The Orphan by Clarence E. Mulford (motivational novels .txt) 📕

“The last time we saw them they were leaving the stage to go south after him,” Charley said. “They hadn’t got more than ten miles south when they must have met the Apaches. I have a suspicion that The Orphan had a hand in that meeting, but how he did it I don’t know. But I know that the spot was lovely for a head-on collision. Punchers riding south would turn the corner of the chaparral and run into the war party before they knowed it. And I didn’t see The Orphant’s body laying around all full of arrows, neither.”

Sneed’s rage was pathetic. He almost frothed, and tears stood in his blood-shot eyes. His neck and his face were red as fire and the veins of his neck and forehead stood out like whip-cords, while his face worked convulsively. He was incapable of coherent speech, his words being unintelligible growls, a series of snarls, and he could only pace back and forth, waving his arms and cursing wildly.

Shields glanced about the ranch and gave a few orders, his men executing them without delay. One man was to keep guard in the bunk house while Sneed and his woe-begone men slept. The sheriff and Charley rode away toward the north to begin the search for the outlaw; and there was to be no quarter asked or given if his deputies had anything to do with it.

The remaining deputy busied himself about the ranch in executing a plan the sheriff had thought out, and his actions were peculiar. First selecting a position from which a man could command an extensive view of the premises, he began to pace off distances in all directions. The place was about eight hundred yards west of the ranch house and bunk house, and formed one angle of a triangle with them; and from it it was possible to look in through the windows of both of them. Any one passing within good rifle range of either house would show up against the lights in the windows; and if a man had been covered over with sand on that particular outlying angle, he could pick off the intruder without being seen. The Orphan was due to meet with a surprise if he paid his regular visit the coming night.

The deputy, after completing his work to his satisfaction found three more positions where they respectively commanded the corrals, the wagons and the rear of the bunk house. Then he paced more distances and was careful that bulky objects interposed in the direct lines between the positions, this latter precaution being to make it impossible for the deputies to shoot each other. This done, he went into the house and consulted with his companion in arms, laughing immoderately about the joke they would play on the marauder.

While Shields and Charley vainly searched the plain and while the deputy paced and thought and paced, and while Sneed and his exhausted cow-punchers slept as if in death, safely under guard, two men were riding along the Ford’s Station Sagetown Trail well to the east of the Backbone, chatting amicably and smoking the same brand of tobacco. One of them sat high up in the air on the seat of a stage coach, from where he overlooked his six-horse team. His face was wreathed in grins and his expression was one of beatific contentment. The other cantered alongside on a dirty brown horse which had a white stocking on the near front foot, keeping close watch of the surrounding plain, his mind active and alert.

Bill Howland laughed suddenly and slapped his thigh with enthusiasm: “Say, Orphant,” he cried, “you are shore raising h–l with that Cross Bar-8 gang! You has got them so tangled up and miserable that they don’t know where they are! If their brains was money they’d have to chalk up their drinks. They’re about as dangerous as ossified prairie dogs. They remind me of the feller who kicked a rattlesnake to see if it was alive, and found out that it was. No, sir, they shore won’t die of brain fever. Why, they ain’t had any sleep for a week, have to work double hard, eat what they can cook in sieve tins, and can’t say their soul’s their own after dark. They could get rest if they quit working one day and all but one get plenty of sleep. Then the other feller could get his at night. But they don’t know enough. Oh, it’s rich: the whole blamed town is laughing at ’em fit to bust. It’s the funniest thing ever happened in these parts since I’ve been out here.”

Then he suddenly paused: “Say, Sneed sent a puncher to town this morning. It was that brass-headed, flat-faced Bucknell, what you tied up by the cañon. He begged the sheriff to swear in a dozen bad men and come out and protect his foreman and the rest of the outfit. And the pin-headed wart went and blabbed the whole thing right in front of the Taggert’s saloon crowd, and he shore had to blow, all right. He shore did, and that gang’s always thirsty.”

The horseman flecked the ashes from his cigarette and smiled: “Well?” he asked, looking up.

“So Shields took Charley Winter and the two Larkin boys and went out to the ranch right after the puncher went back. So you want to go easy to-night or you’ll touch off some unexpected fireworks and such. Shields and his men will stay out there for several days and nights. That’ll give the crazy hens a chance to rest up a bit nights. But you be blamed careful about them pinwheels and skyrockets or you’ll get burned some. Now, don’t you even remember that I told you about it. I wouldn’t-a said nothing at all, seeing as it ain’t none of my business, only you went and got me out of a tight place, and Bill Howland don’t forget a favor, no siree! You gave me a square deal and a ace full on kings with them animated paint shops, and I’ll give you a lift every time I can. It wouldn’t be a bad scheme to watch for me once in a while–I might have some news for you.”

Bill’s offer, plain as it was that he wished to help, not only because he was in debt to the outlaw, but also because he wished to have safe trips, touched the horseman deeply. Never in his life had The Orphan been offered a helping hand from a stranger; all he could hope for was to get the drop first. He rode on silently, buried in thought, and then, suddenly flipping his cigarette at a cactus, raised his head and looked full at the man above him.

“You play square with me, Bill, and I’ll take care of you,” he replied. “The less you say, the less apt you are to put your foot in it. I’ll hold my mouth about your information, for if Shields knew what you’ve just said he’d play a tune for you to dance to. The Cross Bar-8 would shoot you before a day passed. Any time you have news for me, tie your kerchief to that cactus,” pointing to an exceptionally tall plant close at hand. “Do it on your outward trip. If I see it in time I’ll meet you somewhere on the Sagetown end of the trail on your return. I’m going back now, so by-by.”

“So long, and good luck,” replied Bill heartily. “I’ll do the handkerchief game, all right. Be some cautious about the way you buzz around that stacked deck of a Cross Bar-8 for the next few days.”

The Orphan wheeled and cantered back, making a detour to the south, for he had a plan to develop and did not wish to be interrupted by meeting any more hunting parties. Bill lashed his team and rolled on his way to Sagetown, a happy smile illuminating his countenance.

“They can’t beat us, bronchs,” he cried to his team. “Me and The Orphant can lick the whole blasted territory, you bet we can!”

SHORTLY after nightfall a rider cantered along the stage route, fording the Limping Water and rode toward the town, whose few lights were bunched together as if for protection against the spirits of the night. He soon passed the scattered corrals on the outskirts of Ford’s Station and, slowing to a walk, went carelessly past the row of saloons and the general store and approached a neat, small house some two hundred yards west of the stage office. He appeared careless as to being seen; in fact a casual observer would have thought him to be some cowboy who was familiar with the town and who feared the recognition of no man. But while he had no fear, he was alert; under his affected nonchalance nerves were set for instant action. He was in the heart of the enemy’s country, in the crude stronghold of the Law, and if anything hostile to him occurred it would happen quickly. And he was familiar with the town, because he had on more than one occasion ridden through and explored it, but never before at such an early hour.

Arriving at his destination he dismounted and, leaving his horse unrestrained by rope or strap, walked boldly up to the door of the sheriff’s house and knocked. Soon he heard footsteps within and the door opened wide, revealing him standing hat in hand and smiling.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said uneasily.

The sheriff’s wife stepped aside and the light fell full on his face. For an instant she was at a loss, and then the fresh scar on his forehead and her husband’s good description came to her aid. She gasped and stepped back involuntarily, astonished at his daring. Her act allowed her companions to see him and the effect was marked. Miss Ritchie sat upright in expectation, her face beaming, for this was as romantic and unexpected as she could wish. Mary gasped and dropped her hands to her side, not knowing what to do or say, while Helen slowly laid her work aside and leaned forward slightly, regarding him intently, a curious expression on her face.

“I only called to ask how the ladies were,” he continued slowly, turning his hat in his hands, apparently not noticing Mrs. Shields’ surprise. “I was afraid they might have–that their recent experience might have bothered them some.”

Evidently it was to be only a social call, and Mrs. Shields owed something to this fair-minded and chivalrous man. She smiled kindly, remembering that the caller was rather well thought of by her husband–he was not a man for women to fear, whatever else he might be.

“It is very kind of you,” she replied. “Won’t you come in?” she asked from the habit of politeness, hardly expecting that he would do so.

“Thank you, I will be glad to for a minute,” he responded, slowly stepping into the room, where he suddenly felt awkward and not at all comfortable.

Helen picked up her work to fasten a thread, and he found himself marveling at the cleverness of her fingers. Again laying the work aside, she arose to meet him, a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes. It was so unusual to have been saved by an outlaw whom her brother had tried to capture, and still more unusual to have him dare to call on her in her brother’s own house, especially after her sister’s direct cut at the coach.

“Won’t you be seated?” she asked, indicating her own chair