The Big Dry. George Garland

afternoon.”

      “Yes, I could have,” Sack said slowly. “Somethin’ queer about him, though. First off, I ain’t heard of no Sacaton Kid. Next thing, he didn’t act like a robber. Took too many chances. Yep, somethin’ odd about him. In fact——”

      Bonnie waited for a moment. “Go on,” she said.

      “I was about to say I was hopin’ he’d trade my way. But it ain’t practical thinkin’.”

      Bonnie drew in her lower lip and eyed him narrowly before saying: “I know what you mean. Sounds crazy, but I was saying to myself: suppose he does return the money tonight?”

      As Sack studied her, his mind sharpened with the possibility that the idea might not be so crazy after all. Then reason told him again that the mind of a hard-headed realist could not harbor such absurd and wishful thinking.

      2

      SOUTH OF GUTACHE MESA

      A MIDMORNING HAZE hung over the mountains and valley when Bonnie saw the town of Bacon in the distance. A mesa cut off the view, though Cactus was driving his six-horse hitch at good speed. The town would next appear between two knolls, and from there the top of the A-T ranch house was visible.

      The town lay on the east side of the San Francisco River, Bonnie’s house on the other side a quarter-mile northwest in a clump of cottonwoods and sycamores. She could see the crossing now as well as the road leading up to the mining town of Queeny in the canyon, about two miles northeast of Bacon. There were eleven saloons in the tent-and-log town of Queeny with no officer of the law to maintain order. There her father’s big mine, the Queeny, dominated the scene. Luke Mason managed it. And right through the mountain lay the Big Beulah Mine belonging to her father’s rival, Dan Turrentine.

      She glanced back to the settlement of Bacon, its five stores, three saloons, livery barn, and scattered small houses. Near the Frontier Saloon was the stage stop. There her father, and Luke, perhaps, would be waiting to meet her.

      Cactus cracked the whip and the yellow wheel jerked forward. The coach was rolling off the incline and clattering toward the saloon before Cactus yelled and braked down hard. The stage stopped abruptly, pitching Bonnie forward. Sack caught her.

      She saw Luke through the cloud of dust. He stood near his new buggy, a distant look on his face, a long cheroot in his mouth. His small mustache was right becoming, she admitted again. In fact, Luke had more than a passable face. But something was missing. She could not readily put a finger on it. Then she realized that the Navajo called Indian Joe, almost as constant to Luke as his shadow, was not with him.

      The first word she heard spoken upon alighting was, “Posse.” Before Luke reached her, she was listening to a man telling another how the Sacaton Kid fanned a six-gun. She scoffed; to hear them talk the robber had shot it out with a dozen men.

      Luke took her arm, smiled down at her, saying: “Glad you’re home, Bonnie. With stage robbers on the loose and Victorio prizing up hell, it isn’t safe for a woman to travel.”

      “Here I am, safe and sound,” she said. “The robber wasn’t at all discourteous.”

      “That’s good. But did you hear about the massacre of the two prospectors on Gutache Mesa?”

      “Yes,” Bonnie replied soberly. “Too bad. Just after they had made a big strike up on Pueblo Creek—so I heard down at the stop.”

      Luke laughed. “Strike? Burns and Chalmers never hit it big. Just a few nuggets, that’s all.”

      “Depend on you and father to smell out gold,” she teased. “But where is father?”

      “In the Frontier Saloon. He’s talking up a posse. Want to wait for him or ride on to the ranch?”

      “I don’t know,” she said, looking about her. “I wanted to introduce you to the new deputy sheriff, Luke. He’s not much to look at, though he seems to have a lot of real horse sense.”

      “Joe Sack,” Luke said. “I met him in Socorro. Remember it was I who went up there for a deputy, Bonnie.”

      She looked at him, surprised and pleased. “Seems you picked a good man, Luke.”

      “That’s for him to prove to me. But about waiting here, if you don’t mind let’s go on to the ranch. I’ve got something on my mind that has to do with you and me.”

      She knew what he meant, though she said nothing as he helped her into the buggy. Nor did he broach the subject until the shallow river was behind them. There was nothing boyish or bashful about his approach; he placed the idea before her in a cool businesslike manner that did nothing to stir up any emotion in her: due to growing Indian trouble and the threat of war hanging over the land, he wanted to get married right away.

      “What’s all that got to do with it?” she asked pointedly.

      “Everything. I’ll be hard put to keep the mine open for one thing. You know trouble has a way of interfering with the things you want.”

      “Why, Luke, I believe that’s as fine a business proposition as I’ve ever listened to.”

      He eyed her sharply for the sarcasm she withheld from her voice and expression. Her glance fell before the scrutiny of his eyes, but not before he saw the mischief at work in her.

      “My reasons have nothing to do with my sentiments, Bonnie. You know that.”

      “I’ve got your word for it,” she said, in matter-of-fact manner.

      “Listen, Bonnie. I’ve missed you a lot, enough to know I want you to marry me without undue delay. Say Sunday week.”

      She looked at him critically, suppressing a desire to ask if he could spare the time for his wedding. The urge was strong to tell him how nicely Lieutenant Dana danced. Then she was seeing her father’s trusted manager and choice of a son-in-law. Dana and the Sacaton Kid held their distance in her mind now that she was home and in Luke’s company once more. But there was a good deal missing, things she had not noticed before her trip south. Luke didn’t challenge her emotions. For all of his good manners and brilliance and polish, he had not been one tenth as attentive to her in all his courtship as the robber had been with his eyes in the few minutes allotted him.

      “I’ll think about it,” she said.

      Luke reined up and the buggy rolled to a stop. His hands drew Bonnie to him. Turning his best face upon her, complimenting her with longing glances, he said: “Think about it now. It means a lot to me, Bonnie.”

      “Sunday week? No, Luke. I need more time.”

      A little later the buggy stopped in her own front yard. She was thinking it odd that, though she had returned with three men in mind, only Luke was eligible. Perhaps she was actually closer to marriage with Luke than ever before.

      Luke was opening the door for her when she saw her father and a group of A-T riders approaching. Sack was with them. She waited, thinking it was a weak-looking posse. After her father held her at arm’s length and told her how much he had missed her, she remarked on the size of his posse.

      McQueen grinned. He was a large genial man in his late forties with sharp blue eyes and graying hair. He looked the part of the big businessman of the Valley since he of the few who had made fortunes here dressed the part. Coat, vest, and string tie were as essential to his dress as boots were to a cowboy. He was saying:

      “Joe Sack can handle this thing, Bonnie. He’s of the opinion we won’t catch the bandit. Better to wait and let him show, which he’ll do sooner or later.”

      Bonnie looked steadily at Sack. Smiling accusingly, she said: “So we’re all crazy. Is that it, Mr. Sack?”

      “It’s a hunch, Miss Bonnie,” Sack said defensively. “He may and may not visit these parts. But if he does, we’ll spread out to catch him.”

      “And if he were to return the payroll