CHAPTER III

TO THE ROUND-UP CAMP

Supper smelled good to Jack as he entered the house on his return, for he had had nothing to eat since breakfast, and the ride had sharpened his appetite. Mrs. Powell and Bess were putting the food on the table, and Jack was sent to Charley's room to wash his hands. He noticed as he passed through the sitting-room that all was in order, and that here and there the floor was damp, showing that it had been scrubbed after he left.

When they sat down to the table, Jack's first words were:

"Well, he got off all right, and I watched him for a mile or two. He was going fast toward town, and I reckon we won't see him again in this part of the country. What did you do with the other horses, Bess?"

"I took the saddles off, and turned them into the pasture with your string. The two saddle horses are good ones, but I don't know what we ought to do with them."

During the evening much of the talk was about the exciting events of the day, though several times the women tried to get away from the subject by asking Jack about his life in the East and his studies, or by discussing the daily happenings of ranch life.

It was getting late, and Jack was thinking about excusing himself and going to bed, when he noticed that Bessie was holding her head to one side and apparently listening; and in a few seconds Jack heard the faint tramp of a galloping horse, which presently stopped at the barn.

"I'll just go out and see who that is," said Jack.

"You needn't bother, Jack; I know that gallop," Bessie replied. "That's old Kate; and probably father riding her."

"Good!" exclaimed Jack. "All the same I'll just go out and make sure."

He stepped out of the front door and walking around the unlighted side of the house stopped near the kitchen door and looked toward the barn. In a moment he heard footsteps and the clinking of spurs, with the sound of shaps rasping as a man walked, and a moment later recognized Mr. Powell, and stepped forward to speak to him.

"I don't suppose you know me, Mr. Powell, but I'm Jack Danvers from over at Mr. Sturgis' place and I want to say a word to you before you go to the house."

"Why sure I know you, Jack! That is, I know your voice; but I don't believe I'd know your body. Maybe when I get a chance to see your face, I'll recognize that. Are you out here for the summer?"

"Yes, Mr. Powell," was the reply; "but I want to speak to you now before you go in. There has been trouble here at the house; bad business, but no great harm done. It's all over now. Mrs. Powell will tell you the whole story."

The two shook hands and went into the house. Powell kissed his wife and hugged his daughter in a way that showed how glad he was to see them again. Then he sat down and looked about, as if expecting something. Mrs. Powell spoke at once.

"I don't know if Jack told you about what happened here, Henry; but I was badly scared, and I guess Bess was, too, only she didn't show it."

"Well," said Powell, "tell me the story. There's no use in beating about the bush."

Mrs. Powell told him what had happened, and as her story went on, Powell's face took on a stern, hard look that promised badly for the criminals, if one of them should fall into his hands. When the narrative was ended, he turned to his daughter.

"Well, Bess," he said, "you certainly did the right thing: and I feel proud that you were so ready and so plucky. You did well, too," he said to Jack; "but, as I understand it, the thing was all over when you stopped the man who was running away. What's become of him?"

Then Jack took up the story, and told the decision that had been reached and how it had been carried out.

"Well," said Powell, "I believe on the whole you did the right thing. I don't quite think it's what I'd have done, if I'd been here; but if I'd been here I should have been mad clear through and would probably have killed the young fellow offhand."

"That would have been the natural thing to do," Jack replied; "but of course it wouldn't have been the pleasantest thing for Mrs. Powell and Bessie, and I felt that they had both had a pretty hard time, and that what they said ought to go."

"Yes," declared Powell, slowly, as if considering the thing, "you did the right thing. I can see that now, and I'll feel a good deal surer in the morning. I'm glad that neither Charley nor any of those young fellows came on with me from the round-up camp. If they had, I know they would have caught up fresh horses and followed that fellow to the railroad, and very likely caught him before he got on the train.

"Well," he went on, "you've all had a pretty exciting day, and I expect you women had better go to bed. I'll sit up here and smoke a pipe or two, and talk with Jack, and then we'll go to bed too. I'm going back to the camp in the morning, and I expect you'll want to go along too, won't you, Jack? I judge that you're headed for the round-up camp."

"That's where I want to go," agreed Jack. "I came here because I had an idea the camp would be somewhere in this neighborhood, and I thought I could get directions to find it."

After the two women had gone to bed, Powell filled his pipe and then drawing his chair close to Jack they talked together for a little while in a low tone. Jack told his host all that he had learned about the man who had been killed, and when he mentioned his name, Powell exclaimed:

"Why, that might have been the Bill Davis that was mixed up in that train robbing business nearly ten years ago, the one the miners hung Big-Nose George for in Rawlins. If that's the man, he surely was bad, and deserved all he got."

"Well," said Jack, "I went through his clothes but couldn't find any papers. The young fellow gave him the name of Davis. He was a man, I should think, between forty and fifty, just beginning to get gray, a hooked-nosed man, with black hair and mustache."

"I never saw Davis," said Henry Powell; "only heard of him."

"The young fellow," Jack went on, "didn't seem to be bad. He seemed to be worthless, and no account. He had no great amount of sand, and was always looking around to find some way to get out of the difficulty."

"I've an idea, then, that he was not mixed up in the thing any farther than being in bad company."

"That's just what I thought," said Jack, "and I believe I'm right. Why, when he talked to me when I turned him loose, he came pretty near crying. I don't think he's a fellow of any force at all, and I don't believe that he will ever get back into this part of the country again."

"Could he get off on the railroad?" asked Powell. "Did he have any money?"

"Yes, he had five dollars of his own, and I gave him five more for his saddle, which he said he would leave at Brown's, and then if he lets me know his address, I will send him fifteen more by mail. Besides that, he left his horse here, and it's a better one than the gray I gave him to ride on. If he gets off on the railroad he's to leave the horse at Brown's, or turn it loose on the range. Of course, ten dollars will carry him some distance, but will leave him afoot wherever he stops. Still, that's a whole lot better than being hanged."

"Well," decided Powell, "I guess you did just right; and I'm glad it all happened as it did. It's a mighty lucky thing for the women and me that you rode up here just as you did. I shouldn't have been afraid of anything more happening to them, but it would have been pretty bad for them to have to get rid of that carcass. Well, let's go to bed."

He stretched out his hand and gave Jack a grip that made the boy wince, and they went to their rooms.

Early the next morning Jack and Powell looked over the horses left there by the strangers the day before. The men had been well mounted, and the saddle and bridle belonging to Davis were new, good and strong. The pack horse was also a good animal, and looked as if it might have speed and endurance.

"Nice horses, aren't they, Mr. Powell?" said Jack. "But I don't know who owns them now."

"Yes," answered Powell; "they are nice horses. You'll find, if you live long enough in this country--maybe you've found it out already--that these rustlers and bad men always do have good horses. They've always got to be ready to skip off when any one gets after them, and they always try to be fixed so as to ride a little faster and a little farther than the man who is chasing them. So they always have good horses and good saddles. As to who owns these horses now, you and I can't say, but I guess nobody has a better title to them than we two, so we'll just hold them until somebody comes along and claims them and proves property. I don't know the brands of any of them. That one on the brown horse might be old Missouri John's "beer mug," blotted. If it is, he'll be along some day and likely know the horse. Now I've got to get Bessie to write some letters for me this morning, and then I want to get some grub and put it on a horse, and after dinner we can start back to the round-up camp and get there before dark. Will that suit you?"

"Yes," replied Jack, "that will suit me to a T; and I am certainly glad to wait for you, to have company on the road over."

"Well," said Powell, "that will be good; then we can turn my pack horse loose and drive him with your _remuda_, and we can get along pretty fast."

As he said this, a call from the house told them that breakfast was ready, and they started back.

"By the way," asked Powell, as they were approaching the house, "what about those guns that you took away from the men yesterday?"

"Why," Jack answered, "you may as well keep them here. I have my own and don't need any more. I think the pair that Davis wore ought to belong to Bess."

Powell smiled.

"Well, maybe they ought to. I guess we'll keep those here, but the one you took from the young man you might as well keep."

"All right," said Jack, "I will; but of course I don't want to pack it around with me now. This one I am carrying came from a horse thief. Do you remember that time four or five years ago when we ran into a bunch of stolen stock on the Sweet Water, and Hugh killed black Bob Dowling? Hugh gave me his pistols, and ever since then I have worn one of them whenever I was in a place where I carried a pistol."

The house this morning looked more cheerful than it had the afternoon before. Mrs. Powell and Bess were bright and smiling, and the breakfast was very good. Soon after the meal was over, Powell began the work of writing his letters by his daughter's hand. Jack went out and strolled about the barns and corrals, and killed time for several hours, and then coming back to the house, interrupted the letter writing by asking Powell if he could not get out the grub that was to be taken to the camp.

"I wish you would," said Powell, "if you haven't anything to do. Mrs. Powell will show you where the stuff is, and all I want to take is a couple of sacks of flour and two slabs of bacon. You will find pack-saddles and riggings hanging up in the storeroom where the grub is, and if you feel like doing it, you might catch up that sorrel horse that you'll find in the pasture, the one with two white feet, and either tie him in the barn, or put him in the small corral, so that we can get him quick when we are ready to pack."

"All right," answered Jack, "I'll do that. First I'll get out the grub and then I'll fix the saddle, and along just before dinner time I'll go down and get the horses and bring them up and put them in the corral. I don't know what horse you're going to ride."

"I'll ride old Kate back again. You know her. She is the brown, with a bald face and one white hind foot. Bring them all up to the corral just before dinner, and then they'll be handy."

It took Jack but a little time to get together the load for the pack horse and set it outside the storehouse; then he went to the barn, saddled up Pawnee and rode into Powell's small pasture where he got together the required horses, and drove them up to the corral.

Dinner was not so cheerful a meal as breakfast had been. It seemed to Jack that the women felt a little nervous about losing their men folk, and before the meal was over this was so obvious that Powell spoke about it.

"You women," he said, "don't want to get scared over nothing. It's my belief that you might rake this country over with a fine-tooth comb and not find another man that would act as mean as that Davis did. You've both of you got good pluck, and have shown it, and I want you to keep on showing it now. All the same, if I were you I wouldn't let any strangers come into the house. People that you know, of course, are all right, but strangers you had best keep off. If they ask what's the matter, tell them you were badly treated once by some strangers, and that you won't risk it again. You, Bess, had better wear your six-shooter all the time, unless you see somebody coming that you know; then I expect you would want to shed it. Somebody will be coming in from the round-up every two or three days; and in the course of a day or two, when this scare you've had wears off, things will go on just as they've always gone on, and you'll have a real good time. Now," he added, as he pushed back his chair, "Jack and me'll go down and pack them animals, and then we'll roll."

The saddling and packing of the horses took but a short time, and after the animals had been turned out, and were feeding on the flat in front of the house, the men went up to say good-bye. The women clung to Powell, and seemed loath to let him go, and they shook hands with Jack in an earnest, cordial fashion that greatly pleased him.

"I don't know what we'd have done, Jack Danvers, if it hadn't been for you," Mrs. Powell said. "We folks will never forget how you helped us out."

Powell waved his hand, and Jack lifted his hat, and they rode off.