The Desert Rider by L. P. Holmes

Author:L. P. Holmes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2019-03-26T20:37:12+00:00

II

The buildings of the Red Mesa Ranch stood a scant quarter mile back from the mesa rim, overlooking the Tonto Desert. Here the higher crown of the mesa began to rise, fringed and matted with piñon, juniper, and mountain pine. Still farther back the timber thickened and spread, forming the watershed that fed the two great springs which supplied water to the ranch. These springs had been originally named by the Navajos, and, when Jack Carleton had first managed to translate the soft, musical gutturals of the natives, the north spring became the Silver Spring, the south, the Gold Spring.

There was no difference in the water. It was soft, crystal clear—cold and sweet. But the basins of rock from which burbled those precious, life-giving contents, were colored so that the similes were apt ones.

The ranch buildings were of the Spanish type, low and spreading, with thick walls, deep casements, and flat roofs. Freshly calcimined, they shone in the clear air and sunshine like monuments of white marble. The main ranch house was built about a square patio, rioting with colorful flowers, cheery with the song of birds, and a whisper with the murmur of running water brought by a tiny stone flume from the Silver Spring.

The corrals and feed sheds and other buildings stood farther east, skirting a wide basin that fed out onto the vast reaches of the mesa.

When Donna Carleton and Buck English finally reached headquarters, Donna lingered only long enough to introduce Buck to Sundown Sloan, with the announcement that her uncle had hired Buck as the new foreman, then went into the house, without a backward look or word.

Sundown Sloan was as grizzled as a badger, a stooped, crooked-legged old fellow, hunched with hardship, toil, and rheumatism. His face was colored and wrinkled until it resembled nothing so much as a piece of bark on a very old tree. But that there was nothing wrong with Sundown’s mental faculties showed in the deep, sharp gleam of his eyes, set far back beneath shaggy brows.

There was satisfaction in those eyes as Sundown shook hands with Buck.

“Sho’,” he drawled simply, “I’m powerful glad the boss picked you for this job, son, and I’m glad to know you. I knew your daddy well. You’re a lot like him, when he was your age. His friendship is one of my best memories.”

The quiet honesty of Sundown’s words warmed Buck. For a moment the hardness, the stern chill of his face fled before a boyish smile. And his cold eyes softened.

“I’m always glad to meet one of dad’s ole friends, Sundown. Sure, I hope you won’t be takin’ it to heart because Carleton’s hired me for your old job.”

“Me!” ejaculated Sundown. “Me sore. Shucks, boy … I’m tickled to death. I admit it kinda made me sour for a time to realize that age was gettin’ me to a point where I couldn’t handle the hard nuts of the crew any more. But common sense stomped that outta me. Every dawg

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