Mavericks

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Mavericks

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mavericks, by William MacLeod Raine This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Mavericks
Author: William MacLeod Raine
Release Date: December 29, 2004 [EBook #14520]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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[Illustration: THE RIDER SLEWED IN THE SADDLE WITH HIS WHOLE ATTENTION UPON POSSIBLE PURSUIT. _Frontispiece. Page 33_]
MAVERICKS
BY
WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE
AUTHOR OF
WYOMING, RIDGWAY OF MONTANA, BUCKY O'CONNOR, A TEXAS RANGER, ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CLARENCE ROWE
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
1911 STREET & SMITH
1912 G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY

TO MY MOTHER
"In vain men tell us time can alter Old loves, or make old memories falter."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PHYLLIS 9
II. THE NESTER 18
III. CAUGHT RED-HANDED 28
IV. "I'M A RUSTLER AND A THIEF, AM I?" 43
V. AN AIDER AND ABETTOR 53
VI. A GOOD FRIEND 76
VII. A SHOT FROM AMBUSH 84
VIII. MISS GOING-ON-EIGHTEEN 103
IX. PUNISHMENT 117
X. INTO THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY 126
XI. TOM DIXON 144
XII. THE ESCAPE 157
XIII. A MISTAKE 168
XIV. A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 183
XV. THE BRAND BLOTTER 200
XVI. A WATERSPOUT 214
XVII. THE HOLD-UP 226
XVIII. BRILL HEALY AIRS HIS SENTIMENTS 233
XIX. THE ROAN WITH THE WHITE STOCKINGS 241
XX. YEAGER RIDES TO NOCHES 253
XXI. BREAKING DOWN AN ALIBI 263
XXII. SURRENDER 276
XXIII. AT THE RODEO 289
XXIV. MISSING 296
XXV. LARRY TELLS A BEAR STORY 304
XXVI. THE MAN HUNT 323
XXVII. THE ROUND-UP 329

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE
The rider slewed in the saddle with his whole attention upon possible pursuit. Frontispiece 33
She drew back as if he had struck her, all the sparkling eagerness driven from her face. 110
"Drop that gun!" 205
They grappled in silence save for the heavy panting that evidenced the tension of their efforts. 340

MAVERICKS
CHAPTER I
PHYLLIS
Phyllis leaned against the door-jamb and looked down the long road which wound up from the valley and lost itself now and again in the land waves. Miles away she could see a little cloud of dust travelling behind the microscopic stage, which moved toward her almost as imperceptibly as the minute-hand of a clock. A bronco was descending the hill trail from the Flagstaff mine, and its rider announced his coming with song in a voice young and glad.
"My love has breath o' roses, O' roses, o' roses, And cheeks like summer posies All fresh with morning dew,"
floated the words to her across the sunlit open.
If the girl heard, she heeded not. One might have guessed her a sullen, silent lass, and would have done her less than justice. For the storm in her eyes and the curl of the lip were born of a mood and not of habit. They had to do with the gay vocalist who drew his horse up in front of her and relaxed into the easy droop of the experienced rider at rest.
"Don't see me, do you?" he asked, smiling.
Her dark, level gaze came round and met his sunniness without response.
"Yes, I see you, Tom Dixon."
"And you don't think you see much then?" he suggested lightly.
She gave him no other answer than the one he found in the rigor of her straight figure and the flash of her dark eyes.
"Mad at me, Phyl?" Crossing his arms on the pommel of the saddle he leaned toward her, half coaxing, half teasing.
The girl chose to ignore him and withdrew her gaze to the stage, still creeping antlike toward the hills.
"My love has breath o' roses, O' roses, o' roses,"
he hummed audaciously, ready to catch her smile when it came.
It did not come. He thought he had never seen her carry her dusky good looks more scornfully. With a movement of impatience she brushed back a rebellious lock of blue-black hair from her temple.
"Somebody's acting right foolish," he continued jauntily. "It was all in fun, and in a game at that."
"I wasn't playing," he heard, though the profile did not turn in the least toward him.
"Well, I hated to let you stay a wall-flower."
"I don't play kissing games any more," she informed him with dignity.
"Sho, Phyl! I told you 'twas only in fun," he justified himself. "A kiss ain't anything to make so much fuss over. You ain't the first girl that ever was kissed."
She glanced quickly at him, recalling stories she had heard of his boldness with girls. He had taken off his hat and the golden locks of the boy gleamed in the sunlight. Handsome he surely was, though a critic might have found weakness in the lower part of the face. Chin and mouth lacked firmness.
"So I've been told," she answered tartly.
"Jealous?"
"No," she exploded.
Slipping to the ground, he trailed his rein.
"You don't need to depend on hearing," he said, moving toward