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diff --git a/29642-h/29642-h.htm b/29642-h/29642-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3343a4b --- /dev/null +++ b/29642-h/29642-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13461 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hidden Water, by Dane Coolidge.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + span.rindent7 {margin-left: 0; padding-left:0; width: 2.8em; padding-right: 0; margin-right: 0; display: block; float: right;} + span.rindent18 {margin-left: 0; padding-left:0; width: 7.2em; padding-right: 0; margin-right: 0; display: block; float: right;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + span.indent2 {margin-left: 0; padding-left:0; width: 0.8em; padding-right: 0; margin-right: 0; display: block; float: left;} + p.cg {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-align: left !important; width: 101%;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + span.indent6 {margin-left: 0; padding-left:0; width: 2.4em; padding-right: 0; margin-right: 0; display: block; float: left;} + p.ralign {text-align: right !important;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + p.center {text-align: center !important;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + blockquote {display: block; margin: .75em 5%; font-size: 90%;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hidden Water, by Dane Coolidge + +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.org + + +Title: Hidden Water + +Author: Dane Coolidge + +Illustrator: Maynard Dixon + +Release Date: August 9, 2009 [EBook #29642] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIDDEN WATER *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='415' height='643' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“I never saw a sheepman yet that would fight, but you’ve got to”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.20em;margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:20px;'>HIDDEN WATER</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:40px;font-size:1.4em;'><i>By</i> DANE COOLIDGE</p> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'><img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' /></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-bottom:20px;'>With Four Illustrations in Color<br />By MAYNARD DIXON</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;'>A. L. BURT COMPANY<br /> +<span class='smcap'>Publishers New York</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' >COPYRIGHT<br />A. C. McCLURG & CO.<br />1910</p> + +<p class='tp' >Published October 29, 1910<br />Second Edition, December 3, 1910</p> + +<p class='tp' >Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London, England</p> + +<p class='tp' ><i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:75%;' /> +<col style='width:25%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>”I never saw a sheepman yet that would fight, but you’ve got to”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“Put up them guns, you gawky fools! This man ain’t going to eat ye!”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>177</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“No!” said Kitty, “you do not love me”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>287</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Threw the sand full in his face</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>462</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></div> +<h1>HIDDEN WATER</h1> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_MOUSE' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_MOUSE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE MOUSE</h3> +</div> +<p>After many long, brooding days of sunshine, +when the clean-cut mountains gleamed brilliantly +against the sky and the grama grass curled +slowly on its stem, the rain wind rose up suddenly out +of Papaguería and swooped down upon the desolate +town of Bender, whirling a cloud of dust before it; +and the inhabitants, man and horse, took to cover. +New-born clouds, rushing out of the ruck of flying +dirt, cast a cold, damp shadow upon the earth and +hurried past; white-crested thunder-caps, piling-up +above the Four Peaks, swept resolutely down to meet +them; and the storm wind, laden with the smell of +greasewood and wetted alkali, lashed the gaunt desert +bushes mercilessly as it howled across the plain. +Striking the town it jumped wickedly against the old +Hotel Bender, where most of the male population had +taken shelter, buffeting its false front until the glasses +tinkled and the bar mirrors swayed dizzily from their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +moorings. Then with a sudden thunder on the tin +roof the flood came down, and Black Tex set up the +drinks.</p> +<p>It was a tall cowman just down from the Peaks +who ordered the round, and so all-embracing was +his good humor that he bid every one in the room +drink with him, even a sheepman. Broad-faced +and huge, with four months’ growth of hair and a +thirst of the same duration, he stood at the end of the +bar, smiling radiantly, one sun-blackened hand toying +with the empty glass.</p> +<p>“Come up, fellers,” he said, waving the other in invitation, +“and drink to Arizona. With a little more +rain and good society she’d be a holy wonder, as the +Texas land boomer says down in hell.” They came +up willingly, cowpunchers and sheepmen, train +hands, prospectors, and the saloon bums that Black +Tex kept about to blow such ready spenders as +he, whenever they came to town. With a practised +jolt of the bottle Tex passed down the line, filling +each heavy tumbler to the brim; he poured a thin one +for himself and beckoned in his roustabout to swell the +count––but still there was an empty glass. There +was one man over in the corner who had declined to +drink. He sat at a disused card table studiously +thumbing over an old magazine, and as he raised his +dram the barkeeper glowered at him intolerantly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div> +<p>“Well,” said the big cowboy, reaching for his +liquor, “here’s how––and may she rain for a week!” +He shoved back his high black sombrero as he spoke, +but before he signalled the toast his eye caught the +sidelong glance of Black Tex, and he too noticed the +little man in the corner.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” he inquired, leaning +over toward Tex and jerking his thumb dubiously +at the corner, and as the barkeeper scowled and +shrugged his shoulders he set down his glass and +stared.</p> +<p>The stranger was a small man, for Arizona, and +his delicate hands were almost as white as a woman’s; +but the lines in his face were graven deep, without +effeminacy, and his slender neck was muscled like a +wrestler’s. In dress he was not unlike the men about +him––Texas boots, a broad sombrero, and a canvas +coat to turn the rain,––but his manner was that of +another world, a sombre, scholarly repose such as +you would look for in the reference room of the Boston +Public Library; and he crouched back in his +corner like a shy, retiring mouse. For a moment the +cowman regarded him intently, as if seeking for some +exculpating infirmity; then, leaving the long line of +drinkers to chafe at the delay, he paused to pry into +the matter.</p> +<p>“Say, partner,” he began, his big mountain voice +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +tamed down to a masterful calm, “won’t you come +over and have something with us?”</p> +<p>There was a challenge in the words which did not +escape the stranger; he glanced up suddenly from +his reading and a startled look came into his eyes +as he saw the long line of men watching him. They +were large clear eyes, almost piercing in their intentness, +yet strangely innocent and childlike. For a +moment they rested upon the regal form of the big +cowboy, no less a man than Jefferson Creede, foreman +of the Dos S, and there was in them something +of that silent awe and worship which big men love +to see, but when they encountered the black looks of +the multitude and the leering smile of Black Tex they +lit up suddenly with an answering glint of defiance.</p> +<p>“No, thank you,” he said, nodding amiably to the +cowman, “I don’t drink.”</p> +<p>An incredulous murmur passed along the line, +mingled with sarcastic mutterings, but the cowman +did not stir.</p> +<p>“Well, have a cigar, then,” he suggested patiently; +and the barkeeper, eager to have it over, slapped +one down on the bar and raised his glass.</p> +<p>“Thank you just as much,” returned the little man +politely, “but I don’t smoke, either. I shall have to +ask you to excuse me.”</p> +<p>“Have a glass of milk, then,” put in the barkeeper, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +going off into a guffaw at the familiar jest, but the +cowboy shut him up with a look.</p> +<p>“W’y, certainly,” he said, nodding civilly to the +stranger. “Come on, fellers!” And with a flourish +he raised his glass to his lips as if tossing off the +liquor at a gulp. Then with another downward +flourish he passed the whiskey into a convenient spittoon +and drank his chaser pensively, meanwhile shoving +a double eagle across the bar. As Black Tex +rang it up and counted out the change Creede stuffed +it into his pocket, staring absently out the window +at the downpour. Then with a muttered word about +his horse he strode out into the storm.</p> +<p>Deprived of their best spender, the crowd drifted +back to the tables; friendly games of coon-can sprang +up; stud poker was resumed; and a crew of railroad +men, off duty, looked out at the sluicing waters and +idly wondered whether the track would go out––the +usual thing in Arizona. After the first delirium of +joy at seeing it rain at all there is an aftermath of +misgiving, natural enough in a land where the whole +surface of the earth, mountain and desert, has been +chopped into ditches by the trailing feet of cattle and +sheep, and most of the grass pulled up by the roots. +In such a country every gulch becomes a watercourse +almost before the dust is laid, the <i>arroyos</i> turn to +rivers and the rivers to broad floods, drifting with trees +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +and wreckage. But the cattlemen and sheepmen who +happened to be in Bender, either to take on hands for +the spring round-up or to ship supplies to their shearing +camps out on the desert, were not worrying about +the railroad. Whether the bridges went out or held, +the grass and browse would shoot up like beanstalks +in to-morrow’s magic sunshine; and even if the Rio +Salagua blocked their passage, or the shearers’ tents +were beaten into the mud, there would still be feed, +and feed was everything.</p> +<p>But while the rain was worth a thousand dollars +a minute to the country at large, trade languished in +the Hotel Bender. In a land where a gentleman +cannot take a drink without urging every one within +the sound of his voice to join in, the saloon business, +while running on an assured basis, is sure to have its +dull and idle moments. Having rung up the two +dollars and a half which Jefferson Creede paid for his +last drink––the same being equivalent to one day’s +wages as foreman of the Dos S outfit––Black Tex, +as Mr. Brady of the Bender bar preferred to be +called, doused the glasses into a tub, turned them +over to his roustabout, and polished the cherrywood +moodily. Then he drew his eyebrows down and +scowled at the little man in the corner.</p> +<p>In his professional career he had encountered a +great many men who did not drink, but most of them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +smoked, and the others would at least take a cigar +home to their friends. But here was a man who +refused to come in on a treat at all, and a poor, miserable +excuse for a man he was, too, without a word +for any one. Mr. Brady’s reflections on the perversity +of tenderfeet were cut short by a cold blast of air. +The door swung open, letting in a smell of wet greasewood, +and an old man, his hat dripping, stumbled in +and stood swaying against the bar. His aged sombrero, +blacksmithed along the ridge with copper rivets, +was set far back on a head of long gray hair which +hung in heavy strings down his back, like an Indian’s; +his beard, equally long and tangled, spread +out like a chest protector across his greasy shirt, and +his fiery eyes roved furtively about the room as he +motioned for a drink. Black Tex set out the bottle +negligently and stood waiting.</p> +<p>“Is that all?” he inquired pointedly, as the old man +slopped out a drink.</p> +<p>“Well, have one yourself,” returned the old-timer +grudgingly. Then, realizing his breach of etiquette, +he suddenly straightened up and included the entire +barroom in a comprehensive sweep of the hand.</p> +<p>“Come up hyar, all of yoush,” he said drunkenly. +“Hev a drink––everybody––no, everybody––come +up hyar, I say!” And the graceless saloon bums +dropped their cards and came trooping up together. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +A few of the more self-respecting men slipped quietly +out into the card rooms; but the studious stranger, +disdaining such puny subterfuges, remained in his +place, as impassive and detached as ever.</p> +<p>“Hey, young man,” exclaimed the old-timer jauntily, +“step up hyar and nominate yer pizen!”</p> +<p>He closed his invitation with an imperative gesture, +but the young man did not obey.</p> +<p>“No, thank you, Uncle,” he replied soberly, “I don’t +drink.”</p> +<p>“Well, hev a cigar, then,” returned the old man, +finishing out the formula of Western hospitality, and +once more Black Tex glowered down upon this +guest who was always “knocking a shingle off his +sign.”</p> +<p>“Aw, cut it out, Bill,” he sneered, “that young feller +don’t drink ner smoke, neither one––and he +wouldn’t have no truck with you, nohow!”</p> +<p>They drank, and the stranger dropped back into +his reading unperturbed. Once more Black Tex +scrubbed the bar and scowled at him; then, tapping +peremptorily on the board with a whiskey glass, he +gave way to his just resentment.</p> +<p>“Hey, young feller,” he said, jerking his hand +arbitrarily, “come over here. Come over here, I said––I +want to talk with you!”</p> +<p>For a moment the man in the corner looked up in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +well-bred surprise; then without attempting to argue +the point he arose and made his way to the bar.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you, anyway?” demanded +Brady roughly. “Are you too good to drink with +the likes of us?”</p> +<p>The stranger lowered his eyes before the domineering +gaze of his inquisitor and shifted his feet uneasily.</p> +<p>“I don’t drink with anybody,” he said at last. +“And if you had any other waiting-room in your +hotel,” he added, “I’d keep away from your barroom +altogether. As it is, maybe you wouldn’t mind +leaving me alone.”</p> +<p>At this retort, reflecting as it did upon the management, +Black Tex began to breathe heavily and sway +upon his feet.</p> +<p>“I asked you,” he roared, thumping his fist upon +the bar and opening up his eyes, “whether you are +too good to drink with the likes of us––me, f’r instance––and +I want to git an answer!”</p> +<p>He leaned far out over the bar as if listening for +the first word before he hit him, but the stranger did +not reply immediately. Instead, with simple-minded +directness he seemed to be studying on the matter. +The broad grin of the card players fell to a wondering +stare and every man leaned forward when, +raising his sombre eyes from the floor, the little man +spoke.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></div> +<p>“Why, yes,” he said quietly, “I think I am.”</p> +<p>“Yes, <i>what</i>?” yelled the barkeeper, astounded. +“You think you’re what?”</p> +<p>“Now, say,” protested the younger man. Then, +apparently recognizing the uselessness of any further +evasion, he met the issue squarely.</p> +<p>“Well, since you crowd me to it,” he cried, flaring +up, “I <i>am</i> too good! I’m too good a man to drink +when I don’t want to drink––I’m too good to accept +treats when I don’t stand treat! And more than +that,” he added slowly and impressively, “I’m too +good to help blow that old man, or any other man, +for his money!”</p> +<p>He rose to his utmost height as he spoke, turning +to meet the glance of every man in the room, and +as he faced them, panting, his deep eyes glowed with +a passion of conviction.</p> +<p>“If that is too good for this town,” he said, “I’ll +get out of it, but I won’t drink on treats to please +anybody.”</p> +<p>The gaze of the entire assembly followed him curiously +as he went back to his corner, and Black Tex +was so taken aback by this unexpected effrontery on +the part of his guest that he made no reply whatever. +Then, perceiving that his business methods +had been questioned, he drew himself up and frowned +darkly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></div> +<p>“Hoity-toity!” he sniffed with exaggerated concern. +“Who th’ hell is this, now? One of them little white-ribbon +boys, fresh from the East, I bet ye, travellin’ +for the W. P. S. Q. T. H’m-m––tech me not––oh +deah!” He hiked up his shoulders, twisted his head +to a pose, and shrilled his final sarcasms in the tones +of a finicky old lady; but the stranger stuck resolutely +to his reading, whereupon the black barkeeper went +sullen and took a drink by himself.</p> +<p>Like many a good mixer, Mr. Brady of the Hotel +Bender was often too good a patron of his own bar, +and at such times he developed a mean streak, with +symptoms of homicidal mania, which so far had kept +the town marshal guessing. Under these circumstances, +and with the rumor of a killing at Fort +Worth to his credit, Black Tex was accustomed to +being humored in his moods, and it went hard with +him to be called down in the middle of a spectacular +play, and by a rank stranger, at that. The chair-warmers +of the Hotel Bender bar therefore discreetly +ignored the unexpected rebuke of their chief and proceeded +noisily with their games, but the old man who +had paid for the drinks was no such time-server. After +tucking what was left of his money back into his +overalls he balanced against the bar railing for +a while and then steered straight for the dark corner.</p> +<p>“Young feller,” he said, leaning heavily upon the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +table where the stranger was reading, “I’m old Bill +Johnson, of Hell’s Hip Pocket, and I wan’er shake +hands with you!”</p> +<p>The young man looked up quickly and the card +players stopped as suddenly in their play, for Old +Man Johnson was a fighter in his cups. But at last +the stranger showed signs of friendliness. As the +old man finished speaking he rose with the decorum +of the drawing-room and extended his white hand +cordially.</p> +<p>“I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Johnson,” he +said. “Won’t you sit down?”</p> +<p>“No,” protested the old man, “I do’ wanner sit +down––I wanner ask you a question.” He reeled, +and balanced himself against a chair. “I wanner +ask you,” he continued, with drunken gravity, “on +the squar’, now, did you ever drink?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes, Uncle,” replied the younger man, smiling +at the question, “I used to take a friendly glass, +once in a while––but I don’t drink now.” He added +the last with a finality not to be mistaken, but Mr. +Johnson of Hell’s Hip Pocket was not there to urge +him on.</p> +<p>“No, no,” he protested. “You’re mistaken, Mister––er––Mister––”</p> +<p>“Hardy,” put in the little man.</p> +<p>“Ah yes––Hardy, eh? And a dam’ good name, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +too. I served under a captain by that name at old +Fort Grant, thirty years ago. Waal, Hardy, I like +y’r face––you look honest––but I wanner ask +you ’nuther question––why don’t you drink now, +then?”</p> +<p>Hardy laughed indulgently, and his eyes lighted +up with good humor, as if entertaining drunken men +was his ordinary diversion.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Johnson,” he said. “If I +should drink whiskey the way you folks down here do, +I’d get drunk.”</p> +<p>“W’y sure,” admitted Old Man Johnson, sinking +shamelessly into a chair. “I’m drunk now. But +what’s the difference?”</p> +<p>Noting the black glances of the barkeeper, Hardy +sat down beside him and pitched the conversation +in a lower key.</p> +<p>“It may be all right for you, Mr. Johnson,” he continued +confidentially, “and of course that’s none of +my business; but if I should get drunk in this town, +I’d either get into a fight and get licked, or I’d wake +up the next morning broke, and nothing to show for +it but a sore head.”</p> +<p>“That’s me!” exclaimed Old Man Johnson, slamming +his battered hat on the table, “that’s me, Boy, +down to the ground! I came down hyar to buy grub +f’r my ranch up in Hell’s Hip Pocket, but look at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +me now, drunk as a sheep-herder, and only six dollars +to my name.” He shook his shaggy head and fell +to muttering gloomily, while Hardy reverted peacefully +to his magazine.</p> +<p>After a long pause the old man raised his face from +his arms and regarded the young man searchingly.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said, “you never told me why you refused +to drink with me a while ago.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll tell you,” answered Hardy, honestly, +“and I’m sure you’ll understand how it is with me. +I never expect to take another drink as long as I live +in this country––not unless I get snake-bit. One +drink of this Arizona whiskey will make me foolish, +and two will make me drunk, I’m that light-headed. +Now, if I had taken a drink with you a minute ago +I’d be considered a cheap sport if I didn’t treat back, +wouldn’t I? And then I’d be drunk. Yes, that’s +a fact. So I have to cut it out altogether. I like you +just as well, you understand, and all these other gentlemen, +but I just naturally can’t do it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, hell,” protested the old man, “that’s all right. +Don’t apologize, Boy, whatever you do. D’yer know +what I came over hyar fer?” he asked suddenly reaching +out a crabbed hand. “Well, I’ll tell ye. I’ve +be’n lookin’ f’r years f’r a white man that I c’d swear +off to. Not one of these pink-gilled preachers but +a man that would shake hands with me on the squar’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +and hold me to it. Now, Boy, I like you––will you +shake hands on that?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” responded the young man soberly. “But +I tell you, Uncle,” he added deprecatingly, “I just +came into town to-day and I’m likely to go out again +to-morrow. Don’t you think you could kind of look +after yourself while I’m gone? I’ve seen a lot of +this swearing-off business already, and it don’t seem +to amount to much anyhow unless the fellow that +swears off is willing to do all the hard work himself.”</p> +<p>There was still a suggestion of banter in his words, +but the old man was too serious to notice it.</p> +<p>“Never mind, boy,” he said solemnly, “I can do all +the work, but I jist had to have an honest man to +swear off to.”</p> +<p>He rose heavily to his feet, adjusted his copper-riveted +hat laboriously, and drifted slowly out the +door. And with another spender gone the Hotel +Bender lapsed into a sleepy quietude. The rain hammered +fitfully on the roof; the card players droned +out their bids and bets; and Black Tex, mechanically +polishing his bar, alternated successive jolts of whiskey +with ill-favored glances into the retired corner where +Mr. Hardy, supposedly of the W. P. S. Q. T., was +studiously perusing a straw-colored Eastern magazine. +Then, as if to lighten the gloom, the sun flashed +out suddenly, and before the shadow of the scudding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +clouds had dimmed its glory a shrill whistle from +down the track announced the belated approach of +the west-bound train. Immediately the chairs began +to scrape; the stud-poker players cut for the stakes +and quit; coon-can was called off, and by the time +Number Nine slowed down for the station the entire +floating population of Bender was lined up to see +her come in.</p> +<p>Rising head and shoulders above the crowd and +well in front stood Jefferson Creede, the foreman +of the Dos S; and as a portly gentleman in an unseasonable +linen duster dropped off the Pullman he +advanced, waving his hand largely.</p> +<p>“Hullo, Judge!” he exclaimed, grinning jovially. +“I was afraid you’d bogged down into a washout +somewhere!”</p> +<p>“Not at all, Jeff, not at all,” responded the old +gentleman, shaking hands warmly. “Say, this is +great, isn’t it?” He turned his genial smile upon the +clouds and the flooded streets for a moment and then +hurried over toward the hotel.</p> +<p>“Well, how are things going up on the range?” +he inquired, plunging headlong into business and +talking without a stop. “Nicely, nicely, I don’t +doubt. I tell you, Mr. Creede, that ranch has +marvellous possibilities––marvellous! All it needs is +a little patience, a little diplomacy, you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +understand––<i>and holding on</i>, until we can pass this forestry legislation. +Yes, sir, while the present situation may +seem a little strained––and I don’t doubt you are having +a hard time––at the same time, if we can only +get along with these sheepmen––appeal to their better +nature, you understand––until we get some protection +at law, I am convinced that we can succeed +yet. I want to have a long talk with you on this +subject, Jeff––man to man, you understand, and between +friends––but I hope you will reconsider your +resolution to resign, because that would just about +finish us off. It isn’t a matter of money, is it, Jefferson? +For while, of course, we are not making a fortune––”</p> +<p>He paused and glanced up at his foreman’s face, +which was growing more sullen every minute with +restrained impatience.</p> +<p>“Well, speak out, Jeff,” he said resignedly. +“What is it?”</p> +<p>“You know dam’ well what it is,” burst out the tall +cowboy petulantly. “It’s them sheepmen. And I +want to tell you right now that no money can hire +me to run that ranch another year, not if I’ve got to +smile and be nice to those sons of––well, you know +what kind of sons I mean––that dog-faced Jasper +Swope, for instance.”</p> +<p>He spat vehemently at the mention of the name +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +and led the way to a card room in the rear of the +barroom.</p> +<p>“Of course I’ll work your cattle for you,” he +conceded, as he entered the booth, “but if you want +them sheepmen handled diplomatically you’d better +send up a diplomat. I’m that wore out I can’t talk +to ’em except over the top of a six-shooter.”</p> +<p>The deprecating protestations of the judge were +drowned by the scuffle of feet as the hangers-on and +guests of the hotel tramped in, and in the round +of drinks that followed his presence was half forgotten. +Not being a drinking man himself, and therefore +not given to the generous practice of treating, +the arrival of Judge Ware, lately retired from the +bench and now absentee owner of the Dos S Ranch, +did not create much of a furore in Bender. All Black +Tex and the bunch knew was that he was holding +a conference with Jefferson Creede, and that if Jeff +was pleased with the outcome of the interview he +would treat, but if not he would probably retire to the +corral and watch his horse eat hay, openly declaring +that Bender was the most God-forsaken hell-hole +north of the Mexican line––for Creede was a man of +moods.</p> +<p>In the lull which followed the first treat, the ingratiating +drummer who had set up the drinks, charging +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +the same to his expense account, leaned against +the bar and attempted to engage the barkeeper in +conversation, asking leading questions about business +in general and Mr. Einstein of the New York Store +in particular; but Black Tex, in spite of his position, +was uncommunicative. Immediately after the arrival +of the train the little man who had called him down +had returned to the barroom and immersed himself in +those wearisome magazines which a lunger had left +about the place, and, far from being impressed with his +sinister expression, had ignored his unfriendly glances +entirely. More than that, he had deserted his dark +corner and seated himself on a bench by the window +from which he now looked out upon the storm with a +brooding preoccupation as sincere as it was maddening. +His large deer eyes were fixed upon the distance, +and his manner was that of a man who studies +deeply upon some abstruse problem; of a man with a +past, perhaps, such as often came to those parts, +crossed in love, or hiding out from his folks.</p> +<p>Black Tex dismissed the drummer with an impatient +gesture and was pondering solemnly upon his +grievances when a big, square-jowled cat rushed out +from behind the bar and set up a hoarse, raucous +mewing.</p> +<p>“Ah, shet up!” growled Brady, throwing him away +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +with his foot; but as the cat’s demands became more +and more insistent the barkeeper was at last constrained +to take some notice.</p> +<p>“What’s bitin’ you?” he demanded, peering into +the semi-darkness behind the bar; and as the cat, thus +encouraged, plunged recklessly in among a lot of +empty bottles, he promptly threw him out and fished +up a mouse trap, from the cage of which a slender +tail was wriggling frantically.</p> +<p>“Aha!” he exclaimed, advancing triumphantly into +the middle of the floor. “Look, boys, here’s where +we have some fun with Tom!” And as the card +players turned down their hands to watch the sport, +the old cat, scenting his prey, rose up on his hind +legs and clutched at the cage, yelling.</p> +<p>Grabbing him roughly by the scruff of the neck +Black Tex suddenly threw him away and opened the +trap, but the frightened mouse, unaware of his opportunity, +remained huddled up in the corner.</p> +<p>“Come out of that,” grunted the barkeeper, shaking +the cage while with his free hand he grappled the +cat, and before he could let go his hold the mouse +was halfway across the room, heading for the bench +where Hardy sat.</p> +<p>“Ketch ’im!” roared Brady, hurling the eager cat +after it, and just as the mouse was darting down +a hole Tom pinned it to the floor with his claws.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></div> +<p>“What’d I tell ye?” cried the barkeeper, swaggering. +“That cat will ketch ’em every time. Look at +that now, will you?”</p> +<p>With dainty paws arched playfully, the cat pitched +the mouse into the air and sprang upon it like lightning +as it darted away. Then mumbling it with a +nicely calculated bite, he bore it to the middle of the +floor and laid it down, uninjured.</p> +<p>“Ain’t he hell, though?” inquired Tex, rolling his +eyes upon the spectators. The cat reached out cautiously +and stirred it up with his paw; and once more, +as his victim dashed for its hole, he caught it in full +flight. But now the little mouse, its hair all wet and +rumpled, crouched dumbly between the feet of its captor +and would not run. Again and again the cat +stirred it up, sniffing suspiciously to make sure it was +not dead; then in a last effort to tempt it he deliberately +lay over on his back and rolled, purring and +closing his eyes luxuriously, until, despite its hurts, +the mouse once more took to flight. Apparently unheeding, +the cat lay inert, following its wobbly course +with half-shut eyes––then, lithe as a panther, he leaped +up and took after it. There was a rush and a scramble +against the wall, but just as he struck out his +barbed claw a hand closed over the mouse and the little +man on the bench whisked it dexterously away.</p> +<p>Instantly the black cat leaped into the air, clamoring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +for his prey, and with a roar like a mountain bull +Black Tex rushed out to intercede.</p> +<p>“Put down that mouse, you freak!” he bellowed, +charging across the room. “Put ’im down, I say, or +I’ll break you in two!” He launched his heavy fist +as he spoke, but the little man ducked it neatly and, +stepping behind a table, stood at bay, still holding +the mouse.</p> +<p>“Put ’im <i>down</i>, I tell you!” shouted the barkeeper, +panting with vexation. “What––you won’t, eh? +Well, I’ll learn you!” And with a wicked oath he +drew his revolver and levelled it across the table.</p> +<p>“Put––down––that––mouse!” he said slowly and +distinctly, but Hardy only shook his head. Every +man in the room held his breath for the report; the +poker players behind fell over tables and chairs to +get out of range; and still they stood there, the barkeeper +purple, the little man very pale, glaring at +one another along the top of the barrel. In the hollow +of his hand Hardy held the mouse, which tottered +drunkenly; while the cat, still clamoring for his prize, +raced about under the table, bewildered.</p> +<p>“Hurry up, now,” said the barkeeper warningly, +“I’ll give you five. One––come on, now––two––”</p> +<p>At the first count the old defiance leaped back into +Hardy’s eyes and he held the mouse to his bosom as +a mother might shield her child; at the second he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +glanced down at it, a poor crushed thing trembling +as with an ague from its wounds; then, smoothing it +gently with his hand, he pinched its life out suddenly +and dropped it on the floor.</p> +<p>Instantly the cat pounced upon it, nosing the body +eagerly, and Black Tex burst into a storm of oaths.</p> +<p>“Well, dam’ your heart,” he yelled, raising his +pistol in the air as if about to throw the muzzle against +his breast and fire. “What––in––hell––do you +mean?”</p> +<p>Baffled and evaded in every play the evil-eyed barkeeper +suddenly sensed a conspiracy to show him up, +and instantly the realization of his humiliation made +him dangerous.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you figure on makin’ a monkey out of +me!” he suggested, hissing snakelike through his +teeth; but Hardy made no answer whatever.</p> +<p>“Well, <i>say</i> something, can’t you?” snapped the badman, +his overwrought nerves jangled by the delay. +“What d’ye mean by interferin’ with my cat?”</p> +<p>For a minute the stranger regarded him intently, +his sad, far-seeing eyes absolutely devoid of evil intent, +yet baffling in their inscrutable reserve––then +he closed his lips again resolutely, as if denying expression +to some secret that lay close to his heart, +turning it with undue vehemence to the cause of those +who suffer and cannot escape.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></div> +<p>“Well, f’r Gawd’s sake,” exclaimed Black Tex at +last, lowering his gun in a pet, “don’t I git <i>no</i> satisfaction––what’s +your <i>i</i>-dee?”</p> +<p>“There’s too much of this cat-and-mouse business +going on,” answered the little man quietly, “and I +don’t like it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you don’t, eh?” echoed the barkeeper sarcastically; +“well, excuse <i>me</i>! I didn’t know that.” +And with a bow of exaggerated politeness he retired +to his place.</p> +<p>“The drinks are on the house,” he announced, jauntily +strewing the glasses along the bar. “Won’t +drink, eh? All right. But lemme tell you, pardner,” +he added, wagging his head impressively, +“you’re goin’ to git hurt some day.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_MAN_FROM_CHERRYCOW' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_MAN_FROM_CHERRYCOW'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>THE MAN FROM CHERRYCOW</h3> +</div> +<p>After lashing the desert to a frazzle and finding +the leaks in the Hotel Bender, the wind from +Papaguería went howling out over the mesa, still big +with rain for the Four Peaks country, and the sun +came out gloriously from behind the clouds. Already +the thirsty sands had sucked up the muddy +pools of water, and the board walk which extended the +length of the street, connecting saloon with saloon +and ending with the New York Store, smoked with +the steam of drying. Along the edge of the walk, +drying out their boots in the sun, the casual residents +of the town––many of them held up there by the +storm––sat in pairs and groups, talking or smoking +in friendly silence. A little apart from the rest, for +such as he are a long time making friends in Arizona, +Rufus Hardy sat leaning against a post, gazing +gloomily out across the desert. For a quiet, retiring +young man, interested in good literature and bearing +malice toward no one, his day in the Bender barroom +had been eventful out of all proportion to his deserts +and wishes, and he was deep in somber meditation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +when the door opened and Judge Ware stepped out +into the sunshine.</p> +<p>In outward appearance the judge looked more like +a large fresh-faced boy in glasses than one of San +Francisco’s eminent jurists, and the similarity was +enhanced by the troubled and deprecating glances +with which he regarded his foreman, who towered +above him like a mentor. There was a momentary +conference between them at the doorway, and then, +as Creede stumped away down the board walk, the +judge turned and reluctantly approached Hardy.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir,” he began, as the young +man in some confusion rose to meet him, “but I +should like a few words with you, on a matter of business. +I am Mr. Ware, the owner of the Dos S Ranch––perhaps +you may have heard of it––over in the +Four Peaks country. Well––I hardly know how to +begin––but my foreman, Mr. Creede, was highly impressed +with your conduct a short time ago in the––er––affray +with the barkeeper. I––er––really +know very little as to the rights of the matter, but +you showed a high degree of moral courage, I’m +sure. Would you mind telling me what your business +is in these parts, Mr.––er––”</p> +<p>“Hardy,” supplied the young man quietly, “Rufus +Hardy. I am––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></div> +<p>“Er––<i>what</i>?” exclaimed the judge, hastily focussing +his glasses. “Hardy––Hardy––where have I heard +that name before?”</p> +<p>“I suppose from your daughter, Miss Lucy,” replied +the young man, smiling at his confusion. “Unless,” +he added hastily, “she has forgotten about me.”</p> +<p>“Why, Rufus Hardy!” exclaimed the judge, reaching +out his hand. “Why, bless my heart––to be sure. +Why, where have you been for this last year and +more? I am sure your father has been quite worried +about you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope not,” answered Hardy, shifting his +gaze. “I guess he knows I can take care of myself +by this time––if I do write poetry,” he added, with a +shade of bitterness.</p> +<p>“Well, well,” said the judge, diplomatically changing +the subject, “Lucy will be glad to hear of you, at +any rate. I believe she––er––wrote you once, some +time ago, at your Berkeley address, and the letter was +returned as uncalled for.”</p> +<p>He gazed over the rims of his glasses inquiringly, +and with a suggestion of asperity, but the young man +was unabashed.</p> +<p>“I hope you will tell Miss Lucy,” he said deferentially, +“that on account of my unsettled life I have not +ordered my mail forwarded for some time.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +paused and for the moment seemed to be considering +some further explanation; then his manner changed +abruptly.</p> +<p>“I believe you mentioned a matter of business,” he +remarked bluffly, and the judge came back to earth +with a start. His mind had wandered back a year or +more to the mysterious disappearance of this same +self-contained young man from his father’s house, not +three blocks from his own comfortable home. There +had been a servant’s rumor that he had sent back a letter +or two postmarked “Bowie, Arizona”––but old +Colonel Hardy had said never a word.</p> +<p>“Er––yes,” he assented absently, “but––well, I declare,” +he exclaimed helplessly, “I’ve quite forgotten +what it was about.”</p> +<p>“Won’t you sit down, then?” suggested Hardy, indicating +the edge of the board walk with a courtly +sweep of the hand. “This rain will make good feed +for you up around the Four Peaks––I believe it was +of your ranch there that you wished to speak.”</p> +<p>Judge Ware settled down against a convenient +post and caught his breath, meanwhile regarding his +companion curiously.</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s it,” he said. “I wanted to talk with +you about my ranch, but I swear I’ll have to wait +till Creede comes back, now.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” answered Hardy easily; “we can talk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +about home, then. How is Miss Lucy succeeding +with her art––is she still working at the Institute?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed!” exclaimed the judge, quite mollified +by the inquiry. “Indeed she is, and doing as +well as any of them. She had a landscape hung at +the last exhibit, that was very highly praised, even +by Mathers, and you know how hard he is to please. +Tupper Browne won the prize, but I think Lucy’s +was twice the picture––kind of soft and sunshiny, you +know––it made you think of home, just to look at it.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” said Hardy, looking +up the ragged street a little wistfully. “I kind of +lose track of things down here, knocking around from +place to place.” He seated himself wearily on the +edge of the sidewalk and drummed with his sinewy +white hands against a boot leg. “But it’s a great +life, sure,” he observed, half to himself. “And by +the way, Mr. Ware,” he continued, “if it’s all the +same to you I wish you wouldn’t say anything to +your foreman about my past life. Not that there is +anything disgraceful about it, but there isn’t much +demand for college graduates in this country, you +know, and I might want to strike him for a job.”</p> +<p>Judge Ware nodded, a little distantly; he did not +approve of this careless young man in all his moods. +For a man of good family he was hardly presentable, +for one thing, and he spoke at times like an ordinary +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +working man. So he awaited the lumbering approach +of his foreman in sulky silence, resolved to +leave the matter entirely in his hands.</p> +<p>Jefferson Creede bore down upon them slowly, +sizing up the situation as he came, or trying to, for +everything seemed to be at a standstill.</p> +<p>“Well?” he remarked, looking inquiringly from the +judge to Hardy. “How about it?”</p> +<p>There was something big and dominating about +him as he loomed above them, and the judge’s schoolboy +state of mind instantly returned.</p> +<p>“I––I really haven’t done anything about the matter, +Jefferson,” he stammered apologetically. “Perhaps +you will explain our circumstances to Mr. Hardy +here, so that we can discuss the matter intelligently.” +He looked away as he spoke, and the tall foreman +grunted audibly.</p> +<p>“Well,” he drawled, “they ain’t much to explain. +The sheepmen have been gittin’ so free up on our +range that I’ve had a little trouble with ’em––and if +I was the boss they’d be more trouble, you can bet +your life on that. But the judge here seems to think +we can kinder suck the hind teat and baby things +along until they git that Forest Reserve act through, +and make our winnin’ later. He wants to make +friends with these sheepmen and git ’em to kinder go +around a little and give us half a chanst. Well, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +maybe it can be done––but not by me. So I told +him either to get a superintendent to handle the sheep +end of it or rustle up a new foreman, because I see +red every time I hear a sheep-blat.</p> +<p>“Then come the question,” continued the cowman, +throwing out his broad hand as if indicating the +kernel of the matter, “of <i>gittin’</i> such a man, and while +we was talkin’ it over you called old Tex down so good +and proper that there wasn’t any doubt in <i>my</i> mind––providin’ +you want the job, of course.”</p> +<p>He paused and fixed his compelling eyes upon +Hardy with such a mixture of admiration and good +humor that the young man was won over at once, +although he made no outward sign. It was Judge +Ware who was to pass upon the matter finally, and he +waited deferentially for him to speak.</p> +<p>“Well––er––Jefferson,” began the judge a little +weakly, “do you think that Mr. Hardy possesses the +other qualities which would be called for in such a +man?”</p> +<p>“W’y, sure,” responded Creede, waving the matter +aside impatiently. “Go ahead and hire him before +he changes his mind.”</p> +<p>“Very well then, Mr. Hardy,” said the judge resignedly, +“the first requisite in such a man is that he +shall please Mr. Creede. And since he commends +you so warmly I hope that you will accept the position. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +Let me see––um––would seventy-five dollars +a month seem a reasonable figure? Well, call it +seventy-five, then––that’s what I pay Mr. Creede, and +I want you to be upon an equality in such matters.</p> +<p>“Now as to your duties. Jefferson will have +charge of the cattle, as usual; and I want you, Mr. +Hardy, to devote your time and attention to this matter +of the sheep. Our ranch house at Hidden Water +lies almost directly across the river from one of the +principal sheep crossings, and a little hospitality +shown to the shepherds in passing might be like bread +cast upon the waters which comes back an hundred +fold after many days. We cannot hope to get rid of +them entirely, but if the sheep owners would kindly +respect our rights to the upper range, which Mr. +Creede will point out to you, I am sure we should +take it very kindly. Now that is your whole problem, +Rufus, and I leave the details entirely in your hands. +But whatever you do, be friendly and see if you +can’t appeal to their better nature.”</p> +<p>He delivered these last instructions seriously and +they were so taken by Hardy, but Creede laughed +silently, showing all his white teeth, yet without attracting +the unfavorable attention of the judge, who +was a little purblind. Then there was a brief discussion +of details, an introduction to Mr. Einstein +of the New York Store, where Hardy was given +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +<i>carte blanche</i> for supplies, and Judge Ware +swung up on the west-bound limited and went flying +away toward home, leaving his neighbor’s son––now +his own superintendent and sheep expert––standing +composedly upon the platform.</p> +<p>“Well,” remarked Creede, smiling genially as he +turned back to the hotel, “the Old Man’s all right, eh, +if he does have fits! He’s good-hearted––and that +goes a long ways in this country––but actually, I believe +he knows less about the cattle business than any +man in Arizona. He can’t tell a steer from a stag––honest! +And I can lose him a half-mile from camp +any day.”</p> +<p>The tall cattleman clumped along in silence for a +while, smiling over some untold weakness of his boss––then +he looked down upon Hardy and chuckled to +himself.</p> +<p>“I’m glad you’re going to be along this trip,” he +said confidentially. “Of course I’m lonely as a lost +dog out there, but that ain’t it; the fact is, I need +somebody to watch me. W’y, boy, I could beat the +old judge out of a thousand dollars’ worth of cattle +and he’d never know it in a lifetime. Did ye ever live +all alone out on a ranch for a month or so? Well, +you know how lawless and pisen-mean a man can git, +then, associatin’ with himself. I’d’ve had the old +man robbed forty times over if he wasn’t such a good-hearted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +old boy, but between fightin’ sheepmen and +keepin’ tab on a passel of brand experts up on the +Tonto I’m gittin’ so ornery I don’t dare trust myself. +Have a smoke? Oh, I forgot––”</p> +<p>He laughed awkwardly and rolled a cigarette.</p> +<p>“Got a match?” he demanded austerely. “Um, +much obliged––be kinder handy to have you along +now.” He knit his brows fiercely as he fired up, regarding +Hardy with a furtive grin.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said abruptly, “I’ve got to make friends +with you some way. You <i>eat</i>, don’t you? All right +then, you come along with me over to the Chink’s. +I’m going to treat you to somethin’, if it’s only ham +’n’ eggs.”</p> +<p>They dined largely at Charley’s and then drifted +out to the feed corral. Creede threw down some hay +to a ponderous iron-scarred roan, more like a war horse +than a cow pony, and when he came back he found +Hardy doing as much for a clean-limbed sorrel, over +by the gate.</p> +<p>“Yourn?” he inquired, surveying it with the keen +concentrated gaze which stamps every point on a cowboy’s +memory for life.</p> +<p>“Sure,” returned Hardy, patting his pony carefully +upon the shoulder.</p> +<p>“Kinder high-headed, ain’t he?” ventured Creede, +as the sorrel rolled his eyes and snorted.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></div> +<p>“That’s right,” assented Hardy, “he’s only been +broke about a month. I got him over in the Sulphur +Springs Valley.”</p> +<p>“I knowed it,” said the cowboy sagely, “one of them +wire-grass horses––an’ I bet he can travel, too. Did +you ride him all the way here?”</p> +<p>“Clean from the Chiricahuas,” replied the young +man, and Jefferson Creede looked up, startled.</p> +<p>“What did you say you was doin’ over there?” he +inquired slowly, and Hardy smiled quietly as he answered:</p> +<p>“Riding for the Cherrycow outfit.”</p> +<p>“The hell you say!” exclaimed Creede explosively, +and for a long time he stood silent, smoking as if in +deep meditation.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said at last, “I might as well say it––I +took you for a tenderfoot.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_THE_TRAIL_OF_THE_SHEEP' id='CHAPTER_III_THE_TRAIL_OF_THE_SHEEP'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP</h3> +</div> +<p>The morning dawned as clear on Bender as if +there had never been storm nor clouds, and the +waxy green heads of the greasewood, dotting the level +plain with the regularity of a vineyard, sparkled with +a thousand dewdrops. Ecstatic meadow larks, undismayed +by the utter lack of meadows, sang love +songs from the tops of the telegraph poles; and the +little Mexican ground doves that always go in pairs +tracked amiably about together in the wet litter of +the corral, picking up the grain which the storm had +laid bare. Before the early sun had cleared the top of +the eastern mountains Jefferson Creede and Hardy +had risen and fed their horses well, and while the air +was yet chill they loaded their blankets and supplies +upon the ranch wagon, driven by a shivering Mexican, +and went out to saddle up.</p> +<p>Since his confession of the evening before Creede +had put aside his air of friendly patronage and, lacking +another pose, had taken to smoking in silence; +for there is many a boastful cowboy in Arizona who +has done his riding for the Cherrycow outfit on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +chuck wagon, swamping for the cook. At breakfast +he jollied the Chinaman into giving him two orders +of everything, from coffee to hot cakes, paid for the +same at the end, and rose up like a giant refreshed––but +beneath this jovial exterior he masked a divided +mind. Although he had come down handsomely, he +still had his reservations about the white-handed little +man from Cherrycow, and when they entered the corral +he saddled his iron-scarred charger by feeling, gazing +craftily over his back to see how Hardy would +show up in action.</p> +<p>Now, first the little man took a rope, and shaking +out the loop dropped it carelessly against his horse’s +fore-feet––and that looked well, for the sorrel stood +stiffly in his tracks, as if he had been anchored. Then +the man from Cherrycow picked up his bridle, +rubbed something on the bit, and offered it to the +horse, who graciously bowed his head to receive it. +This was a new one on Creede and in the excitement of +the moment he inadvertently cinched his roan up two +holes too tight and got nipped for it, for old Bat +Wings had a mind of his own in such matters, and the +cold air made him ugly.</p> +<p>“Here, quit that,” muttered the cowboy, striking +back at him; but when he looked up, the sorrel had already +taken his bit, and while he was champing on it +Hardy had slipped the headstall over his ears. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +There was a broad leather blind on the hacamore, +which was of the best plaited rawhide with a horsehair +tie rope, but the little man did not take advantage of +it to subdue his mount. Instead he reached down +for his gaudy Navajo saddle blanket, offered it to the +sorrel to smell, and then slid it gently upon his back. +But when he stooped for his saddle the high-headed +horse rebelled. With ears pricked suspiciously forward +and eyes protruding he glared at the clattering +thing in horror, snorting deep at every breath. But, +though he was free-footed, by some obsession of the +mind, cunningly inculcated in his breaking, the sorrel +pony was afraid to move.</p> +<p>As the saddle was drawn toward him and he saw +that he could not escape its hateful embrace he leaned +slowly back upon his haunches, grunting as if his fore-feet, +wreathed in the loose rope, were stuck in some +terrible quicksands from which he tried in vain to +extricate them; but with a low murmur of indifferent +words his master moved the saddle resolutely +toward him, the stirrups carefully snapped up over +the horn, and ignoring his loud snorts and frenzied +shakings of the head laid it surely down upon his back. +This done, he suddenly spoke sharply to him, and +with a final groan the beautiful creature rose up and +consented to his fate.</p> +<p>Hardy worked quickly now, tightening the cinch, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +lowering the stirrups, and gathering up the reins. He +picked up the rope, coiled it deftly and tied it to the +saddle––and now, relieved of the idea that he was +noosed, the pony began to lift his feet and prance, +softly, like a swift runner on the mark. At these +signs of an early break Creede mounted hurriedly +and edged in, to be ready in case the sorrel, like most +half-broken broncos, tried to scrape his rider off +against the fence; but Hardy needed no wrangler +to shunt him out the gate. Standing by his shoulder +and facing the rear he patted the sorrel’s neck with +the hand that held the reins, while with his right hand +he twisted the heavy stirrup toward him stealthily, +raising his boot to meet it. Then like a flash he +clapped in his foot and, catching the horn as his fiery +pony shot forward, he snapped up into the saddle like +a jumping jack and went flying out the gate.</p> +<p>“Well, the son of a gun!” muttered Creede, as he +thundered down the trail after him. “Durned if he +can’t ride!”</p> +<p>There are men in every cow camp who can rope and +shoot, but the man who can ride a wild horse can hold +up his head with the best of them. No matter what +his race or station if he will crawl a “snake” and stay +with him there is always room on the wagon for his +blankets; his fame will spread quickly from camp to +camp, and the boss will offer to raise him when he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +shows up for his time. Jefferson Creede’s face was +all aglow when he finally rode up beside Hardy; he +grinned triumphantly upon horse and man as if they +had won money for him in a race; and Hardy, roused +at last from his reserve, laughed back out of pure joy +in his possessions.</p> +<p>“How’s that for a horse?” he cried, raising his voice +above the thud of hoofs. “I have to turn him loose +at first––’fraid he’ll learn to pitch if I hold him in––he’s +never bucked with me yet!”</p> +<p>“You bet––he’s a snake!” yelled Creede, hammering +along on his broad-chested roan. “Where’d you +git ’im?”</p> +<p>“Tom Fulton’s ranch,” responded Hardy, reining +his horse in and patting him on the neck. “Turned in +three months’ pay and broke him myself, to boot. +I’ll let you try him some day, when he’s gentled.”</p> +<p>“Well, if I wasn’t so big ’n’ heavy I’d take you up +on that,” said Creede, “but I’m just as much obliged, +all the same. I don’t claim to be no bronco-buster +now, but I used to ride some myself when I was a kid. +But say, the old judge has got some good horses runnin’ +on the upper range,––if you want to keep your +hand in,––thirty or forty head of ’em, and wild as +hawks. There’s some sure-enough wild horses too, +over on the Peaks, that belong to any man that can +git his rope onto ’em––how would that strike you? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +We’ve been tryin’ for years to catch the black stallion +that leads ’em.”</p> +<p>Try as he would to minimize this exaggerated estimate +of his prowess as a horse-tamer Hardy was unable +to make his partner admit that he was anything +short of a real “buster,” and before they had been on +the trail an hour Creede had made all the plans for a +big gather of wild horses after the round-up.</p> +<p>“I had you spotted for a sport from the start,” he +said, puffing out his chest at the memory of his +acumen, “but, by jingo, I never thought I was drawin’ +a bronco-twister. Well, now, I saw you crawl that +horse this mornin’, and I guess I know the real thing +by this time. Say,” he said, turning confidentially in +his saddle, “if it’s none of my business you can say so, +but what did you do to that bit?”</p> +<p>Hardy smiled, like a juggler detected in his trick. +“You must have been watching me,” he said, “but I +don’t mind telling you––it’s simply passing a good +thing along. I learned it off of a Yaqui Mayo Indian +that had been riding for Bill Greene on the +Turkey-track––I rubbed it with a little salt.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m a son of a gun!” exclaimed Creede incredulously. +“Here we’ve been gittin’ our fingers bit +off for forty years and never thought of a little thing +like that. Got any more tricks?”</p> +<p>“Nope,” said Hardy, “I’ve only been in the Territory +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +a little over a year, this trip, and I’m learning, +myself. Funny how much you can pick up +from some of these Indians and Mexicans that can’t +write their own names, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Umm, may be so,” assented Creede doubtfully, +“but I’d rather go to a white man myself. Say,” he +exclaimed, changing the subject abruptly, “what was +that name the old man called you by when he was +makin’ that talk about sheep––Roofer, or Rough +House––or something like that?”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s my front name––Rufus. Why? +What’s the matter with it?”</p> +<p>“Nothin’, I reckon,” replied Creede absently, +“never happened to hear it before, ’s all. I was wonderin’ +how he knowed it,” he added, glancing shrewdly +sideways. “Thought maybe you might have met him +up in California, or somewheres.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s easy,” responded Hardy unblinkingly. +“The first thing he did was to ask me my full name. +I notice he calls you Jefferson,” he added, shiftily +changing the subject.</p> +<p>“Sure thing,” agreed Creede, now quite satisfied, +“he calls everybody that way. If your name is Jim +you’re James, John you’re Jonathan, Jeff you’re +Jefferson Davis––but say, ain’t they any f’r short to +your name? We’re gittin’ too far out of town for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +this Mister business. My name’s Jeff, you know,” +he suggested.</p> +<p>“Why, sure,” exclaimed Hardy, brushing aside +any college-bred scruples, “only don’t call me +Rough House––they might get the idea that I was +on the fight. But you don’t need to get scared of +Rufus––it’s just another way of saying Red. I had +a red-headed ancestor away back there somewhere +and they called him Rufus, and then they passed the +name down in the family until it got to me, and I’m +no more red-headed than you are.”</p> +<p>“<i>No</i>––is that straight?” ejaculated the cowboy, +with enthusiasm, “same as we call ’em Reddy now, +eh? But say, I’d choke if I tried to call you Rufus. +Will you stand for Reddy? Aw, that’s no good––what’s +the matter with Rufe? Well, shake then, +pardner, I’m dam’ glad I met up with you.”</p> +<p>They pulled their horses down to a Spanish trot––that +easy, limping shuffle that eats up its forty miles +a day––and rode on together like brothers, heading +for a distant pass in the mountains where the painted +cliffs of the Bulldog break away and leave a gap down +to the river. To the east rose Superstition Mountain, +that huge buttress upon which, since the day that a war +party of Pimas disappeared within the shadow of its +pinnacles, hot upon the trail of the Apaches, and never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +returned again, the Indians of the valley have always +looked with superstitious dread.</p> +<p>Creede told the story carelessly, smiling at the pride +of the Pimas who refused to admit that the Apaches +alone, devils and bad medicine barred, could have +conquered so many of their warriors. To the west +in a long fringe of green loomed the cottonwoods of +Moroni, where the hard-working Mormons had +turned the Salagua from its course and irrigated the +fertile plain, and there on their barren reservation +dwelt the remnant of those warlike Pimas, the unrequited +friends of the white men, now held by them as +of no account.</p> +<p>As he heard the history of its people––how the +Apaches had wiped out the Toltecs, and the white +men had killed off the Apaches, and then, after pushing +aside the Pimas and the Mexicans, closed in a +death struggle for the mastery of the range––Hardy +began to perceive the grim humor of the land. He +glanced across at his companion, tall, stalwart, with +mighty arms and legs and features rugged as a mountain +crag, and his heart leaped up within him at the +thought of the battles to come, battles in which sheepmen +and cattlemen, defiant of the law, would match +their strength and cunning in a fight for the open +range.</p> +<p>As they rode along mile after mile toward the north +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +the road mounted gently; hills rose up one by one +out of the desert floor, crowned with towering +<i>sahuaros</i>, and in the dip of the pass ahead a mighty +forest of their misshapen stalks was thrust up like +giant fingers against the horizon. The trail wound +in among them, where they rose like fluted columns +above the lesser cactus––great skin-covered tanks, +gorged fat with water too bitter to quench the fieriest +thirst, yet guarded jealously by poison-barbed spines. +Gilded woodpeckers, with hearts red as blood painted +upon their breasts, dipped in uneven flight from +<i>sahuaro</i> to <i>sahuaro</i>, dodged into holes of their own +making, dug deep into the solid flesh; sparrow hawks +sailed forth from their summits, with quick eyes +turned to the earth for lizards; and the brown mocking +bird, leaping for joy from the ironwood tree where his +mate was nesting, whistled the praise of the desert in +the ecstatic notes of love. In all that land which some +say God forgot, there was naught but life and happiness, +for God had sent the rain.</p> +<p>The sun was high in the heavens when, as they +neared the summit of the broad pass, a sudden taint +came down the wind, whose only burden had been the +fragrance of resinous plants, of wetted earth, and +of green things growing. A distant clamor, like the +babble of many voices or the surf-beats of a mighty +sea, echoed dimly between the <i>chuck-a-chuck</i> of their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +horses’ feet, and as Hardy glanced up inquiringly his +companion’s lip curled and he muttered:</p> +<p>“Sheep!”</p> +<p>They rode on in silence. The ground, which before +had been furred with Indian wheat and sprouting six +weeks’ grass, now showed the imprints of many tiny +feet glozed over by the rain, and Hardy noticed +vaguely that something was missing––the grass was +gone. Even where a minute before it had covered +the level flats in a promise of maturity, rising up in +ranker growth beneath the thorny trees and cactus, its +place was now swept bare and all the earth trampled +into narrow, hard-tamped trail. Then as a brush +shed and corrals, with a cook tent and a couple of +water wagons in the rear, came into view, the ground +went suddenly stone bare, stripped naked and +trampled smooth as a floor. Never before had Hardy +seen the earth so laid waste and desolate, the very +cactus trimmed down to its woody stump and every +spear of root grass searched out from the shelter of +the spiny <i>chollas</i>. He glanced once more at his companion, +whose face was sullen and unresponsive; there +was a well-defined bristle to his short mustache and he +rowelled his horse cruelly when he shied at the blatting +horde.</p> +<p>The shearing was in full blast, every man working +with such feverish industry that not one of them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +stopped to look up. From the receiving corral three +Mexicans in slouched hats and jumpers drove the +sheep into a broad chute, yelling and hurling battered +oil cans at the hindmost; by the chute an American +punched them vigorously forward with a prod, and +yet another thrust them into the pens behind the +shearers, who bent to their work with a sullen, back-breaking +stoop. Each man held between his knees +a sheep, gripped relentlessly, that flinched and +kicked at times when the shears clipped off +patches of flesh; and there in the clamor of a +thousand voices they shuttled their keen blades +unceasingly, stripping off a fleece, throwing it +aside, and seizing a fresh victim by the foot, toiling +and sweating grimly. By another chute a man +stood with a paint pot, stamping a fresh brand +upon every new-shorn sheep, and in a last corral +the naked ones, their white hides spotted with +blood from their cuts, blatted frantically for their +lambs. These were herded in a small inclosure, +some large and browned with the grime of the +flock, others white and wobbly, newborn from mothers +frightened in the shearing; and always that tremendous +wailing chorus––<i>Ba-a-a</i>, <i>ba-a-a</i>, <i>ba-a-a</i>––and men +in greasy clothes wrestling with the wool.</p> +<p>To a man used to the noise and turmoil of the +round-up and branding pen and accustomed to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +necessary cruelties of stock raising there was nothing +in the scene to attract attention. But Hardy was of +gentler blood, inured to the hardships of frontier life +but not to its unthinking brutality, and as he beheld +for the first time the waste, the hurry, the greed of it +all, his heart turned sick and his eyes glowed with +pity, like a woman’s. By his side the sunburned +swarthy giant who had taken him willy-nilly for a +friend sat unmoved, his lip curled, not at the pity of it, +but because they were sheep; and because, among the +men who rushed about driving them with clubs and +sacks, he saw more than one who had eaten at his table +and then sheeped out his upper range. His saturnine +mood grew upon him as he waited and, turning to +Hardy, he shouted harshly:</p> +<p>“There’s some of your friends over yonder,” he +said, jerking his thumb toward a group of men who +were weighing the long sacks of wool. “Want to go +over and get acquainted?”</p> +<p>Hardy woke from his dream abruptly and shook +his head.</p> +<p>“No, let’s not stop,” he said, and Creede laughed +silently as he reined Bat Wings into the trail. But +just as they started to go one of the men by the scales +hailed them, motioning with his hand and, still laughing +cynically, the foreman of the Dos S turned back +again.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></div> +<p>“That’s Jim Swope,” he said, “one of our big sheep +men––nice feller––you’ll like him.”</p> +<p>He led the way to the weighing scales, where two +sweating Mexicans tumbled the eight-foot bags upon +the platform, and a burly man with a Scotch turn to +his tongue called off the weights defiantly. At his +elbow stood two men, the man who had called them +and a wool buyer,––each keeping tally of the count.</p> +<p>Jim Swope glanced quickly up from his work. He +was a man not over forty but bent and haggard, with +a face wrinkled deep with hard lines, yet lighted by +blue eyes that still held a twinkle of grim humor.</p> +<p>“Hello, Jeff,” he said, jotting down a number in +his tally book, “goin’ by without stoppin’, was ye? +Better ask the cook for somethin’ to eat. Say, you’re +goin’ up the river, ain’t ye? Well, tell Pablo Moreno +and them Mexicans I lost a cut of two hundred sheep +up there somewhere. That son of a––of a herder of +mine was too lazy to make a corral and count ’em, so +I don’t know where they are lost, but I’ll give two +bits a head for ’em, delivered here. Tell the old man +that, will you?”</p> +<p>He paused to enter another weight in his book, then +stepped away from the scales and came out to meet +them.</p> +<p>“How’s the feed up your way?” he inquired, smiling +grimly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></div> +<p>“Dam’ pore,” replied Creede, carrying on the jest, +“and it’ll be poorer still if you come in on me, so keep +away. Mr. Swope, I’ll make you acquainted with +Mr. Hardy––my new boss. Judge Ware has sent +him out to be superintendent for the Dos S.”</p> +<p>“Glad to meet you, sir,” said Swope, offering a +greasy hand that smelled of sheep dip. “Nice man, +the old judge––here, <i>umbre</i>, put that bag on straight! +Three hundred and <i>fifteen</i>? Well I know a dam’ +sight better––excuse me, boys––here, put that bag on +again, and weigh it right!”</p> +<p>“Well,” observed Creede, glancing at his friend as +the combat raged unremittingly, “I guess we might +as well pull. His busy day, you understand. Nice +feller, though––you’ll like ’im.” Once more the glint +of quiet deviltry came into his eyes, but he finished +out the jest soberly. “Comes from a nice Mormon +family down in Moroni––six brothers––all sheepmen. +You’ll see the rest of the boys when they come +through next month––but Jim’s the best.”</p> +<p>There was something in the sardonic smile that +accompanied this encomium which set Hardy thinking. +Creede must have been thinking too, for he +rode past the kitchen without stopping, cocking his +head up at the sun as if estimating the length of their +journey.</p> +<p>“Oh, did you want to git somethin’ to eat?” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +inquired innocently. “No? That’s good. That +sheep smell kinder turns my stomach.” And throwing +the spurs into Bat Wings he loped rapidly toward +the summit, scowling forbiddingly in passing at a +small boy who was shepherding the stray herd. For +a mile or two he said nothing, swinging his head +to scan the sides of the mountains with eyes as +keen as an eagle’s; then, on the top of the last roll, he +halted and threw his hand out grandly at the panorama +which lay before them.</p> +<p>“There she lays,” he said, as if delivering a funeral +oration, “as good a cow country as God ever made––and +now even the jack rabbits have left it. D’ye see +that big mesa down there?” he continued, pointing to +a broad stretch of level land, dotted here and there +with giant cactus, which extended along the river. +“I’ve seen a thousand head of cattle, fat as butter, +feedin’ where you see them <i>sahuaros</i>, and now look +at it!”</p> +<p>He threw out his hand again in passionate appeal, +and Hardy saw that the mesa was empty.</p> +<p>“There was grass a foot high,” cried Creede in a +hushed, sustained voice, as if he saw it again, “and +flowers. Me and my brothers and sisters used to run +out there about now and pick all kinds, big yaller +poppies and daisies, and these here little pansies––and +ferget-me-nots. God! I wish I could ferget ’em––but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +I’ve been fightin’ these sheep so long and gittin’ +so mean and ugly them flowers wouldn’t mean no +more to me now than a bunch of jimson weeds and +stink squashes. But hell, what’s the use?” He +threw out his hands once more, palms up, and +dropped them limply.</p> +<p>“That’s old Pablo Moreno’s place down there,” he +said, falling back abruptly into his old way. “We’ll +stop there overnight––I want to help git that wagon +across the river when Rafael comes in bymeby, and +we’ll go up by trail in the mornin’.”</p> +<p>Once more he fell into his brooding silence, looking +up at the naked hills from habit, for there were no +cattle there. And Rufus Hardy, quick to understand, +gazed also at the arid slopes, where once the +grama had waved like tawny hair in the soft winds +and the cattle of Jeff Creede’s father had stood knee-high +in flowers.</p> +<p>Now at last the secret of Arizona-the-Lawless and +Arizona-the-Desert lay before him: the feed was +there for those who could take it, and the sheep were +taking it all. It was government land, only there +was no government; anybody’s land, to strip, to lay +waste, to desolate, to hog for and fight over forever––and +no law of right; only this, that the best fighter +won. Thoughts came up into his mind, as thoughts +will in the silence of the desert; memories of other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +times and places, a word here, a scene there, having no +relation to the matter in hand; and then one flashed up +like the premonitions of the superstitious––a verse +from the Bible that he had learned at his mother’s +knee many years before:</p> +<p>“Crying, Peace, Peace, when there is no peace.”</p> +<p>But he put it aside lightly, as a man should, for if +one followed every vagrant fancy and intuition, +taking account of signs and omens, he would slue and +waver in his course like a toy boat in a mill pond, +which after great labor and adventure comes, in the +end, to nothing.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_DON_PABLO_MORENO' id='CHAPTER_IV_DON_PABLO_MORENO'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>DON PABLO MORENO</h3> +</div> +<p>On the edge of the barren mesa and looking out +over the sandy flats where the Salagua writhed +about uneasily in its bed, the <i>casa</i> of Don Pablo +Moreno stood like a mud fort, barricaded by a +palisade of the thorny cactus which the Mexicans call +<i>ocotilla</i>. Within this fence, which inclosed several +acres of standing grain and the miniature of a +garden, there were all the signs of prosperity––a new +wagon under its proper shade, a storehouse strongly +built where chickens lingered about for grain, a +clean-swept <i>ramada</i> casting a deep shadow across +the open doorway; but outside the inclosure the +ground was stamped as level as a threshing floor. +As Creede and Hardy drew near, an old man, +grave and dignified, came out from the shady veranda +and opened the gate, bowing with the most courtly +hospitality.</p> +<p>“<i>Buenos tardes, señores</i>,” he pronounced, touching +his hat in a military salute. “<i>Pasa!</i> Welcome to my +poor house.”</p> +<p>In response to these salutations Creede made the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +conventional replies, and then as the old man stood +expectant he said in a hurried aside to Hardy:</p> +<p>“D’ye talk Spanish? He don’t understand a word +of English.”</p> +<p>“Sure,” returned Hardy. “I was brought up on +it!”</p> +<p>“No!” exclaimed Creede incredulously, and then, +addressing the Señor Moreno in his native tongue, he +said: “Don Pablo, this is my friend Señor Hardy, +who will live with me at Agua Escondida!”</p> +<p>“With great pleasure, señor,” said the old gentleman, +removing his hat, “I make your acquaintance!”</p> +<p>“The pleasure is mine,” replied Hardy, returning +the salutation, and at the sound of his own language +Don Pablo burst into renewed protestations of +delight. Within the cool shadow of his <i>ramada</i> he +offered his own chair and seated himself in another, +neatly fashioned of mesquite wood and strung with +thongs of rawhide. Then, turning his venerable head +to the doorway which led to the inner court, he shouted +in a terrible voice:</p> +<p>“<i>Muchacho</i>!”</p> +<p>Instantly from behind the adobe wall, around the +corner of which he had been slyly peeping, a black-eyed +boy appeared and stood before him, his ragged +straw hat held respectfully against his breast.</p> +<p>“<i>Sus manos!</i>” roared the old man; and dropping +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +his hat the <i>muchacho</i> touched his hands before him in +an attitude of prayer.</p> +<p>“Give the gentlemen a drink!” commanded Don +Pablo severely, and after Hardy had accepted the +gourd of cold water which the boy dipped from a +porous <i>olla</i>, resting in the three-pronged fork of a +trimmed mesquite, the old gentleman called for his +tobacco. This the <i>mozo</i> brought in an Indian basket +wrought by the Apaches who live across the river––Bull +Durham and brown paper. The señor offered +these to his guest, while Creede grinned in anticipation +of the outcome.</p> +<p>“What?” exclaimed the Señor Moreno, astounded. +“You do not smoke? Ah, perhaps it is my poor +tobacco! But wait, I have a cigarro which the storekeeper +gave me when I––No? No smoke nothing? +Ah, well, well––no smoke, no Mexicano, as the +saying goes.” He regarded his guest doubtfully, +with a shadow of disfavor. Then, rolling a cigarette, +he remarked: “You have a very white skin, Señor +Hardy; I think you have not been in Arizona very +long.”</p> +<p>“Only a year,” replied Hardy modestly.</p> +<p>“<i>Muchacho!</i>” cried the señor. “Run and tell the +señora to hasten the dinner. And where,” he inquired, +with the shrewd glance of a country lawyer, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +“and where did you learn, then, this excellent Spanish +which you speak?”</p> +<p>“At Old Camp Verde, to the north,” replied Hardy +categorically, and at the name Creede looked up with +sudden interest. “I lived there when I was a boy.”</p> +<p>“Indeed!” exclaimed Don Pablo, raising his eyebrows. +“And were your parents with you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” answered Hardy, “my father was an +officer at the post.”</p> +<p>“Ah, <i>sí</i>, <i>sí</i>, <i>sí</i>,” nodded the old man vigorously, “now +I understand. Your father fought the Apaches and +you played with the little Mexican boys, no? But +now your skin is white––you have not lived long under +our sun. When the Apaches were conquered your +parents moved, of course––they are in San Francisco +now, perhaps, or Nuevo York.”</p> +<p>“My father is living near San Francisco,” admitted +Hardy, “but,” and his voice broke a little at the +words, “my mother has been dead many years.”</p> +<p>“Ah, indeed,” exclaimed Don Pablo sympathetically, +“I am very sorry. My own <i>madre</i> has been +many years dead also. But what think you of +our country? Is it not beautiful?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed,” responded Hardy honestly, “and +you have a wonderful air here, very sweet and pure.”</p> +<p>“<i>Seguro!</i>” affirmed the old man, “<i>seguro que sí!</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +But alas,” he added sadly, “one cannot live on air +alone. Ah, <i>que malo</i>, how bad these sheep are!”</p> +<p>He sighed, and regarded his guest sadly with eyes +that were bloodshot from long searching of the hills +for cattle.</p> +<p>“I remember the day when the first sheep came,” +he said, in the manner of one who begins a set narration. +“In the year of ’91 the rain came, more, more, +more, until the earth was full and the excess made +<i>lagunas</i> on the plain. That year the Salagua left all +bounds and swept my fine fields of standing corn +away, but we did not regret it beyond reason for the +grass came up on the mesas high as a horse’s belly, +and my cattle and those of my friend Don Luís, the +good father of Jeff, here, spread out across the plains +as far as the eye could see, and every cow raised her +calf. But look! On the next year no rain came, and +the river ran low, yet the plains were still yellow with +last year’s grass. All would have been well now as +before, with grass for all, when down from the north +like grasshoppers came the <i>borregos</i>––<i>baaa</i>, <i>baaa</i>, +<i>baaa</i>––thousands of them, and they were starving. +Never had I seen bands of sheep before in Arizona, +nor the father of Don Jeff, but some say they had +come from California in ’77, when the drought visited +there, and had increased in Yavapai and fed out all the +north country until, when this second <i>año seco</i> came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +upon them, there was no grass left to eat. And now, +<i>amigo</i>, I will tell you one thing, and you may believe +it, for I am an old man and have dwelt here long: it +is not God who sends the dry years, but the sheep!</p> +<p>“<i>Mira!</i> I have seen the mowing machine of the +Americano cut the tall grass and leave all level––so +the starved sheep of Yavapai swept across our mesa +and left it bare. Yet was there feed for all, for our +cattle took to the mountains and browsed higher on +the bushes, above where the sheep could reach; and +the sheep went past and spread out on the southern +desert and were lost in it, it was so great.</p> +<p>“That was all, you will say––but no! In the Spring +every ewe had her lamb, and many two, and they grew +fat and strong, and when the grass became dry on the +desert because the rains had failed again, they came +back, seeking their northern range where the weather +was cool, for a sheep cannot endure the heat. Then +we who had let them pass in pity were requited after +the way of the <i>borregueros</i>––we were sheeped out, +down to the naked rocks, and the sheepmen went on, +laughing insolently. <i>Ay, que malo los borregueros</i>, +what devils they are; for hunger took the strength +from our cows so that they could not suckle their +calves, and in giving birth many mothers and their +little ones died together. In that year we lost half +our cows, Don Luís Creede and I, and those that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +lived became thin and rough, as they are to this day, +from journeying to the high mountains for feed and +back to the far river for water.</p> +<p>“Then the father of Jeff became very angry, so +that he lost weight and his face became changed, +and he took an oath that the first sheep or sheep-herder +that crossed his range should be killed, and +every one thereafter, as long as he should live. Ah, +what a <i>buen hombre</i> was Don Luís––if we had one +man like him to-day the sheep would yet go round––a +big man, with a beard, and he had no fear, no not +for a hundred men. And when in November the +sheep came bleating back, for they had promised so +to do as soon as the feed was green, Don Luís met +them at the river, and he rode along its bank, night +and day, promising all the same fate who should come +across––and, <i>umbre</i>, the sheep went round!”</p> +<p>The old man slapped his leg and nodded his head +solemnly. Then he looked across at Creede and his +voice took on a great tenderness. “My friend has +been dead these many years,” he said, “but he was a +true man.”</p> +<p>As Don Pablo finished his story the Señora opened +the door of the kitchen where the table was already +set with boiled beans, meat stewed with peppers, and +thin corn cakes––the conventional <i>frijoles</i>, <i>carne con +chili</i>, and <i>tortillas</i> of the Mexicans––and some fried +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +eggs in honor of the company. As the meal progressed +the Señora maintained a discreet silence, +patting out <i>tortillas</i> and listening politely to her husband’s +stock of stories, for Don Pablo was lord in his +own house. The big-eyed <i>muchacho</i> sat in the corner, +watching the corn cakes cook on the top of the stove +and battening on the successive rations which were +handed out to him. There were stories, as they ate, +of the old times, of the wars and revolutions of +Sonora, wherein the Señor Moreno had taken too +brave a part, as his wounds and exile showed; strange +tales of wonders and miracles wrought by the Indian +doctors of Altár; of sacred snakes with the sign of the +cross blazoned in gold on their foreheads, worshipped +by the Indians with offerings of milk and tender +chickens; of primitive life on the <i>haciendas</i> of Sonora, +where men served their masters for life and were +rewarded at the end with a pension of beans and <i>carne +seco</i>.</p> +<p>Then as the day waned they sat at peace in the +<i>ramada</i>, Moreno and Creede smoking, and Hardy +watching the play of colors as the sun touched +the painted crags of the Bulldog and lighted up +the square summit of Red Butte across the river, +throwing mysterious shadows into the black gorge +which split it from crown to base. Between that +high cliff and the cleft red butte flowed the Salagua, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +squirming through its tortuous cañon, and beyond +them lay Hidden Water, the unknown, whither a +single man was sent to turn back the tide of sheep.</p> +<p>In the silence the tinkle of bells came softly from +up the cañon and through the dusk Hardy saw a herd +of goats, led by a long-horned ram, trailing slowly +down from the mesa. They did not pause, either to +rear up on their hind feet for browse or to snoop +about the gate, but filed dutifully into their own +corral and settled down for the night.</p> +<p>“Your goats are well trained, Don Pablo,” said +Hardy, by way of conversation. “They come home +of their own accord.”</p> +<p>“Ah, no,” protested Moreno, rising from his chair. +“It is not the goats but my goat dogs that are well +trained. Come with me while I close the gate and I +will show you my flock.”</p> +<p>The old gentleman walked leisurely down the trail +to the corral, and at their approach Hardy saw two +shaggy dogs of no breed suddenly detach themselves +from the herd and spring defiantly forward.</p> +<p>“<i>Quita se, quita se!”</i> commanded Don Pablo, and +at his voice they halted, still growling and baring their +fangs at Hardy.</p> +<p>“<i>Mira</i>,” exclaimed the old man, “are they not +<i>bravo</i>? Many times the <i>borregueros</i> have tried to +steal my bucks to lead their timid sheep across the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +river, but Tira and Diente fight them like devils. +One Summer for a week the <i>chivas</i> did not return, +having wandered far up into the mountains, but in +the end Tira and Diente fetched them safely home. +See them now, lying down by the mother goat that +suckled them; you would not believe it, but they +think they are goats.”</p> +<p>He laughed craftily at the idea, and at Hardy’s +eager questions.</p> +<p>“<i>Seguro</i>,” he said, “surely I will tell you about my +goat dogs, for you Americans often think the Mexicans +are <i>tonto</i>, having no good sense, because our +ways are different. When I perceived that my cattle +were doomed by reason of the sheep trail crossing the +river here at my feet I bought me a she-goat with +kids, and a ram from another flock. These I herded +myself along the brow of the hill, and they soon +learned to rear up against the bushes and feed upon +the browse which the sheep could not reach. Thus +I thought that I might in time conquer the sheep, +fighting the devil with fire; but the coyotes lay +in wait constantly to snatch the kids, and once when +the river was high the <i>borregueros</i> of Jeem Swopa +stole my buck to lead their sheep across.</p> +<p>“Then I remembered a trick of my own people in +Sonora, and I took the blind pups of a dog, living far +from here, and placed each of them with a she-goat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +having one newborn kid; and while the kid was sucking +at one teat the mother could not help but let down +milk for the puppy at the other, until at last when the +dog smell had left him she adopted him for her own. +Now as the pups grew up they went out on the +hills with their goat mother, and when, they being +grown, she would no longer suckle them, they stole +milk from the other she-goats; and so they live to-day, +on milk and what rabbits they can catch. But +whenever they come to the house I beat them and +drive them back––their nature is changed now, and +they love only goats. Eight years ago I raised my +first goat dogs, for many of them desert their mothers +and become house dogs, and now I have over a +hundred goats, which they lead out morning and +night.”</p> +<p>The old man lashed fast the gate to the corral and +turned back toward the house.</p> +<p>“Ah, yes,” he said musingly, “the Americanos say +continually that we Mexicanos are foolish––but look +at me! Here is my good home, the same as before. +I have always plenty beans, plenty meat, plenty flour, +plenty coffee. I welcome every one to my house, to +eat and sleep––yet I have plenty left. I am <i>muy +contento</i>, Señor Hardy––yes, I am always happy. +But the Americanos? No! When the sheep come, +they fight; when their cattle are gone, they move; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +fight, fight; move, move; all the time.” He sighed +and gazed wearily at the barren hills.</p> +<p>“Señor Hardy,” he said at last, “you are young, yet +you have seen the great world––perhaps you will understand. +Jeff tells me you come to take charge of +the Dos S Rancho, where the sheep come through by +thousands, even as they did here when there was grass. +I am an old man now; I have lived on this spot +twenty-four years and seen much of the sheep; let me +advise you.</p> +<p>“When the sheepmen come across the river do not +fight, as Don Jeff does continually, but let them pass. +They are many and the cowmen are few; they are +rich and we are very poor; how then can a few men +whip many, and those armed with the best? And +look––if a sheepman is killed there is the law, you +know, and lawyers––yes, and money!” He shrugged +his shoulders and threw out his hands, peeping ruefully +through the fingers to symbolize prison bars.</p> +<p>“Is it not so?” he asked, and for the first time an +Americano agreed with him.</p> +<p>“One thing more, then,” said Don Pablo, lowering +his voice and glancing toward the house, where Creede +was conversing with the Señora. “The <i>papá</i> of Don +Jeff yonder was a good man, but he was a fighting +Texano––and Jeff is of the same blood. Each year +as the sheep come through I have fear for him, lest he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +should kill some saucy <i>borreguero</i> and be sent to +prison; for he has angry fits, like his father, and there +are many bad men among the sheep-herders,––escaped +criminals from Old Mexico, <i>ladrones</i>, and creatures of +low blood, fathered by evil Americanos and the nameless +women of towns.</p> +<p>“In Sonora we would whip them from our door, +but the sheepmen make much of their herders, calling +them brothers and <i>cuñados</i> and what not, to make +them stay, since the work is hard and dangerous. +And to every one of them, whether herder or camp +rustler, the owners give a rifle with ammunition, and +a revolver to carry always. So they are drunk with +valor. But our Jeff here has no fear of them, no, nor +decent respect. He overrides them when the fit is on +him, as if they were unfanged serpents––and so far +he has escaped.”</p> +<p>The old man leaned closer, and lowered his voice to +a hoarse whisper, acting out his words dramatically.</p> +<p>“But some day––” he clasped his heart, closed his +eyes, and seemed to lurch before a bullet. “No?” he +inquired, softly. “Ah, well, then, you must watch +over him, for he is a good man, doing many friendships, +and his father was a <i>buen hombre</i>, too, in the +days when we all were rich. So look after him––for +an old man,” he added, and trudged wearily back to +the house.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_HIDDEN_WATER' id='CHAPTER_V_HIDDEN_WATER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>HIDDEN WATER</h3> +</div> +<p>The trail to Hidden Water leads up the Salagua, +alternately climbing the hard mesa and losing +itself in the shifting sand of the river bottom until, a +mile or two below the mouth of the box cañon, it +swings in to the edge of the water. But the Salagua +is no purling brook, dignified by a bigger name; it is +not even a succession of mill ponds like the dammed-up +streams of the East: in its own name the Salagua +is a <i>Rio</i>, broad and swift, with a current that clutches +treacherously at a horse’s legs and roars over the +brink of stony reefs in a long, fretful line of rapids. +At the head of a broad mill race, where the yellow +flood waters boiled sullenly before they took their +plunge, Creede pulled up and surveyed the river +doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Swim?” he inquired, and when Hardy nodded he +shrugged his shoulders and turned his horse into the +water. “Keep your head upstream, then,” he said, +“we’ll try it a whirl, anyhow.”</p> +<p>Head to tail the two horses plodded heavily across +the ford, feeling their way among the submerged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +bowlders, while twenty feet below them the irresistible +onrush of the current slipped smoothly over the rim, +sending up a roar like the thunder of breakers. As +they struggled up the opposite bank after a final +slump into a narrow ditch Creede looked back and +laughed merrily at his bedraggled companion.</p> +<p>“How’s that for high?” he inquired, slapping his +wet legs. “I tell you, the old Salagua is a hell-roarer +when she gits started. I wouldn’t cross there this +afternoon for a hundred dollars. She’s away up +since we took the wagon over last night, but about to-morrow +you’ll hear her talk––snow’s meltin’ on the +mountains. I wish to God she’d <i>stay</i> up!” he added +fervently, as he poured the water out of his boots.</p> +<p>“Why?” asked Hardy innocently. “Won’t it interfere +with your bringing in supplies?”</p> +<p>“Sure thing,” said Creede, and then he laughed +maliciously. “But when you’ve been up here a +while,” he observed, “you’ll savvy a lot of things that +look kinder curious. If the old river would git up on +its hind legs and walk, forty feet high, and stay there +f’r a month, we cowmen would simply laugh ourselves +to death. We don’t give a dam’ for supplies +as long as it keeps the sheep out.</p> +<p>“Begin to see light, eh?” he queried, as he pushed +on up the river. “Well, that’s the only thing in +God’s world that wasn’t made to order for these +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +sheepmen; the old Salagua cuts right square across +the country east and west without consultin’ nobody, +not even Jim Swope, and the sheep move north and +south.</p> +<p>“How’d you like to have the job of crossing a hundred +thousand <i>borregos</i> and half of ’em with lambs, +when the <i>rio</i> was on a bender? I’ve seen some of +these sheepmen wadin’ around up to their chins for +two weeks, tryin’ to float twenty-five hundred head +across the river––and there wasn’t turkey buzzards +enough in the country when they got through.</p> +<p>“Last year they had the sand bars up around Hidden +Water lined with carcasses two deep where they’d +jest naturally crowded ’em into the river and let ’em +sink or swim. Them Chihuahua Mexicans, you +savvy. After they’d wore out their shoes and froze +their marrow-bones wadin’ they got tired and shoved +’em in, regardless. Well, if this warm weather holds +we’ll be able to git our <i>rodér</i> good and started before +the sheep come in. That’s one reason why I never +was able to do much with these sheepmen,” he added. +“They hit me right square in the middle of the round-up, +Spring and Fall, when I’m too busy gatherin’ +cattle to pay much attention to ’em. I did plan a +little surprise party last year––but that was somethin’ +special. But now you’re on the job, Rufe,” he continued +reassuringly, “I’m goin’ to leave all sheep and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +sheepmen strictly alone––you can bank on that. +Bein’ as we are goin’ to try the expeeriment I want +to see it done right. I never made a cent fightin’ +’em, that’s a cinch, and if you can appeal to their +better natures, w’y, go to it! I’d help you if I could, +but bein’ as I can’t I’ll git out of the road and give +you a chanst.</p> +<p>“Now I’ll tell you how it’ll be,” he continued, +turning in his saddle and hooking one leg over the +horn, “the boys’ll come in for the <i>rodér</i> to-morrow or +next day; we begin to gather on the first, and it takes +us about a month. Well, we look for the sheep to +come in on us at about the same time––first of April––and +we ain’t been fooled yet. They’ll begin to stack +up on the other side any time now, and as soon +as the water goes down they’ll come across with +a rush. And if they’re feelin’ good-natured they’ll +spread out over The Rolls and drift north, but +if they’re feelin’ bad they’ll sneak up onto Bronco +Mesa and scatter the cattle forty ways for Sunday, +and bust up my <i>rodér</i> and raise hell generally. +We had a little trouble over that last year,” +he added parenthetically.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll turn over the house and the grub and +the whole business to you this year and camp out with +the boys under the mesquite––and then you can entertain +them sheepmen and jolly ’em up no end. They +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +won’t have a dam’ thing––horse feed, grub, tobacco, +matches, nothin’! Never do have anythin’. I’d +rather have a bunch of Apaches camped next to me––but +if you want to be good to ’em there’s your chanst. +Meanwhile, I’m only a cow-punch pullin’ off a round-up, +and your name is Mr.––you’re the superintendent +of the Dos S. Your job is to protect the upper +range, and I begin to think you can do it.”</p> +<p>There was a tone of half-hearted enthusiasm about +this talk which marked it for a prepared “spiel,” +laboriously devised to speed the new superintendent +upon his way; but, not being schooled in social deceit, +Creede failed utterly in making it convincing.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” said Hardy, “but tell me––what +has been your custom in the past? Haven’t you been +in the habit of feeding them when they came in?”</p> +<p>“Feed ’em?” cried Creede, flaring up suddenly. +“Did I feed ’em? Well, I should guess yes––I never +turned one away hungry in my life. W’y, hell, man,” +he exclaimed, his anger growing on him, “I slep’ in +the same blanket with ’em––until I become lousy,” he +added grimly.</p> +<p>“What!” exclaimed Hardy, aghast. “You don’t +mean to say––”</p> +<p>“No,” interrupted Creede ironically, “I don’t mean +to say anythin’––not from now on. But while we’re +on the subject and to avoid any future misunderstandin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +I might just as well tell you right now that I +can’t see nothin’ good in a sheepman––<i>nothin’!</i> I’m +like my cat Tom when he sees a rattlesnake, my hair +bushes up clean over my ears and I see hell, damnation, +and sudden death!”</p> +<p>He rose up, frowning, on his mighty horse and +gazed at Hardy with eyes that burned deep with +passion. “If every sheep and sheepman in Arizona +should drop dead at this minute,” he said, “it would +simply give me a laughin’ sensation. God damn +’em!” he added passionately, and it sounded like a +prayer.</p> +<p>Half an hour later as they passed through the +gloomy silence of the box cañon, picking their way +over rocks and bowlders and driftwood cast forty feet +above the river level in some terrific glut of waters, +he began to talk again, evenly and quietly, pointing +out indifferent things along the trail, and when at last +they mounted the hill and looked down upon Hidden +Water his anger was forgotten.</p> +<p>“Well,” he remarked, throwing out a hand, +“there’s home––how do you like it?”</p> +<p>Hardy paused and looked it over critically––a +broad V-shaped valley half a mile in length, beginning +at the mouth of a great dry wash and spreading +out through trees and hummocks down to the river. +A broken row of cottonwoods and sycamores stretched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +along the farther side, following the broad, twisting +bed of the sand wash where the last flood had +ripped its way to the Salagua; and on the opposite +side, close up against the base of the cliff, a flash of +white walls and the shadow of a <i>ramada</i> showed where +man had built his puny dwelling high in order to +escape its fury. At their feet lay the ranch pasture, +a broad elbow of the valley rich with grass and +mesquite trees and fenced in with barbed wire that ran +from cliff to cliff. Beyond the eastern wall the +ground was rough and broken, cut up by innumerable +gulches and waterways, and above its ridges there +rose the forbidding crags of a black butte whose +shoulders ran down to and confined the silvery river. +Across the river and to the south the land was even +rougher, rising in sheer precipices, above the crests of +which towered a mighty needle of rock, standing out +against the sky like a cathedral spire, yet of a greater +dignity and magnificence––purple with the regal robes +of distance.</p> +<p>“That’s Weaver’s Needle,” volunteered Creede, +following his companion’s eyes. “Every lost mine for +a hundred miles around here is located by sightin’ at +that peak. The feller it’s named after was picked up +by the Apaches while he was out lookin’ for the Lost +Dutchman and there’s been a Jonah on the hidden-treasure +business ever since, judgin’ by the results.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></div> +<p>“D’ye see that big butte straight ahead? That’s +Black Butte. She’s so rough that even the mountain +sheep git sore-footed, so they say––we have to go up +there on foot and drive our cattle down with rocks. +Old Bill Johnson’s place is over the other side of that +far butte; he’s got a fine rich valley over there––the +sheep haven’t got in on him yet. You remember that +old feller that was drunk down at Bender––well, +that’s Bill. Calls his place Hell’s Hip Pocket; you +wait till you try to git in there some day and you’ll +know why.”</p> +<p>He paused and turned to the north.</p> +<p>“Might as well give you the lay of the land,” he +said. “I’ll be too busy to talk for the next month. +There’s the Four Peaks, northeast of us, and our +cows run clean to the rocks. They’s more different +brands in that forty miles than you saw in the whole +Cherrycow country, I bet ye. I’ve got five myself +on a couple hundred head that the old man left me––and +everybody else the same way. You see, when +the sheep come in down on the desert and around +Moreno’s we kept pushin’ what was left of our +cattle east and east until we struck the Peaks––and +here we are, in a corner. The old judge +has got nigh onto two thousand head, but they’s about +twenty of us poor devils livin’ up here in the rocks that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +has got enough irons and ear marks to fill a brand +book, and not a thousand head among us.</p> +<p>“Well, I started out to show you the country, +didn’t I? You see that bluff back of the house down +there? That runs from here clean to the Four Peaks +without a break, and then it swings west in a kind of +an ox bow and makes that long ridge up there to the +north that we called the Juate. All that high country +between our house here and the Peaks––everythin’ +east of that long bluff––is Bronco Mesa. +That’s the upper range the judge asked me to point +out to you. Everythin’ west of Bronco Mesa is The +Rolls––all them rollin’ hills out there––and they’s +feed enough out there to keep all the sheep in the +country, twice over––but no water. Now what +makes us cowmen hot is, after we’ve give ’em +that country and welcome, the sheepmen’re all +the time tryin’ to sneak in on our upper range. +Our cows can’t hardly make a livin’ walkin’ ten or +fifteen miles out on The Rolls every day, and then +back again to water; but them dam’ sheep can go a +week without drinkin’, and as much as a month in +the winter-time.</p> +<p>“Why can’t they give us a chanst, then? We <i>give</i> +’em all the good level land and simply ask ’em as a +favor to please keep off of the bench up there and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +leave our cows what little cactus and browse they is. +But no––seems like as soon as you give one of them +Chihuahua Mexicans a gun he wants to git a fight +out of somebody, and so they come crowdin’ in across +our dead line, just to see if they can’t git some of us +goin’.”</p> +<p>Once more his eyes were burning, his breath came +hard, and his voice became high and sustained. +“Well, I give one of ’em all he wanted,” he said, “and +more. I took his dam’ pistol away and beat him over +the head with it––and I <i>moved</i> him, too. He was +Jasper Swope’s pet, and I reckon he had his orders, +but I noticed the rest went round.”</p> +<p>He stopped abruptly and sat silent, twisting his +horse’s mane uneasily. Then he looked up, smiling +curiously.</p> +<p>“If you hadn’t come up this year I would’ve killed +some of them fellers,” he said quietly. “I’m gittin’ +as crazy as old Bill Johnson––and he hears voices. +But now lookee here, Rufe, you don’t want to believe +a word I say about this trouble. Don’t you pay any +attention to me; I’m bughouse, and I know it. Jest +don’t mention sheep to me and I’ll be as happy as an +Injun on a mescal jag. Come on, I’ll run you to the +house!”</p> +<p>Throwing his weight forward he jumped his big +horse down the rocky trail and went thundering across +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +the flat, whooping and laughing and swinging under +mesquite trees as if his whole heart was in the race. +Catching the contagion Hardy’s sorrel dashed +madly after him, and the moment they struck the +open he went by like a shot, over-running the goal +and dancing around the low adobe house like a +circus horse.</p> +<p>“By Joe,” exclaimed Creede as he came up, “that +<i>caballo</i> of yours can run some. I’m goin’ to make a +little easy money off of Bill Lightfoot when he comes +in. He’s been blowin’ about that gray of his for two +years now and I’ll match you ag’inst him for a +yearlin’. And don’t you forgit, boy, we’re going +after that black stallion up on Bronco Mesa just as +soon as the <i>rodér</i> is over.”</p> +<p>His face was all aglow with friendliness and enthusiasm +now, but as they started toward the house, +after turning their horses into the corral, he suddenly +stopped short in the trail.</p> +<p>“Gee,” he said, “I wonder what’s keepin’ Tom? +Here Tom! Heere Tom! Pussy, pussy, pussy!” He +listened, and called again. “I hope the coyotes ain’t +caught him while I was gone,” he said at length. +“They treed him a few times last year, but he just +stayed up there and yelled until I came––spoiled his +voice callin’ so long, but you bet he can purr, all +right.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></div> +<p>He listened once more, long and anxiously, then +his face lit up suddenly.</p> +<p>“Hear that?” he asked, motioning toward the bluff, +and while Hardy was straining his ears a stunted +black cat with a crook in his tail came into view, racing +in wildly from the great pile of fallen bowlders +that lay at the base of the cliff, and yowling in a +hoarse, despairing voice, like a condemned kitten in a +sack.</p> +<p>“Hello, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy!” cried Creede, +and as the cat stopped abruptly, blinking warily at +Hardy, he strode forward and gathered it gently into +his arms. “Well, you poor little devil,” he exclaimed, +stroking its rough coat tenderly, “you’re all chawed +up again! Did them dam’ coyotes try to git you while +I was gone?” And with many profane words of endearment +he hugged it against his breast, unashamed.</p> +<p>“There’s the gamiest cat in Arizona,” he said, +bringing him over to Hardy with conscious pride. +“Whoa, kitten, he won’t hurt you. Dogged if he +won’t tackle a rattlesnake, and kill ’im, too. I used +to be afraid to git out of bed at night without puttin’ +on my boots, but if any old rattler crawls under my +cot now it’s good-bye, Mr. Snake. Tommy is right +there with the goods––and he ain’t been bit yet, +neither. He killed three side-winders last Summer––didn’t +you, Tom, Old Socks?––and if any sheep-herder’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +dog comes snoopin’ around the back door +he’ll mount him in a minute. If a man was as brave +as he is, now, he’d––well, that’s the trouble––he +wouldn’t last very long in this country. I used to +wonder sometimes which’d go first––me or Tom. +The sheepmen was after me, and their dogs was after +Tom. But I’m afraid poor Tommy is elected; this is +a dam’ bad country for cats.”</p> +<p>He set him down with a glance of admiring solicitude, +such as a Spartan mother might have bestowed +upon her fighting offspring, and kicked open the unlocked +door.</p> +<p>The Dos S ranch house was a long, low structure +of adobe bricks, divided in the middle by the open +passageway which the Mexicans always affect to encourage +any vagrant breeze. On one side of the +<i>corredor</i> was a single large room, half storehouse, +half bunk room, with a litter of pack saddles, rawhide +kyacks and leather in one corner, a heap +of baled hay, grain, and provisions in the other, +and the rest strewn with the general wreckage of a +camp––cooking utensils, Dutch ovens, canvas pack +covers, worn-out saddles, and ropes. On the other +side the rooms were more pretentious, one of them +even having a board floor. First came the large +living-room with a stone chimney and a raised +hearth before the fireplace; whereon, each on its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +separate pile of ashes, reposed two Dutch ovens, a +bean kettle, and a frying-pan, with a sawed-off shovel +in the corner for scooping up coals. Opening into +the living-room were two bedrooms, which, upon exploration, +turned out to be marvellously fitted up, with +high-headed beds, bureaus and whatnots, besides a +solid oak desk.</p> +<p>To these explorations of Hardy’s Creede paid but +slight attention, he being engaged in cooking a hurried +meal and watching Tommy, who had a bad habit +of leaping up on the table and stealing; but as Hardy +paused by the desk in the front bedroom he looked up +from mixing his bread and said:</p> +<p>“That’s your room, Rufe, so you can clean it up +and move in. I generally sleep outdoors myself––and +I ain’t got nothin’, nohow. Jest put them guns +and traps into the other room, so I can find ’em. Aw, +go ahead, you’ll need that desk to keep your papers +in. You’ve got to write all the letters and keep the +accounts, anyhow. It always did make my back ache +to lean over that old desk, and I’m glad to git shent +of it.</p> +<p>“Pretty swell rooms, ain’t they? Notice them lace +curtains? The kangaroo rats have chawed the ends +a little, but I tell you, when Susie and Sallie Winship +was here this was the finest house for forty miles. +That used to be Sallie’s room, where you are now. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +Many’s the time in the old days that I’ve rid up here +to make eyes at Sallie, but the old lady wouldn’t +stand for no sich foolishness. Old Winship married +her back in St. Louie and brought her out here to +slave around cookin’ for <i>rodér</i> hands, and she wanted +her daughters to live different. Nope, she didn’t +want no bow-legged cow-punch for a son-in-law, and I +don’t blame her none, because this ain’t no place for a +woman; but Sal was a mighty fine girl, all the same.”</p> +<p>He shook a little flour over his dough, brushed the +cat off the table absently, and began pinching biscuits +into the sizzling fat of the Dutch oven, which smoked +over its bed of coals on the hearth. Then, hooking the +red-hot cover off the fire, he slapped it on and piled +a little row of coals along the upturned rim.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you never hear about the Winship girls?” +he asked, stroking the cat with his floury hands. +“No? Well, it was on account of them that the judge +took over this ranch. Old man Winship was one of +these old-time Indian-fightin’, poker-playin’ sports +that come pretty nigh havin’ their own way about +everythin’. He had a fine ranch up here––the old Dos +S used to brand a thousand calves and more, every +round-up; but when he got old he kinder speculated in +mines and loaned money, and got in the hole generally, +and about the time the sheep drifted in on him +he hauled off and died. I pulled off a big <i>rodér</i> for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +’em and they sold a lot of cattle tryin’ to patch +things up the best they could, but jest as everythin’ +was lovely the drouth struck ’em all in a +heap, and when the Widde’ Winship got the estate +settled up she didn’t have nothin’ much left but +cows and good will. She couldn’t sell the cows––you +never can, right after these dry spells––and as I said, +she wouldn’t let the girls marry any of us cowmen +to kinder be man for the outfit; so what does she do +but run the ranch herself!</p> +<p>“Yes, sir––Susie and Sallie, that was as nice and +eddicated girls as you ever see, they jest put on +overalls and climbed their horses and worked them +cattle themselves. Course they had <i>rodér</i> hands to +do the dirty work in the corrals––brandin’ and ear-markin’ +and the like––but for ridin’ the range and +drivin’ they was as good as the best. Well, sir, you’d +think every man in Arizona, when he heard what they +was doin’, would do everythin’ in his power to help +’em along, even to runnin’ a Dos S on an <i>orehanna</i> +once in a while instead of hoggin’ it himself; but they’s +fellers in this world, I’m convinced, that would steal +milk from a sick baby!”</p> +<p>The brawny foreman of the Dos S dropped the cat +and threw out his hands impressively, and once more +the wild glow crept back into his eyes.</p> +<p>“You remember that Jim Swope that I introduced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +you to down on the desert? Well, he’s a good sheepman, +but he’s on the grab for money like a wolf. +He’s got it, too––that’s the hell of it.”</p> +<p>Creede sighed, and threw a scrap of bacon to +Tommy.</p> +<p>“He keeps a big store down at Moroni,” he continued, +“and the widde’, not wantin’ to shove her cows +onto a fallin’ market, runs up an account with him––somethin’ +like a thousand dollars––givin’ her note for +it, of course. It’s about four years ago, now, that +she happened to be down in Moroni when court was +in session, when she finds out by accident that this +same Jim Swope, seein’ that cattle was about to go +up, is goin’ to close her out. He’d ’a’ done it, too, +like fallin’ off a log, if the old judge hadn’t happened +to be in town lookin’ up some lawsuit. +When he heard about it he was so durned mad he +wrote out a check for a thousand dollars and give it +to her; and then, when she told him all her troubles, +he up and bought the whole ranch at her own price––it +wasn’t much––and shipped her and the girls back to +St. Louie.”</p> +<p>Creede brushed the dirt and flour off the table with +a greasy rag and dumped the biscuits out of the oven.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, “there’s where I lost my last +chanst to git a girl. Come on and eat.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_THE_CROSSING' id='CHAPTER_VI_THE_CROSSING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>THE CROSSING</h3> +</div> +<p>From lonely ranches along the Salagua and +Verde, from the Sunflower and up the Alamo, +from all the sheeped-out and desolate Four Peaks +country the cowboys drifted in to Hidden Water for +the round-up, driving their extra mounts before them. +Beneath the brush <i>ramada</i> of the ranch house they +threw off their canvas-covered beds and turned their +pack horses out to roll, strapping bells and hobbles on +the bad ones, and in a day the deserted valley of Agua +Escondida became alive with great preparations. +A posse of men on fresh mounts rode out on Bronco +Mesa, following with unerring instinct the trail of the +Dos S horses, balking their wild breaks for freedom +and rushing them headlong into the fenced pasture +across the creek. As the hired hands of the Dos S +outfit caught up their mounts and endeavored to put +the fear of God into their hearts, the mountain boys +got out the keg of horseshoes and began to shoe––every +man his own blacksmith.</p> +<p>It was rough work, all around, whether blinding +and topping off the half-wild ponies or throwing them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +and tacking cold-wrought “cowboy” shoes to their +flint-like feet, and more than one enthusiast came +away limping or picking the loose skin from a +bruised hand. Yet through it all the dominant note +of dare-devil hilarity never failed. The solitude of +the ranch, long endured, had left its ugly mark +on all of them. They were starved for company +and excitement; obsessed by strange ideas which +they had evolved out of the tumuli of their past +experience and clung to with dogged tenacity; warped +with egotism; stubborn, boastful, or silent, as their +humor took them, but now all eager to break the +shell and mingle in the rush of life.</p> +<p>In this riot of individuals Jefferson Creede, the +round-up boss, strode about like a king, untrammelled +and unafraid. There was not a ridge or valley in +all the Four Peaks country that he did not know, +yet it was not for this that he was boss; there was +not a virtue or weakness in all that crowd that he +was not cognizant of, in the back of his scheming +brain. The men that could rope, the men that could +ride, the quitters, the blowhards, the rattleheads, the +lazy, the crooked, the slow-witted––all were on his +map of the country; and as, when he rode the ridges, +he memorized each gulch and tree and odd rock, so +about camp he tried out his puppets, one by one, to +keep his map complete.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></div> +<p>As they gathered about the fire that evening it +was Bill Lightfoot who engaged his portentous interest. +He listened to Bill’s boastful remarks +critically, cocking his head to one side and smiling +whenever he mentioned his horse.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” asserted Bill belligerently, “I mean it––that +gray of mine can skin anything in the country, +for a hundred yards or a mile. I’ve got money that +says so!”</p> +<p>“Aw, bull!” exclaimed Creede scornfully.</p> +<p>“Bull, nothin’,” retorted Lightfoot hotly. “I bet +ye––I bet ye a thousand dollars they ain’t a horse in +Arizona that can keep out of my dust for a quarter!”</p> +<p>“Well, I know you ain’t got no thousand dollars––ner +ten,” sneered Creede. “Why don’t you bet +yearlings? If you’d blow some of that hot air +through a tube it’d melt rocks, I reckon. But talk +cow, man; we can all savvy that!”</p> +<p>“Well, where’s the horse that can beat me?” demanded +Lightfoot, bristling.</p> +<p>“That little sorrel out in the pasture,” answered +Creede laconically.</p> +<p>“I’ll bet ye!” blustered Lightfoot. “Aw, rats! +He ain’t even broke yet!”</p> +<p>“He can run, all right. I’ll go you for a yearling +heifer. Put up or shut up.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span></div> +<p>And so the race was run. Early in the morning +the whole <i>rodéo</i> outfit adjourned to the <i>parada</i> +ground out by the pole corrals, the open spot where +they work over the cattle. Hardy danced his sorrel +up to the line where the gray was waiting, there was +a scamper of feet, a streak of dust, and Bill Lightfoot +was out one yearling heifer. A howling mob of +cowboys pursued them from the scratch, racing each +other to the finish, and then in a yell of laughter at +Bill Lightfoot they capered up the cañon and spread +out over The Rolls––the <i>rodéo</i> had begun.</p> +<p>As the shadow of the great red butte to the west, +around which the wagon road toiled for so many +weary miles, reached out and touched the valley, +they came back in a body, hustling a bunch of cattle +along before them. And such cattle! After his year +with the Chiricahua outfit in that blessed eastern +valley where no sheep as yet had ever strayed Hardy +was startled by their appearance. Gaunt, rough, +stunted, with sharp hips and hollow flanks and bellies +swollen from eating the unprofitable browse of cactus +and bitter shrubs, they nevertheless sprinted along +on their wiry legs like mountain bucks; and a peculiar +wild, haggard stare, stamped upon the faces of the +old cows, showed its replica even in the twos and yearlings. +Yet he forbore to ask Creede the question +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +which arose involuntarily to his lips, for he knew the +inevitable answer.</p> +<p>Day after day, as they hurriedly combed The +Rolls for what few cattle remained on the lower +range, the cowmen turned their eyes to the river and +to the cañons and towering cliffs beyond, for the +sheep; until at last as they sat by the evening fire +Creede pointed silently to the lambent flame of a +camp fire, glowing like a torch against the southern +sky.</p> +<p>“There’s your friends, Rufe,” he said, and the +cowmen glanced at Hardy inquiringly.</p> +<p>“I might as well tell you fellers,” Creede continued, +“that one reason Rufe come up here was to +see if he couldn’t do somethin’ with these sheepmen.”</p> +<p>He paused and looked at the circle of faces with +a smile that was almost a sneer.</p> +<p>“You fellers wouldn’t back me up when it come +to fightin’––none except Ben Reavis and the Clark +boys––so I told the old judge we might as well lay +down, and to send up some smooth <i>hombre</i> to try +and jockey ’em a little. Well, Hardy’s the <i>hombre</i>; +and bein’ as you fellers won’t fight, you might as +well look pleasant about it. What’s that you say, +Bill?”</p> +<p>He turned with a sardonic grin to Lightfoot, who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +had already been reduced to a state of silence by the +relentless persecutions of the <i>rodéo</i> boss.</p> +<p>“I never said nawthin’,” replied Lightfoot sullenly. +“But if you’d’ve gone at ’em the way we +wanted to,” he blurted out, as the grin broadened, +“instead of tryin’ to move the whole outfit by daylight, +I’d’ve stayed with you till hell froze over. I +don’t want to git sent up fer ten years.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Creede coolly, “ner you never will.”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t see what you’re pickin’ on me fer,” +bellowed Lightfoot, “the other fellers was there too. +Why don’t you sass Ensign or Pete a while?”</p> +<p>“For a durned good reason,” replied Creede +steadily. “They never <i>was</i> for fightin’, but you, +with that yawp of yours, was always a-hollerin’ and +ribbin’ me on to fight, and then, when the time come, +you never said ‘Boo!’ at ’em. Tucked your young +cannon into the seat of your pants and flew, dam’ +ye, and that’s all there was to it. But that’s all +right,” he added resignedly. “If you fellers don’t +want to fight you don’t have to. But, dam’ it, keep +shut about it now, until you mean business.”</p> +<p>As to just who this man Hardy was and what he +proposed to do with the sheep the members of the +Four Peaks round-up were still in ignorance. All +they knew was that he could ride, even when it came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +to drifting his horse over the rocky ridges, and that +Jeff Creede took him as a matter of course. But, +for a superintendent, he never seemed to have much +to say for himself. It was only when he walked +up to his sorrel pony in that gentle, precise way he +had, and went through the familiar motions of climbing +a “bad one” that they sensed, dimly, a past not +without experience and excitement. Even in the +preoccupation of their own affairs and doings they +could not fail to notice a supple strength in his white +hands, a military precision in his movements, and +above all a look in his eyes when he became excited––the +steady resolute stare with which his militant father +had subdued outlaw horses, buck soldiers, and +Apaches, even his own son, when all had not gone well. +It was this which had inspired Bill Lightfoot to +restrain his tongue when he was sore over his defeat; +and even though Hardy confessed to being a +rider, somehow no one ever thought of sawing off +Spike Kennedy’s “side winder” on him. The quiet, +brooding reserve which came from his soldier life +protected him from such familiar jests, and without +knowing why, the men of the Four Peaks looked +up to him.</p> +<p>Even after his mission was announced, Hardy +made no change in his manner of life. He rode out +each day on the round-up, conning the lay of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +land; at the corral he sat on the fence and kept tally, +frankly admitting that he could neither rope nor +brand; in camp he did his share of the cooking and +said little, listening attentively to the random talk. +Only when sheep were mentioned did he show a +marked interest, and even then it was noticed that he +made no comment, whatever his thoughts were. +But if he told no one what he was going to do, it +was not entirely due to an overrated reticence, for he +did not know himself. Not a man there but had run +the gamut of human emotions in trying to protect his +ranch; they had driven herders off with guns; they +had cut their huddled bands at night and scattered +them for the coyotes; they had caught unwary Mexican +<i>borregueros</i> in forbidden pastures and administered +“shap lessons,” stretching them over bowlders +and spanking them with their leather leggings; they +had “talked reason” to the bosses in forceful terms; +they had requested them politely to move; they had +implored them with tears in their eyes––and still like +a wave of the sea, like a wind, like a scourge of grasshoppers +which cannot be withstood, the sheep had +come on, always hungry, always fat, always more.</p> +<p>Nor was there any new thing in hospitality. The last +bacon and bread had been set upon the table; baled +hay and grain, hauled in by day’s works from the +alfalfa fields of Moroni and the Salagua, had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +fed to the famished horses of the very men who had +sheeped off the grass; the same blanket had been +shared, sometimes, alas, with men who were “crumby.” +And it was equally true that, in return, the beans and +meat of chance herders had been as ravenously devoured, +the water casks of patient “camp-rustlers” +had been drained midway between the river and camp, +and stray wethers had showed up in the round-up +fry-pans in the shape of mutton. Ponder as he would +upon the problem no solution offered itself to Hardy. +He had no policy, even, beyond that of common politeness; +and as the menacing clamor of the sheep drifted +up to them from the river the diplomat who was to +negotiate the great truce began to wonder whether, +after all, he was the man of the hour or merely another +college graduate gone wrong.</p> +<p>On the opposite side of the river in bands of two +and three thousand the cohorts of the sheep gathered +to make the crossing––gathered and waited, for the +Salagua was still high. At the foot of the high cliffs, +from the cleft cañon of which water flowed forth +as if some rod had called it from the rock, the leaders +of the sheepmen were sitting in council, gazing at +the powerful sweep of the level river, and then at the +distant sand bar where their charges must win the +shore or be swept into the whirlpool below. Ah, +that whirlpool! Many a frightened ewe and weakling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +lamb in years past had drifted helplessly into +its swirl and been sucked down, to come up below +the point a water-logged carcass. And for each +stinking corpse that littered the lower bar the boss +sheep owner subtracted five dollars from the sum +of his hard-earned wealth. Already on the flats below +them the willows and burro bushes were trembling +as eager teeth trimmed them of their leaves––in a +day, or two days, the river bottom would be fed +bare; and behind and behind, clear to the broad floor +of the desert, band after band was pressing on to +the upper crossing of the Salagua.</p> +<p>As Hardy rode up over the rocky point against +which the river threw its full strength and then, flung +inexorably back, turned upon itself in a sullen +whirlpool, he could see the sheep among the willows, +the herders standing impassive, leaning upon their +guns as more rustic shepherds lean upon their staves, +and above, at the head of the crossing, the group of +men, sitting within the circle of their horses in anxious +conference. If any of them saw him, outlined +like a sentinel against the sky, they made no sign; +but suddenly a man in a high Texas hat leaped up +from the group, sprang astride his mule and spurred +him into the cold water. For the first twenty feet +the mule waded, shaking his ears; then he slumped off +the edge of a submerged bench into deeper water and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +swam, heading across the stream but drifting diagonally +with the current until, striking bottom +once more, he struggled out upon the sand spit. The +rider looked eagerly about, glanced up casually at +the man on the point below, and then plunged back +into the water, shouting out hoarse orders to his Mexicans, +who were smoking idly in the shade of overhanging +rocks. Immediately they scrambled to their +feet and scattered along the hillside. The stroke of +axes echoed from the crags above, and soon men came +staggering down to the river, dragging the thorny +limbs of <i>palo verdes</i> behind them. With these they +quickly constructed a brush fence in the form of a +wing, running parallel to the cliff and making a chute +which opened into the river.</p> +<p>Then with a great braying and bleating a huddle +of sheep moved unwillingly along it, led by bold +goats with crooked horns and resolute beards, and +pushed forward by that same reckless rider on his +black mule, assisted by a horde of shouting Mexicans. +But at the touch of the cold water, two days +from the snow beds of the White Mountains, even the +hardy bucks stepped back and shook their heads defiantly. +In vain with showers of rocks and flapping +tarpaulins the herders stormed the rear of the press––every +foot was set against them and the sheep only +rushed about along the edge of the herd or crowded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +in close-wedged masses against the bluff. At last +a line of men leaped into the enclosure, holding up +a long canvas wagon-cover and, encircling the first +section of the leaders, shoved them by main force into +the river.</p> +<p>Instantly the goats took water, swimming free, +and below them the man on the black mule shouted +and waved his broad Texas hat, heading them across +the stream. But the timid sheep turned back behind +him, landing below the fence against all opposition, +and the babel of their braying rose higher and higher, +as if in protest against their unlucky fate. Again +and again the herders, stripped to their underclothes, +pushed the unwilling sheep into the current, wading +out to their chins to keep them headed across; each +time the sodden creatures evaded them and, drifting +with the current, landed far below on the same side, +whence they rushed back to join their fellows.</p> +<p>Upon the opposite shore the goats stood shivering, +watching the struggle with yellow, staring eyes which +showed no trace of fear. Like brave generals of +a craven band they were alone in their hardihood and, +with their feet upon the promised land, were doomed +either to proceed alone or return to their companions. +So at last they did, plunging in suddenly, while the +man on the mule spurred in below in a vain effort to +turn them back.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span></div> +<p>That night by the camp fire Hardy mentioned the +man on a black mule.</p> +<p>“My old friend, Jasp Swope,” explained Creede +suavely, “brother of Jim, the feller I introduced you +to. Sure, Jasp and I have had lo-ong talks together––but +he don’t like me any more.” He twisted his +nose and made a face, as if to intimate that it was +merely a childish squabble, and Hardy said no more. +He was growing wise.</p> +<p>The next morning, and the next, Jasper Swope +made other attempts at the crossing; and then, as +the snow water from the high mountains slipped +by and the warm weather dried up by so much each +little stream, he was able at last to ford the diminished +river. But first, with that indomitable energy +which marked him at every move, he cleared a passage +along the base of the cliff to a place where the earth-covered +moraine broke off at the edge of the water. +Here a broad ledge shot down to the river like a +toboggan slide, with a six-foot jump off at the +bottom.</p> +<p>Once on this chute, with the strong tug of the +canvas wagon-covers behind, there was nothing for +the sheep to do but to take the plunge, and as his +brawny herders tumbled them head over heels into +the deep current Swope and his helpers waded out +in a line below, shunting each ewe and wading toward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +the farther shore. There on the edge of the sand +spit they huddled in a bunch, gathering about the +hardier bucks and serving as a lure for those that +followed. As cut after cut was forced into the stream +a long row of bobbing heads stretched clear across the +river, each animal striving desperately to gain the +opposite bank and landing, spent and puffing, far +below. A Mexican boy at intervals drove these strays +up the shore to the big bunch and then concealed +himself in the bushes lest by his presence he turn some +timid swimmer back and the whirlpool increase its +toll. So they crossed them in two herds, the wethers +first, and then the ewes and lambs––and all the little +lambs that could not stem the stream were floated +across in broad pieces of tarpaulin whose edges were +held up by wading men.</p> +<p>From Lookout Point it was a majestic spectacle, +the high cliffs, the silvery river gliding noiselessly +out from its black cañon, the white masses of sheep, +clustering on either side of the water––and as the +work went ahead merrily the Mexicans, their naked +bodies gleaming like polished bronze in the ardent +sun, broke into a wild refrain, a love song, perhaps, +or a <i>cancion</i> of old Mexico. Working side by side +with his men Jasper Swope joined in the song himself, +and as they returned empty-handed he seized the +tallest and strongest of them and ducked him in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +water while his retainers roared with laughter. And +Hardy, sitting unnoticed upon his horse, began to +understand why these low-browed barbarians from +Mexico were willing to fight, and if need be to +die, for their masters. The age of feudalism had +returned––the lords of the sheep went forth like barons, +sharing every hardship and leading the way in +danger, and their men followed with the same unthinking +devotion that the Myrmidons showed for +noble Achilles or the Crusaders for their white-crossed +knights.</p> +<p>Upon this and many other feats Hardy had ample +leisure to meditate, for the sheepmen regarded him +no more than if he had been a monument placed high +upon the point to give witness to their victory. As +the sheep crossed they were even allowed to straggle +out along the slopes of the forbidden mesa, untended +by their shepherds; and if the upper range was the +special reserve of the cowmen the sheep owners showed +no knowledge of the fact. For two days the grazing +herd crept slowly along the mesquite-covered flat toward +Lookout Point, and on the third morning they +boiled up over the rocks and spewed down into the +valley of the Alamo.</p> +<p>“Well,” observed Creede, as he watched the slow +creeping of the flock, “here’s where I have to quit +you, Rufe. In a week this ground around here will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +be as level as a billiard table and they won’t be +enough horse feed in the valley to keep a burro. +The town herd pulls out for Bender this mornin’ and +the rest of us will move up to Carrizo Creek.”</p> +<p>He hurried away to oversee the packing, but when +all was ready he waved the boys ahead and returned +to the conversation.</p> +<p>“As I was sayin’ a while ago, you won’t see nothin’ +but sheep around here now for the next two weeks––and +all I want to say is, keep ’em out of the pasture, +and f’r God’s sake don’t let ’em corral in the brandin’ +pens! They’re dirty enough already, but if you git +about six inches of sheep manure in there and then +mill a few hundred head of cattle around on top +of it, the dust would choke a skunk. Our cows ain’t +so over-particular about that sheep smell, but if +we poor cowboys has got to breathe sheep and eat +sheep and spit up sheep every time we brand, it’s +crowdin’ hospitality pretty strong. But if they want +grub or clothes or tabac, go to it––and see if you can’t +keep ’em off the upper range.”</p> +<p>He paused and gazed at Hardy with eyes which +suggested a world of advice and warning––then, +leaving it all unsaid, he turned wearily away.</p> +<p>“I look to find you with a sprained wrist,” he +drawled, “when I come back––throwin’ flapjacks for +them sheepmen!” He made the quick motion of turning +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +a pancake in midair, smiled grimly, and galloped +after the long line of horses and packs that was +stringing along up the Bronco Mesa trail. And, +having a premonition of coming company, Hardy +went in by the fireplace and put on a big kettle of beef. +He was picking over another mess of beans when he +heard the clatter of hoofs outside and the next moment +the door was kicked violently open.</p> +<p>It was Jasper Swope who stood on the threshold, +his high Texas hat thrust far back upon his head––and +if he felt any surprise at finding the house occupied +he gave no expression to it.</p> +<p>“Hello, there!” he exclaimed. “I thought you +folks was all gone!”</p> +<p>“Nope,” replied Hardy, and continued his work in +silence.</p> +<p>“Cookin’ for the outfit?” queried Swope, edging in +at the door.</p> +<p>“Nope,” replied Hardy.</p> +<p>“Well, who the hell air ye cookin’ fer then?” demanded +Swope, drawing nearer. “’Scuse me if I +pry into this matter, but I’m gittin’ interested.” +He paused and showed a jagged set of teeth beneath +his bristling red mustache, sneeringly.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll tell you,” answered Hardy easily. +“I thought some white man might come along later +and I’d ask him to dinner.” He fixed his eyes upon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +the sheepman with an instant’s disapproval and then +resumed his cookery. As for Swope, his gray eyes +flashed sudden fire from beneath bushy eyebrows, and +then a canny smile crept across his lips.</p> +<p>“I used to be a white man, myself,” he said, “before +I lost my soap. What’s the chance to git a +bite of that bymeby?” He threw his hand out toward +the pot of beef, which was sending out odors +of a rich broth, flavored with onions and chili.</p> +<p>Hardy looked at him again, little shrimp of a man +that he was, and still with disapproval.</p> +<p>“D’ye call that a white man’s way of entering another +man’s house?” he inquired pointedly.</p> +<p>“Well,” temporized Swope, and then he stopped. +“A man in my line of business gits in a hurry once +in a while,” he said lamely. “But I’m hungry, all +right,” he remarked, <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Hardy, “I’ve noticed it. But here––sit +down and eat.”</p> +<p>The sheepman accepted the dish of beef, dipped +out a spoonful of beans, broke off a slab of bread, and +began his meal forthwith, meanwhile looking at +Hardy curiously.</p> +<p>“What’s that you say you’ve noticed?” he inquired, +and a quizzical smile lurked beneath his dripping +mustache as he reached over and hefted the +coffeepot.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></div> +<p>“I’ve noticed,” replied Hardy, “that you sheepmen +get in a hurry once in a while. You can’t stop +to knock on a door so you kick it open; can’t stop +to go around a ranch, so you go through it, and so +on.”</p> +<p>“Ah,” observed Swope slyly, “so that’s what’s +bitin’ you, eh? I reckon you must be that new superintendent +that Jim was tellin’ about.”</p> +<p>“That’s right,” admitted Hardy, “and you’re Mr. +Swope, of course. Well, I’ll say this for you, Mr. +Swope, you certainly know how to get sheep across +a river. But when it comes to getting along with +cowmen,” he added, as the sheepman grinned his +self-approval, “you don’t seem to stack up very high.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t, hey?” demanded Swope defiantly. +“Well, how about the cowmen? Your friend Creede +gets along with sheepmen like a house afire, don’t +he? Him and a bunch of his punchers jumped +on one of my herders last Fall and dam’ nigh beat +him to death. Did you ever hear of a sheepman +jumpin’ on a cowboy? No, by Gad, and you never +will! We carry arms to protect ourselves, but we +never make no trouble.”</p> +<p>He paused and combed the coffee grounds out of +his heavy red mustache with fingers that were +hooked like an eagle’s talons from clutching at sheep +in the cold water.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span></div> +<p>“I don’t doubt, Mr. Superintendent,” he said, with +sinister directness, “that these cowmen have filled +you up about what bad <i>hombres</i> we are––and of +course it ain’t no use to say nothin’ now––but I jest +want to tell you one thing, and I want you to remember +it if any trouble should come up; we sheepmen +have never gone beyond our legal rights, and +we’ve got the law behind us. The laws of the United +States and the statutes of this Territory guarantee +us the right to graze our sheep on public lands and +to go where we dam’ please––and we’ll go, too, you +can bank on that.”</p> +<p>He added this last with an assurance which left +no doubt as to his intentions, and Hardy made no +reply. His whole mind seemed centred on a handful +of beans from which he was picking out the rocks +and little lumps of clay which help to make up full +weight.</p> +<p>“Well!” challenged Swope, after waiting for his +answer, “ain’t that straight?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” said Hardy absently.</p> +<p>Swope glared at him for a moment disapprovingly.</p> +<p>“Huh, you’re a hell of a cowman,” he grunted. +“What ye goin’ to do about it?”</p> +<p>“About what?” inquired Hardy innocently.</p> +<p>“Aw, you know,” replied Swope impatiently. +“How about that upper range?” He shoved back his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +chair as he spoke, and his eyes lit up in anticipation +of the battle.</p> +<p>“Well,” responded Hardy judicially, “if you’ve +got the legal right to go up there, and if you’re goin’ +where you dam’ please, anyhow, it don’t look like +I could do anything.” He paused and smiled patiently +at the sheepman.</p> +<p>“You know very well, Mr. Swope,” he said, “that +if you want to go up on that mesa and sheep off the +feed we haven’t got any legal means of preventing +you. But you know, too, that there isn’t more than +enough feed for what cows the boys have left. If +you want to go up there, that’s your privilege––and +if you want to go out over The Rolls, that’s all +right, too.”</p> +<p>“Of course you don’t give a dam’!” said Swope +satirically.</p> +<p>“I guess you know how I feel, all right,” returned +Hardy, and then he lapsed into silence, while Swope +picked his teeth and thought.</p> +<p>“Where’d you come from?” he said at last, as if, +forgetting all that had passed, his mind had come back +from a far country, unbiassed by the facts.</p> +<p>“Over the mountains,” replied Hardy, jerking his +thumb toward the east.</p> +<p>“Don’t have no sheep over there, do they?” inquired +Swope.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></div> +<p>“Nope, nothing but cattle and horses.”</p> +<p>“Ump!” grunted the sheepman, and then, as if +the matter was settled thereby, he said: “All right, +pardner, bein’ as you put it that way, I reckon I’ll +go around.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_HELLS_HIP_POCKET' id='CHAPTER_VII_HELLS_HIP_POCKET'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>HELL’S HIP POCKET</h3> +</div> +<p>In the days of Ahaz, king of Judah, Isaiah the +son of Amoz is reported to have seen in a vision +a wolf which dwelt with a lamb, while a lion ate +straw like an ox, and a weaned child put his hand in +the cockatrice’s den. Equally beautiful, as a dream, +was the peace at Hidden Water, where sheepman +and cattleman sat down together in amity; only, +when it was all over, the wolf wiped his chops and +turned away with a wise smile––the millennium not +having come, as yet, in Arizona.</p> +<p>Hardy’s wrist was a little lame, figuratively speaking, +from throwing flapjacks for hungry sheep herders, +and the pile of grain and baled hay in the storehouse +had dwindled materially; but as the sheep came +through, band after band, and each turned off to the +west, stringing in long bleating columns out across +The Rolls, he did not begrudge the hard labor. +After Jasper Swope came Jim, and Donald McDonald, +as jolly a Scottish shepherd as ever lived, +and Bazan, the Mexican, who traced his blood back +to that victorious general whom Maximilian sent into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +Sonora. There were Frenchmen, smelling rank of +garlic and mutton tallow; Basques with eyes as blue +and vacant as the summer skies; young Mormons +working on shares, whose whole fortune was wrapped +up in the one huddle of sheep which they corralled and +counted so carefully; and then the common herders, +fighting Chihuahuanos, with big round heads and +staring eyes, low-browed Sonorans, slow and brutal +in their ways, men of all bloods and no blood, lumped +together in that careless, all-embracing Western term +“Mexicans.”</p> +<p>But though they were low and primitive in mental +processes, nearer to their plodding burros than to the +bright-eyed sensitive dogs, they were the best who +would consent to wander with the sheep through the +wilderness, seeing nothing, doing nothing, knowing +nothing, having before them nothing but the vision +of a distant pay day, a drunk, the <i>calabozo</i>, and the +kind boss who would surely bail them out. Ah, that +was it––the one love and loyalty of those simple-minded +creatures who, unfit for the hurry and competition +of the great world, sold their lives by spans of +months for twenty dollars and found; it was always +to the boss that they looked for help, and in return +they did his will.</p> +<p>When the great procession had drifted past, with +its braying clamor, its dogs, its men on muleback and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +afoot, the herders with their carbines, the camp +rustlers with their burros, belled and laden with water +casks and kyacks of grub, the sheep owners hustling +about with an energy that was almost a mania, Hardy +sat beneath the <i>ramada</i> of the ranch house with dog-fighting +Tommy in his lap and pondered deeply upon +the spectacle. A hundred thousand sheep, drifting +like the shadows of clouds across the illimitable desert, +crossing swift rivers, climbing high mountains, +grazing beneath the northern pines; and then turning +south again and pouring down through the passes +like the resistless front of a cloudburst which leaves +the earth bare and wasted in its wake. For this one +time he had turned the stream aside and the tall grass +still waved upon the upper range; but the next time, +or the next––what then?</p> +<p>Long and seriously he contemplated the matter, +dwelling now upon the rough good nature of the +sheepmen and this almost miraculous demonstration +of their good will; then remembered with vague misgivings +their protestations against the unlawful +violence which presumed to deny them what was their +legal right––free grazing on all government lands. +And in the end he wrote a brief note to Judge Ware, +telling him that while the sheepmen had accepted his +hospitality in a most friendly spirit and had respected +the upper range, it was in his opinion only a question +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +of time until they would take the whole country, +unless they were restrained by law. He therefore +recommended that the judge look up the status of the +bill to set aside the watershed of the Salagua as a +National Forest Reserve, and in case the opposition +to it indicated any long delay it would be well either +to sell out or reduce his stock. This note he sent +out by Rafael, the Mexican roustabout, who was still +hauling in supplies from Bender, and then with a +glad heart he saddled up his horse, left a bait of meat +on the floor for Tommy, and struck out over the mesa +for Carrizo Creek.</p> +<p>After his long confinement in the pasture the sorrel +galloped along the rocky trail with the grace and +swiftness of an antelope, the warm dry wind puffed +little whirls of dust before them, and once more Hardy +felt like a man. If for the best interests of his employer +it was desirable that he cook beef and bread for +sheepmen, he could do so with good grace, but his +spirit was not that of a man who serves. Since he had +left home he had taken a great deal from the world, +patiently accepting her arrogance while he learned +her ways, but his soul had never been humbled and he +rode forth now like a king.</p> +<p>Upon that great mesa where the bronco mustangs +from the Peaks still defied the impetuosity of men, +the giant <i>sahuaros</i> towered in a mighty forest as far +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +as the eye could see, yet between each stalk there +lay a wide space, studded here and there with niggerheads +of bristling spines, and fuzzy <i>chollas</i>, white as +the backs of sheep and thorny beyond reason. Nor +was this all: in the immensity of distance there was +room for <i>sahuaros</i> and niggerheads and <i>chollas</i>, and +much besides. In every gulch and sandy draw the +<i>palo verdes</i>, their yellow flowers gleaming in the sun, +stood out like lines of fire; the bottoms of the steep +ravines which gashed the mesa were illuminated with +the gaudy tassels of mesquite blossoms; gray coffee-berry +bushes clumped up against the sides of ridges, +and in every sheltered place the long grass waved its +last-year’s banners, while the fresh green of tender +growth matted the open ground like a lawn. Baby +rabbits, feeding along their runways in the grass, +sat up at his approach or hopped innocently into the +shadow of the sheltering cat-claws; jack-rabbits with +black-tipped ears galloped madly along before him, +imagining themselves pursued, and in every warm +sandy place where the lizards took the sun there was a +scattering like the flight of arrows as the long-legged +swift-jacks rose up on their toes and flew. All +nature was in a gala mood and Rufus Hardy no less. +Yet as he rode along, gazing at the dreamy beauty +of this new world, the old far-away look crept back +into his eyes, a sad, brooding look such as one often +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +sees in the faces of little children who have been +crossed, and the stern lines at the corners of his mouth +were deeper when he drew rein above Carrizo Creek.</p> +<p>Below him lay the panorama of a mountain valley––the +steep and rocky walls; the silvery stream writhing +down the middle; the green and yellow of flowers +along the lowlands; and in the middle, to give it life, +a great herd of cattle on the <i>parada</i> ground, weaving +and milling before the rushes of yelling horsemen, +intent on cutting out every steer in the herd. Beyond +lay the corrals of peeled cottonwood, and a square +house standing out stark and naked in the supreme +ugliness of corrugated iron, yet still oddly homelike +in a land where shelter was scarce. As he gazed, a +mighty voice rose up to him from the midst of the +turmoil, the blatting of calves, the mooing of cows and +the hoarse thunder of mountain bulls:</p> +<p>“Hel-lo, Rufe!”</p> +<p>From his place on the edge of the herd Hardy saw +Jefferson Creede, almost herculean on his tall horse, +waving a large black hat. Instantly he put spurs to +his sorrel and leaped down the narrow trail, and at +the edge of the herd they shook hands warmly, for +friends are scarce, wherever you go.</p> +<p>“Jest in time!” said Creede, grinning his welcome, +“we’re goin’ over into Hell’s Hip Pocket to-morrow––the +original hole in the ground––to bring out Bill +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +Johnson’s beef critters, and I sure wanted you to +make the trip. How’d you git along with Jasp?”</p> +<p>“All right,” responded Hardy, “he didn’t make me +any trouble. But I’m glad to get away from that +sheep smell, all the same.”</p> +<p>The big cowboy fixed his eyes upon him eagerly.</p> +<p>“Did they go around?” he asked incredulously. +“Jasp and all?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” said Hardy. “Why?”</p> +<p>For a long minute Creede was silent, wrinkling his +brows as he pondered upon the miracle.</p> +<p>“Well, that’s what <i>I</i> want to know,” he answered +ambiguously. “But say, you’ve got a fresh horse; +jest take my place here while me and Uncle Bill over +there show them ignorant punchers how to cut cattle.”</p> +<p>He circled rapidly about the herd and, riding out +into the runway where the cattle were sifted, the beef +steers being jumped across the open into the hold-up +herd and the cows and calves turned back, he held up +his hand for the work to stop. Then by signals he +sent the galloping horsemen back to the edge of the +herd and beckoned for old Bill Johnson.</p> +<p>For a few minutes he sat quietly on his horse, +waiting for the harassed cattle to stop their milling. +Then breaking into a song such as cowboys sing at +night he rode slowly in among them, threading about +at random, while old Bill Johnson on his ancient mare +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +did likewise, his tangled beard swaying idly in the +breeze. On the border of the herd they edged in as +if by accident upon a fat steer and walked him +amiably forth into the open. Another followed out +of natural perversity, and when both were nicely +started toward the beef cut the two men drifted back +once more into the herd. There was no running, no +shouting, no gallant show of horsemanship, but somehow +the right steers wandered over into the beef cut +and stayed there. As if by magic spell the outlaws +and “snakes” became good, and with no breaks for +the hills the labor of an afternoon was accomplished in +the space of two dull and uneventful hours.</p> +<p>“That’s the way to cut cattle!” announced Creede, +as they turned the discard toward the hills. “Ain’t +it, Bill?”</p> +<p>He turned to Johnson who, sitting astride a flea-bitten +gray mare that seemed to be in a perpetual +doze, looked more like an Apache squaw than a boss +cowboy. The old man’s clothes were even more +ragged than when Hardy had seen him at Bender, his +copper-riveted hat was further reinforced by a buckskin +thong around the rim, and his knees were short-stirruped +almost up to his elbows by the puny little +boy’s saddle that he rode, but his fiery eyes were as +quick and piercing as ever.</p> +<p>“Shore thing,” he said, straightening up jauntily +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +in his saddle, “that’s my way! Be’n doin’ it fer +years, while you boys was killin’ horses, but it takes +Jeff hyar to see the p’int. Be gentle, boys, be gentle +with um––you don’t gain nawthin’ fer all yer hard +ridin’.”</p> +<p>He cut off a chew of tobacco and tucked it carefully +away in his cheek.</p> +<p>“Jeff hyar,” he continued, as the bunch of cowboys +began to josh and laugh among themselves, “he comes +by his savvy right––his paw was a smart man before +him, and mighty clever to his friends, to boot. +Many’s the time I hev took little Jeffie down the river +and learned him tracks and beaver signs when he +wasn’t knee-high to a grasshopper––hain’t I, Jeff? +And when I tell him to be gentle with them cows he +knows I’m right. I jest want you boys to take +notice when you go down into the Pocket to-morrer +what kin be done by kindness; and the first man that +hollers or puts a rope on my gentle stock, I’ll sure +make him hard to ketch.</p> +<p>“You hear me, naow,” he cried, turning sharply +upon Bill Lightfoot, who was getting off something +about “Little Jeffie,” and then for the first time he +saw the face of the new cowboy who had ridden in +that afternoon. Not since the day he was drunk at +Bender had Bill Johnson set eyes upon the little man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +to whom he had sworn off, but he recognized him +instantly.</p> +<p>“Hello thar, pardner!” he exclaimed, reining his +mare in abruptly. “Whar’d you drop down from?”</p> +<p>“Why howdy do, Mr. Johnson!” answered Hardy, +shaking hands, “I’m glad to see you again. Jeff told +me he was going down to your ranch to-morrow and +I looked to see you then.”</p> +<p>Bill Johnson allowed this polite speech to pass over +his shoulder without response. Then, drawing Hardy +aside, he began to talk confidentially; expounding to +the full his system of gentling cattle; launching forth +his invective, which was of the pioneer variety, upon +the head of all sheepmen; and finally coming around +with a jerk to the subject that was uppermost in his +mind.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said, “I want to ask you a question––are +you any relation to the Captain Hardy that I +served with over at Fort Apache? Seems’s if you +look like ’im, only smaller.”</p> +<p>His stature was a sore point with Hardy, and +especially in connection with his father, but making +allowance for Mr. Johnson’s ways he modestly admitted +his ancestry.</p> +<p>“His son, eh!” echoed the old man. “Waal––now! +I tell you, boy, I <i>knowed</i> you––I knowed you the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +minute you called down that dog-robber of a barkeep––and +I was half drunk, too. And so you’re the +new superintendent down at the Dos S, eh? Waal, +all I can say is: God help them pore sheepmen if you +ever git on their trail. I used to chase Apaches with +yore paw, boy!”</p> +<p>It was Bill Johnson’s turn to talk that evening +and like most solitaries who have not “gone into the +silence,” he availed himself of a listener with enthusiasm.</p> +<p>Stories of lion hunts and “b’ar fights” fell as trippingly +from his lips as the words of a professional +monologist, and when he had finished his account of +the exploits of Captain Samuel Barrows Hardy, even +the envious Lightfoot regarded Rufus with a new +respect, for there is no higher honor in Arizona than +to be the son of an Indian fighter. And when the +last man had crawled wearily into his blankets the old +hermit still sat by the dying fire poking the charred +ends into the flames and holding forth to the young +superintendent upon the courage of his sire.</p> +<p>Hardly had the son of his father crept under the +edge of Creede’s blankets and dropped to sleep before +that huge mountain of energy rose up and gave the +long yell. The morning was at its blackest, that +murky four <span class='smcap'>A. M.</span> darkness which precedes the first +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +glimmer of light; but the day’s work had to be done. +The shivering horse-wrangler stamped on his boots +and struck out down the cañon after the <i>remuda</i>, two +or three cooks got busy about the fire which roared +higher and higher as they piled on the ironwood to +make coals, and before the sun had more than +mounted the southern shoulder of the Four Peaks +the long line of horsemen was well on the trail to +Hell’s Hip Pocket.</p> +<p>The frontier imagination had in no wise overleaped +itself in naming this abyss. Even the tribute which +Facilis Descensus Vergil paid to the local Roman hell +could hardly be said of the Pocket––it is not even +easy to get into it. From the top of the divide it +looks like a valley submerged in a smoky haze through +which the peaks and pinnacles of the lower parks rise +up like cathedral spires, pointing solemnly to heaven. +As the trail descends through washed-out gulches and +“stone-patches,” now skating along the backbone of +a ridge and now dropping as abruptly into some +hollow waterway, the cliffs and pinnacles begin to +loom up against the sky; then they seem to close in and +block the way, and just as the cañon boxes in to +nothing the trail slips into a gash in the face of the +cliff where the soft sandstone has crumbled away between +two harder strata, and climbs precariously +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +along through the sombre gloom of the gorge to the +bright light of the fair valley beyond.</p> +<p>It is a kind of fairy land, that hidden pocket in the +hills, always covered by a mystic haze, for which the +Mexicans give it the name <i>Humada</i>. Its steep cañon +comes down from the breast of the most easterly of +the Four Peaks, impassable except by the one trail; it +passes through the box and there widens out into a +beautiful valley, where the grass lies along the hillsides +like the tawny mane of a lion, and tender flowers +stand untrampled in the rich bottoms. For three +miles or more it spreads out between striated cliffs +where hawks and eagles make their nests; then once +more it closes in, the creek plunges down a narrow +gorge and disappears, writhing tortuously on its way +to the Salagua whose fire-blasted walls rise in huge +bulwarks against the south, dwarfing the near-by +cliffs into nothingness by their majestic height.</p> +<p>In the presence of this unearthly beauty and +grandeur old Bill Johnson––ex-trapper, ex-soldier, +ex-prospector, ex-everything––had dwelt for twenty +years, dating from the days when his house was his +fortress, and his one desire was to stand off the +Apaches until he could find the Lost Dutchman.</p> +<p>Where the valley narrowed down for its final +plunge into the gorge the old trapper had built his +cabin, its walls laid “square with the world” by sighting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +on the North Star. When the sun entered the +threshold of the western door it was noon, and +his watch never ran down. The cabin was built of +shaly rocks, squared and laid in mud, like bricks; a +tremendous stone chimney stood against the north +end and a corral for his burros at the south. Three +hounds with bleared eyes and flapping ears, their foreheads +wrinkled with age and the anxieties of the hunt, +bayed forth a welcome as the cavalcade strung in +across the valley; and mild-eyed cattle, standing on +the ridges to catch the wind, stared down at them in +surprise. Never, even at San Carlos, where the +Chiricahua cattle fatten on the best feed in Arizona, +had Hardy seen such mountains of beef. Old steers +with six and seven rings on their horns hung about +the salting places, as if there were no such things as +beef drives and slaughter houses in this cruel world, +and even when the cowboys spread out like a fan and +brought them all in to the cutting grounds there was +hardly a calf that bawled.</p> +<p>As the three or four hundred head that made up +his entire earthly possession drifted obediently in, the +old man rode up to Creede and Hardy and waved +his hand expansively.</p> +<p>“Thar, boys,” he said, “thar’s the results of peace +and kindness. Nary a critter thar that I heven’t +scratched between the horns since the day his maw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +brought him down to the salt lick. I even git Jeff +and the boys to brand and earmark ’em fer me, so +they won’t hev no hard feelin’ fer the Old Man. +D’ye see that big white-faced steer?” he asked, pointing +with pride to the monarch of the herd. “Waal, +how much ye think he’ll weigh?” he demanded, turning +to Creede. “Fifteen hundred?”</p> +<p>“Um, more ’n that,” responded Creede, squinting +his eyes down judicially. “Them Herefords are +awful solid when they git big. I reckon he’ll run +nigh onto seventeen hundred, Bill.” He paused and +winked furtively at Hardy. “I kin git fifty dollars +fer that old boy, jest the way he stands,” he said, +“and bein’ as he can’t carry no more weight nohow, +I’ll jest cut him into the town herd right now, +and––”</p> +<p>“Hyar!” shouted Johnson, grabbing the cowboy’s +bridle, “who’s doin’ this, anyhow?”</p> +<p>“W’y <i>you</i>, Bill,” answered Creede innocently, +“but––”</p> +<p>“That’s all right, then,” said the old man shortly, +“you leave that steer alone. I’ll jest cut this herd to +suit myself.”</p> +<p>Over at the branding pen the irons were on the +fire and the marking was progressing rapidly, but out +in the open Mr. Bill Johnson was making slow work +of his cut.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></div> +<p>“He gets stuck on them cows, like an Irishman with +his pig,” observed Creede, as the old man turned back +a prime four-year-old. “He’d rather be barbecued +by the Apaches than part with that big white-faced +boy. If I owned ’em I’d send down a lot of them +big fat brutes and buy doggies; but Bill spends all +the money he gits fer booze anyhow, so I reckon it’s +all right. He generally sends out about twenty runts +and roughs, and lets it go at that. Say! You’ll +have to git a move on, Bill,” he shouted, “we want to +send that beef cut on ahead!”</p> +<p>The old man reined in his mare and surveyed the +big herd critically.</p> +<p>“Waal,” he drawled, “I reckon that’ll do fer this +trip, then. Take ’em along. And the fust one of +you punchers that hits one of them critters over the +tail with his hondu,” he shouted, as the eager horsemen +trotted over to start them, “will hev me to +lick!”</p> +<p>He placed an order for provisions with Creede, +asked him to keep the supplies at Hidden Water until +he came over for them with the burros, and turned +away contentedly as the cowboys went upon their +way.</p> +<p>Down by the branding pen the mother cows licked +the blood from their offsprings’ mangled ears and +mooed resentfully, but the big white-faced steer stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +in brutish content on the salting grounds and gazed +after the town herd thoughtfully.</p> +<p>A bunch of burros gathered about the doorway of +the cabin, snooping for bacon rinds; the hounds leaned +their heavy jowls upon his knees and gazed up +worshipfully into their master’s face; and as the sun +dipped down toward the rim of the mighty cliffs that +shut him in, the lord of Hell’s Hip Pocket broke into +the chorus of an ancient song:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“Oh, <i>o</i>-ver the prairies, and <i>o</i>-ver the mountains,<br /> +And <i>o</i>-ver the prairies, and <i>o</i>-ver the mountains,<br /> +And <i>o</i>-ver the prairies, and <i>o</i>-ver the mountains,<br /> +I’ll go till I find me a home.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_A_YEARS_MAIL' id='CHAPTER_VIII_A_YEARS_MAIL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>A YEAR’S MAIL</h3> +</div> +<p>The beef herd was safely delivered at Bender, the +feeders disposed of at Moroni, and the checks +sent on to the absentee owner, who did not know a +steer from a stag; the <i>rodéo</i> hands were paid off and +successfully launched upon their big drunk; bills were +paid and the Summer’s supplies ordered in, and then +at last the superintendent and <i>rodéo</i> boss settled down +to a little domesticity.</p> +<p>Since the day that Hardy had declined to drink +with him Creede had quietly taken to water, and he +planted a bag of his accumulated wages in a corner +of the mud floor, to see, as he facetiously expressed it, +if it would grow. Mr. Bill Johnson had also saved +his “cow money” from Black Tex and banked it with +Hardy, who had a little cache of his own, as well. +With their finances thus nicely disposed of the two +partners swept the floor, cleaned up the cooking +dishes, farmed out their laundry to a squaw, and set +their house in order generally. They were just +greasing up their <i>reatas</i> for a run after the wild +horses of Bronco Mesa when Rafael pulled in with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +a wagon-load of supplies and destroyed their peaceful +life.</p> +<p>It was late when the grinding and hammering of +wheels upon the boulders of the creek-bed announced +his near approach and Creede went out to help unload +the provisions. A few minutes later he stepped into +the room where Hardy was busily cooking and stood +across the table from him with his hands behind his +back, grinning mischievously.</p> +<p>“Rufe,” he said, “you’ve got a girl.”</p> +<p>Hardy looked up quickly and caught the significance +of his pose, but he did not smile. He did not +even show an interest in the play.</p> +<p>“How do you figure that out?” he asked, indifferently.</p> +<p>“Oh, I know,” drawled Creede. “Got a letter from +her.”</p> +<p>A single hawk-like glance was the only answer to +this sally.</p> +<p>“She says: ‘Why the hell don’t you write!’” volunteered +the cowboy.</p> +<p>“’S that so!” commented Hardy, and then he went +on with his cooking.</p> +<p>For a minute Creede stood watching him, his eyes +keen to detect the slightest quaver, but the little man +seemed suddenly to have forgotten him; he moved +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +about absently, mechanically, dropping nothing, burning +nothing, yet far away, as in a dream.</p> +<p>“Huh!” exclaimed Creede, disgusted with his own +make-believe, “you don’t seem to care whether school +keeps or not. I’ll excuse you from any further work +this evenin’––here’s your mail.”</p> +<p>He drew a bundle of letters from behind his back +and dropped it heavily upon the table, but even then +Hardy did not rise.</p> +<p>“Guess the Old Man must’ve forwarded my mail,” +he remarked, smiling at the size of the pack. “I’ve +been knocking around so, I haven’t received a letter +in a year. Chuck ’em on my desk, will ye?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” responded Creede, and stepping across the +broad living-room he threw the bundle carelessly on +the bed.</p> +<p>“You’re like me,” he remarked, drawing his chair +up sociably to supper, “I ain’t got a letter fer so +long I never go near the dam’ post office.”</p> +<p>He sighed, and filled his plate with beans.</p> +<p>“Ever been in St. Louis?” he inquired casually. +“No? They say it’s a fine burg. Think I’ll save +up my <i>dinero</i> and try it a whirl some day.”</p> +<p>The supper table was cleared and Creede had lit his +second cigarette before Hardy reverted to the matter +of his mail.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></div> +<p>“Well,” he said, “I might as well look over those +letters––may be a thousand-dollar check amongst +them.”</p> +<p>Then, stepping into his room, he picked up the +package, examined it curiously, and cut the cords with +his knife.</p> +<p>A sheaf of twenty or more letters spilled out and, +sitting on the edge of the bed, he shuffled them over +in the uncertain light of the fire, noting each inscription +with a quick glance; and as he gathered up the +last he quietly tucked three of them beneath the folds +of his blankets––two in the same hand, bold and +dashing yet stamped with a certain feminine delicacy +and grace, and each envelope of a pale blue; the third +also feminine, but inscribed in black and white, a +crooked little hand that strayed across the page, yet +modestly shrank from trespassing on the stamp.</p> +<p>With the remainder of his mail Hardy blundered +over to the table, dumping the loose handful in a +great pile before the weak glimmer of the lamp.</p> +<p>“There,” he said, as Creede blinked at the heap, “I +reckon that’s mail enough for both of us. You can +read the advertisements and I’ll see what the judge +has to say for himself. Pitch in, now.” He waved +his hand towards a lot of business envelopes, but +Creede shook his head and continued to smoke +dreamily.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span></div> +<p>“Nope,” he said briefly, “don’t interest me.”</p> +<p>He reached out and thumbed the letters over +dumbly, spelling out a long word here and there or +scrutinizing some obscure handwriting curiously, as if +it were Chinese, or an Indian sign on a rock. Then, +shoving back his chair, he watched Hardy’s face as he +skimmed rapidly through the first letter.</p> +<p>“Good news in the first part of it and bad in the +last,” he remarked, as Hardy put it down.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” admitted Hardy, “but how’d you +know?”</p> +<p>He gazed up at his complacent partner with a look +of innocent wonder, and Creede laughed.</p> +<p>“W’y, hell boy,” he said, “I can read you like a +book. Your face tells the whole story as you go +along. After you’ve been down here in Arizona a +few seasons and got them big eyes of yourn squinched +down a little––well, I may have to ast you a few +questions, then.”</p> +<p>He waved his hand in a large gesture and blew out +a cloud of smoke, while a twinkle of amusement crept +into Hardy’s unsquinched eyes.</p> +<p>“Maybe I’m smoother than I look,” he suggested +dryly. “You big, fat fellows get so self-satisfied +sometimes that you let lots of things go by you.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll take my chances on you,” answered +Creede placidly. “What did the old judge say?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></div> +<p>“He says you did fine with the cattle,” said Hardy, +“and sold ’em just in time––the market fell off within +a week after we shipped.”</p> +<p>“Um-huh,” grunted Creede. “And what’s the bad +bunch of news at the end?”</p> +<p>The bad bunch of news was really of a personal +nature, stirring up unpleasant memories, but Hardy +passed it off by a little benevolent dissimulation.</p> +<p>“He says he’s mighty glad I steered the sheep +away, but there is something funny going on back in +Washington; some combine of the sheep and lumber +interests has got in and blocked the whole Forest +Reserve business and there won’t be any Salagua +Forest Reserve this year. So I guess my job of +sheep-wrangler is going to hold; at least the judge +asked me to stay with it until Fall.”</p> +<p>“Well, you stay then, Rufe,” said Creede earnestly, +“because I’ve kinder got stuck on you––I like your +style,” he added half apologetically.</p> +<p>“All right, Jeff,” said Hardy. “Here’s another +letter––from my father. See if you can guess what +it is like.”</p> +<p>He set his face rigidly and read the short letter +through without a quaver.</p> +<p>“You and the Old Man have had a fallin’-out,” +observed Creede, with a shrewd grin, “and he says +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +when you git good and tired of bein’ a dam’ fool you +might as well come home.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s about the size of it,” admitted Hardy. +“I never told you much about my father, did I?”</p> +<p>“Never knew you had one,” said Creede, “until +Bill Johnson began to blow about what an Injun-fighter +he was. I reckon that’s where you git your +sportin’ blood, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll tell you,” began Hardy. “The Old +Man and I never did get along together. He’s used +to commanding soldiers and all that, and I’m kind of +quiet, but he always took a sneaking pride in me +when I was a boy, I guess. Anyway, every time I’d +get into a fight around the post and lick two or three +Mexican kids, or do some good work riding or shooting, +he’d say I’d be a man before my mother, or +something like that––but that was as far as he got. +And all the time, on the quiet, he was educating me +for the Army. His father was a captain, and he’s a +colonel, and I can see now he was lotting on my doing +as well or better––but hell, that only made matters +worse.”</p> +<p>He slid down in his chair and gazed into the fire +gloomily. It was the first time Creede had heard his +partner use even the mildest of the range expletives, +for in that particular he was still a tenderfoot, and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +word suddenly conveyed to him the depths of the little +man’s abandonment and despair.</p> +<p>“Why––what was the matter?” he inquired sympathetically. +“Couldn’t you git no appointment?”</p> +<p>“Huh!” growled Hardy. “I guess you know, all +right. Look at me!” he exclaimed, in a sudden gust +of passion and resentment. “Why, damn it, man, +I’m an inch too short!”</p> +<p>“Well––I’ll––be––dogged!” breathed Creede. “I +never thought of that!”</p> +<p>“No,” rejoined Hardy bitterly, “nor the Old Man, +either––not until I stopped growing! Well, he +hasn’t had a bit of use for me since. That’s the size +of it. And he didn’t take any pains to conceal the +fact––most army men don’t. There’s only one man +in the world to them, and that’s a soldier; and if +you’re not a soldier, you’re nothing.”</p> +<p>He waved a hand as if dismissing himself from the +universe, and sank moodily into his seat, while Creede +looked him over in silence.</p> +<p>“Rufe,” he said quietly, “d’ye remember that time +when I picked you to be boss sheep-wrangler, down +at Bender? Well, I might as well tell you about +that now––’t won’t do no harm. The old judge +couldn’t figure out what it was I see in you to +recommend you for the job. Like’s not you don’t +know yourself. <i>He</i> thought I was pickin’ you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +because you was a peaceful guy, and wouldn’t fight +Black Tex; but that’s where he got fooled, and fooled bad! +I picked you because I knew dam’ well you +<i>would</i> fight!”</p> +<p>He leaned far over across the table and his eyes +glowed with a fierce light.</p> +<p>“D’ye think I want some little suckin’ mamma’s-joy +of a diplomat on my hands when it comes to a +show-down with them sheepmen?” he cried. “No, by +God, I want a <i>man</i>, and you’re the boy, Rufe; so +shake!”</p> +<p>He rose and held out his hand. Hardy took it.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t have sprung this on you, pardner,” he +continued apologetically, “if I didn’t see you so +kinder down in the mouth about your old man. But +I jest want you to know that they’s one man that +appreciates you for a plain scrapper. And I’ll tell +you another thing; when the time comes you’ll look +jest as big over the top of a six-shooter as I do, and +stand only half the chanst to git hit. W’y, shucks!” +he exclaimed magnanimously, “my size is agin’ me at +every turn; my horse can’t hardly pack me, I eat such +a hell of a lot, and, well, I never can git a pair of pants +to fit me. What’s this here letter?”</p> +<p>He picked one up at random, and Hardy ascertained +that his tailor some six months previously had +moved to a new and more central location, where he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +would be pleased to welcome all his old customers. +But the subject of diminutive size was effectually dismissed +and, having cheered up his little friend as best +he could, Creede seized the occasion to retire. Lying +upon his broad back in his blankets, with Tommy +purring comfortably in the hollow of his arm, he +smoked out his cigarette in speculative silence, gazing +up at the familiar stars whose wheelings mark off the +cowboy’s night, and then dropped quietly to sleep, +leaving his partner to brood over his letters alone.</p> +<p>For a long time he sat there, opening them one by +one––the vague and indifferent letters which drift in +while one is gone; and at last he stole silently across +the dirt floor and brought out the three letters from +his bed. There in a moment, if he had been present, +Creede might have read him like a book; his lips +drawn tight, his eyes big and staring, as he tore open +one of the pale blue envelopes with trembling hands. +The fragments of a violet, shattered by the long +journey, fell before him as he plucked out the note, +and its delicate fragrance rose up like incense as he +read. He hurried through the missive, as if seeking +something which was not there, then his hungry eyes +left the unprofitable page and wandered about the +empty room, only to come back to those last words: +“Always your Friend, Kitty Bonnair.”</p> +<p>“Always your friend,” he repeated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +bitterly––“always your friend. Ah, God!” He sighed wearily +and shook his head. For a moment he lapsed into +dreams; then, reaching out, he picked up the second +letter, postmarked over a year before, and examined +it idly. The very hour of its collection was recorded––“Ferry +Sta. 1.30 <span class='smcap'>A. M.</span>”––and the date he could +never forget. Written on that very same day, and +yet its message had never reached him!</p> +<p>He could see as in a vision the shrouded form of +Kitty Bonnair slipping from her door at midnight to +fling a final word after him, not knowing how far he +would flee; he could see the lonely mail collector, half +obscured in the San Francisco fog, as he scooped the +letter from the box with many others and boarded the +car for the ferry. It was a last retort, and likely +bitter, for he had spoken in anger himself, and Kitty +was not a woman to be denied. There was an exaggerated +quirk to the square corners of her letters, a +brusque shading of the down strokes––undoubtedly +Kitty was angry. But for once he had disarmed her––it +was a year after, now, and he had read her forgiveness +first! Yet it was with a strange sinking of the +heart that he opened the blue envelope and stared at +the scribbled words:</p> +<p><span class='smcap'>Dear Friend That Was</span>: My heart is very sore to-night––I +had trusted you so––I had depended upon you so––and +now you have deliberately broken all your faith and promises. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +Rufus, I had thought you different from other men––more +gentle, more considerate, more capable of a true friendship +which I fondly hoped would last forever––but now, oh, I can +never forgive you! Just when life was heaviest with disappointments, +just when I was leaning upon you most as a true +friend and comrade––then you must needs spoil it all. And +after I had told you I could never love any one! Have you +forgotten all that I told you in the balcony? Have you forgotten +all that I have risked for the friendship I held so dear? +And then to spoil it all! Oh, I hate you––I hate you!</p> +<p>He stopped and stiffened in his chair, and his eyes +turned wild with horror; then he gathered his letters +together blindly and crept away to bed. In the morning +he arose and went about his work with mouse-like +quietness, performing all things thoroughly and well, +talking, even laughing, yet with a droop like that of a +wounded creature that seeks only to hide and escape.</p> +<p>Creede watched him furtively, hung around the +house for a while, then strode out to the pasture and +caught up his horse.</p> +<p>“Be back this aft,” he said, and rode majestically +away up the cañon, where he would be out of the way. +For men, too, have their instincts and intuitions, and +they are even willing to leave alone that which they +cannot remedy and do not understand.</p> +<p>As Creede galloped off, leaving the ranch of a +sudden lonely and quiet, Tommy poked his head +anxiously out through a slit in the canvas bottom of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +the screen door and began to cry––his poor cracked +voice, all broken from calling for help from the +coyotes, quavering dismally. In his most raucous +tones he continued this lament for his master until at +last Hardy gathered him up and held him to his +breast.</p> +<p>“Ah, Kitty, Kitty,” he said, and at the caressing +note in his voice the black cat began to purr hoarsely, +raising his scrawny head in the ecstasy of being loved. +Thief and reprobate though he was, and sadly given +to leaping upon the table and flying spitefully at dogs, +even that rough creature felt the need of love; how +much more the sensitive and high-bred man, once poet +and scholar, now cowboy and sheep-wrangler, but +always the unhappy slave of Kitty Bonnair.</p> +<p>The two letters lay charred to ashes among the +glowing coals, but their words, even the kindest +meant, were seared deep in his heart, fresh hurts upon +older scars, and as he sat staring at the gaunt <i>sahuaros</i> +on the hilltops he meditated gloomily upon his reply. +Then, depositing Tommy on the bed, he sat down at +his desk before the iron-barred window and began to +write.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>DEAR FRIEND THAT WAS: Your two letters came together––the +one that you have just sent, and the one written on +that same night, which I hope I may some day forget. It +was not a very kind letter––I am sorry that I should ever have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +offended you, but it was not gently done. No friend could +ever speak so to another, I am sure. As for the cause, I am +a human being, a man like other men, and I am not ashamed. +Yet that I should so fail to read your mind I am ashamed. +Perhaps it was my egotism, which made me over-bold, thinking +that any woman could love me. But if what I offered was +nothing to you, if even for a moment you hated me, it is +enough. Now for all this talk of friendship––I am not your +friend and never will be; and if, after what has passed, you +are my friend, I ask but one thing––let me forget. For I +will never come back, I will never write, I will never submit. +Surely, with all that life offers you, you can spare me the +humiliation of being angry with you.</p> +<p>I am now engaged in work which, out of consideration for +Judge Ware, I cannot leave; otherwise I would not ask you +not to write to me.</p> +<p>Trusting that you will remember me kindly to your mother, +I remain, sincerely,</p> +<p class='ralign'><span class='smcap'>Rufus Hardy.</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p>He signed his name at the bottom, folded the sheet +carefully, and thrust the sealed envelope into an inner +pocket. Then for the first time, he drew out the +third letter and spread its pages before him––a long +letter, full of news, yet asking no questions. The +tense lines about his lips relaxed as he read, he smiled +whimsically as he heard of the queer doings of his old-time +friends; how these two had run away and got +married in order to escape a church wedding, how +Tupper Browne had painted a likeness of Mather +in Hades––after the “Dante” of Doré––and had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +detected in the act; and then this little note, cued in +casually near the end:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>Kitty Bonnair has given up art for the present on account +of her eyes, and has gone in for physical culture and riding +lessons in the park. She dropped in at the last meeting of +The Circle, and I told her how curiously father had encountered +you at Bender. We all miss you very much at The +Circle––in fact, it is not doing so well of late. Kitty has not +attended a meeting in months, and I often wonder where we +may look for another Poet, Philosopher, and Friend––unless +you will come back! Father did not tell me where you had +been or what you intended to do, but I hope you have not +given up the Muse. To encourage you I will send down a +book, now and then, and you may send me a poem. Is it a +bargain? Then good-bye.</p> +<p class='ralign'>With best wishes,<span class='rindent18'> </span><br /> +<span class='smcap'>Lucy Ware.</span><span class='rindent7'> </span></p> +<p>P. S.––I met your father on the street the other day, and +he seemed very much pleased to hear how well you were getting +along.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Hardy put the letter down and sighed.</p> +<p>“Now there’s a thoroughly nice girl,” he said. “I +wonder why she doesn’t get married.” Then, reaching +for a fresh sheet of paper, he began to write, +describing the beauty of the country; the noble qualities +of his horse, Chapuli, the Grasshopper; the march +of the vast army of sheep; Creede, Tommy, and whatnot, +with all the pent-up enthusiasm of a year’s loneliness. +When it was ended he looked at the letter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +with a smile, wondering whether to send it by freight +or express. Six cents in stamps was the final solution +of the problem, and as his pocketbook contained only +four he stuck them on and awaited his partner’s +return.</p> +<p>“Say, Jeff,” he called, as Creede came in from the +pasture, “have you got any stamps?”</p> +<p>“Any which?” inquired Creede suspiciously.</p> +<p>“Any postage stamps––to put on letters.”</p> +<p>“Huh!” exclaimed Creede. “You must think I’ve +got a girl––or important business in the States. No, +I’ll tell you. The only stamp I’ve got is in a glass +frame, hung up on the wall––picture of George Washington, +you know. Haven’t you never seen it? +W’y, it’s right there in the parler––jest above the +pianney––and a jim-dandy piece of steel engraving +she is, too.” He grinned broadly as he concluded this +running fire of jest, but his partner remained serious +to the end.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, “I guess I’ll go down to Moroni in +the morning, then.”</p> +<p>“What ye goin’ down there for?” demanded Creede +incredulously.</p> +<p>“Why, to buy a stamp, of course,” replied Hardy, +“it’s only forty miles, isn’t it?” And early in the +morning, true to his word, he saddled up Chapuli and +struck out down the river.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></div> +<p>From the doorway Creede watched him curiously, +his lips parted in a dubious smile.</p> +<p>“There’s something funny goin’ on here, ladies,” he +observed sagely, “something funny––and I’m dogged +if I savvy what it is.” He stooped and scooped +up Tommy in one giant paw. “Well, Tom, Old +Socks,” he said, holding him up where he could +sniff delicately at the rafters, “you’ve got a pretty +good nose, how about it, now––can you smell a rat?” +But even Tommy could not explain why a man should +ride forty miles in order to buy a stamp.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_MORONI' id='CHAPTER_IX_MORONI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>MORONI</h3> +</div> +<p>The Mormon settlement of Moroni proved to belong +to that large class of Western “cities” +known as “string-towns”––a long line of stores on +either side of a main street, brick where fires have +swept away the shacks, and wood with false fronts +where dynamite or a change of wind has checked the +conflagration; a miscellaneous conglomeration of +saloons, restaurants, general stores, and livery stables, +all very satisfying to the material wants of man, but +in the ensemble not over-pleasing to the eye.</p> +<p>At first glance, Moroni might have been Reno, +Nevada; or Gilroy, California; or Deming, New +Mexico; or even Bender––except for the railroad. A +second glance, however, disclosed a smaller number of +disconsolate cow ponies standing in front of the +saloons and a larger number of family rigs tied to the +horse rack in front of Swope’s Store; there was also a +tithing house with many doors, a brick church, and +women and children galore. And for twenty miles +around there was nothing but flowing canals and irrigated +fields waving with wheat and alfalfa, all so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +green and prosperous that a stranger from the back +country was likely to develop a strong leaning toward +the faith before he reached town and noticed the +tithing house.</p> +<p>As for Hardy, his eyes, so long accustomed to the +green lawns and trees of Berkeley, turned almost +wistful as he gazed away across the rich fields, dotted +with cocks of hay or resounding to the whirr of the +mower; but for the sweating Latter Day Saints who +labored in the fields, he had nothing but the pitying +contempt of the cowboy. It was a fine large country, +to be sure, and produced a lot of very necessary horse +feed, but Chapuli shied when his feet struck the +freshly sprinkled street, and somehow his master felt +equally ill at ease.</p> +<p>Having purchased his stamp and eaten supper, he +was wandering aimlessly up and down the street––that +being the only pleasure and recourse of an Arizona +town outside the doors of a saloon––when in the +medley of heterogeneous sounds he heard a familiar +voice boom out and as abruptly stop. It was evening +and the stores were closed, but various citizens still sat +along the edge of the sidewalk, smoking and talking +in the semi-darkness. Hardy paused and listened +a moment. The voice which he had heard was that of +no ordinary man; it was deep and resonant, with a +rough, overbearing note almost military in its brusqueness; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +but it had ceased and another voice, low and +protesting, had taken its place. In the gloom he +could just make out the forms of the two men, sitting +on their heels against the wall and engaged in a +one-sided argument. The man with the Southern +drawl was doing all the talking, but as Hardy passed +by, the other cut in on him again.</p> +<p>“Well,” he demanded in masterful tones, “what ye +goin’ to do about it?” Then, without waiting for an +answer, he exclaimed:</p> +<p>“Hello, there, Mr. Hardy!”</p> +<p>“Hello,” responded Hardy. “Who is this, anyway?”</p> +<p>“Jim Swope,” replied the voice, with dignified +directness. “What’re you doing in these parts?”</p> +<p>“Came down to buy a postage stamp,” replied +Hardy, following a habit he had of telling the truth in +details.</p> +<p>“Huh!” grunted Swope. “It’s a wonder you +wouldn’t go to Bender for it––that Jew over there +might make you a rate!”</p> +<p>“Nope,” responded Hardy, ignoring the too-evident +desire of the Moroni storekeeper to draw him +into an argument. “He couldn’t do it––they say the +Government loses money every time it sells one. Nice +town you’ve got down here,” he remarked, by way of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +a parting compliment; but Swope was not satisfied to +let him escape so easily.</p> +<p>“Hold on, there!” he exclaimed, rousing up from +his place. “What’s your bloody hurry? Come on +back here and shake hands with Mr. Thomas––Mr. +Thomas is my boss herder up in Apache County. +Thinking of bringing him down here next Fall,” he +added laconically, and by the subtle change in his +voice Hardy realized intuitively that that move had +been the subject of their interrupted argument. +More than that, he felt vaguely that he himself was +somehow involved in the discussion, the more so as +Mr. Thomas balked absolutely at shaking hands with +him.</p> +<p>“I hope Mr. Thomas will find it convenient to stop +at the ranch,” he murmured pleasantly, “but don’t let +me interfere with your business.”</p> +<p>“Well, I guess that’s all to-night, Shep,” remarked +Swope, taking charge of the situation. “I jest wanted +you to meet Hardy while you was together. This is +the Mr. Hardy, of the Dos S outfit, you understand,” +he continued, “and a white cowman! If you have to +go across his range, go quick––and tell your men the +same. I want them dam’ tail-twisters up in that +Four Peaks country to know that it pays to be decent +to a sheepman, and I’m goin’ to show some of ’em, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +too, before I git through! But any time my sheep +happen to git on your range, Mr. Hardy,” he added +reassuringly, “you jest order ’em off, and Mr. Thomas +here will see to it that they go!”</p> +<p>He turned upon his boss herder with a menacing +gesture, as if charging him with silence, and Thomas, +whose sole contribution to the conversation had been +a grunt at the end, swung about and ambled sullenly +off up the street.</p> +<p>“Feelin’ kinder bad to-night,” explained Swope, as +his <i>mayordomo</i> butted into the swinging doors of a +saloon and disappeared, “but you remember what I +said about them sheep. How do things look up your +way?” he inquired. “Feed pretty good?”</p> +<p>“It’s getting awfully dry,” replied Hardy noncommittally. +“I suppose your sheep are up on the +Black Mesa by this time.”</p> +<p>“Ump!” responded the sheepman, and then there +was a long pause. “Sit down,” he said at last, squatting +upon the edge of the sidewalk, “I want to talk +business with you.”</p> +<p>He lit a short black pipe and leaned back comfortably +against a post.</p> +<p>“You seem to be a pretty smooth young feller,” he +remarked, patronizingly. “How long have you been +in these parts? Two months, eh? How’d Judge +Ware come to get a-hold of you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></div> +<p>“Just picked me up down at Bender,” replied +Hardy.</p> +<p>“Oh, jest picked you up, hey? I thought mebby +you was some kin to him. Ain’t interested in the +cattle, are you? Well, I jest thought you might be, +being put in over Jeff that way, you know. Nice boy, +that, but hot-headed as a goat. He’ll be making hair +bridles down in Yuma some day, I reckon. His old +man was the same way. So you ain’t no kin to the +judge and’ve got no int’rest in the cattle, either, eh? +H’m, how long do you figure on holding down that +job?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know,” replied Hardy; “might quit to-day +or get fired to-morrow. It’s a good place, though.”</p> +<p>“Not the only one, though,” suggested the sheepman +shrewdly, “not by a dam’ sight! Ever investigate +the sheep business? No? Then you’ve overlooked +something! I’ve lived in this country for nigh +onto twenty years, and followed most every line of +business, but I didn’t make my pile punching cows, +nor running a store, neither––I made it <i>raising sheep</i>. +Started in with nothing at the time of the big drought +in ’92, herding on shares. Sheep did well in them +good years that followed, and first thing I knew I +was a sheepman. Now I’ve got forty thousand head, +and I’m making a hundred per cent on my investment +every year. Of course, if there comes a drought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +I’ll lose half of ’em, but did you ever sit down and +figure out a hundred per cent a year? Well, five +thousand this year is ten next year, and ten is twenty +the next year, and the twenty looks like forty thousand +dollars at the end of three years. That’s quite a jag +of money, eh? I won’t say what it would be in three +years more, but here’s the point. You’re a young +man and out to make a stake, I suppose, like the rest +of ’em. What’s the use of wasting your time and +energy trying to hold that bunch of half-starved cows +together? What’s the use of going into a <i>poor</i> business, +man, when there’s a <i>better</i> business; and I’ll +tell you right now, the sheep business is the coming +industry of Arizona. The sheepmen are going to +own this country, from Flag to the Mexican line, and +you might as well git on the boat, boy, before it’s too +late.”</p> +<p>He paused, as if waiting for his points to sink +home; then he reached out and tapped his listener confidentially +on the knee.</p> +<p>“Hardy,” he said, “I like your style. You’ve got +a head, and you know how to keep your mouth shut. +More’n that, you don’t drink. A man like you +could git to be a boss sheep-herder in six months; you +could make a small fortune in three years and never +know you was workin’. You don’t need to work, +boy; I kin git a hundred men to work––what I want +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +is a man that can <i>think</i>. Now, say, I’m goin’ to need +a man pretty soon––come around and see me some +time.”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Hardy, reluctantly, “but I might +as well tell you now that I’m satisfied where I am.”</p> +<p>“Satisfied!” ripped out Swope, with an oath. +“Satisfied! Why, man alive, you’re jest hanging on +by your eyebrows up there at Hidden Water! <i>You</i> +haven’t got nothin’; you don’t even own the house +you live in. I could go up there to-morrow and file on +that land and you couldn’t do a dam’ thing. Judge +Ware thought he was pretty smooth when he euchred +me out of that place, but I want to tell you, boy––and +you can tell him, if you want to––that Old Man Winship +never held no title to that place, and it’s public +land to-day. That’s all public land up there; there +ain’t a foot of land in the Four Peaks country that I +can’t run my sheep over if I want to, and keep within +my legal rights. So that’s where you’re at, Mr. +Hardy, if you want to know!”</p> +<p>He stopped and rammed a cut of tobacco into his +pipe, while Hardy tapped his boot meditatively. +“Well,” he said at last, “if that’s the way things are, +I’m much obliged to you for not sheeping us out this +Spring. Of course, I haven’t been in the country +long, and I don’t know much about these matters, but +I tried to accommodate you all I could, thinking––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></div> +<p>“That ain’t the point,” broke in Swope, smoking +fiercely, “I ain’t threatening ye, and I appreciate your +hospitality––but here’s the point. What’s the use of +your monkeying along up there on a job that is sure to +play out, when you can go into a better business? +Answer me that, now!”</p> +<p>But Hardy only meditated in silence. It was +beyond contemplation that he should hire himself out +as a sheep-herder, but if he said so frankly it might +call down the wrath of Jim Swope upon both him and +the Dos S. So he stood pat and began to fish for +information.</p> +<p>“Maybe you just think my job is going to play +out,” he suggested, diplomatically. “If I’d go to a +cowman, now, or ask Judge Ware, they might tell me +I had it cinched for life.”</p> +<p>Swope puffed smoke for a minute in a fulminating, +dangerous silence.</p> +<p>“Huh!” he said. “I can dead easy answer for that. +Your job, Mr. Hardy, lasts jest as long as I want it +to––and no longer. Now, you can figure that out for +yourself. But I’d jest like to ask you a question, +since you’re so smart; how come all us sheepmen +kept off your upper range this year?”</p> +<p>“Why,” said Hardy innocently, “I tried to be +friendly and treated you as white as I could, and I +suppose––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></div> +<p>“Yes, you suppose,” sneered Swope grimly, “but +I’ll jest tell you; we wanted you to hold your job.”</p> +<p>“That’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” murmured +Hardy.</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied the sheepman sardonically, “it is––dam’ +kind of us. But now the question is: What ye +goin’ to do about it?”</p> +<p>“Why, in what way?”</p> +<p>“Well, now,” began Swope, patiently feeling his +way, “suppose, jest for instance, that some fool Mexican +herder should accidentally get in on your upper +range––would you feel it your duty to put him off?”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Hardy, hedging, “I really hadn’t considered +the matter seriously. Of course, if Judge +Ware––”</p> +<p>“The judge is in San Francisco,” put in Swope +curtly. “Now, suppose that <i>all</i> of us sheepmen should +decide that we wanted some of that good feed up on +Bronco Mesa, and, suppose, furthermore, that we +should all go up there, as we have a perfect legal right +to do, what would you do?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” replied Hardy politely.</p> +<p>“Well, supposen I dropped a stick of dynamite +under you,” burst out Swope hoarsely, “would you +jump? Speak up, man, you know what I’m talking +about. You don’t think you can stand off the whole +Sheepmen’s Protective Association, do you? Well, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +then, will ye abide by the law and give us our legal +rights or will ye fight like a dam’ fool and git sent to +Yuma for your pains? That’s what I want to know, +and when you talk to me you talk to the whole Sheepmen’s +Association, with money enough in its treasury +to send up every cowman in the Four Peaks country! +What I want to know is this––will you fight?”</p> +<p>“I might,” answered Hardy quietly.</p> +<p>“Oh, you might, hey?” jeered the sheepman, tapping +his pipe ominously on the sidewalk. “You +might, he-ey? Well, look at Jeff Creede––<i>he</i> fought––and +what’s he got to show for it? Look at his old +man––<i>he</i> fought––and where is he now? Tell me +that!</p> +<p>“But, say, now,” he exclaimed, changing his tone +abruptly, “this ain’t what I started to talk about. I +want to speak with you, Mr. Hardy, on a matter of +business. You jest think them things over until I see +you again––and, of course, all this is on the q. t. But +now let’s talk business. When you want to buy a +postage stamp you come down here to Moroni, don’t +you? And why? Why, because it’s near, sure! +But when you want a wagon-load of grub––and there +ain’t no one sells provisions cheaper than I do, beans +four-fifty, bacon sixteen cents, flour a dollar-ninety, +everything as reasonable––you haul it clean across the +desert from Bender. That easy adds a cent a pound +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +on every ton you pull, to say nothin’ of the time. +Well, what I want to know is this: Does Einstein sell +you grub that much cheaper? Take flour, for +instance––what does that cost you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Hardy, whose anger was +rising under this unwarranted commercial badgering. +“Same as with you, I suppose––dollar-ninety.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Swope triumphantly, “and the +extra freight on a sack would be fifty cents, wouldn’t +it––a cent a pound, and a fifty-pound sack! Well, +now say, Hardy, we’re good friends, you know, and +all that––and Jasp and me steered all them sheep +around you, you recollect––what’s the matter with +your buying your summer supplies off of me? I’ll +guarantee to meet any price that Bender Sheeny can +make––and, of course, I’ll do what’s right by you––but, +by Joe, I think you owe it to me!”</p> +<p>He paused and waited impatiently for his answer, +but once more Hardy balked him.</p> +<p>“I don’t doubt there’s a good deal in what you say, +Mr. Swope,” he said, not without a certain weariness, +“but you’ll have to take that matter up with Judge +Ware.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you have the ordering of the supplies?” +demanded Swope sharply.</p> +<p>“Yes, but he pays for them. All I do is to order +what I want and O. K. the bills. My credit is good +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +with Einstein, and the rate lies between him and +Judge Ware.”</p> +<p>“Well, your credit is good here, too,” replied +Swope acidly, “but I see you’d rather trade with a +Jew than stand in with your friends, any day.”</p> +<p>“I tell you I haven’t got a thing to do with it,” +replied Hardy warmly. “I take my orders from +Judge Ware, and if he tells me to trade here I’ll be +glad to do so––it’ll save me two days’ freighting––but +I’m not the boss by any means.”</p> +<p>“No, nor you ain’t much of a supe, neither,” +growled Swope morosely. “In fact, I consider you a +dam’ bum supe. Some people, now, after they had +been accommodated, would take a little trouble, but +I notice you ain’t breaking your back for me. Hell, +no, you don’t care if I <i>never</i> make a deal. But that’s +all right, Mr. Hardy, I’ll try and do as much for you +about that job of yourn.”</p> +<p>“Well, you must think I’m stuck on that job,” +cried Hardy hotly, “the way you talk about it! You +seem to have an idea that if I get let out it’ll make +some difference to me, but I might as well tell you +right now, Mr. Swope, that it won’t. I’ve got a good +horse and I’ve got money to travel on, and I’m just +holding this job to accommodate Judge Ware. So +if you have any idea of taking it out on him you can +just say the word and I’ll quit!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></div> +<p>“Um-m!” muttered the sheepman, taken aback by +this sudden burst of temper, “you’re a hot-headed +boy, ain’t you?” He surveyed him critically in the +half light, as if appraising his value as a fighter, and +then proceeded in a more conciliatory manner. “But +you mustn’t let your temper git away with you like +that,” he said. “You’re likely to say something +you’ll be sorry for later.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” retorted Hardy. “It might +relieve my mind some. I’ve only been in this country +a few months, but if a sheepman is the only man that +has any legal or moral rights I’d like to know about +it. You talk about coming in on our upper range, +having a right to the whole country, and all that. +Now I’d like to ask you whether in your opinion a +cowman has got a right to live?”</p> +<p>“Oh, tut, tut, now,” protested Swope, “you’re +gettin’ excited.”</p> +<p>“Well, of course I’m getting excited,” replied +Hardy, with feeling. “You start in by telling me the +sheepmen are going to take the whole country, from +Flag to the line; then you ask me what I’d do if a +Mexican came in on us; then you say you can sheep +us out any time you want to, and what am I going to +do about it! Is that the way you talk to a man who +has done his best to be your friend?”</p> +<p>“I never said we was going to sheep you out,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +retorted the sheepman sullenly. “And if I’d ’a’ +thought for a minute you would take on like this about +it I’d’ve let you go bust for your postage stamps.”</p> +<p>“I know you didn’t <i>say</i> it,” said Hardy, “but you +hinted it good and strong, all right. And when a man +comes as near to it as you have I think I’ve got a right +to ask him straight out what his intentions are. Now +how about it––are you going to sheep us out next Fall +or are you going to give us a chance?”</p> +<p>“Oh hell!” burst out Swope, in a mock fury, “I’m +never going to talk to <i>you</i> any more! You’re crazy, +man! <i>I</i> never said I was going to sheep you out!”</p> +<p>“No,” retorted Hardy dryly, “and you never said +you wasn’t, either.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I did, too,” spat back Swope, seizing at a +straw. “Didn’t I introduce you to my boss herder +and tell him to keep off your range?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” said Hardy coldly. “Did +you?”</p> +<p>For a moment the sheepman sat rigid in the darkness. +Then he rose to his feet, cursing.</p> +<p>“Well, you can jest politely go to hell,” he said, +with venomous deliberation, and racked off down the +street.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_FEED_MY_SHEEP' id='CHAPTER_X_FEED_MY_SHEEP'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>“FEED MY SHEEP”</h3> +</div> +<p>The slow, monotonous days of Summer crept +listlessly by like dreams which, having neither +beginning nor end, pass away into nothingness, leaving +only a dim memory of restlessness and mystery.</p> +<p>In the relentless heat of noon-day the earth seemed +to shimmer and swim in a radiance of its own; at +evening the sun set in a glory incomparable; and at +dawn it returned to its own. Then in the long +breathless hours the cows sought out the scanty +shadow of the cañon wall, sprawling uneasily in the +sand; the lizards crept far back into the crevices of +the rocks; the birds lingered about the water holes, +throttling their tongues, and all the world took on a +silence that was almost akin to death. As the Summer +rose to its climax a hot wind breathed in from +the desert, clean and pure, but withering in its intensity; +the great bowlders, superheated in the glare of +day, irradiated the stored-up energy of the sun by +night until even the rattlesnakes, their tough hides +scorched through by the burning sands, sought out +their winter dens to wait for a touch of frost. There +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +was only one creature in all that heat-smitten land +that defied the sway of the Sun-God and went his +way unheeding––man, the indomitable, the conqueror +of mountains and desert and sea.</p> +<p>When the sun was hottest, then was the best time to +pursue the black stallion of Bronco Mesa, chasing +him by circuitous ways to the river where he and his +band could drink. But though more than one fine +mare and suckling, heavy with water, fell victim, the +black stallion, having thought and intelligence like +a man, plunged through the water, leaving his thirst +unquenched, refusing with a continency and steadfastness +rare even among men to sell his liberty at +any price. In the round corral at Hidden Water +there was roping and riding as Creede and Hardy +gentled their prizes; in the cool evenings they rode +forth along the Alamo, counting the cows as they +came down to water or doctoring any that were sick; +and at night they lay on their cots beneath the <i>ramada</i> +telling long stories till they fell asleep.</p> +<p>At intervals of a month or more Hardy rode down +to Moroni and each time he brought back some book +of poems, or a novel, or a bundle of magazines; but +if he received any letters he never mentioned it. +Sometimes he read in the shade, his face sobered to +a scholarly repose, and when the mood came and he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +was alone he wrote verses––crude, feverish, unfinished––and +destroyed them, furtively.</p> +<p>He bore his full share of the rough work, whether +riding or horse-breaking or building brush corrals, +but while he responded to every mood of his changeable +companion he hid the whirl of emotion which +possessed him, guarding the secret of his heart even +when writing to Lucy Ware; and slowly, as the +months crept by, the wound healed over and left him +whole.</p> +<p>At last the days grew shorter, the chill came back +into the morning air, and the great thunder-caps +which all Summer had mantled the Peaks, scattering +precarious and insufficient showers across the parching +lowlands, faded away before the fresh breeze from +the coast. Autumn had come, and, though the feed +was scant, Creede started his round-up early, to finish +ahead of the sheep. Out on The Rolls the wild and +runty cows were hiding their newborn calves; the +spring twos were grown to the raw-boned dignity of +steers; and all must be gathered quickly, before the +dust arose in the north and the sheep mowed down +the summer grass. Once more from their distant +ranches the mountain men trailed in behind their +horses; the <i>rodéo</i> hands dropped in from nowhere, +mysteriously, talking loudly of high adventures but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +with the indisputable marks of Mormon hay-forks on +their thumbs.</p> +<p>Before their restless energy The Rolls were swept +bare of market stock, and the upper end of the mesa +as well, before the first sheep dust showed against the +hills. The <i>rodéo</i> outfit left Carrizo and came down +to Hidden Water, driving their herd before them, and +still no sheep appeared. So long had they strained +their eyes for nothing that the cowmen from the north +became uneasy, dropping out one by one to return +to their ranches for fear that the sheep had crept in +and laid waste their pastures and corrals. Yet the +round-up ended without a band in sight, where before +The Rolls had been ploughed into channels by their +multitude of feet.</p> +<p>In a slow fever of apprehension Hardy rode ceaselessly +along the rim of Bronco Mesa, without finding +so much as a track. Throughout that long month of +watching and waiting the memory of his conversation +with Jim Swope had haunted him, and with a sinister +boding of impending evil he had ridden far afield, +even to the lower crossing at Pablo Moreno’s, where +a few Mexicans and Basques were fording the shallow +river. Not one of those veiled threats and intimations +had he confided to Creede, for the orders from +Judge Ware had been for peace and Jeff was hot-headed +and hasty; but in his own mind Hardy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +pictured a solid phalanx of sheep, led by Jasp Swope +and his gun-fighting Chihuahuanos, drifting relentlessly +in over the unravaged mesa. Even that he +could endure, trusting to some appeal or protest to +save him from the ultimate disaster, but the strain of +this ominous waiting was more than Hardy’s nerves +could stand.</p> +<p>As the town herd was put on the long trail for +Bender and the round-up hands began to spit dry +for their first drink, the premonition of evil conquered +him and he beckoned Creede back out of the rout.</p> +<p>“I’ve got a hunch,” he said, “that these sheepmen +are hanging back until you boys are gone, in order to +raid the upper range. I don’t <i>know</i> anything, you +understand, but I’m looking for trouble. How does +it look to you?”</p> +<p>“Well,” answered Creede sombrely, “I don’t mind +tellin’ you that this is a new one on me. It’s the first +fall gather that I can remember when I didn’t have a +round-up with a sheepman or two. They’re willin’ +enough to give us the go-by in the Spring, when +there’s grass everywhere, but when they come back +over The Rolls in the Fall and see what they’ve done +to the feed––well, it’s like fightin’ crows out of a +watermelon patch to protect that upper range.</p> +<p>“The only thing I can think of is they may be +held back by this dry weather. But, I tell you, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +Rufe,” he added, “it’s jest as well I’m goin’––one +man can tell ’em to he’p themselves as good as two, +and I might get excited. You know your orders––and +I reckon the sheepmen do, too, ’s fer ’s that goes. +They’re not so slow, if they do git lousy. But my +God, boy, it hurts my feelin’s to think of you all +alone up here, tryin’ to appeal to Jasp Swope’s +better nature.” He twisted his lips, and shrugged +his huge shoulders contemptuously. Then without +enthusiasm he said: “Well, good luck,” and rode +away after his cattle.</p> +<p>Creede’s scorn for this new policy of peace had +never been hidden, although even in his worst cursing +spells he had never quite named the boss. But those +same orders, if they ever became known, would call in +the rapacious sheepmen like vultures to a feast, and +the bones of his cattle––that last sorry remnant of his +father’s herds––would bleach on Bronco Mesa with +the rest, a mute tribute to the triumph of sheep.</p> +<p>All that day Hardy rode up the Alamo until he +stood upon the summit of the Juate and looked over +the divide to the north, and still there were no sheep. +Not a smoke, not a dust streak, although the chill of +Autumn was in the air. In the distant Sierra Blancas +the snow was already on the peaks and the frosts +lay heavy upon the black mesa of the Mogollons. +Where then could the sheep be, the tender, gently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +nurtured sheep, which could stand neither heat in +Summer nor cold in Winter, but must always travel, +travel, feeding upon the freshest of green grass and +leaving a desert in their wake? The slow-witted +Mexicans and Basques, who did not follow the lead of +the Swopes, had returned on their fall migration with +the regularity of animals, but all those cheery herders +for whom he had cooked and slaved––Bazan, McDonald, +the Swopes and their kin, who used the upper +ford––were lost as if the earth had swallowed them +up.</p> +<p>The stars were shining when Hardy came in sight +of the ranch at the end of that unprofitable day, and +he was tired. The low roof of the house rose up +gloomily before him, but while he was riding in a +hound suddenly raised his challenge in the darkness. +Instantly his yell was answered by a chorus, and as +Chapuli swerved from the rush of the pack the door +was thrown open and the tall, gaunt form of Bill +Johnson stood outlined against the light.</p> +<p>“Yea, Ribs; hey, Rock; down, Ring!” he hollered. +“Hey, boys; hey, Suke!” And in a mighty chorus of +bayings the long-eared hounds circled about and +returned to the feet of their master, wagging their +tails but not abating their barking one whit. Standing +bareheaded in the doorway with his hair and beard +bushed out like a lion’s mane Johnson strove by kicks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +and curses to quiet their uproar, shouting again and +again some words which Hardy could not catch.</p> +<p>At last, grabbing old Suke, the leader of the pack, +by an ear, he slapped her until her yelpings silenced +the rest; then, stepping out into the opening, he exclaimed:</p> +<p>“My God, Hardy, is that you?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” replied Hardy impatiently. “Why, +what’s the matter?”</p> +<p>“Sheep!” shouted Johnson, throwing out his hands +wildly, “thousands of ’em, millions of ’em!”</p> +<p>“Sheep––where?” demanded Hardy. “Where are +they?”</p> +<p>“They’re on your upper range, boy, and more +comin’!”</p> +<p>“What?” cried Hardy incredulously. “Why, how +did they get up there? I just rode the whole rim +to-day!”</p> +<p>“They come over the top of the Four Peaks,” +shouted the old man, shaking with excitement. “Yes, +sir, over the top of the Four Peaks! My hounds took +after a lion last night, and this mornin’ I trailed ’em +clean over into the middle fork where they had ’im +treed. He jumped down and run when I come up +and jist as we was hotfoot after him we run spang +into three thousand head of sheep, drifting down from +the pass, and six greasers and a white man in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +rear with carbeens. The whole dam’ outfit is comin’ +in on us. But we can turn ’em yet! Whar’s Jeff +and the boys?”</p> +<p>“They’ve gone to town with the cattle.”</p> +<p>“Well, you’re dished then,” said the old man +grimly. “Might as well put up your horse and eat––I’m +goin’ home and see that they don’t none of ’em +git in on me!”</p> +<p>“Whose sheep were they?” inquired Hardy, as he +sat down to a hasty meal.</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me, boy,” replied Johnson. “I never +had time to find out. One of them Mexicans took a +shot at Rye and I pulled my gun on him, and then +the boss herder he jumped in, and there we had it, +back and forth. He claimed I was tryin’ to stompede +his sheep, but I <i>knowed</i> his greaser had tried to shoot +my dog, and I told him so! And I told him furthermore +that the first sheep or sheepman that p’inted his +head down the Pocket trail would stop lead; and +every one tharafter, as long as I could draw a bead. +And by Gawd, I mean it!” He struck his gnarled +fist upon the table till every tin plate jumped, and his +fiery eyes burned savagely as he paced about the +room.</p> +<p>At first peep of dawn Bill Johnson was in the +saddle, his long-barrelled revolver thrust pugnaciously +into his boot, his 30-30 carbine across his arm, and his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +hounds slouching dutifully along in the rear. Close +behind followed Hardy, bound for the Peaks, but +though the morning was cold he had stripped off his +coat and shaps, and everything which might conceal a +weapon, leaving even his polished Colt’s in his +blankets. If the sheep were to be turned now it +could never be by arms. The sheepmen had stolen a +march, Creede and his cowboys were far away, and +his only hope was the olive branch of peace. Yet as +he spurred up the Carrizo trail he felt helpless and +abused, like a tried soldier who is sent out unarmed +by a humanitarian commander. Only one weapon +was left to him––the one which even Jim Swope had +noticed––his head; and as he worked along up the +hogback which led down from the shoulder of the +Four Peaks he schooled himself to a Spartan patience +and fortitude.</p> +<p>At last from a high cliff which overshadowed the +broad cañon of the middle fork, he looked down and +saw the sheep, like a huge, dirty-brown blot, pouring +in a hundred diverging lines down the valley and +feeding as they came. Higher and higher up the +sides the old ewes fought their way, plucking at the +long spears of grass which grew among the rocks; and +the advance guard, hurrying forward, nipped eagerly +at the browse and foliage as they passed, until, at last, +some tempting bush detained them too long and they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +were swallowed up in the ruck. Little paths appeared +in the leaders’ wake, winding in and out among +the bowlders; and like soldiers the sheep fell into line, +moving forward with the orderly precision of an +army. A herder with his dogs trailed nonchalantly +along the flank, the sun glinting from his carbine as +he clambered over rocks, and in the rear another silent +shepherd followed up the drag. So far it was a +peaceful pastoral scene, but behind the herd where the +camp rustler and his burros should have been there +was a posse of men, and each man carried a gun.</p> +<p>Hardly had Chapuli mounted the ridge before +every head was raised; the swarthy Mexicans unslung +their guns with a flourish, and held them at a ready. +Yet for half an hour the lone horseman sat there like +a statue, and if he resented their coming or saw the +dust of other bands behind, he made no sign. Even +when the guard of men passed beneath him, craning +their necks uneasily, he still remained silent and immobile, +like a man who has councils of his own or +leads a force behind.</p> +<p>The leader of the vanguard of the sheep was a +white man, and not unversed in the principles of +war, for after trailing safely through the box of the +cañon––where a single rock displaced would kill a +score of sheep, and where the lone horseman had he +so willed could have potted half of the invaders from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +the heights––he turned his herd up a side cañon to +the west and hastily pitched his camp on a ridge. +As the heat of the day came on, the other bands up the +cañon stopped also, and when the faint smoke showed +Hardy that the camp rustlers were cooking dinner, +he turned and rode for the leader’s camp.</p> +<p>Dinner was already served––beans, fried mutton, +and bread, spread upon a greasy canvas––and the +hungry herders were shovelling it down with knives +in their own primitive way when Hardy rode up the +slope. As he came into camp the Chihuahuanos +dropped their plates, reached for their guns, and stood +in awkward postures of defence, some wagging their +big heads in a braggartly defiance, others, their courage +waning, grinning in the natural shame of the +peasant. In Hardy they recognized a gentleman of +<i>categoría</i>––and he never so much as glanced at them +as he reined in his spirited horse. His eyes were fixed +upon the lone white man, their commander, who stood +by the fire regarding him with cold suspicion, and to +whom he bowed distantly.</p> +<p>“Good-morning,” he said, by way of introduction, +and the sheepman blinked his eyes in reply.</p> +<p>“Whose sheep are those?” continued Hardy, coming +to the point with masterful directness, and once +more the boss sheepman surveyed him with suspicion.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +<img src='images/illus-177.jpg' alt='' title='' width='395' height='633' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“Put up them guns, you gawky fools! This man ain’t going to eat ye!”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“Mine,” he said, and Hardy returned his stare with +a glance which, while decorously veiled, indicated that +he knew he lied. The man was a stranger to him, +rather tall and slender, with drawn lips and an eye +that never wavered. His voice was tense with excitement +and he kept his right thumb hooked carelessly +into the corner of his pocket, not far from the grip +of a revolver. As soon as he spoke Hardy knew +him.</p> +<p>“You are Mr. Thomas, aren’t you?” he inquired, +as if he had no thought of trouble. “I believe I met +you once, down in Moroni.”</p> +<p>“Ump!” grunted Mr. Thomas unsociably, and at +that moment one of the Mexicans, out of awkwardness, +dropped his gun. As he stooped to pick it up +a slow smile crept over the cowman’s lips, a smile +which expressed polite amusement along with a +measured contempt––and the boss herder was stung +with a nameless shame at the false play.</p> +<p>“Put up them guns, you dam’ gawky fools!” he +yelled in a frenzy of rage. “Put ’em up, I say. This +man ain’t goin’ to eat ye!” And though the poor +browbeaten Chihuahuanos understood not a word of +English they felt somehow that they had been overzealous +and shuffled back to their blankets, like watchdogs +that had been rebuked.</p> +<p>“Now,” said the sheepman, taking his hand from +his gun, “what can I do for you, Mr. Hardy?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></div> +<p>“Well,” responded Hardy, “of course there are +several things you <i>might</i> do to accommodate me, but +maybe you wouldn’t mind telling me how you got +in here, just for instance?”</p> +<p>“Always glad to ’commodate––where I can, of +course,” returned the sheepman grimly. “I came in +over the top of them Four Peaks yonder.”</p> +<p>“Um,” said Hardy, glancing up at the rocky walls. +“Then you must’ve had hooks on your eyebrows, for +sure. I suppose the rest of the family is coming, too! +And, by the way, how is my friend, Mr. Swope?”</p> +<p>He appended this last with an artless smile, quite +lacking in bitterness, but somehow the boss herder felt +himself discredited by the inquiry, as if he were consorting +with thieves. It was the old shame of the +sheepman, the shame which comes to the social outcast, +and burns upon the cheek of the dishonored +bastard, but which is seared deepest into the heart +of the friendless herder, the Ishmaelite of the cow-country, +whose hand is against every man and every +man’s against him. Hunger and thirst he can +endure, and the weariness of life, but to have all men +turn away from him, to answer him grudgingly, to +feed him at their table, but refuse themselves to eat, +this it is which turns his heart to bitterness and makes +him a man to be feared. As Thomas had looked at +this trim young cowboy, smooth-shaven and erect, sitting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +astride a blooded horse which snorted and pawed +the ground delicately, and then had glanced at the +low and brutal Mexicans with whom his lot was cast, +a blind fury had swept over him, wreaking its force +upon his own retainers; and now, when by implication +he was classed with Jim Swope, he resented it +still more bitterly.</p> +<p>“Dam’fino,” he answered sullenly. “Haven’t seen +’im for a month.”</p> +<p>“Oh, isn’t he with you this trip?” asked Hardy, in +surprise. “I had hoped that I might find him up +here.” There was a suggestion of irony in his words +which was not lost upon the <i>mayordomo</i>, but Thomas +let the remark pass in silence.</p> +<p>“Perhaps his brother Jasper is along,” ventured +Hardy. “No? Well, that’s Jim’s earmark on +those sheep, and I know it. What’s the matter?”</p> +<p>“Matter with what?” growled Thomas morosely.</p> +<p>“Why, with Jim, of course. I thought after the +pleasant times we had together last Spring he’d be +sure to come around. In fact,” he added meaningly, +“I’ve been looking for him.”</p> +<p>At this naive statement, the sheepman could not +restrain a smile.</p> +<p>“You don’t know Jim as well as I do,” he said, and +there was a suggestion of bitterness in his voice which +Hardy was not slow to note.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span></div> +<p>“Well, perhaps not,” he allowed; “but you know, +and I know, that this is no pleasure trip you’re on––in +fact, it’s dangerous, and I never thought that Jim +Swope would send a man where he was afraid to go +himself. Now I’ve got nothing against you, Mr. +Thomas, and of course you’re working for him; but I +ask you, as a man, don’t you think, after what I’ve +done for him, that Jim Swope ought to come along +himself if he wants to sheep me out?</p> +<p>“I’ve fed him, and I’ve fed all his herders and all +his friends; I’ve grained his horses when they were +ga’nted down to a shadow because his own sheep had +cleaned up the feed; I’ve made him welcome to my +house and done everything I could for him; and all I +asked in return was that he would respect this upper +range. He knows very well that if his sheep go +through here this Fall our cattle will die in the +Winter, and he knows that there is plenty of feed out +on The Rolls where our cows can’t go, and yet he +sends you in where he’s scared to go himself, just +to hog our last piece of good feed and to put us +out of business. I asked him down in Moroni if he +thought a cowman had a right to live, and he dodged +the question as if he was afraid he’d say something.”</p> +<p>He stopped abruptly and looked out over the +country toward Hidden Water, while the Mexicans +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +watched him furtively from beneath their slouched +hats.</p> +<p>“Expecting some friends?” inquired Thomas, with +a saturnine grin.</p> +<p>Hardy shook his head. “No. I came out here +alone, and I left my gun in camp. I haven’t got a +friend within forty miles, if that’s what you mean. I +suppose you’ve got your orders, Mr. Thomas, but I +just want to talk this matter over with you.”</p> +<p>“All right,” said the sheepman, suddenly thawing +out at the good news. “I don’t have so much company +as to make me refuse, even if it is a warm +subject. But mebby you’d like a bite to eat before +we git down to business?” He waved a deprecating +hand at the greasy canvas, and Hardy swung quickly +down from his saddle.</p> +<p>“Thanks. But don’t let me keep you from your +dinner. Here’s where I break even with Jim +Swope for all that grub I cooked last Spring,” he remarked, +as he filled his plate. “But if it was him that +asked me,” he added, “I’d starve to death before I’d +eat it.”</p> +<p>He sat on his heels by the canvas, with the boss +sheepman on the other side, and the Mexicans who +had been so cocky took their plates and retired like +Apaches to the edge of the brush, where they would +not obtrude upon their betters.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></div> +<p>“They say it’s bad for the digestion,” observed +Hardy, after the first silence, “to talk about things +that make you mad; so if you don’t mind, Mr. +Thomas, we’ll forget about Jim Swope. What kind +of a country is it up there in Apache County, where +you keep your sheep all Summer?”</p> +<p>“A fine country,” rejoined Thomas, “and I wish +to God I was back to it,” he added.</p> +<p>“Why, what’s the matter with this country? It +looks pretty good to me.”</p> +<p>“Ye-es,” admitted the sheepman grudgingly, “it +looks good enough, but––well, I lived up there a long +time and I got to like it. I had one of the nicest +little ranches in the White Mountains; there was good +huntin’ and fishin’ and––well, I felt like a white man +up there––never had no trouble, you understand––and +I was makin’ good money, too.”</p> +<p>His voice, which before had been harsh and strident, +softened down as he dwelt upon the natural beauty of +the mountains which had been his home, but there was +a tone of sadness in his talk which told Hardy that +ultimately he had suffered some great misfortune +there. His occupation alone suggested that––for +there are few white men working as sheep-herders who +lack a hard luck story, if any one will listen to it. But +this Shep Thomas was still young and unbroken, with +none of the black marks of dissipation upon his face, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +and his eyes were as keen and steady as any hunter’s. +He was indeed the very type of fighter that Swope +had sought, hardy and fearless, and at the same time +careful. As they sat together Hardy looked him over +and was glad that he had come out unarmed, yet +though his host seemed a man of just and reasonable +mind there was a set, dogged look in his eyes which +warned the cowman not to interfere, but let him talk +his fill. And the boss herder, poor lonely man, was +carried away in spite of himself by the temptation of +a listener; after many days of strife and turmoil, +cutting trails, standing off cowmen, cursing Mexicans, +at last to meet a white man who would just sit silent +and let him talk! His stories were of hunting and +fishing, of prospecting, and restless adventures among +the Indians, and every time the conversation worked +around towards sheep he led it resolutely away. And +for his part, never for a moment did Hardy try to +crowd him, but let the talk lead where it would, until +of his own volition the sheepman told his story.</p> +<p>“I suppose you wonder what I’m doing down +here,” he said at last, “if I was so stuck on the Concho +country? Well, I bet you wouldn’t guess in a thousand +years––and you ought to be a pretty good +guesser, too,” he added, with a gruff laugh. “Now, +what do you think it was that put me on the bum?”</p> +<p>“Poker game?” queried Hardy politely.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span></div> +<p>“Nope,” replied the sheepman, showing his teeth, +“I’m winners on poker.”</p> +<p>“You don’t look like a drinking man.”</p> +<p>“Naw––nor it wasn’t women, either. It’s something +unusual, I tell you. I stood and looked at it +for ten years, and never turned a hair. But here, +I’ve been holdin’ out on you a little––I never told you +what it was I raised on my ranch. Well, it was +sheep.”</p> +<p>“Sheep?” echoed Hardy, “did you keep ’em there +all Winter?”</p> +<p>“W’y sure, man. There’s lots of sheep in Apache +County that was never ten miles from home.”</p> +<p>“Then why does Jim Swope bring his bands south +every Fall? I hear he loses five per cent of them, at +the least, coming and going.”</p> +<p>“Ah, you don’t understand Jim as well as I do. I +was tryin’ to make a livin’; he’s tryin’ to git rich. +He’s doin’ it, too.”</p> +<p>Once more the note of bitterness came into his voice, +and Hardy saw that the time had come.</p> +<p>“How’s that?” he inquired quietly, and the sheepman +plunged into his story.</p> +<p>“Well, it was this way. I kept a few thousand +sheep up there in my valley. In the Summer we went +up the mountain, followin’ the grass, and in the Winter +we fed down below, where the ground was bare. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +It never got very cold, and my sheep was used to it, +anyhow. The Navajos don’t move their sheep south, +do they? Well, they’re away north of where I was. +We jest give ’em a little shelter, and looked after ’em, +and, as I says, I was doin’ fine––up to last year.”</p> +<p>He paused again, with his secret on his lips, and +once more Hardy supplied the helping word.</p> +<p>“And what happened then?” he asked.</p> +<p>“What happened then?” cried Thomas, his eyes +burning. “Well, <i>you</i> ought to know––I was sheeped +out.”</p> +<p>“Sheeped out? Why, how could that happen? +You were a sheepman yourself!”</p> +<p>The boss herder contemplated him with an amused +and cynical smile. “You ask Jim Swope,” he suggested.</p> +<p>For a minute Hardy sat staring at him, bewildered. +“Well,” he said, “<i>I</i> can’t figure it out––maybe you +wouldn’t mind telling me how it happened.”</p> +<p>“Why hell, man,” burst out the sheepman, “it’s +as plain as the nose on your face––I didn’t belong to +the Association. All these big sheepmen that drive +north and south belong to the Sheepmen’s Protective +Association, and they stand in with each other, but we +little fellows up in ’Pache County was nobody. It’s +about ten years ago now that the Swope outfit first +came in through our country; and, bein’ in the sheep +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +business ourselves, we was always friendly, and never +made no trouble, and naturally supposed that they’d +respect our range. And so they did, until I found +one of Jim’s herders in on my ranch last Summer.</p> +<p>“Well, I thought there was some misunderstandin’, +but when I told him and his <i>compadres</i> to move it was +a bad case of ‘No savvy’ from the start; and while I +was monkeyin’ around with them a couple of more +bands sneaked in behind, and first thing I knew my +whole lower range was skinned clean. Well, sir, I +worked over one of them <i>paisanos</i> until he was a +total wreck, and I took a shot at another <i>hombre</i>, +too––the one that couldn’t savvy; but there was +no use cavin’ round about it––I was jest naturally +sheeped out.</p> +<p>“It looked like I was busted, but I wouldn’t admit +it, and while I was studyin’ on the matter along comes +Jim himself and offers me five thousand dollars for +my sheep. They was worth ten if they was worth a +cent, all fine and fat; but my winter feed was gone +and of course I was up against it. I see somethin’ +would have to be done, and dam’ quick, too; so I +chased down to St. John and tried to git a higher bid. +But these sheepmen stand in with each other on a +proposition like that, and I couldn’t git nawthin’.</p> +<p>“‘All right,’ I says to Jim, ‘take ’em, and be +dam’ed to you.’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></p> +<p>“‘The price has gone down,’ says Jim. ‘I’ll give +you four thousand.’</p> +<p>“‘<i>What!</i>’ I says.</p> +<p>“‘Three thousand,’ says Jim.</p> +<p>“‘You’ll give me <i>five</i> thousand,’ says I, crowdin’ +my gun against his short ribs, ‘or I’ll let the light in +on you,’ and after that Jim and me understood each +other perfectly. In fact, we got stuck on each other. +Yes, sir, after I got over bein’ excited and could listen +to reason, he put it to me straight––and he was right.</p> +<p>“‘What’s the use of bein’ the yaller dog?’ he says. +‘You can’t buck the whole Association. But we’ve +got room for you,’ he says, ‘so git on and ride.’ And +here I am, by Joe, leadin’ the procession.”</p> +<p>The sheepman paused and gazed at the band of +sheep as they stood in a solid mass, their heads tucked +under each other’s bellies to escape the sun.</p> +<p>“Some of them sheep used to be mine,” he observed, +and laughed slyly. “That’s the only thing between +me and the boss. He’s begged and implored, and +cursed and said his prayers, tryin’ to git me interested +in the sheep business again; but like the pore, dam’ +fool I am I keep that five thousand dollars in the +bank.” His shoulders heaved for a moment with +silent laughter, and then his face turned grave.</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Hardy,” he said, “business is business, +and I’ve got to be movin’ along pretty soon. I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +believe you said you’d like to talk matters over for a +minute.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Hardy promptly, “I’d like to +make arrangements to have you turn out through that +pass yonder and leave us a little feed for next +Winter.”</p> +<p>The sheepman cocked his head to one side and shut +one eye knowingly.</p> +<p>“Oh, you would, would you? And what word shall +I take back to the boss, then?”</p> +<p>“I expect I’ll see him before you do,” said Hardy, +“but if you get ahead of me you can just say that I +asked you to move, and so you followed out your +orders.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” responded Thomas, smiling satirically, +“that’d be lovely. But how long since I’ve been +takin’ orders off of you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m not trying to give you any orders,” protested +Hardy. “Those come straight from Jim +Swope.”</p> +<p>“How’s that?” inquired the sheepman, with sudden +interest.</p> +<p>“Why, don’t you remember what he said when he +introduced me to you, down in Moroni? ‘This is Mr. +Hardy,’ he said, ‘a white cowman. If you have to go +across his range, go quick, and tell your men the +same.’ You may have forgotten, but it made a great +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +impression on me. And then, to show there was no +mistake about it, he told me if I found any of his +sheep on my range to order them off, and you would +see that they went. Isn’t that straight?”</p> +<p>He leaned over and looked the sheepman in the eye +but Thomas met his glance with a sardonic smile. +“Sure, it’s right. But I’ve received other orders +since then. You know Jim claims to be religious––he’s +one of the elders in the church down there––and +he likes to keep his word good. After you was +gone he come around to me and said: ‘That’s all +right, Shep, about what I said to that cowman, but +there’s one thing I want you always to remember––feed +my sheep!’ Well, them’s my orders.”</p> +<p>“Well,” commented Hardy, “that may be good +Scripture, but what about my cows? There’s plenty +of feed out on The Rolls for Jim’s sheep, but +my cows have got to drink. We cowmen have +been sheeped out of all the lower country down +there, and here we are, crowded clear up against +the rocks. You’ve stolen a march on us and of +course you’re entitled to some feed, but give us a +chance. You’ve been sheeped out yourself, and you +know what it feels like. Now all I ask of you is that +you turn out through this pass and go down onto The +Rolls. If you’ll do that I can turn all the rest of +the sheep and keep my cows from starving, but if you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +go through me they’ll all go through me, and I’m +done for. I don’t make any threats and I can’t offer +any inducements, but I just ask you, as a white +man, to go around.”</p> +<p>As he ended his appeal he stood with his hands +thrown out, and the sheepman looked at him, smiling +curiously.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, at last, “you’re a new kind of +cowman on me, pardner, but I’ll go you, if Jim +throws a fit.”</p> +<p>He advanced, and held out his hand, and Hardy +took it.</p> +<p>“If all sheepmen were like you,” he said, “life would +be worth living in these parts.” And so, in a friendship +unparalleled in the history of the Four Peaks +country, a sheepman and a cowman parted in amity––and +the sheep went around.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_JUMPED' id='CHAPTER_XI_JUMPED'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>JUMPED</h3> +</div> +<p>Winter, the wonted season of torrential rains, +six weeks’ grass, and budding flowers, when the +desert is green and the sky washed clean and blue, followed +close in the wake of the sheep, which went drifting +past Hidden Water like an army without banners. +But alas for Hidden Water and the army of sheep!––in +this barren Winter the torrential rains did not +fall, the grass did not sprout, and the flowers did not +bloom. A bleak north wind came down from the +mountains, cold and dry and crackling with electricity, +and when it had blown its stint it died down in a freezing, +dusty silence.</p> +<p>Then the mighty south––the rain––wind that blows +up out of Papaguería, rose up, big with promise, and +whirled its dust clouds a thousand feet high against +the horizon. But, after much labor, the keen, steely, +north wind rushed suddenly down upon the black +clouds, from whose edges the first spatter of rain had +already spilled, and swept them from the horizon, +howling mournfully the while and wrestling with the +gaunt trees at night. In shaded places the icicles +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +from slow-seeping waters clung for days unmelted, +and the migrant ducks, down from the Arctic, rose +up from the half-frozen sloughs and winged silently +away to the far south. Yet through it all the Dos S +cattle came out unscathed, feeding on what dry grass +and browse the sheep had left on Bronco Mesa; and in +the Spring, when all hope seemed past, it rained.</p> +<p>Only those who have been through a drought know +what music there is hidden in rain. It puts a wild +joy into the heart of every creature, the birds sing, +the rabbits leap and caper, and all the cattle and wild +horses take to roaming and wandering out of pure +excess of spirits. It was early in March when the +first showers came, and as soon as the new feed was +up Creede began his preparations for the spring +<i>rodéo</i>. The Winter had been a hard one, and not +without its worries. In an interview, which tended +on both sides to become heated and personal, Jim +Swope had denounced Hardy for misrepresenting his +orders to his <i>mayordomo</i>, and had stated in no uncertain +terms his firm intention of breaking even in the +Spring, if there was a blade of grass left on the upper +range.</p> +<p>The season had been a bad one for his sheep, windy +and cold, with sand storms which buried the desert in +a pall and drove many flocks to the hills; and as the +feed became shorter and shorter vagrant bands began +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +to drift in along the Salagua. In the battle for the +range that followed herders and punchers greeted each +other with angry snarls which grew more wolfish every +day, and old Pablo Moreno, shaking his white head +over their quarrels, uttered gloomy prophecies of +greater evils to come. Sheep would die, he said, cattle +would die––it was only a question now of how many, +and of which. It was a coming <i>año seco</i>; nay, the +whole country was drying up. In Hermosillo, so they +said, the women stood by the public well all night, +waiting to fill their <i>ollas</i>; not for nine years had the +rains fallen there, and now the drought was spreading +north. Arizona, California, Nevada, all were +doomed, yet <i>paciencia</i>, perhaps––and then came the +rain. Yes, it was a good rain but––and then it rained +again. <i>Que bueno</i>, who would not be made a liar for +rain? But <i>cuidado</i>––behold, the ground was still dry; +it drank up the water as it fell and was thirsty again; +the river fell lower and lower and the water was +clear; a bad sign, a very bad sign!</p> +<p>But if the young should wait upon the advice of +the old there would be no more miracles. Creede and +Hardy passed up the weather, strapped on their six-shooters, +and began to patrol the range, “talking +reason” to the stray Mexicans who thought that, +because their sheep were getting poor, they ought to +move them to better feed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></div> +<p>The time for friendship and diplomacy was past, as +Hardy politely informed his employer by letter––after +which he told Rafael to keep away from the +post office and not bring him any more <i>corréo</i>, if he +valued his job. But though he had made his note to +Judge Ware brief, it had said too much. He had +suggested that if the judge did not like his change of +policy he had better come down and see the actual +conditions for himself––and the old judge came.</p> +<p>It was midafternoon of that fateful day when +Creede and Hardy, riding in from up the river, saw +Rafael’s wagon in front of the house. This was not +surprising in itself as he had been down to Bender for +round-up supplies, but as the two partners approached +the house Creede suddenly grabbed Hardy’s +rein and drew back as if he were on top of a rattlesnake.</p> +<p>“For God’s sake,” he said, “what’s that? Listen!”</p> +<p>He jerked a thumb toward the house, and in the +tense silence Hardy could clearly discern the sound +of women’s voices. Now you could ride the Four +Peaks country far and wide and never hear the music +of such voices, never see calico on the line, or a lace +curtain across the window. There were no women in +that godless land, not since the Widow Winship took +Sallie and Susie and left precipitately for St. Louis, +none save the Señora Moreno and certain strapping +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +Apache squaws who wore buckskin <i>téwas</i> and carried +butcher knives in their belts. Even the heart of +Rufus Hardy went pit-a-pat and stopped, at the +sound of that happy chatter.</p> +<p>“They’re rustlin’ the whole dam’ house,” exclaimed +Creede, all nerves and excitement. “Didn’t you hear +that pan go ‘bamp’? Say, I believe they’re cleanin’ +house! Rufe,” he whispered, “I bet you money we’re +jumped!”</p> +<p>The possibility of having their ranch preëmpted +during their absence had been spoken of in a general +way, since Jim Swope had gone on the warpath, but +in his secret soul Rufus Hardy had a presentiment +which made claim-jumping look tame. There was a +chastened gayety in the voices, a silvery ripple in the +laughter, which told him what Creede with all his +cunning could never guess; they were voices from +another world, a world where Hardy had had trouble +and sorrow enough, and which he had left forever. +There was soldier blood in his veins and in two eventful +years he had never weakened; but the suddenness +of this assault stampeded him.</p> +<p>“You better go first, Jeff,” he said, turning his horse +away, “they might––”</p> +<p>But Creede was quick to intercept him.</p> +<p>“None o’ that, now, pardner,” he said, catching his +rein. “You’re parlor-broke––go on ahead!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></div> +<p>There was a wild, uneasy stare in his eye, which +nevertheless meant business, and Hardy accepted the +rebuke meekly. Perhaps his conscience was already +beginning to get action for the subterfuge and deceit +which he had practised during their year together. +He sat still for a moment, listening to the voices and +smiling strangely.</p> +<p>“All right, brother,” he said, in his old quiet way, +and then, whirling Chapuli about, he galloped up to +the house, sitting him as straight and resolute as any +soldier. But Creede jogged along more slowly, tucking +in his shirt, patting down his hair, and wiping the +sweat from his brow.</p> +<p>At the thud of hoofs a woman’s face appeared at +the doorway––a face sweet and innocent, with a broad +brow from which the fair hair was brushed evenly +back, and eyes which looked wonderingly out at the +world through polished glasses. It was Lucy Ware, +and when Hardy saw her he leaped lightly from his +horse and advanced with hat in hand––smiling, yet +looking beyond her.</p> +<p>“I’m so glad to see you, Miss Lucy,” he said, as he +took her hand, “and if we had only known you were +coming––”</p> +<p>“Why, Rufus Hardy!” exclaimed the young lady, +“do you mean to say you never received <i>any</i> of my +letters?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></div> +<p>At this Creede stared, and in that self-same moment +Hardy realized how the low-down strategy which he +had perpetrated upon his employer had fallen upon his +own head a thousandfold. But before he could +stammer his apologies, Kitty Bonnair stood before +him––the same Kitty, and smiling as he had often +seen her in his dreams.</p> +<p>She was attired in a stunning outing suit of officer’s +cloth, tailored for service, yet bringing out the graceful +lines of her figure; and as Hardy mumbled out +his greetings the eyes of Jefferson Creede, so long +denied of womankind, dwelt eagerly upon her beauty. +Her dainty feet, encased in tan high boots, held him +in rapt astonishment; her hands fascinated him with +their movements like the subtle turns of a mesmerist; +and the witchery of her supple body, the mischief in +the dark eyes, and the teasing sweetness of her voice +smote him to the heart before he was so much as +noticed.</p> +<p>No less absolute, for all his strivings, was the conquest +of Rufus Hardy, the frozen bulwarks of whose +heart burst suddenly and went out like spring ice in +the radiance of her first smile.</p> +<p>“I knew you’d be glad to see me, too,” she said, +holding out her hand to him; and forgetful of all his +bitterness he grasped it warmly. Then, tardily conscious +of his duty, he turned to Jeff.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div> +<p>“Miss Kitty,” he said, “this is my friend, Jefferson +Creede––Miss Bonnair.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Creede,” said Kitty, +bestowing her hand upon the embarrassed cowboy. +“Of course you know Miss Ware!”</p> +<p>“Howdy do, Miss,” responded Creede, fumbling +for his hat, and as Miss Lucy took his hand the man +who had put the fear of God into the hearts of so +many sheep-herders became dumb and tongue-tied +with bashfulness. There was not a man in the Four +Peaks country that could best him, in anger or in jest, +when it called for the ready word; but Kitty Bonnair +had so stolen his wits that he could only stand and +sweat like a trick-broken horse. As for Hardy he +saw rainbows and his heart had gone out of business, +but still he was “parlor-broke.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid you didn’t find the house very +orderly,” he observed, as Creede backed off and the +conversation sagged; and the two girls glanced at +each other guiltily. “Of course you’re just as welcome,” +he added hastily, “and I suppose you couldn’t +help cleaning house a bit; but you gave us both a bad +scare, all the same. Didn’t you notice how pale we +looked?” he asked, to mask his embarrassment. “But +you were right, Jeff,” he continued enigmatically.</p> +<p>“Does he always defer to you that way, Mr. +Creede?” inquired Kitty Bonnair, with an engaging +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +smile. “<i>We</i> used to find him rather perverse.” She +glanced roguishly at Hardy as she gave this veiled +rebuke. “But what was it that you were right about?––I’m +just dying to ask you questions!”</p> +<p>She confessed this with a naive frankness which +quite won the big cowboy’s heart, and, his nerve coming +back, he grinned broadly at his former suspicions.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, “I might as well come through with +it––I told him I bet we’d been jumped.”</p> +<p>“Jumped?” repeated Miss Kitty, mystified. “Oh, +is that one of your cowboy words? Tell me what it +means!”</p> +<p>“W’y, it means,” drawled Creede, “that two young +fellers like me and Rufe goes out to ride the range +and when we come back some other outfit has moved +into our happy home and we’re orphans. We’ve +been havin’ a little trouble with the sheep lately, and +when I heard them pots and kittles rattlin’ around in +here I thought for sure some Mormon sheepman had +got the jump on us and located the ranch.”</p> +<p>“And what would you have done if he had?” continued +Kitty eagerly. “Would you have shot him +with that big pistol?” She pointed to the heavy +Colt’s which Creede had slung on his hip.</p> +<p>But this was getting too romantic and Western, +even for Jeff. “No, ma’am,” he said modestly. “We +just carry that to balance us in the saddle.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></div> +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Kitty, disappointed, “and didn’t +you ever shoot <i>anybody</i>?”</p> +<p>Creede blushed for her, in spite of himself. +“Well,” he replied evasively, “I don’t know how it +would be up where you come from, but that’s kind +of a leadin’ question, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you have, then!” exclaimed Kitty Bonnair +ecstatically. “Oh, I’m so glad to see a really, truly +cowboy!” She paused, and gazed up at him soulfully. +“Won’t you let me have it for a minute?” +she pleaded, and with a sheepish grin Creede handed +over his gun.</p> +<p>But if there had been another cowboy within a mile +he would have hesitated, infatuated as he was. +Every land has its symbolism and though the +language of flowers has not struck root in the cow +country––nor yet the amorous Mexican system of +“playing the bear”––to give up one’s pistol to a lady +is the sign and token of surrender. However, though +it brought the sweat to his brow, the byplay was +pulled off unnoticed, Hardy and Lucy Ware being +likewise deep in confidences.</p> +<p>“How strange you look, Rufus!” exclaimed Lucy, +as Kitty Bonnair began her assault upon the happiness +of Jefferson Creede. “What have you been +doing to yourself in these two years?”</p> +<p>“Why, nothing,” protested Hardy, a little wan +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +from his encounter with Kitty. “Perhaps you have +forgotten how I used to look––our hair gets pretty +long up here,” he added apologetically, “but––”</p> +<p>“No,” said Lucy firmly. “It isn’t a matter of +hair, although I will admit I hardly knew you. It’s +in your eyes; and you have some stern, hard lines +about your mouth, too. Father says you spend all +your time trying to keep the sheep out––and he’s +very much displeased with you for disobeying his +directions, too. He gave up some important business +to come down here and see you, and I hope he +scolds you well. Have you been writing any lately?” +she asked accusingly.</p> +<p>“No!” answered Hardy absently, “we don’t have to +<i>fight</i> them––”</p> +<p>“But, Rufus,” protested Lucy Ware, laying her +hand on his arm, “do take your mind from those +dreadful sheep. I asked you if you have been doing +any <i>writing</i> lately––you promised to send me some +poems, don’t you remember? And I haven’t received +a thing!”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Hardy, blushing at his mistake. +“Well, I acknowledge that I haven’t done right––and +you have been very kind, too, Miss Lucy,” he +added gently. “But somehow I never finish anything +down here––and the sheep have been pretty +bad lately. I have to do my work first, you know. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +I’ll tell you, though,” he said, lowering his voice +confidentially, “if I can see you when no one is around +I’ll give you what little I’ve written––at least, some +of the best. A poet at his worst, you know,” he +added, smiling, “is the poorest man in the world. +He’s like a woman who tells everything––no one +could respect him. But if we can take our finer +moods, and kind of sublimate them, you know, well––every +man is a poet some time.”</p> +<p>He hesitated, ended lamely, and fell suddenly into +a settled silence. The hard lines about his lips deepened; +his eyes, cast to the ground, glowed dully; and +in every feature Lucy read the despair that was +gnawing at his heart. And with it there was something +more––a tacit rebuke to her for having brought +Kitty there to meet him.</p> +<p>“We have missed you very much,” she began softly, +as if reading his thoughts, “and your letters were so +interesting! Ever since I showed Kitty the first one +she has been crazy to come down here. Yes, she has +been reading ‘The Virginian’ and O. Henry and +‘Wolfville’ until it is simply awful to hear her talk. +And ride––she has been taking lessons for a year! +Her saddle is out there now in the wagon, and if +she could have caught one of those wild horses out +in that inclosed field I really believe she would have +mounted him and taken to the hills like an Indian. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +I had to come down to take care of father, you know, +and––aren’t you glad to see us, Rufus?”</p> +<p>She gazed up at him anxiously, and her eyes became +misty as she spoke; but Hardy was far away and he +did not see.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said absently, “but––I shall be very +busy. Oh, where is your father?”</p> +<p>A light went suddenly from Lucy’s eyes and her +lips quivered, but her voice was as steady as ever.</p> +<p>“He has gone down to the river,” she said patiently. +“Would you like to see him?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied, still impersonally; and with his +head down, he walked out to where Chapuli was +standing. Then, as if some memory of her voice had +come to him, he dropped the bridle lash and stepped +back quickly into the house.</p> +<p>“You mustn’t notice my rudeness, Miss Lucy,” +he began abjectly. “Of course I am glad to see you; +but I am a little confused, and––well, you understand.” +He smiled wanly as he spoke, and held out +his hand. “Is it all right?” he asked. “Good-bye, +then.” And as he stepped quietly out the light came +back into Lucy’s eyes.</p> +<p>“I am going to hunt up the judge,” he said, as he +swung up on his horse; and, despite the protests of +Jeff and Kitty Bonnair, who were still deep in an +animated conversation, he rode off down the river.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div> +<p>It was not exactly like a draught of Nepenthe to +go out and face the righteous indignation of Judge +Ware, but Hardy’s brain was in such a whirl that +he welcomed the chance to escape. Never for a +moment had he contemplated the idea of Kitty’s coming +to him, or of his seeing her again until his heart +was whole. He had felt safe and secure forever +within the walled valley of Hidden Water––but now +from a cloudless sky the lightning had fallen and +blinded him. Before he could raise a hand or even +turn and flee she had come upon him and exacted +his forgiveness. Nay, more––she had won back his +love and enslaved him as before. Could it mean––what +else could it mean? Nothing but that she loved +him; or if not love, then she cared for him above the +others. And Kitty was proud, too! Those who +became her slaves must respect her whims; she would +acknowledge no fault and brook no opposition; whatever +she did was right. Yes, it had always been the +same with her: the Queen could do no wrong––yet +now she had put aside her regal prerogatives and come +to him!</p> +<p>He hugged the thought to his bosom like a man +infatuated, and then a chill misgiving came upon him. +Perhaps after all it was but another of those childish +whims which made her seem so lovable––always +eager, always active, always striving for the forbidden +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +and unusual, yet so dear with her laughing +eyes and dancing feet that all the world gave way +before her. He bowed his head in thought, following +the judge’s tracks mechanically as he cantered +down the trail, and when he came to the hill above the +whirlpool and looked down at the empty landscape +he was still wrestling with his pride. Never in the +two years of his exile had he so much as mentioned +her name to any one; it was a thing too sacred for +confidences, this love which had changed the deep +current of his life, a secret for his own soul and God––and +yet, Lucy Ware might help him!</p> +<p>And where in all the world would he find a more +faithful friend than Lucy Ware? A secret shared +with her would be as safe as if still locked in his own +breast––and Lucy could understand. Perhaps she +understood already; perhaps––his heart stopped, and +pounded against his side––perhaps Kitty had told +Lucy her story already and asked her to intercede! +He dwelt upon the thought again as he gazed dumbly +about for his employer; and then suddenly the outer +world––the plain, rough, rocks-and-cactus world +that he had lived in before they came––flashed up +before him in all its uncompromising clearness; the +judge was nowhere in sight!</p> +<p>A sudden memory of Creede’s saying that he could +lose his boss any time within half a mile of camp +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +startled Hardy out of his dreams and he rode swiftly +forward upon the trail. At the foot of the hill +the tracks of Judge Ware’s broad shoes with their +nice new hob-nails stood out like a bas-relief, +pointing up the river. Not to take any chances, +Hardy followed them slavishly through the fine +sand until they turned abruptly up onto a ridge +which broke off at the edge of the river bottom. +Along the summit of this they showed again, +plainly, heading north; then as the ravine swung to +the west they scrambled across it and began to zigzag, +working off to the east where Black Butte loomed up +above the maze of brushy ridges like a guiding sentinel. +At first Hardy only smiled at the circuitous +and aimless trail which he was following, expecting +to encounter the judge at every turn; but as the +tracks led steadily on he suddenly put spurs to his +horse and plunged recklessly up and down the sides +of the brushy hogbacks in a desperate pursuit, for the +sun was sinking low. The trail grew fresher and +fresher now; dark spots where drops of sweat had +fallen showed in the dry sand of the washes; and at +last, half an hour before sundown, Hardy caught +sight of his wandering employer, zealously ascending +a particularly rocky butte.</p> +<p>“Hello there, Judge!” he called, and then, as Judge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +Ware whirled about, he inquired, with well-feigned +surprise: “Where’d you drop down from?”</p> +<p>This was to let the old gentleman down easy––lost +people having a way of waxing indignant at their +rescuers––and the judge was not slow to take advantage +of it.</p> +<p>“Why, howdy do, Rufus!” he exclaimed, sinking +down upon a rock. “I was just taking a little short +cut to camp. My, my, but this is a rough country. +Out looking for cattle?”</p> +<p>“Well––yes,” responded Hardy. “I was taking +a little ride. But say, it’s about my supper time. +You better give up that short-cut idea and come along +home with me.”</p> +<p>“We-ell,” said the judge, reluctantly descending +the butte, “I guess I will. How far is it?”</p> +<p>“About two miles, by trail.”</p> +<p>“Two miles!” exclaimed Judge Ware, aghast. +“Why, it’s just over that little hill, there. Why don’t +you take a short cut?”</p> +<p>“The trail is the shortest cut I know,” replied +Hardy, concealing a smile. “That’s the way the +cattle go, and they seem to know their business. +How does the country look to you?”</p> +<p>But the old judge was not to be led aside by persiflage––he +was interested in the matter of trails.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></div> +<p>“Cattle trails!” he exclaimed. “Do you mean to +say that you do all your travelling on these crooked +cow paths? Why, it is a matter of scientific observation +that even on the open prairie a cow path loses +nearly a quarter of its headway by constant winding +in and out, merely to avoid frail bushes and infinitesimal +stones. Now if you and Jeff would spend a little +of your leisure in cutting trails, as they do in forestry, +you would more than save yourselves the time and +labor involved, I’m sure.”</p> +<p>“Yes?” said Hardy coldly. There was a subtle +tone of fault-finding in his employer’s voice which +already augured ill for their debate on the sheep question, +and his nerves responded instinctively to the +jab. Fate had not been so kind to him that day, that +he was prepared to take very much from any man, +and so he remained quiet and let the judge go the +whole length.</p> +<p>“Why, yes, if you would stay about the ranch a +little closer instead of going off on these armed forays +against sheep––now just for example, how much +would it cost to clear a passable trail over that ridge +to the ranch?”</p> +<p>He pointed at the hill which in his misguided enthusiasm +he had been mounting, and Hardy’s eyes glittered +wickedly as he launched his barbed jest.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></div> +<p>“About a billion dollars, I guess,” he answered, +after mature consideration.</p> +<p>“A billion dollars!” repeated the judge. “A billion +dollars! Now here, Rufus,” he cried, choking with +exasperation, “I am in earnest about this matter! I +don’t altogether approve of the way you and Jeff have +been conducting my affairs down here, anyway, and +I intend to take a hand myself, if you don’t mind. I +may not know as much as you about the minor details +of the cattle business, but I have been looking into +forestry quite extensively, and I fail to see anything +unreasonable in my suggestion of a trail. How far +is it, now, over that hill to the ranch?”</p> +<p>“About twenty-five thousand miles,” replied Hardy +blandly.</p> +<p>“Twenty-five thousand! Why––”</p> +<p>“At least, so I am informed,” explained Hardy. +“Geographers agree, I believe, that that is the approximate +distance around the world. The ranch is over +here, you know.”</p> +<p>He pointed with one small, sinewy hand in a direction +diametrically opposite to the one his boss had +indicated, and struck out down a cow trail. It was +a harsh blow to the old judge, and rankled in his +bosom for some time; but after making sure that his +superintendent was correct he followed meekly behind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +him into camp. On the way, as an afterthought, +he decided not to put down his foot in the matter of +the sheep until he was quite sure of the material facts.</p> +<p>They found Creede in the last throes of agony as +he blundered through the motions of cooking supper. +Half an hour of house-cleaning had done more to +disarrange his kitchen than the services of two charming +assistants could possibly repair. His Dutch +oven was dropped into the wood box; his bread pan +had been used to soak dirty dishes in; the water bucket +was empty, and they had thrown his grease swab into +the fire. As for the dish-rag, after long and faithful +service it had been ruthlessly destroyed, and he had +to make another one out of a flour sack. Add to this +a hunger which had endured since early morning +and a series of rapid-fire questions, and you have the +true recipe for bad bread, at least.</p> +<p>Kitty Bonnair had taken a course in sanitation and +domestic science in her college days, since which time +the world had been full of microbes and every unpleasant +bacillus, of which she discoursed at some length. +But Jefferson Creede held steadily to his fixed ideas, +and in the end he turned out some baking-powder +biscuits that would have won honors in a cooking +school. There was nothing else to cook, his kettle +of beans having been unceremoniously dumped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +because the pot was black; but Kitty had the table +spotlessly clean, there was an assortment of potted +meats and picnic knicknacks in the middle of it, and +Lucy had faithfully scoured the dishes; so supper was +served with frills.</p> +<p>If the ladies had taken hold a little strong in the +first spasms of house-cleaning, Jeff and Rufus were +far too polite to mention it; and while the dishes were +being washed they quietly gathered up their belongings, +and moved them into the storeroom. Their +beds being already spread beneath the <i>ramada</i>, it was +not difficult to persuade the girls to accept Hardy’s +room, which for a man’s, was clean, and the judge +fell heir to Jeff’s well-littered den. All being quickly +arranged and the beds made, Creede threw an armful +of ironwood upon the fire and they sat down to watch +it burn.</p> +<p>Three hours before, Hidden Water had been the +hangout of two sheep-harrying barbarians, bushy-headed +and short of speech; now it was as bright and +cheerful as any home and the barbarians were changed +to lovers. Yet, as they basked in the warmth of the +fireside there was one absent from his accustomed +place––a creature so fierce and shy that his wild spirit +could never become reconciled to the change. At the +first sound of women’s voices little Tommy had dashed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +through his cat-hole and fled to the bowlder pile at +the foot of the cliff, from whose dank recesses he +peered forth with blank and staring eyes.</p> +<p>But now, as the strange voices grew quiet and night +settled down over the valley, he crept forth and +skulked back to the house, sniffing about the barred +windows, peeking in through his hole in the door; +and at last, drawing well away into the darkness, he +raised his voice in an appealing cry for Jeff.</p> +<p>As the first awful, raucous outburst broke the outer +silence Kitty Bonnair jumped, and Lucy and her +father turned pale.</p> +<p>“What’s that?” cried Kitty, in a hushed voice, “a +mountain lion?”</p> +<p>“Not yet,” answered Creede enigmatically. “He +will be though, if he grows. Aw, say, that’s just +my cat. Here, pussy, pussy, pussy! D’ye hear +that, now? Sure, he knows me! Wait a minute and +I’ll try an’ ketch ’im.”</p> +<p>He returned a few minutes later, with Tommy +held firmly against his breast, blacker, wilder, and +scrawnier than ever, but purring and working his +claws.</p> +<p>“How’s this for a mountain lion?” said Creede, +stopping just inside the door and soothing down his +pet. “D’ye see that hook?” he inquired, holding up +the end of Tommy’s crooked tail and laughing at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +Kitty’s dismay. “He uses that to climb cliffs with. +That’s right––he’s a new kind of cat. Sure, they +used to be lots of ’em around here, but the coyotes +got all the rest. Tom is the only one left. Want to +pet him? Well––whoa, pussy,––come up careful, +then; he’s never––ouch!”</p> +<p>At the first whisk of skirts, Tommy’s yellow eyes +turned green and he sank every available hook and +claw into his master’s arm; but when Kitty reached +out a hand he exploded in a storm of spits and hisses +and dashed out through the door.</p> +<p>“Well, look at that, now,” said Creede, grinning +and rubbing his arm. “D’ye know what’s the +matter with him? You’re the first woman he ever +saw in his life. W’y, sure! They ain’t no women +around here. I got him off a cowman over on the +Verde. He had a whole litter of ’em––used to pinch +Tom’s tail to make him fight––so when I come away +I jest quietly slipped Mr. Tommy into my shaps.”</p> +<p>“Oh, the poor little thing,” said Kitty; and then she +added, puckering up her lips, “but I don’t like cats.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I do!” exclaimed Lucy Ware quickly, as +Creede’s face changed, and for a moment the big +cowboy stood looking at them gravely.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” he said, smiling approvingly at +Lucy; and then, turning to Kitty Bonnair, he said: +“You want to learn, then.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></div> +<p>But Kitty was not amenable to the suggestion.</p> +<p>“No!” she cried, stamping her foot. “I don’t! +They’re such stealthy, treacherous creatures––and +they never have any affection for people.”</p> +<p>“Ump-um!” denied Creede, shaking his head +slowly. “You don’t know cats––jest think you do, +maybe. W’y, Tommy was the only friend I had here +for two years. D’ye think he could fool me all that +time? Rufe here will tell you how he follows after +me for miles––and cryin’, too––when the coyotes +might git ’im anytime. And he sleeps with me every +night,” he added, lowering his voice.</p> +<p>“Well, you can have him,” said Kitty lightly. “Do +they have any real mountain lions here?”</p> +<p>“Huh?” inquired Creede, still big-eyed with his +emotions. “Oh, yes; Bill Johnson over in Hell’s +Hip Pocket makes a business of huntin’ ’em. +Twenty dollars bounty, you know.”</p> +<p>“Oh, oh!” cried Kitty. “Will he take me with +him? Tell me all about it!”</p> +<p>Jefferson Creede moved over toward the door with +a far-away look in his eyes.</p> +<p>“That’s all,” he said indifferently. “He runs ’em +with hounds. Well, I’ll have to bid you good-night.”</p> +<p>He ducked his head, and stepped majestically out +the door; and Hardy, who was listening, could hear +him softly calling to his cat.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></div> +<p>“Oh, Rufus!” cried Kitty appealingly, as he rose +to follow, “<i>do</i> stop and tell me about Bill Johnson, +and, yes––Hell’s Hip Pocket!”</p> +<p>“Why, Kitty!” exclaimed Lucy Ware innocently, +and while they were discussing the morals of geographical +swearing Hardy made his bow, and passed +out into the night.</p> +<p>The bitter-sweet of love was upon him again, making +the stars more beautiful, the night more mysterious +and dreamy; but as he crept into his blankets he +sighed. In the adjoining cot he could hear Jeff +stripping slivers from a length of jerked beef, and +Tommy mewing for his share.</p> +<p>“Want some jerky, Rufe?” asked Creede, and +then, commenting upon their late supper, he remarked:</p> +<p>“A picnic dinner is all right for canary birds, but +it takes good hard grub to feed a man. I’m goin’ to +start the <i>rodér</i> camp in the mornin’ and cook me up +some beans.” He lay for a while in silence, industriously +feeding himself on the dry meat, and gazing at +the sky.</p> +<p>“Say, Rufe,” he said, at last, “ain’t you been +holdin’ out on me a little?”</p> +<p>“Um-huh,” assented Hardy.</p> +<p>“Been gettin’ letters from Miss Lucy all the time, +eh?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></div> +<p>“Sure.”</p> +<p>“Well,” remarked Creede, “you’re a hell of +a feller! But I reckon I learned somethin’,” he +added philosophically, “and when I want somebody +to tell my troubles to, I’ll know where to go. Say, +she’s all right, ain’t she?”</p> +<p>“Yeah.”</p> +<p>“Who’re you talkin’ about?”</p> +<p>“Who’re you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you know, all right, all right––but, say!”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“It’s a pity she don’t like cats.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII_THE_GARDEN_IN_THE_DESERT' id='CHAPTER_XII_THE_GARDEN_IN_THE_DESERT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT</h3> +</div> +<p>The sun was well up over the cañon rim when the +tired visitors awoke from their dreams. Kitty +Bonnair was the first to open her eyes and peep forth +upon the fairy world which promised so much of +mystery and delight. The iron bars of their window, +deep set in the adobe walls, suggested the dungeon +of some strong prison where Spanish maidens languished +for sight of their lovers; a rifle in the corner, +overlooked in the hurried moving, spoke eloquently +of the armed brutality of the times; the hewn logs +which supported the lintels completed the picture of +primitive life; and a soft breeze, breathing in through +the unglazed sills, whispered of dark cañons and the +wild, free out-of-doors.</p> +<p>As she lay there drinking it all in a murmur of +voices came to her ears; and, peering out, she saw +Creede and Rufus Hardy squatting by a fire out by +the giant mesquite tree which stood near the bank of +the creek. Creede was stirring the contents of a frying-pan +with a huge iron spoon, and Rufus was cooking +strips of meat on a stick which he turned above a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +bed of coals. There was no sign of hurry or anxiety +about their preparations; they seemed to be conversing +amiably of other things. Presently Hardy +picked up a hooked stick, lifted the cover from the +Dutch oven, and dumped a pile of white biscuits upon +a greasy cloth. Then, still deep in their talk, they +filled their plates from the fry-pan, helped themselves +to meat, wrapped the rest of the bread in the cloth, +and sat comfortably back on their heels, eating with +their fingers and knives.</p> +<p>It was all very simple and natural, but somehow +she had never thought of men in that light before. +They were so free, so untrammelled and self-sufficient; +yes, and so barbarous, too. Rufus Hardy, the poet, +she had known––quiet, soft-spoken, gentle, with +dreamy eyes and a doglike eagerness to please––but, +lo! here was another Rufus, still gentle, but with a +stern look in his eyes which left her almost afraid––and +those two lost years lay between. How he must have +changed in all that time! The early morning was +Kitty’s time for meditation and good resolutions, and +she resolved then and there to be nice to Rufus, for he +was a man and could not understand.</p> +<p>As the sound of voices came from the house Jefferson +Creede rose up from his place and stalked across +the open, rolling and swaying in his high-heeled +boots like a huge, woolly bear.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></div> +<p>“Well, Judge,” he said, after throwing a mountain +of wood on the fire as a preliminary to cooking breakfast +for his guests, “I suppose now you’re here you’d +like to ride around a little and take stock of what +you’ve got. The boys will begin comin’ in for the +<i>rodér</i> to-day, and after to-morrow I’ll be pretty +busy; but if you say so I’ll jest ketch up a gentle +horse, and show you the upper range before the work +begins.”</p> +<p>“Oh, won’t you take me, too?” cried Kitty, skipping +in eagerly. “I’ve got the nicest saddle––and I +bet I can ride any horse you’ve got.”</p> +<p>She assumed a cowboy-like strut as she made this +assertion, shaking her head in a bronco gesture which +dashed the dark hair from her eyes and made her look +like an unbroken thoroughbred. Never in all his life, +even in the magazine pictures of stage beauties which +form a conspicuous mural decoration in those parts, +had Creede seen a woman half so charming, but even +in his love blindness he was modest.</p> +<p>“We’ll have to leave that to the judge,” he said +deferentially, “but they’s horses for everybody.” +He glanced inquiringly at Lucy, who was busily unpacking +her sketching kit; but she only smiled, and +shook her head.</p> +<p>“The home is going to be my sphere for some +time,” she remarked, glancing about at the half-cleaned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +room, “and then,” she added, with decision, +“I’m going to make some of the loveliest water colors +in the world. I think that big giant cactus standing +on that red-and-gray cliff over there is simply wonderful.”</p> +<p>“Um, pretty good,” observed Creede judicially. +“But you jest ought to see ’em in the gorge where +Hidden Water comes out! Are ye goin’ along, +Rufe?” he inquired, bending his eyes upon Hardy +with a knowing twinkle. “No? Well, <i>you</i> can show +her where it is! Didn’t you never hear why they call +this Hidden Water?” he asked, gazing benignly upon +the young ladies. “Well, listen.</p> +<p>“They’s a big spring of water right up here, not +half a mile. It’s an old landmark––the Mexicans +call it Agua Escondida––but I bet neither one of you +can find it and I’ll take you right by the gulch where +it comes out. They can’t nobody find it, unless +they’re wise enough to follow cow tracks––and of +course, we don’t expect that of strangers. But if you +ever git lost and you’re within ten miles of home jest +take the first cow trail you see and follow it downhill +and you’ll go into one end or the other of Hidden +Water cañon. Sure, it’s what you might call the +Hello-Central of the whole Four Peaks country, with +cow paths instead of wires. The only thing lackin’ +is the girls, to talk back, and call you down for your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +ungentlemanly language, and––well, this country is +comin’ up every day!”</p> +<p>He grinned broadly, wiping his floury hands on +his overalls in defiance of Miss Kitty’s most rudimentary +principles; and yet even she, for all her +hygiene, was compelled to laugh. There was something +about Creede that invited confidence and feminine +badgering, he was so like a big, good-natured +boy. The entire meal was enlivened by her efforts, +in the person of a hello girl, to expurgate his language, +and she ended by trying to get him to swear––politely.</p> +<p>But in this the noble cowboy was inexorable. “No, +ma’am,” he said, with an excess of moral conviction. +“I never swear except for cause––and then I always +regret it. But if you want to git some of the real +thing to put in your phonygraft jest come down to +the pasture to-morrow when the boys are breakin’ +horses. Your hair’s kind of wavy, I notice, but it +will put crimps in it to hear Bill Lightfoot or some of +them Sunflower stiffs when they git bucked onto +a rock pile. And say, if you call yourself a rider I +can give you a snake for to-day.”</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you, Mr. Creede,” answered Miss Kitty, +bowing low as she left the table. “Its tail, if it +chanced to be a rattler, would be most acceptable, I +am sure, and I might make a belt out of its skin. But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +for riding purposes I prefer a real, gentle little horse. +Now hurry up, and I’ll be dressed in half an hour.”</p> +<p>Ten minutes later Creede rode up to the house, +leading a sober gray for the judge, but for Kitty +Bonnair he had the prettiest little calico-horse in the +bunch, a pony painted up with red and yellow and +white until he looked like a three-color chromo. +Even his eye was variegated, being of a mild, pet-rabbit +blue, with a white circle around the orbit; and +his name, of course, was Pinto. To be sure, his face +was a little dished in and he showed other signs of his +scrub Indian blood, but after Creede had cinched on +the new stamped-leather saddle and adjusted the +ornate hackamore and martingale, Pinto was the +sportiest-looking horse outside of a Wild West show.</p> +<p>There was a long wait then, while Diana completed +her preparations for the hunt; but when Kitty Bonnair, +fully apparelled, finally stepped through the +door Creede reeled in the saddle, and even Rufus +Hardy gasped. There was nothing immodest about +her garb––in fact, it was very correct and proper––but +not since the Winship girls rode forth in overalls +had Hidden Water seen its like. Looking very trim +and boyish in her khaki riding breeches, Kitty strode +forth unabashed, rejoicing in her freedom. A little +scream of delight escaped her as she caught sight of +the calico-pony; she patted his nose a moment, inquired +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +his name, and then, scorning all assistance, +swung lightly up into the saddle. No prettier +picture had ever been offered to the eye; so young, +so supple and strong, with such a wealth of dark, +wavy hair, and, withal, so modest and honestly happy. +But, somehow, Jefferson Creede took the lead and +rode with his eyes cast down, lest they should be +dazzled by the vision. Besides, Jeff had been raised +old-fashioned, and Golden Gate Park is a long, long +ways, chronologically, from Hidden Water.</p> +<p>As the procession passed away up the cañon, with +Creede in sober converse with the judge and Kitty +scampering about like an Indian on her pinto horse, +Hardy and Lucy Ware glanced at each other, and +laughed.</p> +<p>“Did you ever see any one like her?” exclaimed +Lucy, and Hardy admitted with a sigh that he never +had.</p> +<p>“And I am afraid,” observed Miss Lucy frankly, +“you were not altogether pleased to see her––at first. +But really, Rufus, what can any one hope to do with +Kitty? When she has set her heart on anything she +<i>will have it</i>, and from the very moment she read your +first letter she was determined to come down here. +Of course father thinks he came down to look into +this matter of the sheep, and <i>I</i> think that I came +down to look after him, but in reality I have no doubt +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +we are both here because Kitty Bonnair so wills +it.”</p> +<p>“Very likely,” replied Hardy, with a doubtful +smile. “But since you are in her counsels perhaps +you can tell what her intentions are toward me. I +used to be one of her gentlemen-in-waiting, you +know, and this visit looks rather ominous for me.”</p> +<p>“Well, just exactly what are you talking about, +Rufus?”</p> +<p>“I guess you know, all right,” replied Hardy. +“Have I got to ride a bucking bronco, or kill a sheep-herder +or two––or is it just another case of ‘move +on’?”</p> +<p>He paused and smiled bitterly to himself, but +Lucy was not in a mood to humor him in his misanthropy.</p> +<p>“I must confess,” she said, “that you may be called +upon to do a few chivalrous feats of horsemanship, +but as for the sheep-herder part of it, I hope you will +try to please me by leaving them alone. It worries +me, Rufus,” she continued soberly, “to see you becoming +so strong-willed and silent. There was a whole +year, when none of us heard a word from you––and +then it was quite by accident. And father thinks you +stopped writing to him with the deliberate intention +of driving the sheep away by violence.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m glad he understands so well,” replied +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +Hardy naively. “Of course I wouldn’t embarrass +him by asking for orders, but––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Rufus!” exclaimed Miss Lucy impatiently, +“do try to be natural again and take your mind off +those sheep. Do you know what I am thinking of +doing?” she demanded seriously. “I am thinking of +asking father to give me this ranch––he said he would +if I wanted it––and then I’ll discharge you! You +shall not be such a brutal, ugly man! But come, now, +I want you to help clear the table, and then we will +go up to Hidden Water and read your poems. But +tell me, have you had any trouble with the sheepmen?”</p> +<p>“Why, no!” answered Hardy innocently. “What +made you ask?”</p> +<p>“Well, you wrote father you expected trouble––and––and +you had that big, long pistol when you +came in yesterday. Now you can’t deny that!”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid you’ve had some Western ideas implanted +in your bosom by Kitty, Miss Lucy,” protested +Hardy. “We never shoot each other down +here. I carry that pistol for the moral effect––and +it’s necessary, too, to protect these sheepmen against +their own baser natures. You see they’re all armed, +and if I should ride into their camp without a gun +and ask them to move they might be tempted to do +something overt. But as it is now, when Jeff and I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +begin to talk reason with them they understand. No, +<i>we’re</i> all right; it’s the sheep-herders that have all +the trouble.”</p> +<p>“Rufus Hardy,” cried Miss Lucy indignantly, “if +you mention those sheep again until you are asked +about them, I’ll have you attended to. Do you +realize how far I have come to see your poems and +hear you talk the way you used to talk? And then to +hear you go on in this way! I thought at first that +Mr. Creede was a nice man, but I am beginning to +change my opinion of him. But you have just got +to be nice to me and Kitty while we are here. I had +so many things to tell you about your father, and +Tupper Browne, and The Circle, but you just sit +around so kind of close-mouthed and silent and never +ask a question! Wouldn’t you like to know how +your father is?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Why, yes,” responded Hardy meekly. “Have +you seen him lately?”</p> +<p>“I saw him just before we came away. He is +dreadfully lonely, I know, but he wouldn’t send any +message. He never says <i>anything</i> when I tell him +what you are doing, just sits and twists his mustache +and listens; but I could tell by the way he said good-bye +that he was glad I was coming. I am sorry you +can’t agree––isn’t there something you could do to +make him happier?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></div> +<p>Hardy looked up from his dish-washing with a slow +smile.</p> +<p>“Which do you think is more important?” he +asked, “for a man to please his father or his best +friend?”</p> +<p>Lucy suspected a trap and she made no reply.</p> +<p>“Did you ever quote any of my poetry to father?” +inquired Hardy casually. “No? Then please don’t. +But I’ll bet if you told him I was catching wild +horses, or talking reason to these Mexican herders, +you’d have the old man coming. He’s a fighter, my +father, and if you want to make him happy when you +go back, tell him his son has just about given up +literature and is the champion bronco-twister of the +Four Peaks range.”</p> +<p>“But Rufus––would that be the truth?”</p> +<p>Hardy laughed. “Well, pretty near it––but I’m +trying to please my best friend now.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Lucy, blushing. “Will––will that make +much difference?” she asked.</p> +<p>“All the difference in the world,” declared Hardy +warmly. “You want me to become a poet––he wants +me to become a fighter. Well now, since I haven’t +been able to please him, I’m going to try to please +you for a while.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Rufus,” cried Lucy, “am I really––your best +friend?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></div> +<p>“Why sure! Didn’t you know that?” He spoke +the words with a bluff good-fellowship which pleased +her, in a way, but at the same time left her silent. +And he, too, realized that there was a false note, a rift +such as often creeps in between friends and if not +perceived and checked widens into a breach.</p> +<p>“You know,” he said, quietly making his amends, +“when I was a boy my father always told me I talked +too much; and after mother died I––well, I didn’t +talk so much. I was intended for a soldier, you +know, and good officers have to keep their own +counsel. But––well, I guess the habit struck in––so +if I don’t always thank you, or tell you things, you +will understand, won’t you? I wasn’t raised to +please folks, you know, but just to fight Indians, and +all that. How would you like to be a soldier’s wife?”</p> +<p>“Not very well, I am afraid,” she said. “All the +fear and anxiety, and––well, I’m afraid I couldn’t +love my husband if he killed anybody.” She paused +and glanced up at him, but he was deep in thought.</p> +<p>“My mother was a soldier’s wife,” he said, at last; +and Lucy, seeing where his thoughts had strayed, respected +his silence. It was something she had learned +long before, for while Rufus would sometimes mention +his mother he would never talk about her, even +to Lucy Ware. So they finished their housework, +deep in their own thoughts. But when at last they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +stepped out into the sunshine Lucy touched him on +the arm.</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t you like to bring your poems with +you?” she suggested. “We can read them when we +have found the spring. Is it very beautiful up +there?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Hardy, “I often go there to write, +when nobody is around. You know Jeff and all these +cowboys around here don’t know that I write verse. +They just think I’m a little fellow from somewhere +up in California that can ride horses pretty good. +But if I had handed it out to them that I was a poet, +or even a college man, they would have gone to tucking +snakes into my blankets and dropping <i>chili bravos</i> +into my beans until they got a rise out of me, sure. +I learned that much before I ever came up here. +But I’ve got a little place I call my garden––up in +the cañon, above Hidden Water––and sometimes I +sneak off up there, and write. Would you like to see +a poem I wrote up there? All right, you can have +the rest some other time.” He stepped into the storeroom, +extracted a little bundle from his war bag, and +then they passed on up the valley together.</p> +<p>The cañon of the Alamo is like most Arizona +stream beds, a strait-jacket of rocky walls, opening +out at intervals into pocket-like valleys, such as the +broad and fertile flat which lay below Hidden Water. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +On either side of the stream the banks rise in benches, +each a little higher and broader and more heavily +covered: the first pure sand, laid on by the last +freshet; the next grown over with grass and weeds; +the next bushed up with baby willows and arrow +weed; and then, the high bench, studded with mesquite +and <i>palo verdes</i>; and at the base of the solid rim perhaps +a higher level, strewn with the rocks which time +and the elements have hurled down from the cliff, and +crested with ancient trees. Upon such a high bench +stood the Dos S ranch house, with trails leading off up +and down the flat or plunging down the bank, the +striated cliff behind it and the water-torn valley +below.</p> +<p>Up the cañon a deep-worn path led along the base +of the bluff; and as the two best friends followed +along its windings Hardy pointed out the mysteries +of the land: strange trees and shrubs, bristling with +thorns; cactus in its myriad forms; the birds which +flashed past them or sang in the wild gladness of +springtime; lizards, slipping about in the sands or +pouring from cracks in the rocks––all the curious +things which his eyes had seen and his mind taken +note of in the long days of solitary riding, and which +his poet’s soul now interpreted into a higher meaning +for the woman who could understand. So intent +were they upon the wonders of that great display that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +Lucy hardly noticed where they were, until the trail +swung abruptly in toward the cliff and they seemed +to be entering a cleft in the solid rock.</p> +<p>“Where do we go now?” she asked, and Hardy +laughed at her confusion.</p> +<p>“This is the gate to Hidden Water,” he said, lowering +his voice to its old-time poetic cadence. “And +strait is the way thereof,” he added, as he led her +through the narrow pass, “but within are tall trees and +running water, and the eagle nests undisturbed +among the crags.”</p> +<p>“What <i>are</i> you quoting?” exclaimed Miss Lucy, +and for an answer Rufus beckoned her in and pointed +with his hand. Before them stood the tall trees with +running water at their feet, and a great nest of sticks +among the crags.</p> +<p>“Hidden Water!” he said, and smiled again mysteriously.</p> +<p>Then he led the way along the side of the stream, +which slipped softly over the water-worn bowlders, +dimpling in pool after pool, until at the very gate of +the valley it sank into the sand and was lost. Higher +and higher mounted the path; and then, at the foot of +a smooth ledge which rose like a bulwark across the +gorge, it ended suddenly by the side of a cattle-tracked +pool.</p> +<p>“This is the wall to my garden,” said Hardy, pointing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +to the huge granite dyke, “beyond which only the +elect may pass.” He paused, and glanced over at her +quizzically. “The path was not made for ladies, I am +afraid,” he added, pointing to a series of foot holes +which ran up the face of the ledge. “Do you think +you can climb it?”</p> +<p>Lucy Ware studied his face for a moment; then, +turning to the Indian stairway, she measured it with +a practised eye.</p> +<p>“You go up first,” she suggested, and when he had +scaled the slippery height and turned he found her +close behind, following carefully in his steps.</p> +<p>“Well, you <i>are</i> a climber!” he cried admiringly. +“Here, give me your hand.” And when he had +helped her up he still held it––or perhaps she clung +to his.</p> +<p>Before them lay a little glade, shut in by painted +rocks, upon whose black sides were engraved many +curious pictures, the mystic symbols of the Indians; +and as they stood gazing at it an eagle with pointed +wings wheeled slowly above them, gazing with clear +eyes down into the sunlit vale. From her round nest +in the crotch of a sycamore a great horned owl +plunged out at their approach and glided noiselessly +away; and in the stillness the zooning of bees +among the rocks came to their ears like distant music. +Beneath their feet the grass grew long and matted, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +shot here and there with the blue and gold of +flowers, like the rich meadows of the East; and +clustering along the hillsides, great bunches of +grama grass waved their plumes proudly, the last +remnant of all that world of feed which had clothed +the land like a garment before the days of the sheep. +For here, at least, there came no nibbling wethers, nor +starving cattle; and the mountain sheep which had +browsed there in the old days were now hiding on +the topmost crags of the Superstitions to escape the +rifles of the destroyers. All the world without was +laid waste and trampled by hurrying feet, but the +garden of Hidden Water was still kept inviolate, a +secret shrine consecrated to Nature and Nature’s God.</p> +<p>As she stood in the presence of all its beauty a mist +came into Lucy’s eyes and she turned away.</p> +<p>“Oh, Rufus,” she cried, “why don’t you live up here +always instead of wasting your life in that awful +struggle with the sheep? You could––why, you could +do anything up here!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” assented Hardy, “it is a beautiful spot––I +often come up here when I am weary with it all––but +a man must do a man’s work, you know; and my +work is with the sheep. When I first came to Hidden +Water I knew nothing of the sheep. I thought the +little lambs were pretty; the ewes were mothers, the +herders human beings. I tried to be friends with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +them, to keep the peace and abide by the law; but now +that I’ve come to know them I agree with Jeff, who +has been fighting them for twenty years. There is +something about the smell of sheep which robs men +of their humanity; they become greedy and avaricious; +the more they make the more they want. Of +all the sheepmen that I know there isn’t one who +would go around me out of friendship or pity––and +I have done favors for them all. But they’re no +friends of mine now,” he added ominously. “I have +to respect my friends, and I can’t respect a man who +is all hog. There’s no pretence on either side now, +though––they’re trying to sheep us out and we are +trying to fight them off, and if it ever comes to a +show-down––well––”</p> +<p>He paused, and his eyes glowed with a strange +light.</p> +<p>“You know I haven’t very much to live for, Miss +Lucy,” he said earnestly, “but if I had all that God +could give me I’d stand by Jeff against the sheep. +It’s all right to be a poet or an artist, a lover of truth +and beauty, and all that, but if a man won’t stand +up for his friends when they’re in trouble he’s a kind +of closet philosopher that shrinks from all the realities +of life––a poor, puny creature, at the best.”</p> +<p>He stood up very straight as he poured out this +torrent of words, gazing at her intently, but with his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +eyes set, as if he beheld some vision. Yet whether it +was of himself and Jeff, fighting their hopeless battle +against the sheep, or of his life as it might have been if +Kitty had been as gentle with him as this woman by his +side, there was no telling. His old habit of reticence +fell back upon him as suddenly as it had been cast +aside, and he led the way up the little stream in silence. +As he walked, the ardor of his passion cooled, and he +began to point out things with his eloquent hands––the +minnows, wheeling around in the middle of a +glassy pool; a striped bullfrog, squatting within the +spray of a waterfall; huge combs of honey, hanging +from shelving caverns along the cliff where the wild +bees had stored their plunder for years. At last, as +they stood before a drooping elder whose creamy +blossoms swayed beneath the weight of bees, he +halted and motioned to a shady seat against the +cañon wall.</p> +<p>“There are gardens in every desert,” he said, as she +sank down upon the grassy bank, “but this is ours.”</p> +<p>They sat for a while, gazing contentedly at the +clusters of elder blossoms which hung above them, +filling the air with a rich fragrance which was spiced +by the tang of sage. A ruby-throated humming-bird +flashed suddenly past them and was gone; a red-shafted +woodpecker, still more gorgeous in his scarlet +plumage, descended in uneven flights from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +<i>sahuaros</i> that clung against the cliff and, fastening +upon a hollow tree, set up a mysterious rapping.</p> +<p>“He is hunting for grubs,” explained Hardy. +“Does that inspire you?”</p> +<p>“Why, no,” answered Lucy, puzzled.</p> +<p>“The Mexicans call him <i>pajaro corazon</i>––<i>páh-hah-ro +cor-ah-sóne</i>,” continued the poet. “Does that +appeal to your soul?”</p> +<p>“Why, no. What does it mean––woodpecker?”</p> +<p>Hardy smiled. “No,” he said, “a woodpecker with +them is called <i>carpintero</i>––carpenter, you understand––because +he hammers on trees; but my friend up on +the stump yonder is <i>Pajaro Corazon</i>––bird of the +heart. I have a poem dedicated to him.” Then, as +if to excuse himself from the reading, he hastened on: +“Of course, no true poet would commit such a breach––he +would write a sonnet to his lady’s eyebrow, a +poem in memory of a broken dream, or some sad +lament for Love, which has died simultaneously with +his own blasted hopes. But a sense of my own unimportance +has saved me––or the world, at any rate––from +such laments. <i>Pajaro Corazon</i> and <i>Chupa +Rosa</i>, a little humming-bird who lives in that elder +tree, have been my only friends and companions in +the muse, until you came. I wouldn’t abuse <i>Chupa +Rosa’s</i> confidence by reading my poem to her. Her +lover has turned out a worthless fellow and left her––that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +was him you saw flying past just now, going up +the cañon to sport around with the other hummers––but +here is my poem to <i>Pajaro Corazon</i>.”</p> +<p>He drew forth his bundle of papers and in a shamefaced +way handed one of them to Lucy. It was a +slip of yellow note paper, checked along the margin +with groups of rhyming words and scansion marks, +and in the middle this single verse.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent6'> </span>“Pajaro Corazon! Bird of the Heart!<br /> +Some knight of honor in those bygone days<br /> +Of dreams and gold and quests through desert lands,<br /> +Seeing thy blood-red heart flash in the rays<br /> +Of setting sun––which lured him far from Spain––<br /> +Lifted his face and, reading there a sign<br /> +From his dear lady, crossed himself and spake<br /> +Then first, the name which still is thine.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Lucy folded the paper and gazed across at him +rapturously.</p> +<p>“Oh, Rufus,” she cried, “why didn’t you send it to +me?”</p> +<p>“Is it good?” asked Hardy, forgetting his pose; and +when she nodded solemnly he said:</p> +<p>“There is another verse––look on the other side.”</p> +<p>Lucy turned the paper over quickly and read again:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent6'> </span>“Pajaro Corazon! Bird of the Heart!<br /> +Some Padre, wayworn, stooping towards his grave,<br /> +Whom God by devious ways had sent so far,<br /> +So far from Spain––still pressing on to save +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span><br /> +The souls He loved, now, raising up his eyes<br /> +And seeing on thy breast the bleeding heart<br /> +Of Jesus, cast his robes aside and spake<br /> +Thy name––and set that place apart.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>As she followed the lines Hardy watched her face +with eyes that grew strangely soft and gentle. It +was Lucy Ware of all the world who understood him. +Others laughed, or pitied, or overdid it, or remained +unmoved, but Lucy with her trusting blue eyes and +broad poet’s brow––a brow which always made him +think of Mrs. Browning who was a poet indeed, she +always read his heart, in her he could safely trust. +And now, when those dear eyes filled up with tears +he could have taken her hand, yes, he could have +kissed her––if he had not been afraid.</p> +<p>“Rufus,” she said at last, “you are a poet.” And +then she dried her eyes and smiled.</p> +<p>“Let me read some more,” she pleaded; but Hardy +held the bundle resolutely away.</p> +<p>“No,” he said gently, “it is enough to have pleased +you once. You know poetry is like music; it is an +expression of thoughts which are more than thoughts. +They come up out of the great sea of our inner soul +like the breath of flowers from a hidden garden, like +the sound of breakers from the ocean cliffs; but not +every one can scent their fragrance, and some ears are +too dull to hear music in the rush of waters. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +when one has caught the music of another’s song then +it is best to stop before––before some discord comes. +Lucy,” he began, as his soul within him rose up and +clamored for it knew not what, “Lucy––”</p> +<p>He paused, and the woman hung upon his lips to +catch the words.</p> +<p>“Yes?” she said, but the thought had suddenly left +him. It was a great longing––that he knew––a great +desire, unsensed because unknown––but deep, deep.</p> +<p>“Yes––Rufus?” she breathed, leaning over; but the +light had gone out of his eyes and he gazed at her +strangely.</p> +<p>“It is nothing,” he murmured, “nothing. I––I +have forgotten what I was going to say.” He sighed, +and looked moodily at his feet. “The thoughts of a +would-be poet,” he mused, cynically. “How valuable +they are––how the world must long for them––when +he even forgets them himself! I guess I’d +better keep still and let you talk a while,” he ended, +absently. But Lucy Ware sat gazing before her in +silence.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it time we returned?” she asked, after a +while. “You know I have a great deal to do.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” said Hardy, easily, “I’ll help +you. What do you want to do––clean house?”</p> +<p>Lucy could have cried at her hero’s sudden lapse––from +Parnassus to the scullery, from love to the commonplaces +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +of living; but she had schooled herself to +bear with him, since patience is a woman’s part. Yet +her honest blue eyes were not adapted to concealment +and, furtively taking note of her distress, Hardy fell +into the role of a penitent.</p> +<p>“Is my garden such a poor place,” he inquired +gravely, “that you must leave it the moment we have +come? You have not even seen <i>Chupa Rosa</i>.”</p> +<p>“Well, show me <i>Chupa Rosa</i>––and then we will +go.”</p> +<p>She spoke the words reluctantly, rising slowly to +her feet; and Hardy knew that in some hidden way +he had hurt her, yet in what regard he could not tell. +A vague uneasiness came over him and he tried awkwardly +to make amends for his fault, but good intentions +never yet crossed a river or healed a breach.</p> +<p>“Here is her nest,” he said, “almost above our seat. +Look, Lucy, it is made out of willow down and +spider webs, bound round and round the twig. Don’t +you want to see the eggs? Look!” He bent the limb +until the dainty white treasures, half buried in the +fluffy down, were revealed––but still she did not smile.</p> +<p>“Oh, stop, Rufus!” she cried, “what will the mother-bird +think? She might be frightened at us and leave +her nest. Come, let’s hurry away before she sees us!”</p> +<p>She turned and walked quickly down the valley, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +never pausing to look back, even when Rufus stopped +to pluck a flower from among the rocks.</p> +<p>“Here,” he said, after he had helped her down the +Indian stairway; and when she held up her hand, +passively, he dropped a forget-me-not into it.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried, carried away for a moment, “do +they grow down here?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, soberly, “even here. And they––sometimes +you find them where you wouldn’t expect––in +rough places, you know, and among the stones. +I––I hope you will keep it,” he said, simply. And +Lucy divined what was in his heart, better perhaps +than he himself; but when at last she was alone she +buried her face in the pillow, and for a long time the +house was very still.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII_A_SNOWSCENE' id='CHAPTER_XIII_A_SNOWSCENE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>A SNOW-SCENE</h3> +</div> +<p>There was a big fire out under the mesquite +that night and a band of cowboys, in all the +bravery of spurs, shaps, and pistols, romped around it +in a stage-struck exuberance of spirits. The night +was hardly cold enough to call for fringed leather +<i>chaparejos</i>, and their guns should have been left in +their blankets; nor are long-shanked Texas spurs +quite the proper thing about camp, having a dirty +way of catching and tripping their wearers; but the +<i>rodéo</i> outfit felt that it was on dress parade and was +trying its best to look the cowboy part. Bill Lightfoot +even had a red silk handkerchief draped about +his neck, with the slack in front, like a German +napkin; and his cartridge belt was slung so low that +it threatened every moment to drop his huge Colt’s +revolver into the dirt––but who could say a word?</p> +<p>The news of Judge Ware’s visit had passed +through the Four Peaks country like the rumor of +an Indian uprising and every man rode into Hidden +Water with an eye out for calico, some with a foolish +grin, some downcast and reserved, some swaggering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +in the natural pride of the lady’s man. But +a becoming modesty had kept Lucy Ware indoors, +and Kitty had limited herself to a furtive survey of +the scene from behind what was left of Sallie Winship’s +lace curtains. With the subtle wisdom of a +<i>rodéo</i> boss Jefferson Creede had excused himself +to the ladies at the first sound of jangling horse-bells, +and now he kept resolutely away from the house, +busying himself with the manifold duties of his position. +To the leading questions of Bill Lightfoot and +the “fly bunch” which followed his lead he turned a +deaf ear or replied in unsatisfying monosyllables; +and at last, as the fire lit up the trees and flickered +upon their guns and silver-mounted trappings and +no fair maids sallied forth to admire them, the overwrought +emotions of the cowboys sought expression +in song.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“Oh my little girl she lives in the town,”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>chanted Lightfoot, and the fly bunch, catching the +contagion, joined promptly in on the refrain:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><i>“A toodle link, a toodle link, a too––oo-dle a day!”</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>At this sudden and suggestive outbreak Jeff +Creede surveyed Bill Lightfoot coldly and puffed +on his cigarette. Bill was always trying to make +trouble.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“And every time I see ’er, she asts me f’r a gown,”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></div> +<p>carolled the leading cowboy; and the bunch, not to +seem faint-hearted, chimed in again:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><i>“Reladin to reladin, and reladin to relate!”</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Now they were verging toward the sensational +part of the ballad, the place where a real gentleman +would quit, but Lightfoot only tossed his head +defiantly.</p> +<p>“O-Oh––” he began, and then he stopped with his +mouth open. The <i>rodéo</i> boss had suddenly risen +to an upright position and fixed him with his eye.</p> +<p>“I like to see you boys enjoyin’ yourselves,” he +observed, quietly, “but please don’t discuss <i>politics</i> +or <i>religion</i> while them ladies is over at the house. +You better switch off onto ‘My Bonnie Lies over the +Ocean,’ Bill.” And Bill switched.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” he demanded aggrieved, +“ain’t anybody but you got any rights and privileges +around here? You go sportin’ around and havin’ a +good time all day, but as soon as one of us punchers +opens his mouth you want to jump down his throat. +What do <i>we</i> know about ladies––<i>I</i> ain’t seen none!”</p> +<p>The discussion of the moral code which followed +was becoming acrimonious and personal to a degree +when a peal of girlish laughter echoed from the +ranch house and the cowboys beheld Judge Ware +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +and Hardy, accompanied by Miss Lucy and Kitty +Bonnair, coming towards their fire. A less tactful +man might have taken advantage of the hush to utter +a final word of warning to his rebellious subjects, but +Creede knew Kitty Bonnair and the human heart +too well. As the party came into camp he rose +quietly and introduced the judge and the ladies to +every man present, without deviation and without +exception, and then, having offered Miss Ware his +cracker box, he moved over a man or two and sat +down.</p> +<p>In the bulk of his mighty frame, the rugged power +of his countenance, and the unconscious authority of +his words he was easily master of them all; but though +he had the voice of Mars and a head like Olympian +Zeus he must needs abase his proud spirit to the +demands of the occasion, for the jealousy of mortal +man is a proverb. Where the punchers that he hired +for thirty dollars a month were decked out in shaps +and handkerchiefs he sat in his shirt-sleeves and overalls, +with only his high-heeled boots and the enormous +black sombrero which he always wore, to mark him +for their king. And the first merry question which +Miss Kitty asked he allowed to pass unnoticed, until +Bill Lightfoot––to save the credit of the bunch––answered +it himself.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></div> +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” he replied politely. “That was a +genuwine cowboy song we was singin’––we sing ’em +to keep the cattle awake at night.”</p> +<p>“Oh, how interesting!” exclaimed Kitty, leaning +forward in her eagerness. “But why do you try to +keep them awake? I should think they would be so +tired, after travelling all day.”</p> +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” responded Bill, twisting his silk +handkerchief nervously, “but if they go to sleep and +anything wakes ’em up quick they stompede––so we +ride through ’em and sing songs.”</p> +<p>“Just think of that, Lucy!” cried Miss Kitty enthusiastically. +“And it was such a pretty tune, too! +Won’t you sing it again, Mr. Lightfoot? I’d just +love to hear it!”</p> +<p>Here was a facer for Mr. Lightfoot, and Jefferson +Creede, to whom all eyes were turned in the crisis, +smiled maliciously and let him sweat.</p> +<p>“Bill ain’t in very good voice to-night,” he observed +at last, as the suspense became unbearable, “and +we’re kinder bashful about singin’ to company, anyway. +But if you want to hear somethin’ good, you +want to git Bill goin’ about Coloraydo. Sure, Mr. +Lightfoot is our best story-teller; and he’s had some +mighty excitin’ times up there in them parts, hain’t +you, Bill?”</p> +<p>Bill cast a baleful glance at his rival and thrust +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +out his chin insolently. His Coloraydo experiences +were a matter of jest with Jeff Creede, but with the +ladies it might be different. His courage rose before +the flattering solicitude of Kitty Bonnair and he resolved +then and there to fool Mr. Creede or know +the reason why.</p> +<p>“Well,” he replied, stoutly, “they may look kinder +tame alongside of your Arizona lies, but––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mr. Lightfoot, <i>do</i> tell me all about it!” broke +in Kitty, with an alluring smile. “Colorado is an +awfully wild country, isn’t it? And did you ever +have any adventures with bears?”</p> +<p>“Bears!” exclaimed Bill contemptuously. “Bears! +Huh, we don’t take no more account of ordinary +bears up in Coloraydo than they do of coons down +here. But them big silver-tips––ump-um––excuse +<i>me</i>!” He paused and swaggered a little on the +precarious support of his cracker box. “And yet, +Miss Bunnair,” he said, lowering his voice to a confidential +key, “I slept a whole night with one of +them big fellers and never turned a hair. I could’ve +killed him the next day, too, but I was so grateful to +him I spared his life.”</p> +<p>This was the regular “come-on” for Lightfoot’s +snow-storm story, and Creede showed his white teeth +scornfully as Bill leaned back and began the yarn.</p> +<p>“You see, Miss Bunnair,” began the Colorado cowboy, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +rolling his eyes about the circle to quell any +tendency to give him away, “Coloraydo is an altogether +different country from this here. The mountains +is mighty steep and brushy, with snow on the +peaks, and the cactus ain’t more ’n a inch high out +on the perairie. But they’s plenty of feed and water––you +betcher life I wisht I was back there now instead +of fightin’ sheep down here! The only thing +aginst that country up there is the blizzards. Them +storms is very destructive to life. Yes, ma’am. +They’s never any notice given but suddenly the wind +will begin to blow and the cattle will begin to drift, +and then about the time your horse is give out and +your ears frozen it’ll begin to snow!</p> +<p>“Well, this time I’m tellin’ about I was up on the +Canadian River west of the Medicine Bow Mountains +and she came on to snow––and snow, I thought it +would bury me alive! I was lost in a big park––a +kind of plain or perairie among the mountains. +Yes’m, they have’m there––big level places––and it +was thirty miles across this here level perairie. The +wind was blowin’ something awful and the snow just +piled up on my hat like somebody was shovellin’ it off +a roof, but I kept strugglin’ on and tryin’ to git to +the other side, or maybe find some sheltered place, +until it was like walkin’ in your sleep. And that +light fluffy snow jest closed in over me until I was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +covered up ten feet deep. Of course my horse had +give out long ago, and I was jest beginnin’ to despair +when I come across one of them big piles of rocks +they have up there, scattered around promiscus-like +on the face of nature; and I begin crawlin’ in and +crawlin’ in, hopin’ to find some cave or somethin’, +and jest as I was despairin’ my feet fell into a kind +of trail, kinder smooth and worn, but old, you know, +and stomped hard under the snow. Well, I follers +along this path with my feet until it come to a hole +in the rocks; and when I come to that hole I went +right in, fer I was desprit; and I crawled in and +crawled in until I come to a big nest of leaves, and +then I begin to burrow down into them leaves. And +as soon as I had made a hole I pulled them leaves +over me and fell to sleep, I was that exhausted.</p> +<p>“But after a while I had some awful bad dreams, +and when I woke up I felt somethin’ kickin’ under +me. Yes ’m, that’s right; I felt somethin’ kinder +movin’ around and squirmin’, and when I begin to +investergate I found I was layin’ down right square +on top of a tremenjous big grizzly bear! Well, you +fellers can laugh, but I was, all the same. What do +you know about it, you woolies, punchin’ cows down +here in the rocks and cactus?</p> +<p>“How’s that, Miss Bunnair? W’y sure, he was +hibernatin’! They all hibernate up in them cold +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +countries. Well, the funny part of this was that +Old Brin had gone to sleep suckin’ his off fore foot, +jest like a little baby, and when I had piled in on top +of him I had knocked his paw out of his mouth and he +was tryin’ to git it back. But he was all quilled up +with himself under them leaves, and his claws was so +long he couldn’t git that foot back into his mouth +nohow. He snooped and grabbed and fumbled, and +every minute he was gittin’ madder and madder, a-suckin’ +and slobberin’ like a calf tryin’ to draw milk +out of the hired man’s thumb, and a-gruntin’ and +groanin’ somethin’ awful.</p> +<p>“Well, I see my finish in about a minute if he ever +got good an’ woke up, so I resolved to do somethin’ +desprit. I jest naturally grabbed onto that foot and +twisted it around and stuck it into his mouth myself! +Afraid? Ump-um, not me––the only thing I was +afraid of was that he’d git my hand and go to suckin’ +it by mistake. But when I steered his paw around +in front of him he jest grabbed onto that big black +pad on the bottom of his foot like it was m’lasses +candy, and went off to sleep again as peaceful as a +kitten.”</p> +<p>The man from Coloraydo ended his tale abruptly, +with an air of suspense, and Kitty Bonnair took the +cue.</p> +<p>“What did I do then?” demanded Lightfoot, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +a reminiscent smile. “Well, it was a ground-hog case +with me––if I moved I’d freeze to death and if I +knocked his paw out’n his mouth again he’d mash +my face in with it––so I jest snuggled down against +him, tucked my head under his chin, and went to +sleep, holdin’ that paw in his mouth with both +hands.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mr. Lightfoot,” exclaimed Kitty, “how could +you? Why, that’s the most remarkable experience +I ever heard of! Lucy, I’m going to put that story +in my book when I get home, and––but what <i>are</i> you +laughing at, Mr. Creede?”</p> +<p>“Who? Me?” inquired Jeff, who had been rocking +about as if helpless with laughter. “W’y, <i>I</i> ain’t +laughin’!”</p> +<p>“Yes, you are too!” accused Miss Kitty. “And I +want you to tell me what it is. Don’t you think Mr. +Lightfoot’s story is true?”</p> +<p>“True?” echoed Creede, soberly. “W’y, sure it’s +true. I ain’t never been up in those parts; but if Bill +says so, that settles it. I never knew a feller from +Coloraydo yet that could tell a lie. No, I was jest +laughin’ to think of that old bear suckin’ his paw that +way.”</p> +<p>He added this last with such an air of subterfuge +and evasion that Kitty was not deceived for a +moment.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></div> +<p>“No, you’re <i>not</i>, Mr. Creede,” she cried, “you’re +just making fun of me––so there!”</p> +<p>She stamped her foot and pouted prettily, and the +big cowboy’s face took on a look of great concern.</p> +<p>“Oh, no, ma’am,” he protested, “but since it’s gone +so far I reckon I’ll have to come through now in +order to square myself. Of course I never had no +real adventures, you know,––nothin’ that you would +care to write down or put in a book, like Bill’s,––but +jest hearin’ him tell that story of gittin’ snowed in +reminded me of a little experience I had up north +here in Coconino County. You know Arizona ain’t +all sand and cactus––not by no means. Them San +Francisco Mountains up above Flag are sure snow-crested +and covered with tall timber and it gits so +cold up there in the winter-time that it breaks rocks. +No, that’s straight! Them prospectors up there +when they run short of powder jest drill a line of +holes in a rock and when one of them awful cold snaps +comes on they run out and fill the holes up with hot +water out of the tea-kittle. Well, sir, when that water +freezes, which it does in about a minute, it jest +naturally busts them rocks wide open––but that ain’t +what I started to tell you about.”</p> +<p>He paused and contemplated his hearers with impressive +dignity.</p> +<p>“Cold ain’t nothin’,” he continued gravely, “after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +you git used to it; but once in a while, ladies, she +snows up there. And when I say ‘snows’ I don’t +refer to such phenominer as Bill was tellin’ about up +in Coloraydo, but the real genuwine Arizona article––the +kind that gits started and can’t stop, no more ’n a +cloudburst. Well, one time I was knockin’ around +up there in Coconino when I ought to’ve been at +home, and I come to a big plain or perairie that was +<i>seventy miles across</i>, and I got lost on that big plain, +right in the dead of winter. They was an awful cold +wind blowin’ at the time, but I could see the mountains +on the other side and so I struck out for ’em. +But jest as I got in the middle of that great plain or +perairie, she come on to snow. At first she come +straight down, kinder soft and fluffy; then she began +to beat in from the sides, and the flakes began to git +bigger and bigger, until I felt like the Chinaman that +walked down Main Street when they had that snow-storm +in Tucson. Yes, sir, it was jest like havin’ +every old whiskey bum in town soakin’ you with +snow-balls––and all the kids thrown in.</p> +<p>“My horse he began to puff and blow and the snow +began to bank up higher and higher in front of us +and on top of us until, bymeby, he couldn’t stand no +more, and he jest laid down and died. Well, of +course that put me afoot and I was almost despairin’. +The snow was stacked up on top of me about ten feet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +deep and I was desprit, but I kept surgin’ right +ahead, punchin’ a hole through that fluffy stuff, until +she was twenty foot deep. But I wasn’t afraid none––ump-um, +not me––I jest kept a-crawlin’ and a-crawlin’, +hopin’ to find some rocks or shelter, until +she stacked up on top of me thirty foot deep. <i>Thirty +foot</i>––and slumped down on top o’ me until I felt +like a horny-toad under a haystack. Well, I was +gittin’ powerful weak and puny, but jest as I was +despairin’ I come across a big rock, right out there in +the middle of that great plain or perairie. I tried +to crawl around that old rock but the snow was pushin’ +down so heavy on top o’ me I couldn’t do nothin’, +and so when she was <i>fif-ty-two foot deep</i> by actual +measurement I jest give out an’ laid down to die.”</p> +<p>He paused and fixed a speculative eye on Bill +Lightfoot.</p> +<p>“I reckon that would be considered pretty deep up +in Coloraydo,” he suggested, and then he began to +roll a cigarette. Sitting in rigid postures before the +fire the punchers surveyed his face with slow and suspicious +glances; and for once Kitty Bonnair was +silent, watching his deliberate motions with a troubled +frown. Balanced rakishly upon his cracker box Bill +Lightfoot regarded his rival with a sneering smile, a +retort trembling on his lips, but Creede only leaned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +forward and picked a smoking brand from the fire––he +was waiting for the “come-on.”</p> +<p>Now to ask the expected question at the end of +such a story was to take a big chance. Having been +bitten a time or two all around, the <i>rodéo</i> hands were +wary of Jeff Creede and his barbed jests; the visitors, +being ignorant, were still gaping expectantly; it was +up to Bill Lightfoot to spring the mine. For a +moment he hesitated, and then his red-hot impetuosity, +which had often got him into trouble before, carried +him away.</p> +<p>“W’y, sure it would be deep for Coloraydo,” he +answered, guardedly.</p> +<p>Jefferson Creede glanced up at him, smoking +luxuriously, holding the cigarette to his lips with his +hand as if concealing a smile.</p> +<p>“Aw, rats,” snapped out Lightfoot at last, “why +don’t you finish up and quit? What happened then?”</p> +<p>“Then?” drawled Creede, with a slow smile. “W’y, +nothin’, Bill––<i>I died</i>!”</p> +<p>“Ah-hah-hah!” yelled the punchers, throwing up +handfuls of dirt in the extravagance of their delight, +and before Bill could realize the enormity of the sell +one of his own partisans rose up and kicked the +cracker box out from under him in token of utter +defeat. For an hour after their precipitate retreat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +the visitors could hear the whoops and gibes of the +cowboys, the loud-mouthed and indignant retorts of +Lightfoot, and the soothing remonstrances of Jefferson +Creede––and from the house Kitty the irrepressible, +added to their merriment a shriek of silvery +laughter. But after it was all over and he had won, +the round-up boss swore soberly at himself and +sighed, for he discerned on the morrow’s horizon the +Indian signs of trouble.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV_FOREBODINGS' id='CHAPTER_XIV_FOREBODINGS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>FOREBODINGS</h3> +</div> +<p>To the Eastern eye, blinded by local color, the Four +Peaks country looked like a large and pleasantly +variegated cactus garden, sparsely populated with rollicking, +fun-loving cowboys who wore their interesting +six-shooters solely to keep their balance in the +saddle. The new grass stood untrampled beneath the +bushes on Bronco Mesa, there were buds and flowers +everywhere, and the wind was as sweet and untainted +as if it drew out of Eden. But somewhere, somewhere +in that great wilderness of peaks which lay to the +south and through which only the dogged sheepmen +could fight their way, stealthily hidden, yet watching, +lay Jasper Swope and his sheep. And not only +Jasper with his pet man-killing Chihuahuano and all +those low-browed <i>compadres</i> whom he called by circumlocution +“brothers,” but Jim, sore with his defeat, +and many others––and every man armed.</p> +<p>After the first rain they had disappeared from +the desert absolutely, their tracks pointing toward the +east. The drought had hit them hard, and the cold of +Winter; yet the ewes had lambed in the springtime, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +and as if by magic the tender grass shot up to feed +their little ones. Surely, God was good to the sheep. +They were ranging far, now that the shearing was +over, but though they fed to the topmost peaks of the +Superstitions, driving the crooked-horned mountain +sheep from their pastures, their destiny lay to the +north, in the cool valleys of the Sierra Blancas; and +there in the end they would go, though they left havoc +in their wake. Once before the sheep had vanished +in this same way, mysteriously; and at last, travelling +circuitous ways and dealing misery to many Tonto +cowmen, they had poured over the very summit of the +Four Peaks and down upon Bronco Mesa. And +now, though they were hidden, every man on the +round-up felt their presence and knew that the upper +range was in jeopardy.</p> +<p>After amusing the ladies with inconsequential tales, +the <i>rodéo</i> outfit therefore rose up and was gone before +the light, raking the exposed lowland for its toll of +half-fed steers; and even Rufus Hardy, the parlor-broke +friend and lover, slipped away before any of +them were stirring and rode far up along the river. +What a river it was now, this unbridled Salagua which +had been their moat and rampart for so many years! +Its waters flowed thin and impotent over the rapids, +lying in clear pools against the base of the black cliffs, +and the current that had uprooted trees like feathers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +was turned aside by a snag. Where before the sheep +had hung upon its flank hoping at last to swim at +Hidden Water, the old ewes now strayed along its +sandy bed, browsing upon the willows. From the +towering black buttes that walled in Hell’s Hip +Pocket to the Rio Verde it was passable for a spring +lamb, and though the thin grass stood up fresh and +green on the mesas the river showed nothing but +drought. Drought and the sheep, those were the twin +evils of the Four Peaks country; they lowered the +price of cattle and set men to riding the range restlessly. +For the drought is a visitation of God, to be +accepted and endured, but sheep may be turned back.</p> +<p>As he rode rapidly along the river trail, halting on +each ridge to search the landscape for sheep, Hardy’s +conscience smote him for the single day he had spent +in camp, dallying within sight of Kitty or talking with +Lucy Ware. One such day, if the sheepmen were +prepared, and Bronco Mesa would be a desert. +Threats, violence, strategy, would be of no avail, once +the evil was done; the sheep must be turned back at +the river or they would swarm in upon the whole +upper range. One man could turn them there, for it +was the dead line; but once across they would scatter +like quail before a hawk, crouching and hiding in +the gulches, refusing to move, yet creeping with brutish +stubbornness toward the north and leaving a clean +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +swath behind. There were four passes that cut their +way down from the southern mountains to the banks +of the river, old trails of Apaches and wild game, and +to quiet his mind Hardy looked for tracks at every +crossing before he turned Chapuli’s head toward +camp.</p> +<p>The smoke was drifting from the chimney when, +late in the afternoon, he rode past the door and saw +Lucy Ware inside, struggling with an iron kettle +before the fireplace. Poor Lucy, she had undertaken +a hard problem, for there is as much difference +between camp cooking and home cooking as there +is between a Dutch oven and a steel range, and a +cooking-school graduate has to forget a whole lot before +she can catch the knack of the open fire. For the +second time that day Rufus Hardy’s conscience, so +lately exercised over his neglect of the sheep, rose +up and rebuked him. Throwing Chapuli into the +corral he kicked off his spurs and shaps and gave +Lucy her first lesson in frontier cookery; taught her +by the force of his example how to waste her wood +and save her back; and at the end of the short demonstration +he sat down without ceremony, and fell to +eating.</p> +<p>“Excuse me,” he said, “if I seem to be greedy, but +I had my breakfast before sun-up. Where’s your +father, and Kitty?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></div> +<p>“Oh, they had the Mexican boy catch their horses +for them and have ridden up the valley to watch for +the cattle. I stayed behind to make my first water +color, and then––I thought you would be coming +back soon, so I tried to cook supper instead. I’m +a pretty good housekeeper––at home,” she said +apologetically.</p> +<p>Hardy watched her as she experimented painstakingly +with the fire, scooping out shovelfuls of coal +from beneath the glowing logs and planting her pots +and kettles upon them with a hooked stick, according +to instructions.</p> +<p>“You look like a picture of one of our sainted +Puritan ancestors,” he observed, at last, “and that’s +just exactly the way they cooked, too––over an open +fire. How does it feel to be Priscilla?”</p> +<p>“Well, if Priscilla’s hands looked like mine,” exclaimed +Lucy despairingly, “John Alden must have +been madly in love with her. How <i>do</i> you keep yours +clean?”</p> +<p>“That’s a secret,” replied Hardy, “but I’ll tell +you. I never touch the outside of a pot––and I +scour them with sandsoap. But I wish you’d stop +cooking, Lucy; it makes me feel conscience-stricken. +You are my guests, remember, even if I do go off and +neglect you for a whole day; and when you go back to +Berkeley I want you to have something more interesting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +than housekeeping to talk about. Didn’t I see +two ladies’ saddles out in the wagon?”</p> +<p>Miss Lucy’s eyes lighted up with pleasure as, anticipating +his drift, she nodded her head.</p> +<p>“Well then,” said Hardy, with finality, “if you’ll +get up early in the morning, I’ll catch you a little +pony that I gentled myself, and we can ride up the +river together. How does that strike you?”</p> +<p>“Fine!” exclaimed Lucy, with sudden enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“Oh, Rufus,” she cried impulsively, “if you only +knew how weak and helpless a thing it is to be a +woman––and how glad we are to be noticed! Why, +I was just thinking before you came in that about the +only really helpful thing a woman could do in this +world was just to stay around home and cook the +meals.”</p> +<p>“Well, you just let me cook those meals for a +while,” said Rufus, with brotherly authority, “and +come out and be a man for a change. Can you ride +pretty well?”</p> +<p>Lucy glanced at him questioningly, and thought +she read what was in his mind.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “I can ride, but––but I just +couldn’t bring myself to dress like Kitty!” she burst +out. “I know it’s foolish, but I can’t bear to have +people notice me so. But I’ll be a man in everything +else, if you’ll only give me a chance.” She stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +before him, radiant, eager, her eyes sparkling like a +child’s, and suddenly Hardy realized how much she +lost by being always with Kitty. Seen by herself +she was as lithe and graceful as a fairy, with a steady +gaze very rare in women, and eyes which changed like +the shadows in a pool, answering every mood in wind +and sky, yet always with their own true light. Her +cheeks glowed with the fresh color which her father’s +still retained, and she had inherited his generous +nature, too; but in mind and stature she took after +her dainty mother, whose exquisite grace and beauty +had made her one of the elect. Perhaps it was this +quality of the petite in her which appealed to him––for +a little man cannot endure to be laughed at for +his size, even in secret––or perhaps it was only the +intuitive response to a something which in his prepossession +he only vaguely sensed, but Rufus Hardy +felt his heart go out to her in a moment and his voice +sank once more to the caressing fulness which she +most loved to hear.</p> +<p>“Ah, Lucy,” he said, “you need never try to be a +man in order to ride with me. It would be hard luck +if a woman like you had to ask twice for anything. +Will you go out with me every day? No? Then I +shall ask you every day, and you shall go whenever +you please! But you know how it is. The sheepmen +are hiding along the river waiting for a chance to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +sneak across, and if I should stay in camp for a +single day they might make a break––and then we +would have a war. Your father doesn’t understand +that, but I do; and I know that Jeff will never submit +to being sheeped out without a fight. Can’t you +see how it is? I should like to stay here and entertain +you, and yet I must protect your father’s cattle, and +I must protect Jeff. But if you will ride out with +me when it is not too hot, I––it––well, you’ll go to-morrow, +won’t you?”</p> +<p>He rose and took her hand impulsively, and then +as quickly dropped it and turned away. The +muffled <i>chuck, chuck,</i> of a horse’s feet stepping past +the door smote upon his ear, and a moment later a +clear voice hailed them.</p> +<p>“What <i>are</i> you children chattering about in +there?” cried Kitty Bonnair, and Hardy, after a +guilty silence, replied:</p> +<p>“The ways of the weary world. Won’t you come +in and have the last word?”</p> +<p>He stepped out and held Pinto by the head, and +Kitty dropped off and sank wearily into a rawhide +chair.</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m too tired to talk, riding around trying +to find those cattle––and just as I was tired out we +saw them coming, away out on The Rolls. Lucy, do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +put on your riding habit and go back on Pinto––you +haven’t been out of the house to-day!”</p> +<p>As half an hour later Lucy Ware trotted +obediently away, riding up the cañon toward the +distant bawling of cattle, Kitty turned suddenly +upon Hardy with half-closed, accusing eyes.</p> +<p>“You seem to be very happy with Lucy,” she said, +with an aggrieved smile. “But why,” she continued, +with quickening animus, “why should you seek to +avoid me? Isn’t it enough that I should come clear +down here to see you? But when I want to have a +word with you after our long silence I have to scheme +and manage like a gypsy!”</p> +<p>She paused, and flicked her booted leg with the +lash of a horsehair quirt, glancing at him furtively +with eyes that drooped with an appealing sadness.</p> +<p>“If I had known how hard-hearted you could be,” +she said, after a silence, “I should never have spoken +as I did, if the words choked me. But now that +I have come part way and offered my poor friendship +again, you might––oh Rufus, how could you be +so inconsiderate! No one can ever know what I +suffered when you left that way. Every one knew +we were the best of friends, and several people even +knew that you had been to see me. And then, without +a word, without a sign, with no explanation, to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +leave and be gone for years––think what they +must have thought! Oh, it was too humiliating!”</p> +<p>She paused again, and to Hardy’s apprehensive +eyes she seemed on the verge of tears. So he spoke, +blindly and without consideration, filled with a man’s +anxiety to stave off this final catastrophe.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” he began, though he had never +meant to say it, “but––but there was nothing else +to do! You––you told me to go. You said you +never wanted to see me again, and––you were not +very kind to me, then.” He paused, and at the +memory of those last words of hers, uttered long +ago, the flush of shame mantled his cheeks.</p> +<p>“Every man has his limit,” he said bluntly, “and +I am no dog, to be scolded and punished and sent +away. I have been ashamed many times for what +I did, but I had to keep my own respect––and so +I left. Is it too much for a man to go away when +he is told?”</p> +<p>Kitty Bonnair fixed him with her dark eyes and +shook her head sadly.</p> +<p>“Ah, Rufus,” she sighed, “when will you ever +learn that a woman does not always mean all she +says? When you had made me so happy by your +tender consideration––for you could be considerate +when you chose––I said that I loved you; and I +did, but not in the way you thought. I did mean it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +at the moment, from my heart, but not for life––it +was no surrender, no promise––I just loved you for +being so good and kind. But when, taking advantage +of what I said in a moment of weakness, you +tried to claim that which I had never given, I––I +said more than I meant again. Don’t you understand? +I was hurt, and disappointed, and I spoke +without thinking, but you must not hold that against +me forever! And after I have come clear down here––to +avoid me––to always go out with Lucy and +leave me alone––to force me to arrange a meeting––”</p> +<p>She stopped, and Hardy shifted uneasily in his +seat. In his heart of hearts he had realized from the +first his inequality in this losing battle. He was +like a man who goes into a contest conquered already +by his ineptitude at arms––and Kitty would have +her way! Never but once had he defied her power, +and that had been more a flight than a victory. There +was fighting blood in his veins, but it turned to water +before her. He despised himself for it; but all the +while, in a shifting, browbeaten way, he was seeking +for an excuse to capitulate.</p> +<p>“But, Kitty,” he pleaded, “be reasonable. I have +my duties down here––the sheep are trying to come +in on us––I have to patrol the river. This morning +before you were awake I was in the saddle, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +now I have just returned. To-morrow I shall be +off again, so how can I arrange a meeting?”</p> +<p>He held out his hands to her appealingly, carried +away by the force of his own logic.</p> +<p>“You might at least invite me to go with you,” she +said. “Unless you expect me to spend all my time +getting lost with Judge Ware,” she added, with a +plaintive break in her voice.</p> +<p>“Why, yes––yes,” began Hardy haltingly. “I––I +have asked Lucy to go with me to-morrow, +but––”</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you––thank you!” burst out Kitty +mockingly. “But what?”</p> +<p>“Why, I thought you might like to come along +too,” suggested Hardy awkwardly.</p> +<p>“What? And rob her of all her pleasure?” Kitty +smiled bitterly as she turned upon him. “Why, +Rufus Hardy,” she exclaimed, indignantly, “and she +just dotes on every word you say! Yes, she does––any +one can see that she simply adores you. I declare, +Rufus, your lack of perception would make an +angel weep––especially if it was a lady angel. +But you may as well understand once and for all +that I will never deprive dear, patient, long-suffering +Lucy of anything she sets her heart on. No, I +will <i>not</i> go with you the next day. If you haven’t +consideration enough to invite me first, I have sense +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +enough to stay away. It was only yesterday that +you took Lucy up to Hidden Water, and to-day I +find you with her again; and to-morrow––well, I +perceive that I must amuse myself down here. But––oh, +look, look! There’s a cowboy––up on that +high cliff!”</p> +<p>She started up, pointing at a horseman who was +spurring furiously along the side of the cañon after +a runaway steer.</p> +<p>“Oh, look!” she cried again, as Hardy surveyed him +indifferently. “He is whirling his lasso. Oh! He +has thrown it over that big cow’s horns! Goodness +me, where is my horse? No, I am going on foot, +then! Oh, Lucy––Lucy dear,” she screamed, waving +her hand wildly, “do let me have Pinto, just for +a moment! All right––and Lucy––wasn’t that +Mr. Creede?” She lingered on the ground long +enough to give her an ecstatic kiss and then swung +up into the saddle. “Yes, I knew it––and isn’t he +just perfectly grand on that big horse? Oh, I’ve +been wanting to see this all my life––and I owe it +all to you!”</p> +<p>With a smile and a gay salutation, she leaned +forward and galloped out into the riot and confusion +of the <i>rodéo</i>, skirting the edge of the bellowing herd +until she disappeared in the dust. And somehow, +even by the childlike obliviousness with which she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +scampered away, she managed to convey a pang to +her errant lover which clutched at his heart for days.</p> +<p>And what days those were for Jefferson Creede! +Deep and devious as was his knowledge of men in the +rough, the ways of a woman in love were as cryptic +to him as the poems of Browning. The first day +that Miss Kitty rode forth to be a cowboy it was the +<i>rodéo</i> boss, indulgent, but aware of the tenderfoot’s +ability to make trouble, who soberly assigned his fair +disciple to guard a pass over which no cow could +possibly come. And Kitty, sensing the deceit, had as +soberly amused herself by gathering flowers among +the rocks. But the next day, having learned her +first lesson, she struck for a job to ride, and it was +the giddy-headed lover who permitted her to accompany +him––although not from any obvious or selfish +motives.</p> +<p>Miss Bonnair was the guest of the ranch, her life +and welfare being placed for the time in the keeping +of the boss. What kind of a foreman would it be +who would turn her over to a hireling or intrust her +innocent mind to a depraved individual like Bill +Lightfoot? And all the decent cowmen were scared +of her, so who was naturally indicated and elected but +Jefferson D. Creede?</p> +<p>There wasn’t any branding at the round corral +that night. The gather was a fizzle, for some reason, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +though Miss Kitty rode Pinto to a finish and killed +a rattlesnake with Creede’s own gun. Well, they +never did catch many cattle the first few days,––after +they had picked up the tame bunch that hung around +the water,––and the dry weather seemed to have +driven the cows in from The Rolls. But when they +came in the second afternoon, with only a half of +their gather, Creede rode out from the hold-up herd +to meet them, looking pretty black.</p> +<p>It is the duty of a <i>rodéo</i> boss to know what is +going on, if he has to ride a horse to death to find out; +and the next day, after sending every man down his +ridge, Jeff left Kitty Bonnair talking lion hunt +with old Bill Johnson who had ridden clear over +from Hell’s Hip Pocket to gaze upon this horse-riding +Diana, and disappeared. As a result, Bat +Wings was lathered to a fine dirt-color and there +was one man in particular that the boss wanted to +see.</p> +<p>“Jim,” he said, riding up to where one of the Clark +boys was sullenly lashing the drag with his <i>reata</i>, +“what in the hell do you mean by lettin’ all them +cattle get away? Yes, you did too. I saw you tryin’ +to turn ’em back, so don’t try to hand me anything +like that. I used to think you was a good puncher, +Jim, but a man that can’t keep a herd of cows from +goin’ through a box pass ought to be smokin’ cigarettes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +on the day herd. You bet ye! All you had to +do was be there––and that’s jest exactly where you +wasn’t! I was up on top of that rocky butte, and I +know. You was half a mile up the cañon mousin’ +around in them cliffs, that’s where you was, and the +only question I want to ask is, Did you find the Lost +Dutchman? No? Then what in hell was you +doin’?”</p> +<p>The <i>rodéo</i> boss crowded his horse in close and +thrust his face forward until he could look him +squarely in the eye, and Clark jerked back his head +resentfully.</p> +<p>“What is it to you?” he demanded belligerently.</p> +<p>“Oh, nawthin’,” returned the boss lightly, “jest +wanted to know.”</p> +<p>“Uhr!” grunted the cowboy contemptuously. +“Well, I was killin’ snakes, then! What ye goin’ +to do about it?”</p> +<p>“Snakes!” cried Creede incredulously. “Killin’ +snakes! Since when did you call a feud on them?”</p> +<p>“Since thet young lady come,” replied Clark, +glancing around to see if any one had the nerve to +laugh. “I heerd her say she was collectin’ rattles; +an’ I thought, while I was waitin’, I might as well +rustle up a few. Oh, you don’t need to look pop-eyed––they’s +others!”</p> +<p>He rolled his eyes significantly at the group of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +assembled cowboys, and Creede took it all in at a +flash. There <i>were</i> others––he himself had a set of +rattles in his shap pocket that were not two hours +from the stump. The situation called for diplomacy.</p> +<p>“Well,” he drawled, scratching his bushy head to +cover his confusion, “this reflects great credit on your +bringin’ up, Jim, and I’m sure Miss Bonnair will +appreciate what you’ve done for her, especially as I +happened to notice a couple o’ head of your own cows +in that bunch, but it’s a mighty expensive way to +collect snake-tails. We ain’t gittin’ the cattle, boys; +that’s the size of it, and they’re as much yours as they +are mine. Now I suggest that we run these few +we’ve got down to the corral and brand ’em quick––and +then the whole shootin’-match goes over to the +big white cliff and rounds up every rattlesnake in the +rock pile! Is it a go?”</p> +<p>“Sure!” yelled the bunch impetuously, and as they +charged down upon the herd Creede quietly fished +out his snake-tail and dropped it in the dirt.</p> +<p>If he lacked a virtue he could feign it, anyhow––but +there was no doubt about it, Miss Kitty was putting +his <i>rodéo</i> on the bum. There had never been so +many men to feed and so few calves to brand in the +history of Hidden Water. Even old Bill Johnson had +got the fever from hearing the boys talk and was hanging +around the fire. But then, what were a few head +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +of cows compared to––well, what was it, anyway? +The only man who could stay away was Rufe, and he +was in good company.</p> +<p>Yet Creede was not satisfied with this explanation. +Miss Kitty was always asking questions about +Rufe––they had known each other well in Berkeley––and +at the same time the little partner with whom +he had been so friendly never came around any more. +He was always very polite, and she called him by +his first name––and then one of them rode up the +river and the other followed the round-up.</p> +<p>The night after the big snake-killing Jefferson +Creede picked up his blankets and moved quietly +back to the <i>ramada</i> with Hardy.</p> +<p>“Them locoed punchers have been skinnin’ rattlers +and stretchin’ their hides,” he said, “until the camp +stinks like a buzzard roost. I’m due to have some +bad dreams to-night anyhow, on the strength of this +snake-killin’, but it’d give me the jumpin’ jimjams +if I had to sleep next to them remains. Didn’t git +back in time to join in, did ye? Well, no great loss. +I always did intend to clean out that snake hole +over’n the cliff, and the boys was stoppin’ every time +they heard one sing, anyhow, in order to git the rattles +for Miss Bonnair, so I thought we might as well git +it off our minds before somethin’ worse turned up. +See any sheep tracks?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span></div> +<p>He kicked off his boots, poked his six-shooter under +his pillow, and settled down comfortably for the +night.</p> +<p>“Nary one, eh?” he repeated musingly. “Well, +when you see one you’ll see a million––that’s been +my experience. But say, Rufe, why don’t you come +and ride with the boys once in a while? The <i>rodéo</i> +has been goin’ rotten this year––we ain’t gittin’ +half of ’em––and you’d come in mighty handy. +Besides, I’ve been braggin’ you up to Miss Bonnair.”</p> +<p>He dropped this last as a bait, but Hardy did not +respond.</p> +<p>“I told her you was the best bronco-buster in the +Four Peaks country,” continued Creede deliberately, +“and that you could drift Chapuli over the rocks +like a sand lizard; but I’m too heavy for anything +like that now, and Bill Lightfoot has been puttin’ +up the fancy work, so far. You know how I like +Bill.”</p> +<p>Once more he waited for an answer, but Hardy +was wrestling with those elementary passions which +have been making trouble since Helen of Troy left +home, and he received the remark in silence.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you, Rufe,” said Creede, lowering his +voice confidentially. “Of course I see how it is with +you and Miss Ware, and I’m glad of it; but things +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +ain’t goin’ so lovely for me. It ain’t my fault if +Miss Bonnair happens to like my company, but Bill +and some of the other boys have got their backs up +over it, and they’ve practically gone on a strike. +Leastwise we ain’t gittin’ the cattle, and God knows +the range won’t more ’n carry what’s left. I’ve got +to git out and do some ridin’, and at the same time +I want to do the right thing by Miss Bonnair, so if +you could jest kindly come along with us to-morrow +I’ll be much obliged.”</p> +<p>The elemental passions––man-love, jealousy, +the lust for possession––are ugly things at best, even +when locked in the bosom of a poet. In their simplest +terms they make for treachery and stealth; but when +complicated with the higher call of friendship and +duty they gall a man like the chains of Prometheus +and send the dragon-clawed eagles of Jove to tear at +his vitals. Never until this naive confession had +Hardy suspected the sanity of his friend nor the constancy +of Kitty Bonnair. That she was capable of +such an adventure he had never dreamed––and yet––and +yet––where was there a more masterful man +than Jeff? Anything can happen in love; and who +was there more capable of winning a romantic +woman’s regard than good-natured, impulsive, domineering +Jeff?</p> +<p>The thoughts flashed through his brain with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +rapidity of lightning, and only his instinct of reserve +protected him from his blundering tongue.</p> +<p>“I––I was––” he began, and stopped short. +The idea of loyalty had ruled his mind so long that +it had become a habit, ill suited to the cause of a +jealous lover; and Jeff had confided to him as a +child might run to its mother. Should a man take +advantage of his friend’s innocence to deprive him of +that for which they both strove? Hardy fought the +devil away and spoke again, quietly.</p> +<p>“I was going up the river to-morrow, Jeff,” he +said. “Seemed to me I saw a kind of smoke, or dust, +over south of Hell’s Hip Pocket this afternoon––and +we can’t take any chances now. That would +take all day, you know.”</p> +<p>He lay still after that, his brain whirling with contending +emotions. Each evening as he listened to +the music of her laughter he had resolved to quit +his lonely watch and snatch from life the pleasure of +a single day with Kitty, such days as they used to +have when he was her unacknowledged lover and all +the world was young. Then he could always please +her. He could bend to her moods like a willow, +braving the storms of her displeasure, which only +drew them closer in the end, secure in the hope of +her ultimate yielding. But now the two barren +years lay between; years which had stiffened his jaw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +and left him rough in his ways; years which had +wrought some change in her, he knew not what. A +single day might solve the crux––nay, it might bring +the great happiness of which he dreamed. But each +morning as he woke with the dawn he saw that +mighty army without banners, the sheep, marching +upon their stronghold, the broad mesa which fed the +last of Jeff’s cows, and Judge Ware’s, and Lucy’s––and +sprang from his blankets. And when the sun +rose and Kitty came forth he was far away. But +now––</p> +<p>He was awakened from his dreams by the voice of +Creede, low, vibrant, full of brotherly love.</p> +<p>“Rufe,” he was saying, “Miss Bonnair has told me +a lot about you––a lot I didn’t know. She likes you, +boy, and she’s a good woman. I never knowed but +one like her, and that was Sallie Winship. You +mustn’t let anything that’s happened stand between +you. Of course she never said anything––never said +a word––but I’m wise that way; I can tell by +their voice, and all that. You want to let them +dam’ sheep go for a day or two and git this thing +patched up.”</p> +<p>He paused, and Hardy’s mind whirled backward, +upsetting his fears, unmaking his conclusions. It +was Jeff the friend who spoke, Jeff the peacemaker, +who had stampeded him by the equivocation of his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +words. But now the voice broke in again, apologetic, +solicitous, self-seeking.</p> +<p>“Besides, that son-of-a-gun, Bill Lightfoot, has +been tryin’ to cut me out.”</p> +<p>God! There it hit him hard. Kitty, the immaculate, +the exquisite, the friend of poets and artists, the +woman he had loved and cherished in his dreams––striven +for by Jeff and Bill, revelling in the homage +of Mexicans and hard-drinking round-up hands, +whose natural language was astench with uncleanliness. +It was like beholding a dainty flower in the +grime and brutality of the branding pen.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, Jeff,” he said, in a far-away voice. +“I––I’d do anything I could for you––but I’m +afraid of those sheep.”</p> +<p>He dragged miserably through the remnant of +their conversation and then lay staring at the stars +while his hulk of a partner, this great bear who in +his awkward good nature had trampled upon holy +ground, slept peacefully by his side. The Pleiades +fled away before Orion, the Scorpion rose up in +the south and sank again, the Morning Star blinked +and blazed like a distant fire, such as shepherds +kindle upon the ridges, and still Hardy lay in his +blankets, fighting with himself. The great blackness +which precedes the first glow of dawn found him +haggard and weary of the struggle. He rose and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +threw wood on the coals of last night’s fire, cooked +and ate in silence, and rode away. There was a +great burden upon his soul, a great fire and anger in +his heart, and he questioned the verities of life. He +rode up the river gloomily, searching the southern +wilderness with frowning, bloodshot eyes, and once +more, far to the east where the jagged cliffs of the +Superstitions sweep down to the gorge of the Salagua +and Hell’s Hip Pocket bars the river’s sweep, +he saw that vague, impalpable haze––a smoke, a +dust, a veil of the lightest skein, stirred idly by some +wandering wind, perhaps, or marking the trail of +sheep. And as he looked upon it his melancholy +gaze changed to a staring, hawk-like intentness; he +leaned forward in the saddle and Chapuli stepped +eagerly down the slope, head up, as if he sniffed the +battle.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV_THE_CATASTROPHE' id='CHAPTER_XV_THE_CATASTROPHE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>THE CATASTROPHE</h3> +</div> +<p>A demon of unrest, twin devil to that which +had so clutched and torn at the sensitive spirit +of Rufus Hardy, seemed to rise up with the dawn +of that ill-omened day and seize upon the camp at +Hidden Water. It was like a touch of the north +wind, which rumples the cat’s back, sets the horses +to fighting in the corrals, and makes men mean and +generally contrary. Bill Johnson’s hounds were the +first to feel the madness. They left before sun-up, +heading for the wooded heights of the Juate, and +led him a weary chase. At the last moment Creede +abandoned the unprofitable working of The Rolls +and ordered the <i>rodéo</i> up onto Bronco Mesa; and +Kitty Bonnair, taking advantage of his preoccupation, +quietly gave him the slip at the end of their +long eastern detour, and turned her pinto’s head +toward the river.</p> +<p>As for Kitty, her will was the wind’s will, which +changes with the times and seasons but is accountable +to no universal law. Never in her life had she met +a man who could quarrel like Rufus Hardy. Beneath +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +her eye he was as clay in the hands of the +potter; every glance spoke love, and for her alone. +And yet it was something more than a smouldering +resentment which made him avoid her, riding +out before the dawn; more than the tremulous +bashfulness which had stayed his hand when at times +he might have taken hers. There was something +deep, hidden, mysterious, lurking in those fawnlike +eyes, and it made him insurgent against her will. +It was a secret, hidden from all the world, which he +must yield to her. And then she would forgive him +for all the unhappiness he had caused her and teach +him what a thing it is for a woman to love and be +misunderstood. But first––first she must see him +alone; she must burst upon him suddenly, taking +his heart by storm as she had on that first day, and +leave the rest to fate. So she lingered to gather +some flowers which nodded among the rocks, the +shy and dainty forget-me-nots which they had picked +together at home; and when Creede was over the +first ridge she struck out boldly up a side cañon, +tucking the miniature bouquet into the shadows of +her hair.</p> +<p>The southern flank of Bronco Mesa breaks off +sharply above the Salagua, rising slowly by slopes +and terraced benches to the heights, and giving way +before the river in a succession of broken ridges. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +Along these summits run winding trails, led high +to escape the rougher ground. Urged on by the +slashings of her quirt, Pinto galloped recklessly +through this maze of cow paths until as if by magic +the great valley lay before them. There in its deep +cañon was the river and the river trail––and a man, +mounted upon a sorrel horse, savagely intent upon +his way. For a minute Kitty studied him curiously +as he hustled along, favoring his horse up the hills +but swinging to the stirrup as he dodged bushes +across the flats; then she flung out her hand impulsively, +and called his name. In a flash he was up +in his saddle, looking. Chapuli tossed his head and +in the act caught a glimpse of the other horse––then +they both stood rigid, gazing in astonishment at the +living statue against the sky. At sight of that witching +figure, beckoning him from the mountain top, +Hardy’s heart leaped within him and stopped. Once +more the little hand was thrown out against the sky +and a merry voice floated down to him from the sun-touched +heights.</p> +<p>“Hello, Rufus!” it called teasingly, and still he sat +gazing up at her. All the untamed passions of his +being surged up and choked his voice––he could not +answer. His head turned and he gazed furtively +over his shoulder to the east, where his duty lay. +Then of his own accord Chapuli stepped from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +trail and began to pick his way soberly up the +hill.</p> +<p>From the high summit of the butte all the world lay +spread out like a panorama,––the slopes and cañons +of Bronco Mesa, picketed with giant <i>sahuaros</i>; the +silvery course of the river flowing below; the unpeopled +peaks and cliffs of the Superstitions; and a faint +haze-like zephyr, floating upon the eastern horizon. +And there at last the eyes of Rufus Hardy and +Kitty Bonnair met, questioning each other, and the +world below them took on a soft, dreamy veil of +beauty.</p> +<p>“Why, how did you come here?” he asked, looking +down upon her wonderingly. “Were you +lost?”</p> +<p>And Kitty smiled wistfully as she answered:</p> +<p>“Yes––till I found you.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Hardy, and he studied her face warily, +as if doubtful of her intent.</p> +<p>“But how could you be lost,” he asked again, “and +travel so far? This is a rough country, and you +got here before I did.”</p> +<p>He swung down from his horse and stood beside +her, but Kitty only laughed mischievously and shook +her head––at which, by some lover’s magic, the +dainty forget-me-nots fell from her hair in a shower +of snowy blossoms.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span></div> +<p>“I was lost,” she reiterated, smiling into his eyes, +and in her gaze Hardy could read––“without you.”</p> +<p>For a moment the stern sorrow of the night withheld +him. His eyes narrowed, and he opened his +lips to speak. Then, bowing his head, he knelt and +gathered up the flowers.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said gently, “I understand. I––I +have been lost, too.”</p> +<p>They smiled and sat down together in the shadow +of a great rock, gazing out over the peaks and pinnacles +of the mountains which wall in Hidden +Water and talking placidly of the old days––until +at last, when the spell of the past was on +him, Kitty fell silent, waiting for him to speak +his heart.</p> +<p>But instantly the spell of her laughter was broken +an uneasy thought came upon Hardy, and he +glanced up at the soaring sun.</p> +<p>“Jeff will be worried about you,” he said at last. +“He will think you are lost and give up the <i>rodéo</i> to +hunt for you. We must not stay here so long.”</p> +<p>He turned his head instinctively as he spoke, and +Kitty knew he was thinking of the sheep.</p> +<p>“Cattle and sheep––cattle and sheep,” she repeated +slowly. “Is there nothing else that counts, +Rufus, in all this broad land? Must friendship, +love, companionship, all go down before cattle and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +sheep? I never knew before what a poor creature +a woman was until I came to Arizona.”</p> +<p>She glanced at him from beneath her drooping +lashes, and saw his jaws set tense.</p> +<p>“And yet only yesterday,” he said, with a sombre +smile, “you had twenty men risking their lives to give +you some snake-tails for playthings.”</p> +<p>“But my old friend Rufus was not among them,” +rejoined Kitty quietly; and once more she watched +the venom working in his blood.</p> +<p>“No,” he replied, “he refuses to compete with Bill +Lightfoot at any price.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Rufus,” cried Kitty, turning upon him +angrily, “aren’t you ashamed? I want you to stop +being jealous of all my friends. It is the meanest +and most contemptible thing a man can do. I––I +won’t stand it!”</p> +<p>He glanced at her again with the same set look of +disapproval still upon his face.</p> +<p>“Kitty,” he said, “if you knew what lives some +of those men lead––the thoughts they think, the language +they speak––you––you would not––” He +stopped, for the sudden tears were in her eyes. +Kitty was crying.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +<img src='images/illus-287.jpg' alt='' title='' width='412' height='622' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“No!” said Kitty, “you do not love me”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“Oh, Rufus,” she sobbed, “if––if you only knew! +Who else could I go with––how––how else––Oh, +I cannot bear to be scolded and––I only did it to +make you jealous!” She bowed her head against +her knees and Hardy gazed at her in awe, shame +and compassion sweeping over him as he realized +what she had done.</p> +<p>“Kitty––dear,” he stammered, striving to unlock +the twisted fingers, “I––I didn’t understand. +Look, here are your flowers and––I love you, Kitty, +if I am a brute.” He took one hand and held it, +stroking the little fingers which he had so often longed +to caress. But with a sudden wilfulness she turned +her face away.</p> +<p>“Don’t you love me, Kitty?” he pleaded. +“Couldn’t you, if I should try to be good and kind? +I––I don’t understand women––I know I have +hurt you––but I loved you all the time. Can’t +you forgive me, Kitty?”</p> +<p>But Kitty only shook her head. “The man I love +must be my master,” she said, in a far-away voice, +not looking at him. “He must value me above all +the world.”</p> +<p>“But, Kitty,” protested Hardy, “I do––”</p> +<p>“No,” said Kitty, “you do <i>not</i> love me.”</p> +<p>There was a lash to the words that cut him––a +scorn half-spoken, half-expressed by the slant of her +eye. As he hesitated he felt the hot blood burn +at his brow.</p> +<p>“Rufus,” she cried, turning upon him quickly, “<i>do</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +you love me? Then take me in your arms and kiss +me!” She spoke the words fiercely, almost as a +command, and Hardy started back as if he had been +shot.</p> +<p>“Take me in your arms and kiss me!” she repeated +evenly, a flash of scorn in her eyes. But the +man who had said he loved her faltered and looked +away.</p> +<p>“Kitty,” he said gently, “you know I love you. +But––”</p> +<p>“But what?” she demanded sharply.</p> +<p>“I––I have never––”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Kitty briefly, “it’s all over––you +don’t have to! I just wanted to show you––” She +paused, and her lip curled as she gazed at him from +a distance. “Look at my horse,” she exclaimed suddenly, +pointing to where Pinto was pawing and jerking +at his bridle rein. When Hardy leapt up to +free his foot she frowned again, for that is not the +way of lovers.</p> +<p>He came back slowly, leading the horse, his face +very pale, his eyes set.</p> +<p>“You were right,” he said. “Shall we go?”</p> +<p>There was no apology in his voice, no appeal. It +had grown suddenly firm and resonant, and he fixed +her with his great honest eyes steadfastly. Something +in the man seemed to rise up suddenly and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +rebuke her––nay, to declare her unworthy of him. +The thought of those two years––two years without +a word––came upon Kitty and left her sober, filled +with misgivings for the future. She cast about for +some excuse, some reason for delay, and still those +masterful eyes were fixed upon her––sad, wistful, +yet steadfast; and like a child she obeyed them.</p> +<p>It was a long ride to camp, long for both of +them. When he had turned her horse into the corral +Hardy wheeled and rode off up the cañon, where +the hold-up herd was bellowing and there was a man’s +work to do. There was wild riding that day, such +as Judge Ware and Lucy had never seen before, +and more than one outlaw, loping for the hills, was +roped and thrown, and then lashed back to his place +in the herd. The sensitive spirit of Chapuli responded +like a twin being to the sudden madness +of his master, and the lagging <i>rodéo</i> hands were +galvanized into action by his impetuous ardor. And +at the end, when the roping and branding were over, +Hardy rode down to the pasture for a fresh mount, +his eyes still burning with a feverish light and his lips +close-drawn and silent.</p> +<p>The outfit was huddled about the fire eating +greedily after the long day, when Creede, furtively +watching his partner, saw his eyes fixed curiously +upon some object in the outer darkness. He followed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +the glance and beheld a hound––gaunt, lame, +beseeching––limping about among the mesquite +trees which lined the edge of the flat.</p> +<p>“There’s one of Bill’s dogs,” he remarked sociably, +speaking to the crowd in general. “Must’ve got +sore-footed and come back. Here, Rock! Here, +Rye! Here, Ring!” he called, trying the most likely +names. “Here, puppy––come on, boy!” And he +scraped a plate in that inviting way which is supposed +to suggest feed to a dog. But Hardy rose up +quietly from his place and went out to the dog. A +moment later he called to Jeff and, after a hurried +conference, the two of them brought the wanderer +up to the fire.</p> +<p>“Hey!” called Bill Lightfoot, “that ain’t one of +Bill’s pack––that’s old Turco, his home dog.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you think I know Bill’s dogs yet?” inquired +Creede scathingly. “Now if you’ll jest kindly +keep your face shet a minute, I’ll see what’s the +matter with this leg.”</p> +<p>He clamped Turco between his knees and picked +up his fore leg, while the old dog whined and licked +his hands anxiously. There was a stain of blood +from the shoulder down, and above it, cut neatly +through the muscles, a gaping wound.</p> +<p>“That was a thirty-thirty,” said Creede grimly, +and every man looked up. Thirty-thirty was a sinister +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +number on the range––it was the calibre of a +sheep-herder’s carbine.</p> +<p>“Aw, go on,” scoffed Bill Lightfoot, rushing over +to examine the wound. “Who could have shot him––away +over in Hell’s Hip Pocket?”</p> +<p>“Um––that’s it,” observed Creede significantly. +“What you goin’ to do, Rufe?”</p> +<p>“I’m going over there,” answered Hardy, throwing +the saddle on his horse. He looked over his +shoulder as he heaved on the cinch. “That’s where +that dust was,” he said, and as the outfit stood gaping +he swung up and was off into the darkness.</p> +<p>“Hey, take my gun!” yelled Jeff, but the clatter +of hoofs never faltered––he was going it blind and +unarmed. Late that night another horseman on a +flea-bitten gray dashed madly after him over the +Pocket trail. It was Old Bill Johnson, crazed with +apprehension; and behind him straggled his hounds, +worn from their long chase after the lion, but following +dutifully on their master’s scent. The rest +of the outfit rode over in the morning––the punchers +with their pistols thrust into the legs of their +shaps; Creede black and staring with anger; the +judge asking a thousand unanswered questions and +protesting against any resort to violence; the women +tagging along helplessly, simply because they could +not be left alone. And there, pouring forth from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +the mouth of Hell’s Hip Pocket, came the sheep, a +solid phalanx, urged on by plunging herders and +spreading out over the broad mesa like an invading +army. Upon the peaks and ridges round about +stood groups of men, like skirmishers––camp +rustlers with their packs and burros; herders, whose +sheep had already passed through––every man with +his gun in his hand. The solid earth of the trail was +worn down and stamped to dust beneath the myriad +feet, rising in a cloud above them as they scrambled +through the pass; and above all other sounds there +rose the high, sustained tremolo of the sheep:</p> +<p>“<i>Blay-ay-ay-ay! Blay-ay-ay-ay! Blay-ay-ay-ay!</i>”</p> +<p>To the ears of the herders it was music, like the +thunder of stamps to a miner or the rumble of a +waterfall to a lonely fisher; the old, unlistened music +of their calling, above which the clamor of the world +must fight its way. But to the cowmen it was like all +hell broken loose, a confusion, a madness, a babel +which roused every passion in their being and filled +them with a lust to kill.</p> +<p>Without looking to the right or to the left, Jefferson +Creede fixed his eyes upon one man in that riot +of workers and rode for him as a corral hand marks +down a steer. It was Jasper Swope, hustling the +last of a herd through the narrow defile, and as his +Chihuahuanos caught sight of the burly figure bearing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +down upon the <i>padron</i> they abandoned their +work to help him. From the hill above, Jim Swope, +his face set like iron for the conflict, rode in to back +up his brother; and from far down the cañon Rufus +Hardy came spurring like the wind to take his place +by Creede.</p> +<p>In the elemental clangor of the sheep they faced +each other, Creede towering on his horse, his face +furious with rage; Swope gray with the dust of his +driving but undaunted by the assault.</p> +<p>“Stop where you are!” shouted Swope, holding +out a warning hand as the cowman showed no sign +of halting. But Creede came straight on, never +flinching, until he had almost ridden him down.</p> +<p>“You low-lived, sheep-eatin’ hound,” he hissed, +piling in the wickedest of his range epithets, “you +and me have had it comin’ fer quite a while, and now +I’ve got you. I’ve never yet seen a sheepman that +would fight in the open, but you’ve got to or take +<i>that</i>!” He leaned over suddenly and slapped him +with his open hand, laughing recklessly at the Mexicans +as they brandished their guns and shouted.</p> +<p>“<i>Quite se, cabrones</i>,” he jeered, sorting out the +worst of his fighting Spanish for their benefit, “you +are all gutter pups––you are afraid to shoot!”</p> +<p>“Here,” rasped out Jim Swope, spurring his horse +in between them, “what are you fellers tryin’ to do? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +Git out of here, <i>umbre</i>––go on now! Never mind, +Jasp, I’ll do the talkin’. You go on away, will ye! +Now what’s the matter with you, Mr. Creede, and +what can I do for you?”</p> +<p>Jasper Swope had whirled back from the blow as +a rattler throws his coils. His gray eyes gleamed +and he showed all his broken teeth as he spat back +hate and defiance at Creede; but Jim was his elder +brother and had bested him more than once since +the days of their boyish quarrels. Slowly and +grudgingly he made way, backing sullenly off with +his Mexicans; and Jim stood alone, opposing his +cold resolution to the white-hot wrath of Creede.</p> +<p>“You can turn back them sheep and git off my +range!” yelled Creede. “Turn ’em back, I say, or +I’ll leave my mark on some of you!”</p> +<p>“How can I turn ’em back?” argued Swope, throwing +out his hands. “They’s ninety thousand more +behind me, and all headin’ through this pass.”</p> +<p>“You know very well that this is a put-up job,” +retorted Creede hotly. “You sheepmen have been +crawlin’ around on your bellies for a month to get +a chanst to sheep us out, and now you say you can’t +help yourself! You’re the crookedest, lyingest +sheep-puller in the bunch, Jim Swope. You’d rob +a graveyard and show up for prayers the next +mornin’. I can lick you, you big Mormon-faced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +stiff, with one hand tied behind me, and what’s +more––”</p> +<p>“Here now––here no-ow––” protested Swope, +holding out his hand for peace, “they ain’t no call +for no such talk. Mebbe you can lick me, and mebbe +you can’t, but it won’t do you any good to try. My +sheep is here, and here they’ll stay, until I git good +and ready to move ’em. This is a free range and a +free country, and the man ain’t born that can make +me stop.”</p> +<p>He paused, and fixed his keen eyes upon Creede, +searching him to the heart; and before that cold, remorseless +gaze the fighting frenzy in his brain died +away. Meanwhile Hardy had come up from where +he had been turning back sheep, and as he rode in +Jeff instinctively made way for him.</p> +<p>“No,” replied Hardy, fastening his stern eyes upon +the iron visage of the sheepman, “not if the lives of +a thousand cattle and the last possessions of a dozen +men lay in your way. You and your legal rights! +It is men like you who make the law worse than +nothing and turn honest cowmen into criminals. If +there is anything in it you will lie to the assessor or +rob a poor man’s cabin with the best of them, but +when it comes to your legal right to sheep us out you +are all for law and order. Sure, you will uphold +the statutes with your life! Look at those renegade +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +Mexicans, every man armed by you with a rifle and +a revolver! Is that the way to come onto another +man’s range? If you are going to sheep us out, you +can try it on; but for God’s sake cut it out about +your sacred rights!”</p> +<p>He rose up in his saddle, haranguing the assembly +as he spoke, and once more Jim Swope felt his cause +being weakened by the attacks of this vehement little +cowman.</p> +<p>“Well, what kin I do about it?” he cried, throwing +out his hands in virtuous appeal. “My sheep has got +to eat, hain’t they?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” assented Hardy, “and so have our cattle. +But I tell you what you can do––you can go out +through that pass yonder!”</p> +<p>He pointed at the cañon down which the sheep had +come in the Fall, the great middle fork which led +up over the Four Peaks; but the sheepman’s only +reply was a snarl of refusal.</p> +<p>“Not if I know myself,” he muttered spitefully. +“How’d do, Judge!” He fixed his eyes eagerly +upon Judge Ware, who was hastening to join in +the struggle. “You’re just the man I want to +see,” he continued, advancing briskly to meet him, +“and I want to ask you, here and now before these +witnesses, do you claim any right to the exclusive use +of this land?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></div> +<p>“Why, certainly not, certainly not,” answered the +judge warmly, “but at the same time I do claim an +equity which rises from prior and undisputed possession, +and which has always and ought now to protect +my range from any outside invasion.”</p> +<p>“Very likely, very likely,” remarked Swope dryly. +“And now, Judge, I want to ask you another question +before these witnesses. Did you or did you not +authorize your superintendent and foreman to +threaten and intimidate my men and me, with the +idea of driving us off this public land?”</p> +<p>“I did not,” replied the judge, his mind suddenly +filled with visions of criminal proceedings. “On the +contrary, I have repeatedly warned them against any +such action.”</p> +<p>“At the same time,” echoed Swope, quick to follow +up his advantage, “these men, who are your agents +and employees, have systematically moved my herders +off this range by armed violence, and your foreman +has just now struck my brother, besides +threatening to kill some of us if we don’t turn back. +I want to tell you right now, Mr. Ware, that I have +consulted the best lawyers in this Territory as to +my rights on public lands, and you will be held personally +responsible for any acts of violence on the +part of your employees. Now I want to ask you +one more question: Do you deny my right to pass +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +through this range on my way to the Sierra Blancas? +You don’t? Well then, call off these men!”</p> +<p>He paused and jerked his thumb toward Creede +and Hardy, grinning evilly, and as he spoke Creede +crowded forward, his brow black as a thunder cloud.</p> +<p>“I don’t take orders from nobody,” he cried vehemently, +“not now, and never will. I’ve got a few +hundred head of cows on this range myself and I +intend to protect ’em if I have to kill somebody. +You’ll have to git another foreman, Judge,––I’ve +quit.”</p> +<p>He shot a glance of pitying contempt at the man +who had so stupidly marred their fortunes, then +he turned and fixed his burning eyes upon his archenemy.</p> +<p>“Jim,” he said, speaking quietly at last, “my +father had ten thousand head of cattle on this range +before you sheepmen came––and that’s all I’ve got +left. If you think you can sheep me out, go to it!”</p> +<p>He turned his horse’s head toward Hidden Water, +never looking back at the sheep; and the cowmen +fell in behind him, glad of an excuse to retreat. +What were a bunch of cowboys, armed with six-shooters, +to half a hundred sheepmen armed with +repeating rifles and automatic revolvers? No, it was +better to let the sheep come, let them spread out and +scatter, and then jump the herders at night, if it came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +to that. But what, reasoned the cautious ones, were +a few hundred head of cows anyhow, in a losing fight +against the law itself? What was a petty revenge +upon some low-browed Mexican to the years of imprisonment +in Yuma which might follow? There +were some among that little band of cowmen who +yelled for action, others who were disgusted enough +to quit, and others yet who said nothing, riding +by themselves or exchanging furtive glances with +Creede. The Clark boys, Ben Reavis, and Juan +Ortega––these were the men whom the <i>rodéo</i> boss +knew he could trust, and none of them spoke a word.</p> +<p>Worn and haggard from his night’s riding, Rufus +Hardy rode along with Judge Ware and the ladies, +explaining the situation to them. The sheep had +come in from the far east, crossing where sheep had +never crossed before, at the junction of Hell’s Hip +Pocket Creek and the drought-shrunk Salagua. +They had poured into the Pocket in solid columns, +sheeping it to the rocks, and had taken the pass before +either he or Bill Johnson could get to it. All through +the night the sheepmen had been crowding their +flocks through the defile until there were already +twenty or thirty thousand on Bronco Mesa, with +fifty thousand to follow. Bill Johnson had shot his +way through the jam and disappeared into the +Pocket, but he could do nothing now––his little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +valley was ruined. There would not be a spear of +grass left for his cattle, and his burros had already +come out with the pack animals of the sheepmen. No +one knew what had happened when he reached his +home, but the Mexican herders seemed to be badly +scared, and Johnson had probably tried to drive them +out of the valley.</p> +<p>All this Hardy explained in a perfectly matter-of-fact +way, free from apprehension or excitement; he +listened in respectful silence to Judge Ware’s protests +against violence and threats of instant departure; +and even humored Kitty’s curiosity by admitting that +Mr. Johnson, who was apparently out of his head +when he shot the sheep, had probably taken a shot +or two at the herders, as well. But Lucy Ware was +not deceived by his repose; she saw the cold light +in his eyes, the careful avoidance of any allusion to +his own actions, and the studied concealment of his +future intent. But even then she was not prepared +when, after supper, her father came into the ranch +house and told her that Mr. Hardy had just resigned.</p> +<p>“I can’t imagine why he should leave me at this +time,” exclaimed the judge, mopping the sweat from +his brow, and groaning with vexation, “but a man +who will desert his own father in the way he has +done is capable of anything, I suppose. Just because +he doesn’t approve of my policies in regard +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +to these sheep he coolly says he won’t embarrass me +further by staying in my employ! I declare, Lucy, +I’m afraid I’m going to lose everything I have +down here if both he and Creede desert me. Don’t +you think you could persuade Rufus to stay? Go +out and see him and tell him I will consent to anything––except +this <i>unlawful harrying</i> of the +sheep.”</p> +<p>The old judge, still perspiring with excitement, +sank wearily down into a chair and Lucy came over +and sat upon his knee.</p> +<p>“Father,” she said, “do you remember that you +once told me you would give me this ranch if I +wanted it? Well, I want it now, and perhaps if you +give it to me Rufus will consent to stay.”</p> +<p>“But, daughter––” protested the judge, and then +he sat quiet, pondering upon the matter.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you are right,” he said at last. “But tell +me one thing––there is nothing between you and +Rufus, is there?”</p> +<p>He turned her face so that he could look into her +honest eyes, but Lucy twisted her head away, +blushing.</p> +<p>“No,” she said faintly. “He––he is in love with +Kitty.”</p> +<p>“With Kitty!” cried Judge Ware, outraged at the +idea. “Why, he––but never mind, never mind, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +darling. I am glad at least that it is not with you. +We must be going home soon now, anyway, and that +will break off this––er––But I don’t remember +having seen them together much!”</p> +<p>“No,” said Lucy demurely, “he has been very discreet. +But you haven’t answered my question, +father. Will you give me the ranch if I get Rufus +to stay? Oh, you’re a dear! Now you just leave +everything in my hands and see what a good business +woman I am!”</p> +<p>She skipped lightly out the door and hurried over +to where Hardy and Jefferson Creede were sitting +under a tree, talking gravely together. They +stopped as she approached and Hardy looked up a +little sullenly from where he sat. Then he rose, and +took off his hat.</p> +<p>“May I have a few words with you on a matter +of business, Rufus?” she asked, with her friendliest +smile. “No, don’t go, Mr. Creede; you are interested +in this, too. In fact,” she added mysteriously, +“I need your assistance.”</p> +<p>A slow smile crept into the rough cowboy’s eyes +as he sat watching her.</p> +<p>“What can I do for you?” he inquired guardedly.</p> +<p>“Well,” answered Lucy, “the situation is like this––and +I’m not trying to rope you in on anything, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +as you say, so you needn’t look suspicious. My +father has become so discouraged with the way things +are going that he has given the entire Dos S Ranch +to me––if I can manage it. Now I know that you +both have quit because you don’t approve of my +father’s orders about the sheep. I don’t know what +your plans are but I want to get a new superintendent, +and that’s where I need your assistance, Mr. +Creede.”</p> +<p>She paused long enough to bestow a confiding +smile upon the <i>rodéo</i> boss, and then hurried on to explain +her position.</p> +<p>“Of course you understand how it is with father. +He has been a judge, and it wouldn’t do for a man +in his position to break the laws. But I want you +two men to tell me before you go just what you think +I ought to do to save my cattle, and you can say whatever +you please. Mr. Creede, if you were a woman +and owned the Dos S outfit, what would you do about +the sheep?”</p> +<p>For a minute Creede sat silent, surveying the little +lady from beneath his shaggy hair.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said judicially, “I think I’d do one +of two things: I’d either marry some nice kind +man whose judgment I could trust, and turn the job +over to him,”––he glanced sideways at Hardy as he +spoke,––“or I’d hire some real mean, plug-ugly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +feller to wade in and clean ’em out. Failin’ in that, +I think I’d turn the whole outfit over to Rufe here +and go away and fergit about it.”</p> +<p>He added these last words with a frank directness +which left no doubt as to his own convictions in the +matter, and Lucy turned an inquiring eye upon +Hardy. He was busily engaged in pounding a hole +in the ground with a rock, and Lucy noted for the +first time a trace of silver in his hair. The setting +sun cast deep shadows in the set lines of his face +and when he finally looked up his eyes were bloodshot +and haggard.</p> +<p>“There’s no use in talking to me about that job,” +he said morosely. “I’ve got tired of taking orders +from a man that doesn’t know what he’s talking +about, and I want to use my own judgment for a +while. We won’t let anything happen to your cattle, +Miss Lucy, and I thank you very much, but I’m +afraid I can’t do it.”</p> +<p>He stopped, and bowed his head, hammering +moodily away at his hole in the rocky ground.</p> +<p>“Excuse me a minute, Miss Ware,” said Creede, +rising to his feet as the silence became oppressive. +“Come over here, Rufe, I want to talk with you.”</p> +<p>They stood with their heads together, Jeff tapping +the little man on the chest with every word, and still +there was the same dogged resistance. “Well, come +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +on and let’s find out,” protested Creede at last, impatiently +dragging him back.</p> +<p>“Miss Ware,” he said politely, “what do you expect +of this here supe? I might want that job myself, +later on,” he observed importantly.</p> +<p>Lucy smiled at the bare-faced fraud and hastened +to abet it.</p> +<p>“I expect him to look after my cattle,” she responded +promptly, “and to protect my best interests +according to his own judgment. The only thing I +insist upon is that he leave his gun at home.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” said Creede briefly. “And I needed +the job, too,” he added lugubriously. “How about +your foreman?” he inquired, as if snatching at a +straw. “Same thing, eh? Well, I’ll go you––next +month.”</p> +<p>He laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and crowded +his big black sombrero down over his eyes until it +gave him a comical air of despair.</p> +<p>“Luck’s gone,” he remarked, reaching parenthetically +for a cigarette paper. “See you later.” And, +with a last roguish twinkle at Miss Lucy, he slouched +off toward the fire.</p> +<p>His luck indeed had gone, but somewhere in that +giant carcass which harbored the vindictive hate of +an Apache, and the restless energy of a Texano, +there still lingered the exuberant joyousness of a boy, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +the indomitable spirit of the pioneer, resigned to +any fate so long as there is a laugh in it. As he +drifted into the crowd Lucy’s heart went out to him; +he was so big and strong and manly in this, the final +eclipse of his waning fortunes.</p> +<p>“Mr. Creede is a noble kind of a man, isn’t he?” +she said, turning to where Hardy was still standing. +“Won’t you sit down, Rufus, and let’s talk this over +for a minute. But before you decide anything, I +want you to get a good night’s sleep. You are a +free man now, you know, and if there’s any worrying +to be done it’s my funeral––isn’t it?”</p> +<p>If he heard her at all Hardy made no response +to the jest. He stood before her, swaying dizzily as +he groped about for his hat, which had fallen from +his hand. Then at last a faint smile broke through +the drawn lines in his face.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” he said, sinking down at her side, +and as he settled back against the tree his eyes closed +instantly, like a child whose bedtime has come. +“I’m––I’m so dead tired I can’t talk straight, +Lucy––to say nothing of think. But––I’ll take +care of you. We aren’t sheeped out yet. Only––only +I can’t––I forget what I’m going to say.” +His head fell forward as he spoke, his hands hung +heavy, and he slipped slowly to the ground, fast +asleep.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></div> +<p>After two days and nights of turmoil and passion +his troubles were ended, suddenly; and as she raised +him up Lucy Ware bent down quickly under cover +of the dusk and kissed his rumpled hair.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI_THE_DEPARTURE' id='CHAPTER_XVI_THE_DEPARTURE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>THE DEPARTURE</h3> +</div> +<p>The gentle hand of sleep, which held Hardy in +a grip that was akin to death, blotting out the +past and dispelling all remembrance of his sorrows, +failed utterly to abate the fighting spirit of Jefferson +Creede or sap the Spartan grimness of his purpose. +Worn by the destroying anger of the previous day, +thwarted and apparently defeated, he rose up at the +first glow of dawn and set about his preparations +with an unemotional directness which augured ill +for Jasper Swope. Before the sun was an hour high +he had the town herd on the trail for Bender, entrusted +to the care of Bill Lightfoot and several +others of whom he wanted to be rid. The camp was +dismantled, the packs were loaded upon the spare +horses, and the outfit was ready to start for Carrizo +Creek before breakfast was more than finished in +the ranch house. After a final survey to make sure +that nothing had been overlooked in the scuffle, the +<i>rodéo</i> boss waved his hand to the leaders; then, as +the train strung out up the cañon, he rode over to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +the house to say good-bye. The last farewell is a +formality often dispensed with in the Far West; +but in this case the boss had business to attend to, +and––well, he had something to say to Kitty Bonnair, +too.</p> +<p>Very quietly, in order not to awaken his partner––whom +he had picked up like a tired baby and stored +away in the darkened bunk-room the evening before––Creede +opened the door of the living-room, greeted +his lady-love with a cheerful grin, and beckoned Miss +Lucy outside by a backward jerk of the head.</p> +<p>“Sorry to disturb you, Miss Ware,” he said, “but +we’re movin’ camp this mornin’ and before I go I +want to tell you about them cattle I’m just sendin’ +to town. If I didn’t have other business on hand +I’d go down with you gladly and sell ’em for you, +but when you git to Bender you go to Chris Johansen, +the cattle buyer, and give him this list. You +won’t savvy what it is but Chris will, and you tell +him that if he don’t give you the best market price +for them cows he’ll have to––lick––me! This is +a dry year and feeders ain’t much nohow, but I don’t +want to see no friend of mine robbed. Well, so-long, +Miss Ware. Hope you have a good trip.”</p> +<p>He gripped her hand awkwardly, picked up his +bridle lash, and thrust one boot thoughtfully into +the stirrup. Then, as if suddenly cognizant of a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +neglected duty, he snapped his foot out and threw +the lash back on the ground.</p> +<p>“I’ll say good-bye to the judge,” he drawled, +“so’s to show they ain’t no hard feelin’. Your old +man don’t exactly fit in these parts,” he observed +apologetically, “but he means well, I reckon. You +can tell ’im some time that I was kind of excited +when I quit.”</p> +<p>His farewell was a sober and dignified affair, after +the courtly school of the South––no allusions to the +past, no references to the future, merely a gentlemanly +expression of regret that his guest’s visit +should have been so suddenly terminated. But when +he turned to Miss Kitty his masterful eyes began to +glow and waver and he shifted his feet uneasily.</p> +<p>“Kin I speak with you a minute outside?” he said +at last; and Kitty, still eager to read the heart of +Man, the Unfinished, followed after him, laughing +as he stooped to pass his high hat through the door.</p> +<p>“Come on out by the corral,” he urged, confidently +leading the way. When they were concealed by the +corner of the fence he stopped and dropped his bridle +rein.</p> +<p>“Well, we’ve had a pretty good time together down +here, hain’t we?” he observed, twisting the fringe of +his shaps and smiling at her from beneath his forelock. +“I ain’t got but a minute––and there’s some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +rough work ahead, I reckon––but I jest wanted to––well, +I wanted to give you this.” He dove down +into his overalls’ pocket and brought up a nugget, +worn smooth by long milling around between his +spare change and his jackknife.</p> +<p>“That’s a chunk of gold I found over by Red +Butte one time,” he said, handing it over. “Thought +you might want to keep it for me, you know. But +say––” He crowded his hands into his pockets and +canted his head to one side, ogling her roguishly.</p> +<p>Kitty had never observed just such conduct before, +and she was curious.</p> +<p>“Why––what?” she inquired, tossing back her hair +tantalizingly.</p> +<p>“Don’t I git nothin’ to remember you by, little +girl?” he demanded, his voice vibrant with passion. +“We’ve been pretty good friends, you know. In +fact––well, say, don’t I git jest one kiss?”</p> +<p>He drew her gently into his arms as he spoke, +waited a fraction of a second for her to resist, and +then kissed her, suddenly and with masterful violence.</p> +<p>“One more,” he pleaded insistently. “No? All +right then,” he said, swinging gracefully up on his +horse as she pushed him away. “I’ll always remember +that one, anyhow!”</p> +<p>He leaned forward and Bat Wings shot away up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +the cañon like a charger that sniffs the combat, +thundering out across the <i>parada</i> grounds, swinging +beneath the giant mesquite, and plunging down the +bank that led to the creek. And all the time his +rider sat with one hand on the cantle, his white teeth +flashing back a wistful smile.</p> +<p>Taken by surprise Kitty Bonnair stood staring +blankly after him, rubbing her cheek which burned +hot where he had kissed her. She would always remember +that kiss too, and all too late she remembered +to become indignant. But, no one being +about, she laughed low to herself and hurried back +to the house, her eyes downcast and pensive. She +had known many men and lovers in her time, but +never a one like Jeff Creede.</p> +<p>There was a sound of hasty packing in the Dos S +ranch house that morning, and the wagon drove +noisily up to the door. Rafael carried out the steamer +trunks and luggage, the snake-skins, the smoky opals, +the Indian baskets, the braided quirts, and all the +scattered plunder that the cowboys had given Kitty +and that she could not bear to leave behind. He +saddled up their horses, clattering recklessly into the +bunk-house where Hardy was sleeping in order to +get his blankets, and still, unmindful of noise or +preparation, or the friends who must say good-bye, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +he lay sprawled on the rough blankets, dead with +sleep.</p> +<p>Rafael kicked off the brake and started on his +weary journey around Red Butte to Moreno’s, +which would take him the rest of the day; Judge +Ware, possessed to get out of the country before he +became <i>particeps criminis</i> to some lawless outrage, +paced restlessly up and down the <i>ramada</i>, waiting +for the girls to get ready; and Kitty and Lucy, +glancing guiltily at each other, fidgeted around in +their rooms waiting for Rufus to wake up.</p> +<p>“I’m ready,” said Lucy at last, putting the final +touches to the room which he had given up to her. +“Are you, Kitty?”</p> +<p>Their eyes met in an uneasy stare, each wishing +the other would speak.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Kitty, “but––shall we go without saying +good-bye?”</p> +<p>“What in the world are you girls waiting for?” +demanded the judge, thrusting his head impatiently +in at the door. “I declare, I begin to think there +is something in these jokes about Adam waiting for +Eve to get her hat on straight. Now please come +at once or we won’t get to Moreno’s in time for supper.”</p> +<p>“But, father,” protested Lucy, “Kitty and I do not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +wish to leave without saying good-bye to Rufus. +Would you mind––”</p> +<p>“No, no!” exclaimed Judge Ware irritably, “if he +chooses to sleep all day––”</p> +<p>“But, father!” burst out Lucy, almost tearfully, “he +was so tired––he fell asleep as soon as he sat down, +and I never did get him to consent to be my superintendent! +Don’t you see––”</p> +<p>“Well, write him a note then,” directed the judge +brusquely, “and leave it on his desk. Now, Lucy +dear, really I’m getting so nervous I’m hardly accountable. +<i>Please</i> hurry. And, Kitty, please hurry, +too!”</p> +<p>Like two souls haled from the world without a +word of explanation or confession, Kitty and Lucy +both sat down under duress to pen a last appeal to +the little man who, despite his stern disregard, somehow +held a place in their hearts. Kitty could have +wept with vexation at the thought of not seeing him +again––and after she had brought her mind to forgive +him, too! She wrote blindly, she knew not what, +whether it was accusation or entreaty, and sealed the +envelope with a bang of her tiny fist––and even then +he did not awaken. Lucy wrote carefully, wrestling +to turn the implacable one from his purpose and yet +feeling that he would have his will. She sealed her +note and put it upon his desk hesitatingly; then, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +Kitty turned away, she dropped her handkerchief +beside it. It was a time-worn strategy, such as only +the innocent and guileless think of in their hour of +adversity. When she ran back to recover it Lucy +drew a dainty book from her bosom––Mrs. Browning’s +“Sonnets from the Portuguese”––and placed +it across her note as if to save it from the wind, and +between two leaves she slipped the forget-me-nots +which he had given her at Hidden Water.</p> +<p>As the thud of horses’ hoofs died away silence settled +down upon the Dos S ranch house, the sombre +silence of the desert, unbroken by the murmur of +women’s voices or the echo of merry laughter, and the +sleeping man stirred uneasily on his bed. An hour +passed, and then from the <i>ramada</i> there came a +sound of wailing. Hardy rose up on his bed suddenly, +startled. The memory of the past came to +him vaguely, like fragments of an eerie dream; then +the world came right and he found himself in the +bunk-house, alone––and Tommy outside, crying as +if for the dead. Leaping up from his blankets +Hardy opened the door and called him in––hoarse, +black, distorted, yet overflowing with love and affection. +Poor little Tommy! He took him in his arms +to comfort him, and bedded him down on the pillow. +But when he stepped outside he found that his world +too was vacant––the house deserted, the corrals +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +empty, the <i>rodéo</i> camp a smouldering fireplace, surrounded +by a wilderness of tin cans.</p> +<p>As the slow grief of the forsaken came upon him +he turned and went to his room, where the atmosphere +of womankind still lingered to suggest the +dear hands that were gone, and suddenly his eyes +leaped to the letters left upon the table. It was +Kitty’s which he opened first, perhaps because it was +nearest; but the torrent of inconsequential words +confused him by their unreason and he turned to +Lucy’s, reading it over thoughtfully.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class='smcap'>Dear Rufus</span>:</p> +<p>“We have waited a long time for you to wake up, and now +father says we must go. You were so tired last night that +I doubt if you heard a word I said, although I thought I +was making a great impression in my new role as a business +woman. I asked father to give me the ranch, not because I +wanted to own it but to save you from your madness. The +cattle are all mine now and I leave them in your care. Whatever +you do I will consent to, if you will leave your guns at +home. Is that too much for a friend to ask? I know that +Mr. Creede is your friend too, and I admire your devotion +to his cause, but I think you can do just as much for him +and more by not risking your life in a battle against the sheep. +They are so many, Rufus, and they have their rights, too. +Father is confident that the Forest Reserve will be declared +next Winter and then the sheep will be debarred forever. +Can’t you give over the fight for my sake? And I will pay +you any price––I will do anything you ask; but if you should +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +be killed or kill some other man, I could never be happy again, +though I gained the whole world. Dear Rufus, please––but +I leave it for you to decide––”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The note ended abruptly, it was not even signed, +and Hardy could imagine the agitation in which it +was written. Dear little Lucy, always thinking of +others, always considerate, always honest and reasonable. +If only Kitty––But no––in her own right +as Queen of Love and of his heart, she was above all +criticism and blame. It was a madness, deeper than +his anger against the sheep, mightier than his fiercest +resentment––he could not help it; he loved her. +Changeable, capricious, untamed, she held him by her +faults where virtues would hardly have sufficed in +another. He had tried, and failed; so long as she +was in the world he must love her. But what a life! +He cast the letter from him and his heart turned to +Jeff and the big fight, the battle that they had +planned to wage together. In the rush and struggle +of that combat he could forget the pangs which tortured +him; he could have his revenge on life, which had +treated him so shabbily! And yet––and yet––could +he desert a friend like Lucy––Lucy who would give +her life to make him happier, who had always by +every act tried to make him forget his sorrows?</p> +<p>For a long time he sat with his head bowed, thinking. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +Then he rose up and took down his long-barrelled +Colt’s, fingered it lovingly, and thrust it, +scabbard and all, into the depths of his war bag.</p> +<p>As he rode down the hill into the camp that afternoon +Creede came out to meet him, and when his eyes +fell upon the empty belt, he smiled knowingly.</p> +<p>“Well, you woke up, did you?” he inquired, laying +one hand carelessly on the bulge in Hardy’s right +shap, where modest cowboys sometimes secrete their +guns. “Um-huh!” he grunted, slapping the left +shap to make sure. “I suspected as much. Well, +I congratulate you, supe––if my girl had asked me I +reckon I’d’ve give up my gun too. But she gimme +a kiss, anyway,” he added, tossing his head triumphantly.</p> +<p>“Who did?” demanded Hardy, coming suddenly +out of his dream.</p> +<p>“Why, Kitty, sure,” returned Creede artlessly; +and then, noting the look of incredulity on his partner’s +face, he slapped him on the leg and laughed consumedly.</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re not the only pebble on the beach,” he +cried. “Ump-um––there are others! Say, it’s +hell to be in love, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>He looked up at Hardy, the laughter still in his +cheeks, but for once there was no answering smile. +The large gray eyes were far away and distant, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +fixed vacantly upon the dust cloud where the sheep +gathered in the east. Then, as if dismissing some +haunting vision from his mind, the little man shook +himself and drew away.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” he said solemnly, “it is.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII_CHICO_AND_GRANDE' id='CHAPTER_XVII_CHICO_AND_GRANDE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>CHICO AND GRANDE</h3> +</div> +<p>Between the mouth of Hell’s Hip Pocket and +the cow camp at Carrizo Creek there lie three +high ridges and three broad valleys, all running north +and south from the Peaks to Bronco Mesa––the +heart of the upper range; and there in compact bands +the invaders held their sheep. From the lower levels +they strayed out gradually over the rocky mesa; +above they clambered up toward the wooded peaks; +but at night the sheepmen worked back to the three +ridges and camped close together for defence. After +many years of struggle they had at last obtained +their legal rights––their sheep were up to the ears +in grama, eating out the heart of the cow country––but +Jeff Creede was just over the hill, and the +Mexicans were afraid. For years now the huge +form of “Grande” had loomed before them whenever +they entered that forbidden range, and they had +always given way before him. And now he had the +little man Chico with him, the son of a soldier, so +it was said, and a gentleman of <i>categoría</i>; he always +carried a pistol and his eyes were stern and hard. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +What would not Chico and Grande do to them, now +that they were like bees robbed of their long-hoarded +honey, who have nothing left but their stings?</p> +<p>So the word passed around amongst the herders and +camp rustlers, and Jim and Jasp rode from one camp +to the other, cursing and exhorting and holding them +to their work. The hour of victory had come, but +their triumph was poisoned by a haunting fear for +their sheep. One hundred thousand sheep––five +hundred thousand dollars’ worth––the accumulation +of a lifetime––and all in the hands of these cowardly +Mexicans, not half of whom would fight! For the +day or two that they held together they were safe, +but when they spread out––and spread they must, +to reach the western pass––then the cowmen could +rush them at night like lions that raid a corral, +scattering one band after the other, and the coyotes +would do the rest! That was the joint in the armor +of the sheepmen, and it robbed them of their sleep.</p> +<p>Evening came, and the fires of the camp rustlers +on the ridges lit up the dust cloud that hung in the +east. The hateful bray of the sheep was hushed, at +last, and the shrill yell of the coyotes rose from every +hilltop, bidding farewell to the sun; for as vultures +and unnumbered birds of prey hovered in the wake +of barbarian armies, casting their dread shadows upon +the living and glutting upon the dead, so the coyotes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +follow tirelessly after the sheep, gorging upon chance +carcasses and pulling down the strays. As the wild, +gibbering chorus rose and quavered back from the +cliffs the cowmen at Carrizo glanced up from their +supper and swore, and in the general preoccupation +Hardy put down his plate and slipped away to the +corral. He was sitting on the fence listening to the +mad yelping of the coyotes and watching the shadows +gather among the peaks, when Creede strolled over +and joined him. There were times when he could +read Hardy like a book, but at others the little man’s +thoughts were hidden, and he brooded by himself. +On such occasions, after a sufficient interval, Jeff +esteemed it his duty to break in upon these unprofitable +ruminations and bring him back to the light. So +he clambered up on the top log and joined in the +contemplation of nature.</p> +<p>“Hear them dam’ coyotes,” he observed sociably. +“They’d cry that way if they’d had a chicken dinner, +all around. I bet ye every one of ’em has got wool +in his teeth, right now. Never you mind, birdie,” +he continued, apostrophizing a peculiarly shrill-voiced +howler, “I’ll give you a bellyful of mutton +pretty soon, if it’s the last act. What <i>you</i> going to +do now, Rufe?”</p> +<p>“Well,” answered Hardy, “I think I’ll try and +earn my salary by moving a few sheep. And of course +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +we want to gather every beef critter we can now, +while they’re fat. The sheep seem to be hugging the +mountain pretty close. What’s the matter with +working the Pocket Butte to-morrow and while the +boys are riding we’ll warn all the stragglers down +there to keep up against the hills; then as soon as we +get ’em located we’ll jump in some day and move +’em!”</p> +<p>“Huh?” inquired Creede, shoving back his hat and +staring. “Did I hear you say ‘move ’em’? Well––er––I +thought you left your gun at home,” he suggested +guardedly.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” admitted Hardy, “but don’t you +let that worry you any. I told you I’d help move +those sheep, and I’ll do it! We don’t need guns, +anyhow. Why, I’d just as soon tackle a rattlesnake +bare-handed as go after Jasp Swope with my six-shooter. +That’s just what he’s looking for, boy, +with all those thirty-thirties behind him, and he’ll +have plenty of witnesses there to swear us into Yuma, +too. I tell you, Jeff, I’ve been thinking this over, and +I believe my boss is right.”</p> +<p>“Sure,” said Creede, showing his teeth in the +twilight.</p> +<p>“Say, let up on that, will you?” exclaimed Hardy +irritably. “I’m talking business. Now you let me +tell you something.” He paused, and fixed his eye +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +on the dust cloud, intently. “I’ve moved that many +sheep twice,” he said, throwing out his hand, “and +I left my gun at home.”</p> +<p>“That’s right,” conceded Creede.</p> +<p>“Well now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” continued +Hardy. “If you’ll leave your gun at home too and +stay with me on this I’ll undertake to shoot the last +sheep out through West Pass inside of a week. And +the only chance we take is of getting shot at or arrested +for assault and battery. The Territorial +Prison end of this gun business never did appeal me, +anyway.”</p> +<p>“No––nor me either! But what’s the scheme?”</p> +<p>The big cowboy leaned forward eagerly, his eyes +flashing as he half guessed the plan.</p> +<p>“We ride out together,” said Hardy, his voice far +away, as if he saw it in his mind’s eye, “unarmed––and +we notify every sheep-herder we see to move. +If Jasp Swope or any of his men kill us while we’re +unarmed it’ll be cold-blooded murder, and there’ll +be witnesses to prove it. And if the sheep don’t +move, <i>we’ll move ’em</i>! What kind of a crime is +that, anyway––to drive sheep off the public range? +There isn’t an officer of the law within sixty miles, +anyhow; and if anybody pulls a gun on us we can +slug him in self-defence.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span></div> +<p>“Sure,” agreed Creede, “but suppose one of them +big-headed Chihuahua Mexicans should happen to +shoot you?”</p> +<p>“Well then, I’d be dead,” said Hardy soberly. +“But wouldn’t you rather be dead than shut up in +that hell-hole down at Yuma?”</p> +<p>“Yes!” cried Creede, holding out his hands as if +taking an oath. “I would, by God!”</p> +<p>“Well, come on then!” said Hardy, and they shook +hands on it like brothers.</p> +<p>When the <i>rodéo</i> outfit was gathered together in +the morning Jefferson Creede deliberately unstrapped +his cartridge belt and threw his pistol back +onto his bed. Then he winked at his partner as if, +rightly understood, the action was in the nature of a +joke, and led the way to Pocket Butte.</p> +<p>“You fellows rake the ridges to Bullpit Valley,” +he said, briefly assigning every man to his post. +“Rufe ’n me’ll hold ’em up for you about four +o’clock, but don’t rush the funeral––we’re goin’ to +move a few sheep first.”</p> +<p>He smiled mysteriously as he spoke, staving off +their pointed queries with equivocal answers.</p> +<p>“See you later,” he observed, turning his horse into +a sheep trail, and with that the outfit was forced to +be content.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span></div> +<p>The offending sheep were found feeding along the +eastern slope of a long ridge that led down from the +upper ground, and the herders were camped on +the summit. There were four men gathered about the +fire and as the cowboys approached three of them +picked up their carbines and sat off to one side, fingering +the locks nervously. The appearance of Jeff +Creede spelled trouble to all sheepmen and there were +few camps on Bronco Mesa which did not contain a +herder who had been unceremoniously moved by him. +But this time the fire-eating cowman rode grandly +into camp without any awe-inspiring demonstrations +whatever.</p> +<p>“Are those your sheep?” he inquired, pointing to +the grazing herd.</p> +<p>“<i>Sí señor</i>,” responded the boss herder humbly.</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Creede, “move ’em, and move +’em quick. I give you three days to get through +that pass.” He stretched a heavily muscled arm +very straight toward the notch in the western hills +and turned abruptly away. Hardy swung soberly +in behind him and the frightened Chihuahuanos were +beginning to breathe again after their excitement +when suddenly Jeff stopped his horse.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said, turning to the boss, “what you +carryin’ that cow’s horn for?”</p> +<p>At this pointed inquiry the boss herder flinched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +and looked downcast, toying uneasily with the +primitive instrument at his side.</p> +<p>“To blow,” he answered evasively.</p> +<p>“Well, go ahead and blow it, then,” suggested +Creede amiably. “No––go on! <i>I</i> don’t care what +happens. Aw here, let me have it a minute!”</p> +<p>He grabbed the horn away impatiently, wiped +the mouthpiece with his sleeve, drew a long breath, +and blew. A deep bass roar answered to his effort, +a bellow such as the skin-clad hunters of antiquity +sent forth when they wound the horn for their +hounds, and the hills and valleys of Carrizo and the +upper mesa echoed to the blast.</p> +<p>“Say, that’s great!” exclaimed the big cowboy, +good-naturedly resisting the appeals of the herder. +“I used to have one like that when I was a boy. Oh, +I’m a blower, all right––listen to this, now!” He +puffed out his chest, screwed his lips into the horn, +and blew again, loud and long.</p> +<p>“How’s that for high?” he inquired, glancing +roguishly at his partner. “And I could keep it up +all day,” he added, handing the horn back, “only +I’ve got business elsewhere.”</p> +<p>“<i>Oyez, amigo</i>,” he said, bending his brow suddenly +upon the Mexican herder, “remember, now––in +three days!” He continued the sentence by a +comprehensive sweep of the hand from that spot out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +through the western pass, favored each of the three +Chihuahuanos with an abhorrent scowl, and rode +slowly away down the hogback.</p> +<p>“Notice anything funny over on that ridge?” he +asked, jerking his head casually toward the east. +“That’s Swope and Co.––the Sheepmen’s Protective +Association––coming over to rescue <i>companero</i>.” +A line of rapidly moving specks proved +the truth of his observation, and Creede’s shoulders +shook with laughter as he noted their killing pace.</p> +<p>“I tumbled to the idee the minute I set eyes on that +cow’s horn,” he said. “It’s like this. Every boss +herder has a horn; if he gits into trouble he blows +it and all hands come a-runnin’ to shoot holes in Mr. +Cowman––think I’ll make one myself.”</p> +<p>He halted behind a rock and scrutinized the approaching +horsemen over the top.</p> +<p>“That’s Jasp, in front,” he observed impersonally. +“I wouldn’t mind ownin’ that black mule of his’n, +neither. We’ll jest wait until they dip down into the +cañon and then double in back of him, and scare up +them <i>hombres</i> over at the mouth of Hell’s Hip Pocket. +We want to git ’em started out of that. I believe +you’re right, though, Rufe––we can run this bunch +out without firin’ a shot.”</p> +<p>That evening after the day’s riding Creede sat +down on his heels by the fire and heated the end of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +an iron rod. In his other hand he held a horn, +knocked from the bleaching skeleton of a steer that +had died by the water, and to its end where the tip +had been sawed off he applied the red-hot iron, burning +a hole through to the hollow centre.</p> +<p>“Jim,” he said, turning to one of the Clark boys, +“do you want a little excitement to-morrow? Well +then, you take this old horn and go play hide ’n’ seek +with Jasp. Keep him chasin’, and while the rest of +the boys are gatherin’ cattle Rufe and me will move +a few sheep.”</p> +<p>“Well, say,” broke in Ben Reavis impatiently, +“where do us fellers come in on this play? I thought +there was goin’ to be a few shap lessons and a little +night work.”</p> +<p>“Well,” responded the <i>rodéo</i> boss philosophically, +“any time you fellers want to go up against them +thirty-thirties you can do so. It’s your own funeral, +and I’ll promise to do the honors right. But I’m +a law-abidin’ cuss myself. I’m all the law now, +ever since I talked with Jim Swope––it’s the greatest +graft they is.”</p> +<p>He paused, busily scraping his horn with a piece of +glass.</p> +<p>“They’s no doubt about it, fellers,” he said at last, +“we’ve been slow in the head. It’s a wonder we +ain’t all of us makin’ hat bands in Yuma, by this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +time. I used to think that if you didn’t like a +sheepman’s looks the way to do was to wade in and +work him over a little; but that’s a misdemeanor, and +it don’t go now. It took as good a man as Rufe, +here, to put me wise; but I leave my gun in camp +after this. I’ve got them Greasers buffaloed, anyhow, +and Jasp knows if he plugs me when I’m unarmed +it’ll be a sure shot for the pen. The time may +come when guns is necessary, but I move that every +man leave his six-shooter in his bed and we’ll go +after ’em with our bare hands. What d’ ye say, Ben?”</p> +<p>Ben Reavis rose up on one elbow, rolled his eyes +warily, and passed a jet of tobacco juice into the +hissing fire.</p> +<p>“Not f’r me,” he said, with profane emphasis.</p> +<p>“No, ner f’r me, either,” chimed in Charley Clark. +“A man stays dead a long time in this dry climate.”</p> +<p>“Well, you fellers see how many of my steers you +can ketch, then,” said Creede, “and I’ll move them +sheep myself––leastways, me and Rufe.”</p> +<p>“All right,” assented Reavis resignedly, “but you +want to hurry up. I saw a cloud o’ dust halfway +to Hidden Water this afternoon.”</p> +<p>The next morning as the <i>rodéo</i> outfit hustled out +to pick up what cattle they could before they were +scattered by the sheep, Jim Clark, tall, solemn-faced, +and angular, rode by devious ways toward the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +eastern shoulder of the Four Peaks, where a distant +clamor told of the great herds which mowed +the mountain slopes like a thousand sickles. Having +seen him well on his way Creede and Hardy galloped +down the cañon, switched off along the hillside and, +leaving their horses among the rocks, climbed up on +a rocky butte to spy out the land below. High +ridges and deep cañons, running down from the +flanks of the Four Peaks, lay to the east and north +and west; and to the south they merged into the broad +expanse of Bronco Mesa.</p> +<p>There it lay, a wilderness of little hills and valleys, +flat-topped benches and sandy gulches threaded +minutely with winding trails and cow paths, green +with the illusion of drought-proof giant cactus and +vivid desert bushes, one vast preserve of browse and +grass from the Peaks to the gorge of the Salagua. +Here was the last battle-ground, the last stand of +the cowmen against the sheep, and then unless that +formless myth, “The Government,” which no man +had ever seen or known, stepped in, there would be +no more of the struggle; the green mesa would be +stripped of its evanescent glory and the sheep would +wander at will. But as long as there was still a +chance and the cows had young calves that would die, +there was nothing for it but to fight on, warily and +desperately, to the end.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span></div> +<p>As Jefferson Creede looked out across that noble +landscape which he had struggled so resolutely to save +and saw the dust clouds of the sheep drifting across +it, the tears came to his eyes and blinded his keen +vision. Here at last was the end of all his struggles +and all his dreams; another year, or two years, and +the mesa would be devastated utterly; his cows would +be hollow-flanked and gaunted; his calves would totter +and die, their tender lips pierced with the spiny +cactus upon which their hard-mouthed mothers +starved; and all that fair land which he knew and +loved so well would be lost to him forever. He raised +his hand to his eyes as if shading them from the sun, +and brushed the tears away.</p> +<p>“Well, look at those sons o’ guns hike,” he said, +baring his teeth venomously, “and every band headed +for Hidden Water! Go it, you tarriers––and if +you can’t stop to eat the grass, tromple on it! But +wait, and if I don’t push in some Greaser’s face +to-day it’ll be because every one of them bands is +headin’ for the western pass.”</p> +<p>He clambered slowly down from his perch and +swung up into the saddle.</p> +<p>“Talkin’ never did do much good with a sheep-herder,” +he observed wisely. “As the old judge used +to say, ‘you’ve got to appeal to his better nature’––with +a club.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span></div> +<p>The most southerly of the seven bands was strung +out in marching order, the goats in front, the +hungriest sheep in the lead; and on both flanks and far +behind, the groups and clusters of feeders, pushing +out into the grassy flats and rearing up against the +trees and bushes. Without a word to the herders +Creede and Hardy took down their ropes and, +swinging the <i>hondas</i> upon the goats, turned the +advance guard northwest. The main herd and the drag +followed, and then the herders, all in a bunch for +courage.</p> +<p>“This is the last time I talk to you,” said Creede, +his voice stifled with anger. “Turn to the north, +now, and keep a-goin’.”</p> +<p>He put spurs to his horse and rode west to the +second herd, and by noon they had turned all seven +toward the western pass. Every herder had his +cow’s horn and some of them were blowing continually, +but no one answered, and a messenger was sent +east for aid. They camped for the heat of the day, +making smoke upon the ridges, but no help came. +As the sun sank low and the curly-necked Merinos +rose up from their huddle and began to drift the +Mexicans turned them perforce to the north, looking back +sulkily toward the mouth of Hell’s Hip Pocket where +other smokes rose against the sky. Until the sun set +they travelled, making their three miles and more, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +and not until they had corralled their flocks for the +night did Chico and Grande, the little and big +terrors of the sheep, give way from their strenuous +labors.</p> +<p>It was two hours after dark when they rode wearily +into the camp at Carrizo Creek. The fire was dying +down to embers and the <i>rodéo</i> outfit, worn out, had +turned in, some in the tin house, others outside, under +the brush <i>ramada</i> to escape the dew. No one moved +as they approached but Creede did not scruple to +wake up Jim Clark in order to learn the news.</p> +<p>“How’d the old horn work?” he inquired cheerily.</p> +<p>“No good,” grunted Clark, rolling over.</p> +<p>“Aw, go on, wouldn’t they chase ye?”</p> +<p>“Nope. Nothin’ doin’. Say, lemme sleep, will +ye?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” said Creede, “when I git through with you. +Which way was them sheep travellin’?”</p> +<p>“Well, some was goin’ straight up over the Four +Peaks and the rest was p’intin’ west. You and your +old horn––I nigh blowed my fool head off and never +got a rise! They was all blowin’ them horns over by +the Pocket this aft.”</p> +<p>“Um,” said Creede, “they was <i>all</i> blowin’, hey? +And what else was they doin’?”</p> +<p>“Shootin’, fer further orders, and driftin’ their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +sheep. They’s about a hundred thousand, right over +the hill.”</p> +<p>“Huh!” grunted Creede, turning to his belated dinner, +“what d’ye make of that, Rufe?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” replied Hardy, “except more work.”</p> +<p>It seemed as if he had hardly fallen asleep when +Creede was up again, hurling the wood on the fire.</p> +<p>“Pile out, fellers!” he shouted. “You can sleep +all day bimebye. Come on, Rufe––d’ye want to +find them sheep in the corral when you go back to +Hidden Water?” And so with relentless energy he +roused them up, divided out the work, and was off +again for Bronco Mesa.</p> +<p>It was early when they arrived at the first deserted +sheep camp, but search as they would they could +see no signs of the sheep. The puny fire over which +the herders had fried their bread and mutton was +wind-blown and cold, the burros and camp rustlers +were gone, and there was no guiding dust cloud against +the sky. From the little butte where Creede and +Hardy stood the lower mesa stretched away before +them like a rocky, cactus-covered plain, the countless +ravines and gulches hidden by the dead level of the +benches, and all empty, lifeless, void. They rode for +the second camp, farther to the west, and it too was +deserted, the sheep tracks cunningly milled in order +to hide the trail.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span></div> +<p>“They’re gittin’ foxy,” commented Creede, circling +wide to catch the trend of their departure, “but +I bet you money no bunch of Chihuahua Greasers +can hide twenty thousand sheep in my back yard +and me not know it. And I’ll bet you further that +I can find every one of them sheep and have ’em +movin’ before twelve o’clock, noon.”</p> +<p>Having crystallized his convictions into this sporting +proposition the <i>rodéo</i> boss left the wilderness of +tracks and headed due south, riding fast until he was +clear of sheep signs.</p> +<p>“Now here’s where I cut all seven trails,” he remarked +to his partner. “I happen to know where this +sheep outfit is headin’ for.” With which enigmatic +remark he jerked a thumb toward Hidden Water and +circled to the west and north. Not half an hour later +he picked up a fresh trail, a broad path stamped +hard by thousands of feet, and spurring recklessly +along it until he sighted the herd he plunged helter-skelter +into their midst, where they were packed like +sardines in the broad pocket of a dry wash.</p> +<p>“Hey there! <i>Whoopee––hep––hep!</i>” he yelled, +ploughing his way into the pack; and Hardy swinging +quickly around the flank, rushed the ruck of them +forward in his wake. Upon the brow of the hill +the boss herder and his helpers brandished their carbines +and shouted, but their words were drowned in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +the blare and bray which rose from below. Shoot +they dared not, for it meant the beginning of a +bloody feud, and their warnings were unheeded in +the <i>mêlée</i>. The herd was far up the wash and galloping +wildly toward the north before the frantic +Mexicans could catch up with it on foot, and even +then they could do nothing but run along the wings +to save themselves from a “cut.” More than once, +in the night-time, the outraged cowmen of the Four +Peaks country had thus dashed through their bands, +scattering them to the wolves and the coyotes, destroying +a year’s increase in a night, while the herders, +with visions of shap lessons before them, fired +perfunctory rifle shots at the moon. It was a form +of reprisal that they liked least of all, for it meant a +cut, and a cut meant sheep wandering aimlessly without +a master until they became coyote bait––at the +rate of five dollars a head.</p> +<p>The <i>padron</i> was a kind man and called them <i>compadres</i>, +when he was pleased, but if one of them suffered +a cut he cursed, and fired him, and made him +walk back to town. Hence when Chico and Grande +suddenly gave over their drive and rode away to the +northwest the Mexican herders devoted all their attention +to keeping the herd together, without trying +to make any gun plays. And when the stampede +was abated and still no help came they drifted their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +sheep steadily to the north, leaving the camp rustlers +to bring up the impedimenta as best they could. +Jasper Swope had promised to protect them whenever +they blew their horns, but it was two days since they +had seen him, and the two <i>Americanos</i> had harried +them like hawks.</p> +<p>Never had armed men so lacked a leader as on that +day. Their orders were to shoot only in self-defence; +for a war was the last thing which the Swope +brothers wanted, with their entire fortunes at stake, +and no show of weapons could daunt the ruthless +Grande and Chico. All the morning the cow horns +bellowed and blared as, sweating and swinging their +<i>hondas</i>, the stern-eyed <i>Americanos</i> rushed band after +band away. Not a word was passed––no threats, +no commands, no warnings for the future, but like +avenging devils they galloped from one herd to the +other and back again, shoving them forward relentlessly, +even in the heat of noon. At evening +the seven bands, hopelessly mixed and mingled in the +panic, were halfway through the long pass, and +the herders were white with dust and running. But +not until dusk gathered in the valleys did Creede rein +in his lathered horse and turn grimly back to camp.</p> +<p>His face was white and caked with dust, the dirt +lay clotted in his beard, and only the whites of +his eyes, rolling and sanguinary, gave evidence of his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +humanity; his shirt, half torn from his body by plunging +through the cat-claws, hung limp and heavy with +sweat; and the look of him was that of a madman, +beside himself with rage. The dirt, the sweat, the +grime, were as heavy on Hardy, and his eyes rolled +like a negro’s beneath the mask of dust, but weariness +had overcome his madness and he leaned forward +upon the horn. They glanced at each other indifferently +and then slumped down to endure the long ten +miles which lay between them and home. It had been +a stern fight and the excitement had lulled their +hunger, but now the old, slow pang gnawed at their +vitals and they rolled like drunkards in the saddle.</p> +<p>It was a clear, velvety night, and still, after the +wind of the day. Their horses jogged dumbly along, +throwing up their heads at every step from weariness, +and the noises of the night fell dully upon their +jaded ears. But just as they turned into Carrizo +Creek Cañon, Creede suddenly reined in old Bat +Wings and held up his hand to Hardy.</p> +<p>“Did you hear that?” he asked, still listening. +“There! Didn’t you hear that gun go off? Well, +I did––and it was a thirty-thirty, too, over there +toward the Pocket.”</p> +<p>“Those herders are always shooting away their ammunition,” +said Hardy peevishly. “Come on, let’s +get back to camp.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span></div> +<p>“They don’t shoot in the night-time, though,” grumbled +Creede, leading off again. “I’ll bet ye some +of them Greasers has seen a ghost. Say,” he cried, +“the boys may be out doin’ some night ridin’!”</p> +<p>But when they rode into camp every man was in +his blankets.</p> +<p>“Hey, what’s all that shootin’ goin’ on over there?” +he called, waking up the entire outfit in his excitement.</p> +<p>“Sheepmen,” responded some sleeper briefly.</p> +<p>“Cleanin’ their guns, mebbe,” suggested another, +yawning. “Did you move ’em, Jeff?”</p> +<p>“You betcher neck!” replied Creede promptly, +“and I’m goin’ back in the mornin’, too.”</p> +<p>The morning turned black, and flushed rosy, and +fell black again, but for once the merciless driver of +men slept on, for he was over-weary. It was a noise, +far away, plaintive, insistent, which finally brought +him to his feet––the bleating of ewes to lambs, of +lambs to mothers, of wethers to their fellows, beautiful +in itself as the great elemental sounds of the +earth, the abysmal roarings of winds and waves and +waterfalls, but to the cowman hateful as the clamors +of hell. As Creede stood in his blankets, the salt +sweat of yesterday still in his eyes, and that accursed +blat in his ears, his nerves gave way suddenly, and he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +began to rave. As the discordant babel drew nearer +and nearer his passion rose up like a storm that has +been long brewing, his eyes burned, his dirty face +turned ghastly. Grabbing up his six-shooter he stood +like a prophet of destruction calling down the wrath +of God Himself, if there was a God, upon the head +of every sheepman. But even as he cursed the +first dirty brown wave spewed in over the ridge and +swept down upon their valley. Then in a moment +his madness overcame him and, raising his heavy +pistol, he emptied it against them defiantly, while the +resounding cliffs took up his wrath and hurled it +back. A herder with his rifle leapt up on a distant +rock and looked toward their camp, and at the sight +the black anger of Jeff’s father came upon him, filling +him with the lust to kill.</p> +<p>He rushed into the house and came out with a high-power +rifle. “You <i>will</i> stand up there and laugh +at me, will you?” he said, deliberately raising the +sights. “You––”</p> +<p>He rested the rifle against one of the <i>ramada</i> posts, +and caught his breath to aim, while the cowmen regarded +him cynically, yet with a cold speculation in +their eyes. Hardy alone sprang forward to spoil +his aim, and for a minute they bandied words like +pistol shots as they struggled for the gun. Then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span> +with a last wailing curse, the big cowboy snapped +the cartridge out of his rifle and handed it over to +his partner.</p> +<p>“You’re right,” he said, “let the dastard live. +But if I ever git another chanst at Jasp Swope +I’ll kill him, if I swing for it! He’s the boy I’m +lookin’ for, but you see how he dodges me? I’ve +been movin’ his sheep for two days! He’s afraid +of me––he’s afraid to come out and fight me like +a man! But I’ll git ’im––I’ll git ’im yet!”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Hardy soothingly, “you can do +it, for all of me. But don’t go to shooting Mexicans +off of rocks as if they were turkey buzzards––that’s +what gets people into the pen. Now, you just take +my advice for once and wash some of that dirt off +your face. You’re locoed, man––you’re not a +human being––and you won’t be until you wash up +and get your belly full.”</p> +<p>Half an hour later they sat down to breakfast, +the burly fighting animal and the man who had +taught him reason; and as they ate the fierce anger +of the cowboy passed away like mists before the +morning sun. He heaped his plate up high and +emptied it again, drinking coffee from his big cup, +and as if ashamed of his brutishness he began forthwith +to lay out a campaign of peace. With sheep +scurrying in every direction across the range in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +great drive that was now on it was no use to try to +gather cows. What they had they could day-herd +and the rest would have to wait. The thing to do +now was to protect the feed around the water, so +that the cattle would not have to travel so far in the +heat of summer. No objection being offered he +gave each man a watercourse to patrol, sending one +over into the Pocket to see what had happened to +Bill Johnson; and then, with his gun packed in his +bed, he started back with Hardy to watch over Hidden +Water.</p> +<p>The sun was well up as they topped the high ridge; +and the mesa, though ploughed through and through +by the trails of the hurrying sheep, still shimmered +in its deceptive green. Not for a month had there +been a cloud in the sky and the grass on the barren +places was already withering in the heat, yet in the +distance the greasewood and the <i>palo verdes</i> and +giant cactus blended into one mighty sheet of verdure. +Only on the ground where the feed should be +were there signs of the imminent drought; and where +the sheep had crossed the ground lay hard and baked +or scuffled into dust. In the presence of those swift +destroyers the dreaded <i>año seco</i> had crept in upon +them unnoticed, but soon it would scourge the land +with heat and dust and failing waters, and cattle lowing +to be fed. And there before their eyes, clipping +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +down the precious grass, tearing up the tender +plants, shearing away the browse, moved the sheep; +army after army, phalanx and cohort, drifting forward +irresistibly, each in its cloud of dust. For a +minute the two men sat gazing hopelessly; then +Creede leaned forward in his saddle and sighed.</p> +<p>“Well,” he observed philosophically, “they’re movin’, +anyhow.”</p> +<p>They rode down the long slope and, mounting a +low roll, paused again apathetically to watch a band +of sheep below.</p> +<p>“Say,” exclaimed Creede, his eyes beginning to +burn, “d’ye notice how them sheep are travellin’? +And look at them other bands back yonder! By +Joe!” he cried, rising in his stirrups, “we’ve got ’em +goin’! Look at the dust out through the pass, +and clean to Hell’s Hip Pocket. They’re hikin’, +boy, they’re hittin’ it up for The Rolls! But what +in the world has struck ’em?”</p> +<p>He stood up straight in his saddle, swinging his +head from east to west, but no band of horsemen met +his eye. He looked again at the flock below him––the +goats, forever in the lead, heading straight for +the western pass; the herders swinging their carbines +upon the drag––and seemed to study upon the miracle.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span></div> +<p>“Have you got any money to spare, Rufe?” he inquired +quietly.</p> +<p>“Sure,” responded Hardy.</p> +<p>“Well, then,” said Creede deliberately, “I’d like +to make you a sporting proposition. I’ll bet you +forty dollars to the price of a drink that old Bill +Johnson has been shootin’ up their camps. Will you +go me? All right, and I’ll make you a little side +bet: I’ll bet you any money that Jim Swope has +lost some sheep!”</p> +<p>He spurred his horse recklessly down the hill, +grinning, and at the clatter of rocks the fearful +herders jumped forward and raised a great clamor +behind their sheep, whistling and clubbing their guns, +but the heart of the monster Grande was no longer +turned to wrath. He laughed and called out to +them, leaping his horse playfully over washouts and +waving his black hat.</p> +<p>“<i>Cuidado, hombres</i>,” he shouted, “be careful––do +not hurry––look at the nice grass!” But despite +this friendly admonition the herders still yelled +and whistled at their sheep, jabbing them spitefully +with the sharp muzzles of their rifles until at last, all +riot and confusion, they fled away bleating into the +west.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII_BAD_BLOOD' id='CHAPTER_XVIII_BAD_BLOOD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>BAD BLOOD</h3> +</div> +<p>The sheep were on the run, drifting across +Bronco Mesa as if the devil was after them, and +Creede could hardly stay on his horse from laughing––but +when he drew near to Hidden Water his face +changed. There was a fresh sheep trail in the cañon +and it led away from the ranch. He spurred forward +like the wind, his eyes upon the tracks, and +when he came in sight of the house he threw down +his hat and swore. Of all the God-forsaken places +in Arizona, the Dos S Ranch was the worst. The +earth lay bare and desolate before it; the woodpile +had disappeared; the bucket was thrown down the +well. Never had the flat, mud buildings seemed so +deserted or Tommy so tragic in his welcome. The +pasture gate was down and even that holy of holies, +the branding corral, stunk of sheep. Only the padlocked +house had been respected, and that perforce, +since nothing short of a sledgehammer could break its +welded chain.</p> +<p>Unfastening the battered door they entered the +living-room which once had been all light and laughter. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +There lay the dishes all clean and orderly on +the table, the floors swept, the beds made, some +withered flowers on Hardy’s desk.</p> +<p>“Huh,” grunted Creede, looking it over coldly, +“we’re on the bum, all right, all right, now. How +long since they went away?”</p> +<p>“’Bout a year,” replied Hardy, and his partner did +not contradict him.</p> +<p>They cooked a hasty meal and ate it, putting the +scraps in the frying-pan for Tommy.</p> +<p>“Go to it, Tom,” said Creede, smiling wistfully as +the cat lapped away at the grease. “He never could +git used to them skirts rustlin’ round here, could he?” +And then there was a long silence.</p> +<p>Tommy sat up and washed his face contentedly, +peering about with intent yellow eyes and sniffing +at the countless odors with which his world was filled––then +suddenly with a low whining growl he lashed +across the room like a tiger and leapt up into his cat +hole. This was a narrow tunnel, punched through +the adobe wall near the door and boxed in with a +projecting cribbing to keep out the snakes and +skunks. Through it when his protectors were away +he could escape the rush of pursuing coyotes, or +sally forth with equal ferocity when sheep dogs were +about. He peered out of his porthole for a moment, +warily, then his stump tail began to twitch, he worked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +his hind claws into the wood, and leapt. A yelp of +terror from the <i>ramada</i> heralded his success and +Creede ran like a boy to look.</p> +<p>“He’s jumped one, by Joe!” he exclaimed. +“What did I tell ye––that cat is a holy terror on +dogs!”</p> +<p>The dog in question––a slinking, dispirited cur––wagged +its tail apologetically from a distance, shaking +its bloody ears, while Tommy swelled and hissed +viciously at him from his stronghold. It was a +sheep dog, part collie, part shepherd, and the rest +plain yellow––a friendly little dog, too, and hungry. +But the heart of Creede, ordinarily so tender, was +hardened by his disasters.</p> +<p>“Git out of here!” he commanded roughly. “Git, +you yap, or I’ll burn you up with a bullet!</p> +<p>“This is what comes of leavin’ your gun off,” he +grumbled, as he unbound his bed and grabbed up his +pistol. But as he stepped out into the open to shoot, +his barbarity was checked by a clatter of hoofs and, +looking up, he saw Jasper Swope on his big black +mule, ambling truculently in across the open.</p> +<p>“Hyar!” he shouted, shaking his fist angrily, “don’t +you shoot my dog, you––or I’ll be the death of ye!”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” responded Creede, bristling +back at him. “Keep the blame pup away, then––and +keep that other dog away, too, or my cat’ll eat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span> +’im up! Well, I notice you took the occasion to +come down and sheep me out,” he observed, as +Swope pulled up before the door.</p> +<p>“I <i>did</i> not,” retorted the sheepman promptly, but +grinning nevertheless at the damage, “but I see some +other feller has though, and saved me the trouble.” +He ran his eye approvingly over the devastated homestead; +and then, rising in his stirrups, he plunged +suddenly into his set speech.</p> +<p>“I’ve took a lot off’n you, Jeff Creede,” he +shouted, swinging his arms wildly, “but I’ve got a +bellyful of this night work! And I come down to +tell you that next time you shoot up one of my camps +there’ll be trouble!”</p> +<p>“I never shot up your old camp,” growled Creede, +“nor any other camp. I’m dam’ glad to hear that +somebody else did though,” he added vindictively, +“and I hope to God he fixed you good and proper. +Now what can I do for you, Mr. Swope?” he inquired, +thrusting out his chin. “I suppose you must +be hurryin’ on, of course.”</p> +<p>“No!” cried Swope, slapping his saddle horn vehemently. +“I come down here to git some satisfaction +out of you! My sheep has been killed and my men +has been intimidated on this here public range, and +I want to tell you right now, Mr. Creede, that this +funny business has got to stop!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span></div> +<p>“Well, don’t choke!” said the cowman, fingering +his gun coldly. “Go ahead and stop it, why don’t +you?”</p> +<p>He paused, a set smile on his lips, and for a moment +their eyes met in the baleful glare which rival +wolves, the leaders of their packs, confer upon each +other. Then Hardy stepped out into the open, +holding up his hand for peace.</p> +<p>“You are mistaken, Mr. Swope,” he said quietly. +“Jeff hasn’t shot up any camps––he hasn’t even +packed a gun for the last three days.”</p> +<p>“Oh, he hain’t, hey?” sneered the sheepman, showing +his jagged teeth. “He seems to have one now.”</p> +<p>“You betcher neck I have,” cried Creede, flaring +up at the implication, “and if you’re lookin’ for +trouble, Jasp Swope, you can open up any time.”</p> +<p>“W’y what’s the matter with you?” protested +Swope righteously. “You must have somethin’ on +your mind, the way you act.”</p> +<p>Then without waiting for a reply to this innuendo +he turned his attention to Hardy.</p> +<p>“He hain’t shot up any camps,” he repeated, +“ner packed a gun for three days, hey? Now here’s +where I prove you a liar, Mr. Smarty. I seen him +with my own eyes take six shots at one of my herders +this very mornin’––<i>and you was there!</i>”</p> +<p>He punctuated his speech by successive downward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +jabs of his grimy forefinger as if he were stabbing +his adversary to the heart, and Hardy turned faint +and sick with chagrin. Never had he hated a man +as he hated this great, overbearing brute before him––this +man-beast, with his hairy chest and freckled +hands that clutched at him like an ape’s. Something +hidden, a demon primordial and violent, rose up in +him against this crude barbarian with his bristling +beard and gloating pig eyes, and he forgot everything +but his own rage at being trapped.</p> +<p>“You lie!” he cried passionately; and then in his +anger he added a word which he had never used, a +word which goes deep under the skin and makes men +fight.</p> +<p>For a moment the sheepman sat staring, astounded +by his vehemence; but before he could move the sudden +silence was split by the yelp of a dog––a wild, +gibbering yelp that made them jump and bristle like +hounds that are assailed from behind––and, mingling +stridently with it, was the harsh snarl of a cat. +There was a swift scramble in the dust by the door, +an oath from the sheepman, and the yellow dog dashed +away again, with Tommy at his heels.</p> +<p>Creede was the first man to regain his nerve and, +seeing his pet triumphant, he let out a whoop of +derisive laughter.</p> +<p>“Ah-hah-hah!” he hollered, pointing with his pistol +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +hand, “look at that, will ye––<i>look</i> at ’im––<i>yee-pah</i>––go +after ’im, Tommy––we’ll show the––”</p> +<p>The fighting blood of the sheepman sided in as +quickly with his dog.</p> +<p>“I’ll kill that dam’ cat!” he yelled, swinging down +from his saddle, “if you don’t let up! Hey, Nip! +Sick ’im!” He turned and motioned to his other +dog, which had been standing dumbly by, and instantly +he joined in the chase. “Sick ’em, boy, +<i>sick ’em</i>!” he bellowed, urging him on, and before +Creede could get his face straight the long, rangy +brindle had dashed up from behind and seized +Tommy by the back.</p> +<p>“Git out o’ that!” thundered the cowman; and +then, without waiting on words, he threw his gun +down on the dog and fired.</p> +<p>“Here––none of that, now!” shouted Swope, +whipping out his own pistol, and as he leapt forward +he held it out before him like a sabre, pointed +straight for the cowman’s ribs. His intentions may +have been of the best, but Hardy did not wait to see. +The brindle dog let out a surprised yelp and dropped. +Before Creede could turn to meet his enemy his partner +leapt in between them and with a swift blow from +the shoulder, struck the sheepman to the ground.</p> +<p>It was a fearful blow, such as men deal in anger +without measuring their strength or the cost, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +it landed on his jaw. Creede had seen men slugged +before, in saloon rows and the rough fights that +take place around a town, but never had he seen a +single blow suffice––the man’s head go back, his +knees weaken, and his whole body collapse as if he +had been shot. If he had been felled like a bull in +the shambles that goes down in spite of his great +strength, Jasper Swope could not have been more +completely stunned. He lay sprawling, his legs +turned under him, and the hand that grasped the +six-shooter relaxed slowly and tumbled it into the +dust.</p> +<p>For a minute the two partners stood staring at +each other, the one still planted firmly on his feet +like a boxer, the other with his smoking pistol in his +hand.</p> +<p>“By Joe, boy,” said Creede slowly, “you was just +in time that trip.” He stepped forward and laid +the fallen man out on his back, passing his gun up +to Hardy as he did so.</p> +<p>“I wonder if you killed him,” he muttered, feeling +Jasp’s bull neck; and then, as Hardy ran for +some water, he remembered Tommy. But there was +no Tommy––only a little heap of fur lying very +still out in the open.</p> +<p>“My God!” he cried, and leaving the man he ran +out and knelt down beside it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span></div> +<p>“Pussy!” he whispered, feeling hopelessly for his +heart; and then, gathering the forlorn little wisp of +fur in his arms, he hurried into the house without a +word.</p> +<p>He was still in hiding when Jasper Swope came +to and sat up, his hair drenched with water and +matted with dirt. Staring doubtfully at the set +face of Hardy he staggered to his feet; then the +memory of the fight came back to him and he glared +at him with a drunkard’s insolence.</p> +<p>“Where’s my gun?” he demanded, suddenly +clapping his hand upon the empty holster.</p> +<p>“I’ll take care of that for you,” answered Hardy +pointedly. “Now you pile onto that mule of yours +and pull your freight, will you?” He led the black +mule up close and boosted its master into the saddle, +but Swope was not content.</p> +<p>“Where’s that dastard, Jeff Creede?” he demanded. +“Well, I wanter see him, that’s all. And +say, Mr. Smart Alec, I want that gun, too, see?”</p> +<p>“Well, you won’t get it,” said Hardy.</p> +<p>“I will that,” declared Swope, “’nd I’ll git you, +too, Willie, before I git through with you. I’ve had +enough of this monkey business. Now gimme that +gun, I tell ye, or I’ll come back with more of ’em and +take it!”</p> +<p>He raised his voice to a roar, muffled to a beast-like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span> +hoarseness by his swollen jaws, and the <i>ramada</i> reverberated +like a cavern as he bellowed out his challenge. +Then the door was snatched violently open and Jefferson +Creede stepped forth, looking black as hell +itself. In one hand he held the sheepman’s pistol +and in the other his own.</p> +<p>“Here!” he said, and striding forward he thrust +Swope’s gun into his hand. “It’s loaded, too,” he +added. “Now, you––if you’ve got any shootin’ to +do, go to it!”</p> +<p>He stepped back quickly and stood ready, his +masterful eyes bent upon his enemy in a scowl of +unquenchable hate. Once before they had faced each +other, waiting for that mysterious psychic prompting +without which neither man nor beast can begin +a fight, and Jim had stepped in between––but Hardy +stood aside without a word. It was a show-down and, +bulldog fighter though he was, Jasper Swope weakened. +The anger of his enemy overcame his hostile +spirit without a blow, and he turned his pistol away.</p> +<p>“That’s all I wanted,” he said, shoving the gun +sullenly into its holster. “They’s two of you, +and––”</p> +<p>“And you’re afraid,” put in Creede promptly. +He stood gazing at the downcast sheepman, his lip +curling contemptuously.</p> +<p>“I’ve never seen a sheepman yet,” he said, “that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +would fight. You’ve listened to that blat until it’s +a part of ye; you’ve run with them Mexicans until +you’re kin to ’em; you’re a coward, Jasp Swope, +and I always knowed it.” He paused again, his +eyes glowing with the hatred that had overmastered +his being. “My God,” he said, “if I could only git +you to fight to-day I’d give everything I’ve got +left!”</p> +<p>The sheepman’s gaze was becoming furtive as he +watched them. He glanced sidewise, edging away +from the door; then, pricking his mule with his spurs, +he galloped madly away, ducking his head at every +jump as if he feared a shot.</p> +<p>“Look at the cowardly dastard!” sneered Creede +bitterly. “D’ye know what he would do if that was +me? He’d shoot me in the back. Ah, God A’mighty, +and that dog of his got Tommy before I could pull +a gun! Rufe, I could kill every sheepman in the +Four Peaks for this––every dam’ one of ’em––and +the first dog that comes in sight of this ranch will +stop a thirty-thirty.” He stopped and turned away, +cursing and muttering to himself.</p> +<p>“God A’mighty,” he moaned, “I can’t keep +<i>nothin’</i>!” And stumbling back into the house he +slammed the door behind him.</p> +<p>A gloom settled down over the place, a gloom that +lasted for days. The cowboys came back from driving +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span> +the town herd and, going up on the mesa, they +gathered a few head more. Then the heat set in +before its time and the work stopped short. For the +steer that is roped and busted in the hot weather dies +suddenly at the water; the flies buzz about the ears +of the new-marked calves and poison them, and the +mother cows grow gaunt and thin from overheating. +Not until the long Summer had passed could the riding +continue; the steers must be left to feed down +the sheeped-out range; the little calves must run for +sleepers until the fall <i>rodéo</i>. Sheep and the drought +had come together, and the round-up was a failure. +Likewise the cowmen were broke.</p> +<p>As they gathered about the fire on that last night +it was a silent company––the <i>rodéo</i> boss the gloomiest +of them all. Not since the death of Tommy had +his eyes twinkled with the old mischief; he had no +bets to offer, no news to volunteer; a dull, sombre +abstraction lay upon him like a pall. Only when Bill +Lightfoot spoke did he look up, and then with a set +sneer, growing daily more saturnine. The world +was dark to Creede and Bill’s fresh remarks jarred +on him––but Bill himself was happy. He was of the +kind that runs by opposites, taking their troubles +with hilarity under the impression that they are +philosophers. His pretext for this present happiness +was a professed interview with Kitty Bonnair +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span> +on the evening that the town herd pulled into +Moreno’s. What had happened at this interview +was a secret, of course, but it made Bill happy; and +the more morose and ugly Jeff became about it the +more it pleased Lightfoot to be gay. He sat on a +box that night and sang <i>risqué</i> ditties, his enormous +Colt’s revolver dangling bravely at his hip; and at +last, casting his weather eye upon Creede, he began +a certain song.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“Oh, my little girl, she lives in the town––”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>And then he stopped.</p> +<p>“Bill,” said the <i>rodéo</i> boss feelingly, “you make +me tired.”</p> +<p>“Lay down an’ you’ll git rested, then,” suggested +Lightfoot.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“<i>A toodle link, a toodle link, a too-oodle a day.</i>”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“I’ll lay you down in a minute, if you don’t shut +up,” remarked Creede, throwing away his cigarette.</p> +<p>“The hell you say,” commented Lightfoot airily.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“And last time I seen her she ast me to come down.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>At this raw bit of improvisation the boss rose +slowly to his feet and stalked away from temptation.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“And if anybody sees her you’ll know her by this sign,”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>chanted the cowboy, switching to an out-and-out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span> +bad one; and then, swaying his body on his cracker +box, he plunged unctuously into the chorus.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“<i>She’s got a dark and rolling eye, boys;<br /> +She’s got a dark and rolling eye.</i>”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>He stopped there and leapt to his feet anxiously. +The mighty bulk of the <i>rodéo</i> boss came plunging +back at him through the darkness; his bruising fist +shot out and the frontier troubadour went sprawling +among the pack saddles.</p> +<p>It was the first time Creede had ever struck one of +his own kind,––men with guns were considered +dangerous,––but this time he laid on unmercifully.</p> +<p>“You’ve had that comin’ to you for quite a while, +Bill Lightfoot,” he said, striking Bill’s ineffectual +gun aside, “and more too. Now maybe you’ll keep +shut about ‘your girl’!”</p> +<p>He turned on his heel after administering this +rebuke and went to the house, leaving his enemy +prostrate in the dirt.</p> +<p>“The big, hulkin’ brute,” blubbered Lightfoot, sitting +up and aggrievedly feeling of his front teeth, +“jumpin’ on a little feller like me––an’ he never +give me no warnin’, neither. You jest wait, I’ll––”</p> +<p>“Aw, shut up!” growled Old Man Reavis, whose +soul had long been harrowed by Lightfoot’s festive +ways. “He give you plenty of warnin’, if you’d +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span> +only listen. Some people have to swallow a few front +teeth before they kin learn anythin’.”</p> +<p>“Well, what call did he have to jump on me +like that?” protested Lightfoot. “I wasn’t doin’ +nothin’.”</p> +<p>“No, nothin’ but singin’ bawdy songs about his +girl,” sneered Reavis sarcastically.</p> +<p>“His girl, rats!” retorted the cowboy, vainglorious +even in defeat, “she’s my girl, if she’s anybody’s!”</p> +<p>“Well, about <i>your</i> girl then, you dirty brute!” +snarled the old man, suddenly assuming a high moral +plane for his utter annihilation. “You’re a disgrace +to the outfit, Bill Lightfoot,” he added, with +conviction. “I’m ashamed of ye.”</p> +<p>“That’s right,” chimed in the Clark boys, whose +sensibilities had likewise been harassed; and with all +the world against him Bill Lightfoot retired in a huff +to his blankets. So the <i>rodéo</i> ended as it had begun, +in disaster, bickering, and bad blood, and no man +rightly knew from whence their misfortune came. +Perhaps the planets in their spheres had cast a malign +influence upon them, or maybe the bell mare had +cast a shoe. Anyhow they had started off the +wrong foot and, whatever the cause, the times were +certainly not auspicious for matters of importance, +love-making, or the bringing together of the estranged. +Let whatsoever high-priced astrologer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span> +cast his horoscope for good, Saturn was swinging +low above the earth and dealing especial misery to +the Four Peaks; and on top of it all the word came +that old Bill Johnson, after shooting up the sheep +camps, had gone crazy and taken to the hills.</p> +<p>For a week, Creede and Hardy dawdled about the +place, patching up the gates and fences and cursing +the very name of sheep. A spirit of unrest hovered +over the place, a brooding silence which spoke only +of Tommy and those who were gone, and the two +partners eyed each other furtively, each deep in his +own thoughts. At last when he could stand it no +longer Creede went over to the corner, and dug up +his money.</p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to town,” he said briefly.</p> +<p>“All right,” responded Hardy; and then, after +meditating a while, he added: “I’ll send down some +letters by you.”</p> +<p>Late that evening, after he had written a long +letter to Lucy and a short one to his father, he sat +at the desk where he had found their letters, and his +thoughts turned back to Kitty. There lay the little +book which had held their letters, just as he had thrust +it aside. He picked it up, idly, and glanced at the +title-page: “Sonnets from the Portuguese.” How +dim and far away it all seemed now, this world of +the poets in which he had once lived and dreamed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span> +where sweetness and beauty were enshrined as twin +goddesses of light, and gentleness brooded over all +her children. What a world that had been, with its +graceful, smiling women, its refinements of thought +and speech, its aspirations and sympathies––and +Kitty! He opened the book slowly, wondering from +whence it had come, and from the deckled leaves a +pressed forget-me-not fell into his hand. That was +all––there was no mark, no word, no sign but this, +and as he gazed his numbed mind groped through +the past for a forget-me-not. Ah yes, he remembered! +But how far away it seemed now, the bright +morning when he had met his love on the mountain +peak and the flowers had fallen from her hair––and +what an inferno of strife and turmoil had followed +since! He opened to the place where the imprint +of the dainty flower lay and read reverently:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“If thou must love me, let it be for nought<br /> +Except for love’s sake only. Do not say<br /> +‘I love her for her smile––her look––her way<br /> +Of speaking gently––for a trick of thought<br /> +That falls in well with mine, and certes brought<br /> +A sense of pleasant ease on such a day’––<br /> +For these things in themselves, Belovéd, may<br /> +Be changed, or change for thee––and love, so wrought,<br /> +May be unwrought so. Neither love me for<br /> +Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheek dry––<br /> +A creature might forget to weep, who bore +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span><br /> +Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!<br /> +But love me for love’s sake, that evermore<br /> +Thou mayst love on, through love’s eternity.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The spell of the words laid hold upon as he read +and he turned page after page, following the cycle +of that other woman’s love––a love which waited +for years to be claimed by the master hand, never +faltering to the end. Then impulsively he reached +for a fair sheet of paper to begin a letter to Kitty, +a letter which should breathe the old gentleness and +love, yet “for love’s sake only.” But while he sat +dreaming, thinking with what words to begin, his +partner lounged in, and Hardy put aside his pen +and waited, while the big man hung around and +fidgeted.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be in town to-morrer,” he said, +drearily.</p> +<p>“Aha,” assented Hardy.</p> +<p>“What ye got there?” inquired Creede, after a long +silence. He picked up the book, griming the dainty +pages as he turned them with his rough fingers, +glancing at the headings.</p> +<p>“Um-huh,” he grunted, “‘Sonnets from the Portegees,’ +eh? I never thought them Dagos could +write––what I’ve seen of ’em was mostly drivin’ +fish-wagons or swampin’ around some slaughterhouse. +How does she go, now,” he continued, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span> +his schooling came back to him, “see if I can make +sense out of it.” He bent down and mumbled over +the first sonnet, spelling out the long words doubtfully.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“I thought once how The-o-crite-us had sung<br /> +Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,<br /> +Who each one in a gracious hand appears<br /> +To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:<br /> +And as I mused it in his an––”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Well say, what’s he drivin’ at, anyway?” demanded +the rugged cowboy. “Is that Dago talk, +or is he jest mixed in his mind? Perfectly clear, eh? +Well, maybe so, but I fail to see it. Wish I could +git aholt of some <i>good</i> po’try.” He paused, waiting +for Hardy to respond.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said, at last, “do me a favor, will ye, +Rufe?”</p> +<p>The tone of his voice, now soft and diffident, startled +Hardy out of his dream.</p> +<p>“Why sure, Jeff,” he said, “if I can.”</p> +<p>“No, no ‘ifs’ and ‘ands’ about it!” persisted Creede. +“A lucky feller like you with everythin’ comin’ his +way ought to be able to say ‘Yes’ once in a while +without hangin’ a pull-back on it.”</p> +<p>“Huh,” grunted Hardy suspiciously, “you better +tell me first what you want.”</p> +<p>“Well, I want you to write me a letter,” blurted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +out Creede. “I can keep a tally book and order up +the grub from Bender; but, durn the luck, when it +comes to makin’ love on paper I’d rather wrastle +a bear. Course you know who it is, and you savvy +how them things is done. Throw in a little po’try, +will you, and––and––say, Rufe, for God’s sake, +help me out on this!”</p> +<p>He laid one hand appealingly upon his partner’s +shoulder, but the little man squirmed out from under +it impatiently.</p> +<p>“Who is it?” he asked doggedly. “Sallie Winship?”</p> +<p>“Aw, say,” protested Creede, “don’t throw it into +a feller like that––Sal went back on me years ago. +You know who I mean––Kitty Bonnair.”</p> +<p>“Kitty Bonnair!” Hardy had known it, but he +had tried to keep her name unspoken. Battle as he +would he could not endure to hear it, even from Jeff.</p> +<p>“What do you want to tell Miss Bonnair?” he inquired, +schooling his voice to a cold quietness.</p> +<p>“Tell her?” echoed Creede ecstatically. “W’y, +tell her I’m lonely as hell now she’s gone––tell her––well, +there’s where I bog down, but I’d trade my +best horse for another kiss like that one she give me, +and throw in the saddle for <i>pelon</i>. Now, say, Rufe, +don’t leave me in a hole like this. You’ve made +your winnin’, and here’s your nice long letter to Miss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span> +Lucy. My hands are as stiff as a burnt rawhide +and I can’t think out them nice things to say; but I +love Kitty jest as much as you love Miss Lucy––mebbe more––and––and +I wanter tell her so!”</p> +<p>He ended abjectly, gazing with pleading eyes at +the stubborn face of his partner whose lips were +drawn tight.</p> +<p>“We––every man has to––no, I can’t do it, Jeff,” +he stammered, choking. “I’d––I’d help you if I +could, Jeff––but she’d know my style. Yes, that’s +it. If I’d write the letter she’d know it was from me––women +are quick that way. I’m sorry, but that’s +the way it is––every man has to fight out his own +battle, in love.”</p> +<p>He paused and fumbled with his papers.</p> +<p>“Here’s a good pen,” he said, “and––and here’s +the paper.” He shoved out the fair sheet upon +which he had intended to write and rose up dumbly +from the table.</p> +<p>“I’m going to bed,” he said, and slipped quietly +out of the room. As he lay in his blankets he could +see the gleam of light from the barred window and +hear Jeff scraping his boots uneasily on the floor. +True indeed, his hands were like burnt rawhide from +gripping at ropes and irons, his clothes were greasy +and his boots smelled of the corral, and yet––she +had given him a kiss! He tried to picture it in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +mind: Kitty smiling––or startled, perhaps––Jeff +masterful, triumphant, laughing. Ah God, it was +the same kiss she had offered him, and he had run +away!</p> +<p>In the morning, there was a division between +them, a barrier which could not be overcome. Creede +lingered by the door a minute, awkwardly, and then +rode away. Hardy scraped up the greasy dishes and +washed them moodily. Then the great silence settled +down upon Hidden Water and he sat alone in the +shadow of the <i>ramada</i>, gazing away at the barren +hills.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX_THE_BIG_DRUNK' id='CHAPTER_XIX_THE_BIG_DRUNK'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>THE BIG DRUNK</h3> +</div> +<p>The sun rose clear for the hundredth time over the +shoulder of the Four Peaks; it mounted higher, +glowing with a great light, and the smooth round tops +of the bowlders shone like half-buried skulls along +the creek-bed; it swung gloriously up to its zenith and +the earth palpitated with a panting heat. Summer +had come, and the long days when the lizards crawl +deep into their crevices and the cattle follow the +scanty shade of the box cañons or gather in standing-places +where the wind draws over the ridges and +mitigates the flies. In the pasture at Hidden Water +the horses stood head and tail together, side by side, +each thrashing the flies from the other’s face and dozing +until hunger or thirst aroused them or perversity +took them away. Against the cool face of the cliff +the buzzards moped and stretched their dirty wings +in squalid discomfort; the trim little sparrow-hawks +gave over their hunting; and all the world lay tense +and still. Only at the ranch house where Hardy +kept a perfunctory watch was there any sign of +motion or life.</p> +<p>For two weeks now he had been alone, ever since +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span> +Jeff went down to Bender, and with the solitary’s +dread of surprise he stepped out into the <i>ramada</i> +regularly, scanning the western trail with eyes grown +weary of the earth’s emptiness.</p> +<p>At last as the sun sank low, throwing its fiery glare +in his eyes, he saw the familiar figure against the +sky––Creede, broad and bulky and topped by his +enormous hat, and old Bat Wings, as raw-boned and +ornery as ever. Never until that moment had Hardy +realized how much his life was dependent upon this +big, warm-hearted barbarian who clung to his native +range as instinctively as a beef and yet possessed human +attributes that would win him friends anywhere +in the world. Often in that long two weeks he had reproached +himself for abandoning Jeff in his love-making. +What could be said for a love which made +a man so pitiless? Was it worthy of any return? +Was it, after all, a thing to be held so jealously to his +heart, gnawing out his vitals and robbing him of his +humanity? These and many other questions Hardy +had had time to ask himself in his fortnight of introspection +and as he stood by the doorway waiting he +resolved to make amends. From a petty creature +wrapped up in his own problems and prepossessions +he would make himself over into a man worthy of the +name of friend. Yet the consciousness of his fault +lay heavy upon him and as Creede rode in he stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span> +silent, waiting for him to speak. But Jeff for his part +came on grimly, and there was a sombre glow in his +eyes which told more than words.</p> +<p>“Hello, sport,” he said, smiling wantonly, “could +you take a pore feller in over night?”</p> +<p>“Sure thing, I can,” responded Hardy gayly. +“Where’ve you been all the time?”</p> +<p>And Creede chanted:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“Down to Bender,<br /> +On a bender,<br /> +Oh, I’m a spender,<br /> +You bet yer life!</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“And I’m broke, too,” he added, <i>sotto voce</i>, dropping +off his horse and sinking into a chair.</p> +<p>“Well, you don’t need to let that worry you,” said +Hardy. “I’ve got plenty. Here!” He went down +into his pocket and tossed a gold piece to him, but +Creede dodged it listlessly.</p> +<p>“Nope,” he said, “money’s nothin’ to me.”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Hardy anxiously. +“Are you sick?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Creede, nodding his head wearily, +“sick and tired of it all.” He paused and regarded +his partner solemnly. “I’m a miserable failure, +Rufe,” he said. “I ain’t <i>got</i> nothin’ and I ain’t <i>worth</i> +nothin’. I never <i>done</i> nothin’––and I ain’t got a +friend in the world.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span></div> +<p>He stopped and gazed at the barren land despondently, +waiting to see if his partner would offer any +protests.</p> +<p>“Rufe,” he said, at last, his voice tremulous with +reproach, “if you’d only helped me out a little on that +letter––if you’d only told me a few things––well, +she might have let me down easy, and I could’ve took +it. As it was, she soaked me.”</p> +<p>Then it was that Hardy realized the burden under +which his partner was laboring, the grief that clutched +at his heart, the fire that burned in his brain, and he +could have wept, now that it was too late.</p> +<p>“Jeff,” he said honestly, “it don’t do any good +now, but I’m sorry. I’m more than sorry––I’m +ashamed. But <i>that</i> don’t do you any good either, does +it?”</p> +<p>He stepped over and laid his hand affectionately +upon his partner’s shoulder, but Creede hunched it +off impatiently.</p> +<p>“No,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “not a dam’ +bit.” There was no bitterness in his words, only an acknowledgment +of the truth. “They was only one thing +for me to do after I received that letter,” he continued, +“and I done it. I went on a hell-roarin’ drunk. +That’s right. I filled up on that forty-rod whiskey +until I was crazy drunk, an’ then I picked out the +biggest man in town and fought him to a whisper.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372' name='page_372'></a>372</span></div> +<p>He sighed and glanced at his swollen knuckles, +which still showed the marks of combat.</p> +<p>“That feller was a jim-dandy scrapper,” he said, +smiling magnanimously, “but I downed ’im, all right. +I couldn’t quite lick the whole town, but I tried; +and I certainly gave ’em a run for their money, while +it lasted. If Bender don’t date time from Jeff +Creede’s big drunk I miss my guess a mile. And you +know, after I got over bein’ fightin’ drunk, I got +cryin’ drunk––but I never did get drunk enough to +tell my troubles, thank God! The fellers think I’m +sore over bein’ sheeped out. Well, after I’d punished +enough booze to start an Injun uprisin’, and +played the faro bank for my wad, I went to sleep; and +when I woke up it seemed a lo-ong time ago and I +could look back and see jest how foolish I’d been. +I could see how she’d jollied me up and got me +comin’, playin’ me off against Bill Lightfoot; and then +I could see how she’d tantalized me, like that mouse +the cat had when you was down in Bender; and then +I could see where I had got the big-head bad, thinkin’ +I was the only one––and all the time she was <i>laughin’</i> +at me! Oh, it’s nothin’ now––I kin laugh at it myself +in a month; but I’m so dam’ <i>’shamed</i> I could +cry.” He lopped down in his chair, a great hulk of +a man, and shook his head gloomily.</p> +<p>“They ain’t but one girl I ever knowed,” he said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span> +solemnly, “that wasn’t stringin’ me, and that was +Sallie Winship. Sal liked me, dam’d if she +didn’t. She cried when she went away, but the +old lady wouldn’t stand for no bow-legged cowpuncher––and +so I git euchred, every time.”</p> +<p>For lack of some higher consolation Hardy cooked +up a big supper for his low-spirited partner, and +after he had done the honors at the feast the irrepressible +good health of the cowboy rose up and conquered +his grief in spite of him. He began by telling the +story of his orgy, which apparently had left Bender +a wreck. The futile rage of Black Tex, the despair +of the town marshal, the fight with the Big Man, the +arrest by the entire <i>posse comitatus</i>, the good offices +of Mr. Einstein in furnishing bail, the crying and +sleeping jags––all were set forth with a vividness +which left nothing to the imagination, and at the end +the big man was comforted. When it was all over +and his memory came down to date he suddenly recalled +a package of letters that were tied up in +his coat, which was still on the back of his saddle. +He produced them forthwith and, like a hungry boy +who sees others eat, sat down to watch Rufe read. +No letters ever came for him––and when one did +come it was bad. The first in the pack was from +Lucy Ware and as Hardy read it his face softened, +even while he knew that Creede was watching.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span></div> +<p>“Say, she’s all right, ain’t she?” observed Jeff, +when his partner looked up.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” said Hardy, “and she says to take +you on again as foreman and pay you for every day +you didn’t carry your gun.”</p> +<p>“No!” cried Creede, and then he laughed quietly +to himself. “Does that include them days I was +prizin’ up hell down in Bender? Oh, it does, eh? +Well, you can tell your boss that I’ll make that up +to her before the Summer’s over.”</p> +<p>He leaned back and stretched his powerful arms as +if preparing for some mighty labor. “We’re goin’ +to have a drought this Summer,” he said impressively, +“that will have the fish packin’ water in canteens. +Yes, sir, the chaser is goin’ to cost more than the +whiskey before long; and they’s goin’ to be some +dead cows along the river. Do you know what Pablo +Moreno is doin’? He’s cuttin’ brush already to feed +his cattle. That old man is a wise <i>hombre</i>, all right, +when it comes to weather. He’s been hollerin’ ‘<i>Año +seco, año seco</i>,’ for the last year, and now, by Joe, +we’ve got it! They ain’t hardly enough water in the +river to make a splash, and here it’s the first of June. +We’ve been kinder wropt up in fightin’ sheep and +sech and hain’t noticed how dry it’s gittin’; but that +old feller has been sittin’ on top of his hill watchin’ +the clouds, and smellin’ of the wind, and measurin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span> +the river, and countin’ his cows until he’s a weather +sharp. I was a-ridin’ up the river this afternoon +when I see the old man cuttin’ down a <i>palo verde</i> tree, +and about forty head of cattle lingerin’ around to eat +the top off as soon as she hit the ground; and he says +to me, kinder solemn and fatherly:</p> +<p>“‘Jeff,’ he says, ‘cut trees for your cattle––this +is an <i>año seco</i>.”</p> +<p>“‘Yes, I’ve heard that before,’ says I. ‘But my +cows is learnin’ to climb.’”</p> +<p>“‘<i>Stawano</i>,’ he says, throwin’ out his hands like I +was a hopeless proposition. But all the same I think +I’ll go out to-morrow and cut down one of them <i>palo +verdes</i> like he show’d me––one of these kind with +little leaves and short thorns––jest for an expeeriment. +If the cattle eat it, w’y maybe I’ll cut another, +but I don’t want to be goin’ round stuffin’ my cows +full of twigs for nothin’. Let ’em rustle for their +feed, same as I do. But honest to God, Rufe, some +of them little runty cows that hang around the river +can’t hardly cast a shadder, they’re that ganted, and +calves seems to be gittin’ kinder scarce, too. But here––git +busy, now––here’s a letter you overlooked.”</p> +<p>He pawed over the pile purposefully and thrust a +pale blue envelope before Hardy––a letter from +Kitty Bonnair. And his eyes took on a cold, fighting +glint as he observed the fatal handwriting.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span></div> +<p>“By God,” he cried, “I hain’t figured out yet what +struck me! I never spoke a rough word to that girl +in my life, and she certainly gimme a nice kiss when +she went away. But jest as soon as I write her a love +letter, w’y she––she––W’y hell, Rufe, I wouldn’t +talk that way to a sheep-herder if he didn’t <i>know</i> no +better. Now you jest read that”––he fumbled in his +pocket and slammed a crumpled letter down before +his partner––“and tell me if I’m wrong! No, I want +you to do it. Well, I’ll read it to you, then!”</p> +<p>He ripped open the worn envelope, squared his +elbows across the table, and opened the scented inclosure +defiantly, but before he could read it Hardy +reached out suddenly and covered it with his hand.</p> +<p>“Please don’t, Jeff,” he said, his face pale and +drawn. “It was all my fault––I should have told +you––but please don’t read it to me. I––I can’t +stand it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” retorted Creede coldly. “I +reckon you can stand it if I can. Now suppose you +wrote a real nice letter––the best you knowed how––to +your girl, and she handed you somethin’ like +this: ‘My dear Mr. Creede, yore amazin’ letter––’ +Here, what ye doin’?”</p> +<p>“I won’t listen to it!” cried Hardy, snatching the +letter away, “it’s––”</p> +<p>“Now lookee here, Rufe Hardy,” began Creede, rising +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span> +up angrily from his chair, “I want to tell you +right now that you’ve got to read that letter or lick +me––and I doubt if you can do that, the way I +happen to be feelin’. You got me into this in the +first place and now, by God, you’ll see it out! Now +you <i>read</i> that letter and tell me if I’m wrong!”</p> +<p>He reared up his head as he spoke and Hardy saw +the same fierce gleam in his eyes that came when he +harried the sheep; but there was something beside +that moved his heart to pity. It was the lurking sadness +of a man deep hurt, who fights the whole world +in his anguish; the protest of a soul in torment, demanding, +like Job, that some one shall justify his +torture.</p> +<p>“All right, Jeff,” he said, “I will read it––only––only +don’t crowd me for an answer.”</p> +<p>He spread the letter before him on the table and +saw in a kind of haze the angry zigzag characters that +galloped across the page, the words whose meaning +he did not as yet catch, so swiftly did his thoughts rise +up at sight of them. Years ago Kitty had written +him a letter and he had read it at that same table. It +had been a cruel letter, but unconsidered, like the tantrum +of a child. Yes, he had almost forgotten it, +but now like a sudden nightmare the old horror +clutched at his heart. He steadied himself, and the +words began to take form before him. Surely she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span> +would be gentle with Jeff, he was so big and kind. +Then he read on, slowly, grasping at the meaning, +and once more his eyes grew big with horror +at her words. He finished, and bowed his head upon +the table, while the barren room whirled before him.</p> +<p>From his place across the table the big cowboy +looked down upon him, grim and masterful, yet wondering +at his silence.</p> +<p>“Well, am I wrong?” he demanded, but the little +man made no answer.</p> +<p>Upon the table before Hardy there lay another +letter, written in that same woman’s hand, a letter +to him, and the writing was smooth and fair. Jeff +had brought it to him, tied behind his saddle, and he +stood before him now, waiting.</p> +<p>“Am I wrong?” he said again, but Hardy did not +answer in words. Holding the crumpled letter behind +him he took up his own fair missive––such a +one as he would have died for in years gone by––and +laid it on the fire, and when the tiny flame leaped up +he dropped the other on it and watched them burn +together.</p> +<p>“Well, how about it?” inquired Creede, awed by +the long silence, but the little man only bowed his +head.</p> +<p>“Who am I, to judge?” he said.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX_THE_DROUGHT' id='CHAPTER_XX_THE_DROUGHT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>THE DROUGHT</h3> +</div> +<p>For a year the shadowy clouds had flitted past +Hidden Water, drifting like flocks of snowy +birds to their resting-place against the Peaks, and +as the wind raged and the darkness gathered the +cattle had raised their heads and bellowed, sniffing +the wet air. In Summer the thunder-heads had +mounted to high heaven and spread from east to west; +the heat lightning had played along the horizon at +night, restless and incessant; the sky had turned black +and the south wind had rushed up, laden with the +smell of distant showers. At last the rain had fallen, +graciously, bringing up grass and browse, and flowers +for those who sought them. But all the time the +water lay in black pools along the shrunken river, +trickling among the rocks and eddying around huge +snags of driftwood, clear, limpid, sparkling, yet +always less and less.</p> +<p>Where the winter floods had scoured the lowlands +clear, a fuzz of baby trees sprang up, growing to +a rank prosperity and dying suddenly beneath the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span> +sun. Along the river’s edge little shreds of watercress +took root and threw out sprouts and blossoms; +the clean water brought forth snaky eel-grass and +scum which fed a multitude of fishes; in the shadows +of deep rocks the great bony-tails and Colorado +River salmon lay in contented shoals, like hogs in +wallows, but all the time the water grew less and less. +At every shower the Indian wheat sprang up on the +mesas, the myriad grass-seeds germinated and +struggled forth, sucking the last moisture from the +earth to endow it with more seeds. In springtime +the deep-rooted mesquites and <i>palo verdes</i> threw out +the golden halo of their flowers until the cañons were +aflame; the soggy <i>sahuaros</i> drank a little at each +sparse downpour and defied the drought; all the world +of desert plants flaunted their pigmented green +against the barren sky as if in grim contempt; but +the little streams ran weaker and weaker, creeping +along under the sand to escape the pitiless sun.</p> +<p>As Creede and Hardy rode out from Hidden +Water, the earth lay dead beneath their horses’ feet––stark +and naked, stripped to the rocks by the sheep. +Even on Bronco Mesa the ground was shorn of its +covering; the cloven hoofs of the sheep had passed +over it like a scalping knife, tearing off the last sun-blasted +fringe of grass. In open spaces where they +had not found their way the gaunt cattle still curled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span> +their hungry tongues beneath the bushes and fetched +out spears of grass, or licked the scanty Indian wheat +from the earth itself.</p> +<p>With lips as tough and leathery as their indurated +faces, the hardiest of them worked their way into +bunches of stick-cactus and <i>chollas</i>, breaking down the +guard of seemingly impenetrable spines and munching +on the juicy stalks; while along the ridges long-necked +cows bobbed for the high browse which the +sheep had been unable to reach.</p> +<p>The famine was upon them; their hips stood out +bony and unsightly above their swollen stomachs as +they racked across the benches, and their eyes were +wild and haggard. But to the eye of Creede, educated +by long experience, they were still strong and +whole. The weaklings were those that hung about +the water, foot-sore from their long journeyings to +the distant hills and too weary to return. At the +spring-hole at Carrizo they found them gathered, the +runts and roughs of the range; old cows with importunate +calves bunting at their flaccid udders; young +heifers, unused to rustling for two; <i>orehannas</i> with +no mothers to guide them to the feed; rough steers +that had been “busted” and half-crippled by some +reckless cowboy––all the unfortunate and incapable +ones, standing dead-eyed and hopeless or limping +stiffly about.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span></div> +<p>A buzzard rose lazily from a carcass as they approached, +and they paused to note the brand. Then +Creede shook his head bodingly and rode into the +bunch by the spring. At a single glance the <i>rodéo</i> +boss recognized each one of them and knew from +whence he came. He jumped his horse at a wild +steer and started him toward the ridges; the cows +with calves he rounded up more gently, turning them +into the upper trail; the <i>orehannas</i>, poor helpless +orphans that they were, followed hopefully, leaving +one haggard-eyed old stag behind.</p> +<p>Creede looked the retreating band over critically +and shook his head again.</p> +<p>“Don’t like it,” he observed, briefly; and then, unlocking +the ponderous padlock that protected their +cabin from hungry sheepmen, he went in and fetched +out the axe. “Guess I’ll cut a tree for that old stiff,” +he said.</p> +<p>From his stand by the long troughs where all the +mountain cattle watered in Summer, the disconsolate +old stag watched the felling of the tree curiously; +then after an interval of dreary contemplation, he +racked his hide-bound skeleton over to the place and +began to browse. Presently the rocks began to clatter +on the upper trail, and an old cow that had been +peering over the brow of the hill came back to get +her share. Even her little calf, whose life had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383' name='page_383'></a>383</span> +cast in thorny ways, tried his new teeth on the tender +ends and found them good. The <i>orehannas</i> drifted +in one after the other, and other cows with calves, +and soon there was a little circle about the tree-top, +munching at the soft, brittle twigs.</p> +<p>“Well, that settles it,” said Creede. “One of us +stays here and cuts brush, and the other works around +Hidden Water. This ain’t the first drought I’ve +been through, not by no means, and I’ve learned this +much: the Alamo can be dry as a bone and Carrizo, +too, but they’s always water here and at the home +ranch. Sooner or later every cow on the range will +be goin’ to one place or the other to drink, and if +we give ’em a little bait of brush each time it keeps +’em from gittin’ too weak. As long as a cow will +rustle she’s all right, but the minute she’s too weak to +travel she gits to be a water-bum––hangs around the +spring and drinks until she starves to death. But +if you feed ’em a little every day they’ll drift back +to the ridges at night and pick up a little more. I’m +sorry for them lily-white hands of yourn, pardner, +but which place would you like to work at?”</p> +<p>“Hidden Water,” replied Hardy, promptly, “and +I bet I can cut as many trees as you can.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go you, for a fiver,” exclaimed Creede, +emulously. “Next time Rafael comes in tell him to +bring me up some more grub and baled hay, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384' name='page_384'></a>384</span> +I’m fixed. And say, when you write to the boss +you can tell her I’ve traded my gun for an axe!”</p> +<p>As Hardy turned back towards home he swung in +a great circle and rode down the dry bed of the Alamo, +where water-worn bowlders and ricks of mountain +drift lay strewn for miles to mark the vanished stream. +What a power it had been in its might, floating sycamores +and ironwoods as if they were reeds, lapping +high against the granite walls, moving the very rocks +in its bed until they ground together! But now the +sand lay dry and powdery, the willows and water-moodies +were dead to the roots, and even the ancient +cottonwoods from which it derived its name were +dying inch by inch. A hundred years they had stood +there, defying storm and cloudburst, but at last the +drought was sucking away their life. On the mesa the +waxy greasewood was still verdant, the gorged +<i>sahuaros</i> stood like great tanks, skin-tight with bitter +juice, and all the desert trees were tipped with green; +but the children of the river were dying for a drink.</p> +<p>A string of cattle coming in from The Rolls +stopped and stared at the solitary horseman, head +up against the sky; then as he rode on they fell +in behind him, travelling the deep-worn trail that led +to Hidden Water. At the cleft-gate of the pass, +still following the hard-stamped trail, Hardy turned +aside from his course and entered, curious to see his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385' name='page_385'></a>385</span> +garden again before it succumbed to the drought. +There before him stood the sycamores, as green and +flourishing as ever; the eagle soared out from his cliff; +the bees zooned in their caves; and beyond the massive +dyke that barred the way the tops of the elders +waved the last of their creamy blossoms. In the deep +pool the fish still darted about, and the waterfall that +fed it was not diminished. The tinkle of its music +seemed even louder, and as Hardy looked below he +saw that a little stream led way from the pool, flowing +in the trench where the cattle came to drink. It +was a miracle, springing from the bosom of the earth +from whence the waters come. When all the world +outside lay dead and bare, Hidden Water flowed +more freely, and its garden lived on untouched.</p> +<p>Never had Hardy seen it more peaceful, and as +he climbed the Indian steps and stood beneath the +elder, where <i>Chupa Rosa</i> had built her tiny nest his +heart leapt suddenly as he remembered Lucy. Here +they had sat together in the first gladness of her coming, +reading his forgotten verse and watching the +eagle’s flight; only for that one time, and then the +fight with the sheep had separated them. He reached +up and plucked a spray of elder blossoms to send her +for a keep-sake––and then like a blow he remembered +the forget-me-not! From that same garden +he had fetched her a forget-me-not for repentance, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386' name='page_386'></a>386</span> +and then forgotten her for Kitty. Who but Lucy +could have left the little book of poems, or treasured +a flower so long to give it back at parting? And +yet in his madness he had forgotten her!</p> +<p>He searched wistfully among the rocks for another +forget-me-not, but the hot breath of the drought had +killed them. As he climbed slowly down the stone +steps he mused upon some poem to take the place +of the flowers that were dead, but the spirit of the +drought was everywhere. The very rocks themselves, +burnt black by centuries of sun, were painted with +Indian prayers for rain. A thousand times he had +seen the sign, hammered into the blasted rocks––the +helix, that mystic symbol of the ancients, a circle, +ever widening, never ending,––and wondered at the +fate of the vanished people who had prayed to the +Sun for rain.</p> +<p>The fragments of their sacrificial <i>ollas</i> lay strewn +among the bowlders, but the worshippers were dead; +and now a stranger prayed to his own God for +rain. As he sat at his desk that night writing to +Lucy about the drought, the memory of those Indian +signs came upon him suddenly and, seizing a fresh +sheet of paper, he began to write. At the second +stanza he paused, planned out his rhymes and hurried +on again, but just as his poem seemed finished, +he halted at the last line. Wrestle as he would he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387' name='page_387'></a>387</span> +could not finish it––the rhymes were against him––it +would not come right. Ah, that is what sets +the artist apart from all the under-world of dreamers––his +genius endures to the end; but the near-poet +struggles like a bee limed in his own honey. What a +confession of failure it was to send away––a poem +unfinished, or finished wrong! And yet––the unfinished +poem was like him. How often in the past +had he left things unsaid, or said them wrong. Perhaps +Lucy would understand the better and prize it +for its faults. At last, just as it was, he sent it off, +and so it came to her hand.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='center'><span class='smcap'>A PRAYER FOR RAIN</span></p> +<p class='cg'>Upon this blasted rock, O Sun, behold<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Our humble prayer for rain––and here below<br /> +A tribute from the thirsty stream, that rolled<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Bank-full in flood, but now is sunk so low<br /> +Our old men, tottering, yet may stride acrost<br /> +And babes run pattering where the wild waves tossed.<br /> +<br /> +The grass is dead upon the stem, O Sun!<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>The lizards pant with heat––they starve for flies––<br /> +And they for grass––and grass for rain! Yea, none<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Of all that breathe may face these brazen skies<br /> +And live, O Sun, without the touch of rain.<br /> +Behold, thy children lift their hands––in vain!<br /> +<br /> +Drink up the water from this <i>olla’s</i> brim<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And take the precious corn here set beside–– +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388' name='page_388'></a>388</span><br /> +Then summon thy dark clouds, and from the rim<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Of thy black shield strike him who hath defied<br /> +Thy power! Appease thy wrath, Great Sun––but give<br /> +Ah, give the touch of rain to those that live!</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>As it had been a thousand years before, so it was +that day at Hidden Water. The earth was dead, +it gave forth nothing; the sky was clean and hard, +without a cloud to soften its asperity. Another +month and the cattle would die; two months and +the water would fail; then in the last agonies of +starvation and thirst the dissolution would come––the +Four Peaks would be a desert. Old Don Pablo +was right, the world was drying up. Chihuahua +and Sonora were parched; all Arizona lay stricken +with the drought; in California the cattle were dying +on the ranges, and in Texas and New Mexico the +same. God, what a thing––to see the great earth +that had supported its children for ages slowly dying +for water, its deserts first, and then its rivers, and +then the pine-topped mountains that gave the rivers +birth! Yet what was there for a man to do but take +care of his own and wait? The rest was in the hands +of God.</p> +<p>On the first morning that Hardy took his axe and +went down to the river he found a single bunch of +gaunted cattle standing in the shade of the big mesquites +that grew against Lookout Point––a runty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389' name='page_389'></a>389</span> +cow with her two-year-old and yearling, and a +wobbly calf with a cactus joint stuck across his nose. +His mother’s face showed that she, too, had been +among the <i>chollas</i>; there was cactus in her knees +and long spines bristling from her jaws, but she +could stand it, while it was a matter of life and death +to the calf. Every time he came near his mother she +backed away, and whenever he began to nudge for +milk she kicked out wildly. So Hardy roped him and +twitched the joint away with a stick; then he pulled +out the thorns one by one and went about his work.</p> +<p>Selecting a fine-leaved <i>palo verde</i> that grew against +the point, he cleared a way into its trunk and felled +it down the hill. He cut a second and a third, and +when he looked back he saw that his labor was appreciated; +the runty cow was biting eagerly at the +first tree-top, and the wobbly calf was restored to +his own. As the sound of the axe continued, a band +of tame cattle came stringing down the sandy riverbed, +and before the morning was over there were ten +or twenty derelicts and water-bums feeding along +the hillside. In the afternoon he cut more trees along +the trail to Hidden Water, and the next day when +he went to work he found a little band of weaklings +there, lingering expectantly in the shadow of the +cañon wall. As the days went by more and more +of them gathered about the water, the lame, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390' name='page_390'></a>390</span> +sick, the crippled, the discouraged, waiting for more +trees to be felled. Then as the feed on the distant +ridges grew thinner and the number of cut trees increased, +a great band of them hung about the vicinity +of the ranch house constantly––the herds from Hidden +Water and the river, merged into one––waiting +to follow him to the hills.</p> +<p>For a mile up and down the cañon of the Alamo, +the <i>palo verde</i> stumps dotted the hillside, each with +its top below it, stripped to the bark and bared of +every twig. As the breathless heat of July came on, +Hardy was up before dawn, hewing and felling, and +each day the long line of cattle grew. They trampled +at his heels like an army, gaunt, emaciated; mothers +mooing for their calves that lay dead along the +gulches; mountain bulls and outlaws, tamed by gnawing +hunger and weakness, and the awful stroke of the +heat. And every day other bands of outlaws, driven +at last from their native hills, drifted in to swell the +herd. For a month Hardy had not seen a human +face, nor had he spoken to any living creature except +Chapuli or some poor cow that lay dying by the +water. When he was not cutting trees on the farther +ridges, he was riding along the river, helping up +those that had fallen or dragging away the dead.</p> +<p>Worn and foot-sore, with their noses stuck full of +cactus joints, their tongues swollen from the envenomed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391' name='page_391'></a>391</span> +thorns, their stomachs afire from thirst and +the burden of bitter stalks, the wild cattle from the +ridges would stagger down to the river and drink +until their flanks bulged out and their bellies hung +heavy with water. Then, overcome with fatigue and +heat, they would sink down in the shade and lie dreaming; +their limbs would stiffen and cramp beneath +them until they could not move; and there they would +lie helpless, writhing their scrawny necks as they +struggled to get their feet under them. To these +every day came Hardy with his rawhide <i>reata</i>. +Those that he could not scare up he pulled up; if +any had died he dragged the bodies away from the +water; and as soon as the recent arrivals had drunk +he turned them away, starting them on their long +journey to the high ridges where the sheep had not +taken the browse.</p> +<p>Ah, those sheep! How many times in the fever of +heat and work and weariness had Hardy cursed them, +his tongue seeking unbidden the wickedest words of +the range; how many times had he cursed Jim Swope, +and Jasper Swope, the Mexicans, and all who had +rushed in to help accomplish their ruin. And as the +sun beat down and no clouds came into the sky he +cursed himself, blindly, for all that had come to pass. +One man––only one––at the mouth of Hell’s Hip +Pocket, and the sheep might have been turned back; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_392' name='page_392'></a>392</span> +but he himself had seen the dust-cloud and let it pass––and +for that the cattle died. The sheep were far +away, feeding peacefully in mountain valleys where +the pines roared in the wind and the nights were +cool and pleasant; but if the rain came and young +grass sprang up on Bronco Mesa they would come +again, and take it in spite of them. Yes, even if +the drought was broken and the cattle won back their +strength, that great army would come down from +the north once more and sheep them down to the +rocks! But one thing Hardy promised himself––forgetting +that it was the bootless oath of old Bill +Johnson, who was crazy now and hiding in the hills––he +would kill the first sheep that set foot on Bronco +Mesa, and the next, as long as he could shoot; and +Jasp Swope might answer as he would.</p> +<p>Yet, why think of sheep and schemes of belated +vengeance?––the grass was gone; the browse was +cleaned; even the <i>palo verde</i> trees were growing +scarce. Day by day he must tramp farther and +farther along the ridge, and all that patient, trusting +army behind, waiting for him to find more trees! +Already the weakest were left behind and stood along +the trails, eying him mournfully; yet work as he +would he could not feed the rest. There was no fine-drawn +distinction now––every <i>palo verde</i> on the hillside +fell before his axe, whether it was fine-leaved and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393' name='page_393'></a>393</span> +short-thorned, or rough and spiny; and the cattle +ate them all. Mesquite and cat-claw and ironwood, +tough as woven wire and barbed at every joint, +these were all that were left except cactus and the +armored <i>sahuaros</i>. In desperation he piled brush beneath +clumps of fuzzy <i>chollas</i>, the thorniest cactus +that grows, and burned off the resinous spines; but the +silky bundles of stickers still lurked beneath the ashes, +and the cattle that ate them died in agony.</p> +<p>Once more Hardy took his ax and went out in +search of <i>palo verdes</i>, high or low, young or old. +There was a gnarled trunk, curling up against a +rocky butte and protected by two spiny <i>sahuaros</i> that +stood before it like armed guards, and he climbed +up the rock to reach it. Chopping away the first +<i>sahuaro</i> he paused to watch it fall. As it broke open +like a giant melon on the jagged rocks below, the +cattle crowded about it eagerly, sniffing at the shattered +parts––and then the hardiest of them began +suddenly to eat!</p> +<p>On the outside the wiry spines stood in rows like +two-inch knife blades; but now the juicy heart, laid +open by the fall, was exposed, and the cattle munched +it greedily. A sudden hope came to Hardy as he +watched them feed, and, climbing higher, he felled +two more of the desert giants, dropping them from +their foothold against the butte far down into the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394' name='page_394'></a>394</span> +rocky cañon. As they struck and burst, and the +sickly aroma filled the air, the starved cattle, bitten +with a new appetite, rushed forward in hordes to eat +out their bitter hearts. At last, when the battle had +seemed all but over, he had found a new food,––one +that even Pablo Moreno had overlooked,––each plant +a ton of bitter pulp and juice. The coarse and wiry +spines, whose edges would turn an axe, were conquered +in a moment by the fall from the precipitous +cliffs. And the mesa was covered with them, like a +forest of towering pin-cushions, as far as the eye could +see! A great gladness came over Hardy as he saw +the starved cattle eat, and as soon as he had felled a +score or more he galloped up to Carrizo to tell the +news to Jeff.</p> +<p>The mesa was deserted of every living creature. +There was not a snake track in the dust or a raven in +the sky, but as he topped the brow of the hill and +looked down into the cañon, Hardy saw a great herd +of cattle, and Creede in the midst of them still hacking +away at the thorny <i>palo verdes</i>. At the clatter +of hoofs, the big man looked up from his work, wiping +the sweat and grime from his brow, and his face was +hard and drawn from working beyond his strength.</p> +<p>“Hello!” he called. “How’s things down your way––water +holdin’ out? Well, you’re in luck, then; +I’ve had to dig the spring out twice, and you can see +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395' name='page_395'></a>395</span> +how many cows I’m feedin’. But say,” he continued, +“d’ye think it’s as hot as this down in hell? Well, +if I thought for a minute it’d be as dry I’d take a +big drink and join the church, you can bet money on +that. What’s the matter––have you got enough?”</p> +<p>“I’ve got enough of cutting <i>palo verdes</i>,” replied +Hardy, “but you just lend me that axe for a minute +and I’ll show you something.” He stepped to the +nearest <i>sahuaro</i> and with a few strokes felled it down +the hill, and when Creede saw how the cattle crowded +around the broken trunk he threw down his hat and +swore.</p> +<p>“Well––damn––me,” he said, “for a pin-head! +Here I’ve been cuttin’ these ornery <i>palo verdes</i> until +my hands are like a Gila monster’s back, and now +look at them cows eat giant cactus! There’s no use +talkin’, Rufe, the feller that wears the number five +hat and the number forty jumper ain’t worth hell-room +when you’re around––here, gimme that axe!” +He seized it in his thorn-scarred hands and whirled +into the surrounding giants like a fury; then when he +had a dozen fat <i>sahuaros</i> laid open among the rocks +he came back and sat down panting in the scanty +shade of an ironwood.</p> +<p>“I’m sore on myself,” he said. “But that’s the +way it is! If I’d had the brains of a rabbit I’d’ve +stopped Jasp Swope last Spring––then I wouldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396' name='page_396'></a>396</span> +need to be cuttin’ brush here all Summer like a Mexican +wood-chopper. That’s where we fell down––lettin’ +them sheep in––and now we’ve got to sweat +for it. But lemme tell you, boy,” he cried, raising a +mighty fist, “if I can keep jest one cow alive until Fall +I’m goin’ to meet Mr. Swope on the edge of my range +and shoot ’im full of holes! Nothin’ else will do, +somebody has got to be <i>killed</i> before this monkey business +will stop! I’ve been makin’ faces and skinnin’ +my teeth at that dastard long enough now, and I’m +goin’ to make him fight if I have to put high-life on +’im!”</p> +<p>He stopped and looked out over the hillside where +the heat quivered in rainbows from the rocks, and the +naked <i>palo verdes</i>, stripped of their bark, bleached +like skeletons beside their jagged stumps.</p> +<p>“Say, Rufe,” he began, abruptly, “I’m goin’ +crazy.”</p> +<p>He shook his head slowly and sighed. “I always +thought I was,” he continued, “but old Bill Johnson +blew in on me the other day––he’s crazy, you know––and +when I see him I knowed it! W’y, pardner, +Bill is the most <i>reas-on-able</i> son-of-a-gun you can +imagine. You can talk to him by the hour, and outside +of bein’ a little techy he’s all right; but the +minute you mention <i>sheep</i> to him his eye turns glassy +and he’s off. Well, that’s me, too, and has been for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397' name='page_397'></a>397</span> +years, only not quite so bad; but then, Bill is plumb +sheeped out and I ain’t––quite!”</p> +<p>He laughed mirthlessly and filled a cigarette.</p> +<p>“You know,” he said, squinting his eyes down +shrewdly, “that old feller ain’t so durned crazy yet. +He wanted some ammunition to shoot up sheep-camps +with, but bein’ a little touched, as you might say, he +thought I might hold out on ’im, so he goes at me like +this: ‘Jeff,’ he says, ‘I’ve took to huntin’ lions for +the bounty now––me and the hounds––and I want +to git some thirty-thirtys.’ But after I’d give him +all I could spare he goes on to explain how the sheep, +not satisfied with eatin’ ’im out of house and home, had +gone and tolled all the lions away after ’em––so, of +course, he’ll have to foller along, too. You catch +that, I reckon.”</p> +<p>Creede drooped his eyes significantly and smoked.</p> +<p>“If it hadn’t been for old Bill Johnson,” he said, +“we wouldn’t have a live cow on our range to-day, +we’d’ve been sheeped down that close. When he’d +got his ammunition and all the bacon and coffee I +could spare he sat down and told me how he worked +it to move all them sheep last Spring. After he’d +made his first big play and see he couldn’t save the +Pocket he went after them sheepmen systematically +for his revenge. That thirty-thirty of his will shoot +nigh onto two miles if you hold it right, and every +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398' name='page_398'></a>398</span> +time he sees a sheep-camp smoke he Injuned up onto +some high peak and took pot-shots at it. At the +distance he was you couldn’t hear the report––and, +of course, you couldn’t <i>see</i> smokeless powder. +He says the way them Mexican herders took to the +rocks was a caution; and when the fireworks was over +they didn’t wait for orders, jest rounded up their +sheep and hiked!</p> +<p>“And I tell you, pardner,” said the big cowman +impressively, “after thinkin’ this matter over in the +hot sun I’ve jest about decided to go crazy myself. +Yes, sir, the next time I hear a sheep-blat on Bronco +Mesa I’m goin’ to tear my shirt gittin’ to the high +ground with a thirty-thirty; and if any one should +inquire you can tell ’em that your pore friend’s mind +was deranged by cuttin’ too many <i>palo verdes</i>.” He +smiled, but there was a sinister glint in his eyes; and +as he rode home that night Hardy saw in the half-jesting +words a portent of the never-ending struggle +that would spring up if God ever sent the rain.</p> +<p>On the day after the visit to Carrizo a change came +over the sky; a haze that softened the edges of the +hills rose up along the horizon, and the dry wind died +away. As Hardy climbed along the rocky bluffs felling +the giant <i>sahuaros</i> down into the ravines for his +cattle, the sweat poured from his face in a stream. +A sultry heaviness hung over the land, and at night +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399' name='page_399'></a>399</span> +as he lay beneath the <i>ramada</i> he saw the lightning, +hundreds of miles away, twinkling and playing along +the northern horizon. It was a sign––the promise +of summer rain!</p> +<p>In the morning a soft wind came stealing in from +the west; a white cloud came up out of nothing and +hovered against the breast of the Peaks; and the summer +heat grew terrible. At noon the cloud turned +black and mounted up, its fluffy summit gleaming in +the light of the ardent sun; the wind whirled across +the barren mesa, sweeping great clouds of dust before +it, and the air grew damp and cool; then, as evening +came on the clouds vanished suddenly and the wind +died down to a calm. For a week the spectacle was +repeated––then, at last, as if weary, the storm-wind +refused to blow; the thunder-caps no longer piled up +against the Peaks; only the haze endured, and the +silent, suffocating heat.</p> +<p>Day after day dragged by, and without thought or +hope Hardy plodded on, felling <i>sahuaros</i> into the +cañons, his brain whirling in the fever of the great +heat. Then one day as the sun rose higher a gigantic +mass of thunder-clouds leapt up in the north, covering +half the sky. The next morning they rose again, +brilliant, metallic, radiating heat like a cone of fire. +The heavens were crowned with sudden splendor, the +gorgeous pageantry of summer clouds that rise rank +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_400' name='page_400'></a>400</span> +upon rank, basking like newborn cherubim in the +glorious light of the sun, climbing higher and higher +until they reached the zenith.</p> +<p>A moist breeze sprang up and rushed into the +storm’s black heart, feeding it with vapors from the +Gulf; then in the south, the home of the rain, another +great cloud arose, piling in fluffy billows against the +grim cliffs of the Superstitions and riding against +the flying cohorts that reared their snowy heads in the +north. The wind fell and all nature lay hushed and +expectant, waiting for the rain. The cattle would +not feed; the bearded ravens sat voiceless against +the cliffs; the gaunt trees and shrubs seemed to hold +up their arms––for the rain that did not come. For +after all its pomp and mummery, its black mantle +that covered all the sky and the bravery of its trailing +skirts, the Storm, that rode in upon the wind like a +king, slunk away at last like a beaten craven. Its +black front melted suddenly, and its draggled banners, +trailing across the western sky, vanished utterly in the +kindling fires of sunset.</p> +<p>As he lay beneath the starlit sky that night, Hardy +saw a vision of the end, as it would come. He saw +the cañons stripped clean of their high-standing +<i>sahuaros</i>, the spring at Carrizo dry, the river stinking +with the bodies of the dead––even Hidden +Water quenched at last by the drought. Then a heavy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_401' name='page_401'></a>401</span> +sleep came upon him as he lay sprawling in the pitiless +heat and he dreamed––dreamed of gaunt steers and +lowing cows, and skeletons, strewn along the washes; +of labor, never ending, and sweat, dripping from his +face. He woke suddenly with the horror still upon +him and gazed up at the sky, searching vainly for +the stars. The night was close and black, there was +a stir among the dead leaves as if a snake writhed +past, and the wind breathed mysteriously through the +bare trees; then a confused drumming came to his +ears, something warm and wet splashed against his +face, and into his outstretched hand God sent a drop +of rain.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_402' name='page_402'></a>402</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI_THE_FLOOD' id='CHAPTER_XXI_THE_FLOOD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>THE FLOOD</h3> +</div> +<p>The rain came to Hidden Water in great drops, +warmed by the sultry air. At the first flurry the +dust rose up like smoke, and the earth hissed; then as +the storm burst in tropic fury the ground was struck +flat, the dust-holes caught the rush of water and held +it in sudden puddles that merged into pools and rivulets +and glided swiftly away. Like a famine-stricken +creature, the parched earth could not drink; +its bone-dry dust set like cement beneath the too generous +flood and refused to take it in––and still the +rain came down in sluicing torrents that never stayed +or slackened. The cracked dirt of the <i>ramada</i> roof +dissolved and fell away, and the stick frame leaked +like a sieve. The rain wind, howling and rumbling +through the framework, hurled the water to the very +door where Hardy stood, and as it touched his face, +a wild, animal exultation overcame him and he dashed +out into the midst of it. God, it was good to feel +the splash of rain again, to lean against the wind, and +to smell the wet and mud! He wandered about +through it recklessly, now bringing in his saddle and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_403' name='page_403'></a>403</span> +bedding, now going out to talk with his horse, at last +simply standing with his hands outstretched while his +whole being gloried in the storm.</p> +<p>As the night wore on and the swash of water became +constant, Hardy lay in his blankets listening to the +infinite harmonies that lurk in the echoes of rain, +listening and laughing when, out of the rumble of +the storm, there rose the deeper thunder of running +waters. Already the rocky slides were shedding the +downpour; the draws and gulches were leading it into +the creek. But above their gurgling murmur there +came a hoarser roar that shook the ground, reverberating +through the damp air like the diapason of +some mighty storm-piece. At daybreak he hurried +up the cañon to find its source, plunging along +through the rain until, on the edge of the bluff that +looked out up the Alamo, he halted, astounded at the +spectacle. From its cleft gate Hidden Water, once +so quiet and peaceful, was now vomiting forth mud, +rocks, and foaming waters in one mad torrent; it +overleapt the creek, piling up its debris in a solid +dam that stretched from bank to bank, while from +its lower side a great sluiceway of yellow water spilled +down into the broad bed of the Alamo.</p> +<p>Above the dam, where the cañon boxed in between +perpendicular walls, there lay a great lagoon, a lake +that rose minute by minute as if seeking to override +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_404' name='page_404'></a>404</span> +its dam, yet held back by the torrent of sand and +water that Hidden Water threw across its path. +For an hour they fought each other, the Alamo striving +vainly to claim its ancient bed, Hidden Water +piling higher its hurtling barrier; then a louder roar +reverberated through the valley and a great wall of +dancing water swept down the cañon and surged into +the placid lake. On its breast it bore brush and sticks, +and trees that waved their trunks in the air like the +arms of some devouring monster as they swooped +down upon the dam. At last the belated waters from +above had come, the outpourings of a hundred mountain +creeks that had belched forth into the Alamo like +summer cloudbursts. The forefront of the mighty +storm-crest lapped over the presumptuous barrier in +one hissing, high-flung waterfall; then with a final +roar the dam went out and, as the bowlders groaned +and rumbled beneath the flood, the Alamo overleapt +them and thundered on.</p> +<p>A sudden sea of yellow water spread out over the +lower valley, trees bent and crashed beneath the +weight of drift, the pasture fence ducked under and +was gone. Still irked by its narrow bed the Alamo +swung away from the rock-bound bench where the +ranch house stood and, uprooting everything before +it, ploughed a new channel to the river. As it swirled +past, Hardy beheld a tangled wreckage of cottonwoods +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_405' name='page_405'></a>405</span> +and sycamores, their tops killed by the drought, +hurried away on this overplus of waters; the bare +limbs of <i>palo verdes</i>, felled by his own axe; and sun-dried +skeletons of cattle, light as cork, dancing and +bobbing as they drifted past the ranch.</p> +<p>The drought was broken, and as the rain poured +down it washed away all token of the past. Henceforward +there would be no sign to move the uneasy +spirit; no ghastly relic, hinting that God had once forgotten +them; only the water-scarred gulches and +cañons, and the ricks of driftwood, piled high along +the valleys in memory of the flood. All day the rain +sluiced down, and the Alamo went wild in its might, +throwing a huge dam across the broad bed of the +river itself. But when at last in the dead of night the +storm-crest of the Salagua burst forth, raging from +its long jostling against chasm walls, a boom like a +thunder of cannon echoed from all the high cliffs by +Hidden Water; and the warring waters, bellowing +and tumbling in their titanic fury, joined together in a +long, mad race to the sea.</p> +<p>So ended the great flood; and in the morning the +sun rose up clean and smiling, making a diamond of +every dew-drop. Then once more the cattle gathered +about the house, waiting to be fed, and Hardy went +out as before to cut <i>sahuaros</i>. On the second day +the creek went down and the cattle from the other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_406' name='page_406'></a>406</span> +bank came across, lowing for their share. But on the +third day, when the sprouts began to show on the +twining stick-cactus, the great herd that had dogged +his steps for months left the bitter <i>sahuaros</i> and scattered +across the mesa like children on a picnic, nipping +eagerly at every shoot.</p> +<p>In a week the flowers were up and every bush was +radiant with new growth. The grass crept out in +level places, and the flats in the valley turned green, +but the broad expanse of Bronco Mesa still lay half-barren +from paucity of seeds. Where the earth had +been torn up and trampled by the sheep the flood had +seized upon both soil and seed and carried them away, +leaving nothing but gravel and broken rocks; the +sheep-trails had turned to trenches, the washes to +gulches, the gulches to ravines; the whole mesa was +criss-crossed with tiny gullies where the water had +hurried away––but every tree and bush was in its +glory, clothed from top to bottom in flaunting green. +Within a week the cattle were back on their old +ranges, all that were left from famine and drought. +Some there were that died in the midst of plenty, too +weak to regain their strength; others fell sick from +overeating and lost their hard-earned lives; mothers +remembered calves that were lost and bellowed mournfully +among the hills. But as rain followed rain and +the grass matured a great peace settled down upon the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_407' name='page_407'></a>407</span> +land; the cows grew round-bellied and sleepy-eyed, +the bulls began to roar along the ridges, and the Four +Peaks cattlemen rode forth from their mountain +valleys to see how their neighbors had fared.</p> +<p>They were a hard-looking bunch of men when they +gathered at the Dos S Ranch to plan for the fall +<i>rodéo</i>. Heat and the long drought had lined their +faces deep, their hands were worn and crabbed from +months of cutting brush, and upon them all was the +sense of bitter defeat. There would be no branding +in the pens that Fall––the spring calves were all +dead; nor was there any use in gathering beef steers +that were sure to run short weight; there was nothing +to do, in fact, but count up their losses and organize +against the sheep. It had been a hard Summer, but +it had taught them that they must stand together or +they were lost. There was no one now who talked +of waiting for Forest Reserves, or of diplomacy and +peace––every man was for war, and war from the +jump––and Jefferson Creede took the lead.</p> +<p>“Fellers,” he said, after each man had had his say, +“there’s only one way to stop them sheep, and that is +to stop the first band. Never mind the man––dam’ +a herder, you can buy one for twenty dollars a month––<i>git +the sheep</i>! Now suppose we stompede the first +bunch that comes on our range and scatter ’em to hell––that’s +<i>fif-teen thousand dol-lars gone</i>! God +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_408' name='page_408'></a>408</span> +A’mighty, boys, think of losin’ that much real money +when you’re on the make like Jim Swope! W’y, Jim +would go crazy, he’d throw a fit––and, more than +that, fellers,” he added, sinking his voice to a confidential +whisper, “he’d go round.</p> +<p>“Well, now, what ye goin’ to do?” he continued, a +crafty gleam coming into his eye. “Are we goin’ to +foller some cow’s tail around until they jump us +again? Are we goin’ to leave Rufe here, to patrol a +hundred miles of range lone-handed? Not on your +life––not me! We’re goin’ to ride this range by +day’s works, fellers, and the first bunch of sheep we +find we’re goin’ to scatter ’em like shootin’ stars––and +if any man sees Jasp Swope I’ll jest ask him to +let me know. Is it a go? All right––and I’ll tell +you how we’ll do.</p> +<p>“There’s only three places that the sheep can get +in on us: along the Alamo, over the Juate, or around +between the Peaks. Well, the whole caboodle of us +will camp up on the Alamo somewhere, and we’ll jest +naturally ride them three ridges night and day. I’m +goin’ to ask one of you fellers to ride away up north +and foller them sheepmen down, so they can’t come +a circumbendibus on us again. I’m goin’ to give +’em fair warnin’ to keep off of our upper range, and +then the first wool-pullin’ sheep-herder that sneaks in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_409' name='page_409'></a>409</span> +on Bronco Mesa is goin’ to git the scare of his life––and +the coyotes is goin’ to git his sheep.</p> +<p>“That’s the only way to stop ’em! W’y, Jim +Swope would run sheep on his mother’s grave if it +wasn’t for the five dollars fine. All right, then, we’ll +jest fine Mr. Swope fifteen thousand dollars for +comin’ in on our range, and see if he won’t go around. +There’s only one thing that I ask of you fellers––when +the time comes, for God’s sake <i>stick together</i>!”</p> +<p>The time came in late October, when the sheep +were on The Rolls. In orderly battalions they +drifted past, herd after herd, until there were ten in +sight. If any sheepman resented the silent sentinels +that rode along the rim he made no demonstration of +the fact––and yet, for some reason every herd sooner +or later wandered around until it fetched up against +the dead line. There were fuzzy <i>chollas</i> farther out +that got caught in the long wool and hurt the shearers’ +hands; it was better to camp along the Alamo, where +there was water for their stock––so the simple-minded +herders said, trying to carry off their bluff; +but when Creede scowled upon them they looked away +sheepishly. The <i>padron</i> had ordered it––they could +say no more.</p> +<p>“<i>Muy bien</i>,” said the overbearing Grande, “and +where is your <i>padron</i>?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_410' name='page_410'></a>410</span></div> +<p>“<i>Quien sabe!</i>” replied the herders, hiking up their +shoulders and showing the palms of their hands, and +“Who knows” it was to the end. There was wise +counsel in the camp of the sheepmen; they never had +trouble if they could avoid it, and then only to gain a +point. But it was this same far-seeing policy which, +even in a good year when there was feed everywhere, +would not permit them to spare the upper range. For +two seasons with great toil and danger they had fought +their way up onto Bronco Mesa and established their +right to graze there––to go around now would be to +lose all that had been gained.</p> +<p>But for once the cowmen of the Four Peaks were +equal to the situation. There were no cattle to gather, +no day herds to hold, no calves to brand in the pens––every +man was riding and riding hard. There was +wood on every peak for signal fires and the main +camp was established on the high ridge of the Juate, +looking north and south and west. When that signal +rose up against the sky––whether it was a smoke by +day or a fire by night––every man was to quit his +post and ride to harry the first herd. Wherever or +however it came in, that herd was to be destroyed, not +by violence nor by any overt act, but by the sheepmen’s +own methods––strategy and stealth.</p> +<p>For once there was no loose joint in the cordon of +the cowmen’s defence. From the rim of the Mogollons +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_411' name='page_411'></a>411</span> +to the borders of Bronco Mesa the broad trail of +the sheep was marked and noted; their shiftings and +doublings were followed and observed; the bitterness +of Tonto cowmen, crazy over their wrongs, was poured +into ears that had already listened to the woes of +Pleasant Valley. When at last Jasper Swope’s +boss herder, Juan Alvarez, the same man-killing Mexican +that Jeff Creede had fought two years before, +turned suddenly aside and struck into the old Shep +Thomas trail that comes out into the deep crotch between +the Peaks, a horseman in <i>chaparejos</i> rode on +before him, spurring madly to light the signal fires. +That night a fire blazed up from the shoulder of the +western mountain and was answered from the Juate. +At dawn ten men were in the saddle, riding swiftly, +with Jefferson Creede at their head.</p> +<p>It was like an open book to the cowmen now, that +gathering of the sheep along the Alamo––a ruse, a +feint to draw them away from the Peaks while the +blow was struck from behind. Only one man was left +to guard that threatened border––Rufus Hardy, the +man of peace, who had turned over his pistol to the +boss. It was a bitter moment for him when he saw +the boys start out on this illicit adventure; but for once +he restrained himself and let it pass. The war would +not be settled at a blow.</p> +<p>At the shoulder of the Peak the posse of cowmen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_412' name='page_412'></a>412</span> +found Jim Clark, his shaps frayed and his hat slouched +to a shapeless mass from long beating through the +brush, and followed in his lead to a pocket valley, +tucked away among the cedars, where they threw off +their packs and camped while Jim and Creede went +forward to investigate. It was a rough place, that +crotch between the Peaks, and Shep Thomas had cut +his way through chaparral that stood horse-high before +he won the southern slope. To the north the +brush covered all the ridges in a dense thicket, and it +was there that the cow camp was hid; but on the +southern slope, where the sun had baked out the soil, +the mountain side stretched away bare and rocky, +broken by innumerable ravines which came together +in a <i>redondo</i> or rounded valley and then plunged +abruptly into the narrow defile of a box cañon. This +was the middle fork, down which Shep Thomas had +made his triumphal march the year before, and down +which Juan Alvarez would undoubtedly march again.</p> +<p>Never but once had the sheep been in that broad +valley, and the heavy rains had brought out long tufts +of grama grass from the bunchy roots along the hillsides. +As Creede and Jim Clark crept up over the +brow of the western ridge and looked down upon it +they beheld a herd of forty or fifty wild horses, grazing +contentedly along the opposite hillside; and far below, +where the valley opened out into the <i>redondo</i>, they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_413' name='page_413'></a>413</span> +saw a band of their own tame horses feeding. Working +in from either side––the wild horses from the +north, where they had retreated to escape the drought; +the range animals from the south, where the sheep had +fed off the best grass––they had made the broad +mountain valley a rendezvous, little suspecting the +enemy that was creeping in upon their paradise. Already +the distant bleating of the sheep was in the air; +a sheepman rode up to the summit, looked over at the +promised land and darted back, and as the first struggling +mass of leaders poured out from the cut trail and +drifted down into the valley the wild stallions shook +out their manes in alarm and trotted farther away.</p> +<p>A second band of outlaws, unseen before, came galloping +along the western mountain side, snorting at +the clangor and the rank smell of the sheep, and +Creede eyed them with professional interest as the +leaders trotted past. Many times in the old days he +had followed along those same ridges, rounding up the +wild horses and sending them dashing down the +cañon, so that Hardy could rush out from his hiding +place and make his throw. It was a natural hold-up +ground, that <i>redondo</i>, and they had often talked of +building a horse trap there; but so far they had +done no more than rope a chance horse and let the +rest go charging down the box cañon and out the +other end onto Bronco Mesa.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_414' name='page_414'></a>414</span></div> +<p>It was still early in the morning when Juan +Alvarez rode down the pass and invaded the forbidden +land. He had the name of a bad <i>hombre</i>, this +boss herder of Jasper Swope, the kind that cuts +notches on his rifle stock. Only one man had ever +made Juan eat dirt, and that man now watched him +from the high rocks with eyes that followed every +move with the unblinking intentness of a mountain +lion.</p> +<p>“Uhr-r! Laugh, you son of a goat,” growled +Creede, as the big Mexican pulled up his horse and +placed one hand complacently on his hip. “Sure, +make yourself at home,” he muttered, smiling as his +enemy drifted his sheep confidently down into the +<i>redondo</i>, “you’re goin’ jest where I want ye. Come +sundown and we’ll go through you like a house afire. +If he beds in the <i>redondo</i> let’s shoot ’em into that box +cañon, Jim,” proposed the big cowman, turning to +his partner, “and when they come out the other end +all hell wouldn’t stop ’em––they’ll go forty ways +for Sunday.”</p> +<p>“Suits me,” replied Jim, “but say, what’s the +matter with roundin’ up some of them horses and +sendin’ ’em in ahead? That boss Mexican is goin’ to +take a shot at some of us fellers if we do the work +ourselves.”</p> +<p>“That’s right, Jim,” said Creede, squinting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_415' name='page_415'></a>415</span> +shrewdly at the three armed herders. “<i>I’ll</i> tell ye, +let’s send them wild horses through ’em! Holy +smoke! jest think of a hundred head of them outlaws +comin’ down the cañon at sundown and hammerin’ +through that bunch of sheep! And we don’t +need to git within gunshot!”</p> +<p>“Fine and dandy,” commented Jim, “but how’re +you goin’ to hold your horses to it? Them herders +will shoot off their guns and turn ’em back.”</p> +<p>“Well, what’s the matter with usin’ our tame +horses for a hold-up herd and then sendin’ the whole +bunch through together? They’ll strike for the box +cañon, you can bank on that, and if Mr. Juan will +<i>only</i>––” But Mr. Juan was not so accommodating. +Instead of holding his sheep in the <i>redondo</i> he drifted +them up on the mountain side, where he could overlook +the country.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll fix you yet,” observed Creede, and leaving +Jim to watch he scuttled down to his horse and +rode madly back to camp.</p> +<p>That afternoon as Juan Alvarez stood guard upon +a hill he saw, far off to the west, four horsemen, riding +slowly across the mesa. Instantly he whistled to his +herders, waving his arms and pointing, and in a panic +of apprehension they circled around their sheep, +crouching low and punching them along until the herd +was out of sight. And still the four horsemen rode +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_416' name='page_416'></a>416</span> +on, drawing nearer, but passing to the south. But +the sheep, disturbed and separated by the change, now +set up a plaintive bleating, and the boss herder, never +suspecting the trap that was being laid for him, +scrambled quickly down from his lookout and drove +them into the only available hiding-place––the box +cañon. Many years in the sheep business had taught +him into what small compass a band of sheep can be +pressed, and he knew that, once thrown together in the +dark cañon, they would stop their telltale blatting and +go to sleep. Leaving his herders to hold them there +he climbed back up to his peak and beheld the cowboys +in the near distance, but still riding east.</p> +<p>An hour passed and the sheep had bedded together +in silence, each standing with his head under another’s +belly, as is their wont, when the four horsemen, headed +by Jeff Creede himself, appeared suddenly on the distant +mountain side, riding hard along the slope. Galloping +ahead of them in an avalanche of rocks was the +band of loose horses that Alvarez had seen in the +<i>redondo</i> that morning, and with the instinct of their +kind they were making for their old stamping ground.</p> +<p>Once more the sheepman leaped up from his place +and scampered down the hill to his herd, rounding up +his pack animals as he ran. With mad haste he +shooed them into the dark mouth of the cañon, and +then hurried in after them like a badger that, hearing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_417' name='page_417'></a>417</span> +the sound of pursuers, backs into some neighboring +hole until nothing is visible but teeth and claws. So +far the boss herder had reasoned well. His sheep +were safe behind him and his back was against a rock; +a hundred men could not dislodge him from his position +if it ever came to a fight; but he had not +reckoned upon the devilish cunning of horse-taming +Jeff Creede. Many a time in driving outlaws to the +river he had employed that same ruse––showing himself +casually in the distance and working closer as they +edged away until he had gained his end.</p> +<p>The sun was setting when Creede and his cowboys +came clattering down the mountain from the east and +spurred across the <i>redondo</i>, whooping and yelling as +they rounded up their stock. For half an hour they +rode and hollered and swore, apparently oblivious of +the filigree of sheep tracks with which the ground was +stamped; then as the <i>remuda</i> quieted down they +circled slowly around their captives, swinging their +wide-looped ropes and waiting for the grand stampede.</p> +<p>The dusk was beginning to gather in the low valley +and the weird evensong of the coyotes was at its height +when suddenly from the north there came a rumble, +as if a storm gathered above the mountain; then with +a roar and the thunder of distant hoofs, the crashing +of brush and the nearer click of feet against the rocks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_418' name='page_418'></a>418</span> +a torrent of wild horses poured over the summit of +the pass and swept down into the upper valley like an +avalanche. Instantly Creede and his cowboys scattered, +spurring out on either wing to turn them fair +for the box cañon, and the tame horses, left suddenly +to their own devices, stood huddled together in the +middle of the <i>redondo</i>, fascinated by the swift approach +of the outlaws. Down the middle of the broad +valley they came, flying like the wind before their +pursuers; at sight of Creede and his cowboys and the +familiar hold-up herd they swerved and slackened +their pace; then as the half-circle of yelling cowmen +closed in from behind they turned and rushed straight +for the box cañon, their flint-like feet striking like +whetted knives as they poured into the rocky pass. +Catching the contagion of the flight the tame horses +joined in of their own accord, and a howl of exultation +went up from the Four Peaks cowmen as they rushed +in to complete the overthrow. In one mad whirl they +mingled––wild horses and tame, and wilder riders +behind; and before that irresistible onslaught Juan +Alvarez and his herders could only leap up and cling +to the rocky cliffs like bats. And the sheep! A minute +after, there were no sheep. Those that were not +down were gone––scattered to the winds, lost, annihilated!</p> +<p>Seized by the mad contagion, the cowboys themselves +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_419' name='page_419'></a>419</span> +joined in the awful rout, spurring through the +dark cañon like devils let loose from hell. There was +only one who kept his head and waited, and that was +Jefferson Creede. Just as the last wild rider flashed +around the corner he jumped his horse into the cañon +and, looking around, caught sight of Juan Alvarez, +half-distraught, crouching like a monkey upon a narrow +ledge.</p> +<p>“Well, what––the––hell!” he cried, with well-feigned +amazement. “<i>I</i> didn’t know you was here!”</p> +<p>The sheepman swallowed and blinked his eyes, that +stood out big and round like an owl’s.</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” he said.</p> +<p>“But it wouldn’t ’a’ made a dam’ bit of difference +if I had!” added Creede, and then, flashing his teeth +in a hectoring laugh, he put spurs to his horse and +went thundering after his fellows.</p> +<p>Not till that moment did the evil-eyed Juan +Alvarez sense the trick that had been played upon +him.</p> +<p>“<i>Cabrone!</i>” he screamed, and whipping out his +pistol he emptied it after Creede, but the bullets spattered +harmlessly against the rocks.</p> +<p>Early the next morning Jefferson Creede rode +soberly along the western rim of Bronco Mesa, his +huge form silhouetted against the sky, gazing down +upon the sheep camps that lay along the Alamo; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_420' name='page_420'></a>420</span> +the simple-minded Mexicans looked up at him in +awe. But when the recreant herders of Juan +Alvarez came skulking across the mesa and told the +story of the stampede, a sudden panic broke out that +spread like wildfire from camp to camp. Orders or +no orders, the timid Mexicans threw the sawhorses +onto their burros, packed up their blankets and +moved, driving their bawling sheep far out over The +Rolls, where before the <i>chollas</i> had seemed so bad. +It was as if they had passed every day beneath some +rock lying above the trail, until, looking up, they saw +that it was a lion, crouching to make his spring. For +years they had gazed in wonder at the rage and violence +of Grande Creede, marvelling that the <i>padron</i> +could stand against it; but now suddenly the big man +had struck, and <i>bravo</i> Juan Alvarez had lost his +sheep. Hunt as long as he would he could not bring +in a tenth of them. <i>Ay, que malo!</i> The boss would +fire Juan and make him walk to town; but they who +by some miracle had escaped, would flee while there +was yet time.</p> +<p>For two days Creede rode along the rim of Bronco +Mesa––that dead line which at last the sheepmen +had come to respect,––and when at last he sighted +Jim Swope coming up from Hidden Water with two +men who might be officers of the law he laughed and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_421' name='page_421'></a>421</span> +went to meet them. Year in and year out Jim +Swope had been talking law––law; now at last they +would see this law, and find out what it could do. +One of the men with Swope was a deputy sheriff, +Creede could tell that by his star; but the other man +might be almost anything––a little fat man with a +pointed beard and congress shoes; a lawyer, perhaps, +or maybe some town detective.</p> +<p>“Is this Mr. Creede?” inquired the deputy, casually +flashing his star as they met beside the trail.</p> +<p>“That’s my name,” replied Creede. “What can +I do for you?”</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Creede,” responded the officer, eying +his man carefully, “I come up here to look into the +killing of Juan Alvarez, a Mexican sheep-herder.”</p> +<p>“The killin’?” echoed Creede, astounded.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” snapped the deputy sheriff, trying +to get the jump on him. “What do you know about +it?”</p> +<p>“Who––me?” answered the cowman, his eyes +growing big and earnest as he grasped the news. +“Not a thing. The last time I saw Juan Alvarez he +was standin’ on a ledge of rocks way over yonder in +the middle fork––and he certainly was all right +then.”</p> +<p>“Yes? And when was this, Mr. Creede?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_422' name='page_422'></a>422</span></div> +<p>“Day before yesterday, about sundown.”</p> +<p>“Day before yesterday, eh? And just what was +you doin’ over there at the time?”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll tell ye,” began Creede circumstantially. +“Me and Ben Reavis and a couple of the boys had +gone over toward the Pocket to catch up our horses. +They turned back on us and finally we run ’em into +that big <i>redondo</i> up in the middle fork. I reckon we +was ridin’ back and forth half an hour out there gittin’ +’em stopped, and we never heard a peep out of this +Mexican, but jest as we got our <i>remuda</i> quieted down +and was edgin’ in to rope out the ones we wanted, here +comes a big band of wild horses that the other boys +had scared up over behind the Peaks, roaring down +the cañon and into us. Of course, there was nothin’ +for it then but to git out of the way and let ’em pass, +and we did it, dam’ quick. Well, sir, that bunch of +wild horses went by us like the mill tails of hell, and +of course our <i>remuda</i> stompeded after ’em and the +whole outfit went bilin’ through the box cañon, where +it turned out Juan Alvarez had been hidin’ his sheep. +That’s all I know about it.”</p> +<p>“Well, did you have any trouble of any kind with +this deceased Mexican, Mr. Creede? Of course you +don’t need to answer that if it will incriminate you, +but I just wanted to know, you understand.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” responded the cowman, waving +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_423' name='page_423'></a>423</span> +the suggestion aside with airy unconcern. “This +is the first I’ve heard of any killin’, but bein’ as +you’re an officer I might as well come through with +what I know. I don’t deny for a minute that I’ve +had trouble with Juan. I had a fist fight with him +a couple of years ago, and I licked him, too––but +seein’ him up on that ledge of rocks when I rode +through after my horses was certainly one of the big +surprises of my life.”</p> +<p>“Uh, you was surprised, was ye?” snarled Swope, +who had been glowering at him malignantly through +his long recital. “Mebbe––”</p> +<p>“Yes, I was surprised!” retorted Creede angrily. +“And I was like the man that received the gold-headed +cane––I was <i>pleased</i>, too, if that’s what +you’re drivin’ at. I don’t doubt you and Jasp sent +that dam’ Greaser in there to sheep us out, and if he +got killed you’ve got yourself to thank for it. He +had no business in there, in the first place, and in the +second place, I gave you fair warnin’ to keep ’im +out.”</p> +<p>“You hear that, Mr. Officer?” cried the sheepman. +“He admits making threats against the deceased; +he––”</p> +<p>“Just a moment, just a moment, Mr. Swope,” interposed +the deputy sheriff pacifically. “Did you +have any words with this Juan Alvarez, Mr. Creede, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_424' name='page_424'></a>424</span> +when you saw him in the cañon? Any trouble of any +kind?”</p> +<p>“No, we didn’t have what you might call trouble––that +is, nothin’ serious.”</p> +<p>“Well, just what words passed between you? This +gentleman here is the coroner; we’ve got the body +down at the ranch house, and we may want to suppeenie +you for the inquest.”</p> +<p>“Glad to meet you, sir,” said Creede politely. +“Well, all they was to it was this: when I rode in +there and see that dam’ Mexican standin’ up on a +ledge with his eyes bulgin’ out, I says, ‘What in hell––<i>I</i> +didn’t know you was here!’ And he says, +‘Oh, that’s all right.’”</p> +<p>“Jest listen to the son-of-a-gun lie!” yelled Jim +Swope, beside himself with rage. “<i>Listen</i> to him! +He said that was all right, did he? Three thousand +head of sheep stompeded––”</p> +<p>“Yes,” roared Creede, “he said: ‘That’s all right.’ +And what’s more, there was another Mexican there +that heard him! Now how about it, officer; how +much have I got to take off this dam’ sheep puller +before I git the right to talk back? Is he the judge +and jury in this matter, or is he just a plain buttinsky?”</p> +<p>“I’ll have to ask you gentlemen to key down a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_425' name='page_425'></a>425</span> +little,” replied the deputy noncommittally, “and let’s +get through with this as soon as possible. Now, Mr. +Creede, you seem to be willing to talk about this +matter. I understand that there was some shots +fired at the time you speak of.”</p> +<p>“Sure thing,” replied Creede. “Juan took a +couple of shots at me as I was goin’ down the cañon. +He looked so dam’ funny, sittin’ up on that ledge like +a monkey-faced owl, that I couldn’t help laughin’, +and of course it riled him some. But that’s all right––I +wouldn’t hold it up against a dead man.”</p> +<p>The deputy sheriff laughed in spite of himself, and +the coroner chuckled, too. The death of a Mexican +sheep-herder was not a very sombre matter to gentlemen +of their profession.</p> +<p>“I suppose you were armed?” inquired the coroner +casually.</p> +<p>“I had my six-shooter in my shaps, all right.”</p> +<p>“Ah, is that the gun? What calibre is it?”</p> +<p>“A forty-five.”</p> +<p>The officers of the law glanced at each other knowingly, +and the deputy turned back toward the ranch.</p> +<p>“The deceased was shot with a thirty-thirty,” observed +the coroner briefly, and there the matter was +dropped.</p> +<p>“Umm, a thirty-thirty,” muttered Creede, “now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_426' name='page_426'></a>426</span> +who in––” He paused and nodded his head, and a +look of infinite cunning came into his face as he +glanced over his shoulder at the retreating posse.</p> +<p>“Bill Johnson!” he said, and then he laughed––but +it was not a pleasant laugh.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_427' name='page_427'></a>427</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII_PORTENTS_OF_WAR' id='CHAPTER_XXII_PORTENTS_OF_WAR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>PORTENTS OF WAR</h3> +</div> +<p>There were signs of impending war on Bronco +Mesa. As God sent the rain and the flowers and +grass sprang up they grappled with each other like +murderers, twining root about root for the water, +fighting upward for the light––and when it was over +the strongest had won. Every tree and plant on that +broad range was barbed and fanged against assault; +every creature that could not flee was armed for its +own defence; it was a land of war, where the strongest +always won. What need was there for words? +Juan Alvarez was dead, shot from some distant peak +while rounding up his sheep––and his sheep, too, +were dead.</p> +<p>They buried the boss herder under a pile of rocks +on Lookout Point and planted a cross above him, not +for its Christian significance, nor yet because Juan +was a good Catholic, but for the Mexicans to look at +in the Spring, when the sheep should come to cross. +Jim Swope attended to this himself, after the coroner +had given over the body, and for a parting word he +cursed Jeff Creede.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_428' name='page_428'></a>428</span></div> +<p>Then for a day the world took notice of their +struggle––the great outside world that had left them +to fight it out. Three thousand head of sheep had +been killed; mutton enough to feed a great city for a +day had been destroyed––and all in a quarrel over +public land. The word crept back to Washington, +stripped to the bare facts––three thousand sheep and +their herder killed by cattlemen on the proposed +Salagua Reserve––and once more the question rose, +Why was not that Salagua Reserve proclaimed? No +one answered. There was another sheep and cattle +war going on up in Wyoming, and the same question +was being asked about other proposed reserves. +But when Congress convened in December the facts +began to sift out: there was a combination of railroad +and lumber interests, big cattlemen, sheepmen, +and “land-grabbers” that was “against any interference +on the part of the Federal Government,” and +“opposed to any change of existing laws and customs +as to the grazing of live stock upon the public +domain.” This anomalous organization was fighting, +and for years had been fighting, the policy of the administration +to create forest reserves and protect the +public land; and, by alliances with other anti-administration +forces in the East, had the President and his +forester at their mercy. There would be no forestry +legislation that Winter––so the newspapers said. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_429' name='page_429'></a>429</span> +But that made no difference to the Four Peaks +country.</p> +<p>Only faint echoes of the battle at Washington +reached the cowmen’s ears, and they no longer gave +them any heed. For years they had been tolled along +by false hopes; they had talked eagerly of Forest +Rangers to draw two-mile circles around their poor +ranches and protect them from the sheep; they had +longed to lease the range, to pay grazing fees, anything +for protection. But now they had struck the +first blow for themselves, and behold, on the instant +the sheep went round, the grass crept back onto the +scarred mesa, the cattle grew fat on the range! Juan +Alvarez, to be sure, was dead; but their hands were +clean, let the sheepmen say what they would. What +were a few sheep carcasses up on the high mesa? +They only matched the cattle that had died off during +the drought. When they met a sheep-herder now +he gave them the trail.</p> +<p>Tucked away in a far corner of the Territory, without +money, friends, or influence, there was nothing for +it but to fight. All nature seemed conspiring to encourage +them in their adventure––the Winter came +on early, with heavy rains; the grass took root again +among the barren rocks and when, in a belated <i>rodéo</i>, +they gathered their beef steers, they received the highest +selling price in years. All over Arizona, and in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_430' name='page_430'></a>430</span> +California, New Mexico, and Texas, the great +drought had depleted the ranges; the world’s supply +of beef had been cut down; feeders were scarce in the +alfalfa fields of Moroni; fat cattle were called for +from Kansas City to Los Angeles; and suddenly the +despised cowmen of the Four Peaks saw before them +the great vision which always hangs at the end of the +rainbow in Arizona––a pot of gold, <i>if the sheep went +around</i>. And what would make the sheep go around? +Nothing but a thirty-thirty.</p> +<p>The price of mutton had gone up too, adding a third +to the fortune of every sheepman; the ewes were lambing +on the desert, bringing forth a hundred per cent +or better, with twins––and every lamb must eat! To +the hundred thousand sheep that had invaded Bronco +Mesa there was added fifty thousand more, and they +must all eat. It was this that the sheepmen had foreseen +when they sent Juan Alvarez around to raid the +upper range––not that they needed the feed then, +but they would need it in the Spring, and need it bad. +So they had tried to break the way and, failing, had +sworn to come in arms. It was a fight for the grass, +nothing less, and there was no law to stop it.</p> +<p>As the news of the trouble filtered out and crept +into obscure corners of the daily press, Hardy received +a long hortatory letter from Judge Ware; and, +before he could answer it, another. To these he answered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_431' name='page_431'></a>431</span> +briefly that the situation could only be relieved +by some form of Federal control; that, personally, +his sympathies were with the cattlemen, but, in case +the judge was dissatisfied with his services––But +Judge Ware had learned wisdom from a past experience +and at this point he turned the correspondence +over to Lucy. Then in a sudden fit of exasperation +he packed his grip and hastened across the continent +to Washington, to ascertain for himself why the +Salagua Forest Reserve was not proclaimed. As for +Lucy, her letters were as carefully considered as ever––she +wrote of everything except the sheep and Kitty +Bonnair. Not since she went away had she mentioned +Kitty, nor had Hardy ever inquired about her. In +idle moments he sometimes wondered what had been +in that unread letter which he had burned with +Creede’s, but he never wrote in answer, and his heart +seemed still and dead. For years the thought of +Kitty Bonnair had haunted him, rising up in the long +silence of the desert; in the rush and hurry of the +round-up the vision of her supple form, the laughter +of her eyes, the succession of her moods, had danced +before his eyes in changing pictures, summoned up +from the cherished past; but now his mind was filled +with other things. Somewhere in the struggle against +sheep and the drought he had lost her, as a man loses +a keep-sake which he has carried so long against his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_432' name='page_432'></a>432</span> +heart that its absence is as unnoticed as its presence, +and he never knows himself the poorer. After the +drought had come the sheep, the stampede, fierce quarrels +with the Swopes, threats and counter-threats––and +then the preparations for war. The memory of +the past faded away and another thought now haunted +his mind, though he never spoke it––when the time +came, would he fight, or would he stay with Lucy and +let Jeff go out alone? It was a question never answered, +but every day he rode out without his gun, +and Creede took that for a sign.</p> +<p>As the Rio Salagua, swollen with winter rains, rose +up like a writhing yellow serpent and cast itself +athwart the land, it drew a line from east to west +which neither sheep nor cattle could cross, and the +cowmen who had lingered about Hidden Water rode +gayly back to their distant ranches, leaving the peaceful +Dos S where Sallie Winship had hung her cherished +lace curtains and Kitty Bonnair and Lucy +Ware had made a home, almost a total wreck. Sheep, +drought, and flood had passed over it in six months’ +time; the pasture fence was down, the corrals were +half dismantled, and the bunk-room looked like a deserted +grading camp. For a week Creede and Hardy +cleaned up and rebuilt, but every day, in spite of his +partner’s efforts to divert his mind, Jeff grew more +restless and uneasy. Then one lonely evening he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_433' name='page_433'></a>433</span> +went over to the corner where his money was buried +and began to dig.</p> +<p>“What––the––hell––is the matter with this +place?” he exclaimed, looking up from his work as if +he expected the roof to drop. “Ever since Tommy +died it gits on my nerves, bad.” He rooted out his +tomato can and stuffed a roll of bills carelessly into +his overalls pocket. “Got any mail to go out?” he +inquired, coming back to the fire, and Hardy understood +without more words that Jeff was going on another +drunk.</p> +<p>“Why, yes,” he said, “I might write a letter to the +boss. But how’re you going to get across the river––she’s +running high now.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ll git across the river, all right,” grumbled +Creede. “Born to be hung and ye can’t git drowned, +as they say. Well, give the boss my best.” He +paused, frowning gloomily into the fire. “Say,” he +said, his voice breaking a little, “d’ye ever hear anything +from Miss Bonnair?”</p> +<p>For a moment Hardy was silent. Then, reading +what was in his partner’s heart, he answered gently:</p> +<p>“Not a word, Jeff.”</p> +<p>The big cowboy sighed and grinned cynically.</p> +<p>“That was a mighty bad case I had,” he observed +philosophically. “But d’ye know what was the +matter with me? Well, I never tumbled to it till +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_434' name='page_434'></a>434</span> +afterward, but it was jest because she was like Sallie––talked +like her and rode like her, straddle, that way. +But I wanter tell you, boy,” he added mournfully, +“<i>Sal</i> had a heart.”</p> +<p>He sank once more into sombre contemplation, +grumbling as he nursed his wounds, and at last Hardy +asked him a leading question about Sallie Winship.</p> +<p>“Did I ever hear from ’er?” repeated Creede, rousing +up from his reverie. “No, and it ain’t no use to +try. I wrote to her three times, but I never got no +answer––I reckon the old lady held ’em out on her. +She wouldn’t stand for no bow-legged cowpuncher––and +ye can’t blame her none, the way old man +Winship used to make her cook for them <i>rodéo</i> hands––but +Sallie would’ve answered them letters if she’d +got ’em.”</p> +<p>“But where were they living in St. Louis?” persisted +Hardy. “Maybe you got the wrong address.”</p> +<p>“Nope, I got it straight––Saint Louie, Mo., jest +the way you see it in these money-order catalogues.”</p> +<p>“But didn’t you give any street and number?” +cried Hardy, aghast. “Why, for Heaven’s sake, +Jeff, there are half a million people in St. Louis––she’d +never get it in the world.”</p> +<p>“No?” inquired Creede apathetically. “Well, it +don’t make no difference, then. I don’t amount to a +dam’, anyhow––and this is no place for a woman––but, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_435' name='page_435'></a>435</span> +by God, Rufe, I do git awful lonely when I see +you writin’ them letters to the boss. If I only had +somebody that cared for me I’d prize up hell to make +good. I’d do anything in God’s world––turn back +them sheep or give up my six-shooter, jest as she said; +but, nope, they’s no such luck for Jeff Creede––he +couldn’t make a-winnin’ with a squaw.”</p> +<p>“Jeff,” said Hardy quietly, “how much would you +give to get a letter from Sallie?”</p> +<p>“What d’ye mean?” demanded Creede, looking up +quickly. Then, seeing the twinkle in his partner’s +eye, he made a grab for his money. “My whole +wad,” he cried, throwing down the roll. “What’s +the deal?”</p> +<p>“All right,” answered Hardy, deliberately counting +out the bills, “there’s the ante––a hundred dollars. +The rest I hold back for that trip to St. Louis. +This hundred goes to the Rinkerton Detective +Agency, St. Louis, Missouri, along with a real nice +letter that I’ll help you write; and the minute they +deliver that letter into the hands of Miss Sallie Winship, +formerly of Hidden Water, Arizona, and return +an answer, there’s another hundred coming to ’em. +Is it a go?”</p> +<p>“Pardner,” said Creede, rising up solemnly from +his place, “I want to shake with you on that.”</p> +<p>The next morning, with a package of letters in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_436' name='page_436'></a>436</span> +crown of his black hat, Jefferson Creede swam Bat +Wings across the swift current of the Salagua, hanging +onto his tail from behind, and without even stopping +to pour the water out of his boots struck into +the long trail for Bender.</p> +<p>One week passed, and then another, and at last he +came back, wet and dripping from his tussle with the +river, and cursing the very name of detectives.</p> +<p>“W’y, shucks!” he grumbled. “I bummed around +in town there for two weeks, hatin’ myself and makin’ +faces at a passel of ornery sheepmen, and what do I +git for my trouble? ‘Dear Mister Creede, your +letter of umpty-ump received. We have detailed +Detective Moriarty on this case and will report later. +Yours truly!’ That’s all––keep the change––we +make a livin’ off of suckers––and they’s one born +every minute. To hell with these detectives! Well, +I never received nothin’ more and finally I jumped at +a poor little bandy-legged sheep-herder, a cross between +a gorilla and a Digger Injun––scared him to +death. But I pulled my freight quick before we had +any international complications. Don’t mention Mr. +Allan Q. Rinkerton to me, boy, or I’ll throw a fit. +Say,” he said, changing the subject abruptly, “how +many hundred thousand sheep d’ye think I saw, +comin’ up from Bender? Well, sir, they was sheep as +far as the eye could see––millions of ’em––and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_437' name='page_437'></a>437</span> +they’ve got that plain et down to the original sand +and cactus, already. W’y, boy, if we let them sheepmen +in on us this Spring we’ll look like a watermelon +patch after a nigger picnic; we’ll be cleaned like +Pablo Moreno; they won’t be pickin’s for a billy +goat! And Jim ’n’ Jasp have been ribbin’ their +herders on scandalous. This little bandy-legged son-of-a-goat +that I jumped at down in Bender actually +had the nerve to say that I killed Juan Alvarez myself. +Think of that, will ye, and me twenty miles +away at the time! But I reckon if you took Jasp to +pieces you’d find out he was mad over them three +thousand wethers––value six dollars per––that I +stompeded. The dastard! D’ye see how he keeps +away from me? Well, I’m goin’ to call the <i>rodéo</i> +right away and work that whole upper range, and +when the river goes down you’ll find Jeff Creede +right there with the goods if Jasp is lookin’ for +trouble. Read them letters, boy, and tell me if I’m +goin’ to have the old judge on my hands, too.”</p> +<p>According to the letters, he was; and the boss was +also looking forward with pleasure to her visit in the +Spring.</p> +<p>“Well, wouldn’t that jar you,” commented Creede, +and then he laughed slyly. “Cheer up,” he said, “it +might be worse––they’s nothin’ said about Kitty +Bonnair.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_438' name='page_438'></a>438</span></div> +<p>Sure enough––not a word about Kitty, and the +year before Lucy had spoken about her in every +letter! There was something mysterious about it, +and sinister; they both felt it.</p> +<p>And when at last the wagon came in, bearing only +Judge Ware and Lucy, somehow even Jeff’s sore +heart was touched by a sense of loss. But while +others might dissemble, Bill Lightfoot’s impulsive +nature made no concealment of its chiefest thought.</p> +<p>“Where’s Miss Bunnair?” he demanded, as soon +as Lucy Ware was free, and there was a sudden lull +in the conversation roundabout as the cowboys +listened for the answer.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” said Miss Ware, politely evasive, “but +she wasn’t able to come with me.”</p> +<p>“She’ll be down bimeby, though, won’t she?” persisted +Lightfoot; and when Lucy finally answered +with a vague “Perhaps” he turned to the assembled +cowboys with a triumphant grin. “Um, now, what’d +I tell you!” he said; and one and all they scowled and +stabbed him with their eyes.</p> +<p>The <i>rodéo</i> camp was already established beneath +the big mesquite, and while three or four careless cowmen +held the day herd over against the mesa the rest +of the outfit was busy raking The Rolls. It was all +very different from what Judge Ware and Lucy had +anticipated. There was no sign of excitement in their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_439' name='page_439'></a>439</span> +midst, no ostentatious display of arms or posting of +patrols, and what surprised the judge most of all +was that in their friendly gatherings around the fire +there was no one, save Hardy, who would argue +against the sheep.</p> +<p>The judge had been on to Washington and was +possessed of all the material facts, but nobody was interested +any more in the Salagua Forest Reserve; he +had consulted with the Chief Forester and even with +the President himself, laying before them the imminence +of the danger, and they had assured him +that everything possible would be done to relieve the +situation. Did it not, then, he demanded, behoove the +law-abiding residents of prospective forest reserves +to coöperate with such an enlightened administration, +even at the risk of some temporary personal loss? +And with one voice the Four Peaks cowmen agreed +that it did. There was something eerie about it––the +old judge was dazed by their acquiescence.</p> +<p>Of all the cowmen at Hidden Water, Rufus Hardy +was the only man who would discuss the matter at +length. A change had come over him now; he was +very thin and quiet, with set lines along his jaw, but +instead of riding nervously up and down the river as +he had the year before he lingered idly about the +ranch, keeping tally at the branding and entertaining +his guests. No matter how pedantic or polemical the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_440' name='page_440'></a>440</span> +old judge became, Hardy was willing to listen to +him; and Lucy, hovering in the background, would +often smile to hear them argue, the judge laying down +the law and equity of the matter and Rufus meeting +him like an expert swordsman with parry and thrust. +Day by day, his prejudice wearing away from lack of +any real opposition, Judge Ware became more and +more pleased with his daughter’s superintendent; but +Lucy herself was troubled. There was a look in his +eyes that she had never seen before, a set and haggard +stare that came when he sat alone, and his head was +always turned aside, as if he were listening. The +sheep came trooping in from the south, marching in +long lines to the river’s edge, and still he sat quiet, just +inside the door, listening.</p> +<p>“Tell me, Rufus,” she said, one day when her +father was inspecting the upper range with Creede, +“what is it that made you so sad? Is it––Kitty?”</p> +<p>For a minute he gazed at her, a faint smile on his +lips.</p> +<p>“No,” he said, at last, “it is not Kitty.” And then +he lapsed back into silence, his head turned as before.</p> +<p>The wind breathed through the <i>corredor</i>, bringing +with it a distant, plaintive bleating––the sheep, waiting +beyond the turbid river to cross.</p> +<p>“I have forgotten about Kitty,” he said absently. +“For me there is nothing in the world but sheep. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_441' name='page_441'></a>441</span> +Can’t you hear them bleating down there?” he cried, +throwing out his hands. “Can’t you smell them? +Ah, Lucy, if you knew sheep as I do! I never hear a +sheep now that I don’t think of that day last year +when they came pouring out of Hell’s Hip Pocket +with a noise like the end of the world. If I had been +there to stop them they might never have taken the +range––but after that, all through the hot summer +when the cattle were dying for feed, every time the +wind came up and roared in my ears I would hear +sheep––<i>baaa</i>, <i>baaa</i>––and now I hear them again.”</p> +<p>He paused and looked up at her intently.</p> +<p>“Do you know what that noise means to me?” he +demanded, almost roughly. “It means little calves +dying around the water hole; mothers lowing for +their little ones that they have left to starve; it means +long lines of cows following me out over the mesa +for brush, and all the trees cut down. Ah, Lucy, how +can your father talk of waiting when it means as much +as that?”</p> +<p>“But last year was a drought,” protested Lucy pitifully. +“Will it be as bad this year?”</p> +<p>“Every bit! Did you notice that plain between +Bender and the river? It will be like that in a week +if we let them cross the river.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” cried Lucy, “then you––do you mean to +turn them back?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_442' name='page_442'></a>442</span></div> +<p>“The river is very high,” answered Hardy sombrely. +“They cannot cross.” And then as a quail +strikes up leaves and dust to hide her nest, he launched +forth quickly upon a story of the flood.</p> +<p>The Salagua was long in flood that Spring. Day +after day, while the sheep wandered uneasily along +its banks rearing up to strip the last remnants of +browse from the tips of willows and burro bushes, it +rolled ponderously forth from its black-walled gorge +and flowed past the crossing, deep and strong, sucking +evenly into the turbid whirlpool that waited for its +prey. At the first approach of the invaders the unconsidered +zeal of Judge Ware overcame him; he +was for peace, reason, the saner judgment that comes +from wider views and a riper mind, and, fired by the +hope of peaceful truce, he rode furtively along the +river waving a white handkerchief whenever he +saw a sheep-herder, and motioning him to cross. +But however anxious he was for an interview the +desires of the sheepmen did not lean in that direction, +and they only stared at him stolidly or +pretended not to see.</p> +<p>Thwarted in his efforts for peace the judge returned +to camp deep in thought. The sheep were at +his very door and nothing had been done to stay +them; a deadly apathy seemed to have settled down +upon the cowmen; after all their threats there were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_443' name='page_443'></a>443</span> +no preparations for defence; the river was not even +patrolled; and yet if quick action was not taken the +upper range might be irreparably ruined before the +reserve was proclaimed. Not that he would countenance +violence, but a judicious show of resistance, for +instance, might easily delay the crossing until the +President could act, or even so daunt the invaders +that they would go around. It was not strictly legal, +of course, but the judge could see no harm in suggesting +it, and as soon as the cowmen were gathered +about their fire that evening he went out and sat +down by Creede, who lay sprawled on his back, his +head pillowed on his hands, smoking.</p> +<p>“Well, Jefferson,” he began, feeling his way cautiously, +“I see that the sheep have come down to +the river––they will be making a crossing soon, I +suppose?”</p> +<p>Creede sucked studiously upon his cigarette, and +shifted it to a corner of his mouth.</p> +<p>“W’y yes, Judge,” he said, “I reckon they will.”</p> +<p>“Well––er––do you think they intend to invade +our upper range this year?”</p> +<p>“Sure thing,” responded Creede, resuming his +smoke, “that’s what they come up here for. You +want to take a last long look at this grass.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but, Jefferson,” protested the judge, opening +up his eyes, “what will our cattle feed upon then?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_444' name='page_444'></a>444</span></div> +<p>“Same old thing,” answered Creede, “<i>palo verde</i> +and giant cactus. I’ve got most of mine in the town +herd.”</p> +<p>“What!” exclaimed Judge Ware, astounded at the +suggestion, “you don’t mean to say that you are preparing +to go out of business? Why, my dear Jefferson, +this country may be set aside as a forest reserve +at any minute––and think of the privileges you will +be giving up! As an owner of cattle already grazing +upon the range you will be entitled to the first consideration +of the Government; you will be granted +the first grazing permit; there will be forest rangers +to protect you; the sheep, being transient stock and +known to be very destructive to forest growth, will +undoubtedly be confined to a narrow trail far below +us; by the payment of a nominal grazing fee you +will be absolutely guaranteed in all your rights and +watched over by the Federal Government!”</p> +<p>“Oh, hell!” exclaimed the big cowboy, rising up +suddenly from his place, “don’t talk Government to +me, whatever you do! W’y, Judge,” he cried, throwing +out his hands, “they ain’t no Government here. +They ain’t no law. I could go over and kill one of +them sheep-herders and you wouldn’t see an officer +in two days. I’ve lived here for nigh onto twenty-six +years and the nearest I ever come to seein’ the +Government was a mule branded ‘U. S.’”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_445' name='page_445'></a>445</span></div> +<p>He stopped abruptly and, striding out into the +darkness, picked up a log of wood and laid it carefully +upon the fire.</p> +<p>“Judge,” he said, turning suddenly and wagging +an accusing finger at his former employer, “I’ve +heard a lot from you about this reserve, how the +President was goin’ to telegraph you the news the +minute he signed the proclamation, and send a ranger +in to protect the range, and all that, but I ain’t seen +you <i>do</i> nothin’! Now if you’re goin’ to make good +you’ve got jest about three days to do it in––after +that the sheep will have us dished. Maybe you could +use your pull to kinder hurry things up a little––do +a little telegraphin’, or somethin’ like that.”</p> +<p>“I’ll do it!” cried the judge, taking the bait like +a fish, “I’ll do it at once! I want your best horse, +Jeff, and a guide. I’ll wire the chief forester from +Bender!”</p> +<p>“Keno!” said Creede sententiously, “and give my +regards to Teddy.”</p> +<p>As the old judge disappeared over the western rim +the next morning the <i>rodéo</i> boss smiled grimly behind +his hand, and glanced significantly at Hardy. Then, +with the outfit behind him, he rode slowly up the +cañon, leaving his partner to his steady job as “family +man”––entertaining the boss.</p> +<p>For two days the sheepmen watched the river +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_446' name='page_446'></a>446</span> +eagerly, waiting for a drop; then suddenly, as the +snow water ran by and a cool day checked the distant +streams, it fell, and the swift pageant of the crossing +began. At sun-up a boss herder rode boldly out into +the current and swam it with his horse; brawny Mexicans +leapt into the thicket of <i>palo verdes</i> that grew +against the cliff and cut branches to build a chute; +Jasper Swope in his high sombrero and mounted on +his black mule galloped down from the hidden camp +and urged his men along. Still the same ominous +silence hung about the shore where Juan Alvarez lay +buried beneath the cross. There was no watcher on +Lookout Point, no horsemen lurking in the distance; +only the lowing of the day herd, far up the cañon, +and the lapping of muddy waters. Across the river +the low <i>malpai</i> cliffs rose up like ramparts against +them and Black Butte frowned down upon them like +a watch tower, but of the men who might be there +watching there was no sign.</p> +<p>The sheepman studied upon the situation for a +while; then he sent a messenger flying back to camp +and soon a hardy band of wethers came down, led by +an advance guard of goats, and their plaintive bleating +echoed in a confused chorus from the high cliffs as +they entered the wings of the chute. Already the +camp rustlers had driven them out on the slanting +rock and encircled the first cut with their canvas +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_447' name='page_447'></a>447</span> +wagon cover, when Jasper Swope held up his hand +for them to stop. At the last moment and for no +cause he hesitated, touched by some premonition, or +suspicious of the silent shore. One after another +the herders clambered back and squatted idly against +the cool cliff, smoking and dangling their polished +carbines; the sheep, left standing upon the rock, huddled +together and stood motionless; the goats leapt +nimbly up on adjacent bowlders and gazed across the +river intently; then, throwing up his hand again, +the sheepman spurred his black mule recklessly +into the water, waving his big hat as he motioned for +the sheep to cross.</p> +<p>As the long hours of that portentous morning wore +on, palpitating to the clamor of the sheep, a great +quiet settled upon Hidden Water. Sitting just within +the door Hardy watched Lucy as she went about +her work, but his eyes were wandering and haggard +and he glanced from time to time at the Black Butte +that stood like a sentinel against the crossing. In +the intervals of conversation the bleating of the sheep +rose suddenly from down by the river, and ceased; he +talked on, feverishly, never stopping for an answer, +and Lucy looked at him strangely, as if wondering +at his preoccupation. Again the deep tremolo rose +up, echoing from the cliffs, and Hardy paused in the +midst of a story to listen. He was still staring out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_448' name='page_448'></a>448</span> +the doorway when Lucy Ware came over and laid her +hand on his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Rufus,” she said, “what is it you are always listening +for? Day after day I see you watching here by +the door, and when I talk you listen for something +else. Tell me––is it––are you watching for Kitty?”</p> +<p>“Kitty?” repeated Hardy, his eyes still intent. +“Why no; why should I be watching for her?”</p> +<p>At his answer, spoken so impassively, she drew +away quickly, but he caught her hand and stopped +her.</p> +<p>“Ah no,” he said, “if I could only listen for something +else it would be better––but all I hear is sheep. +I’m like old Bill Johnson; I can still shoot straight +and find my way in the mountains, but every time I +hear a sheep blat I change. Poor old Bill, he’s over +across the river there now; the boys have heard his +hounds baying up in the high cliffs for a week. I’ve +seen him a time or two since he took to the hills and +he’s just as quiet and gentle with me as if he were +my father, but if anybody mentions sheep he goes +raving crazy in a minute. Jeff says he’s been that +way himself for years, and now it’s got me, too. If +I get much worse,” he ended, suddenly glancing up at +her with a wistful smile, “you’ll have to take me +away.”</p> +<p>“Away!” cried Lucy eagerly, “would you go? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_449' name='page_449'></a>449</span> +You know father and I have talked of it time and +again, but you just stick and stick, and nothing will +make you leave. But listen––what was that?”</p> +<p>A succession of rifle shots, like the popping of wet +logs over a fire, came dully to their ears, muffled by +the bleating of sheep and the echoing of the cliffs. +Hardy leapt to his feet and listened intently, his eyes +burning with suppressed excitement; then he stepped +reluctantly back into the house and resumed his seat.</p> +<p>“I guess it’s only those Mexican herders,” he said. +“They shoot that way to drive their sheep.”</p> +<p>“But look!” cried Lucy, pointing out the door, “the +Black Butte is afire! Just see that great smoke!”</p> +<p>Hardy sprang up again and dashed out into the +open. The popping of thirty-thirtys had ceased, but +from the summit of the square-topped butte a signal +fire rose up to heaven, tall and straight and black.</p> +<p>“Aha!” he muttered, and without looking at her he +ran out to the corral to saddle Chapuli. But when he +came back he rode slowly, checking the impatience of +his horse, until at last he dismounted beside her. For +days his eyes had been furtive and evasive, but now at +last they were steady.</p> +<p>“Lucy,” he said, “I haven’t been very honest with +you, but I guess you know what this means––the +boys are turning back the sheep.” His voice was low +and gentle, and he stood very straight before her, like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_450' name='page_450'></a>450</span> +a soldier. Yet, even though she sensed what was in +his mind, Lucy smiled. For a month he had been +to her like another man, a man without emotion or +human thought, and now in a moment he had come +back, the old Rufus that she had known in her heart +so long.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, holding out her hand to him, “I +knew it. But you are working for me, you know, and +I cannot let you go. Listen, Rufus,” she pleaded, +as he drew away, “have I ever refused you anything? +Tell me what you want to do.”</p> +<p>“I want to go down there and help turn back those +sheep,” he said, bluntly. “You know me, Lucy––my +heart is in this fight––my friends are in it––and +I must go.”</p> +<p>He waited for some answer, but Lucy only turned +away. There were tears in her eyes when she looked +back at him and her lips trembled, but she passed into +the house without a word. Hardy gazed wonderingly +after her and his heart smote him; she was like some +sensitive little child to whom every rough word was a +blow, and he had hurt her. He glanced at the signal +fire that rolled up black and sombre as the watcher +piled green brush upon it, then he dropped his bridle +rein and stepped quickly into the house.</p> +<p>“You must forgive me, Lucy,” he said, standing +humbly at the door. “I––I am changed. But do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_451' name='page_451'></a>451</span> +not think that I will come to any harm––this is not +a battle against men, but sheep. No one will be +killed. And now may I go?” Once more his voice +became low and gentle and he stood before her like +some questing knight before his queen, but she only +sat gazing at him with eyes that he could not understand.</p> +<p>“Listen, Lucy,” he cried, “I will not go unless you +tell me––and now may I go?”</p> +<p>A smile came over Lucy’s face but she did not speak +her thoughts.</p> +<p>“If you will stay for my sake,” she said, “I shall be +very happy, but I will not hold you against your +will. Oh, Rufus, Rufus!” she cried, suddenly holding +out her hands, “can’t you understand? I can’t +set myself against you, and yet––think what it is to +be a woman!” She rose up and stood before him, the +soft light glowing in her eyes, and Hardy stepped forward +to meet her; but in that moment a drumming of +hoofs echoed through the doorway, there was a rush of +horsemen leaning forward as they rode, and then Jefferson +Creede thundered by, glancing back as he +spurred down the cañon to meet the sheep.</p> +<p>“My God!” whispered Hardy, following his flight +with startled eyes, and as the rout of cowboys flashed +up over the top of Lookout Point and were gone he +bowed his head in silence.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_452' name='page_452'></a>452</span></div> +<p>“Lucy,” he said, at last, “my mind has been far +away. I––I have not seen what was before me, and +I shall always be the loser. But look––I have two +friends in all the world, you and Jeff, and you are +the dearer by far. But you could see as Jeff went +by that he was mad. What he will do at the river I +can only guess; he is crazy, and a crazy man will do +anything. But if I am with him I can hold him back––will +you let me go?” He held out his hands and +as Lucy took them she saw for the first time in his shy +eyes––love. For a moment she gazed at him wistfully, +but her heart never faltered. Whatever his will +might be she would never oppose it, now that she had +his love.</p> +<p>“Yes, Rufus,” she said, “you may go, but remember––me.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_453' name='page_453'></a>453</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII_THE_LAST_CROSSING' id='CHAPTER_XXIII_THE_LAST_CROSSING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>THE LAST CROSSING</h3> +</div> +<p>The rush and thunder of cow ponies as they hammered +over the trail and plunged down through +the rocks and trees had hardly lost its echoes in the +cliffs when, with a flash of color and a dainty pattering +of hoofs, Chapuli came flying over the top of +Lookout Point and dashed up the river after them. +The cowmen had left their horses in the deep ravine +at the end of the <i>malpai</i> bluffs and were already +crouched behind the rampart of the rim rocks as close +as Indian fighters, each by some loophole in the blackened +<i>malpai</i>, with a rifle in his hand. As Hardy crept +in from behind, Jeff Creede motioned him to a place at +his side greeting him at the same time with a broad +grin.</p> +<p>“Hello, sport,” he said, “couldn’t keep out of it, +eh? Well, we need ye, all right. Here, you can hold +straighter than I can; take my gun and shoot rainbows +around the leaders when they start to come across.”</p> +<p>“Not much,” answered Hardy, waving the gun +away, “I just came down to keep you out of trouble.”</p> +<p>“Ye-es!” jeered Creede, “first thing I know you’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_454' name='page_454'></a>454</span> +be down there fightin’ ’em back with rocks. But +say,” he continued, “d’ye notice anything funny up on +that cliff? Listen, now!”</p> +<p>Hardy turned his head, and soon above the clamor +of the sheep he made out the faint “<i>Owwp! Owwwp!</i>” +of hounds.</p> +<p>“It’s Bill Johnson, isn’t it?” he said, and Creede +nodded significantly.</p> +<p>“God help them pore sheepmen,” he observed, “if +Bill has got his thirty-thirty. Listen to ’em sing, will +ye! Ain’t they happy, though? And they don’t give +a dam’ for us––ump-um––they’re comin’ across +anyway. Well, that’s what keeps hell crowded––let +’er go!”</p> +<p>There was a glitter of carbines against the opposite +cliffs where the spare herders had taken to cover, but +out on the rocky point where the chute led into the +river a gang of Mexicans and two Americans were +leading their wagon cover around a fresh cut of goats +and sheep. On the sand bar far below the stragglers +from the first cut, turned back in the initial rush, +were wandering aimlessly about or plodding back to +the herd, but the sheepmen with bullheaded persistence +were preparing to try again. Chief among them +towered the boss, Jasper Swope, wet to the waist from +swimming across the river; and as he motioned to the +herders to go ahead he ran back and mounted his mule +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_455' name='page_455'></a>455</span> +again. With a barbaric shout the Mexicans surged +forward on the tarpaulin, sweeping their cut to the +very edge; then, as the goats set their feet and held +back, a swarthy herder leapt into the midst and +tumbled them, sheep and goats alike, into the water. +Like plummets they went down into the slow-moving +depths, some headfirst, some falling awkwardly on +their backs or slipping like beavers on a slide; there +was a prolonged and mighty splash and then, one by +one the heads bobbed up and floated away until, led by +the high-horned goats, they struck out for the opposite +shore. Below, yelling and throwing stones to +frighten them, a line of Mexicans danced up and down +along the rocky shore, and to keep them from drifting +into the whirlpool Jasper Swope plunged boldly into +the water on his mule.</p> +<p>Sink or swim, the sheep were in the water, and for a +minute there was a tense silence along the river; then, +as the goats lined out, a rifle shot echoed from the +cliffs and a white column of water rose up before the +leader. He shook his head, hesitated and looked +back, and once more the water splashed in his face, +while the deep <i>ploomp</i> of the bullet answered to the +shot. Fighting away from the sudden stroke the goat +lost his headway and, drifting, fouled those below +him; a sudden confusion fell upon the orderly ranks +of the invaders and, like a flock of geese whose leader +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_456' name='page_456'></a>456</span> +is killed, they jostled against one another, some intent +on the farther shore and some struggling to turn back. +Instantly a chorus of savage shouts rose up from +along the river, the shrill yells of the cowboys mingling +with the whooping and whistling of the sheepmen, +until at last, overcome by the hostile clamor, the +timid sheep turned back toward the main herd, drawing +with them the goats. For a minute Jasper Swope +fought against them, waving his hat and shouting; +then, rather than see them drift too far and be drawn +into the clutch of the whirlpool, he whipped his mule +about and led them back to the shore.</p> +<p>A second time, calling out all his men to help, the +boss sheepman tried to cross the goats alone, intending +to hold them on the shore for a lure; but just as +they were well lined out the same careful marksman +behind the <i>malpai</i> threw water in their faces and +turned them back. But this time Jasper Swope did +not lead the retreat. Slapping his black mule over +the ears with his hat he held straight for the opposite +shore, cursing and brandishing his gun.</p> +<p>“You dam’, cowardly passel of tail-twisters!” he +cried, shaking his fist at the bluffs, “why don’t you +come out into the open like men?”</p> +<p>But a grim silence was his only answer.</p> +<p>“Hey, you bold bad man from Bitter Creek, +Texas!” he shouted, riding closer to the beach. “Why +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_457' name='page_457'></a>457</span> +don’t you come down and fight me like a man?” His +big voice was trembling with excitement and he held +his pistol balanced in the air as if awaiting an attack, +but Jefferson Creede did not answer him.</p> +<p>“I’ll fight you, man to man, you big blowhard!” +thundered Swope, “and there goes my pistol to prove +it!” He rose in his stirrups as he spoke and hurled +it away from him, throwing his cartridge belt after it. +“<i>Now</i>,” he yelled, “you’ve been sayin’ what you’d +do; come out of your hole, Jeff Creede, I want ye!”</p> +<p>“Well, you won’t git me, then,” answered Creede, +his voice coming cold and impassive from over the rim. +“I’ll fight you some other time.”</p> +<p>“Ahrr!” taunted Swope, “hear the coward talk! +Here I stand, unarmed, and he’s afraid to come out! +But if there’s a man amongst you, send him down, +and if he licks me I’ll go around.”</p> +<p>“You’ll go around anyhow, you Mormon-faced +wool-puller!” replied the cowman promptly, “and +we’re here to see to it, so you might as well chase +yourself.”</p> +<p>“No, I like this side,” said the sheepman, pretending +to admire the scenery. “I’ll jest stay here a while, +and then I’ll cross in spite of ye. If I can’t cross +here,” he continued, “I’ll wait for the river to fall and +cross down below––and then I’ll sheep you to the +rocks, you low-lived, skulkin’ murderers! It’s a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_458' name='page_458'></a>458</span> +wonder some of you don’t shoot <i>me</i> the way you did +Juan Alvarez, down there.” He waved his hand +toward the point where the wooden cross rose against +the sky, but no one answered the taunt.</p> +<p>“<i>Murderers</i>, I said!” he shouted, rising up in his +saddle. “I call you murderers before God A’mighty +and there ain’t a man denies it! Oh, my Mexicans +can see that cross––they’re lookin’ at it now––and +when the river goes down they’ll come in on you, if +it’s only to break even for Juan.”</p> +<p>He settled back in his saddle and gazed doubtfully +at the bluff, and then at the opposite shore. Nature +had placed him at a disadvantage, for the river was +wide and deep and his sheep were easy to turn, yet +there was still a chance.</p> +<p>“Say,” he began, moderating his voice to a more +conciliatory key, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. There’s +no use shooting each other over this. Send down +your best man––if he licks me I go around; if I +lick him I come across. Is it a go?”</p> +<p>There was a short silence and then an argument +broke out along the bluff, a rapid fire of exhortation +and protest, some urging Creede to take him up, others +clamoring for peace.</p> +<p>“No!” shouted Jefferson Creede, raising his voice +angrily above the uproar. “I won’t do it! I +wouldn’t trust a sheepman as far as I could throw a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_459' name='page_459'></a>459</span> +bull by the tail! You’d sell your black soul for two +bits, Jasp Swope,” he observed, peering warily over +the top of the rock, “and you’d shoot a man in the +back, too!”</p> +<p>“But look at me!” cried Swope, dropping off his +mule, “I’m stripped to my shirt; there goes my gun +into the water––and I’m on your side of the river! +You’re a coward, Jeff Creede, and I always knowed +it!”</p> +<p>“But my head ain’t touched,” commented Creede +dryly. “I’ve got you stopped anyhow. What kind +of a dam’ fool would I be to fight over it?”</p> +<p>“I’ll fight ye for nothin’, then!” bellowed the sheepman. +“I’ll––” He stopped abruptly and a great +quiet fell upon both shores. From the mouth of +the hidden ravine a man had suddenly stepped +into the open, unarmed, and now he was coming out +across the sands to meet him. It was Rufus Hardy, +dwarfed like David before Goliath in the presence of +the burly sheepman, but striding over the hard-packed +sand with the lithe swiftness of a panther.</p> +<p>“<i>I’ll</i> fight you,” he said, raising his hand in challenge, +but Swope’s answer was drowned in a wild yell +from Creede.</p> +<p>“Come back here, Rufe, you durn’ fool!” he called. +“Come back, I tell ye! Don’t you know better than +to trust a sheepman?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_460' name='page_460'></a>460</span></div> +<p>“Never mind, now,” answered Hardy, turning austerely +to the bluff. “I guess I can take care of myself.”</p> +<p>He swung about and advanced to the stretch of level +sand where Swope was standing. “What guarantee +do I get,” he demanded sharply, “that if I lick you in +a fair fight the sheep will go around?”</p> +<p>“You––lick––me!” repeated the sheepman, showing +his jagged teeth in a sardonic grin. “Well, I’ll +tell ye, Willie; if you hit me with that lily-white hand +of yourn, and I find it out the same day, I’ll promise +to stay off’n your range for a year.”</p> +<p>“All right,” replied Hardy, suddenly throwing +away his hat. “You noticed it when I hit you before, +didn’t you?” he inquired, edging quickly in on his +opponent and beginning an amazing bout of shadow +boxing. “Well, <i>come on</i>, <i>then</i>!” He laughed as +Swope struck out at him, and continued his hectoring +banter. “As I remember it your head hit the ground +before your heels!”</p> +<p>Then in a whirlwind of blows and feints they came +together. It was the old story of science against +brute strength. Jasper Swope was a rough-and-tumble +fighter of note; he was quick, too, in spite of his +weight, and his blows were like the strokes of a sledge; +but Hardy did not attempt to stand up against him. +For the first few minutes it was more of a chase than +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_461' name='page_461'></a>461</span> +a fight, and in that the sheepman was at his worst, +cumbered by his wet clothes and the water in his shoes. +Time and again he rushed in upon his crouching opponent, +who always seemed in the act of delivering a +blow and yet at the moment only sidestepped and +danced away. The hard wet sand was ploughed and +trampled with their tracks, the records of a dozen useless +plunges, when suddenly instead of dodging Hardy +stepped quickly forward, his “lily-white hand” shot +out, and Jasper Swope’s head went back with a jerk.</p> +<p>“You son-of-a-goat!” he yelled, as the blood ran +down his face, and lowering his head he bored in upon +Hardy furiously. Once more Hardy sidestepped, +but the moment his enemy turned he flew at him like a +tiger, raining blows upon his bloody face in lightning +succession.</p> +<p>“<i>Huh</i>!” grunted the sheepman, coughing like a +wood-chopper as he struck back through the storm, +and the chance blow found its mark. For a moment +Hardy staggered, clutching at his chest; but as Swope +sprang forward to finish his work he ducked and +slipped aside, stumbling like a man about to drop.</p> +<p>A shrill yell went up from the farther shore as +Hardy stood swaying in his tracks, and a fierce shout +of warning from the bluff; but Jasper Swope was implacable. +Brushing the blood from his eyes he +stepped deliberately forward and aimed a blow that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_462' name='page_462'></a>462</span> +would have felled an ox, straight at his enemy’s head. +It missed; the drooping head snapped down like Judy +before Punch and rose up again, truculently; then +before the sheepman could regain his balance Hardy +threw his whole strength into a fierce uppercut that +laid Swope sprawling on his back.</p> +<p>A howl of triumph and derision rose up from the +rim of the bluff as the burly sheepman went down, but +it changed to a sudden shout of warning as he +scrambled back to his feet again. There was something +indescribably vengeful about him as he whirled +upon his enemy, and his hand went inside his torn shirt +in a gesture not to be mistaken.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-462.jpg' alt='' title='' width='411' height='629' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +Threw the sand full in his face<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“Look out there, Rufe!” yelled Creede, leaping up +from behind his rock pile. “Run! <i>Jump into the +river</i>!” But instead Hardy grabbed up a handful of +sand and ran in upon his adversary. The pistol stuck +for a moment in its hidden sling and as Swope +wrenched it loose and turned to shoot, Hardy made as +if to close with him and then threw the sand full in +his face. It was only an instant’s respite but as the +sheepman blinked and struck the dirt from his eyes the +little cowman wheeled and made a dash for the river. +“<i>Look out</i>!” screamed Creede, as the gun flashed out +and came to a point, and like a bullfrog Hardy hurled +himself far out into the eddying water. Then like the +sudden voice of Nemesis, protesting against such +treachery, a rifle shot rang out from the towering +crags that overshadowed the river and Jasper Swope +fell forward, dead. His pistol smashed against a rock +and exploded, but the man he had set himself to kill +was already buried beneath the turbid waters. So +swiftly did it all happen that no two men saw the +same––some were still gazing at the body of Jasper +Swope; others were staring up at the high cliff whence +the shot had come; but Jeff Creede had eyes only for +the river and when he saw Hardy’s head bob up, halfway +to the whirlpool, and duck again to escape the +bullets, he leapt up and ran for his horse. Then Bill +Johnson’s rifle rang out again from the summit of his +high cliff, and every man scrambled for cover.</p> +<p>A Mexican herder dropped his gun suddenly and +slipped down behind a rock; and his <i>compadres</i>, not +knowing from whence the hostile fire came, pushed out +their carbines and began to shoot wildly; the deep +cañon reverberated to the rattle of thirty-thirtys and +the steady <i>crack</i>, <i>crack</i> of the rifle above threw the +sheep camp into confusion. There was a shout as +Creede dashed recklessly out into the open and the +sand leapt up in showers behind him, but Bat Wings +was running like the wind and the bullets went wide +of their mark.</p> +<p>Swinging beneath the mesquite trees and scrambling +madly over stones and bushes he hammered up the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_463' name='page_463'></a>463</span> +slope of Lookout Point and disappeared in a cloud of +dirt, but as Hardy drifted around the bend and floated +toward the whirlpool there was a crash of brush from +down the river and Creede came battering through the +trees to the shore. Taking down his <i>reata</i> as he rode +he leapt quickly off his horse and ran out on the big +flat rock from which they had often fished together. +At his feet the turbid current rolled ponderously +against the solid wall of rock and, turning back upon +itself, swung round in an ever-lessening circle until it +sucked down suddenly into a spiral vortex that +spewed up all it caught in the boiling channel below. +There in years past the lambs and weaklings from +the herds above had drifted to their death, but never +before had the maelstrom claimed a man.</p> +<p>Swimming weakly with the current Hardy made a +last ineffectual effort to gain the bank; then fixing +his eyes upon his partner he resigned himself to the +drag of the whirlpool, staking his life on a single throw +of the rope. Once the plaited rawhide was wetted +it would twist and bind in the <i>honda</i> and before Creede +could beat it straight and coil it his partner would +be far out in the centre of the vortex. Planting his +feet firmly on the rock the big cowboy lashed the kinks +out of his <i>reata</i> and coiled it carefully; then as the +first broad swirl seized its plaything and swung him +slowly around Creede let out a big loop and began to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_464' name='page_464'></a>464</span> +swing it about his head, his teeth showing in a tense +grin as he fixed his eyes upon the mark. At each turn +his wrist flexed and his back swayed with a willowy +suppleness but except for that he was like a herculean +statue planted upon the point.</p> +<p>The maelstrom heaved and rocked as it swung its +victim nearer and like a thing with life seemed suddenly +to hurry him past; then as Hardy cried out and +held up a hand for help the rope cut through the air +like a knife and the loop shot far out across the boiling +water. It was a long throw, fifty feet from the rock, +and the last coil had left his tense fingers before the +noose fell, but it splashed a circle clean and true about +the uplifted hand. For a moment the cowboy waited, +watching; then as the heavy rope sank behind his +partner’s shoulders he took in his slack with a jerk. +The noose tightened beneath Hardy’s arms and held +him against the insistent tug of the river; and while +the whirlpool roared and foamed against his body +Creede hauled him forth roughly, until, stooping +down, he gathered him into his arms like a child.</p> +<p>“My God, boy,” he said, “you’re takin’ big chances, +for a family man––but say, what did I tell you about +sheepmen?”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The Mexicans were still firing random shots along +the river when Creede lifted his partner up on Bat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_465' name='page_465'></a>465</span> +Wings and carried him back to Hidden Water. +Long before they reached the house they could see +Lucy standing in the doorway, and Hardy held himself +painfully erect in the saddle, with Creede steadying +him from behind; but when Bat Wings halted +before the <i>ramada</i> Jeff broke rudely in on the play +acting by taking the little man in his arms and depositing +him on a bed.</p> +<p>“Fell into the river,” he said, turning with a reassuring +smile to Lucy, “but he ain’t hurt none––only +kinder weak, you know. I reckon a little hot tea +would help some, bein’ as we’re out of whiskey, and +while you’re brewin’ it I’ll git these wet clothes off. +Yes’m, we’re havin’ a little trouble, but that’s only +them locoed Mexicans shootin’ off their spare ammunition.” +He dragged up a cot as he spoke and was hurriedly +arranging a bed when Lucy interposed.</p> +<p>“Oh, but don’t leave him out here!” she protested, +“put him back in his own room, where I can take care +of him.”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Creede, and picking him up from +his bare cot beneath the <i>ramada</i> he carried Hardy into +the little room where he had lived before Lucy Ware +came. “I guess your troubles are over for a while, +pardner,” he remarked, as he tucked him into the clean +white bed, and then with a wise look at Lucy he +slipped discreetly out the door.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_466' name='page_466'></a>466</span></div> +<p>As she entered with the tea Hardy was lying very +limp and white against the pillow, but after the hot +drink he opened his big gray eyes and looked up at her +sombrely.</p> +<p>“Sit down,” he said, speaking with elaborate exactness, +“I want to tell you something.” He reached +out and took her hand, and as he talked he clung to it +appealingly. “Lucy,” he began, “I didn’t forget +about you when I went down there, but––well, when +Jasper Swope came out and challenged us my hair began +to bristle like a dog’s––and the next thing I knew +I was fighting. He said if I licked him he’d go +round––but you can’t trust these sheepmen. When +he saw he was whipped he tried to shoot me, and I +had to jump into the river. Oh, I’m all right now, +but––listen, Lucy!” He drew her down to him, insistently. +“Can’t you forgive me, this time?” he whispered, +and when she nodded he closed his heavy eyes +and fell asleep.</p> +<p>When he awoke in the morning there was nothing +to show for his fierce fight with Swope or his battle +with the river––nothing but a great weariness and a +wistful look in his eyes. But all day while the boys +rode back and forth from the river he lay in bed, looking +dreamily out through the barred window or following +Lucy with furtive glances as she flitted in and +out. Whenever she came near he smiled, and often +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_467' name='page_467'></a>467</span> +the soft light crept into his eyes, but when by chance +he touched her hand or she brushed back his hair a +great quiet settled upon him and he turned his face +away.</p> +<p>It was Creede who first took notice of his preoccupation +and after a series of unsatisfactory visits he +beckoned Lucy outside the door with a solemn jerk of +the head.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said, “that boy’s got something on his +mind––I can tell by them big eyes of his. Any idee +what it is?”</p> +<p>“Why, no,” answered Lucy, blushing before his +searching gaze, “unless it’s the sheep.”</p> +<p>“Nope,” said Creede, “it ain’t that. I tried to talk +sheep and he wouldn’t listen to me. This here looks +kinder bad,” he observed, shaking his head ominously. +“I don’t like it––layin’ in bed all day and thinkin’ +that way. W’y, that’d make <i>me</i> sick!”</p> +<p>He edged awkwardly over to where she was standing +and lowered his voice confidentially.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you, Miss Lucy,” he said, “I’ve known +Rufe a long time now, and he’s awful close-mouthed. +He’s always thinkin’ about something away off +yonder, too––but this is different. Now of course I +don’t know nothin’ about it, but I think all that boy +needs is a little babyin’, to make him fergit his troubles. +Yes’m, that boy’s lonely. Bein’ sick this way has +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_468' name='page_468'></a>468</span> +took the heart out of ’im and made ’im sorry for himself, +like a kid that wants his mother. And so––well,” +he said, turning abruptly away, “that’s all, +jest thought I’d tell you.” He pulled down his hat, +swung dexterously up on Bat Wings and galloped +away down the valley, waving his hand at the barred +window as he passed.</p> +<p>Long after the clatter of hoofs had ceased Lucy +stood in the shade of the <i>ramada</i>, gazing pensively at +the fire-blasted buttes and the tender blue mountains +beyond. How could such rugged hillsides produce +men who were always gentle, men whose first +thought was always of those who loved them and +never of fighting and blood? It was a land of hardships +and strife and it left its mark on them all. The +Rufus that she had known before had seemed different +from all other men, and she had loved him for it, +even when all his thought was for Kitty; but now +in two short years he had become stern and headstrong +in his ways; his eyes that had smiled up at her so wistfully +when he had first come back from the river were +set and steady again like a soldier’s, and he lay brooding +upon some hidden thing that his lips would never +speak. Her mutinous heart went out to him at every +breath, now that he lay there so still; at a word she +could kneel at his side and own that she had always +loved him; but his mind was far away and he took +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_469' name='page_469'></a>469</span> +no thought of her weakness. He was silent––and she +must be a woman to the end, a voiceless suppliant, +a slave that waits, unbidden, a chip on the tide that +carries it to some safe haven or hurries it out to sea.</p> +<p>With downcast eyes she turned back into the house, +going about her work with the quiet of a lover who +listens for some call, and as she passed to and fro she +felt his gaze upon her. At last she looked up and +when she met his glance she went in and stood beside +his bed.</p> +<p>“What is it you want, Rufus?” she asked, and his +face lit up suddenly as he answered with his eloquent +eyes, but he could not speak the word.</p> +<p>“Who am I?” he murmured, musingly, “to ask +for all the world?” But he held close to the little +hands and as he felt their yielding his breath came +hard and he gazed up at her with infinite tenderness.</p> +<p>“Dear Lucy,” he said, “you do not know me. I +am a coward––it was born in me––I cannot help it. +Not with men!” he cried, his eyes lighting up. +“Ah, no; my father was a soldier, and I can fight––but––”</p> +<p>He paused and his vehemence died away suddenly. +“Lucy,” he began again, still clinging to +her hands for courage, “you have never laughed at +me––you have always been gentle and patient––I +will tell you something. You know how I ran away +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_470' name='page_470'></a>470</span> +from Kitty, and how when she came down here I +avoided her. I was afraid, Lucy, and yet––well, +it is all over now.” He sighed and turned restlessly +on his pillow. “One day I met her up the river and +she––she called me a coward. Not by the word––but +I knew. That was the day before the sheep came +in through Hell’s Hip Pocket, and even Jeff doesn’t +know of the fights I had that night. I went out yesterday +and fought Jasper Swope with my bare hands +to wipe the shame away––but it’s no use, I’m a +coward yet.” He groaned and turned his face to the +wall but Lucy only sighed and brushed back his hair. +For a minute he lay there, tense and still; then as +her hand soothed him he turned and his voice became +suddenly soft and caressing, as she had always +liked it best.</p> +<p>“Don’t laugh at me for it, Lucy,” he said, “I love +you––but I’m afraid.” He caught her hands again, +gazing up wistfully into her eyes, and when she +smiled through her tears he drew her nearer.</p> +<p>“Lucy,” he whispered, “you will understand me. +I have never kissed any one since my mother died––could––could +you kiss me first?”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, Rufus,” she answered, and as their lips +met he held her gently in his arms.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_471' name='page_471'></a>471</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV_THE_END_OF_IT_ALL' id='CHAPTER_XXIV_THE_END_OF_IT_ALL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>THE END OF IT ALL</h3> +</div> +<p>There is a mocking-bird at Hidden Water that +sings the songs of all the birds and whistles for +the dog. His nest is in a great cluster of mistletoe +in the mesquite tree behind the house and every morning +he polishes his long curved bill against the +<i>ramada</i> roof, preens out his glossy feathers, and does +honor to the sun. For two years, off and on, Hardy +had heard him, mimicking orioles and larks and sparrows +and whistling shrilly for the dog, but now for +the first time his heart answered to the wild joy of +the bird lover. The world had taken on light and +color over night, and the breeze, sifting in through +the barred window, was sweet with the fragrance of +untrampled flowers.</p> +<p>April had come, and the grass; the air was untainted; +there was no braying by the river––the +sheep had gone. It had been bought at the price of +blood, but at last there was peace. The dreamy +<i>quah</i>, <i>quah</i> of the quail was no longer a mockery of +love; their eggs would not be broken in the nest but +the mothers would lead forth their little ones; even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_472' name='page_472'></a>472</span> +the ground-doves and the poor-wills, nesting in last +year’s sheep tracks, would escape the myriad feet––and +all because a crazy man, hiding among the cliffs, +had shot down Jasper Swope. Without hate or pity +Hardy thought of that great hairy fighting-man; the +God that let him live would judge him dead––and +Bill Johnson too, when he should die. The sheep +were gone and Lucy had kissed him––these were the +great facts in the world.</p> +<p>They were sitting close together beneath the +<i>ramada</i>, looking out upon the sunlit valley and talking +dreamily of the old days, when suddenly Hardy +edged away and pointed apologetically to the western +trail. There in single file came Judge Ware in his +linen duster, a stranger in khaki, and a woman, riding +astride.</p> +<p>“There comes father!” cried Lucy, springing up +eagerly and waving her hand.</p> +<p>“And Kitty,” added Hardy, in a hushed voice. +Not since they had come had he spoken of her, and +Lucy had respected his silence. Except for the +vague “Perhaps” with which she had answered Bill +Lightfoot’s persistent inquiries he had had no hint +that Kitty might come, and yet a vague uneasiness +had held his eyes to the trail.</p> +<p>“Tell me, Lucy,” he said, drawing her back to his +side as the party dipped out of sight in the interminable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_473' name='page_473'></a>473</span> +thicket of mesquites, “why have you never +spoken of Kitty? Has anything dreadful happened? +Please tell me quick, before she comes. I––I won’t +know what to say.” He twisted about and fixed an +eye on the doorway, but Lucy held out a restraining +hand.</p> +<p>“It has been a great secret,” she said, “and you +must promise not to tell, but Kitty has been writing +a play.”</p> +<p>“A play!” exclaimed Hardy, astounded, “why––what +in the world is it about?”</p> +<p>“About Arizona, of course,” cried Lucy. “Don’t +you remember how eager she was to hear you men +talk? And she collected all those spurs and quirts +for stage properties! Why, she wrote books and +books full of notes and cowboy words while she was +down here and she’s been buried in manuscript for +months. When she heard that you were having the +round-up early this year she was perfectly frantic to +come, but they were right in the midst of writing it +and she just couldn’t get away.”</p> +<p>“They?” repeated Hardy, mystified. “Why +who––”</p> +<p>“Oh, I forgot,” said Lucy, biting her lip. Then +in a lower voice she added: “She has been collaborating +with Tupper Browne.”</p> +<p>“Tupper Browne! Why, what does he know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_474' name='page_474'></a>474</span> +about Arizona?” cried Hardy indignantly, and then, +as Lucy looked away, he stopped short.</p> +<p>“Oh!” he said, and then there was a long silence. +“Well, Tupper’s a good fellow,” he remarked philosophically. +“But Lucy,” he said, starting up nervously +as the sound of horses’ feet came up from +the creek bed, “you’ll––you’ll do all the talking, +won’t you?”</p> +<p>“Talking!” repeated Lucy, pausing in her flight. +“Why, yes,” she called back, laughing. “Isn’t that +always the woman’s part?” And then she fell upon +Kitty’s neck and kissed her. Hardy came forward +with less assurance, but his embarrassment was reduced +to a minimum by Judge Ware who, as soon as +the first greetings were over, brought forward the +mild-mannered gentleman in khaki and introduced +him.</p> +<p>“Mr. Shafer,” he said, “this is my superintendent, +Mr. Hardy. Mr. Shafer represents the United +States Forestry Service,” he added significantly.</p> +<p>“Ah, then you must bring us good news!” cried +Hardy, holding out his hand eagerly.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the official modestly, but his +speech ended with that word.</p> +<p>“I am convinced,” began Judge Ware, suddenly +quelling all conversation by the earnestness of his demeanor. +“I am convinced that in setting aside the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_475' name='page_475'></a>475</span> +Salagua watershed as a National Forest Reserve, our +President has added to the record of his good deeds +an act of such consummate statesmanship that it will +be remembered long after his detractors are forgotten. +But for him, millions of acres of public land now set +aside as reserves would still be open to the devastation +of unrestricted grazing, or have passed irrevocably +into the power of this infamous land ring which +has been fighting on the floor of Congress to deprive +the American people of their rights. But after both +houses had passed a bill depriving the executive of +his power to proclaim Forest Reserves––holding +back the appropriations for the Forestry Service as +a threat––he baffled them by a feigned acquiescence. +In exchange for the appropriations, he agreed to sign +the act––and then, after securing the appropriations, +he availed himself of the power still vested in him +to set aside this reserve and many other reserves for +our children and our children’s children––and then, +gentlemen, true to his word, he signed the bill!”</p> +<p>Judge Ware shook hands warmly with Mr. Shafer +at the end of this speech and wished him all success in +protecting the people’s domain. It was a great day +for the judge, and as soon as Creede and the other +cowmen came in with the day’s gather of cattle he +hastened out to tell them the news.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_476' name='page_476'></a>476</span></div> +<p>“And now, gentlemen,” he said, holding up his +hand to stop the joyous yelling, “I wish to thank you +one and all for your confidence in me and in the good +faith of our Government. It called for a high order +of manhood, I am sure; but in not offering any armed +resistance to the incoming of the sheep your loyalty +has withstood its supreme test.”</p> +<p>“How’s that?” inquired Creede, scratching his +head doubtfully. Then, divining the abysmal ignorance +from which the judge was speaking, he answered, +with an honest twinkle in his eye: “Oh, +that’s all right, Judge. We always try to do what’s +right––and we’re strong for the law, when they +is any.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid there hasn’t been much law up here +in the past, has there?” inquired Mr. Shafer tactfully.</p> +<p>“Well, not so’s you’d notice it,” replied the big +cowboy enigmatically. “But say, Judge,” he continued, +making a point at the old gentleman’s linen +duster, “excuse <i>me</i>, but that yaller letter stickin’ out +of your pocket looks kinder familiar. It’s for me, +ain’t it? Um, thanks; this detective outfit back in +St. Louie is tryin’ to make me out a millionaire, or +somethin’ like that, and I’m naturally interested.” +He tore the letter open, extracted a second epistle +from its depths and read it over gravely. “Well, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_477' name='page_477'></a>477</span> +boys,” he observed, grinning cheerfully as he tucked +it away in his shaps, “my luck always did run in +bunches––<i>I’m rich</i>!”</p> +<p>He strode briskly over to the corral, caught up a +fresh horse and, riding back to the camp, began to go +through his war bag hurriedly. He was in the midst +of a feverish packing, throwing away socks and grabbing +up shirts, when a gay laugh from the house +attracted his attention. He listened for a moment +abstractedly; then he flew at his work once more, +dumping everything he had out on his bed and stuffing +what he needed back into his war bag; but when there +came a second peal of laughter, he stopped and +craned his neck.</p> +<p>“Well––I’ll––be––dam’d!” he muttered, as he +recognized the voice, and then he flew at his work +again, manhandling everything in sight. He was +just roping his enormous bed, preparatory to depositing +it in the bunk-house, when Kitty Bonnair stepped +out of the house and came toward him, walking like a +boy in her dainty riding suit. There was a great noise +from the branding pen and as she approached he +seemed very intent upon his work, wrestling with his +bundle as if he were hog-tying a bull and using language +none too choice the while, but Kitty waited +patiently until he looked up.</p> +<p>“Why, howdy do, Mr. Creede,” she cried, smiling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_478' name='page_478'></a>478</span> +radiantly. “I got a new idea for my play just from +seeing you do that work.”</p> +<p>The cowboy regarded her sombrely, took a nip or +two with his rope’s end, jerked the cords tight, and +sat down deliberately on the bundle.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” he said, wiping the sweat from his +eyes. “How’s tricks?” There was a shadow of +irony in his voice but Kitty passed it by.</p> +<p>“Fine and dandy,” she answered. “How are you +coming?”</p> +<p>“Oh, pretty good,” he conceded, rising up and surveying +the battlefield, “and I reckon I ain’t forgot +nothin’,” he added meaningly. He kicked his blanket +roll, tied his war bag behind the saddle, and hitched +up his overalls regally. “Sorry I ain’t goin’ to see +more of you,” he observed, slipping his six-shooter +into his shaps, “but––”</p> +<p>“What, you aren’t <i>going</i>?” cried Kitty, aghast. +“Why, I came all the way down here to see you––I’m +writing a play, and you’re the hero!”</p> +<p>“Ye-es!” jeered Creede, laughing crudely. “I’m +Mary’s little lamb that got snatched baldheaded to +make the baby laugh.”</p> +<p>“You’re nothing of the kind,” retorted Kitty +stoutly. “You’re the hero in my play that’s going +to be <i>acted</i> some day on the stage. You kill a Mexican, +and win a beautiful girl in the last act!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_479' name='page_479'></a>479</span></div> +<p>“That’s good,” commented Creede, smiling grimly, +“but say, that Mex. will keep, won’t he––because +I’m due back in St. Louie.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” cried Kitty, clasping her hands in despair. +“St. Louis! And won’t I <i>ever</i> see you any more?”</p> +<p>“Well, you might,” conceded the cowboy magnanimously, +“if you wait around long enough.”</p> +<p>“But I <i>can’t</i> wait! I’ve got to finish my last act, +and I came clear down here, just to hear you talk. +You can’t imagine how interesting you are, after living +up there in the city,” she added naively.</p> +<p>“No,” grumbled Creede, picking up his bridle lash, +“but say, I’ve got to be goin’!” He hooked a boot +negligently into the stirrup and looked back over his +shoulder. “Anything else I can do for you?” he inquired +politely.</p> +<p>“Oh, you dear Jeff!” cried Kitty ecstatically, “yes! +Do come back here and let me tell you!” He kicked +his foot reluctantly out of the stirrup and stalked +back, huge and commanding as ever, but with a +puzzled look in his eye.</p> +<p>“Bend your head down, so I can whisper it,” she +coaxed, and brute-like he bowed at her bidding. She +whispered a moment eagerly, added a word, and +pushed his head away. For a minute he stood there, +thinking ponderously; then very deliberately he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_480' name='page_480'></a>480</span> +pulled his six-shooter out of his shaps and handed it +over to her.</p> +<p>“All right,” he said, “but say”––he beckoned her +with an inexorable jerk of the head––“what do <i>I</i> git, +now?” He looked down upon her as he had on the +morning they had parted, out behind the corral, and +the hot blood leaped into Kitty Bonnair’s cheeks at +the memory of that kiss. For a moment she hesitated, +twisting her trim boot into the ground, then +she drew the coveted pistol from her belt and handed +it back.</p> +<p>“Well, since you insist,” he said, and very sternly +he thrust the redeemed weapon back into his shaps. +A change came over him as he regarded her; there +was an austere tightening of his lips and his eyes +glowed with a light that Kitty had never seen before.</p> +<p>“That was a rough deal you gave me, girl,” he +said, his voice vibrant with anger, “and I ain’t forgotten +it. You dropped your rope over my horns and +gave me a little run and then you took your turns and +<i>busted</i> me like a wild steer! And then maybe you +laughed a little,” he suggested, with a searching +glance. “No? Well, it’s all right, as far as I’m +concerned––my hide’s whole, and I’m rope-wise––but +I’ll tell you, Miss Kitty, if you’d jest keep this +gun of mine and shoot some feller once in a while +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_481' name='page_481'></a>481</span> +we’d all enjoy it more.” He paused, and as Kitty +stood downcast before this sudden censure he smiled +to himself, and a twinkle of mischief crept into his +masterful eyes.</p> +<p>“But don’t mind a little thing like that, girl,” he +said, throwing out his hands largely. “<i>You</i> don’t +lose no friends by tryin’ to educate us a little––ump-umm! +Of course I’m kinder sore over that letter, +but you look good to me yet, Kitty!”</p> +<p>“Why––Mr. Creede!” faltered Kitty, looking up.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” asserted Creede, lowering his voice +confidentially, “they was something about you that +caught my eye the first time I saw you.” He laughed, +showing all his white teeth, and at the same time his +eyes were very grave.</p> +<p>“Come over here,” he said, “and I’ll tell you what +it was. No––I won’t kiss you––come on up close.” +Wondering at her own acquiescence, Kitty Bonnair +obeyed, and with a mysterious smile he stooped down +until his lips were close to her ear.</p> +<p>“You remind me of my girl,” he whispered, “back +in St. Louie!” And then with a great laugh he broke +away and leapt triumphantly into the saddle.</p> +<p>“<i>Whoop-eee</i>!” he yelled. “<i>Watch me fly</i>!” And +spreading his arms like a bird he thundered away +down the western trail.</p> +<p>There was a strange stillness about the old ranch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_482' name='page_482'></a>482</span> +house when Kitty came back to it and she wondered +vaguely where Lucy and Rufus were, but as she +stepped inside the dirt <i>ramada</i> the quiet seemed to lay +its spell upon her and she halted by the doorway, +waiting for a last glimpse of Jeff as he went up over +the western rim. The bawling of cattle and the shrill +yells of the cowboys no longer tempted her to the +<i>parada</i> ground––she was lonely, and there was no +one who cared for her. Yet, somewhere within, she +could hear the murmur of voices, and at last when she +could endure it no longer she turned and entered +quickly. The big living-room where they had so +often sat together was vacant now, but Hardy’s door +was open, and as she looked in she saw them standing +together––Lucy with downcast eyes, and Rufus, +holding both her hands. It was all very innocent and +lover-like, but when their lips met she turned and fled +to her room.</p> +<p>Half an hour later Kitty emerged from her hiding, +robed like a woman; there was a new grace about her +as she stood before them, a new dignity, and she wore +fresh flowers in her hair, forget-me-nots, picked from +among the rocks as she rode toward Hidden Water.</p> +<p>“Bless you, my children,” she said, smiling and holding +out her hands, “I shall die an old maid.” And +then she kissed them both.</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0804 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Aug 08 17:01:52 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hidden Water, by Dane Coolidge + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIDDEN WATER *** + +***** This file should be named 29642-h.htm or 29642-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/4/29642/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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