The Bandit of Hell's Bend by Edgar Rice Burroughs (ebook reader web .txt) 📕

Not only had he been a trusted foreman, but there was something in the man himself, or rather in his influence upon the imagination of the girl, that made it almost impossible for her to believe that he had shot Mack Harber, another employee, and stolen the bullion from her father’s mine. He had always been reticent and almost shy in her presence. He had never presumed to even the slight familiarity of addressing her by her given name-a customary procedure among the other men, many of whom had seen her grow so gradually from a little girl to a young lady that they scarce yet discerned the change.

Yet she knew that he liked to be with her, though she was far from being sure that she cared for his company. He was quiet to taciturnity and far from being the pleasant companion that she found in Hal Colby. There was something, however, that she felt when in his company to a much greater degree than when she was with other men-absolute confidence in his integrity and his ability to protect her.

Now she was sorry for him since his reduction from a post of responsibility and her loyalty aroused by the inward suspicions she had permitted herself to entertain, to the end that she was moved by something akin to remorse to make some sort of overtures of friendship that he might know that the daughter of his employer still had confidence in him.

It was a quiet Sunday morning. The men were lazily occupying themselves with the overhauling of their outfits, replacing worn latigo and stirrup leather lacings, repairing hackamores and bridles, polishing silver and guns, cleaning boots with bacon grease and lampblack, shaving, or hair-cutting.

Down past the bunkhouse, toward the corrals, came Diana Henders. Presently she would pause near the men and ask one of them to catch up a horse for her. The lucky fellow whom she asked would ride with her.

It was a custom of long standing; but she was earlier than usual this Sunday morning and several of the men worked frantically to complete the jobs they were engaged upon before she should arrive within speaking distance. Two or three affected attitudes of careless idleness indicative of perfect readiness to meet any call upon their time or services.

Texas Pete was cutting the hair of another puncher. He had reached a point where his victim was entirely shorn upon one side, the other displaying a crop of thick, brown hair four or five inches long, when he looked up and saw Diana approaching. Pete tossed the shears and comb into the lap of the victim.

“You-all don’t need a hair-cut nohow,” he announced, strolling away with what he believed to be a remarkable display of nonchalance, along a line that would, quite by accident of course, intercept Diana’s course to the corrals.

The deserted and disfigured puncher wheeled upon him with a loud yell.

“Come back here, you knock-kneed, bowlegged, son-of-a-,” then his eyes, too, alighted upon Diana. His fountain of speech dried at the source, his tanned face assumed a purple cast, and in two jumps he had reached the seclusion of the bunkhouse.

Hal Colby walked deliberately forward to meet the girl, a pleasant smile of greeting upon his handsome face as he raised his wide sombrero in salutation. Had he been on trial for his life at that moment the entire outfit would have voted unanimously to hang him on the spot; but, gosh, how they envied him!

Bull sat, apparently unmoved, with his back against a cottonwood tree, running a wiping rag through the barrel of a revolver. He did not even look up, though he had seen Diana Henders from the moment that she left the house. Bull realized that after .the affair in town that had caused his downfall there was no chance for him to ride with her again for many long days-possibly forever.

“Going for a ride, Di?” asked Colby, confidently, as the girl came abreast of the men.

“Why, yes, I was thinking of it,” she replied sweetly. “I was just going to ask Bull if he wouldn’t catch up Captain for me-the rest of you all seem so busy.”

Colby appeared abashed but not defeated. “I haven’t a thing-to do,” he assured her.

“But I’ve made you ride with me so much lately, Hal,” she insisted.

“I’d rather ride with you than eat,” he whispered.

Texas Pete had made a feeble pretense of searching for something on the ground, apparently given it up in despair, and was passing them on his way back to the bunkhouse.

“I don’t think you oughter ride with-with him, nohow,” continued Colby.

The girl drew herself up, slightly.

“Don’t be nasty, Hal,” she said.

“You know I hate to say that,” he assured her. “I set a heap of store by Bull. He’s one of my best friends, but after what’s happened-you can’t blame me, Di. I think your dad would say the same thing if he knew.”

Bull was halfway to the corrals.

“I’ll have the bosses up in a jiffy, Miss,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Good-bye, Hal,” laughed the girl, teasingly. “You’ll have plenty of time to lay out the work for tomorrow-a foreman’s always busy, you know,” and she walked away briskly after Bull.

As Colby turned back toward the men he saw broad grins adorning the faces of most of them. Texas Pete, just approaching the bunkhouse door, halted, removed his hat with a flourish, bowing low.

“Goin’ to git your hair cut, Hal?” he inquired sweetly. “You know I’d rather cut your hair than eat.”

A loud roar of laughter acknowledged this sally.

Colby, flushing crimson, beat a hasty retreat toward the office.

“Which way?” asked Bull, when the two had mounted.

“I’m going to town to see how Mack is getting along,” replied the girl, watching his face.

“I seen Wildcat Bob yesterday. He said he was getting along fine. Nothing but a flesh wound.”

Neither his voice nor his expression betrayed more than ordinary concern.

“Have you seen Mack since he was shot’?” she inquired.

“Ain’t had time. Colby keeps me pretty busy. Mack was a dinged fool fer gettin’ creased anyhow,” he observed. “When a feller’s got the drop on you, stick ‘em up. They ain’t nothin’ else to do. Mack orter known better than to make any funny gunplay with them two hombres coverin’ him.”

“It was mighty brave of him,” said Diana. “He’s no coward-and he was loyal to Dad.”

“I don’t see nothin’ brave about it,” he replied. “It was just plumb foolishness. Why he didn’t have a chanct on earth.”

“That’s what made his act so courageous,” she insisted.

“Then the feller what commits suicide must be a regular hero,” he rejoined, smiling. “I never looked at it that way. I reckon Mack must have been aimin’ to commit suicide.”

“You’re horrid, Bull. I believe you haven’t any heart at all.”

“I shore have. Leastways I did have one until-” He hesitated, looked at her in a peculiar way, then let his eyes drop to his saddle horn, “Oh, shucks! what’s the use?” he exclaimed.

There was silence for a brief interval. The spirit of coquetry, that is strong in every normal girl, prompted her to urge him on; but a natural kindliness coupled with the knowledge that it would be unfair to him kept her silent. It was the man who spoke again first.

“I was sorry Mack got hurt,” he said, defensively; “but he was lucky he wasn’t killed. That Black Coyote feller must have been a friend of his’n.”

“The brute!” she exclaimed. “He ought to be strung up to the highest tree in the county.”

“Yes,” he agreed, and then, with another of his rare smiles, “let’s speak to Gum Smith about it when we get to town.”

“Gum Smith!” Were it possible to snort Gum Smith she had accomplished it. “If an honest vote had been taken for the worst man for sheriff Gum Smith would have been elected unanimously.”

“Why Gum’s a good sheriff,” he teased, “fer tin horns and bandits.”

She did not reply. Her thoughts were upon the man at her side. Nothing that he had said had exactly tended to weaken her faith in him, yet it had not materially strengthened it; either.

His apparent callous indifference to Mack’s suffering might have been attributed with equal fairness to the bravado of the guilty desperado, or to the conditions and the times in which they lived which placed shootings and sudden death in the category of the commonplace. His suggestion that The Black Coyote must have been a friend of Mack’s, as an explanation of a flesh wound rather than a mortal one, appeared a trifle sinister, though it was amenable to other interpretations. On the whole, however, Diana Henders was not wholly pleased with the result of her probing.

At The Donovan House they found Mack sufficiently recovered to be able to sit upon the veranda, where there were gathered a number of Mrs. Donovan’s other guests, including Wildcat Bob and the sheriff. Mary Donovan stood in the doorway, one hand on a hip and the other, the fist doubled, emphasizing some forceful statement she was delivering.

As Diana Henders and Bull appeared suddenly before them, the argument, which had been progressing merrily, lapsed into an embarrassed silence. It would have been evident to the most obtuse that one or the other of the newcomers had been the subject of the conversation, and neither Bull nor Diana was obtuse, the result being that they shared the embarrassment of the others.

The silence, which really lasted but a brief moment, was broken by Mary Donovan’s hearty greeting to Diana, followed by a cordial word to Bull, which was seconded by Wildcat Bob. The others, however, spoke only to Diana Henders, appearing not to be aware of the presence of her escort.

“Come now,” cried Mary Donovan, “into the house wid ye an’ have a bit o’ cake an’ a cup o’ tay.” But Diana Henders did not dismount.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Donovan,” she replied. “We just rode down to see how Mack was getting along and to ask if there was anything we could do for him.” She turned her glance toward the wounded man.

“I’m all right, Miss,” he replied. “‘Twasn’t nothin’ but a scratch. I’ll be back at the mine in a couple o’ days-an’ guardin’ the bullion shipments, too, same as usual.” He looked straight at Bull as he made this final statement.

“Well,” exclaimed Diana, hastily, “I’m glad you’re so much better, Mack, and if there isn’t anything we can do for you we’ll start back for the ranch.” She sensed the sullen attitude of most of the men there, the scowls they cast at Bull, and she knew that it would require little to precipitate a direct accusation, which would have been almost certain to have been followed by gunplay. “Come, Bull,” she said, and reined her pony about.

They had ridden well out of town when she looked casually into the man’s face. It bore a troubled expression and he must have guessed that she noted it.

“I wonder what was eatin’ them fellers,” he remarked. “No one only Wildcat Bob even spoke to me, an’ Mack seemed gosh-almighty sore about somethin’. Well, they ain’t none of ‘em got their brand on me. If I did shoot up Gum Smith’s joint it ain’t no hair offen none of them.”

The girl wondered if he really was ignorant of the suspicions directed against him, or if he took this means to make her believe that the cause of the altered attitude toward him was his drunken gunplay in the sheriffs saloon.

“I was right sorry about that, Miss,”