The Bandit of Hell's Bend by Edgar Rice Burroughs (ebook reader web .txt) 📕
"You damn pole-cat!" he exclaimed, his eyes on Gum. "Come on, Bull; this ain't no place for quiet young fellers like us."
Bull wheeled Blazes and rode slowly through the doorway, with never a glance toward the sheriff; nor could he better have shown his utter contempt for the man. There had always been bad blood between them. Smith had been elected by the lawless element of the community and at the time of the campaign Bull had worked diligently for the opposing candidate who had been backed by the better element, consisting largely of the cattle owners, headed by Elias Henders.
What Bull's position would have been had he not been foreman for Henders at the time was rather an open question among the voters of Hendersville, but the fact remained that he had been foreman and that he had worked to such good purpose for
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“All right,” said he. “It’s been a long time since I have ridden, but I guess it’ll come back to me quick enough. I might be able to give you a few pointers at that.”
He walked up to Gimlet’s off side and took hold of the saddlehorn, neglecting the reins, which Willie still held. Gimlet eyed him sadly. When he essayed to place a foot in the stirrup the pony side-stepped rapidly in the opposite direction.
“You’d better mount from the other side, Mr. Corson,” advised Diana. “These horses are not broken to work with from the off side.”
“I knew all along he was a damn Injun,” remarked Idaho.
“An’ you better take the reins, you may need ‘em,” supplemented Willie, who, at bottom, had a kind heart and shrank from bloodshed.
Corson walked to the near side of Gimlet, gathered the reins loosely in his right hand, stuck a foot into the stirrup, took hold of the horn with both hands and pulled himself laboriously into the saddle. Gimlet stood quietly.
“Giddap!” said Mr. Corson, but Gimlet moved not.
“Throw the hooks into him!” shouted Willie, gleefully.
“Why don’t the old skate go?” demanded Corson, shaking the reins.
“Use your spurs!” called one of the cowboys. “That’s what you bought ‘em fer, ain’t it?”
Mr. Corson used his spurs. The result was electrical, galvanizing Gimlet into instant and surprising action-action which glowingly elucidated the derivation of his name. He wheeled dizzily round and round upon the same spot, and with lightning rapidity.
Mr. Corson’s funny hat flew off. He clawed at the horn in intervals that he was not clawing at the loose reins in a mad effort to gather them. Then Gimlet stopped and commenced wheeling again. Mr. Corson lost a stirrup. Then he let go both reins and seized the horn with two hands.
“Stop him!” he yelled. “Stop him! Whoa! Whoa!”
“Rip him open!” shrieked Willie. “Spur him in the eyes!”
“Ride him, cowboy!” yelled Idaho.
Again Gimlet bolted and this time Mr. Corson commenced to slip dangerously to one side. A hundred-yard sprint back to where he had started and Gimlet paused to wheel once more. It was the end. Mr. Corson spun off, alighting on his back. He rolled over with surprising agility and on his hands and knees crawled rapidly away from this man eater that he was sure was pursuing him. But Gimlet was only standing dejectedly, with drooping ears.
Corson came to his feet. The men about him-rough fellows with none of the finer sensibilities of New Yorkers-were laughing rudely.
“It was a put-up job,” he spluttered. “It was a put-up job. You’ll suffer for this, Colby! You told me that animal was gentle.”
“I told you he wouldn’t pitch mister!” snapped Colby. “An’ he didn’t pitch.”
Miss Manill had started back toward the house. “I think I’ll not ride this morning,” she said.
“‘COME here!’ he yells then to the rest o’ us boys,
‘Step up to the fun’ral an’ don’t make no noise
The while we inter all the barbwire what’s here,
After which we’ll dispose o’ the seegars an’ beer.’”
sang Texas Pete. “Hello! See who’s came!”
Bull entered the bunkhouse with a grin and a nod. “Still singin’ I see, Pete,” he said. “Ain’t you finished thet one yit?”
Two weeks had slipped by since the arrival of Corson and Miss Manill. Bull had just been relieved from duty as bullion guard and was only now returning to the home ranch. In the weeks that he had brought the gold down from the mine there had been no holdup-The Black Coyote or Gregorio had not once been seen.
“How’s everything?” asked Bull.
“So-so,” replied Texas Pete.
“Where’s Colby? I gotta report to him.”
“Up at the house-he eats there now.”
Bull made no comment. He thought he understood why Hal Colby ate at the house. One day soon, doubtless, he would sleep there, too, as master.
“This Manill heifer got stuck on him an’ insists on his eatin’ there,” explained Pete. “Things ain’t been the same since them two shorthorns hit the diggin’s. The boss she looks tired and worried all the time an’ sadlike. I reckon she ain’t got no more use fer ‘em than the rest o’ us.”
“Is Colby gone on this Manill girl?” asked Bull.
“I dunno. Sometimes I reckons he is an’ sometimes I reckons he ain’t. Looks like as if he weren’t quite sure which side his bread was buttered on an’ he’s waitin’ to find out.”
Bull busied himself arranging his blankets on his old bunk, working in silence. Texas Pete eyed him surreptitiously. There was a troubled look in Pete’s eyes. Presently he coughed nervously. The two men were alone in the bunkhouse.
“Say, Bull,” Pete finally broke the silence, “you an’ me’s ben good pals.”
Bull looked up from the work of folding his tarpaulin. “Who said we ain’t?” he inquired.
“Nobody ain’t said we ain’t,” Pete assured him.
“Then what’s eatin’ you?”
“It’s only just what everybody’s sayin’, Bull,” said Pete. “I thort you’d better know about it.”
“What?”
“Thet you an’ The Black Coyote air the same feller. Not thet it makes any difference with me. I ain’t askin’ whether you air or whether you ain’t. I’m just atellin’ you fer your own good.”
Bull smiled one of his slow smiles. “If I wasn’t I’d say so, wouldn’t I?” he asked.
“I reckon you would.”
“An’ if I was I’d say I wasn’t, wouldn’t I?”
“I reckon you would,” assented Pete.
“Then what the hell’s the use o’ sayin’ anything?” he demanded. “And ‘specially when I don’t give a damn what they think.”
Pete shook his head. “I dunno,” he said.
Bull started for the doorway. “I’m goin’ up to the house to report to Colby,” he said.
“Look out thet Manill heifer don’t git her grubhooks on you,” cautioned Pete.
In the office he found Diana Henders writing a letter. She looked up with a little start as she heard his voice.
“Oh, Bull!” she cried, “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“Thanks, Miss. I come up to report to Colby, but I see he ain’t here.”
“He’s in the living-room with Mr. Corson and Miss Manill,” she told him.
“I reckon I’ll see him later then.” He started to leave.
“Don’t go, Bull,” she said. “I want to talk with you. Please sit down.”
He walked toward her and lowered himself into the big easy chair that had been her father’s. His movements were like those of a lion-silent, powerful and yet without stealth.
For the first time in weeks the sense of loneliness that had constantly oppressed her vanished. Bull was back! It was as if a big brother had come home after a long absence-that was why she was so glad to see him. Her heart forgot the thing that her reason had been practically convinced of-that Bull was the bandit of Hell’s Bend-that it was Bull who had been robbing her father and her for months-that it was
Bull who had shot Mack Harber.
She only knew that she felt relief and safety when Bull was near. Nearly everyone feared him-many hated him. Could they all be wrong? Could she alone be right in believing in him?-as her heart did against the wise counseling of reason.
“Yes, Miss?” he said, interrogatively.
“The Wainrights are trying to buy the ranch again, Bull,” she said, “and Mr. Corson seems to favor the idea.”
“Do you want to sell?” he asked.
“No, I do not; but the worst of it is the price they want to accept-two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for all our holding-ranch, cattle and mine. They are bringing all kinds of pressure to bear on me. Mr. Corson says I must either buy them out or agree to the sale. I haven’t the cash to buy them out and they won’t take my notes.”
“Don’t sell, Miss, at that price, an’ don’t sell at all if you don’t want to-they can’t force you to sell.”
“But they make it so unpleasant for me, and Mr. Corson is always telling me that the bottom has fallen out of the live-stock business and that the new vein in the mine doesn’t exist.”
“The live-stock business is all right, Miss. It wasn’t never better, an’ as fer the new vein that’s all right too. I was scratchin’ around a little bit myself while I was up there these past six weeks. The gold’s there all right. The trouble is that you ain’t got the right man up there-that new superintendent looks to me like a sharper. Did you know the Wainrights was up there often?”
“No! really?”
“Yes, an’ that superintendent is thick as thieves with ‘em.”
“He has no business to permit them on the property.”
“He does though,” said Bull, “but he raised thunder when he found I’d been snootin’ around the workings. I don’t like that hombre, Miss.”
“Everybody seems to be against me, Bull, and it’s so hard to know what to do, now that Dad’s gone. Mr. Corson and my cousin are nagging at me all the time to agree to sell. Sometimes I am almost determined to just to get rid of them.”
“If you want to get rid o’ them, Miss, that’s easy,” said Bull. “All you gotta do is say so an’ I’ll run ‘em off the ranch an’ outta the county. I wouldn’t like nothin’ better.”
“I thought you had taken quite a fancy to my cousin, coming in on the stage,” said Diana.
“The only rope she could ever have on me, Miss, is that she’s your cousin,” replied Bull, and she knew that he meant it. “If you want me to run ‘em out of the country, say the word, an’ I’ll start ‘em in ten minutes-an’ keep ‘em on the jump, too.”
“I’m afraid that wouldn’t do, Bull,” she said, smiling.
“I don’t see why not,” he replied.
Just then, Hal Colby entered the room. He nodded to Bull.
“You back?”
Bull took no notice of a question so obviously foolish.
“How long you ben back?” continued Colby.
“‘Bout half an hour.”
“Why didn’t you report?” Colby was vexed. The easy familiarity of Bull’s attitude, stretched comfortably as he was in Mr. Henders’ chair, and in pleasant converse with Diana, galled him.
“Ain’t you got eyes?” inquired Bull. “Cain’t you see me sittin’ here reportin’ to my boss?”
“You’re supposed to report to me,” snapped Colby.
“I’m apt to do lots of things I ain’t supposed to do,” Bull told him softly.
“I reckon most everybody knows that, too,” said Colby, meaningly.
“Come!” cried Diana. “Don’t you boys quarrel-I have troubles enough now. Bull was looking for you to report, when he came up here,” she told Colby. “He asked for you.”.
“Why didn’t he say so, then? I got some work for him an’ I ben expectin’ him all day.”
“Well, I’m here,” said Bull. “What do you want me to do?” His voice, unlike Colby’s, carried no trace of anger, if he felt any.
“Cramer wants off a few days an’ I want you to go over to the West Ranch an’ look after the hosses ‘til he comes back. They’s some colts over there that needs to be rid-Cramer’ll tell you all there is to do.”
“When do you want me to go?”
“Tonight-that’ll give Cramer a chance to git an early start in the mornin’.”
“All right,” said Bull, rising. “Good night, Miss.”
“Good night, Bull. I may ride over while you’re at the West Ranch. I’ve been intending to look the place over for a month or more. Cramer said we needed some new corrals.”
He nodded and left the room.
“I don’t see how
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