CHAPTER XXII
PINK EYE AND THE ENGLISH SADDLE
Stamford tossed about when he should have been sleeping, worried by a thousand questions, a thousand disturbing suspicions. And through them all ran the thread of his love for Isabel Bulkeley. He could hear her moving about her room, and long after they should have been asleep, the voices of brother and sister came to him in gentle murmur. Added to this was the evidence of a similar wakefulness in the Aikens' bedroom.
Imp came to his door and whined, and Stamford let him in, glad of his companionship. Thereafter, with the watchful little terrier curled on his feet, he found it easier to drift away.
He was awakened by Imp. In the outline of the window Stamford saw the dog's ears erect, and a slight sniffing sound told of some disturbing scent. Stamford hurried to the window.
The night was sharp and clear. He shivered, partly with excitement, partly with chill. Something moved in the moonlight down the slope toward the corrals, but it was gone so quickly that he was uncertain of his eyes. The moon was low and dull, with a thin mist before it that prophesied the coming of winter. He watched until his teeth were chattering, then, with a pat to Imp's warm body, he returned gratefully to the warm sheets and settled to sleep.
He was wakened again by Imp leaping to the floor to sniff beneath the door. Out in the sitting-room someone was moving, but there was nothing furtive about it.
Then Stamford became conscious of a strange rumble like distant thunder. But it was no noise of the elements.
Mary and Cockney were whispering outside his door in excited tones. Someone rapped.
"Don't be alarmed, Stamford." Cockney pushed open the door, speaking in a low voice. "It's cattle on the run—a stampede.... But it's a small bunch. They'll get them under control. The boys are riding now ... like mad! ... Listen! ... Ah! They have them bunched! ... They'll stop by getting in each other's way! Not badly frightened, I guess.... I wonder where they broke from."
A moment longer he stood listening to the waning sound.
"If you'd throw something on and come out to the sitting-room I'd be grateful. I'm going out. Mary's frightened.... I hope—I hope we're not making our guests too uncomfortable."
"I'll be there in three minutes," Stamford promised, groping for his clothes. "We'd better tell the Bulkeleys; they'll wonder what it is."
"Never mind the Bulkeleys," returned Cockney sharply.
Stamford could hear him pounding off to the stables. In what seemed seconds he was galloping back below the house, making for the west.
Opposite Stamford's window the horse dropped suddenly back on its haunches. Stamford peered out. Somewhere to the west came the swift gallop of approaching horses.
But Cockney's eyes were fixed on the side of the house. Stamford saw them rise to the Professor's window and drop again, while the broncho pawed impatiently. With a bend of the hand Cockney turned the horse to the house, where it drew up for a brief moment, then, under digging spur, dashed to meet the oncoming riders.
Stamford leaned out and saw the rope ladder dangling from the Professor's window.
Before Cockney had gone a dozen paces the ladder began to move rapidly upward. In the dim light Stamford imagined a small hand reached out and drew it over the sill.
Thirty yards away Stamford and the approaching horses met.
"Who's had Pink Eye out?" demanded Dakota's angry voice.
There was a perceptible pause.
"I don't like your tone, Dakota," said Cockney icily. "When you want information, there's only one way to get it."
"I found him out there on the prairie," Dakota blustered.
Cockney rode round the horse Dakota was leading.
"I didn't know he was out. But first you'd better answer my questions. Where did the cattle stampede from, and how did they happen to be away off there?"
"What difference does that make? But if you want to know"—Dakota was plainly sparring for time—"it was a bit of the Lost Dog Coulee bunch. They ran a long way before we got 'em stopped. Just a small bunch. What's more serious is Pink Eye out there."
"Who's saddle's this?" Cockney was leaning over Pink Eye's back.
Dakota laughed in a nasty way. "Thought maybe you'd know. It's an English saddle. Ever see it before?"
"By gad! That's curious! It's a racing saddle of the lightest kind."
"I found the cinch unbuckled," said Dakota. "We were a bit too quick for the fellow that had him. But we couldn't find him." He cursed..
Cockney rode up to Stamford's window.
"You there, Stamford? Did you lock Pink Eye in the corral last night?"
"Certain of it. Both the Professor and I tried the padlock afterwards."
Dakota spoke impatiently:
"Anyone out of the house now?"
"One moment, Dakota," snapped Cockney. "I'll do the questioning. I can answer that one myself. Everyone is in.... I think I'd like to take a look at that corral," he said suspiciously. "Come along, Stamford; you can tell us if things are as you left them. Tell Mary it's all right, will you?"
Stamford spoke to Mary Aikens on his way out. She was sitting in the dark sitting-room, and he imagined she was sobbing. He ran after Cockney and Dakota, and arrived at the corral in time to hear Dakota exclaim:
"Holy cripes!"
Stamford ran forward.
The gate was wide open, but the padlock was still locked. The ponderous mass of logs must have been lifted until the chain would pass over the top of the post to which it was fastened.
"Holy cripes!" Dakota exploded again, when he had examined padlock and post.
He stooped and put his muscle to the heavy gate, but he could scarcely lift its weight from the loops that acted as hinges.
Cockney smiled in a superior way and pushed him away. With a great heave he managed to raise the gate from the ground, but he dared not remove a hand to throw the chain over the post. With a muffled oath he let it drop, and the upper loop snapped, letting the gate sag on the lower hinge.
"That's two men's work," Dakota exclaimed.
"Three—at least," corrected Cockney thoughtfully, "two to lift the gate, the third to remove the chain."
Dakota looked fearfully about in the dim moonlight.
"Then—then there's a gang about!" he whispered.
"Come back to the house," said Cockney. "It's worth looking into."
Beneath Professor Bulkeley's window he stopped and called his name. Mary Aikens came timidly from the house, a lonely little figure bathed in the moonlight.
"What is it, Jim?"
He turned on her roughly.
"Go inside. This at least is no concern of yours."
She obeyed without a murmur, her feet dragging forlornly over the frosty grass.
"Professor! Professor!" Cockney's voice grew louder and more peremptory with each call.
Isabel Bulkeley's head appeared in her window.
"Did you want my brother, Mr. Aikens?"
"I'm not calling him at this hour of the night for vocal exercise," replied Cockney.
"He's such a sound sleeper——"
"Then you'd better waken him."
"Is anything the matter? I'll go and call him."
They heard her bedroom door open, then a knock on her brother's, and the turning of the knob.
"Amos! Amos! Don't be frightened. It's only Isabel."
The bed creaked with sudden violence.
"Uh! What—what's the matter?" sputtered the terrified voice of the Professor. "Is it fire?"
His great feet pounded to the floor and across the room to his bureau.
"Here—here! Isabel! Take these—and these—and these. I'll—oh, where's that—that——"
"Amos! Amos, dear!" She was laughing a little now. "It's not—fire. Listen! It's—not—fire."
"Not—fire? Not—— Then what's the reason——"
"Mr. Aikens wants to speak to you—out the window. Put your slippers on first—and this gown."
"Eh—Mr. Aikens? Why—why, what's the matter?"
The window opened wider and a night-capped head was thrust out, only to be withdrawn immediately.
"Isabel—Isabel!" he whispered, in a tone that carried as far as if he had shouted it. "Where's the ladder? I'm sure I left it out as usual. It's—gone."
She spoke from dose beside him at the window, laughing:
"I drew it in, you silly! I didn't want the whole world to see how foolish you are." She put her head from the window and called laughingly down: "We always have trouble with him like this, wakening him out of his usual hours. He'll be sane in a moment."
The Professor's head appeared again, this time minus the night-cap.
"Say, is this a serenade? On behalf of myself and my sister, and the great Republic we represent—— Oh, that you, Mr. Stamford? Where's your banjo? Isabel's window is the one over yours. Fancy you making a mistake like that!"
Even Dakota was laughing. Stamford failed to see the joke.
"It's all right, Professor," Cockney assured him. "We only wanted to make certain no one was alarmed. There was a slight disturbance in a herd of cattle. You can go back to bed."
"Thank you, Mr. Aikens. I won't leave that ladder out again. I wouldn't put it past those New York museum people to have spies on my track. They haven't in their whole collection such a——"
He sneezed, repeated it, doubled in volume and noise. The men beneath the window laughed openly.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Aikens, will you come round to my door. I never could stand the night air. Could I, Isabel?"