TEX WILLIARD’S MISTAKE
DURING the month which the ran on the A-Y, and the was the of the whole contingent, from the to the cook. The Orphan had taken with a which with each day and the new owner was at the outcome of his plans. The foreman, and happy at his shift in fortune, and consideration. His men that he would not ask them to do anything which he himself to do, which would not have been much to a man, since he nothing; but to them it meant that they had a who would by them through fire and water, and a who respect from his is a man life is easy for him. He had too much of unkindness, 376harshness, to angry at mistakes; instead, he set at work to them, and mistakes were rare. The very men who had once for his life would now to save it. They were proud of him, of the owner, the and themeselves; and of all was Bill, once driver of the stage, but now a hard and under the man who had once him up for a smoke.
Visitors were numerous, and every man who called about the ranch, and after he had at the complete in the man who was its foreman, and in the good of the sheriff. Ford’s Station was openly jubilant, for the town in the of the Cross Bar-8 and in the proof that their was right. And Ford’s Station at the news it heard, for the of the Cross Bar-8 had called twice at the A-Y and was fast his against The Orphan. Sneed had a quiet, in the place of his enemy, and the which in The Orphan’s closed the breach. He had the man in a new light, and when he had said his at the close of 377his second visit the of his hand was strong. As for the Star C, a had been the two and a day passed but one or more of its in to say a to their bunkmate, and to up Bill. The Star C, no less than his own men, by The Orphan.
One the left for a to Chicago and other packing to for shipments, and that he would be away for a week or two. On the night his trouble began. The and houses of the Cross Bar-8 were into, and when Sneed and his men had returned after a search in the dark the at the and swore. Was it The Orphan again? In the of the had he the war? First that he had, but the idea untenable. Why should The Orphan his on the A-Y, his now rich in promise, to work off any hatred? When Sneed had hands with him he in the warm clasp. He would over at and have the settled once and for all. And if 378satisfied that The Orphan was of the he would turn his whole attention to the of the outlaw.
The Orphan was his when he saw Sneed past the corral. The latter’s all the of hard and he looked up at the visitor.
“Good morning, Sneed,” he said pleasantly, and the saddle. “What’s up, anything?”
“Yes, and I came over to out about it,” Sneed answered. “I know how to begin–but here, I’ll tell it from the beginning,” and he related what had occurred, much to the wonder of The Orphan.
“Now,” the visitor, “I want to ask you a question, although I may be a d––n for doing it. But I want to this thing out. Do you know who did it?”
The of the A-Y up, his flashing, and then he that Sneed had some right to question him after what had in the past.
“No, Sneed, I do not,” he answered, “but in two I can name the man!”
379“Good!” Sneed. “Go ahead!”
“Bucknell?”
“No, he was with me in the bunk-house,” the of the Cross Bar-8. “It wasn’t him–go on.”
“Tex Williard,” said The Orphan with decision.
“Tex?” Sneed. “Why?”
“It’s plain as day, Sneed,” The Orphan answered. “He’s at me, but nerve.”
“But, thunderation, how would he you by at us?” Sneed demanded, impatiently.
“Oh, he would up a the sheriff’s by your on me. He you would think that I did it, good and mad, off the and h–l generally. He that I, according to the past, would meet you way and that you or some of your men might kill me. If you didn’t, he that the would me out of this berth, and that one or of us might killed in the argument. He and laugh to himself at how easy it was to square up old from a distance. It’s Tex as sure as I am here, and unless Tex his plans and out of 380this country d––n soon he won’t be long in what he to for.”
Sneed pushed his and grimly: “I that you’re right,” he replied. “But you ain’t at the way I asked, are you? I had to somewhere, you know.”
“Sore?” his companion, angrily. “Sore? I’m so that I’m going out after Tex right now. And I’ll him or know the why, too. You go and post your men about this–and tell them on no account to over my range for a days, for they might they are known. Put a of them to as soon as you back–you need them to keep watch nights.”
He toward the and called to a man who was near it: “Charley, you take that you want and in a good sleep nightfall. I will want of you to work to-night.”
“All right, after dinner will be time enough,” Charley replied. “I’ll take Lefty Lukins.”
The Orphan into the house and returned at once with his rifle, a of water and a of food. As he a on 381his Bill up, his arms and very much excited.
“Hey, Orphant!” he shouted. “Somebody’s some of our near the creek! I his at the Cottonwoods!”
“All right, Bill,” the foreman, “I’ll go out and look them over. You take another and to the Star C. Tell Blake to keep watch for Tex Williard, and tell him to Tex for me if he sees him. Lively, Bill!”
Bill stared, from his horse, took the from its and was soon to in the corral. In a minutes he past his and Sneed heartily. His and and soon he was to over a near the ranch-house.
The of the A-Y over to Charley: “Charley, in case I don’t to-night, you and Lefty keep out here, and shoot any man who don’t at your hail. If I return in the dark I’ll Dixie as soon as I see the lights in the house, and I’ll keep it up so you won’t mistake me. So long.”
Sneed and he away together and soon they parted, the to toward his ranch, 382the toward the Cottonwoods near the Limping Water and along the left by Bill.
When near the The Orphan saw five and he to them.
“Not for long,” he as he the blood on them. He into his and through the grove. “Now, by God, somebody pays for them!” he muttered.
Here was a in things, positions had been reversed, and now he the which he had, more than once, in the of foremen. He from the and along the left by the perpetrator, alert, and angry. Soon the the of the and he stopped and for a seconds. If it was Tex, he would not have toward the Cross Bar-8 and the town, and neither would he have south toward the Star C, north in the direction of the A-Y. He would for the day if he was still to on his game, and would not until night his movements. That left him only the west along the creek, and more than that, the to the south again about five miles 383farther on and too close to the ranch-houses of the Star C for safety. He must have left the water at the turn, and toward the turn The Orphan, for the to on either bank. His were sound, for when he had the of the he up the where it left the water and it westward.
The country around the was very wild and rough, for the cut and in the plain. The was high, and he did not know how soon he might a target. The was very fresh in the soft of the and the and were still wet with sap. Soon he his and on foot, but to one of and with the trail. He had an hour in his and had to having left his so early, when he the report of a gun near at hand and a over his as he to go under a low branch.
He up his arms, the from his hands, and rolled the of the hill and a tree which 384lay against a thicket. As soon as he had this position he in the direction from the had come and, himself screened from on that side, off his and planted them among the bushes, where they looked as if he had in almost out of sight. That done, he along the ground under the protection of the tree and then under it, when he pushed himself, first, into a and waited, Colt in hand, for a of his enemy’s approach.
A of an hour had passed in when a shot, by another, from the hillside. After the of a like another was fired, this time from the opposite direction. He saw a by the and the spat! of the as it a stone. Two more in succession, and then another long of silence. Half an hour passed, but he was not impatient. He most that his man would, sooner or later, come out to the boots, and time was of no consequence: he wanted the man.
Whoever he was, he was cautious, he did not in taking any chances. It was 385almost that he would not until he had been that he had his purpose, for it would be most at some time to meet the man he he had murdered. Another into the place where the should have been, according to the of the boots. It much closer to the thicket, but in the same direction of the last shots. Then, after ten minutes of silence, a snapped, and directly the in which The Orphan was hidden! The foreman’s nerves were now, his every was alert, for his was a most position. He over his into the and that he not the of and branches, which him. He was very that he had himself well into the cover, for soon the and a rolled not more than four off, and in of him, at his right. More and then a and slowly pushed past him into view. The man moved very slowly and and was crouched, his in of his waist. The Orphan see only one of the face, the of the man’s 386jaw and an ear, but that was enough, for he the owner. Slowly and without a the foreman’s right hand at the until the Colt on a line with the other’s heart. The and to one side, that he might see the boots, when a met his ears.
“Don’t move,” the foreman.
The in his tracks, to by the command. Then he slowly his and looked into the gun of the man he he had killed.
“Christ!” he hoarsely, starting back.
“I don’t you’ll know Him,” said The Orphan, his voice very low and monotonous. “Stand just as you are–don’t move–I want to talk with you.”
Tex at him in and not speak, of out on his face, to the of he was in.
“You’re on the of the game again, Tex,” The Orphan said slowly, the narrowly, his gun as a rock. “You still want to kill me, it seems. I’ve you your 387life twice, once to your knowledge, and I told you with the that I would shoot you if you returned; and still you have come to have me do it. You were not satisfied to let as they were.”
Tex did not reply, and The Orphan continued, a of about his lips.
“You were for an outlaw, Tex. If I do say it myself, it takes a man to live at that game, and I know, for I’ve been all through it. As you see, Sneed and I didn’t shoot each other, for the play was too plain, too transparent. You should have one of his men, his and his cattle, for then he might have and talked later. And he might have me, too, for I was unsuspecting. I don’t say that I would kill an man to his anger if I had been in your place, I’m only you where you the mistake, where you blundered. Had you killed one of his men it is very that his would have no bounds, but as it was the was not great enough.”
Tex and at his ear. The Orphan looked at the movement 388and where he had it before, for it was familiar. His as memory something to him out of the dark of the past, and he his to catch a to it. He saw the little his father had so hard over to improve, and had hard to save, and then the picture of his mother came him; but still something his thoughts, something him, on the of the Then and Now. He saw his father’s slowly and in the light of a perfect day, and he at the of what he was seeking, its was tantalizing. The rope!–the rope about his father’s had been of fiber; he the soiled, bleached-yellow which had to Eternity. And were, at that time, a in that part of the country, for and braided-hair had been the rule. And on the day when he had Tex his life in the he had noticed the yellow rope which had at the puncher’s horn. As he with to catch the another came him. 389It was of three men over a cow, in out his father’s brand, and the of one of them into on his canvas.
“D––n you!” he cried, his on the of the Colt which for so many years had been his best friend. “I know you now, as you are! Now I know why you have been so for my death. On the day that I cut my father I that I would kill the man who had him if let me him, and I have him. You have just five minutes to live, so make the most of it, you murderer!”
Tex’s white again and his nerve him. His Colt was in his hand, but oh, so useless! Should he to the end? A ran through him at the thought, for life was so good, so precious; too to waste a minute of it by his time was up. Perhaps the would relent, he would so up in the memories of the years gone by as to forget, just for a second, where he was. The watch in The Orphan’s hand gave him hope, for he would wait 390until the other at it–that would be his only of life.
The foreman’s watch in the of his left hand and the Colt in his right quivered. The minute passed in silence, then the second, then the third, but all the time The Orphan’s at the man him, gray, cruel, unblinking.
“They told me to do it! They told me to do it!” the pitiful, of a man as he opened and his hand. “I didn’t want to do it! I I didn’t want to do it! As God is above, I didn’t want to! They me, they me!” he cried, his an of meaningless sounds. He at the black of the Colt, by terror, by and by despair. The watch on in noise, for his every was now most acute, in upon his brain like the of a hammer. Then the at it. The gun in Tex’s hand up, but not enough, and a of his as he fell. The Orphan back, the Colt into its holster.
“The Orphan a and dropped
the Colt into its holster.” (See page 390.)
391“The of despair!” he whispered. “But I’m he died game,” he slowly added. Then he his in his hands: “Helen!” he cried. “Helen–forgive me!”
