Ernest Haycox - The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox

"I never believe in gossip and I never repeat it," she said. The sight of Lestrade's horse moved her to sympathy. Going over, she led the animal to the shade. "But I am able to judge people fairly well by myself. I find that you can usually tell a man's character by the way he treats his horse."

The shot went home. Lestrade's pink cheeks deepened in color. "Don't let woman's sentiment trouble you so much," he advised a little sharply. "A horse is a horse—nothing more."

"Many men think so," she replied. "I don't."

He let that pass, coming closer to her. "Gracie, I'm here to make an offer. It's plumb unfortunate about the way all our plans went haywire. I'd do 'most anything in my power to right them. But with all that money gone I'm afraid we're busted. It'll mean a loss for most folks and I guess your dad's pretty well tied up like the rest. Now, Gracie, I'd be humbly proud to take that load off him. He's old and he can't fight up the hill like maybe he once could. I've got some money and it'd certainly please me to help."

"Can't you help the rest of the settlers?"

"Lord love you, no. I ain't responsible for them. It's no fault of mine the project is about to go bust. But I can help your dad if—"

"We want no help that others won't get," she said flatly. "We will all share alike."

"Well, I admire that spunk. But think of the old man, Gracie. Just let me take that load from him. Now, I'm not a young man, but I can give you plenty of fine clothes and I can guarantee you a good home—"

He never finished his oblique proposal of marriage. Gracie had been watching him as he spoke. He was an uncomfortably hot and physically unfit specimen as he stood there in the sun, and suddenly she burst into laughter.

"Mr. Lestrade are you asking me to be your wife? Oh, I must tell this to Dad!"

He dropped his attempt at sentiment. One big arm swept out and caught her by the wrist, closing around it until she flung up her head in pain.

"Stop that, you little fool!" he cried. "I'll not have anybody laughing at Jim Lestrade! You think you're so high and mighty, eh? Say, I'll bust you and your old man and leave you out on the road, paupers! You be nice to me, girl."

"Let go of my arm!" Her free hand lashed out and struck Lestrade squarely across the mouth.

The man dropped his arm like a shot and rubbed his lips. A slaty hardness came to his eyes.

"You'll suffer for that, girl."

The screen door of the house creaked, and when Lestrade raised his face he saw Judge Henry standing on the steps, a shotgun leveled on him. The judge was in carpet slippers, a figure shaken as if by palsy and with features the color of putty.

"Mr. Lestrade, I saw you take hold of my daughter. You lay your dirty hands on her again, and I shall kill you. I thought you were a gentleman—but now, get out of my yard!"

Lestrade made an attempt to compose himself. "I was telling Gracie," he offered, "that the valley folks are getting pretty well steamed up. I can't guarantee your safety, Judge. Better collect your things and come off with me. I'm bound for the city—"

"Then you're leaving us all to take the loss?" Gracie demanded. "Do you admit you're dishonest? If you had a clear constience, you'd not be afraid to face them."

"Afraid?" Lestrade blustered. "I ain't afraid. But I've got business in town. As for them homesteaders, they can cry over spilt milk as long as they want. It's no concern of mine. Better get yourself and your daughter fixed up and come along."

For all his vanity and puffiness, the judge was sound at heart. "I stay right here," he said. "I've done right as I saw it to be done. If they want to see me I'll be here on this porch. Gracie you come here. Mr. Lestrade, I bid you good day. You've caused us all trouble. I don't say you're not honest, but I can have nothing more to do with a man who is not a gentleman. Get out of my yard!"

Lestrade swept them both with a long, ugly glare.

"Then stay here and rot," he said, and went to his horse.

He got into the saddle, sawed at the reins and galloped away. Going back down the Snake River Road, he fought to regain composure.

I'm better off without a wife and a doddering father-in-law, he told himself. If they're so blessed stiff-necked they can suffer for it.

A mile from Powder, he left the road and cut across the open ground to enter the town on the far side. He meant to slip quietly through the back door of his office, pick up his papers and his bag and just as quietly leave again. The Orange Ball Limited passed the Junction within the hour, and on that train he aimed to make his departure from the troublous valley.

As he skirted the back of the buddings, he heard a rumbling of men's voices in such proportion that the first flash of alarm ran through him. And when he passed across the rear of a small alley he was astonished to see the size of the crowd milling through the streets. For a moment he debated whether or not it would be best to abandon his trip to the office and go straight to the Junction. But he had come this far and a small portion of pride forbade his scuttling away without his personal effects. So he reached the back of his place and stepped in. What he saw brought a distinct shock.

Confronting him was the man he cared least about seeing at that time—W. W. Offut. The cattleman's face was extremely sober. He came to the point without waste of words.

"You'll please accompany me to the courthouse, Jim."

"What for?" Lestrade said, prepared to argue. "I've got a lot of business on the ranch. Let's wait—"

"Come along," Offut said.

Lestrade's hands shuffled the papers on his desk while his mind shuffled a number of other things. In the end he nodded with the best Gracie possible.

"All right. What's the trouble?"

"We're having a meeting," Offut said. He followed Lestrade into the street and turned toward the courthouse.

The street was crammed and they had not gone a dozen yards before the foremost of the homesteaders spied Lestrade and began to move toward him. At this, Offut pulled back his coat to display his revolver belt and waded serenely through the vanguard. Lestrade comprehended the meaning of this and he felt the blood drain from his face. He began to hear a running fire of comment, all of which he ignored or tossed aside with a brief, "All right, boys, I'll be out to talk this over in a minute."

Offut shoved him inside the courthouse and led him down to the swinging doors that cloaked the judge's chambers. When these swung back James J. Lestrade stopped dead in his tracks and trembled from head to foot.

It was a strange, grim scene. Ranked around the room were most of the big cattlemen of the country, the members of the dreaded committee, and a dozen of W. W. Offut's ranch hands. Seated on one of the benches he found Nig Chatto, a tight-lipped figure who shot him a stony, bitter glance. Beside him was one of his own men, the shifty-eyed Tracy. And beyond Tracy stood Lin Ballou, somewhat pale and with a bandanna wrapped around one wrist.

Lestrade's attention darted from one corner of the chamber to another, and then his interest settled on the clerk's desk. He saw a man stretched full length on the desk, partly covered by a blanket. Lestrade saw the man's wool socks point rigidly toward the ceiling and then he grew cold all over as he recognized the face of Beauty Chatto staring, sightless and indifferent, into space.

Offut was speaking in a slow, solemn manner. "Here he is, boys. I guess we'd better put him upstairs in the cell and keep a good guard. The men outside are in a pretty high state of mind."

"I move," said another, "that we send a messenger after the judge, the prosecuting attorney and the sheriff. They've got no call to be roaming wild with this case unsettled."