"I think I know," said Lafe.

He left them and went in search of Ba.s.s. He could not find him at the house. Upon that he sped to the corrals, but Mordecai's horse was gone.

The half-breed Baptismo informed him that Ba.s.s had ridden off only a few minutes before. Johnson did not hesitate. He was no longer a sheriff, but he was boss of the Anvil range, and Anvil hospitality had been outraged and dishonored. He would track down the slayer. Arriving at this decision while Horne plied question on question without obtaining a reply, he went to inform Hetty.

"All right," said that young woman sleepily. "Take care of yourself."

It is probable that in her drowsy state she did not appreciate his mission, else she would not have let him go so readily.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

HE ARRESTS A SUSPECT

Johnson caught his most dependable horse and rode out from the Anvil headquarters. Strapped to his hip was a .45 Colt and he had a 30-30 Winchester in his saddle holster. Florence Steel, on foot, overtook him at the gate of the home pasture.

"What's this I hear? Where're you going, Mr. Johnson?"

Lafe told her glibly that he had been sent by Mr. Horne to recover certain cattle which had been run off by hostile nesters during the festivities. It was true that some cattle had been stolen.

"Sure," said Florence, gazing intently into his face. "If you meet up with him, better watch out. A man who'll stab in the back will do most anything."

"What do you know about this?"

"When you catch him," the girl added, "just give him this. Ask if this doesn't belong to him." She thrust into Johnson's hand a large clasp knife. There were blood stains on the blades and handle. Lafe nodded and put it in his pocket. He did not even inquire how the girl had come by it.

About dusk, on the following day, Johnson sighted Ba.s.s moving quietly up a ravine on the west side of The Hatter. Some cottonwoods intervened to spoil a shot. Lafe made a detour and quickened his pace, hoping to head him off. As he emerged from the ravine on to a mesa, Ba.s.s perceived him. Instead of fleeing, he turned his horse and threw up an arm as a caution to Lafe to halt.

"What do you want?" he cried.

"I want you. Better come along quiet. It'll save trouble."

"I wouldn't choose to, thanks. No. I reckon I won't."

Johnson was not one to take chances with an a.s.sa.s.sin. He began to pump his Winchester. At the second shot Ba.s.s's horse lurched forward on to his knees with a scream and stretched out, its legs stiff. His rider scrambled clear and shot Johnson through the fleshy part of his right forearm before he could pull again.

The boss had drawn his six-shooter and was coming on. He coolly changed the weapon to his left hand and threw down on him at twenty yards.

It had often been a.s.serted in Badger that the sheriff could not miss at any distance under two hundred feet. This was scarcely an exaggeration.

He had pulled only once when Ba.s.s held up empty hands in token of surrender. His gun lay on the ground and two fingers of his right hand were gone.

"I reckon I ought to have killed you, Mordecai," said Lafe, "but I couldn't forget that me and you had slept under the same blankets. Do you remember that roundup on the Lazy L? What'd you do this for?"

"I knew you'd think I did it," was all Ba.s.s said, and he began to make a ligature out of his handkerchief.

"Well, get up here in front and come along. We've got twenty-one miles ahead of us. Let's go."

"I know what you want me for," Ba.s.s said, "but you're wrong, Lafe. I didn't do it."

"How do you know it was done, then?" said Lafe. "Only three of us knew when I left the ranch. That was five minutes after we done found him."

His prisoner did not explain, but climbed obediently into the saddle in front of Johnson. Riding thus balanced, the horse could carry both, but it was punishing work, and not until eleven hours later did they make the county town. Lafe turned his prisoner over to the sheriff and saw him safely in jail under lock and key. As he was leaving, he said: "Here's your knife."

"Where did you find it?"

"Where you threw it."

"I done lost it at the dance," said Ba.s.s.

On this Johnson placed the knife in the sheriff's keeping, to be used as Exhibit A. When his arm had been dressed, he returned to the Anvil headquarters.

All the guests had departed and, though Mrs. Horne was prostrated and the cowman much perturbed, the cowboys of the outfit had started on their roundup. A trifle like a murder must not interfere with business.

When he had driven Hetty and the boy home, Lafe joined the chuckwagon at the camp on Bull Creek and took charge of operations.

After supper on the first night Johnson took part in a game of pitch. It was not his habit to play with his men, as being subversive of discipline, but he was worried and needed distraction. Baptismo, the half-breed, was in the game. He was working through the roundup as strayman for the Gourd. Although Lafe lost, the play excited him to cheeriness and he began to drone, as he riffled the cards--

Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me--

"What's the matter, Baptismo?" he asked suddenly.

"Nothing's the matter. Go on and deal," said the strayman. He smiled at Lafe, but his hands were unsteady. The boss played wretchedly and lost more than he could afford.

"Whatever are you thinking about, Lafe?" exclaimed his partner, in exasperation. "I swear I never done saw a raw beginner overbid his hand worse'n you done."

"I'm right sorry. I was studying over something."

On the round next morning the boss made it a point to ride with Baptismo. The outfit was dispersed in a wide semi-circle covering an area five miles in diameter, and moved slowly forward within sight of one another, converging upon a cuplike valley. In this manner they drove ahead of them all the cattle within the limits of their sweep. Usually the half-breed was sent with the first bunch dispersed, for he was a capable hand, but instead of posting Baptismo this morning as he did the others, Lafe kept him at his side. Side by side they trotted slowly through the sage-brush, with the cattle careering in front, pausing often to look back at them. Several times Lafe raised his voice merrily.

"Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee," he sang.

The half-breed glanced at him obliquely and remarked: "You seem right fond of that song, Mr. Johnson."

"Yes? Did I sing that before? I hadn't noticed it," the boss answered, and went on with the verse.

All through the day Johnson kept close to Baptismo. It was quite evident that the half-breed had difficulty holding himself in check under this close espionage, but the only emotion he betrayed was a quickened alertness. And all through the day Lafe sang or hummed the ballad of "The Dying Cowboy."

On the next afternoon, as they were picking their way through a tangle of ocatilla among the foothills, Johnson burst into full-throated song--

Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me-- Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free--

"For the love of G.o.d!" said Baptismo. "Stop that song!"

CHAPTER x.x.xV