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What was it the Huerfano Park settlers were trying to hide from him? His mind jumped promptly to the answer. Dave Dingwell, of course. Meanwhile Miss Rutherford lay weeping in the next room face down upon the bed. She rarely indulged in tears. It had not happened before since she was seventeen. But now she sobbed into a pillow, softly, so that nobody might hear.
Heavily wooded gulches pushed down from the roots of the mountains that girt Huerfano to meet the fences of the ranchers. The cliffs rose sheer and bleak. The panorama was a wild and primitive one. It suggested to the troubled mind of the young man an eagle's nest built far up in the crags from which the great bird could swoop down upon its victims. He carried the figure farther.
We again rode through the upper canon of the Huerfano, keeping along the bank of the stream. Farther on we came to the forking of two trails the more southern one leading up to the Cuchada, to the pass of Sangre de Cristo.
Either he had mistaken some of the landmarks of Ryan's sketchy map or else the cowpuncher had forgotten the lay of the country. Still, Roy knew roughly the general direction of Huerfano Park. If he kept going he was bound to get nearer. Perhaps he might run into a road or meet some sheepherder who would put him on the right way. He was in the heart of the watershed where Big Creek heads.
If Meldrum had been kicked out of Huerfano Park, there was no room for him in New Mexico. Probably the fear of the Rutherfords had been a restraint upon him up to this time. But now that he had broken with them and was leaving the country, the man was free to follow the advice of Tighe. He was a bully whose prestige was tottering.
"Did you say that Beulah Rutherford sent you up here?" asked Roy. "She asked me to come. Yis." "Why?" "I can only guess her reasons. She didn't want you to come and she couldn't ask Ned for fear he would gun the fellow. So she just picked on a red-headed runt of an Irishman." "While we're so close, let's ride across to Huerfano Park," suggested Dave. "I haven't been there in twenty years."
It was he whom I met at the village of Huerfano, where you saw us renew our acquaintance; and at that interview he has made known to me the secret of an immense placer of gold whither I intend to conduct my expedition. "And now, Senor Senator," continued Don Estevan, "you need not proceed farther with us.
Pat Ryan might have ridden on many lawless trails in his youth, but the dynamic spark of self-respect still burned in his soul. He was a man, every inch of his five-foot three. "I want to live at peace," the boy went on hotly. "Huerfano Park is still in the dark ages. I'm no gunman. I stand for law and order. This is the day of civilization.
It is therefore ordered that the said county, and that the said E. L. Neelley, immediately and upon qualification as required by law, enter and discharge the duties of the said office of sheriff of Huerfano county...." So much for the court opinion upon coal-camp politics. In relation thereto, the writer has only one comment to offer.
By this light Cuchillo and Baraja forgetful of all their promises and vows were going on with the game, which had been so suddenly interrupted that morning at the village of Huerfano.
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