# Under His Shirt/Chapter 6
### CHAPTER VI. DOC. PETERS

ONLY a man with a powerful imagination could have looked upon the site of the Peters ranch and seen its possibilities. No part of the ground was level, no part of it was without a surfacing of rocks which grew out of the soil. But, in spite of precipices and rocks and hills and ravines and thundering avalanches and snow slides in the winter and quick-shooting, noisy water courses in the spring season of the melting snows—in spite of all these things, hardy cattle could make a living, and a good living, among the Sumner Mountains. For, among the rocks, the soil was rich, and the grass, where it grew, was thick, long, and nutritious.
But civilization in its westward course had split around the Summer Mountains as around a rock. It was not until Doc Peters came into the Sumner Mountains that any man conceived its possibilities. Doc Peters backed his judgment with his money. In ten years twenty men had followed his example. The Sumner Mountains were filled with odd ranches, in the center of which huge mountains shot up above timber line. But the important thing was that there was plenty of grass for cattle, and cattle multiplied and grew fat.
In ten years Peters had become a wealthy man. He himself did not exactly know how wealthy. What he understood was that when he wanted to buy anything, there was always money with which to buy it; what he understood was that he could give his daughter Miriam all that her heart desired. When the first crash in prices came, Doc Peters was as one bewildered.
Calves which had been selling for fifty-six dollars were suddenly selling for six. On all sides ranchers were ruined in a single season. Then prices began to climb slowly toward normal, and, just as they reached a level at which the ranchers could again make money, rustlers appeared in the Sumner Mountains, There could not have been a better resort for such a business. There were innumerable cuts and cañons, hills and mountains. There were stretches of forest into which ten thousand head might melt and disappear for the time being. And so the rustlers stole here and stole there and waxed fat. If they were pursued, they could generally dodge the pursuers and keep the cattle; at the worst they could abandon their stolen gains and make good their own escape.
That is, they could do all these things until Joe Daly appeared on the scene, as a sort of enforcer extraordinary of the law. Then, to be sure, rustlers were captured right and left, and captured sections of herds were restored to their rightful owners. Every man who was willing to pay tribute—and fat tribute—to Joe Daly, went free. So confident became that gentleman that he actually guaranteed to pay for any loss in stolen cattle out of his own pocket.
Doc Peters, however, preferred to take his losses in cattle rather than to fatten the bank account of that consummate rogue. Rather, it should be said, that Miriam objected. She had left her school to help on the ranch. In the space of a single month she had transformed herself into a cow girl. She had supplied the good will which carried her father cheerfully through that first terrible season of losses. And she was still with him, now that the ranch had begun to climb toward prosperity again, only to be stopped halfway up the ladder by the depredations of the rustlers. Then it was that Joe Daly came, offering his protection. Every one knew his game. He had begun the entire rustling operations in the Sumner Mountains. Now he was choosing this novel means of freezing out his competitors. And he himself would prey on those who refused to pay him tribute for protection. It was a neat game. But, though every one saw through it, no one knew how to avoid the wiles of Joe. While Doc Peters was gravely conferring with this smiling robber, Miriam herself appeared on the scene. She had gone to work upon Joe Daly with a speed and effectiveness that bewildered that cunning ruffian. Every word she spoke was a crushing blow to him.
"Mr. Daly," she had said, "I've heard your talk with dad. You offer to protect us with your men. I want to be sure that you have men!"
"There ain't any doubt of that," Joe Daly had grinned. "Everybody has seen my boys around. And they're a hardy gang. Eh, doc."
Doc Peters made a wry face and nodded.
"Most of them have been with you ever since you came into the mountains?" asked the girl.
"More or less."
"Then what have they been doing to make a living, Mr. Daly?"
"Eh?" he grunted at her.
"You haven't a ranch," she answered sharply. "How have you managed to support all those men during these months?"
Joe Daly swallowed hard. "Oh, just doing one thing or another," he had said.
"Hush up, Miriam," her father had said, in pity for the humiliation of Joe.
"I will," she had said, "when I've told him what I think everybody in the Sumner Mountains guesses about him. They all say, Mr. Daly, that you've been making your living by rustling cows. But, whether you have or not, we'll pay no money for protection. We have a sheriff for that job. We'll hire some deputies for him, but you'll get nothing out of us, Mr. Daly."
Joe Daly listened to this outburst with a wicked smile, and when he left the ranch he had vowed to wipe it clean of live stock.
Industriously he set to work to accomplish this object. Time and again droves were herded away. Time and again the men on the Peters place vainly rushed into the mountains or down the cañons in pursuit. Once or twice they had come close, but they had been repelled by a rattling volley from half a dozen repeating rifles. One such warning was enough; they fell back and waited until another day. But the day never came when their force to pursue was nearly as great as the force of the thieves in flight to defend themselves. On the whole there could not have been a more hopeless war. And so it was that Doc Peters sent away to the far, far south and brought up a terrible man of battle, Dan Bunder. The price which Dan Bunder charged for his services was high, but he was worth it.
His sharp instinct for trouble led him into it before he had been on the ranch twenty-four hours. He came upon a lone horseman in the hills, challenged him, and was answered with a bullet. That bullet flew wide, for the ample reason that the slug from Dan's own gun had smashed through the body of the other. He took the man to the ranch house where he died from loss of blood, refusing to the last to tell his name, or his errand in the hills, or who, if any one, was connected with him. Nevertheless it was known that he was one of the gang.
After that first signal victory, Dan was not quiet. He scouted abroad again, hunting for scalps with all the joy of any Indian. He came on three of Joe Daly's best men engaged in running off a few young steers for the larder in Daly's camp. There followed a terrific battle. One of Joe's men was mortally wounded; another was shot twice through the body, and he was brought back to Daly's camp to die. The third member of the party had been shot through the left arm and nearly bled to death on the trail.
There was a muster of forces among the rustlers and a review of what had happened. They found that three of their men had been killed and one had been wounded by this man-slaying demon from the south country. Various means of getting rid of him were suggested, but the chief himself made the most appreciated suggestion. He declared that he would ride down to the ranch, wait for the coming out of the new man hunter, and have it out with him, as soon as they were beyond sight of the ranch buildings.
Daly was as good as his word. The next day Dan Bunder was found dead among the hills, near the ranch house of Doc Peters. There was this peculiarity about the affair! It was found that Dan had fired twice before he died, and at an enemy who, according to the prints of the horses' hoofs, had not been far away. And yet they could find no trace of the effects of his bullets. There was no blood trail, nor was there anything to indicate that a wounded man had spurred desperately away from the place. Instead there were ample tokens that he had come up to the dead body, had examined the pockets and wallet of Dan Bunder, and even lingered to smoke a cigarette at the spot. All this was seen, and it was considered a miracle that so deadly a shot as Dan should have actually fired twice without inflicting the least apparent injury upon his opponent!
But there was a greater catastrophe for Doc Peters, following immediately upon the heels of the death of Dan. The tidings of his exploits had made it possible to hire a full quota of cowpunchers for the ranch work. But now the new hands left in a sudden panic. Where Doc Peters should ordinarily have had ten men, his force was limited to five, and these were all such old and decrepit fellows that it was apparent that only the knowledge of their age gave them the courage to stay on the ranch and face the dangers of Joe Daly and Joe's gang.
Such was the situation when, on this dreary night, as Doc Peters sat quietly opposite his silent daughter in the living room of the old ranch house, there came a heavy knocking on the door. When Doc opened it, a red-headed giant was seen standing outside in the night.
"I hear tell," he said, after they had exchanged the usual greeting, "that you want hands?"
"I sure do," said Doc curiously. "Come in and set down."
There entered a monster with intolerably bright and steady blue eyes which roved leisurely around the room; and beside him and a little to the rear was a companion who was quite dwarfed by the comparison, a rather bow-legged man who stood with hanging head.
As Doc Peters said later to his daughter: "A man and a half and half a man makes two men, so the new hands will do pretty good."