Tragedy Trail by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand [Brand, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
Publisher: Roy Glashan's Library
Published: 2020-11-10T23:00:00+00:00

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22. — RIDERS IN THE WOOD

NOTHING could have made easier stalking. To one accustomed to work up toward deer on barren mountains, using scant rocks and occasional shrubs for cover, this was the paradise of the hunter, for from the foot of the mountain into the heart of the copse there was a scattering growth of big trees, and he needed hardly a precaution except to make sure that his footfall caused no noise. Like an Indian he went, swiftly and steadily, with only a pause now and then, falling upon one knee, his ear close to the ground.

Twice, in those pauses, he heard a heavy, dull sound, like the stamping of a horse not far away; but as he went onward, he had a different noise to listen to, and that was an occasional murmuring like water—but there was no water in this grove!

The noise dissolved, presently, into the voices of two men speaking from time to time, and at this, he paused. He had planned on finding one rider in the midst of this wood; two made a quite different story.

However, he had gone on so far that he could not well withdraw until he had learned something more about these lurking fellows. He doubled his precautions and slipped onward like a shadow, crouching behind the trees, peering here and there, and steadily drawing closer to the talkers until at last he came to that central opening where several trees had been felled and where Ruth, even on rainy days, could conduct her playworld in comparative shelter and in that thrilling loneliness which delights a child. Now, with a broad-browed stump before him, he could see what lay in the clearing well enough. There were two men, and he who faced him was none other than his old acquaintance of the handsome, brutal face—Bud Crogan!

The other, an older and slighter figure, had his back turned, and they were playing seven-up on a saddle blanket. On the edge of the clearing two saddle horses were tethered—two fine-limbed, proud-headed creatures such as La Salle’s emissaries always bestrode. And the black suspicion deepened in the mind of Graem.

“Try two,” said Crogan.

“No good, kid.”

“What is it?”

“This is it, old son!”

“Look out there, Dick, what’re you doing to the cards?”

Dick removed the stakes with a chuckle.

“This here game takes brains, kid. Real brains. You watch me and you’ll learn.”

“It’s a queer game,” Crogan informed him.

“You want to quit?”

“No, not while I got a penny. I never stand up from any game while I still have a cent in my belt. Go on and deal!”

“That’s a good kid,” said Dick with cunning encouragement. “Here you are. I’ll shoot the moon, Bud.”

“You’ll not!” groaned Bud Crogan. “I had a perfect layout, too.”

The cards were played swiftly but earnestly.

Dick again collected.

“Take a rest,” advised the winner. “Take a rest, because it’ll clear your head out; a gent gets tangled, staying with a game too long.”

“Except Graem,” answered Crogan.

“Him? The old man is simply giving him rope and will gather him in when he wants to.

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