CHAPTER I A ROLLING STONE

The horse stopped suddenly and her rider came to his senses with a jerk, his hand streaking to a six-gun, while he muttered a profane inquiry at he swiftly scrutinized his surroundings. Had it been any horse but Pepper he would have directed his suspicions at it, but he knew the animal too well to do it that injustice. The valley before and below him was heavily grassed, and throughout its entire length wandered a small stream. Grazing cattle were scattered along it, and riding up the farther slope were three men, who appeared to be peaceful and innocent of wrong intent. These his eyes swept past, and they passed a small cluster of bowlders down on the slope below him, but instantly returned to them, a puzzled look appearing upon his face. In that nest of rocks a woman lay prone, peering at the distant horsemen, and she slowly brought a rifle to her shoulder, cuddling its stock against her cheek. What he did not see, and could not, at that angle, was the menacing head of a rattlesnake not twenty feet from her, the instinctive fear of which put a chill in her heart and urged her to shoot it, even at the risk of being heard by the men she was watching. Johnny Nelson unconsciously esti[2]mated the range and shook his head. He could do it with his Sharp's single-shot, a rifle of great power; but he had yet to see any repeater that could. Knowing the futility of a shot, he coughed loudly, and had the satisfaction of seeing a flurry below him, and a rifle muzzle at the same instant. Slowly he raised his hands level with his shoulders, spoke to the horse and, mustering all the dignity possible under the circumstances, rode slowly down the slope.

"That's far enough," said a crisp voice, pleasant in timbre even though business-like and angry. "Haven't I told you punchers to keep off this ranch?"

"Never to my knowledge, Ma'am," he answered.

"Have you the brazen effrontery to sit there and calmly tell me that?"

"I don't know, Ma'am; but I never heard about no such orders."

"Who are you? Where do you come from? What are you doing here?"

Johnny smiled apologetically. "Fifteen hundred shore would strain that gun. Ma'am. An' mostly a shot wasted is worse than none at all. I'm here to offer you one that bites hard at that distance, 'though I can't say I generally recommend it for ladies—it kicks powerful hard, heavy as it is."

"Answer my questions. Who are you?"

"A stranger, Ma'am; a pilgrim, seekin' what I can devour. But now it's nearer sixteen hundred," he suggested, lowering a hand to get the Sharp's from its sheath under his leg.

"That will do!" she warned. "The range which[3] interests me is ten yards. You may rest them on your hat," she conceded.

He locked his fingers over his head and grinned. "Why, I'm a rollin' stone from Montanny, Ma'am. So far I've rolled into trouble all th' way, an' it looks like I'm still a-rollin'. I want to apologize for bustin' up your party—they've done faded."

"'Done faded' never was born in Montana," she retorted, suspicion glinting in her eyes. She lowered the gun until it rested on her knees, but its muzzle still covered Johnny.

"Neither was I, Ma'am," he replied, smiling. "I was born in Texas, an' grew up there. My greatest mistake was goin' north—but now I'm tryin' to wipe that out. It's a long trail. Ma'am; an' I've wasted a powerful lot of time."

"You shall waste some more; after that the speed of your departure will doubtless largely compensate you. How do I know you are telling the truth?"

"As to that, not meanin' no offense, I ain't none interested. An', Ma'am, neither are you. I might say, as a general proposition, that no stranger has any business askin' me personal questions; an', also, that in such cases I reserve th' right to lie as much as I please, 'though I ain't admittin' that I'm doin' it here. Pepper warned me that somethin' was wrong, which it was by several hundred yards—an', Ma'am, shootin' across a valley is shore deceivin'. Also I saw that one young lady was goin' to mix up serious with three growed-up men—pretty craggy individuals, from what I know of punchers. That was not th' right thing for[4] a lady to do—but I'm allus with th' under dog, I'm sorry to say, so I horned in an' offered you a gun that would fill them fellers with righteous indignation, homicidal yearnin's, an' a belief in miracles. I knowed they wouldn't get hurt at that distance—you see, there's little things like windage, trigger pull, an' others. But, Ma'am, th' sound of that lead an' th' noise of that gun shore would pester 'em. They'd get most amazin' curious, for men, an' look into it. An' when they found me with a gun on 'em they'd get more indignant than ever. Now, Ma'am, I've busted up yore party, which I had no right to do. If you wants them fellers right up close so you can look 'em over good an' ask 'em questions, say so, an' I'll go get 'em for you. I owe you that much. But I don't aim to be no party to a murder," he finished, smiling, and slowly and deliberately lowered his hands and rested them on his belt.

She was staring at him with blazing eyes, a look on her white face such as he never had seen on a woman before; and he realized that never before had he seen an angry woman. His smile changed subtly. It softened, the cynicism faded from it and kindly lines crept in; and there was something in his eyes that never had been there before. He looked out across the valley, at the few cows, where there should have been so many in a valley like that. Then he gazed steadily at the point where the three horsemen had become lost to sight—and the smile gave way to a look hard and cold. Pepper moved, and Johnny drew a deep breath, squaring his shoulders in sudden resolution. Swinging from the saddle he walked slowly forward toward the[5] threatening rifle muzzle, took the weapon from its owner's knees, lowered the hammer, and placed the gun against the rock at her side. Straightening up, he whistled softly. Pepper, advancing with mincing steps, shoved her velvety muzzle against his cheek and stopped. He swung into the saddle, wheeled the horse and rode around a near-by thicket, soon returning with a saddled SV pony, which he led to its owner. Mounting again, he backed Pepper away and, removing his sombrero, wheeled and sent the horse up the slope without a backward glance, sitting erect in the saddle as a figure of bronze until hidden by the crest and well down on the other side. Then he pulled suddenly at the reins with unthinking roughness and dashed at top speed to the left until the crest was again close at hand. With his head barely on a level with the top of the hill, he sat staring across the little valley at the point where the horsemen had disappeared; and there was a look on his face which, had they seen it, would have turned their conversation to subjects less trivial.