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About Vernonia eagle. (Vernonia, Or.) 1922-1974 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 22, 1937)
VERNONIA EAGLE, VERNONIA, OREGON GUNLOCK RANCH "= Copyrtrbl Frank H. Spnarmaa CHAPTER IX—Continued —11— After a painful night, Jane rose early to go again Into town. In the yard she encountered McCrossen. “Ridin' out?” he asked. “I am.” “I'll saddle up for you.” “Have the horses been fed?” “Yep.” “I’ll saddle up myself." “Your father rode over to the pas tures with Page this mornin’,” vol unteered McCrossen, walking along side Jane. She made no answer; in deed, she rather quickened her pace; her companion stepping up his own. “Your father left word I was to ride out with you, if you went off the ranch.” “I don’t need anybody to ride out with me.” “I don’t care a rap what the old man says. I’ll ride out with you if you want me. If you don't, say so.” “I don’t” “O. K.” Jane undertook to mount “Look here, girlie!" said McCros sen suddenly. “Why don't you like me?” Without further preface than a laugh he caught her In bis arms. “I'll do anythin’ to please you." Jane, struggling angrily, stood pinned. He laughed immoderately at her efforts to tear herself away. She rained blows on him with her fists. “Let me go!” she panted. “1 hate you.” Still laughing, be tried to talk down her anger. She got away from him. “Hate me as much as you like, Janie, but I’m goln’ to have you. I’ll kill any man that tries to take you away from me,” he continued coolly. Panting, and furious with anger and fear, she got into her hand the riding whip dangling from her wrist and lashed him across the face and head. As she dashed away, McCrossen drew paper and tobacco from his pocket, rolled a cigarette, and lick ing the paper’s edge as he looked after Jane riding toward Denison’s ranch, struck a match, lighted up, and started for the bunkhouse. Jane, her heart beating tumultu ously, galloped swiftly along the trail, completely upset by McCros- sen’s bullying and the worry in her breast. Instead of heading first for town, she rode over to Denison's ranch. The sight of the ranch-house ruins was a shock, even though she tried to steel herself against it. A man down near the corral was leading one of Denison's horses to the barn. “Are you Ben Page?” asked Jane abruptly. “Yes’m." “How did this happen, Ben?” she asked sympathetically. “You tell," he returned sullenly. “Tell me all about it, Ben. I’m from Gunlock and a friend of Bill’s.” He regarded her with suspicion. “Must be the only one he’s got over there,” he growled. Jane swallowed. “I hope it Isn’t as bad as that,” she exclaimed. “Whai caused thia dreadful fire, Bent' “How the hell should I know?” “Don’t know what caused the fire, eh' Well, you ought to at least know how to be civil to a lady. Since you don't, I advise you to come over and take a lesson from your brother Bull.” Jane galloped swiftly away, more than ever upset mentally Once in town, she sought Dr. Carpy She encountered him in the street. They walked together back to his office “How are you, Jane?” asked the doctor. “I just rode in from Bill’s. He has Ben Page there looking after things, and the Insolent blockhead wouldn't even answer me civilly when I tried to find out how it hap WNU Snrvlon pened—so I rode away into town." “That fire has stirred Bill up ter ribly—out of all proportion to its Importance. It maybe was done to annoy him." Jane looked frightened. “Why, doctor! What do you mean? Do you believe the ranch house was set on fire?” Carpy was taken aback. He had said more than he meant to. “Why, no one can tell for sure about that, of course. Some drunken Indian might have set It afire.” “To annoy Bill?” asked Jane in credulously. “You can’t tell,” persisted the doctor, gathering courage as be proceeded. “How is he coming on, doctor?” "All right, so far. It'll take time to tell the story, Jane, just’s I said." “Could I see him this morning, do you think?” “It it was anybody else on earth, the answer would be no. If you go over, don’t stay long, and tell Sis ter Virginia It's O.K. with me—back here at twelve to take lunch with me—promise?” “I promise.” “And remember”—Carpy raised the forefinger of his right hand— “mum's the word.” The utter absence of authentic de tails concerning the cause of the fire called for a more active effort on the part of the imagination; and this in turn indicated its stim ulation at Jake Spotts' bar. So the old guard were gathered on this morning still discussing the “out rage." Among those grouped at the in ner end of Spotts’ long bar were three veterans of the frontier. Hen ry Sawdy, calm, portly, pulled re flectlvely at his long-horned mus tacblos and fingered his well-filled glass without raising it to his lips. John Lefever, likewise full-bodied as old port, whistling “sotto vokey,” as Sawdy described It, twirled his glass and listened for the next fire theory offered by Jim McAlpin, the thin, nervous, weath er-beaten-faced liveryman. Toward this trio there now saun tered Bill Pardaloe. “What’s the last news, boys?” he asked in a general appeal. “Just like the first and that's nothin’ at all,” said McAlpin. “Give me the same, Oscar, with more bit ters. Hold on, boys! By the Lord, if I’m alive, there comes Ben Page now.” “Hey I Ben! This way,” cried Sawdy as the stumpy bowlegged cowman walked down the barroom towards them. “Come along and wet up.” “Well, Ben, demanded Sawdy, when the glasses were set down, "what about the fire?” "I jumped through the window.” The longer the group tarried the more resentful they grew at the thought of Bill Denison's being burned out. It was at last decided to let Sawdy and Pardaloe ride to Denison’s together to make an “offi cial investigation.” They took the Reservation trail and halfway out met Bob Scott riding Into town. The two adventurers halted Bob, explained their errand, and asked him to join them. Scott wheeled his horse around, and the three galloped for Deni son’s ranch. That night, late, Sawdy, Lefever, McAlpin, Pardaloe, and Ben Page met. “Boys,’ began Sawdy, gravely, when the doors were carefully shut and outer approaches examined, ‘it's just’s we figured—dirty work out at Bill’s ranch. It was lucky Pardaloe and I picked up Bob Scott He’s magic on trailin’. If It hadn't been for Bob, Pardaloe and me'd been scratchin* around Bill's place yet. There wasn't a thing to show where or how the fire started—the job was too well done. But what couldn't be tov ered up was the ground sign In the yard. Who’d been there last? Lucky for us, there wa'n’t many horses'd been runnin* around the yard. Bob spotted three; one was Music, Bill's horse—Ben’s been rldln’ her. The other two were Gunlock horses, boys. Qne that Jane rides—that was fresh track. But there was older track—of a Gunlock horse." “Gunlock horse?” echoed Lefever. In the murky light of the lantern Sawdy pulled his mustachlo delib erately. “A Gunlock horse," he re peated. "And it was the sorrel gelding that most of you’ve seen. Bob knows every horse in the hills by his hoofs, and as luck would have it, he himself traded the sor rel to McCrossen about a year ago. “That horse was over to Bill’s place maybe thirty-six to forty-eight Lours before Scott read the sign. Three Veterans of the Frontier. The man that rode that horse over to Denison's night before last knows a lot about who started that fire. Who rode it? “That horse, boys, has been rode by Barney Rebstock since he's roost ed over at Gunlock with his old pal and boss, Gus Van Tambel. After Bob fixed on the sorrel, Pardaloe sends him up around by Gunlock to scout the question, who rides the sorrel. Then Pardaloe and I rode straight back to town to send out Carpy. You see, Bob could appear up at Gunlock casual-llke and ask questions and nobody would think anythin' about it. Bob rides In and out there often. "Of course, he had to be careful. But there's two honest men over there, Bull Page and the Chink. Bob set down in the kitchen for a cup of coffee—hadn't had no break fast—and buzzes the Chink. Final ly he comes around to the sorrel he’d traded in to the ranch, and asks who rides it now. ’Rebstock,’ says the Chink. “Then Bob waits for Bull Page. He asks Bull whether he thinks there's any chance to get McCros sen to trade the sorrel back to him. Finally he asks Bull who’s rldln' the sorrel. Bull says since Barney Rebstock come back, he asked Mc Crossen if he could fasten onto the sorrel and McCrossen said yes.” Sawdy paused again. There was a general silence. “That’s the story, boys. No, hold on! Barney and Van Tambel left the ranch at daylight this mornin’ for the pastures, with Barney on the sorrel I” "Story enough," grunted McAlpin. “But," he continued, “Barney’s pret ty cute. If he was goln’ to start a tire, wouldn’t be take somebody “Ise's horse?" “I thought that way for a while," Intervened Pardaloe. “But Barney can be careless, too—you know that, boys. So I asked Bob to find out. was Barney out that night of the fire; was the sorrel out. Old Bull is a nighthawk around Gunlock— you know that. He may have sus pected what was In Bob's mind, but he wouldn’t give a whoop anyway. He hates Barney like poison. He told Bob that Barney was the only man outside the bunkhouse that night. And he heard him rldln' away.” Sawdy stopped the general dis cussion. “Boys, what you goln’ to do?” Pardaloe rose. Some experience In frontier courts of this kind had convinced him that it was time for a sheriff or an ex-sheriff to be mov ing on. “Run along, Bill,” added Sawdy. “We'll see you later—maybe.” With the ex-sheriff gone, Sawdy called for opinion as to what, if any. action should be taken. “If any I” exclaimed McAlpin, echoing the words scornfully. “Man alive, you know It ain't a question of ‘if any’ action. It’s a question of what kind of action.” “Got a rope here, McAlpin?” “Got ’em big and little, old and new.” "Don’t misunderstand me, boys," interposed Sawdy. “I want to string him up and down a few times to get the story out of him. A lit tle argument like that’ll bring it.” "Boys," said McAlpin, “I’ve an idea you can catch Rebstock right here in town. If he set the fire, he's got money aplenty. It's burnin’ holes in his pockets. Catch your cat in the Red Front saloon; call him out the back door; set him on a horse and ride him down to the bridge—that’s gentlemanly and pri vate.” “It’s the first time in your life, but I guess you are right, McAl pin,” said Sawdy. "We’ve just got to set the rope watch on Barney.” Ten minutes later found the worthies concealed—except McAl pin, detained at the barn—lined up at Jack Spotts’ bar. “Have you seen Barney Reb stock this evenin’?" asked Lefever, casually. Spotts’ face darkened—he, too, hated Barney. “I ain’t seen him, and don't ask nothin’ like that to make me swear. Boys," he added, addressing the group, “you know Panama spent a whole year tryln’ to break me of my bad habit of swearin’. Now, when it’s too late for him to know. I’m goln’ to quit swearin’. I give public notice, here and now, If any damned man gets me so angry I’ve got to swear, I’m not goln' to cuss him out, like I used to. No 1 I’m just goin’ to lick hell out of him then and there, so you fellows can tell the boys what to expect” At that moment the back screen door banged on its hinges and Mc Alpin, sharp-faced, keen-eyed, and out of breath, rushed Into the room. With much celerity and many pantomimic gestures, the Scotsman drew Sawdy far into an empty cor ner of the saloon. “What’s up, Scotty f “He’s In there," whispered McAl pin. “He's In there right now I” “Who? "Barney!” “Where r “In Boland's saloon I I seen the sorrel standin' at the hitch rack In front when I come along up street, to join you here, so I went in. Hur ry, he’s there!” Sawdy pulled a moment at his mustache. “No hurry,” he said re flectively. “It's early yet for him. It he’s our man, he's got a pocket ful of money to blow." He thought a minute further. “Look here, Scotch! Tell our boys over there at the bar to string out quiet and meet back of the barn. Watch your chance. Sneak around to the hitch rack and get the sorrel down to the barn on an old feed-bill claim. I'll tackle Barney in the saloon and see what chance there Is to gettin’ him down there. Got a rope ready?” “I have.” “Vamos 1” McAlpin joined the men at the bar. Sawdy slipped out the back door and, half a block down the alley, walked out into River street and down to the Red Front saloon. But from the moment the big ad venturer stepped out of the back door of one saloon and In at the front door of the other, a curious change took place. He bad left Spotts' place sober—Sawdy was in fact a very moderate man. He strode Into the Red Front reeling. The bar was well filled. Sawdy saw at a glance that among the men lined up there were a number of town loafers who never drank ex cept at somebody’s expense. When Sawdy caught sight of Redstock with the loafers around him. Infer ence was swift and correct Bar ney had money. The saloonkeeper, Harry Boland, foxy-eyed and alert at the head of the bar, saw Sawdy stagger in through the green baize; he watched the big fellow closely. Sawdy zig zagged back towards the loafers among whom Barney was holding forth. He greeted Barney gravely, then ordered drinks for everybody tn Barney Rebstock’s honor. Having lingered over the round, Sawdy cast his eye approvingly upon the thirsty crowd, passed the forefinger of his right hand thoughtfully under each wing of his mustache in turn, drew from a vest pocket a gold double eagle, and made a general pro posal. “I'll match any man here for twenty-dollar gold pieces.” It was a fairly safe offer, because be well knew all the loafers put together could not raise twenty dollars. Barney, after some shilly-shally ing, accepted the challenge. He asked Boland to lend him a gold piece. When Boland produced a twenty-dollar coin and tossed it out to Barney, it did not take Sawdy long to figure out tjiat Barney had money and that it was in the keep ing of the saloonkeeper. Sawdy, notoriously lucky at matching, lost out after several trials: be quit forty dollars to the bad. But he had Barney greatly Inflated by his triumph, with the whole room crowd ing eagerly around the contestants. After a round of drinks at Bar ney's charge, Sawdy brought the talk around to a fine-looking sorrel outside at the hitch rack. Barney claimed it. Sawdy wanted to buy it. Barney demurred. Boland heard the talk. He drew Barney to the rear end of the bar. “Sell it to him, you fool,” whis pered Boland. “Don’t you see he's drunk as a fiddler? You can get twice what the horse is worth.” Thus encouraged, Barney stepped out of doors with Sawdy, followed by a little circle of the curious. The horse was gone. This fact caused no great excitement; Sawdy suggested he had got loose and strayed up or down the street and that they take a look around to find him. The curiosity of the crowd weakened, and they re-entered the saloon, hoping for another chance to get a drink. Sawdy and Barney walked down the street together, wrangling as they went over the mischance ano the merits of the missing horse. As the pair passed McAlpin's barn it occurred to Saw dy they had better look in and ask for information. CHAPTER X lantern lighted the A HANGING bar gangway dimly. Sawd.v's call for a hostler was answered by McAlpin himself, who, lantern in hand, ambled in his peculiar gait briskly forward. “Hello, Mac,” exclaimed Sawdy, waving like a tall tree In a number four breeze. “We’re looking for Barney's horse," he continued gruff ly—“got loose up the street just now—seen anythin’ of a stray?” McAlpin, raising bis lantern, looked at Rebstock. “Why, yes, I seen a stray,” be admitted sulkily. "Was It a sorrel?” asked Sawdy with some hope. “It was a sorrel, Sawdy; saddled and bridled. What about It?” “It’s probably Barney's horse. Let’s see IL Where Is It?” McAlpin Jerked his head back over his shoulder. “In the box stalL Your horse, Barney?" (TO BE CONTINUED)
