Even in the semidarkness Bertram could see the girl's quick blush, as he went on speaking. "I'm going to be honest enough to say that I admire you a whole lot. I've been counting on hearing from you later on. Won't you tell me your name?"

"It would do no good," said the girl. Then, with an earnestness that startled Bertram, she added: "but, if you want to please me and do the right thing by yourself, you will go no further on this expedition."

"I can't do that, because it would be going back on my word," replied Bertram. "But why should I leave the expedition?"

"If you don't, there will be the death of honest men on your hands," said the girl. "Why did you promise to go with a man like Swingley, anyway?"

"Just plain foolishness, I guess, the same as any other soldier of fortune shows."

"Those men are not soldiers of fortune--they are soldiers of murder," exclaimed the girl. "If you go on with them you'll be one with them."

"Then it means something to you?" asked Bertram triumphantly.

"Yes," said the girl, with another quick flush. "It means just what it would if I saw any young man on the wrong road."

"Well, even if you put it that impersonally, still I'm glad," replied the young Texan. "I've got to go on with the outfit, but I promise you one thing--that, if there's any murder done, my hands won't be red."

Just then, from around the corner of the station, came the sound of men's voices, in a cowboy song.

"They're coming," said the girl. "I don't want them to see me. I'm going to be on the northbound train that goes just ahead of yours."

"But your name, and where can I see you?" persisted the cowboy, clinging to the soft little hand which he found in his big fist.

"If you'll let go my hand, I'll give you a card," said the girl, with a nervous laugh. Bertram reluctantly released her hand. He felt a card thrust into his fingers, and an instant later the girl had disappeared around the end of the station. He followed her swiftly moving form with his glance, as she passed along the dimly-lighted platform and vanished through the gate leading to the tracks. Then he stepped to a light and read the card eagerly.

"Alma Caldwell!" he exclaimed, repeating the name several times. "Pretty name for a prettier girl! I wonder why a girl like her knows about Swingley's little expedition, and why she's so anxious to keep ahead of us."

BERTRAM MAKES A GO-DEVIL.

The men detrained at a little northern Wyoming town, the terminus of the railroad, after an all-night journey from Denver.

Swingley was everywhere, asserting his leadership. There was none of the jocularity about him now, which he had assumed during the long journey. His orders were sharp and imperative. They were accompanied by blows, on two or three occasions, when cowpunchers did not move quickly enough to suit him. One of the men, who had made a move to draw his gun, was knocked bleeding and insensible before he could drag the weapon from its holster.

Evidently things were moving according to a prearranged program. There were chuck wagons on hand, into which food and cooking utensils were piled. Also there were wagons for the bedding.

Twenty or thirty additional men had joined the outfit at Denver, and these were reinforced by as many more, who were waiting at the station when the special train arrived, followed in an hour or two by the train carrying the horses.

The new men were apparently of the same ilk as those who had joined from the start--sunburned, hardy-looking fellows in cowboy garb, and every one of them was heavily armed. There were greetings between some of their number and a few of the new arrivals, as the long trails abounded with men who were accustomed to drifting from one ranch to another, and whose circle of acquaintances was correspondingly large.

The only accident preparatory to getting the cavalcade under way was one that was destined to affect Bertram strangely.

"Milt," called Swingley, reining his sweating horse in front of Bertram, who was smoking a cigarette and wondering what had become of the girl whose card had been taken out and scanned many times. "Milt, I know you're handy at blacksmithing. Old Jim Dykes, the only horseshoer we've got along, has got himself kicked in the arm, and he won't be any more good to us on this trip. Come and help us out."

Bertram accompanied Swingley to the improvised forge, where the groaning blacksmith was having his injured arm set by an amateur surgeon. The young Texan had often been called upon to shoe fractious bronchos on his uncle's ranch, the work presenting little difficulty to him on account of his exceptional skill in managing the wildest horses.

Seeing that the old blacksmith was incapable of further work, Bertram took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, disclosing a pair of muscular arms, and in an hour he had completed the tasks necessary to set the caravan moving.

"It sure was lucky that I remembered seein' you blacksmithin' on your uncle's ranch," said Swingley, reining his horse beside Bertram's, shortly after the start was made. "You may have to help us out a little more before we git through, but, anyway, mebbe you'll have pleasanter work mixed in with the blacksmithin'--a little shootin' at a mark, for instance." Swingley had grinned meaningly, as he spoke.

"I've heard there might be some shooting," observed Bertram dryly, "but I might as well let you know right now that I always get an awful attack of buck fever when I'm shooting at men."

"You'll forget it when we hit into the thick of the fightin'," returned Swingley, not catching the sarcasm in Bertram's voice, or deliberately overlooking it. "I don't mind tellin' you that we may be in for a little ruction inside of another twelve hours. We've come up here to put an end to cattle rustlin' in this part of the State. The rustlers are so strong that they've been runnin' things as they wanted. But, when they see what they're up against now, it may be that they'll quit without a fight. If they don't--so much the worse for them."

Swingley turned in his saddle and looked proudly back at his little army. The sight would have inspired pride in any captain. Here was a grim company of tanned, resolute-looking horsemen, riding with that easy grace peculiar to the saddlemen of the Western plains. The loud jests that had been heard on the train were not in evidence. The men rode quietly. Pistols were ready to the grasp, as were the guns in the scabbards at the horses' sides. Behind the command rumbled the camp wagons.

"Cattle rustlin' is goin' to be a lot less popular than it has been, before this outfit is through," observed Swingley, "and there'll be some old scores that'll be paid off in full, too."

The cattleman's voice was thick with passion. His heavy brows were drawn together in a frown, and the muscles of his powerful jaws worked spasmodically as he clenched his teeth determinedly.

"I hope this crowd ain't been brought up here just to settle some old personal scores," answered Bertram, his voice bringing Swingley back with a start.

The cattleman, darting a quick glance at Bertram, realized that he had said too much. Muttering something about picking a camping place for the night he spurred ahead, leaving Bertram plodding with the column at the moderate pace which had been prescribed.

The young Texan's thoughts went back once more to the girl whom he had met at the station. He paid scant attention to the talk of Archie Beam, who had taken Swingley's place at his side. He was wondering about the girl--who she was, and the mission which had sent her on her long journey. Evidently it was a mission of some danger, for she had hinted at enemies who had sought to interfere with her progress. And her apparent knowledge of the purpose of the expedition was a puzzle. How much did she know of Swingley's invasion of Wyoming, and what interest could it hold for her?

"Well, if nothin' else'll wake you up, pardner," said Archie good-naturedly, after many ineffectual attempts to arouse Bertram to conversation, "mebbe the smell of a little bacon and coffee will help. It looks as if we're goin' to camp right ahead, and them chuck wagons can't come up too soon fer me. I could eat everything in them wagons and then chase the hosses."

Swingley had picked an admirable camp site in a grove of cottonwoods, beside an alkali-lined stream. Several springs near by afforded plenty of pure water for cooking purposes. Soon the wagons rattled up. Tents were put up, beds were unrolled, and the cooks had supper started. The men lolled about at ease, but there was no drinking, nor was there any card playing. Conversation was carried on in low voices. As soon as supper was over and the night herders were told off most of the men turned in and were sound asleep in a few minutes. They might be called on to fight before the night waned, but these men, used to the arbitrament of firearms, were not to be robbed of their sleep.

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