Dorn Of The Mountains Read Online Free PDF Page A

heartily.
    “Good day, there…you Milt Dorn!” called the first speaker. “When you git away from these lazy men, come over.”
    Dorn never refused a ser vice, and that was why his infrequent visits to Pine were wont to be prolonged beyond his own plea sure.
    Presently Beasley strode down the street, and, when about to enter the store, he espied Dorn.
    “Hello there, Milt!” he called cordially as he came forward with extended hand. His greeting was sincere, but the lightning glance he shot over Dorn was not born of his pleasure. Seen in daylight Beasley was a big, bold, bluff man, with strong dark features. His aggressive presence suggested that he was a good friend and a bad enemy.
    Dorn shook hands with him.
    “How are you, Beasley?”
    “Ain’t complainin’, Milt, though I got more work than I can rustle…. Reckon you wouldn’t take a job bossin’ my sheepherders?”
    “Reckon I wouldn’t,” replied Dorn. “Thanks all the same.”
    “What’s goin’ on up in the woods?”
    “Plenty of turkey an’ deer. Lots of bear, too. The Indians have worked back on the south side, early this fall. But I reckon winter will come late an’ be mild.”
    “Good! An’ where’re you headin’ from?”
    “Cross-country from my camp,” replied Dorn rather evasively.
    “Your camp. Nobody ever found thet yet,” declared Beasley gruffly.
    “It’s up there,” said Dorn.
    “Reckon you got thet cougar chained in your cabin door?” queried Beasley, and there was a barely distinguishable shudder of his muscular frame. Also the pupils dilated in his hard brown eyes.
    “Tom ain’t chained. An’ I haven’t no cabin, Beasley.”
    “You mean to tell me that big brute stays in your camp without bein’ hog-tied or corralled?” demanded Beasley.
    “Sure he does.”
    “Beats me! But then I’m queer on cougars. Have had many a cougar trail me at night. Ain’t sayin’ I was scared. But I don’t care for thet brand of varmint…. Milt, you goin’ to stay down a while?”
    “Yes, I’ll hang around some.”
    “Come over to the ranch. Glad to see you anytime. Some old huntin’ pards of yours are workin’ for me.”
    “Thanks, Beasley. I reckon I’ll come over.”
    Beasley turned away and took a step, and then, as if with an afterthought, he wheeled again. “Suppose you’ve heard about old Al Auchincloss bein’ near petered out?” queried Beasley. A strong ponderous cast of thought seemed to emanate from his features. Dorn divined that Beasley’s next step would be to further his advancement by some word or hint.
    “Widow Cass was tellin’ me all the news. Too bad about old Al,” replied Dorn.
    “Sure is. He’s done for. An’ I’m sorry…though Al’s never been square….”
    “Beasley,” interrupted Dorn quickly. “You can’t say that to me…. Al Auchincloss always was the whitest an’ squarest man in this sheep country.”
    Beasley gave Dorn a fleeting dark glance.
    “Dorn, what you think ain’t goin’ to influence feelin’ on this range,” returned Beasley deliberately. “You live in the woods, an’….”
    “Reckon livin’ in the woods I might think…an’ know a whole lot,” interposed Dorn just as deliberately. The group of men exchanged surprised glances. This was Milt Dorn in different aspect. And Beasley did not conceal a puzzled surprise.
    “About what…now?” he asked bluntly.
    “Why, about what’s goin’ on in Pine,” replied Dorn.
    Some of the men laughed.
    “Shore lots goin’ on…an’ no mistake,” put in Lew Harden.
    Probably the keen Beasley had never before considered Milt Dorn as a responsible person, certainly never one in any way to cross his trail. But on the instant perhaps some instinct was born or he divined an antagonism in Dorn that was both surprising and perplexing.
    “Dorn, I’ve differences with Al Auchincloss…have had them for years,” said Beasley. “Much of what he owns is mine. An’ it’s goin’ to come to me. Now I reckon people