








ARIZONA NIGHTS

by

STEWART EDWARD WHITE




TABLE OF CONTENTS


CHAP.

    I. THE OLE VIRGINIA
   II. THE EMIGRANTS
  III. THE REMITTANCE MAN
   IV. THE CATTLE RUSTLERS
    V. THE DRIVE
   VI. CUTTING OUT
  VII. A CORNER IN HORSES
 VIII. THE CORRAL BRANDING
   IX. THE OLD TIMER
    X. THE TEXAS RANGERS
   XI. THE SAILOR WITH ONE HAND
  XII. THE MURDER ON THE BEACH
 XIII. BURIED TREASURE
  XIV. THE CHEWED SUGAR CANE
   XV. THE CALABASH STEW
  XVI. THE HONK-HONK BREED


PART II--THE TWO GUN MAN

    I. THE CATTLE RUSTLERS
   II. THE MAN WITH NERVE
  III. THE AGREEMENT
   IV. THE ACCOMPLISHMENT


PART III--THE RAWHIDE

    I. THE PASSING OF THE COLT'S FORTY-FIVE
   II. THE SHAPES OF ILLUSION
  III. THE PAPER A YEAR OLD
   IV. DREAMS
    V. THE ARRIVAL
   VI. THE WAGON TIRE
  VII. ESTRELLA
 VIII. THE ROUND-UP
   IX. THE LONG TRAIL
    X. THE DISCOVERY
   XI. THE CAPTURE
  XII. IN THE ARROYO
 XIII. THE RAWHIDE
  XIV. THE DESERT




CHAPTER ONE

THE OLE VIRGINIA

The ring around the sun had thickened all day long, and the turquoise
blue of the Arizona sky had filmed.  Storms in the dry countries are
infrequent, but heavy; and this surely meant storm.

We had ridden since sun-up over broad mesas, down and out of deep
canons, along the base of the mountain in the wildest parts of the
territory.  The cattle were winding leisurely toward the high country;
the jack rabbits had disappeared; the quail lacked; we did not see a
single antelope in the open.

"It's a case of hole up," the Cattleman ventured his opinion. "I have a
ranch over in the Double R.  Charley and Windy Bill hold it down.
We'll tackle it.  What do you think?"

The four cowboys agreed.  We dropped into a low, broad watercourse,
ascended its bed to big cottonwoods and flowing water, followed it into
box canons between rim-rock carved fantastically and painted like a
Moorish facade, until at last in a widening below a rounded hill, we
came upon an adobe house, a fruit tree, and a round corral.  This was
the Double R.

Charley and Windy Bill welcomed us with soda biscuits.  We turned our
horses out, spread our beds on the floor, filled our pipes, and
squatted on our heels.  Various dogs of various breeds investigated us.
It was very pleasant, and we did not mind the ring around the sun.

"Somebody else coming," announced the Cattleman finally.

"Uncle Jim," said Charley, after a glance.

A hawk-faced old man with a long white beard and long white hair rode
out from the cottonwoods.  He had on a battered broad hat abnormally
high of crown, carried across his saddle a heavy "eight square" rifle,
and was followed by a half-dozen lolloping hounds.

The largest and fiercest of the latter, catching sight of our group,
launched himself with lightning rapidity at the biggest of the ranch
dogs, promptly nailed that canine by the back of the neck, shook him
violently a score of times, flung him aside, and pounced on the next.
During the ensuing few moments that hound was the busiest thing in the
West.  He satisfactorily whipped four dogs, pursued two cats up a tree,
upset the Dutch oven and the rest of the soda biscuits, stampeded the
horses, and raised a cloud of dust adequate to represent the smoke of
battle.  We others were too paralysed to move.  Uncle Jim sat placidly
on his white horse, his thin knees bent to the ox-bow stirrups, smoking.

In ten seconds the trouble was over, principally because there was no
more trouble to make.  The hound returned leisurely, licking from his
chops the hair of his victims.  Uncle Jim shook his head.

"Trailer," said he sadly, "is a little severe."

We agreed heartily, and turned in to welcome Uncle Jim with a