CHAPTER I. A ROLLING STONE

The horse stopped suddenly and her rider came to his senses with a
jerk, his hand streaking to a six-gun, while he muttered a profane
inquiry at he swiftly scrutinized his surroundings. Had it been any
horse but Pepper he would have directed his suspicions at it, but he
knew the animal too well to do it that injustice. The valley before
and below him was heavily grassed, and throughout its entire length
wandered a small stream. Grazing cattle were scattered along it, and
riding up the farther slope were three men, who appeared to be peaceful
and innocent of wrong intent. These his eyes swept past, and they
passed a small cluster of bowlders down on the slope below him, but
instantly returned to them, a puzzled look appearing upon his face. In
that nest of rocks a woman lay prone, peering at the distant horsemen,
and she slowly brought a rifle to her shoulder, cuddling its stock
against her cheek. What he did not see, and could not, at that angle,
was the menacing head of a rattlesnake not twenty feet from her, the
instinctive fear of which put a chill in her heart and urged her to
shoot it, even at the risk of being heard by the men she was watching.

Johnny Nelson unconsciously estimated the range and shook his head.

He could do it with his Sharp's single-shot, a rifle of great power;
but he had yet to see any repeater that could. Knowing the futility of
a shot, he coughed loudly, and had the satisfaction of seeing a flurry
below him, and a rifle muzzle at the same instant. Slowly he raised
his hands level with his shoulders, spoke to the horse and, mustering
all the dignity possible under the circumstances, rode slowly down the
slope.

"That's far enough," said a crisp voice, pleasant in timbre even though
business-like and angry. "Haven't I told you punchers to keep off this
ranch?"

"Never to my knowledge, Ma'am," he answered.

"Have you the brazen effrontery to sit there and calmly tell me that?"

"I don't know, Ma'am; but I never heard about no such orders."

"Who are you? Where do you come from? What are you doing here?"

Johnny smiled apologetically. "Fifteen hundred shore would strain that
gun. Ma'am. An' mostly a shot wasted is worse than none at all. I'm
here to offer you one that bites hard at that distance, 'though I can't
say I generally recommend it for ladies--it kicks powerful hard, heavy
as it is."

"Answer my questions. Who are you?"

"A stranger, Ma'am; a pilgrim, seekin' what I can devour. But now it's
nearer sixteen hundred," he suggested, lowering a hand to get the
Sharp's from its sheath under his leg.

"That will do!" she warned. "The range which interests me is ten
yards. You may rest them on your hat," she conceded.

He locked his fingers over his head and grinned. "Why, I'm a rollin'
stone from Montanny, Ma'am. So far I've rolled into trouble all th'
way, an' it looks like I'm still a-rollin'. I want to apologize for
bustin' up your party--they've done faded."

"'Done faded' never was born in Montana," she retorted, suspicion
glinting in her eyes. She lowered the gun until it rested on her knees,
but its muzzle still covered Johnny.

"Neither was I, Ma'am," he replied, smiling. "I was born in Texas, an'
grew up there. My greatest mistake was goin' north--but now I'm tryin'
to wipe that out. It's a long trail. Ma'am; an' I've wasted a powerful
lot of time."

"You shall waste some more; after that the speed of your departure will
doubtless largely compensate you. How do I know you are telling the
truth?"

"As to that, not meanin' no offense, I ain't none interested. An',
Ma'am, neither are you. I might say, as a general proposition, that no
stranger has any business askin' me personal questions; an', also, that
in such cases I reserve th' right to lie as much as I please, 'though I
ain't admittin' that I'm doin' it here. Pepper warned me that somethin'
was wrong, which it was by several hundred yards--an', Ma'am, shootin'
across a valley is shore deceivin'. Also I saw that one young lady
was goin' to mix up serious with three growed-up men--pretty craggy
individuals, from what I know of punchers. That was not th' right thing
for a lady to do--but I'm allus with th' under dog, I'm sorry to say,
so I horned in an' offered you a gun that would fill them fellers with
righteous indignation, homicidal yearnin's, an' a belief in miracles. I
knowed they wouldn't get hurt at that distance--you see, there's little
things like windage, trigger pull, an' others. But, Ma'am, th' sound of
that lead an' th' noise of that gun shore would pester 'em. They'd get
most amazin' curious, for men, an' look into it. An' when they found
me with a gun on 'em they'd get more indignant than ever. Now, Ma'am,
I've busted up yore party, which I had no right to do. If you wants
them fellers right up close so you can look 'em over good an' ask 'em
questions, say so, an' I'll go get 'em for you. I owe you that much.

But I don't aim to be no party to a murder," he finished, smiling, and
slowly and deliberately lowered his hands and rested them on his belt.

She was staring at him with blazing eyes, a look on her white face
such as he never had seen on a woman before; and he realized that
never before had he seen an angry woman. His smile changed subtly.

It softened, the cynicism faded from it and kindly lines crept in;
and there was something in his eyes that never had been there before.

He looked out across the valley, at the few cows, where there should
have been so many in a valley like that. Then he gazed steadily at the
point where the three horsemen had become lost to sight--and the smile
gave way to a look hard and cold. Pepper moved, and Johnny drew a deep
breath, squaring his shoulders in sudden resolution. Swinging from the
saddle he walked slowly forward toward the threatening rifle muzzle,
took the weapon from its owner's knees, lowered the hammer, and placed
the gun against the rock at her side. Straightening up, he whistled
softly. Pepper, advancing with mincing steps, shoved her velvety muzzle
against his cheek and stopped. He swung into the saddle, wheeled the
horse and rode around a near-by thicket, soon returning with a saddled
SV pony, which he led to its owner. Mounting again, he backed Pepper
away and, removing his sombrero, wheeled and sent the horse up the
slope without a backward glance, sitting erect in the saddle as a
figure of bronze until hidden by the crest and well down on the other
side. Then he pulled suddenly at the reins with unthinking roughness
and dashed at top speed to the left until the crest was again close at
hand. With his head barely on a level with the top of the hill, he sat
staring across the little valley at the point where the horsemen had
disappeared; and there was a look on his face which, had they seen it,
would have turned their conversation to subjects less trivial.