Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1944-02-11
CHAPTER II


zled and wondering, sure of one thing.
Toms promises were never small.
"You come south and boss this
trail drive for me-" the letter said,
land I'll make you proposition.
As always when riding the Little
Comanche certain familiar land
marks rose ahead, each one with
special meaning, and he could see
in them the ten years he had spent
here, ever since he was a home
less, drifting kid of fourteen and
Tom Arnold had taken him in.
He could see those growing years
Of school and ranch life and the
close, wild companionship of Three
Apaches-himself and Joy and
Steve. In his young way then he
had thought it would 60 on like that
as long as they lived. The three of
them would always be together.
Even earlier in that evening of the
Ok Bow dance, a year ago, there
had been nothing to warn him. That
was why it had struck so hard.
He remembered joys strange 81
lence on the ride home, with Clay
Manning holding his horse close to
her stirrup, his talk and laughter
even more gusty than usual; and
then the secret that had burst from
him against joys sudden protest,
mo, Clay! Not yeti"
But Clay had said, "Why not? I'll
tell the whole world, honey, you're
going to be my wife!"
He remembered how that word
"wife" had struck into his brain.
She was only little girl! But then
he had looked across his saddle at
her in a new way, brought by that
word, and she was no longer little
girl; she was a woman, nineteen,
ready to marry man.
Something had ended for him that
night, something he had taken for
granted and counted on, unknowing-
ly, until it was suddenly gone. He
had tried to fill that gap with a
new life in Wyoming and knew now
that he never could. It was not
only Joy, he realized. It was what
the three of them had had together,
himself and Joy and Steve.
Guardedly, with all his alert
senses centered on the dark choked
growth of Crazy Woman's mouth, he
moved across the narrow entrance
at slow pace, watching for sign.
Then in a sand wash below the
opening he came upon a swath of
tracks and halted to read them with
a detailed care.
They were all of horses, unshod,
all going into Crazy Woman, none
coming out. That would have been
the bunch, he judged, which old
Willy Nickle had told about last
night. At least twenty in the herd.
He urged his black horse forward,
and in another hour, when a patch
of willow at Ten Mile Spring blocked
the way, it was his eagerness that
made him cut into an opening
through the trunks instead of going
around. He knew instantly it was a
mistake.
Nothing had warned him. This
was an isolated five acres of growth
on the barren valley floor. But it
was also, he saw at once, an ideal
lookout post for the men stationed
here.
His first urge was to rein back
and make run. Yet it was already
too late for that. Four men had
spread out in a little clearing di-
rectly ahead of him, hands close to
their holstered guns. And then, even
as the urge ran through him and
was gone, he knew that whatever
game he was to play here on the
Little Comanche would have to open
some time. He might as we'll open
it now.
He rode in and stepped down from
his saddle, while the outspread four
closed in again to face him across
the ashes of their camp. He nod
ded. How are you, gentlemen? Had
my eyes peeled for bucks and feath-
ers. Glad to see white men again."
He jerked his head south. MAYBE
you can tell me how far to Ok Bow
town."
That eased them. 1t placed him
as a stranger. He saw the tight
readiness 60 out of their arms a
little.
One asked, "You headed for Ok
Bow"
"And beyond" he said. He pulled
out his pipe and loaded it, explain
ing, been coming down the trail"
Squatting, he searched the ashes
for live coal. He found the ashes
warm with bed of fire underneath.
So these men had cooked a noon
meal here and were Warrington
what?
Rising, he faced the one man who
had spoken. whats the brand on
this ranger"
The answer came gruff1y, "Cross
T. Know it,"
He shook his head. "New to me-"