Page:The Pacific Monthly vol. 14.djvu/81



LOCO. . 43

"Where — where is it?" he gasped.

"I buried it with the deer."

"He's dead? Actually dead? I've murdered him?"

"That's a ugly word, kid, but there ain't no controvertin' that he's dead, sure pop. Are you straightened out yet?"

Lacey broke into a passionate wail and covered his face. "My God !" he sobbed. "I'm a murderer — they'll hang me !"

"Now, don't you go nutty again," Bill cautioned. "You brace up an' be somethin' like a man. I'm goin' to pack up an' wander over into Utah, an' if you take my advice, you'll ride to the railroad like as if nothin' had happened. Then you'll get out o' this country as quick as God'll let you."

"Yes," Lacey returned, "I'll go home. How can I reach a station?"

"Come on an' saddle up," Bill responded. "See that bald mountain over there? Well, there's a road runnin' on t'other side o' that, an' when you hit it — which'll be about dark — you turn north an' keep on goin'. Here's some blankets; I'll fasten 'em to the saddle. You got to camp whenever you see water an' grass, but to-morrow noon'll find you in Fryingpan. There's a train goes through there to the plains every evenin' — an' every mornin', too, but you can't catch that one. Good-bye, kid. Brace up, now, an' don't let on. Nobody'll tumble, an' you was locoed, so it ain't exactly your fault. It just happened."

Lacey nodded and rode away, but his heart was heavy, and a black sliadow drifted along behind him. He reached the road without incident and turned nortn as directed, but he did not stop when a fit camping place was reached. Instead, ne rode steadily through the night, and the morning found him, fagged and ugly, at Fryingpan.

He put his horse in a livery and inquired when the train would arrive. It was not due until 10 o'clock; so he went to the hotel for breakfast. He sat down opposite a bearded fellow, who nodded affably.

"How," he said. "Stranger here? Looks like you'd been a ridin' all night." He laid down his knife as he spoke.

"Yes," Lacey responded, "I — I wanted to catch the train."

"U — m ; what might your name be ?"

Lacey hesitated. "It's Jones," he said, "Richard Jones."

"Easterner?"

"Yes ; I've been with a — a camping party south of here."

"I see. Got a sudden call to the city, eh?"

"That's it. A friend of mine — hurt on the street — must see him at once."

"U — m; queer hour y' got word out in them hills. Who told you?"

Lacey's invention failed him, and he stuttered an unintelligible reply. Then the other grinned.

"I reckon you don't want no train this mornin'," he said. "I'm Davidson — marshal here — an' I know just what's happened. You shot a deer an' the warden dropped down on you ; an' you're makin' tracks for tall timber. Might as well give up that idea, because I'm goin' to hold you till to-morrer."

Lacey felt his brain whirling insanely again, but he mastered himself. "Keep cool, keep cool," he repeated over and over as he stared across the table. "I'm lost if I loose my head." Then aloud : "I've told you my story ; you're at liberty to think what you please, for I'll say no more."

Davidson laughed. "All riglit, old buck," he answered. "You come along an' sit in the office. We'll wait an' see what happens."

Lacey bought a cigar and went. "You're pretty cool," the marshal remarked. "Likely you think the warden won't get here, and I'll let you go to-morrer, eh? Well, you just listen to my yap." He waved his forefinger under the other's nose. "If that warden don't come in by mornin', me an' you'll saddle up an' ride out after him."

Lacey bit his cigar in two, and his hand trembled as he threw the pieces away, but he showed no other signs of the wild emotion that possessed him. The day