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"Golden cradle of the moccasin flower," and the too clever yellow-breasted chat had mocked and defied me; and so home to the camp. At an early hour the next morning, the carriage of my hostess set me down at the entrance of Cheyenne Cañon proper, with the impedimenta necessary for a day's isolation from civilization.
He laid a coin on the bar and the glasses were filled again. Cheyenne nodded and drank Bartley's health. Bartley suggested that they sit at one of the side tables and study the effects of mescal on the natives present. "Let joy be unconfined," said Cheyenne. "Where in the world did you get that?" "Oh, I can read," declared Cheyenne. "Before I took to ramblin', I used to read some, nights.
Late that night, long after Cheyenne had ceased to sing for the boys in the bunk-house, and while Bartley was peacefully slumbering in a comfortable bed, Mrs. Brown took the Senator to task for not having discouraged the young Easterner from attempting such a wild-goose chase.
Next day, as they nooned among the spruce of the high country, Cheyenne suddenly drew the dice from his pocket and, turning them in his hands, finally tossed them over the rim-rock of the cañon edging their camp. "It's a fool game," he said. And Bartley knew, by the otter's tone, that he did not alone refer to the game of dice.
I want you to send a Denver draft to The First National Bank at Cheyenne for five thousand dollars, to arrive there before the eighteenth of October." The phone was working splendidly; even those without an earpiece could hear the over-production. "This is a fine time to separate a bank from assets. What are you buying? Blue sky or a phony gold mine?" "Neither one," said Davy promptly.
Far out on the level stretches leading up to the plains of Wyoming, other men were working, struggling doggedly from telegraph pole to telegraph pole, in an effort to repair the lines so that connection might be made to Rawlins, and thence to Cheyenne and Denver, to apprise the world that a great section of the country had been cut off from aid, that women and children were suffering from lack of food, that every day brought the news of a black splotch in the snow, the form of a man, arms outstretched, face buried in the drift, who had fought and lost.
"That's good enough. On occasion I can be as good a horse thief as the best Sioux or Crow or Cheyenne that ever lived, only it's our own horses that I'm going to steal. They've a guard, of course, but I'll slip past him. Now use all your patience, Will." "I will," said the lad, as he leaned against the trunk of the oak. Then he became suddenly aware that he no longer either saw or heard Boyd.
"Jim, I don't doubt your courage. I know you too well, believe in you too much. I want you to drop the idea of the Big Cheyenne. Turn right around and go back to Cedar Mountain at once; and the sooner you get there the easier it will be." He shook his head, and sat as before, his face buried in his hands. "I cannot do it." He forced out the words.
"Will they put Beverly to death?" I asked. "I cannot tell, but see how long the arm of hate can be, my son Santan, the Apache, has been informed of Beverly's coming by Marcos Ramero, gambler and debauchee. And Marcos got it in some way from Charlie Bent, a Cheyenne half-breed, son of old Colonel Bent, a fine old gentleman. Maybe you knew young Bent?"
Langston, who had returned that very day from some investigation at Kearney and Cheyenne, and, after half an hour with Mr. Leonard, had hastened to her door. He was still in the parlor when the lady of the house came smilingly in an hour later, she had been visiting Mrs. Leonard the while, but there was constraint in the air. The boys were out with their ponies.
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