ZEN of the Y. D.
A flo-Vel of the Foot hills
“I HAD TO KILL HIM”
SYNOPSIS. — Transley* hay
cutting outfit, after stacking
2.000 tons, is on its way to the
big Y.D. ranch headquarters.
Translev is a master oj men and
circumstances. Linder, foreman,
is substantial, hut not self-asser
tive. George Drazk. one of the
men. is an irresponsible chap
who proposes to every woman he
meets. Transient and Linder dine
with Y.D. and his wife and
daughter Zen. Transley resolves
to marry Zen.
CHAPTER, I—Continued.
“Perhaps you will excuse us now,”
said the rancher's wife.
"You will wish to talk over business.
Y.r>. will show you upstairs, and we
will expect you to he with us for
breakfast."
With a how she left the room, fol
lowed hy her daughter Linder had a
sense of being unsatisfied; it was as
though a ravishing meal had been
placed before a lev\>::y man, and only
its aroma hail reached his senses when
It had flben taken away. Well, it pro
voked the appetite—
The rancher refilled the glasses, hut
Transley left hi's untouched, and lan
der did the same. There were busi
ness matters to discuss, and it was no
fair contest to discuss business in the
course of a drinking bout with an old
stager like Y.P.
“I got to have another thousand
tons," the rancher was saying. “Can’t
take chances on any less, and I want
you boys to put it up for me.”
“Suits me," said Transley, “if you'll
show me where to get the hay.”
“You know the South Y.D.?”
“Never been on it.”
“Well, it's a branch of the Y.D.
which runs southeast from the Forks.
Guess it got its name from me, be
cause I built m.v first cabin at the
Forks. That was about ttie time you
was on a milk diet. Transley, and us
old-timers Itad all outdoors to play
with. You see, the Y.D. is a can
tank’rous stream, like its godfather.
At the Forks you’d nat’rall.v suppose
is where two branches joined, an'
jogged on henceforth in double har
ness. Well, that ain't it at all. This
crick has modern ideas, an’ at the
Forks it divides itself into two, an'
she hikes for the Gulf o’ Mexico an’
him for/IIudson’s bay. As I was say
in’, I built my first cabin at the Forks
—a sort o’ peek-a-boo cabin It was.
w^ere the wolves usta come an’ look
in at nights. Well. I usta look out
through the same holes. I had the
advantage o' usin’ language, an’ I
reckon we was about equal scared.
There was no wife or kid in those
days.”
The rancher paused, took a long
draw on his pipe, and his eyes glowed
with the light of old recollections.
“Well, as I was sayin’,” he continued
presently, “folks got to callin’ the
stream the Y.D., after me. That’s
what you get for bein’ first on the
ground—a monument for ever an’
ever. This bein’ the main stream got
the name proper, an’ the other branch
bein' smallest an’running kind o’ south
nat’rally got called the South Y.D. I
run stock in both valleys when I was
at the Forks, but not much since I
came down here. Well, there's maybe
a thousnnd tons o’ hay over in the
V
"Perhaps You Will Excuse Us Now,”
Said the Rancher’s Wife.
South Y.D., an’ you boys better trail
over tln're tomorrow an’ pitch into it
>—that is, if you're satisfied with the
price I’m payin’ you.”
“The price is all right,” said Trans
ley, “and well Idt tlie trail at sun-up.
There'll be no trouble—no contlietion
of interests, 1 mean?”
“Whose Interests?” demanded the
rancher, beijigerently. "Ain’t I the fa
ther of tlie Y.D? Ain’t tlie whole val
ley named for me? When it comes to
Interests—”
“Of course,” Transley agreed, “but
1 just wanted to know how things
stood in case we ran up against some
thing.”
“Quite proper," said Y.D., “quite
proper. An’ now the matter’s under
discussion. 1 11 jus’ show you my hand.
There’s a fellow named Landson down
tbe valley of the South Y.D. that’s
By ROBERT STEAD
Author of " The Colv “Puncher'*—" The
Hcmejleaderj”—“J^eighborj." etc.
Copyright by ROBERT STEAD
been flirtin' with that bay meadow for
years, but he ain't got no claim to it.
I was first on the ground an' I cut it
whenever I feel like it an’ I'ni goin’
to go t>n cnttin' it. If anybody comes
out raisin’ trouble, you just shoo ’em
# off, a»' go on cnttin’ that hay, spite o’
h—1 an’ high water. Y.D.’ll stand be
i hind you.”
"Thanks,” said Transley. "That’s
1 what I wanted to know.”
CHAPTER II
Transley and hinder were so early
about next morning after their con
versation with Y.r>. that there was no
; opportunity of another meeting with
the rancher's wife or daughter. They
I were slipping quietly out of the house
| to take breakfast with the men when
i Y.D. intercepted them.
"Breakfast is waitin’, boys,” he said,
j and led them back into the room where
they had had supper the previous eve
ning. Y.D. ate with them, but the
meal was served by the Chinese boy.
In the yard ail was jingling excite
ment. The men of the Y.D. were fra
! rernally assisting Transley’s gang in
hitching up and getting away, and
there was much hustling activity to an
accompaniment of friendly profanity.
It was not yet six o’clock, but the sun
was well up over the eastern ridges
that fringed the valley, and to the
west the snow-capped summits of the
mountains shone like polished ivory.
The exhilaration in the air was al
most intoxicating.
Linder quickly aonverted the ap
parent chaos of horses, wagons and
implements into order; Transley had
a last word with Y.D., and the ranch
er, shouting “Good luck, boys! Make
it a thousand tons or more,” waved
them away.
Linder glanced back at the bouse.
The bright sunshine had not awakened
it; it lay dreaming in its grove of cool,
green trees.
The trail lay, not up the valley, hut
across the wedge of foothills which di
vided the Soutli Y.D. from the parent
stream. The ascent was therefore
much more rapid than the trails which
followed the general course of the
stream. Huge hills, shouldering to
gether, left at times only wagon-track
room between; at other places they
skirted dangerous cutbanks worn by
sitring freshets, and again trekked for
long distances over gently curving up
lands. In an ho"r the horses were
showing the strain of it, anti Linder
halted them for a momentary rest.
It was at that moment that Drazk
rode up, his face a study in obvious
annoyance.
“Danged if I ain’t left that Pete
horse’s blanket down at the Y.D.,” he
exclaimed.
“Oh, well, you can easily ride back
fo» it and catch up on us this after
noon,” said Linder, who was not in the
least deceived.
“Thanks, Lin," said Drazk. I’ll
beat it down an’ catcli up on you this
afternoon, sure,” and he was off down
the trail as fast as "that Pete-horse”
could carry him.
At the Y.D. George conducted the
search for his horse blanket in the
strangest places. It took him mainly
about the yard of the house, and even
to the kitchen door, where he inter
viewed the Chinese boy.
“You catchee horse blanket around
here?” he inquired, with appropriate
gesticulations.
“You losee boss blapket?”
“Yep.”
"What kind hoss blanket?”
“Jus’ a brown blanket for that Fete
horse.”
“Whose hoss?”
"Mine,” proudly.
“Where you catchee?"
"Raised him.”
"Good boss?”
“You betcha.”
“Huh !”
Pause.
“You no cp.teliee horse blanket, hey?
“No!” said the Chinaman, whose
manner Instantly changed. In this
brief conversation he had classified
Drazk, and classified him correctly.
“You eatohee him, though—some h—1,
too-—you stickee lound here. Beat it,”
and Drazk found the kitchen door
closed in his face.
Drazk war.dered slowly around the
side of the house, and was not above
a surreptitious glance through the
windows. They revealed nothing. He
followed a path out by a little gate.
His ruse had proven a blind trail, and
there was nothing to dy but go down
to the stables, take the horse blanket
from the peg where lie had hung It,
and set out again for the South Y.D.
As he turned a corner of the fence
the sight of a young woman burst
upon him. She was hatless and fac
ing the sun. Drazk, for all Ills ad
miration of the sex, had little eye for
detail. “A sort of chestnut, about
sixteen hands high, and with the look
of a thoroughbred,” he afterwards de
scribed her to Linder.
She turned at the Sound of his foot
steps, and Drazk instantly summoned
a smirk which set his homely face
beaming with good humor.
“I’ardon me, ma’am,” he said, with
an elaborate bow. “I am Mr. Drazk—
Mr. George Drazk—Mr. Transley’s as
sistant. No doubt ne spoke of me.”
She was Inside the inclosure formed
by the fence, and he outside. Hhe
*
turned on him eyes which set Drazk’s
pulses strangely a-tingle, and subject
ed him to a deliberate but not un
friendly inspection.
'"No. I don't believe he did,” she Said
at length.
Drazk cautiously approached, as
though wondering how near he could
come without frightening her away.
He reached the fence and leaned his
elbows on if. She showed no disposi
tion to move. He cautiously raised
one foot and rested it on the lower
rail.
"It’s a fire morning, ma’am,” he
ventured.
“Rather,” she replied. “Why aren't
you with Mr. Transley’s gang?”
The question gave George an open
ing. “Well, you see,” he said, “It’s all
on account of that Pete-horse. That's
turn down there. I rode away this
morning and plumb forgot his blanket.
So when Mr. Transley seen it lie says,
‘Drazk, take the day off an’ go back
for your blanket,’ he says. ‘There's
no hurry,’ he says. ‘Linder an’ me ’ll
manage,’ he says.” .
“Oh !”
“So here I am.” He glanced at her
again. She was showing no disposition
to run away. She was about two yards
from him. along the fence. Drazk won
dered how long it would take him to
bridge that distance. Even as he
looked she leaned her elbows on the
fence and rested one of her feet on the
lower rail. Dpazk fancied he saw the
muscles about her mouth pulling her
face into little, laughing curves, but
she was gazing soberly into the dis
tance.
“He’s some horse, that Pete-horse,”
he said, taking up the subject which
lay most ready to his tongue. “He's
sure spme horse.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Yep,” Drazk continued. “Him an'
m# has seen some times. Whew 1
Things I couldn't tell you abou‘, at
all.” ’
“Well, aren't pou going to?”
Drnzk glanced at her curiously.
This girl showed signs of leadipg him
out of his depth. But it was a very
delightful sensation to feel one’s self
being led out of his depth by such a
girl. Her face was motionless; her
eyes fixed dreamily upon the brown
prairies that swept up the Wanks of
the foothills to the south. Far and
away on their curving crests the dark
snake-line of Transley's outfit could
be seen apparently motionless on the
rim of the horizon.
Drazk changed his foot on the rail
and the motion brought him six inches
nearer her.
“Well, f’r instance,” he said, spur
ring his imagination into action, “there
was the fellow I run down an’ shot In
the Cypress Hills.”
“Shot 1” she exclaimed, and the note
of admiration In her voice stirred him
to further flights.
“Yep,” he continued, proudly. "She
an' burled him there, right by the
road where he fell. Only me an’ that
Pete-horse knows the spot.”
beorge sighed sentimentally. “It’s
awful sad, havin’ to kill a man.” he
went on, “an’ it makes you feel strange
an’ creepy, 'specially at nights. That
is, the first one affects you that way,
but you soon get used to it. You see,
he insulted—”
“The first one? Have you killed
more than one?”
“Oh yes, lots of them. A man like
me, what knocks around all over with
all sorts of people, has to do it.
“Then there’s the police. After you
kill a few men nat’rally the police be
gins to worry you. I always hate to
kill a policeman.”
“It must be an Interesting life.”
“It is, but it’s a hard one,” he said,
after a pause during which he had
changed feet again nnd taken up an
other six inches of the distance which
separated them. He was almost afraid
to continue the conversation. He was
finding progress so much easle^than
he had expected. It was evident that
he had made a tremendous hit with
Y.D.’s daughter. What a story to tell
Linder! What would Transley say?
He was shaking with excitement.
“It’s an awful hard life,” he went
on, ‘‘an’ there crtmes a time, miss,
when a man wants to quit it. There
comes a time when every decent man
wants to settle down. I been tbinkin’
about that a lot lately. . . . What
do you think about it?” Drazk had
gone white. lie felt that he actually
had proposed to her.
“Might be a good idea,” she replied,
demurely.
He changed feet again. He had gone
too. far to stop. He must strike the
iron when it was hot. Of course he
had no desire to st*p, hut It was all
so wonderful. lie could speak to her
now in a whisper.
“How about (you, miss? IIow about
you an' me jus’ settlin’ down?”
She did not answer for a moment.
Then, in a low voice:
“It wouldn't be fair to accept you
like this, Mr. Drazk. You don’t know
anything about me.” •
“An’ I don’t want to—I mean, I don’t
care what about you.”
“Hut it wouldn’t be fair until you
know,” she continued. “There are
things I’d have to tell you, and I doti’t
like to.”
She was looking downward now, and
he fancied he could see the color ris
ing about her cheeks and her frame
trembling. He turned toward her nnd
extended his anus. “Tell me—tell
your own George,” he cooed.
“No,” she said, with sudden rigidity.
•‘I can’t confess.”
“Come on,” he pleaded. "Tell me.
I’ve been a bad man, too.”
She seemed to he weighing the mat
ter. “If I tell you, you will never,
never mention it to anyone?” .
“Never. I swear it to you,” dra
matically raising his hand.
“Well,” she said, looking down bash
fully and making little marks with her
finger-nail in the pole on which they
were leaning, “I never told anyone be
fore, and nobody in the world knows
it except he and me, and he doesn’t
know it now either, because I killed
him. ... I had to do it.”
“Of course you did, dear,” he mur
mured. It was wonderful to receive a
woman’s confidence like this.
“Yes, I had to kill him," she repeat
ed. “You see, he—he proposed to me
without being introduced !”
It was some seconds before Drazk
felt the blow. It came to him grad
ually, like returning consciousness to
a man who has been stunned. Then
anger swept him.
“You're playin’ with me,” he cried.
“You’re makin’ a fool df me!”
“Oh, George dear, how could I?” she
protested. “Now perhaps yon better
run along to that Pete-horse. lie looks
lonely.”
“All right," he said, striding away
angrily. As he walked his rage
deepened, and he turned and shook
his fist at her, shouting, “All right, but
I’ll get you yet, see? You think you’re
smart, and Transley thinks he’s smart,
but George Drazk is smarter than
both of you. and he’ll get you yet.”
She waved her hand complacently,
but her composure had already mad
dened him. He jerked his horse up
IV
- rmi
■•But It Wouldn’t Be Fair Until You
Know,” She Continued.
roughly, threw himself into the saddle,
and set out at a hard gallop along the
trail to the South Y.D.
It wns mid-afternoon when he oter
took Transley’s outfit, now winding
down the southern slope of the tongue
of foothills which divided the two val
leys of the Y.D. I’ete, wet over the
flanks, pulled up of his own accord be
side Linder’s wagon.
" ’Lo, George," said Linder. “What’s
your hurry?” Then, glancing at Ills
saddle, “Where’s your blanket?”
Drazk’s jaw dropped, but he had a
quick wit, although an unbalanced one.
“Well, Lin, I clean forgot all about
It,” he admitted, with a laugh, “but
when a fellow spends the morning
chatting with old Y.D.’s daughter I
guess lie’s allowed to forget a few
things.”
“Oh 1"
“Reckon you don't believe It, eh,
Lin? Reckon you don’t believe I stood
an' talked for so long I just had to
pull myself away?”
“You reckon right.”
George was thinking fast. Here was
an opportunity to present the Incident
in a light which had not before oc
curred to him.
“Guess you wouldn’t believe she told
me her secret—told me somethin’ she
had never told anybody else, an’ made
me swear not to mention. Guess you
don’t believe that, neither?”
“You guess right again. Linder
was quite unperturbed. He knew
something of Drazk’s gift for ro
mancing.
Drazk leaned over in the saddle un
til he could reach Linder’s ear with a
loud wAsper. “And site called me
‘dear’; ‘George dear,’ she said, when I
came away.”
“The h—I she did!” said Linder, at
last prodded into interest. He consid
ered the “George dear” idea a daring
flight, even for Drazk. “Better not
let old Y.D. hear you spinning any
thing like that, George, or he’ll be
.likely to spoil your youthful beauty.”
“Oh, Y.D.’s all right,” said George,
knowingly. “Y.D.’s all right. Well, I
guess I'll let Pete feed a bit here, and
then we’ll go back for his blanket.
You’ll have to excuse me a bit these
days, Lin ; you know, how it is when a
fellow’s in love.”
“Huh !’’ said Linder.
Suppose Transl"f starts in to
cut hay and is warned off by
Landson, who is already at
work. What do you imagine will
„ happen?
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Plain of Jordan
' Canals to irrigate the plain of Jor
I dan, round the Dead sea, are pro
posed ; wide areas eevered with fep
I tile soil could then be cultivated.
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