The Greatest Westerns of Charles Alden Seltzer - Charles Alden Seltzer

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you have fastened to your saddle (the slicker) would do very well. There. Now get some water!"

      She was down beside the wounded man in another instant, cutting away a section of the shirt near the shoulder, with a knife that she had borrowed from Ferguson. The wound had not bled much and was lower than Ferguson had thought. But she gave it what care she could, and when Ferguson arrived with water—from the river, a mile away—she dressed the wound and applied water to Rope's forehead.

      Soon she saw that her efforts were to be of little avail. Rope lay pitifully slack and unresponsive. At the end of an hour's work Ferguson bent over her with a question on his lips.

      "Do you reckon he'll come around, ma'am?"

      She shook her head negatively. "The bullet has lodged somewhere—possibly in the lung," she returned. "It entered just above the heart, and he has bled much—internally. He may never regain consciousness."

      Ferguson's face paled with a sudden anger. "In that case, ma'am, we'll never know who shot him," he said slowly. "An' I'm wantin' to know that. Couldn't you fetch him to, ma'am—just long enough so's I could ask him?"

      She looked up with a slow glance. "I can try," she said. "Is there any more whiskey in your flask?"

      He produced the flask, and they both bent over Rope, forcing a generous portion of the liquor down his throat. Then, alternately bathing the wound and his forehead, they watched. They were rewarded presently by a faint flicker of the eyelids and a slow flow of color in the pale cheeks. Then after a little the eyes opened.

      In an instant Ferguson's lips were close to Rope's ear. "Who shot you, Rope, old man?" he asked eagerly. "You don't need to be afraid to tell me, it's Ferguson."

      The wounded man's eyes were glazed with a dull incomprehension. But slowly, as though at last he was faintly conscious of the significance of the question, his eyes glinted with the steady light of returning reason. Suddenly he smiled, his lips opening slightly. Both watchers leaned tensely forward to catch the low words.

      "Ferguson told me to look out," he mumbled. "He told me to be careful that they didn't get me between them. But I wasn't thinkin' it would happen just that way." And now his eyes opened scornfully and he struggled and lifted himself upon one arm, gazing at some imaginary object.

      "Why," he said slowly and distinctly, his voice cold and metallic, "you're a hell of a range boss! Why you——!" he broke off suddenly, his eyes fixed full upon Miss Radford. "Why, it's a woman! An' I thought—— Why, ma'am," he went on, apologetically, "I didn't know you was there! . . . But you ain't goin' to run off no calf while I'm lookin' at you. Shucks! Won't the Ol' Man be some surprised to know that Tucson an'——"

      He shuddered spasmodically and sat erect with a great effort.

      "You've got me, damn you!" he sneered. "But you won't never get anyone——"

      He swung his right hand over his head, as though the hand held a pistol. But the arm suddenly dropped, he shuddered again, and sank slowly back—his eyes wide and staring, but unseeing.

      Ferguson looked sharply at Miss Radford, who was suddenly bending over the prostrate man, her head on his breast. She arose after a little, tears starting to her eyes.

      "He has gone," she said slowly.

      Chapter XV. A Free Hand

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      It was near midnight when Ferguson rode in to the Two Diamond ranchhouse leading Rope's pony. He carefully unsaddled the two animals and let them into the corral, taking great pains to make little noise. Rope's saddle—a peculiar one with a high pommel bearing a silver plate upon which the puncher's name was engraved—he placed conspicuously near the door of the bunkhouse. His own he carefully suspended from its accustomed hook in the lean-to. Then, still carefully, he made his way inside the bunkhouse and sought his bunk.

      At dawn he heard voices outside and he arose and went to the door. Several of the men were gathered about the step talking. For an instant Ferguson stood, his eyes roving over the group. Tucson was not there. He went back into the bunkhouse and walked casually about, taking swift glances at the bunks where the men still slept. Then he returned to the door, satisfied that Tucson had not come in.

      When he reached the door again he found that the men of the group had discovered the saddle. One of them was saying something about it. "That ain't just the way I take care of my saddle," he was telling the others; "leavin' her out nights."

      "I never knowed Rope to be that careless before," said another.

      Ferguson returned to the bunkhouse and ate breakfast. After the meal was finished he went out, caught up Mustard, swung into the saddle, and rode down to the ranchhouse door. He found Stafford in the office. The latter greeted the stray-man with a smile.

      "Somethin' doin'?" he questioned.

      "You might call it that," returned Ferguson. He went inside and seated himself near Stafford's desk.

      "I've come in to tell you that I saw some rustlers workin' on the herd yesterday," he said.

      Stafford sat suddenly erect, his eyes lighting interrogatively.

      "It wasn't Ben Radford," continued Ferguson, answering the look. "You'd be surprised if I told you. But I ain't tellin'—now. I'm waitin' to see if someone else does. But I'm tellin' you this: They got Rope Jones."

      Stafford's face reddened with anger. "They got Rope, you say?" he demanded. "Why, where—damn them!"

      "Back of the ridge about fifteen miles up the crick," returned Ferguson. "I was ridin' along the edge of the plateau an' I saw a man down there shoot another. I got down as soon as I could an' found Rope. There wasn't nothin' I could do. So I planted him where I found him an' brought his horse back. There was two rustlers there. But only one done the shootin'. I got the name of one."

      Stafford cursed. "I'm wantin' to know who it was!" he demanded. "I'll make him—why, damn him, I'll——"

      "You're carryin' on awful," observed Ferguson dryly. "But you ain't doin' any good." He leaned closer to Stafford. "I'm quittin' my job right now," he said.

      Stafford leaned back in his chair, surprised into silence. For an instant he glared at the stray-man, and then his lips curled scornfully.

      "So you're quittin'," he sneered; "scared plum out because you seen a man put out of business! I reckon Leviatt wasn't far wrong when he said——"

      "I wouldn't say a lot," interrupted Ferguson coldly. "I ain't admittin' that I'm any scared. An' I ain't carin' a heap because Leviatt's been gassin' to you. But I'm quittin' the job you give me. Ben Radford ain't the man who's been rustlin' your cattle. It's someone else. I'm askin' you to hire me to find out whoever it is. I'm wantin' a free hand. I don't want anyone askin' me any questions. I don't want anyone orderin' me around. But if you want the men who are rustlin' your cattle, I'm offerin' to do the job. Do I get it?"

      "You're keepin' right on—workin' for the Two Diamond," returned Stafford. "But I'd like to get hold of the man who got Rope."

      Ferguson smiled grimly. "That man'll be gittin' his some day," he declared, rising. "I'm keepin' him for myself. Mebbe I won't shoot him. I reckon Rope'd be some tickled if he'd know that the man who shot him could get a chance to think it over while some man was stringin' him up. You ain't sayin' anything about anything."

      He turned and went out. Five minutes later Stafford saw him riding slowly toward the river.

      As the days went a mysterious word began to be spoken wherever men congregated. No man knew whence the word had come, but it was whispered that Rope Jones would be seen no more. His pony joined the remuda; his saddle and other personal effects became prizes for which the men of the outfit cast lots. Inquiries were made concerning the puncher by friends who persisted in being inquisitive, but nothing resulted. In time the word "rustler" became associated with his name, and

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