William Wallace Cook

“ Reece Bailey, Uncle Si's foreman, found time to play cribbage with Lance Morton, Hesther's father; and Peters and Nixon acquired leisure for skating and skiing, popular sports at their home ranch in the Rockies. A river—it would have been a creek in a country of large streams—flowed through the Morton holdings, and its glassy surface offered a resistless invitation to the steel runners. As for the skiing, there were plain and hill for running, climbing, and glissading. ”

“ He had blundered in not making certain of his skis and skates beforehand, so he could not see how any one but himself was at fault. As he crouched in the back seat of the sleigh he considered requesting Uncle Silas Goddard to recall him to the Montana headquarters. There, at least, he would be rid of Markham, and cut off forever from the demoralizing and disdainful eyes of Hesther. ”

“ He had planned the whole thing, of course, and had armed himself before leaving Morton's. Reaching the butte ahead of Peters, he had gone into hiding against the moment Peters should come skating down the river. Then, by way of making his treachery more contemptible, he had called to Peters for help, only to threaten him with a revolver and steal his skates.
"You bet I'll tell Bailey!" muttered Peters. "I reckon this'll cook your goose with Goddard, even if you do get to Roscommon in time to have the sheriff head off the bronks! What can a fellow make of a man like him, acting thataway?" ”

“ Markham, whose steel runners were the very last word in all-metal skates, excelled as a figure skater. He could cut all sorts of graceful figures on the ice, and, with Hesther Morton, would do a sort of waltz, which the girl seemed to consider rare sport. Peters, on the other hand, was not proficient at that sort of thing. He preferred straight skating, possibly because he realized that fancy capers were quite out of his line. The steel, wood, and leather with which he was shod seemed best adapted to straightaway work, anyhow. ”

“ His washed-out blue eyes fenced aggressively with the snapping black eyes of Markham.
"Skates or skis!" repeated Markham, his upper lip curling. "Why, it's all of thirty miles to Roscommon, if you follow the crooks o' the river! And how much would you figure it by skis, if you crossed Bear Butte instead of going around it? Talk sense, if you know how, Nix! Don't forget the fellows who rustled our stock have three hours the lead."
"How far will three hours of driving in this snow get the stolen herd?" returned Peters. "The thieves will have a tough job of it. ”

“ Markham must be made to suffer for his lawlessness, and it was up to Peters to see that he did not escape.
The first easy slopes of the butte were taken just as one might travel over level ground—a forward movement, in long, gliding steps. The skis were merely advanced, never lifted. As the ascent stiffened, Peters turned out the ends of the runners slightly, in what is known as the "half fishbone step." ”

“ Goddard was "uncle" to all his men, in the sense that gives an avuncular character to every genial, middle-aged person who looks after the welfare of younger employees.
In the early summer, Uncle Silas had sent a hundred horses into North Dakota. Business had not been good, and late fall found half the horses still on hand. These horses were being wintered at the Morton ranch, on marsh hay, cut and stacked by peters, Markham, and Reece Bailey, who had been sent by Uncle Silas to take care of the horse herd. ”

“ You are Bailey's man, Peters, from the Morton Ranch. Why were you sliding into town, at this time o' night, on a pair of skis? Thunder! It was as much as your life was worth! You——"
"A gang of horse thieves ran off our horses—more'n fifty of 'em," cut in Peters wildly. "It happened early in the evening. Get a posse, Jordan, and head off the gang at Long Knife Dry Wash. When Markham shows up, leave somebody in town to arrest him. He shot me in the arm. And send a doctor to Morton's to look after Bailey. He's wounded, too! ”

“ That, and the bright oil lamp, dazzled Peters' eyes for the moment, and he could not see what was going on in the room.
"Bailey has been hurt," came the voice of Markham. "Every horse in the herd has been driven off by thieves—and they even took Bailey's mount with the rest. Biggest outrage that ever happened in these parts! I'd like to know what the blamed country is coming to!"
The blur lifted from before Peters' eyes. He saw Bailey, his face twisted with pain, lying on a couch. Mrs. Morton bent over him, bathing a wounded shoulder from a basin of hot water. ”

“ During such moments of illusion the Saphead was almost happy. But the ranch house never took fire, and the chance to prove himself a hero by rescuing Hesther Morton was denied by fate.
In mid-January, however, an opportunity presented itself, through the winter sports at Devil's Lake. Markham and Peters entered themselves in the ski-jumping contest and skating race. They drove the fifty miles which separated Morton's from the lake, and Hesther went with them, to see the "carnival of sports" and to spend a night or two with relatives in Devil's Lake City. Again Peters had dreams ”

“ Morton. "That boy's got a good heart, even if he is a little odd."
"He'll always be a blunderer and a saphead," grunted her husband. "If the stolen horses are recovered, it'll be Markham who makes it possible."
Markham did not tarry long over his coffee. Within a few moments after Peters left he was out in the nipping air. Hesther, a shawl over her head, stepped through the doorway to watch while he crossed the trampled snow around the ranch house and then knelt to thrust the toes of his shoes in the Bilgeri binding of the skis and to buckle the ankle straps. ”

“ You had to butt into this deal with the fool suggestion of getting word to the sheriff, now, blame you, take your medicine!"
"You're bound to win," grunted Peters, "if you have to do it with a gun! You ain't square, Markham. I may be a good deal of a saphead, but I found, when it was too late, that one of my skis and one of my skate straps had been tampered with at Devil's Lake. You did that!"
"Why didn't you tell Hesther about it?" jeered Markham; "or the judges of the contests? Didn't you have nerve enough to put up a holler?" Peters gave the skates a shove across the ice. ”

“ That's his way. I better go to Roscommon myself. Peters can use his skates, and take the river trail, and I'll use my skis and go over the butte. I don't think we have a ghost of a show to head off the stock, but it's up to us to see what we can do."
"That's the talk!" exclaimed Morton approvingly. "The thieves had help from this ranch," he added darkly, tossing a significant glance toward the door through which Peters had just passed, "and I haven't got a whole lot of confidence in at least one man around here."
"Peters is square," Bailey averred. "Square as a die. ”

“ Markham had brought them as an aid in getting up the steep eastern slope of the butte. But why had he prepared himself with them if his object was to waylay Peters and secure the skates?
"Markham always figures a matter out both ways," Peters reflected. "He brought the gun to help corral the skates, but, if I happened to beat him to the butte, then he'd have to keep right on over the rise. If he couldn't do one thing, then he was ready to do the other. ”

“ Is Bailey badly hurt?"
"Don't stand there gawping!" fussed Morton. "Something has got to be done, and it's up to you and Markham to do it. A gang of scoundrels from across the line made off with the stock; and it's been no more than three hours since it happened. Take my team and get to Roscommon. The sheriff's got to be notified. Bailey says the thieves are making for the north, and if you and Markham are quick a posse can get between the gang and the boundary line. For heaven's sake, Peters, wake up!" ”

“ Nigh on to five thousand dollars' wuth of horses are being pushed to'rds the border, and here I'm helpless to do a thing."
"It don't seem possible to do a thing, Reece," returned Markham. "If we could round up a crowd of men in short order, and take after the thieves on fresh horses, like enough we might overhaul 'em. But where's the riding stock? Why, Morton's nearest neighbor is ten miles away!"
Peters flashed a disapproving glance at Markham, pulled off his bearskin gloves, and slumped down in a chair by the stove. ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”