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diff --git a/old/63307-0.txt b/old/63307-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 31c2232..0000000 --- a/old/63307-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5297 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Untamed, by George Pattullo - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Untamed - -Author: George Pattullo - -Illustrator: Charles Bull - Charles Russell - Haydon Jones - -Release Date: September 26, 2020 [EBook #63307] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNTAMED *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - The Untamed - -[Illustration: “_So much had three days with the wild linked up the -slack chain of her blood tie._”--_Shiela_] - - - - - The Untamed - Range Life in the Southwest - - By - George Pattullo - - [Illustration] - - Toronto - McLeod & Allen - 1911 - - - - - Copyright 1908, 1909, 1910 by THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY - Copyright 1910 by THE S. S. MCCLURE COMPANY - Copyright 1911 by THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING COMPANY - Copyright 1911 by DESMOND FITZGERALD, INC. - - - - - TO - FRANK B. MOSON - and the boys of the O R, R O, and Turkey Track - - - - - My coffee I boil without being ground. - The fire I kindle with chips gathered round. - My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones; - My parson’s a wolf on pulpit of bones. - The sky is my ceiling; my carpet’s the grass; - My music’s the lowing of herds as they pass. - --_Ballad of The Trail Boss._ - - - - - Acknowledgment is made to _The Saturday Evening Post_, - _McClure’s Magazine_, and _The American Magazine_ for permission - to republish these stories. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - I OL’ SAM A mule 13 - - II THE MARAUDER A coyote 51 - - III CORAZÓN A roping horse 83 - - IV THE OUTLAW A steer 112 - - V SHIELA A wolfhound 142 - - VI MOLLY A range cow 173 - - VII THE BABY AND THE Mountain lion 202 - PUMA - - VIII THE MANKILLER A jack 230 - - IX NEUTRIA A mountain cowhorse 257 - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - “So much had three days with the _Frontispiece_ - wild linked up the slack chain of - her blood tie” - - _Facing Page_ - “What you mean by running off this 48 - a-way?” - - “The wolf drove away a couple of 60 - buzzards and fell upon this - savagely” - - “Leaping, with legs stiff, straight 100 - off the ground” - - “On his hind legs, his worn fangs 170 - gleaming, he received her” - - “The lonely hut was untenanted” 240 - - - - - I - OL’ SAM - - -“Git your nose out’n that pot. Hi, you flop-eared--I swan, that ol’ mule -makes me mad sometimes. He’d jist as leave snake your whole batch right -from under your nose as look at you. Git, you long-legged rascal! -Whoopee!” - -The cook dashed at the offender, swinging a bit of firewood. It struck -the hybrid upon the hindquarter and he countered instantaneously by -lashing out with his heels. Then he turned to smell of the projectile, -but finding it unfit for consumption, trotted off up a neighboring rise -and presently disappeared from view. - -Certain coarse men of the Lazy L outfit called him Hell-on-Wheels, among -other things, but his real name was Sam, and he made one of the -four-mule team that hauled the chuck-wagon during round-up. Between him -and Dave was a personal feud; they were most loving enemies. In the -beginning the cook had pampered him by feeding bread to the big -creature, taking no heed, and now this artificial appetite he had -created made of Dave’s waking hours a perpetual vigil and conjured up -nightmares in place of refreshing sleep. - -For whenever Sam wasn’t doing the major share of hauling some four -thousand odd pounds of wagon, bedding and provisions from one round-up -ground to another, he was loafing on the confines of camp, awaiting a -favorable opportunity to go in surreptitiously and nose among the pots -or at the back of the wagon for the buns Dave made so cunningly. What -time he lost this way from grazing he made up easily by his pillage; -bread is very fattening, and then, of course, the chuck-wagon team -received regular rations of corn. - -Yet Dave was a watchful scoundrel, and day by day it was being borne in -upon Sam that in these attempts at pilfering he received blows and abuse -more often than huns. But at night, when the punchers lay asleep on the -ground and he could hear the cook slumbering stertorously beneath the -wagon-fly, it was different: then Sam would wander into camp and make -his way on soundless feet to the dead fire. Beside its ashes he knew -there would be scraps of bread, perhaps some of them sweetened with -molasses, and for these his whole being craved. On one such excursion, -as he munched happily on a wet crust, he inadvertently put his foot into -Dave’s face, and, because Hell-on-Wheels weighed about thirteen hundred -pounds, the cook awoke very peevish. - -“If it wasn’t,” he remarked next morning as he hitched up--“if it wasn’t -that you could haul more’n them other three put together, I’d skin you -alive. Oh, you needn’t go for to pretend you didn’t do it a-purpose. You -seen me there, all right. Look at that lip! Don’t it look as if I’d fell -off’n a mountain?” - -The cook always knew what to expect of Sam. When putting the mules in -the wagon he was cognizant of the precise moment that Sam would kick, -and could judge to a hair’s breadth at what angle the smashing blow -would be delivered. On his part, Sam knew that the cook was prepared; -otherwise it is doubtful whether he would have let go some of the -vicious side-sweeps of his left leg that he did. On occasions when the -attacks were especially wicked, or when Dave calculated the margin of -safety with too fine nicety, he would possess himself of a stout club -and hammer Hell-on-Wheels until he was weak. In this way were bred -mutual respect and a thorough understanding. - -It was when the wagon was miring down, or when they were climbing a -rocky trail in the mountains, that Sam and the cook gloried one in the -other. Once Dave’s judgment went wrong by three inches in fording a -stream--he may have been careless with a splendid contempt, as was his -habit--and one hind wheel sank oozily into quicksand. The cook stood up -and whirled his long whip and adjured his team by all that was holy to -pull, pull, pull. - -“Now, you, Hell-on-Wheels! Good ol’ boy! You, Sam! You!” - -He lashed three of the team with stinging force, but Sam he did not -touch. The great mule laid his shoulders into the collar and -heaved,--heaved again--and with a wrench and a sucking sound they -floundered out to hard sand, to safety. Whenever Sam came to a -realization that the job required something extra, and stretched himself -out accordingly, either the wagon followed where he wanted to go or the -mule went through his harness. - -The wagon boss esteemed Sam and valued him at his worth, but it cannot -be said that he was fond of the beast. There was much in his personality -Uncle Henry did not like. Nor did the horse-wrangler. Had anybody -requested Maclovio for a frank opinion of Sam, the Mexican would have -spat with contempt and exhausted the resources of his patois. That -nerveless limb of the devil? Don’t try to tell him the mule stampeded -the staked horses by accident; Maclovio knew better; Sam had planned the -whole turmoil from the start of the round-up. The wrangler had to herd -the mules with the remuda, and the uncanny sagacity the drag-mule -displayed in following out his own plans of grazing and enjoyment filled -the Mexican with superstitious dread. - -The ropers hated him with an active, abiding hatred they made no effort -to conceal. He was the only member of the wagon team that would not -submit to be caught without roping. The other mules would trot in with -the horses from pasture and walk quietly to the wagon to be bridled, -under the lure of grain; but not so with the big fellow. Sam never -crowded away among the horses in foolish panic when a roper walked -through the remuda toward him: that was the way the cow-ponies did, -struggling blindly to get beyond range, and so the noose fell about -their necks with ridiculous ease. That was not Sam’s method, he being -temperamentally opposed to panic. He waited until the roper approached, -waited until the coil sped toward him; and then only did he dodge. As a -result, he eluded the noose time after time. In fact, it always took -longer to rope Sam than any five of the hundred horses. - -One day the hawk-eyed autocrat of the Lazy L range spurred into camp in -hot haste while the outfit was partaking of dinner. Heatedly he urged: -“Watch your horses Uncle Henry.” Then he went to the fire, filled a tin -plate with beef and beans, and a cup with coffee, and speared a bun. - -“Shore. But what for special? They’re doing well and we ain’t lost one,” -replied the wagon boss, making room for his chief on the shady spot -where he squatted. - -“Then you’re in luck. That band of mustangs has roamed down here from -the Flying W. They passed within two miles of the ranch yesterday and, -by Jupiter, if ol’ Pete didn’t join ’em. The ol’ fool! Eleven years that -horse has been a cowhorse and now he runs off from the home pasture with -a bunch of wild ones.” - -“Where’re they heading?” - -“You know as much as I do. I reckon the pasture is poor on the Flying W, -don’t you? They ain’t had much rain and probably this bunch’ll make for -the mountains. Better watch out,” the manager admonished. - -Dave toiled with his team next afternoon through a waste of sand and -mesquite. It was very hot--had there been such a thing as a thermometer -on the wagon it would have registered better than 112--and he sat -hunched on the seat, occasionally throwing an encouraging word to the -straining mules. Behind came Al with the hoodlum wagon, which, being -much lighter, made easy work for a pair of stout horses, so that Al -dozed with his hat well down over his eyes and dreamed of a dress-maker -in Doghole. It was growing towards sunset and they would pitch camp in -the foothills and have supper ready for the boys before darkness fell. - -Without warning the mule team stopped and stood at gaze, rousing Dave -abruptly. A dense cloud of dust was bearing down on them from the right -and out of that swirl came the muffled pounding of many hoofs. - -“The remuda’s stompeded,” yelled Al. - -“No, they ain’t. No, they ain’t. It’s them wild horses. Git your gun, -Al, quick!” - -By the time Al had reached behind him with one hand to fumble for the -rifle, the band had swept by and was disappearing. Probably there were -thirty horses in it, but that was only a guess, because Dave obtained -nothing more than a glimpse of streaming manes and tails. They ran -compactly, a noble buckskin in the lead, and tailing the band was a -white horse; it was evident that he held the furious pace only by a -supreme effort. - -“There goes ol’ Pete. Blast him, if he ain’t hitting only the high -spots,” Dave bawled. - -At this moment his attention was called to Sam. The mule’s head was -thrown high, the usually slouching ears were rigid and pricked forward, -and he was sniffing the air restlessly. Once he made an abrupt lurch -sideways as though to follow the free rovers, but the bit sawed his -mouth, the collar and traces bound him and he could only champ -impatiently. If a mule really knows how to tremble, Sam was trembling -then--it was more a twitching of the muscles. The band was lost to sight -and sound. Dave called a raucous command and once more they settled to -work. Again Sam became listless and applied himself lethargically to -pulling. - -A cool breeze whipped among the scrub-cedar of the foothills and went -whining down the valley. Above the black rim of El Toro rose a rich, -golden disc. Its pale light softened the outlines of the forms asleep -upon the ground; in that kindly radiance the chuck-wagon and the -unsightly confusion of camp merged into blurs that harmonized with the -giant shadow of the mountain. The night was full of murmurings, tense -with the suggestion of strange other worlds. Surely the plaintive -wailing the breeze bore to Sam from El Toro’s pines was a message. - -He stood with his nose up wind and drew in the scents of the wilds. His -forelegs were hobbled, the rope twisted about them so tightly that he -could barely shuffle when he grazed, and near at hand twelve horses were -staked out. One of them, hopelessly entangled in his rope, was fighting -it in terror; already he was on his knees unable to do aught but cut -himself. In a draw a half-mile away the remuda cropped the grass under -the eyes of a triple guard, for Uncle Henry was mindful of the manager’s -warning, and upon Dave’s report he took no chances. - -Out from the shadow cast by a mesquite bush a coyote skulked, and Sam -snorted and shook his head in anger. The beast’s scent offended him, but -he was not afraid. Somewhere in the dark a wildcat cried and the mule -cocked his ears to listen. Next moment he jumped awkwardly aside as a -polecat scurried by on a hunt for food. - -The mule was growing restive. It was not nervousness--a mule is rarely -nervous or frightened. When he runs away or pitches or balks, it is -seldom because something has put fear into him; it is refined -cussedness. Anyone who ever succeeded in owning a mule longer than a -month will tell you that. - -Of a sudden Sam sank his head and his powerful teeth met and rasped on -the rope that chafed his legs. One of the strands parted and he strained -to break the hobble, but too impatient to direct his gnawing to one -spot, he was unsuccessful and finally desisted. - -Was that the call of a horse? It did not come from the direction in -which the remuda had been driven off, and his ears tingled for a -repetition of the sound. Twice he humped himself and struck out with his -heels in the fury of impotence, and paused breathlessly with his eyes -fixed on the yellow ball above El Toro’s summit. He took one step -forward and became immovable as his glance fell to the wide lane of -light it cast. - -Down this silver-shimmering path a horse came proudly. None but a free -rover ever trod earth as he did. Sam could see the fiery eyes flashing -suspicion, the regal head thrown back, the nostrils a-quiver to divine -danger. He came like a phantom, lightly as one, silently as one, and a -dozen yards away he halted, and there in the light of the moon surveyed -the camp, the staked mounts, the sleeping men. It was the king of the -wild horses. Far back of him a blotch on a hillside shifted with gleam -of color. - -A madness was come upon Sam. From out the night countless voices called -to him appealingly; away out there in the illusive sheen must be liberty -and delight. His sluggish blood was racing wildly, his body and limbs -were a-quake with eagerness to respond to that appeal, to be gone into -that alluring gloom. One of the staked animals whinnied and tugged -fiercely on his rope. - -At once the buckskin stallion blared a challenge, and he was away. The -shadows swallowed him up. From over the hill came a rolling thunder, the -noise of scores of flying hoofs, and Sam got the hobble between his -teeth a second time, gave one ferocious upward rend, and the strands -parted and dropped from him. He was free, and the wilderness was -calling, calling. - -“Ol’ Hell-on-Wheels has done gone,” observed Dave. - -“Done gone?” the wagon boss echoed. “Gone where? He must be round -somewheres. He cain’t git through the day without bread, Sam cain’t.” - -“He done run off with them mustangs!” In Dave’s tone was depressed -conviction. “You hearn ’em last night the same as me. Nobody seen him -go, but look here. I jist found his hobble all bit in two.” - -“And we’ve got to move camp this morning,” the wagon boss raved. - -“P’raps he’ll come back. I shouldn’t think they’d want Sam with ’em, -Uncle Henery. He’d smash ’em all up, that bunch, he would!” - -“He shore would.” Uncle Henry could not suppress a snigger of -satisfaction. - -He dispatched two of the boys to scour the country for the fugitive, and -Dave hitched a two-mule team, falling a prey to melancholy as he moved -about them in absolute security. How he missed that ol’ son-of-a-gun -with his sly nibbles and his kicking and sublime obstinacy. These -creatures pull? The cook grew hot with disdain and had two men told off -to help haul the wagon with ropes in bad spots. In the days that -followed he would often stop in his work and wonder what sense there was -in going through life, anyway. - -Meanwhile, Sam flourished like unto the green bay tree. When the band -sped away into the hills the night of his temptation and fall, the mule -summoned up unguessed reserves of speed and trailed behind. The -tumultuous joy of liberty fired him; his muscles responded to this new -throbbing life like steel springs, so that Sam not only caught up with -the mustangs, but ran well within himself in holding with them. The -renegade Pete galloped in rear and, knowing Sam these many years, -nickered him breathless welcome. - -A recruit to the ranks was not a novelty, and though Sam was a mule, -they accepted him readily enough, and for several days they roamed the -cañons of El Toro. Rains had been frequent in this region and they -obtained their fill of grass. As is the way of horses, the band paid -scant attention to the mule; he grazed with them, and when any alarm or -mere exuberance of spirits prompted a run, he could show his heels to -all but the buckskin leader and a bay mare which seemed to carry wings -on her feet. - -And on the fifth day occasion arose for him to prove his prowess. In the -band were a dozen mares, seven colts of various ages and fifteen horses, -all under the leadership of the buckskin. Now, Sam was a mule of -considerable common-sense; he never disputed the sovereignty of the -stallion, but at the same time he was fully sensible of his own strength -and fighting ability, having had occasion to test the same frequently, -and he had not the remotest intention of allowing any horse on the range -or other quadruped, to take undue liberties. - -As they came up from watering at a mountain spring at high noon, the -mustangs were compelled to thread a narrow defile, and much crowding -resulted. A colt ricochetted from the mule and lost his feet, whereupon -the mother made at Sam with her teeth. This attack he ignored -dexterously by bursting through the press and imposing the bodies of -several horses between him and the indignant mare; but when a youthful -black took it into his head that Sam was a recreant and could be bullied -with impunity, various things happened. By now, they were out in the -open. Trumpeting defiance, the black ran at him. - -The combat did not last three minutes. It is probable that the mule -would have killed his assailant when he lay prone after the third -onslaught, had not the leader trotted up in royal wrath to quell the -disorder in his following. Should he go for him too, and reduce him to -pulp? Sam’s eyes were glittering evilly, and the mulish, enduring rage -was alive, but his habitual discretion cooled the impulse and he gave -ground, his ears laid back, his retreat reluctant. The stallion wisely -let him go. - -Soon he attained to a species of leadership, a vice-royalty under the -reigning buckskin. For one thing, his caution was tempered by almost -human powers of discrimination; for another, he was never subject to the -nervous tremors to which even the stallion fell victim and which were -the inspiration of many stampedes. Sam could sense peril as far as any -and was dubious, in a calm way, of everything he saw until he had -investigated; but sudden noises, or a strange scent brought abruptly to -his nostrils, did not send him flying over the country, shrilling -warnings. He made reasonably sure of the possibility of danger before -giving the alarm. Of his old masters, he was peculiarly wary, and twice -at night, when they passed within a mile of the round-up camp, the -mule’s nose acquainted him of its proximity, and he led them far to the -west. - -When the outfit had almost completed the round-up, Sam wandered off from -the band on a morning’s jaunt and came unexpectedly upon the remuda in a -draw. The wrangler espied that unmistakable gait from afar and spurred -desperately to catch him, but the mule was fleet as a greyhound and -could not be headed. Two of the horses followed the fallen one. They -knew Sam and respected him, and what was good enough for him would suit -them admirably. Maclovio did not see their departure; madly scurrying -from point to point to herd the restless horses, he failed to perceive -the flight toward the gap, and it was only when the roping began after -dinner that the loss was discovered. The Mexican prayed inwardly that -Sam would break a leg and die by inches; if he would only break his -neck, he would buy a dozen candles for the altar at Tucalari. - -Old Pete McVey, the manager, sat on the stoop of the bunkhouse at -headquarters and made a solemn vow to the skies. - -“I’ll hunt down every last one of that bunch and hang Sam’s hide to the -saddle-shed. We’ve had two breakdowns with the wagon since he left--that -ol’ mule we got from Doghole ain’t no good, Mit--and now two horses have -run off.” - -“I done told Uncle Henery and Dave that I felt shore it was Sam or some -of them mustangs that stompeded those steers last week.” - -“When I get him, the ol’ fool!” burst out the manager. - -He organized a hunt, and with three men and four staghounds set out -cheerily to wipe the wild horses from the face of the earth. The band -winded them two miles away and carried the hunt to another range, but at -last they crept within striking distance, and the chase was on. - -Sam knew the dogs and had seen them run in sport about headquarters. -Therefore, he let himself out and led the band beside the buckskin -stallion, and for mile after mile they raced. A laggard was pulled down, -the ancient sinner Pete--a hound leaped for his nose and Pete turned a -somersault. McVey himself shot the injured animal, and they camped in -the neighborhood and took up the pursuit next morning. - -It was a famous hunt. The dogs brought down four animals, and the Lazy L -men, tiring in the chase, fired after the fugitives, killing three; but -Sam remained ever in the van, unhurt. McVey led his men back, satisfied -that the mustangs would seek new haunts, swearing vengefully at Sam and -rejoicing in his heart that the giant mule had won to safety. - -The band wintered in the mountains, and more than once during those -terrible months the emaciated Hell-on-Wheels had to paw down through -three inches of snow to get at the grass, and he obtained little more -than enough to sustain life. Several of the colts succumbed to a -three-days’ storm, and when spring was ushered in, with a soft wind that -whispered tender promises to a stricken land, at least a dozen of the -horses and mares were sickly. As for Sam, he was only hungry. A mule -seems immune from disease, and hunger and thirst cannot wreak the havoc -on his iron constitution that they create among the more sensitive -horses. The mustangs ranged widely in a quest for good pasture and at -last worked down to the Lazy L. - -Dave had put in the cold months in dispirited fashion, there being -little to do. He moped around headquarters, and whenever the wagon boss -ventured to consult him on preparations for the spring round-up, the -cook maintained a glum silence. It would be a bad year, he was sure of -that; they needn’t expect much of the calf crop. Far be it from him to -discourage any man, least of all McVey and Uncle Henery, but he felt in -his bones that ill luck would attend them. What could be expected of a -wagon team that would let him mire down in Coyote Creek? The round-up -would be a farce. - -“Them mustangs is back,” Reb announced, riding in from a winter camp. “I -seen ’em topping a mesa over near Lone Pine Spring.” - -“I’ll give twenty dollars a head for ’em,” declared the manager, slowly -removing the pipe from his lips. - -Nearly a score of punchers equipped themselves to earn the reward. Some -failed even to get trace of the band; others trailed them for days, but -never came in sight; Dick, Bob Saunders and Maclovio got within half a -mile and with relays of horses applied themselves to capture in a -scientific way. They would run those mustangs off their legs. In four -days they were back, with their mounts used up and McVey to welcome -them. - -“That ol’ mule kin smell us a mile,” Dick reported. “He always gives the -alarm first. And run? Jim-in-ee, the way that rascal kin run!” - -Dave listened and gloomed and finally took a great resolution. He might -just as well be honest with himself--the round-up would never be the -same without Sam. The cook had been a cowhand in his time and he hadn’t -trailed cattle up through the Panhandle for nothing. Therefore he would -not match his speed against the wild horses. - -“Say, Mister McVey, I want to git a month off.” - -“Where’re you going now? This isn’t another trip to Doghole?” - -“I hoped you’d done forgot that,” Dave answered severely. “No, sir, I -want to go and git Hell-on-Wheels.” - -“How could you catch him? I’ve tried; all the boys have tried. And you -haven’t ridden in ten years.” - -“You let me try and you’ll see.” Dave tried to draw in his waist and -appear athletic as the manager ran his eye over his two hundred and -fourteen pounds. - -“You couldn’t get that mule in a thousand years. Unless”--as an -afterthought--“you spread breadpans all over the range and set traps.” - -“There’s where you’re wrong, Mister McVey, sir. I ain’t rode much since -I took to cookin’, but I’m pretty active. You gimme that month and -you’ll see.” - -“Go ahead. I’d just as soon pay the reward to you as to anybody -else--sooner.” - -Sam was the first of the band to sight the enemy trudging through the -sand of the plain toward them. Far behind a burro followed, led by -another man on foot. This truly was interesting. The mule advanced for a -closer inspection and the others awaited his verdict, having implicit -confidence in him as a sentinel. Thus it happened that Dave gained to -within three hundred yards before Sam flagged his tail and departed. The -horses massed swiftly into a compact body and followed, but they did not -run as they would have run from mounted men. Instinctively they knew -that this thing on two legs could not catch them, so it was at a -swinging trot that they breasted a hill. - -On its crest the mustangs slowed down; they dropped to a walk and turned -to look back at what pursued. There plodded old Dave, apparently paying -them no special attention, but nevertheless coming in their direction. -Once more Sam waited until the cook came within shouting distance, then, -the buckskin raising the alarm, they cantered off. - -So it went all the afternoon. Dave made no attempt to get close up with -them; he did not conceal his approach; he did not stalk them; and he was -especially cautious not to alarm to an extent that would send them -fleeing for miles. Instead, he was satisfied merely to keep them in -sight. Sometimes he paused to wipe the sweat from his face and neck, but -he betrayed no impatience. Far behind a burro followed, led by another -man on foot, and when the cook changed his course so did the burro, -still maintaining its distance. - -Sam was sorely puzzled. That stout figure possessed a peculiar -attraction for him. When he had put a considerable tract between himself -and it, he could not forbear to stop and watch what it would do. Still -it came on--yet it was not threatening. The mule’s sense of danger was -lulled. And he was not the only perplexed member of the band: curiosity -had the stallion in its grip, too. There was not a horse among the free -rovers but would slacken gait to ascertain where the foolish pursuer -walked now. - -By the time the sun died behind a fringe of hills, Sam and the others -were horribly thirsty. They swung around in a wide semicircle and struck -for a lake six miles distant. Dave followed. Hardly had they drunk half -their fill, standing waist-deep in the cooling water, when the expectant -mule warned them of the approach of that shadowing figure. They waded -out and made off reluctantly. - -The cook arrived two minutes later and stretched out on his back on the -edge of the lake and thought with sweet sorrow of the days when he -weighed one hundred and sixty. Presently the man with the burro joined -him, and they took down their bedding, staked out the tireless -pack-animal, built a fire of dried broomweed, and ate. - -“They won’t go far from here to-night. It jist happens there ain’t any -water nearer than twenty miles. No-oo, I reckon they’ll hang round -somewheres near,” Dave observed, rolling a cigarette. - -He divined correctly. Sam and his companions discovered that they were -hungry, very hungry. While they did not realize it, they had eaten -little that afternoon, for no sooner would they shake off the pursuer -and fall to nibbling nervously at the dried grass than he would -reappear, persistent as their own shadows, and they would continue their -flight. Now he followed no more, and they must eat. Eat they did to some -extent, but a burning curiosity and a vague uneasiness had seized upon -them. They felt irresistibly attracted by the campfire that sparkled in -the darkness down by the water they craved; time after time they would -near it fearfully. Without turning his head Dave knew that dozens of -wondering eyes surveyed him from the outer rim of dark fifty yards away. - -Before dawn the cook and his assistant had made fast the burro’s burden -with the “diamond hitch,” and hard upon the coming of light Dave started -out alone. In an hour he was in sight of the mustangs. Sam shook his -head in irritation and the band moved off slowly. Dave followed. Far -behind came a burro, led by a man on foot. - -He camped at noon in a stretch of alkali, and because there was no water -near they partook sparingly of some the cook carried in tins slung over -the burro’s load. As for the beast, he must wait till nightfall, which -did not worry the burro in the least. Well Dave knew that the mustangs -must make for water. - -A dozen times in a day the cook would be out of view of the fugitives -and a dozen times he would catch up with them, disturbing their -intermittent grazing. It is doubtful if he averaged more than twenty -miles in twenty-four hours; it is certain that the wild horses covered -nearly three times that distance in their outbursts of panic and their -doublings back on the pursuer. The chase led in a triangle that took in -all the water-holes within a radius of ninety miles, and almost always -Dave contrived to arrive before the band had got quite their fill. - -Sam had lost at least a hundred pounds by the end of a week and was -become gaunt and savage. Several of the colts, only a few months old, -gave up the flight and their mothers forsook the band in safety, the -pursuers ignoring them. The others kept on. Sam’s contempt for the slow -crawling thing behind them was changing to a haunting dread, and he -became subject to petty fits of irritation. Why couldn’t the enemy come -on boldly? Why couldn’t he match his speed with theirs in one grand -rush? But no, there he was, patiently legging it through the sand, -through grass, over foothills, up mountain trails, through gorges, down -into valleys. A horrible fascination took possession of the mule. Had -Dave turned about to retrace his steps, it is probable that Sam would -have followed out of curiosity to see where he was going; but Dave still -came on. - -About this time, too, they got a taste of real summer. From an empty sky -the sun smote the land, browning the hills, crisping the grass in the -valleys until it crackled into dust. First one mountain stream ceased to -run, then another; a creek that used to sweep down in a torrent after -the spring rains now dribbled among scorching boulders. Thus came about -the beginning of the end. - -“They cain’t stand more’n another week of this, Charlie,” Dave remarked, -as they camped beside a hatful of water in the foothills. - -“I reckon not. Did you notice some of them mares? They’s all in. You got -within fifty yards of ’em once to-day, Dave. The burro here has kep’ up -well. Ain’t you, you greedy devil? She’s looking fine. I’m giving her -corn.” - -Never did the mustangs get enough to eat. Another sort of madness than -the madness for liberty was laying hold of Sam. His days consisted of -timid attempts at grazing, from which he would start at the lightest -sound; of enforced pilgrimages from one pasture to another; and it must -have been four hundred hours since he had had his fill of water. More -than once, in a frenzy of revolt, he put five miles between him and his -clinging disturber; but after two hours of uneasy nibbling he would be -interrupted once again--and again must move on. What food he got failed -to nourish as it should, and the rest he snatched was not rest. In the -night, when he might have lost his foe, the mule knew well that he was -near, for there in the blackness his fire sent up its sparks and it drew -him and his companions like a magnet. No matter where they roamed, the -cook managed to spend the dark hours near water, and the band could not -tear themselves from the vicinity. - -There came a day when Sam’s ribs showed pitifully through his rough coat -and he shuffled along in desperate dejection, his ears flopping. A heavy -fatigue numbed his limbs, made cruel weights of them, and he was -thirsty, deliriously thirsty; but if his plight was bad, that of the -mustangs was worse. They stumbled coughing through the dust, too tired -to lift their feet. Occasionally one broke into a half-hearted trot -which survived only a few steps. The race was run. - -Within six hours the band began to break up. First the mares and colts -dropped out, careless of what might befall. The mothers went weakly to -feeding on the burnt grass, their offspring hovering near in the last -stages of exhaustion; but to these Dave paid no attention. He was after -Hell-on-Wheels, and he did not intend to inject new life into the jaded -survivors by the slaughter of their beaten companions. By his orders -Charlie, too, ignored them, though his fingers itched as his mind dwelt -on the reward. - -Four of the horses lagged, staggered forward a few paces and fell -behind, spent, swaying dizzily as they moved aside to let Dave pass. -They were oblivious to everything now, insensible to peril, scarcely -able to discern objects through their glazed eyes; but Sam and the -stallion and some few kept on. Dave followed. - -Hot rebellion surged up in the mule more than once, sapping his last -ounce of spirit. Up would go his head in defiance and he would increase -his lead; but the strength was ebbing from the wonderful muscles of him; -he was sick at heart and wanted to lie down. Ahead, perhaps an hour’s -walk, he knew there was water. He must reach that. Would this thing that -hung to their rear never give them respite? - -Dave trudged now only twenty yards back. He was footsore, a fearful -weariness was upon him and the heat was awful. Yet no thought of giving -up occurred to his mind; his patience was unfailing. Not once did he do -a hurried thing to alarm the quarry. - -[Illustration: “_What you mean by running off this a-way?_”] - -It was the twenty-fourth day. All around them stretched a desert of -alkali broken by patches of tree-cactus and clumps of bear-grass, and -through the white, chalky dust Sam toiled dispiritedly a dozen yards in -front of the stallion. Behind the faltering buckskin limped five -skeletons of horses, and ten yards behind the hindermost walked Dave. -There was no need that Charlie remain far in rear. The mustangs did not -notice him, and he followed close with the burro. - -The rovers had drunk deep that morning at a spring on the edge of the -desert--this being as Dave would have it--and now all vigor of body and -spirit had departed. Sam’s head swung low to the ground, his knees were -shaking and he saw nothing of what he passed. To his bloodshot eyes -these scorched wastes were a wavering mist, and he knew only that he -must go on. - -Suddenly, as though by telepathic agreement, the weird procession -halted. Sam turned. He faced the cook as he came up without hesitation, -rope in hand. Dave slipped the noose about his neck and rubbed the dusty -muzzle sunk against his hip. - -“You ol’ fool, you!” he mouthed at him. “What you mean by running off -this a-way? Didn’t you know that team weren’t no good without you? What -did you reckon I was going to do, you pore ol’ son-of-a-gun?” - -He ran his eye over the emaciated body; then his glance fell to his own -shrunken outline. - -“I reckon we’re both some thinner, Sam. And my feet’s awful sore. What -you need is corn. Here, Charlie, gimme that ‘morale’!” - -Staked out with the nosebag over his head, the mule munched dully on the -life-giving grain, while Dave prepared dinner and Charlie moved from -point to point on the plain with a rifle, earning half a month’s pay -every time he got near a horse. Charlie began to figure he would be a -rich cowman some day. - -Two hours later the men were smoking in the peace and content of hard -work well done, when Sam walked stiffly to the end of his rope. By -straining on it he could just reach the edge of the campfire. Dave rose -up on his elbow. - -“Hi, there! Git your nose out’n that pan, you rascal! I swan, he’s -hunting for bread.” - - - - - II - THE MARAUDER - - -Six frowsy buzzards sat on a tree and made mock of his hunger. With his -bushy tail drooping dismally between his legs, he zigzagged his way up -the wide, dry bed of Red River, flitting from cover to cover like an -uneasy ghost. Up one steep bank he sidled, to squat on his haunches, -whence he surveyed the camp hungrily. - -“There’s a big ol’ ki-yote,” said the hoodlum driver. “Git your gun, -Dave.” - -The cook abandoned the washpan with alacrity and ransacked the -chuck-wagon for his weapon. When he rejoined Mac the coyote was still in -view, but he seemed farther away. - -“He done moved. I cain’t hit him from here,” said the cook. - -“I been watching him and he ain’t budged. Yes, he has, too. I’ll swan, I -never seen him do it.” - -The prairie wolf now sat a good three hundred yards away, his back to -the camp, as though indifferent and contemptuous of it. Dave knelt on -one heel, took slow, careful aim, and fired. A spurt of sand five yards -short of the coyote was the result. The animal half turned his head, the -sensitive upper lip quivered and curled over the wicked fangs, for all -the world like a sneer, and then he resumed his placid scrutiny of -nothing. Mac forcibly removed the rifle from Dave’s grasp, deaf to his -picturesque explanation of the miss, adjusted the sight and lay down. - -“You had it sighted for a hunderd yards,” he rebuked. “I put her up a -few notches.” - -“Whee-ee-ee,” whined a snub-nosed leaden pellet. A spurt of sand five -yards beyond the coyote was the result. It aroused the animal to instant -activity. If he was not beyond range, then the wagon had a better gun -than he had ever met with, so he glided away like a shadow. - -“There goes two dollars bounty,” sighed the cook regretfully. “That’s -just what I done lost to Jack, shootin’ craps last night.” - -“Where’s that nester’s ol’ dog that was smelling round the pots this -morning?” Mac demanded. “There he goes now. Hi-yi, ol’ feller! Go git -him, boy! Go to him!” - -A yellow mongrel, half shepherd and a mixture of other breeds, abandoned -his slinking tour of the camp and became at once a respectable, alert -dog, with a job. He sighted the fleeing coyote, and, giving tongue, -followed after. - -“He won’t never catch him. Those lil’ ol’ ki-yotes kin outrun a streak -of lightning, and stop to sleep a-doing it,” said Mac. - -It was evident that the pursuit did not worry the fugitive greatly. He -loped along easily, with the dog gaining at every frantic leap until a -scant yard separated them, when, still maintaining his careless gait, -the coyote veered to the south; and yet the distance between them did -not diminish. The dog was blowing and puffing throaty threats, while the -wolf watched him out of the corner of one eye. With a mad burst of speed -the cur gained a yard, whereupon something happened. Without appearing -to strain himself at all, the coyote simply disappeared from view over -the next rise. The dog had seen a pepper-and-salt, gray streak flash -over the crest, but that was all. He stopped in a dazed sort of way to -figure the matter out. - -While he was figuring, a foxlike head poked itself over a clump of -bear-grass and the coyote yawned in his face. Once more the chase was -on, with redoubled fury. - -This was an old game to Scartoe. He had raced all sorts of dogs, from -collie to fox terrier, and only once, when a greyhound ran him, had he -stood in danger. Greatly to his chagrin and alarm on that occasion, he -had been forced to switch the lithe pursuer unexpectedly into a -barb-wire division-fence, to save his hide. As he ran now he was -studying this loud-voiced antagonist of the yellow hair. Whatever he -saw, the result was wholly surprising. He increased his lead by ten -yards, then whirled about and sat down, at which the dog plowed up the -ground for five feet in a panic-stricken effort to put on the brakes, -and promptly changed his course. Still growling, he trotted away toward -a cactus far to the left, as though suddenly made aware of something -extremely interesting to be found there. - -The coyote’s lip flickered, and he walked to the sandy sides of a -ravine. With a final look back from its top, he descended leisurely; -then, once in the creek bed, glided at top speed in an opposite -direction. He was bound homeward. - -All of which goes to show the delicacy of coyote judgment and the depths -of his knowledge of human and canine nature. For there are dogs which -will close on a coyote and kill him at the first opportunity and with no -hesitation. Pluck does not run exclusively in breeds, and individual -dogs of all kinds have been known to go for the prairie thief at sight, -and even for the redoubtable lobo; but others there are which will shirk -a tussle with this scorned of the wolf tribe, this scavenger and outcast -of the wild. And a coyote, being lowest in the ranks of those obsessed -of fear, is the readiest to detect cowardice in others; moreover, he has -the cunning to profit by it. - -Enjoyable as this little breather had been, it had not provided the meal -for which he was searching. Rather it had whetted the gnawing demand for -it and the prospect of obtaining anything seemed more remote than ever, -because he had builded some hopes on scraps from the camp. Scartoe eased -to a walk--not the brisk, firm patter of the dog, but a sneaking, -apologetic, tortuous gait, that was yet swift and wonderfully noiseless. - -Prairie dogs there were none, though he scour the length and breadth of -six hundred square miles. Poison had done its work thoroughly and only -the empty holes remained, half grown over with grass and weeds, a -constant menace to horsemen. Of ground squirrel there were a few, and at -certain seasons the sage grouse furnished him succulent meals; but these -were trifles, after all, and it took infinite patience and stealth to -secure them. - -Scartoe crept slantwise up a ridge and took a look around. The sun beat -down on a land it had desolated. Where creeks had been were now gorges -of baked clay; a long stretch of sage-grass was white with dust and -crackling; large fissures dumbly voiced the parched ground’s protests; -the bear-grass and cactus showed scrawny and dried; and above this -scorched land rose a canopy of jumbled white clouds, magnificent, -matchless. A score or two of lean cattle were browsing on the slopes, -nibbling the long, yellow bean pods from mesquite trees, but of other -signs of life there were none, save the scurrying green and blue and -golden-brown lizards, which darted from stone to stone at amazing speed. - -And this had been the style of his hunting for weeks, so that he was -gaunt and desperate. Nothing in all the world in the shape of meat, -except creatures so large and strong he dare not attack. Nothing--his -restless eyes became riveted on a bush not fifty yards to his right. -Surely something had stirred there. His nose was thrust forward to give -his extraordinarily strong sense of smell a chance, and it told him what -his eyes were unable wholly to define. There was a calf behind that -bush. - -His famished stomach drove him forward, while his natural cowardice -whispered caution. It was plain to him that the calf was very young. -Otherwise he would have wanted the assistance of a brother marauder. -Even now, however, those cattle grazing on the slopes haunted him, but a -fleeting glance over the immediate vicinity assured him the prey was -unguarded. So he stole forward. His advance was a miracle of furtive -effort, and such was the beast’s inherited cunning that, quite -unconsciously, he took advantage of spots where his color blended so -harmoniously with the rough ground that wolf and rock and shrub were -indistinguishable. - -The gods of little calves must have been wide-awake that day; else what -could have prompted the youngster to stir and lift his head? He had -heard no sound; no scent had reached his nostrils. The coyote was too -old a hand at stalking for that. A pair of round, fear-distended eyes -were turned toward the terrible thing that shot through space straight -for his neck, and a plaintive bawl was cut short in the middle. That was -because the calf got into action--action quicker than any in his life of -three weeks. He lurched upward and departed, minus the left ear. The -beast snarled and turned to pursue, but a noise diverted him. Like a man -waking from a dream, the coyote caught, too late, the rush of hoofs. He -shrank aside, but not far enough. The mother’s horns caught him above -the shoulder and ripped him to the flank, tossing him five feet into the -air. When he came down he tarried not, but, bloody, torn and mad with -fear, sought the safety of his cañon retreat. - -His wife and five babies were awaiting him. He had been out all night on -his prowl for food, and it was now three hours after sunup, the hour -when, ordinarily, he would be stretched out on a sunny knoll, taking a -nap in the content of a full stomach. A score of yards from the den his -nose told him that the family had fed, so he came trotting down the -rocky creek-bed, stiffly expectant. The tiny, furry, broad-headed pups -were snarling and tugging at the remnants of a meal and, hungry though -he was, he paused to watch them with a certain fatherly pride. Then, at -a growl from his mate, he slunk forth again on his quest. His wound -smarted, but did not cripple him, and hunger was a spur. - -[Illustration: “_The wolf drove away a couple of buzzards and fell upon -this savagely_”] - -He found what his wife had said he would find, the remains of the offal -of a heifer which the outfit had killed the previous day for food. -Luckier in her search, the mother coyote had come upon the abandoned -camp late the previous night, though it was ten miles from home and she -disliked such distant hunting; and, having fed, she had carried a huge -strip of the entrails to her babies. The wolf drove away a couple of -buzzards and fell upon this savagely; and, having gorged, sat down to -lick his cut. In a few minutes he moved painfully on the back trail, for -his hurts were stiffening. - -The family home was a simple affair, such as the original families of -human kind might have begun life with. Anything provided with an -olfactor could ascertain its propinquity at a distance of forty yards, -for it gave off the stinging, musty odor of the wolf tribe. There were -also numerous faint trails hard by, some of them blind trails, contrived -cunningly to draw the stupid hunter astray. The genuine paths led into a -broader, clearly-defined one which ended in a hole about two feet square -in the wall of an arroyo, and this entrance was concealed from the -casual observer by a scrub-cedar that clung to a precarious foothold and -subsisted on nothing. No water had come down this channel in generations -and they felt safe on that score. - -The hallway of the home was little more than a yard long. It led into a -den whereto no light penetrated--a hollowed space perhaps two and a half -feet high, and large enough for the head of the house to turn around in. -There were also some ramifications to it, four smaller cells dug out in -the same fashion, and out of one of these another passage led upward. It -came out on top of the embankment, twenty feet away; for Scartoe was a -cautious rascal and had no intention of letting his domicile become a -trap. He desired it to be a haven and, therefore, he had selected a -residence with a back door, though most of his tribe contented -themselves with an entrance. - -This caution was habitual with him and was the child of experience. -Experience had taught him some bitter lessons and had given him his -name. For, in the spring of the year when he reached his full height and -was filled with conceit of his strength, a famine threatened. The wolf -ranged far and got nothing. Hitherto suspicious of the haunts of men, he -overcame his fears at last and raided the ranch headquarters and came -away with a lusty young rooster. Next night he attempted to repeat this -feat, and while nosing the skeleton of a cow lying close to the home -pasture fence, something snapped over his foot. A numbing pain shot -through him. When he bounded high and backward to clear, he was jerked -to the ground. - -Clasped like a vise about his toes was a steel trap, a mercilessly -powerful contraption of chains, weighted with two hundred pounds. It had -him, but fortunately his leg was not caught. In his frenzy of terror, -freedom was worth any sacrifice or pain. He sank his teeth into his own -flesh and gnawed his toes off, and holding the bleeding stump up in -front of him, fled on three legs. Not a sound did he make during his -agony. It was not pluck, but a stoicism begot of fear. Had he whined, a -charge of buckshot would have ended his days; for the cook dozed -fitfully behind a woodpile fifty yards away. - -When the foot grew well he was a trifle short in the left foreleg; but -it made scarcely any difference in his gait. The only difference was in -the trail he made, and from that he was known as Scartoe. - -The hurt the cow gave him healed with astonishing rapidity, for sunlight -and dry air are Nature’s magicians. While taking a siesta in front of -his den next afternoon and tenderly licking the ragged wound, he was -witness of a strange encounter. His pups were frisking about, tumbling -and growling and snapping in youthful enjoyment of life, while the -mother lay beside him, encouraging these evidences of prospective adult -ferocity. - -At the foot of the knoll whereon they reposed, something rose, wavering, -with a fear-thrilling rattle, and the pups scattered. At the same moment -a sharp hiss answered this first challenge. With eyes glowing and ears -cocked, husband and wife waited for the battle between these enemies. - -A dark green reptile with cream-colored bands, about forty inches in -length, was circling a rattler. The latter lay coiled, ready to strike, -his folds curling and uncurling in long ripples as his head turned to -follow the movements of his enemy. Fully six feet in length he was and -of a prodigious thickness; but fear had already entered the heart of -him. The king-snake sped around him with the speed of light; once, -twice, thrice the rattler launched a blow, but there was no foe there. -Then the malignant killer was on him. - -A king-snake is immune from the rattler’s poison and wages constant -warfare on all reptiles. Such is the steel-wire strength of his coils -that the size of an adversary never daunts him for an instant. He will -tackle a snake twice his size and weight, and he will kill him, too. It -was all over in a few minutes. Round and round his victim he folded -himself; each second the pressure increased. There was some desperate -flaying of the ground as the combatants struggled, for the enemy of all -brute creation was fighting for his life. When he lay dead, the -king-snake let go and tried to swallow him. He did, in fact, get him -half down, but the practical difficulty in the way of surrounding an -object larger than one’s self triumphed over his appetite. So he gave up -the attempt and the reptile. - - * * * * * - -“Bow-wow! Ki-yi, yeow-eow-eow-eow-eow.” - -Scartoe stood on a butte, with his nose pointing to the moon, his tail -between his legs, and weirdly gave vent to his feelings in song. It -began with two short barks and trailed into a succession of piercing, -reverberating yelps, that melted into one another and rolled and echoed, -as by the ventriloquist’s art, until the night grew hideous with the -clamor. One would have sworn that a hundred coyotes held the hill, and -were indulging in some funereal close-harmony. - -This was his evensong. It came welling from his throat in a flood, in -spite of him, and the coyote could no more control the impulse, the -inheritance of ages, than a man can choke back the hiccoughs. His -stomach would retch and his neck muscles work in the throes of it until -the song was released. Once again, in the course of twenty-four hours, -did the impulse seize him. Just before the sun crept over the edge of -the world his nose would be tilted toward the gray vault of heaven. - -“Bow-wow! Ki-yi, yeow-eow-eow-eow-eow!” - -He desisted at last and, considerably uplifted, departed on his hunt for -food. A score of his fellows he met in his prowling, some hunting in -couples; but Scartoe was a family man and a lone marauder, and would -have none of them. In the half million acres composing the ranch were -fully four hundred of his brethren. This in spite of a once vigorous -warfare, in which poison and trap and gun and dog had been the weapons. -In the last three years the campaign against the coyotes had waned, -though each head would bring the taker a bounty at the county-seat and -another at headquarters. - -It is not to be wondered at that the thieves became arrogant and -venturesome. They reveled in their depredations and pitted their keen -wits against man’s intelligence with increasing boldness. What if twenty -thousand of their brethren had been killed in the previous twelvemonth, -in the national forest preserves alone? Many times twenty thousand -survived in the cattle country; and official estimate gives it that each -coyote does damage to stock to the amount of one hundred dollars -annually. Scartoe must have passed, on the silent trails in his night -hunt, the destroyers of ten thousand dollars’ worth of stock in a year. - -Once he paused in a patch of broomweed to send his doleful cry to the -stars. It gurgled from his throat like water from a bottle. He gave -tongue no more that night. From the mouth of a cañon, far to his right, -sounded a long-drawn howl, plaintive, threatening. Hardly had it ceased -than a piercing scream broke from a hackberry tree within a hundred -yards of where Scartoe crouched. Truly the lords of the wilds were -abroad to-night; but it was not the panther’s cry which drove Scartoe -from the trail. What he was giving right-of-way to was the lobo. - -The coyote drew off a short distance and sank humbly to earth as a -loafer wolf came running out of the shadows. He was a huge fellow, -almost red along the back, gray as to his underbody, and he loped -purposefully, bent on slaughter. Scartoe sank lower and groveled. In -imagination he was fawning upon this mighty creature that inspired him -with dread and respect; for, though of the same race, they were far -apart as the poles. He knew the magnificent courage of the loafer and, -when the King hunted, to him belonged the trail. - -He watched him go by, and once more wended his devious way across -country. A nice little scheme had hatched in his brain as he lay there, -born of a long-time feud. Forty turkeys, eighty chickens and nineteen -cocks were now to his credit; to the credit of the ranch-house cook -stood the toes of his left foreleg. One turkey-gobbler remained--that he -knew with accuracy, and Scartoe speculated pleasurably thereon. - -Had he been a human being, he would have laughed as he slid under the -outer barb-wire fence at headquarters. Ten paces away he had scented the -handiwork of man. Sprinkle and smooth the sand as he might, set bait and -lay trap ever so cunningly, the cook could not foil that marvelous -instinct. There were but two holes by which Scartoe could enter the pen; -before he started he was well aware that a trap lay in each. Approaching -one, three feet from it, he scratched loose stones and earth behind him -in a shower on a spot which looked too smooth and inviting to his eye -and where his nose told him a man had fussed with his hands. - -At last he was rewarded. A stick he rolled over touched the spring, and -the steel jaws leaped together with a clash. He proceeded to dig all -around the trap until it was wholly exposed, after which he gave a -disdainful sniff and jumped over it. Thirty seconds later he emerged -from the pen bearing a fine, fat gobbler, and away he went, careless of -the trail of feathers his dragging prey made. - -“You-all kin see for yourself what he done,” cried the cook, gloriously -profane, next morning. “He knowed that was there all the time and simply -sprung it. Got that lil’ ol’ gobbler, too; last one I had.” - -“Ki-yotes is shore smart,” the straw boss agreed. “Smart as humans, I -reckon.” - -“Smart as humans?” the cook retorted contemptuously. “Why, ol’ Dick is a -human.” - -“That’s so,” said the straw boss thoughtfully. “Well, they’s smarter, -then; smart as a good hoss.” - -“That ol’ ki-yote and me’s been fighting for three years. I near had him -once; but he done chawed his foot off--they’s that treacherous. Only -last week I done set a rooster in that mesquite tree there, and put -traps all around. He had to step in one to git that bird. Know what he -done?” The cook’s voice rose to a howl. “I’ll eat my shirt if he didn’t -go off and git a friend, who sprung the trap and got caught. Yes, sir. -Then ol’ Scartoe, he done jump in and got the rooster.” - -“Ever try poison?” - -“Won’t touch it. He kin smell strych-nine farther’n he kin see. Ate some -once and near died, I reckon, for I seen the place where he was took -sick. Every trap I set, he just scratches stones or sticks on to it -until he springs the thing.” - -The straw boss, riding to a division camp the next day, came upon -Scartoe trying to imitate a rock as he slept on the brow of a hill. The -rider had no gun, but got down his rope and rode toward the sleeper -carelessly, so as not to alarm him. The coyote let him approach within -thirty yards, then awoke to yawn; but he was wrong in his estimate of -the straw boss, because that worthy gentleman, hot with the memory of -the recent indignity, let out a whoop and gave chase. Before he could -warm up into anything like his usual form, a rope sped through the air -and encircled Scartoe’s neck. - -Now, there are three rules to observe in roping coyotes. The first is -not to rope them, and the other two do not matter. A noose was nothing -new to Scartoe and he knew the parry. Before it could tighten and jerk -him into eternity, he took one slashing bite at it and the rope parted, -cut clean. Next moment the coyote had mingled with the scenery. - -He was a serious-minded animal, yet he permitted himself some -diversions. When his wife found the remains of the beef, Scartoe -realized that there was a round-up in progress, which meant food in -plenty, and he took to following the outfit from camp to camp, singing -to them about nine o’clock every night and again before the dawn. They -showed their appreciation by taking pot shots at him with a .30-30; but -he bore a charmed life. He managed to pick up much good meat by this -association, too, for the outfit killed a heifer every other day and -left enough to feed half a dozen coyotes. Sometimes he had to scare away -foolish cows or steers, which, attracted by the smell of blood, would be -holding moaning wakes over the remains; and always he had to be on the -watch for the buzzards or they would forestall him. - -Lightly footing it about camp one night, he startled a work-horse, -himself a night prowler, bent on stealing buns from the chuck-wagon -which he helped to haul during the day. A coyote would never attack a -horse, placing too much value on his life, but this beast was a young, -inexperienced creature and did not know that. With a snort of dismay, he -dashed off. Pleased with himself, Scartoe gave chase in pure sport, -precisely as a playful dog might have done. Twice around the camp they -ran, then through it, stampeding eleven staked horses and smashing the -guy-ropes of the fly, which fell on the cook, who never claimed to be a -Christian and had no fears of an after-life. - -The punchers awoke, cursing volubly, and one of them, sleeping remote -from the others on the edge of camp, shied a boot at the wolf. He -stopped in his run, smelled of it, then bore it homeward. It would make -a fine plaything for the babies. The puncher rode twenty-seven miles to -headquarters next day, in his socks, to get a new pair of boots. - -Four months passed thus pleasurably. Sometimes the family nearly -starved, at others the puppies sagged in the middle from overeating. -Always there were bones and odds and ends of hides old Scartoe had -hidden away to gnaw on in moments of leisure, but they made poor stays -to hunger. - -When winter shut down on the land Scartoe got rid of wife and children. -He simply wandered off when the puppies grew big enough to care for -themselves; and he found another home in an isolated ravine. In the cold -nights that followed he took to consorting with other bachelors, roving -spirits all. Very often they hunted in bands. They were few in number, -because it is not coyote nature to run in packs, but this union gave -them strength and made them infinitely more dangerous. Two score times -they stalked and killed lonely, unprotected calves. - -Later, they were so hard put to it for food that courage was born in -them. One night four surrounded an eight-months’-old steer one of them -would never have tackled singly, and slew him. It was Scartoe who -devised the plan that the three should run him by a bush, behind which -he crouched. It was Scartoe who leapt swiftly, unerringly, for the nose -and brought him down. And it was he who got the lion’s share of the -spoils. - -Yet they were cowards for all that. A coyote is always a coward, even -when driven frantic by hunger. - -With the storm kings holding sway, their foraging became less and less -fruitful. Several of his race departed for new hunting grounds, but -Scartoe stayed in his own domain and weathered the gales. - -Twice had he to eat of his own kind. Toward break of a wintry day he and -one companion slunk homeward from an unsuccessful scout, their empty -stomachs crying aloud for flesh. They watched each other in suspicion, -for in each one the same desire was uppermost. Ahead of them, crossing -their trail, a wounded coyote dragged himself--spent, done almost to -death in a grapple with a nester’s dog. They fell upon and slew and ate -him. Later, a full month, or perhaps two, when the same companion grew -wasted and weak from hunger, and in all the forsaken country they could -not kill, when not even a field mouse rewarded long hours of hunting, -Scartoe ran at him and, with one shrewd stroke upward, slit his throat -and let out the life blood. He ate his fill and came once more into his -strength. - -Only once during that time of stress did he pit his cunning against -man’s guile. That was when the snow was off the ground and a party of -visitors at the ranch-house hunted him with imported dogs. Scartoe made -the most glorious mess of his trail. He went back on it, crossed, -recrossed, waded up-stream, returned to the starting point, and employed -all the tricks his long years had taught him. Then he lay down behind a -dead prickly pear and watched the hunt; watched the chagrin of the men; -watched every movement of the dogs, nosing and worrying. Tiring of this -in half an hour, he went to his den and slept. They never untangled the -web of his weaving. - -When spring came Scartoe was looking shabby. He was morose, too, and had -a longing for companionship. A week of fine weather improved him so that -he was almost the Scartoe of old; but the longing for companionship was -tenfold greater. - -On a February morn he lifted up his voice to herald the dawn. - -“Bow-wow! Ki-yi, yeow-eow-eow-eow-eow.” - -A joyous bark answered. It was not the call of his kind, yet it thrilled -him, for in it there was a note he knew. He stiffened and trembled with -expectation. A young collie came bounding toward him. She paused -doubtfully a dozen yards away and growled. Scartoe threw up his head, -thrust out his tail from its usual abject droop and went toward her -blithely. Then his hair bristled, his muscles tightened and he was ready -for combat. - -Behind her came another coyote. He was big. Even the veteran, large as -he was, appeared small in comparison. Where the newcomer had picked up -the living that had given him such weight was a puzzle; but certain it -was he had ten pounds the better of it. Not a thought gave Scartoe to -that handicap. - -The big wolf wasted no time in preliminaries. His strength and skill had -been tried in mêlées innumerable, and foes had been swept before him -like chaff. But Scartoe was a general. Like lightning he dodged the -swift rush; like lightning he ripped even as he swerved, tearing a piece -from his enemy’s neck. Coyotes will not grapple and cling with locked -jaws, as do the brave among dogs; they depend on the swift cutting -powers of their dexterous jaws. Three times they came together; three -times old Scartoe gashed his antagonist so that the blood spurted. Still -he could not quite reach the throat for the death stroke. - -And then the end came. Too eager in his desire to finish the battle, he -left himself open for the merest flick of time, as he wheeled for a -fourth onslaught. With one hurtling, upward dive, the big brute gained -the jugular, and Scartoe was thrown back, his throat torn, the life -ebbing from him. - -The collie frisked about the victor, playfully showing her teeth, and -they trotted away together. - -An hour after sunup, the ranch-house cook, on a quest for his infant -son’s collie pet, came upon the torn, lifeless body. - -“Jumping Jupiter!” he exclaimed, prayerfully. “It’s ol’ Scartoe.” - - - - - III - CORAZÓN - - - A man is as good as his nerves - --Cowboy maxim. - -With manes streaming in the wind, a band of bronchos fled across the -grama flats, splashed through the San Pedro, and whirled sharply to the -right, heading for sanctuary in the Dragoons. In the lead raced a big -sorrel, his coat shimmering like polished gold where the sun touched it. - -“That’s Corazón,” exclaimed Reb. “Head him or we’ll lose the bunch.” - -The pursuers spread out and swept round in a wide semicircle. Corazón -held to his course, a dozen yards in advance of the others, his head -high. The chase slackened, died away. With a blaring neigh, the sorrel -eased his furious pace and the entire band came to a trot. Before them -were the mountains, and Corazón knew their fastnesses as the street -urchin knows the alleys that give him refuge; in the cañons the bronchos -would be safe from man. Behind was no sign of the enemy. His nose in the -wind, he sniffed long, but it bore him no taint. Instead, he nickered -with delight, for he smelled water. They swung to the south, and in less -than five minutes their hot muzzles were washed by the bubbling waters -of Eternity Spring. - -Corazón drew in a long breath, expanding his well-ribbed sides, and -looked up from drinking. There in front of him, fifty paces away, was a -horseman. He snorted the alarm and they plunged into a tangle of -sagebrush. Another rider bore down and turned them back. To right and -left they darted, then wheeled and sought desperately to break through -the cordon at a weak spot, and failed. Wherever they turned, a cowboy -appeared as by magic. At last Corazón detected an unguarded area and -flew through it with the speed of light. - -“Now we’ve got ’em,” howled Reb. “Don’t drive too close, but keep ’em -headed for the corral.” - -Within a hundred yards of the gate, the sorrel halted, his ears cocked -in doubt. The cowboys closed in to force the band through. Three times -the bronchos broke and scattered, for to their wild instincts the fences -and that narrow aperture cried treachery and danger. They were gathered, -with whoops and many imprecations, and once more approached the -entrance. - -“Drive the saddle bunch out,” commanded the range boss. - -Forth came the remuda of a hundred horses. The bronchos shrilled -greeting and mingled with them, and when the cow-ponies trotted meekly -into the corral, Corazón and his band went too, though they shook and -were afraid. - -For five years Corazón had roamed the range--ever since he had -discovered that grass was good to eat, and so had left the care of his -tender-eyed mother. Because he dreaded the master of created things and -fled him afar, only once during that time had he seen man at close -quarters. That was when, as a youngster, he was caught and branded on -the left hip. He had quickly forgotten that; until now it had ceased to -be even a memory. - -But now he and his companion rovers were prisoners, cooped in a corral -by a contemptible trick. They crowded around and around the stout -enclosure, sometimes dropping to their knees in efforts to discover an -exit beneath the boards. And not twenty feet away, the dreaded axis of -their circlings, sat a man on a horse, and he studied them calmly. Other -men, astride the fence, were uncoiling ropes, and their manner was -placid and businesslike. One opined dispassionately that “the sorrel is -shore some horse.” - -“You’re damn whistlin’,” cried the buster over his shoulder, in hearty -affirmation. - -Corazón was the most distracted of all the band. He was in a frenzy of -nervous fear, his glossy coat wet and foam-flecked. He would not stand -still for a second, but prowled about the wooden barrier like a jungle -creature newly prisoned in a cage. Twice he nosed the ground and crooked -his forelegs in an endeavor to slide through the six inches of clear -space beneath the gate, and the outfit laughed derisively. - -“Here goes,” announced the buster in his expressionless tones. “You-all -watch out, now. Hell’ll be poppin’.” - -At that moment Corazón took it into his head to dash at top speed -through his friends, huddled in a bunch in a corner. A rope whined and -coiled, and, when he burst out of the jam, the noose was around his -neck, tightening so as to strangle him. Madly he ran against it, superb -in the sureness of his might. Then he squalled with rage and pain and an -awful terror. His legs flew from under him, and poor Corazón was jerked -three feet into the air, coming down on his side with smashing force. -The fall shook a grunt out of him, and he was stunned and breathless, -but unhurt. He staggered to his feet, his breath straining like a -bellows, for the noose cut into his neck and he would not yield to its -pressure. - -Facing him was the man on the bay. His mount stood with feet braced, -sitting back on the rope, and he and his rider were quite collected and -cool and prepared. The sorrel’s eyes were starting from his head; his -nostrils flared wide, gaping for the air that was denied him, and the -breath sucked in his throat. It seemed as if he must drop. Suddenly the -buster touched his horse lightly with the spur and slackened the rope. -With a long sob, Corazón drew in a life-giving draught, his gaze fixed -in frightened appeal on his captor. - -“Open the gate,” said Mullins, without raising his voice. - -He flicked the rope over Corazón’s hind quarters, and essayed to drive -him into the next corral, to cut him off from his fellows. The sorrel -gave a gasp of dismay and lunged forward. Again he was lifted from the -ground, and came down with a thud that left him shivering. - -“His laig’s done bust!” exclaimed the boss. - -“No; he’s shook up, that’s all. Wait awhile.” - -A moment later Corazón raised his head painfully; then, life and courage -coming back with a rush, he lurched to his feet. Mullins waited with -unabated patience. The sorrel was beginning to respect that which -encircled his neck and made naught of his strength, and when the buster -flipped the rope again, he ran through the small gate, and brought up -before he had reached the end of his tether. - -Two of the cowboys stepped down languidly from the fence, and took -position in the center of the corral. - -“Hi, Corazón! Go it, boy!” they yelled, and spurred by their cries, the -horse started off at a trot. Reb tossed his loop,--flung it carelessly, -with a sinuous movement of the wrist,--and when Corazón had gone a few -yards, he found his forefeet ensnared. Enraged at being thus cramped, he -bucked and bawled; but, before Reb could settle on the rope, he came to -a standstill and sank his teeth into the strands. Once, twice, thrice he -tugged, but could make no impression. Then he pitched high in air, and-- - -“NOW!” shrieked Reb. - -They heaved with might and main, and Corazón flopped in the dust. Quick -as a cat, he sprang upright and bolted; but again they downed him, and, -while Reb held the head by straddling the neck, his confederate twined -dexterously with a stake-rope. There lay Corazón, helpless and almost -spent, trussed up like a sheep for market: they had hog-tied him. - -It was the buster who put the hackamore on his head. Very deliberately -he moved. Corazón sensed confidence in the touch of his fingers; they -spoke a language to him, and he was soothed by the sureness of -superiority they conveyed. He lay quiet. Then Reb incautiously shifted -his position, and the horse heaved and raised his head, banging Mullins -across the ear. The buster’s senses swam, but instead of flying into a -rage, he became quieter, more deliberate; in his cold eyes was a -vengeful gleam, and dangerous stealth lurked in his delicate -manipulation of the strands. An excruciating pain shot through the -sorrel’s eye: Mullins had gouged him. - -“Let him up.” It was the buster again, atop the bay, making the rope -fast with a double half-hitch over the horn of the saddle. - -Corazón arose, dazed and very sick. But his spirit was unbreakable. -Again and again he strove to tear loose, rearing, falling back, plunging -to the end of the rope until he was hurled off his legs to the ground. -When he began to weary, Mullins encouraged him to fight, that he might -toss him. - -“I’ll learn you what this rope means,” he remarked, as the broncho -scattered the dust for the ninth time, and remained there, completely -done up. - -In deadly fear of his slender tether, yet alert to match his strength -against it once more, should opportunity offer, Corazón followed the -buster quietly enough when he rode out into the open. Beside a sturdy -mesquite bush that grew apart from its brethren, Mullins dismounted and -tied the sorrel. As a farewell he waved his arms and whooped. Of course -Corazón gathered himself and leaped--leaped to the utmost that was in -him, so that the bush vibrated to its farthest root; and of course he -hit the earth with a jarring thump that temporarily paralyzed him. -Mullins departed to put the thrall of human will on others. - -Throughout the afternoon, and time after time during the interminable -night, the sorrel tried to break away, but with each sickening failure -he grew more cautious. When he ran against the rope now, he did not run -blindly to its limit, but half wheeled, so that when it jerked him back -he invariably landed on his feet. Corazón was learning hard, but he was -learning. And what agonies of pain and suspense he went through!--for -years a free rover, and now to be bound thus, by what looked to be a -mere thread, for he knew not what further tortures! He sweated and -shivered, seeing peril in every shadow. When a coyote slunk by with -tongue lapping hungrily over his teeth, the prisoner almost broke his -neck in a despairing struggle to win freedom. - -In the chill of the dawn they led him into a circular corral. His -sleekness had departed; the barrel-like body did not look so well -nourished, and there was red in the blazing eyes. - -“I reckon he’ll be mean,” observed the buster, as though it concerned -him but little. - -“No-o-o. Go easy with him, Carl, and I think he’ll make a good hoss,” -the boss cautioned. - -While two men held the rope, Mullins advanced along it foot by foot, -inch by inch, one hand outstretched, and talked to Corazón in a low, -careless tone of affectionate banter. “So you’d like for to kill me, -would you?” he inquired, grinning. All the while he held the sorrel’s -gaze. - -Corazón stood still, legs planted wide apart, and permitted him to -approach. He trembled when the fingers touched his nose; but they were -firm, confident digits, the voice was reassuring, and the gentle rubbing -up, up between the eyes and ears lulled his forebodings. - -“Hand me the blanket,” said Mullins. - -He drew it softly over Corazón’s back, and the broncho swerved, pawed, -and kicked with beautiful precision. Whereupon they placed a rope around -his neck, dropped it behind his right hind leg, then pulled that member -up close to his belly; there it was held fast. On three legs now, the -sorrel was impotent for harm. Mullins once more took up the blanket but -this time the gentleness had flown. He slapped it over Corazón’s -backbone from side to side a dozen times. At each impact the horse -humped awkwardly, but, finding that he came to no hurt, he suffered it -in resignation. - -That much of the second lesson learned, they saddled him. Strangely -enough, Corazón submitted to the operation without fuss, the only -untoward symptoms being a decided upward slant to the back of the saddle -and the tucking of his tail. Reb waggled his head over this exhibition. - -“I don’t like his standing quiet that away; it ain’t natural,” he -vouchsafed. “Look at the crick in his back. Jim-in-ee! he’ll shore -pitch.” - -Which he did. The cinches were tightened until Corazón’s eyes almost -popped from his head; then they released the bound leg and turned him -loose. What was that galling his spine? Corazón took a startled peep at -it, lowered his head between his knees, and began to bawl. Into the air -he rocketed, his head and forelegs swinging to the left, his hind -quarters weaving to the right. The jar of his contact with the ground -was appalling. Into the air again, his head and forelegs to the right, -his rump twisted to the left. Round and round the corral he went, -blatting like an angry calf; but the thing on his back stayed where it -was, gripping his body cruelly. At last he was fain to stop for breath. - -“Now,” said Mullins, “I reckon I’ll take it out of him.” - -There has always been for me an overwhelming fascination in watching -busters at work. They have underlying traits in common when it comes to -handling the horses--the garrulous one becomes coldly watchful, the -Stoic moves with stern patience, the boaster soothes with soft-crooned -words and confident caress. Mullins left Corazón standing in the middle -of the corral, the hackamore rope strung loose on the ground, while he -saw to it that his spurs were fast. We mounted the fence, not wishing to -be mixed in the glorious turmoil to follow. - -“I wouldn’t top ol’ Corazón for fifty,” confessed the man on the -adjoining post. - -“Mullins has certainly got nerve,” I conceded. - -“A buster has got to have nerve.” The range boss delivered himself -laconically. “All nerve and no brains makes the best. But they get stove -up and then--” - -“And then? What then?” - -“Why, don’t you know?” he asked in surprise. “Every buster loses his -nerve at last, and then they can’t ride a pack-hoss. It must be because -it’s one fool man with one set of nerves up ag’in a new hoss with a new -devil in him every time. They wear him down. Don’t you reckon?” - -The explanation sounded plausible. Mullins was listening with a faintly -amused smile to Reb’s account of what a lady mule had done to him; he -rolled a cigarette and lighted it painstakingly. The hands that held the -match were steady as eternal rock. It was maddening to see him stand -there so coolly while the big sorrel, a dozen feet distant, was a-quake -with dread, blowing harshly through his crimson nostrils whenever a -cowboy stirred--and each of us knowing that the man was taking his life -in his hands. An unlooked-for twist, a trifling disturbance of poise, -and, with a horse like Corazón, it meant maiming or death. At last he -threw the cigarette from him and walked slowly to the rope. - -“So you’re calling for me?” he inquired, gathering it up. - -Corazón was snorting. By patient craft Reb acquired a grip on the -sorrel’s ears, and, while he hung there, bringing the head down so that -the horse could not move, Mullins tested the stirrups and raised himself -cautiously into the saddle. - -“Let him go.” - -While one could count ten, Corazón stood expectant, his back bowed, his -tail between his legs. The ears were laid flat on the head and the -forefeet well advanced. The buster waited, the quirt hanging from two -fingers of his right hand. Suddenly the sorrel ducked his head and -emitted a harsh scream, leaping, with legs stiff, straight off the -ground. He came down with the massive hips at an angle to the shoulders, -thereby imparting a double shock; bounded high again, turned back with -bewildering speed as he touched the earth; and then, in a circle perhaps -twenty feet in diameter, sprang time after time, his heels lashing the -air. Never had such pitching been seen on the Anvil Range. - -“I swan, he just misses his tail a’ inch when he turns back!” roared a -puncher. - -Mullins sat composedly in the saddle, but he was riding as never before. -He whipped the sorrel at every jump and raked him down the body from -shoulder to loins with the ripping spurs. The brute gave no signs of -letting up. Through Mullins’ tan of copper hue showed a slight pallor. -He was exhausted. If Corazón did not give in soon, the man would be -beaten. Just then the horse stopped, feet a-sprawl. - -“Mullins,”--the range boss got down from the fence,--“you’ll kill that -hoss. Between the cinches belongs to you; the head and hind quarters is -the company’s.” - -For a long minute Mullins stared at the beast’s ears without replying. - -“I reckon that’s the rule,” he acquiesced heavily. “Do you want that -somebody else should ride him?” - -“No-o-o. Go ahead. But, remember, between the cinches you go at him as -you like--nowhere else.” - -[Illustration: “_Leaping, with legs stiff, straight off the ground_”] - -The buster slapped the quirt down on Corazón’s shoulder, but the broncho -did not budge; then harder. With the first oath he had used, he jabbed -in the spurs and lay back on the hackamore rope. Instead of bucking, -Corazón reared straight up, his feet pawing like the hands of a drowning -man. Before Mullins could move to step off, the sorrel flung his head -round and toppled backward. - -“No, he’s not dead.” The range boss leaned over the buster and his hands -fumbled inside the shirt. “The horn got him here, but he ain’t dead. -Claude, saddle Streak and hit for Agua Prieta for the doctor.” - -When we had carried the injured man to the bunk-house, Reb spoke from -troubled meditation: - -“Pete, I don’t believe Corazón is as bad as he acts with Mullins. I’ve -been watching him. Mullins, he didn’t--” - -“You take him, then; he’s yours,” snapped the boss, his conscience -pricking because of the reproof he had administered. If the buster had -ridden him his own way, this might not have happened. - -That is how the sorrel came into Reb’s possession. Only one man of the -outfit witnessed the taming, and he would not talk; but when Reb came to -dinner from the first saddle on Corazón, his hands were torn and the -nail of one finger hung loose. - -“I had to take to the horn and hang on some,” he admitted. - -Ay, he had clung there desperately while the broncho pitched about the -river-bed, whither Reb had retired for safety and to escape spectators. -But at the next saddle Corazón was less violent; at the third, -recovering from the stunning shocks and bruisings of the first day, he -was a fiend; and then, on the following morning, he did not pitch at -all. Reb rode him every day to sap the superfluous vigor in Corazón’s -iron frame and he taught him as well as he could the first duties of a -cowhorse. Finding that his new master never punished him unless he -undertook to dispute his authority, the sorrel grew tractable and began -to take an interest in his tasks. - -“He’s done broke,” announced Reb; “I’ll have him bridle-wise in a week. -He’ll make some roping horse. Did you see him this evening? I swan--” - -They scoffed good-naturedly; but Reb proceeded on the assumption that -Corazón was meant to be a roping horse, and schooled him accordingly. As -for the sorrel, he took to the new pastime with delight. Within a month -nothing gave him keener joy than to swerve and crouch at the climax of a -sprint and see a cow thrown heels over head at the end of the rope that -was wrapped about his saddle-horn. - -The necessity of contriving to get three meals a day took me elsewhere, -and I did not see Corazón again for three years. Then, one Sunday -afternoon, Big John drew me from El Paso to Juarez on the pretense of -seeing a grand, an extraordinary, a most noble bull-fight, in which the -dauntless Favorita would slay three fierce bulls from the renowned El -Carmen ranch, in “competency” with the fearless Morenito Chico de San -Bernardo; and a youth with a megaphone drew us both to a steer-roping -contest instead. We agreed that bull-fighting was brutal on the Sabbath. - -“I’ll bet it’s rotten,” remarked Big John pessimistically, as we took -our seats. “I could beat ’em myself.” - -As he scanned the list, his face brightened. Among the seventeen ropers -thereon were two champions and a possible new one in Raphael Fraustro, -the redoubtable vaquero from the domain of Terrazas. - -“And here’s Reb!” roared John--he is accustomed to converse in the -tumult of the branding-pen--“I swan, he’s entered from Monument.” - -Shortly afterwards the contestants paraded, wonderfully arrayed in silk -shirts and new handkerchiefs. - -“Some of them ain’t been clean before in a year,” was John’s caustic -comment. “There’s Slim; I KNOW he hasn’t.” - -They were a fine-looking body of men, and two of my neighbors complained -that I trampled on their feet. The horses caught the infection of -excitement from the packed stands and champed on their bits and -caracoled and waltzed sideways in a manner highly unbecoming a staid -cow-pony. - -There was one that did not. So sluggish was his gait and general -bearing, in contrast to the others, that the crowd burst into laughter. -He plodded at the tail-end of the procession, his hoofs kicking up the -dust in listless spurts, his nose on a level with his knees. I rubbed my -eyes and John said, “No, it ain’t--it can’t be--”; but it was. Into that -arena slouched Corazón, entered against the pick of the horses of the -Southwest; and Reb was astride him. - -We watched the ropers catch and tie the steers in rapid succession, but -the much-heralded ones missed altogether, and to John and me the -performance lagged. We were waiting for Reb and Corazón. - -They came at last, at the end of the list. When Corazón ambled up the -arena to enter behind the barrier, the grandstand roared a facetious -welcome; the spectacle of this sad-gaited nag preparing to capture a -steer touched its risibilities. - -“Listen to me,” bawled a fat gentleman in a wide-brimmed hat, close to -my ear. “You listen to me! They’re all fools. That’s a cowhorse. No -blasted nonsense. Knows his business, huh? You’re damn whistlin’!” - -Assuredly, Corazón knew his business. The instant he stepped behind the -line he was a changed horse. The flopping ears pricked forward, his neck -arched, and the great muscles of his shoulders and thighs rippled to his -dainty prancing. He pulled and fretted on the bit, his eyes roving about -in search of the quarry; he whinnied an appeal to be gone. Reb made -ready his coil, curbing him with light pressure. - -Out from the chute sprang a steer, heading straight down the arena. -Corazón was frantic. With the flash of the gun he breasted the -barrier-rope and swept down on him in twenty strides. Reb stood high in -the stirrups; the loop whirled and sped; and, without waiting to see how -it fell, but accepting a catch in blind faith, the sorrel started off at -a tangent. - -Big John was standing up in his place, clawing insanely at the hats of -his neighbors and banging them on the head with his programme. - -“Look at him--just look at him!” he shrieked. - -The steer was tossed clear of the ground and came down on his left side. -Almost before he landed, Reb was out of the saddle and speeding toward -him. - -“He’s getting up. HE’S GETTING UP. Go to him, Reb!” howled John and I. - -The steer managed to lift his head; he was struggling to his knees. I -looked away, for Reb must lose. Then a hoarse shout from the multitude -turned back my gaze. Corazón had felt the slack on the rope and knew -what it meant. He dug his feet into the dirt and began to walk slowly -forward--very slowly and carefully, for Reb’s task must not be spoiled. -The steer collapsed, falling prone again, but the sorrel did not stop. -Once he cocked his eye, and seeing that the animal still squirmed, -pulled with all his strength. The stands were rocking; they were a sea -of tossing hats and gesticulating arms and flushed faces; the roar of -their plaudits echoed back from the hills. And it was all for Corazón, -gallant Corazón. - -“Dam’ his eyes--dam’ his ol’ eyes!” Big John babbled over and over, -absolutely oblivious. - -Reb stooped beside the steer, his hands looping and tying with deft -darting twists even as he kept pace with his dragged victim. - -“I guess it’s--about--a--hour,” he panted. - -Then he sprang clear and tossed his hands upward, facing the judges’ -stand. After that he walked aimlessly about, mopping his face with a -handkerchief; for to him the shoutings and the shifting colors were all -a foolish dream, and he was rather sick. - -Right on the cry with which his master announced his task done, Corazón -eased up on the rope and waited. - -“Mr. Pee-ler’s time,” bellowed the man with the megaphone presently, “is -twenty-one seconds, ty-ing the world’s re-cord.” - -So weak that his knees trembled, Reb walked over to his horse. -“Corazón,” he said huskily, and slapped him once on the flank. - -Nothing would do the joyous crowd then but that Reb should ride forth to -be acclaimed the victor. We sat back and yelled ourselves weak with -laughter, for Corazón, having done his work, refused resolutely to -squander time in vain parade. The steer captured and tied, he had no -further interest in the proceedings. The rascal dog-trotted reluctantly -to the center of the arena in obedience to Reb, then faced the audience; -but, all the time Reb was bowing his acknowledgments, Corazón sulked and -slouched, and he was sulking and shuffling the dust when they went -through the gate. - -“Now,” said John, who is very human, “we’ll go help Reb spend that -money.” - -As we jostled amid the outgoing crowd, several cowboys came alongside -the grandstand rail, and Big John drew me aside to have speech with -them. One rider led a spare horse and when he passed a man on foot, the -latter hailed him: - -“Say, Ed, give me a lift to the hotel?” - -“Sure,” answered Ed, proffering the reins. - -The man gathered them up, his hands fluttering as if with palsy, and -paused with his foot raised toward the stirrup. - -“He won’t pitch nor nothing, Ed?” came the quavered inquiry. “You’re -shore he’s gentle?” - -“Gentler’n a dog,” returned Ed, greatly surprised. - -“You ain’t fooling me, now, are you, Ed?” continued the man on the -ground. “He looks kind of mean.” - -“Give him to me!” Ed exploded. “You kin walk.” - -From where we stood, only the man’s back was visible. “Who is that -fellow?” I asked. - -“Who? Him?” answered my neighbor. “Oh, his name’s Mullins. They say he -used to be able to ride anything with hair on it, and throw off the -bridle at that. I expect that’s just talk. Don’t you reckon?” - - - - - IV - THE OUTLAW - - -Steve was recounting an episode of Hell’s Acre. - -“And jist as I was fighting my horse to make him go through that -scrub-oak, he done stubbed his toe in the sand. Up she come with a -whoof--one of them ol’ long-horns. That cow had hid herself there. Yes, -sir; but she didn’t quite git her horns covered.” - -Reb said he could well believe it. No longer ago than last Tuesday, -while chasing some stubborn cattle, he had chanced upon a cow lying flat -behind a bush. A jackrabbit was burying her under leaves, for better -concealment. - -Whereupon the two got to horse and rode away, leaving behind them a -thoughtful silence. - -There was a water-gap to be repaired and they headed for the Salt Fork -of the Brazos. - -“Wait a minute,” said Steve. “Look there.” - -A cow stood on the crest of a rise--a lean, dun creature, with distended -eyes. When they approached, she trotted off to the right, mumbling -anxiously. They did not follow. Then she stopped, her head erect and -nostrils dilated, to watch them. The two ambled forward and she kept -near, very, very anxious. - -“She’s got a calf hid out somewheres,” Reb remarked. - -He surveyed the immediate country leisurely, confident of what he would -discover. Two hundred yards in front was a patch of mesquite, and they -made for it. Behind a bush they found the calf--a sturdy, red-and-white -baby with a specially black, moist nose. It flattened out when Steve -stood over it. - -“Git up,” he commanded, “I want to see more of you. I bet them hoofs of -yours is soft.” - -The calf hugged the ground. He raised the sagging body by the brisket -and tail, none too gently. When he let go, the little fellow collapsed, -spread out like a jellyfish. He must have marveled as he lay there, -rolling his wide, questioning eyes upward, what strange beings these -were, for he was just one day old and had never seen a man. - -“Come a li’l’ seven,” Steve cried joyously. “Look a-here, Reb. See his -face.” - -Between the youngster’s eyes was a crimson splash which made a perfect -7. Reb examined the peculiar marking with interest and suggested that -Come-a-Seven might bring the little devil luck as a name. - -The calf resented all this handling and raised his voice in a plaintive -bawl. As they loped away on their errand, the cow crashed through the -bushes to her offspring’s side. She nosed him solicitously, rumbling -caresses. - -Come-a-Seven inherited all the hardiness of his race--indeed, in later -years, Reb vowed that he was tougher’n the oldest man in the world. Half -an hour after his advent into this vale of tears he could walk. It was -not a gait to justify boasting, because his forelegs showed a tendency -to give at unexpected places, but he saved himself from a fall by -leaning against his mother’s shoulder. He next made the circuit of the -cow twice in a clumsy hunt for the fount of his food supply and finally -reached it in an extremely awkward position. Nevertheless, she watched -him pridefully, her sight blurred with happiness; and braced against her -hind leg, he fed like a glutton. Feeling full and reckless therefrom, he -humped his back in abandon and tried to cavort, but came down with a -jarring thump. - -The young mother did her duty by him like a Scotch washerwoman with nine -children. He breakfasted at dawn--drank until he could drink no more. -Afterwards she went off to graze, leaving the calf behind some screening -hush. It was seldom she strayed so far that she was not within sight or -call: there is danger to toddling calves that lie out on the range -unprotected. - -How fast his strength grew! At five days of age he could have butted -into a wooden fence at half-speed without any especially ill effects, -save to the fence. Yet his mother’s care never abated. She would go over -him every night with eager tenderness and was ever aggressively on the -alert to defend. For she would have fought anything on four legs for the -life of that loose-jointed, red-and-white blatherskite she held to be -prince of his race. - -The cattle grazed in scattered bunches over some hundred thousand acres -of the east range--they are not so companionable as horses and do not -herd so closely in their feeding. Nor will the bulls take such -responsibilities upon their shoulders as do stallions with the mares and -colts. Come-a-Seven, in fact, never saw his father, to his knowledge. -That ponderous, morose scion of Hereford stock lived his own life in his -own way, spending half the day sleeping in the shade of a cottonwood; -and he did not worry about family matters. His scores of children might -fare as best they could. In the meantime he had his amusements. Besides, -what on earth were their mothers for? - -On his eighth day Come-a-Seven started out to see something of the -world. No great variety offered within his ken--a rolling expanse, -green-gray, gashed by numerous brick-red gullies; hundreds of scraggy -mesquite bushes and some prickly-pear; two or three regal cottonwoods on -the bank of a creek, whose sandy bed was a third of a mile wide; beyond, -a butte lifting from the earth like a monstrous mushroom. That was what -he saw--that, and big blue blotches of shadows moving over the country -like an army of specters. Piles of tumbled white clouds gave promise of -rain at a later date. - -Upon this the red-and-white gazed, his head moving from side to side in -jerks, ears twitching, tail straight out as when he fed. He was trying -to get up nerve to sally farther afield. As a starter and a spur to -courage he curveted clumsily, but was brought up short by the sight of -another calf of about his own age, standing not a dozen yards away, -surveying him with the liveliest interest. Come-a-Seven tried to look -hostile, even threatening, but his curiosity got the better of him, -because the calf into whose face he glared had the merest stump of a -tail. - -Advancing a step, he intimated in his own peculiar, gruff calf-manner -that the abbreviated member puzzled him. If Come-a-Seven had ever dodged -a coyote, he would not have been so ignorant. The other evinced no -resentment and they approached in amicable fashion, made a playful butt -at each other and became fast friends. After that they would loaf about -together in the hot summer days, making trouble for the other calves and -stirring up bickerings and feuds. - -None of them was of a serious nature. The nearest approach to a tragic -ending happened when the red-and-white smashed, full tilt, into a -six-months’-old half-brother, of whose relationship he was ignorant--not -that this would have made any difference--and knocked him off the steep -wall of a tank into the water. He had to run at that, for the other was -a husky, ardent calf, and he was angry all through. When he scrambled -out, he went hunting for the red-and-white, but by that time the -offender was safely under his mother’s eye, which fact he flaunted -brazenly. - -Who ever saw a braver pair? Who so bold as the tailless one and -Come-a-Seven when there was no possibility of danger? Then, at the first -hint of trouble, up would go their tails and they would run to their -mothers at their very best pace. - -They were learning, too, for many things they saw carried lessons to -their youthful perceptions. They were witnesses of the finish of a -wild-cat, which a puncher roped out of a tree under which they had been -taking a nap. They saw a companion die slowly from blackleg, and another -practically eaten alive by the fearful screw-worm. For days, too, they -avoided an old cow whose head was swelled to twice its natural size. The -poor creature was the victim of a snake bite, but she survived. - - * * * * * - -“Ow-oo-yah! Ow-oo-yah! Ow-oo-yah! Ki-yi! Git up, cattle.” - -A shrill whistle brought the red-and-white to his feet with a jerk just -as the sun tinted the eastern sky to gray and gold and rose. He bellowed -an inquiry to his mother, and for a second stood irresolute. A horseman -came riding at top speed straight for them, hallooing with all his might -and waving his hat. Whereupon the calf waited for no instructions. He -let himself out for all he was worth. - -The puncher rode at a hand-gallop behind and he did not drive too hard. -Instead, he gave them a shove in the direction he desired they should -travel, and, with a final shout, swung away to the right, where a bunch -of six rose up with a snort and gave him a chase. He calculated that the -cow would keep going and she did. Her slow march was marked by protests -from her hopeful offspring. Observing that the rider was busy stirring -up cattle in many directions, his baby mind could conceive of no good -reason for plugging along in a line dead ahead because this individual -had furnished the impetus for the start. So he grumbled much, but -trotted along obediently, notwithstanding; and presently his own -grievances were dissipated by the contemplation of what was happening -around him. Every patch of brush in the country appeared to be turning -out cows, calves and young steers, as a magician’s bag scatters paper -roses. In several bunches he recognized acquaintances, but they were too -concerned about the future to do more than give a hurried squall of -recognition. An enormous procession was under way and they were marching -in it, a part of it. Whither would it lead them? - -Apparently this speculation was likewise a source of worry to the cows -and steers, though they all had been through much the same before. Yet, -for the most part, they went soberly, falling into the semblance of a -trail-herd as their ranks were swelled by others which the cowboys -roused up; but there were some that did not. Occasionally a heifer would -make a break to one side, only to be headed off; and once a cow, driven -too impetuously, jerked her head sideways and bowed her tail. She was -“on the prod,” and they let her go. Time after time, when the -red-and-white would turn about to gaze, a rider would come at him, -slapping his boot with his quirt and whistling. This constant -surveillance irritated Come-a-Seven. - -Their ranks were swelling so fast, too, that his identity, and hence his -sense of security, was lost. Another influx of cattle caused him to -carom off his mother’s side and in puerile anger he butted at those -nearest, until he observed he was making no impression, when, -discouraged, he gave it up and moved along. His tiny troubles were -submerged in that great army. Two thousand cattle were converging upon a -plain, from nine points in an area five miles wide. - -Come-a-Seven was almost too interested to be scared. - -Clouds of dust welling up; a babel of sound; mighty roarings of irate -bulls, petty monarchs now on a common footing they resented; the lowing -of cows and the frightened bawling of the calves; and always a -bewildering churning and shifting like a maelstrom. Every few minutes a -stream of dirt would shoot skyward like a geyser, where a bull was -spoiling for a fight and sent his thundering challenge over the ranks. -Occasionally there was a clash and some desperate attempts at goring. -Holding this host on the round-up ground was a cordon of eight punchers, -sitting apathetically on their horses. They had little to do while their -companions worked the herd, cutting out the cows and calves to one side, -the strays and beef cattle to another. Sometimes an animal would wander -to the edge, stand staring uncertainly, then saunter forth to attain the -open; but most were driven back without trouble. One persisted and gave -a herder a furious dash to head him off; but that was all part of the -day’s work. - -When the cutters penetrated the dust and came threading their way -through the noisy, restless horde, the calf became doubly uneasy. A man -on a blazed-face bay was particularly insistent. Come-a-Seven watched -him work deviously through the entire herd after a cow and her young, -and drive them forth to the open; so he tried to keep out of sight. But -it was no use. Soon the horse was close to them, and mother and son -felt, rather than saw, that they were the objects of the quiet -maneuvering that followed. Wherever they dodged and doubled the -blazed-face was sure to be there, close behind, patient, untiring. A -wave of resentment against this steady pressure broke them into a run, -and, before they knew it, the outer rim of cattle split wide open and -they were beyond the herd. In a panic they endeavored to dart back, but -the big bay interposed. Seeing this, the cow sped toward a draw where -the scrub-cedar appeared to offer chances of escape. With the speed of -light the puncher was after them, twisting, wheeling, heading her off -toward the cut-bunch. And the calf found the same indefatigable foe -between him and freedom when he emulated his mother. - -“Git in, you low-lived whelp,” howled the cutter, and he spurred -furiously. - -They finally gave up the contest as hopeless and trotted meekly to join -the bunch of cattle they perceived ahead of them. - -There were cows which shot from the herd at a gallop and then would -break to a hesitating trot, their heads nodding loosely close to the -ground. Their gait had an odd uncertainty about it. The animals would -shrink from a weed and draw back. One stopped at perceiving a shadow and -went around it fearfully. - -“Locoed,” a puncher commented. For these had eaten of the strange loco -weed and were afflicted. - -By ten o’clock, the herd was worked. Fires were lighted and the branding -irons thrust into them. - -The roper and flankers got into action, two sets of them, and every -minute calves emitted protesting wails as the hot irons seared their -sides. He worked like an automaton, that roper. He seemed removed from -human passions, remote from the ordinary human impulses. His loop -dropped unerringly, and back the horse would go at a trot or a lope, -with a panic-stricken, crying calf plunging, bumping along in rear, -sometimes turning somersaults--for life is too short to carry calves to -the flankers with solicitous care, though possibly the flankers would -prefer them that way. - -The red-and-white edged away from the field of this gentleman’s labors -and ran straight in front of a sorrel horse. - -Baw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw! he cried, as something settled about his neck and a -resistless force commenced to drag him into the open. - -Another roper had snared him. He humped his back and began to buck, his -legs rigid. At every leap into the air he blatted and protested. His -mother shrank back in confusion at the first outcry and lost sight of -him in the dust raised by his unwilling progress. For fully thirty yards -he was dragged in a series of hurtling leaps, with the rope cutting into -his neck so that he could scarcely breathe; and then, before he had time -to recover his faculties, a man seized the rope, ran along it until he -reached the red-and-white, and reaching over his body, flopped him in -the air. But the calf was not flanked so easily--not Come-a-Seven. Twice -he rebounded like a rubber ball, finding his feet before his antagonist -could fall on him. - -“Stay-ay-ay with him, Steve! Go to him, boy!” shrieked the delighted -flankers. - -“Durn his hide. He’s stout as a weaner,” Steve snorted; and he gave a -tremendous heave. At the same time he made a short spring forward with -knees crooked, which carried him under the calf as that strenuous -combatant tried to make his hoofs hit the ground first. The -red-and-white came down with a bump that sounded like the unloading of a -trunk marked, “Handle with care.” It would have broken the ribs of -anything aged three months except a calf. - -“Holy cats, it’s Come-a-Seven,” Steve panted. He sat back of his head, -with a knee on the neck, and twisted one foreleg in a jiu-jitsu grip -that paralyzed all effort. Another puncher at his other extremity got a -vise-like hold of the left leg and put the other out of commission by -thrusting it far forward with his foot. - -Oh-oh-oh-uh-uh-uh-ah! - -The cry was almost human, and the eyes bulged and rolled with terror -until the whites showed. The iron had touched him, biting through his -coat into the flesh, while the smoke curled up with smell of burning -hair. His fright needed just that pang to get proper vocal expression, -and he used all his available breath in a frantic appeal to the mother -that bore him. It was not in vain. - -“Look out! Here she comes!” yelled a flanker. - -The three working over the calf looked up to see the cow trotting toward -them. There was no time to dodge. When she was within ten feet of the -group an idle flanker kicked a jet of sand into her face and she swerved -irresolutely, coming to a walk. The roper drove her back and work was -resumed on her son. - -“I mind once, when I was with the Spur, a cow jumped clean over us -that-a-way,” remarked Bill Kennedy, rising from the ground. As a parting -salute he rolled the red-and-white over his hip, as a wrestler throws a -man to the mat. “Say, Jake, heel them big fellers.” - -The calf was scared, and sore all over. A swallow-fork in the right ear -and a crop in the left worried him. He stood glowering in all -directions, in an effort to get his bearings; then he executed some -shuddering, half-hearted jumps, as though trying to shed the two burning -letters on his left flank, and sought his mother. He was sick, and all -the fight gone from him. - -The herd was driven off and released, and the red-and-white went with -them. He tarried in a draw, enduring great pain. A fever burned him, -too, and he was low in spirits. Half of his enormous appetite was gone, -but only half. Alas, he had lost the source of supply for even the -remnant that remained. In the general confusion he had become separated -from his mother, and, as it was meal-time, the loss was doubly -distressing. - -He lifted up his voice in a song of sorrow, but naught availed. -Perceiving this, he started to find her. The cow was hunting for him, -too, hunting frenziedly. And she was not alone in her grief, for at -least a dozen cows had lost their young in the turmoil of branding, and -they wandered up and down and across without cessation, lowing -pathetically, a world of distress in their tones and in their eyes. From -time to time one would sight a stray calf and make a bee line for it, -but only to give a moan of disappointment and resume her hunt. - -Come-a-Seven tried to establish filial relations with every cow he met. -As a result, he got some rebuffs that would have discouraged a less -hungry youngster. For hours he searched; for hours cows wandered about -crying for their young. Twice the red-and-white essayed to feed where he -had no blood-rights and nearly had his ribs stove in for his pains. -Finally, made crafty by hunger, he softly shouldered another calf away -from her place at the mother’s side and tried to substitute. The old cow -properly kicked him for that trick. - -But his hunger was short-lived; a familiar voice smote upon his ear, his -answering cry came with a glad quiver in it, and mother and son were -reunited. How she smelled of him and licked his dusty sides and neck! -And the way he went for his meal! She gave a deep rumble of content. -Even when Come-a-Seven butted cruelly with his head, in his consuming -hunger, and hurt her, she lowed in proud satisfaction. - -Pain and trouble cannot last forever. In a week his wounds had healed; -he was sound and strong again. Once more began the long, idle days of -good feeding and play with his young companions. His life was a full -one. Compared with that of the barnyard variety of the genus calf, it -was as checkered as a drummer’s appears to a hot-blooded resident of a -country town. - -In the winter his mother grew gaunt. The cold was intense at times, and -the snowfall was greater than the oldest bull could recall. At rare -intervals men came riding to inspect and on one visit drove some of the -weaker cattle to the home pasture, there to be fed daily. For the others -little could be done, and the red-and-white was one of them. There were -many good windbreaks on the range and the calf was tough, so he won -through somehow, though once when the snow drifted deep and the cow -could not find grass in her wanderings, grim death stared them in the -face. The calf himself went three days without a meal, yet lived. A cow -will not paw down through the snow like a horse, and mother and son saw -some of their friends perish. - -Spring came at last--suddenly, like a mountain sunrise--and the earth -was exceeding glad. Worried and emaciated, they greeted the season of -hope with a sudden access of energy. In later months the red-and-white -was weaned. He learned to eat grass, of which accomplishment he was at -first inordinately proud, and he throve on it; and he had but one worry -in the world--heel flies. - -It has been said that Come-a-Seven was lusty. He was an amazing big -fellow for his age. When round-up time arrived again and he was herded -with about fourteen hundred cattle, he grew chesty over the fact that he -sized up well with most of the two-year-olds. His strength and restless -energy were proportionate. - -Indeed, Come-a-Seven bade fair to be a rounder. While the other cattle -would be sleeping peacefully on the bed-ground, the young red-and-white -would go up and down through the herd, trying to start some excitement. -He always chose to walk straight through the center of the recumbent -host, and where he passed all got to their feet uneasily. The tired old -cows would grumble at him and tell him to go to bed, but he was proof -against all reproaches and conscience he had none. - -“Damn him,” grumbled a puncher on guard as he watched his wanderings for -the twentieth time, and for the twentieth time turned and drove back -some who tried to walk out at his prompting. “He’s playing for a -stompede.” - -“I swan if it ain’t Come-a-Seven!” remarked Steve, when the -red-and-white passed very near him. “Git to bed, Come-a-Seven. I reckon -you’re a rake.” - -When tired of his solitary roaming, the red-and-white would select some -young steer weaker than himself, butt him off the bed he had warmed, and -compose himself to slumber. Whereat a great sigh of satisfaction would -be heard mingled with the blowing of the cattle. - -Another year passed. When the cowboys came whooping up the cattle in the -following August, the red-and-white heard the loud shoutings and saw, -with contemptuous resentment, his fellow-creatures being propelled -toward the round-up ground. Their meekness awoke hot rebellion in him. -Big he was now and of the strength of two. He decided he would not go. - -A rider caught him unawares and the surprise of his first rush started -the steer in the right direction, but it failed to keep him there; for -as soon as the man departed to drive another bunch, the red-and-white -went off at a tangent. Far had he wandered in his day, and he knew some -brakes--miles, miles away--where the foot of horse seldom trod. Toward -these he headed. Two hundred, three hundred yards, and behind him he -heard the familiar scramble of the pursuer. The red-and-white flagged -his tail and let out another notch. - -“Quit it, you Come-a-Seven!” Steve bawled. “Blast you, git in there.” - -The two-year-old only ran the harder, but the pony gained. Then he lost -his temper and made up his mind that whether or not the cowboy overtook -him he would reach those brakes; if necessary he would turn about and -attack. His head swayed from side to side, his gait became uncertain and -he seemed worried--symptoms which were not lost on Steve. When the steer -stopped and faced about, the horse turned like a flash, and as he did so -a loud, querulous voice, raised in helpless anger, broke up Steve’s -programme. That voice changed the red-and-white’s destiny. Indirectly it -saved him from the stockyards; but, then, he would probably have saved -himself. - -“Let him go, Steve! You’ll lose that other bunch,” the wagon boss cried. -“We’ll get him again.” - -Steve waved his hat at the steer with a good-natured grin and shook up -his horse, departing like a rocket to his work. The red-and-white -continued on toward the brakes. - -That is how he became an outlaw. - -In the vast Croton brakes were scores such as he. Some of them were -grown old and hoary, and they bore many brands. A few had no brands. All -had run wild for years, and round-ups were things of the long ago. So -shy were they that it was as difficult for a man to approach them as to -stalk a herd of antelope. They kept in bands of five and six, and did -anything come near which one did not understand, they were off like -deer. - -The red-and-white took to the life as his birth-right. Somewhere in him -ran a strain that drove resistlessly to solitude and the wilds; and he -was happy. More than once he had to fight, but he possessed an -unbeatable temper and had a world of craft to direct his agility and -colossal strength, so that he came from his battles with blood-dripping -horns held high and proudly. - -Rough and torn and forbidding were the brakes--miles on miles of -red-walled cañons, of scrub cedar and sand-rock--but the feeding was -good for so few when one knew the best places, and the outlaw waxed ever -stronger. His horns spread, too. - -Five years sped by and the outlaw fought his way to kingship. - -On a December day he was startled by the noise of firing. Such sounds he -had never heard. It was not the snappy, sharp report of the six-shooter, -but louder and of heavier metal. Suddenly fear took hold of him. There -was a hunt on--a hunt of outlaws. The horns of the free steers would -bring high prices, and once in a generation a party of punchers came -thus with rifles to gather them. Come-a-Seven let out a bellow and tore -away at the head of his followers. - -It was a terrible day for the outlaws of the Croton brakes. When the -bunch that trailed behind the red-and-white split and scattered, the -chase developed into mad, individual contests of speed. The outlaw could -run; the way Come-a-Seven traveled would have made an ordinary range -steer look like a muley cow. Up and down sheer bluffs that appeared too -steep to climb, he ran; and cliffs seemed to be highways to him. But, -behind, a rider spurred tenaciously, steadily diminishing the distance -that separated them, holding his fire until he could be sure of this -glorious prize. Up came the rifle--but it never sent forth its leaden -messenger. - -“Gee whiz, if it ain’t ol’ Come-a-Seven!” cried Steve. “Git a-going, -boy, and keep her up! Whoopee!” - -With a final spurt and shout the veteran puncher wheeled and came to a -standstill, regarding the smashing run of the big steer with a smile of -admiration. The red-and-white was already disappearing in the distance, -far, far away from all further danger of pursuit, his tail held high, -his head swaying. Steve watched him until he topped a rise and -disappeared. He had lost a goodly prize; but he was content. He chuckled -as he recalled the steer’s past misdeeds on the bed-ground. - -The outlaw went back to his remotest fastnesses. He may be there yet, -boss of the Croton brakes. - - - - - V - SHIELA - - -A panther’s scream split the whine of the wind and Shiela reared herself -in front of the fire, her body retched by an answering challenge. - -“Shee-la,” her master rebuked. “Lie down, girl.” - -The wolfhound sank to the floor with a reluctant flop, but the hairs on -her neck and along her spine bristled still. She continued to rumble. - -There were four men playing at cards in the bunkhouse. Cold weather had -set in and the Tumbling H outfit were eating out their hearts in winter -camps. Here at headquarters, the range boss, wagon boss, blacksmith and -cook played half the day at seven-up and pitch; and listened to Mit’s -varying accounts of high life in the East, as he had plumbed it in Fort -Worth; and raved at the climate and cursed petty annoyances with the -savage irritability of full-blooded men lacking enough to do. - -“Hark to that ol’ wind,” mourned the wagon boss--he was fifty and -considered fourteen hours a day in the saddle mere child’s play--“It was -sixty-six above this morning, and now it’s zero. No wonder a man cain’t -be healthy.” - -The others nodded gravely and the cook shuffled the cards. - -“It’s a wonder, Steve,” he observed, “that you don’t--my deal?--you -don’t try that dog in wolf huntin’. Not by herself, but with a bunch of -’em.” - -“Wait till she’s used to the country and has got her growth. Then you’ll -see.” - -Mit remarked that he referred, of course, to the hunting of coyotes, -which prompted a passionate declaration from the wagon boss that the -range ought to be cleared of these pests. They killed too many calves in -bad years: poison ’em, he urged. Nobody opposed objection and they went -on with the game. Then from the mouth of the cañon came to the ears of -the players the vibrant cry of the lobo. Right upon it broke Shiela’s -roar of defiance, and the beast was at the door in a bound, whimpering -frenziedly, her terrible teeth bared. Beside her, his head three inches -short of Shiela’s breast, Friday stiffened in sympathetic rage, his -stubby tail wagging. He raised a shrill treble bark. - -“Down, Shee-la! Down, girl.” Running from the table, O’Donnell led her -back to the fire. - -“Friday, you come here,” the blacksmith cried. “Lay down under the -table, and don’t you go for to move!” - -Not to cattle-browsed stretches of prairie land had Shiela been reared, -nor to vast sweep of hills and mesquite-flecked valleys, and of torn, -brick-red sandstone and tortuous, dry river-beds. She was a stranger in -a strange land, and her new kingdom struck to the roots of her nature. -Far as she could wander in a frivolous all-day rabbit hunt with Friday -was no sign of human habitation; and beyond that, away to the pale-blue -line that must surely be the rim of all things,--full sixty miles,--no -handiwork of man was visible. Here was an unspoiled empire, and her -master was the autocrat. For the first time in her life the wolfhound -drew the breath of unrestrained liberty, chafed hotly to the tang of the -air, cast about and trailed wild creatures whose taint stirred her to -mad longings for the chase and a fight. - -How can one tell of Shiela’s beauty? A great animal and a -wonderful--light fawn in color, with a shaggy coat. Her eyes were in -general gentle and melting. But it must be confessed that her -proportions did not fit Shiela to be a comfort about the home, for she -weighed a hundred and eighteen pounds and could not go under the tallest -table without stooping. As she always forgot to stoop, her progress was -fraught with excitement. - -On the day following her arrival, the cook scrambled out of bed long -before sunup to ascertain what manner of idiot could be knocking on the -door in this deserted region. Man alive, why couldn’t they walk in? -Shiela leaped on him to be fondled--the wolfhound had been wagging her -tail against the door as she lay across the threshold. - -“Ef I was you,” Mit suggested civilly, “I’d lay out on the range where -you’d have room to move round. Git a nice big butte all to yourself.” - -Her heart and her courage were big as her body. Following O’Donnell on a -day when he fared to Stinking Water, quite by accident she roused up a -loafer in the cañon. Shiela flew in pursuit, deaf to O’Donnell’s frantic -commands to come back. And when the wolf turned fiercely at bay to pit -her might against this daring hunter, a hundred and eighteen pounds of -dauntless pluck launched itself at her neck like a bolt from a -storm-cloud. - -“She’s a dead one now,” O’Donnell groaned, circling for a shot. “She’s a -goner, sure.” - -Had the wolfhound been more wary, she would have fared better. She could -not have slain her foe; the dog does not breathe that can go to the -death-grapple with a loafer wolf in the flush of his strength; and -Shiela knew neither the amazing quickness of the wild, nor how to guard -against those slashing counter-attacks. The lobo could dodge and rip -simultaneously, using her jaws from any direction. Even when bowled over -by the hound’s unreckoning rush, she tore Shiela’s throat with a -backward thrust of her muzzle and was free in a twinkling. Badly cut in -several places, dazed by the speed of the combat, the wolfhound was soon -forced to let her go. - -Shiela and Friday were fast friends, albeit the diversity of dimensions -was productive of intermittent rancor. It was Friday’s wont to rush at -her fiercely, to seize one powerful leg in his mouth and worry it, -whereat Shiela would hit him a playful pat that sent him reeling ten -yards. But Friday came of a staunch breed, and he returned to the sport -again and again. Often the wolfhound would stretch herself out on the -ground, and thus recumbent, the fox-terrier could almost reach her head. -Over Shiela would roll, lying on her back with legs in the air, while -Friday snorted and grunted valorously as he shook her by the throat or -the ear. But the fun always ended in the same way: a clumsy blow would -catch Friday full on the head and he would dash off to his master with -cries of pain. - -“Steve oughtn’t for to keep her round headquarters,” the blacksmith -remonstrated to Dick. “She’s shore too big. Pore li’l Friday! When she -gits into my shop, Dick, I swan her ol’ tail is like to send my tools -flying which-ways.” - -“Where’d he keep her, then? He cain’t turn her out on the range to eat -grass,” sneered Dick. - -The blacksmith was silenced, but there was born in him a dislike of the -hound. It happened that, when next the terrier came yelping from play, -O’Donnell had ridden off to a tank. The blacksmith issued from the shop -and hurled a bolt at Shiela. She dodged, but did not run, and the -bristles on her neck stiffened in warning. - -Aside from the manager, who spent much of the year with his family in -Denver, the blacksmith was the only married man with the Tumbling H -outfit. He had a son three years of age. Oscar was the child’s name,--a -sturdy, ruddy-cheeked youngster he was--and from the outset he was the -apple of Shiela’s eye. The boy could pull her ears or tail with absolute -impunity, and into the yawning cavity she would open to his teasing, he -would thrust a chubby fist. - -“Oscar! Oscar! My baby, don’t,” his mother would cry. But Shiela was -infinitely tender with him, and the two would roll on the ground in a -tight embrace, while the child thumped a tattoo on the wolfhound’s ribs. - -It befell on a morning that they indulged in this frolic until both were -in a state of unbridled excitement. Crowing with delight, the baby -staggered to his feet and tried to butt Shiela with his head. Forgetting -for a fraction of time how fragile was this cherished morsel of -humanity, the wolfhound struck out joyously with her paw, bowling him -over like a ninepin. As he went backward, the boy essayed to break his -fall on the ground by thrusting out his left arm; it doubled under him -and snapped at the elbow. - -A single wailing cry brought his father running from the smithy. Oscar -lay white-faced, the wolfhound nosing him eagerly in an endeavor to stir -the baby to a resumption of play. Flinging a curse at the dog, the -blacksmith picked up his son and carried him to his mother. Ten minutes -passed, which Shiela spent in vain efforts to ascertain what kept her -playmate from her, and Peck emerged from the bunkhouse with a shotgun. -The quick-sensing Shiela disappeared without further ado around a corner -of the saddle-shed; but, as the blacksmith followed on a run, -O’Donnell’s voice stayed him. - -“What’re you doing with that gun, Peck?” - -“Shiela done broke Oscar’s arm, and I aim to git even--that’s what.” - -“Don’t be a fool!” the boss cried sharply. - -Peck faced him, his lips twitching. - -“I may do more’n shoot a bitch, Steve,” he said, and his voice was calm -now. - -“You don’t mean that, Peck.” The range boss continued to advance, his -eyes on the troubled eyes of the blacksmith. “Shee-la and little Oscar -have always been friends. Didn’t she pull him out of the creek only last -week? She couldn’t have smashed his arm on purpose. You can’t blame a -dog for an accident.” - -The blacksmith cursed Shiela to the eightieth generation; but O’Donnell -smiled and tapped the barrel of the gun with his forefinger. There would -be no shooting of man or dog now, he knew. - -“Put it away, Peck. We’ll forget all about it. I’ll ride over to Deadeye -and bring the doctor myself.” - -The blacksmith wavered and obeyed. - -Little Oscar was soon able to toddle about, with his arm in a cast and a -sling. But Peck’s dislike for the hound grew to hate. In the short -winter days and long winter nights he watched and brooded, waiting for -an opportunity to make her suffer. His hostility to the soft-eyed, -affectionate Shiela took the form of an intense nervous sensibility to -her every movement--one sees precisely the same symptoms in persons who -are unhappily cooped up for any length of time. Soon the bigness of the -animal grated on his nerves, so that whatever she did excited in him -childish spleen. Even when Shiela ate, Peck could not look at her -magnificent satisfaction without falling into a paroxysm of loathing. - -Once he spread pieces of meat cunningly about the saddle-shed where she -was wont to loll while the child slept in the afternoons. Shiela espied -and swallowed these tidbits with much relish, and stalked away to get a -drink, feeling unaccountably thirsty. There was no water in the trough; -and that saved her life. Soon a tremor came upon the wolfhound, so that -she swayed uncertainly, her nose close to the ground, froth slathering -her muzzle. - -At this moment Oscar rocketed from the bunkhouse at his usual ungainly -gallop. The boy knew exactly what to do. Had he not endured agony, too? -There was only one sure remedy for belly-pains, and it stood on a shelf -in the kitchen--he never passed the shelf without a certain creeping of -the flesh. How he forced castor oil upon the dog is one of those modern -miracles that are wrought for babes and the inebriated. At any rate, -with only one arm free, he administered a glorious dose, and, feeling -full of pity for the tortures of which she mumbled so weakly, he -followed it with generous hunks of greasy bacon purloined from the big -brown crockery jar in the pantry. Shiela became violently ill and Oscar -feared for her life. - -“Dick! Dick! She sick. Hurry, oh hurry!” Oscar ran to summon help. - -Shiela survived, and O’Donnell devoted the better part of a day to -impassioned dissertations on the folly of leaving strychnine baits for -coyotes round the saddle-shed. - -One evening in midwinter, the range boss, Dick, the cook, and Peck sat -in the bunkhouse, as usual, trifling with a pile of dominos. Shiela lay -dozing in front of the fire. The wolfhound had shown considerable -restlessness of late and Dick had cautioned O’Donnell to chain her up. -It came Mit’s turn to play and, as he was ponderously miring himself, -the night silence was rent by the hunting cry of the loafer. So near was -it, so savagely compelling, that the men sent the benches back in amaze. -The effect on Shiela was extraordinary. She was at the door, scratching -for her liberty, whining, turning appealing eyes to O’Donnell that he -should open. - -Dick gazed at the range boss and waggled his wise bald head. “You better -lock her up, Steve, or you’ll shore lose that ol’ dog.” - -She was locked in the smithy the next evening, and in the morning the -shed was empty. O’Donnell was positive that the staple and chain on the -door had been secure when he left her the night before; yet now the -staple dangled free, with a splinter attached. Reflecting that the -hound’s weight made this feat possible, he ceased to speculate; and in -the blacksmith’s soul entered peace. Shiela had fled. - -The Wednesday following fell blustery, with a bullying wind, and the -range boss sat late at his table, working over a cattle tally by the -light of a lantern. A timid scratching on the door-sill disturbed him, -and he listened curiously. There it was again, this time accompanied by -a plaintive whine. He reached the handle in a stride. - -“Shee-la! Shee-la, old girl!” His glad cry brought Mit running. Shiela -slunk into the room and crossed to the fire, which she sniffed -doubtfully and then lay down in front of it. Down her throat and across -her left shoulder burned cherry-colored slashes. She touched her tongue -to them and began to clean her soiled coat, while O’Donnell stood -watching, lost in wonder. The wolfhound growled as he moved, but he -laughed affectionately and stooped to the fearfully lowered head. - -“So you’ve come back--like the prodigal,” he whispered. “Poor, poor -Shee-la!” - -“Mit,” he bawled the next instant, “kill the spotted calf, or the fatted -heifer, or whatever else will do. She’s hungry.” - -Not being conversant with the tale of the erring son, the cook roared -back a request to Steve to have sense--didn’t he know there wasn’t a -calf in the pen? - -“Bring some beef, then,” laughed the boss. - -The animal’s eyes followed her master furtively. He noted that -flickering gleam with a pang--the fear and suspicion of the hunted in -it. So much had three days with the wild linked up the slack chain of -her blood tie. Then presently she licked his hand, and the look that -answered his was soft and appealing as of old. - -“Here’s enough to choke her,” announced Mit cheerily, entering with a -slab of beef. - -The hound sprang at him and the cook, taking no chances, hurled the raw -meat into the air. She caught it as it touched the floor and tore into -it with the desperate zest of the famished. - -The days drifted one into another, and the Tumbling H men rose and ate -and slept, and rose again, which is the sum of many lives. Of work there -could be little until the spring rains fell. Would the good days of the -roundup never come? Oh, the sweltering hours in the saddle, and the -bellowings of mighty herds, and the choking dust of the corrals in -branding! - -Shiela was carefully guarded. In the first of the mild weather she -contributed to the bustling cheer of the bunkhouse a litter of four -lusty pups. It was as much as a man’s life was worth to go nearer than -six feet to the tugging little rascals; but the boy Oscar, who did not -know this, proceeded calmly to inspect and caress them. The mother -flared in a sudden, quaping rage, but instantly sank back and became -reconciled to the extent of permitting the baby, quite undaunted by his -first reception, to stroke her progeny with his pudgy hands. She watched -him jealously. - -Summer rushed upon the land, and the Tumbling H outfit got to horse and -rode forth. In November O’Donnell shipped seven thousand head of steers -to help stay the world’s maw, and in December there were four men -playing at cards again in the bunkhouse. - -“Steve,”--the cook cleared his throat as he riffled the cards,--“is it -my deal? Shore. Say, Steve, one of Shiela’s pups is killing chickens. -He’d ’a got a turkey too, only I done seen him.” - -“You ought for to have killed ’em all when they were teeny pups, Steve,” -broke in the blacksmith. “What was the use of keeping two? Anyone kin -see they’re more wolf than dog.” - -“It’s your play,” the boss said evenly. - -Shiela had the run of quarters, but her broad-jowled, heavy-shouldered -pups were chained in the smithy. Just what to do with them was a -problem. Shiela had exhibited no special affection since they were -weaned, and it needed only the merest glance to detect the bar sinister. -Had only the eyes been visible, there was that in their glint which -betrayed the wolf. Yet, in the tawny coats and a certain lithe spring in -gathering for a stride, the youngsters favored their mother. - -A loafer wolf made a foray from the cañon on a Sunday night, when the -range boss and Mit played seven-up and the blacksmith poisoned life with -a concertina. He killed a milch-pen calf close to headquarters; yet so -silent was the raid that the men heard nothing of it, though Shiela -cried protests to be gone and growled at intervals. In the smithy the -pups bayed deep-voiced greetings. They leaped and snapped their teeth, -and gnawed and raved to be free. Forgetting that O’Donnell had unchained -them, Dick went to the door to still the brutes. They hurled themselves -over him. - -“Here’s where the trouble starts, Shee-la,” observed her master -dubiously. She wagged her tail and looked up at him in curiosity, for -she had practically forgotten the pups. - -It was a bitter winter, and the cattle sickened and died in hundreds. -The men rode range in all weathers, setting out oil-cake and salt; but -what help could be given to thirty thousand head? Carrion waxed fat. And -then, one day in Deadeye, whither he had journeyed for supplies at the -first hint of spring, the range boss stumbled on a strange tale. The -wolves were out, bolder and stronger than they had been in a generation. -They were making no stealthy, lone hunts,--a swift leap from the dark -upon a helpless thing, and then the gorge,--but waged an almost -systematic war of pillage. The leader was a shaggy veteran of speckled -gray that ran with a limp; and with him--the men of Deadeye hoped they -might perish horribly were this not so--with him there ran two -fawn-colored wolves like no lobo of the west country. They were, -perhaps, slightly shorter than a cowhorse; that is, of course, a strong -roping horse, not a stunted pony. - -“Shee-la, you’ve surely done it now,” O’Donnell told her with a sigh. -She thrust her moist muzzle into his hand to be petted. - -In less than seven days’ time Padden reported from a division camp that -he had come on the carcass of a freshly killed heifer near a salt -trough. The wolves had hamstrung the poor brute and had fallen to their -grim feast before life was extinct, he thought; which is not unusual. -O’Donnell vowed a war of extermination. - -The mail-carrier came upon the pack casting about beside the trail, at -fault in running an antelope. They let him approach within two hundred -yards, gazing insolently, then flitted swiftly through a jungle of -mesquite trees. His story was that beside the wily gray scoundrel that -led, raced two tall creatures, half wolf, half dog, which ran with a -long, springy stride foreign to lobo locomotion. - -“It’s Shiela’s pups,” the blacksmith exclaimed venomously, when the -mail-carrier related this experience at dinner. - -“Yes, they’re Shee-la’s pups,” O’Donnell admitted; and, “Poor Shee-la!” -he said. Then raising his voice with decision: - -“Johnson, you tell them in Deadeye that I’ll give fifty dollars each for -those pups, and fifty for the old gray fellow. Put up a notice in the -post-office. Or--wait, I’ll write one for you.” - -The result of this placard was an egress from Deadeye of eight ambitious -hunters, who went their several ways, wishful to earn two months’ pay by -a lucky shot. They straggled back empty-handed at the end of a week. -While they were thus engaged, the pack ranged wide. They killed at Cedar -Creek, but were compelled to abandon their prey, and slew again before -daylight on a nester’s place on the outskirts of Deadeye. Here, too, -they let the life out of an interfering collie. Long immunity had made -them contemptuous--or was it that they gave ear to the counsels of -man-raised mates? They raided the Tumbling H headquarters in quest of -certain turkeys that were Mit’s solace in dark days, and from ambuscade -the cook slew his finest gobbler with buckshot, in a berserker effort to -shoot one lissome marauder. - -Shiela and Friday led uneventful lives amid all this harrying and -turmoil of pursuit. They frisked and wrestled on the baked, cracked -ground, or basked in the sun until it grew too hot and the flies became -unbearable in attack, when they would slouch to the cool of the long -bunk-room. Shiela had forgotten all about her degenerate offspring, and -held herself fearlessly and with pride as an honest dog. - -More than once she and the terrier took jaunts over the low hills toward -the cañon, in spite of the watch on her goings-out. It might be a rabbit -they pursued, or the zigzagging trail of a coyote; or it might be that -rare scent, the antelope’s. One afternoon they disported themselves, -chasing some half-wild hogs that roamed the range. - -A long-snouted porker of tender years was rooting about a patch of -bear-grass, when suddenly he cocked his impudent nose and appeared to -listen intently. Shiela and Friday stopped short in a game of tag, to -watch. The pig did not turn his head, but continued to stand at -attention, his ears twitching. What could it mean? Shiela crept closer. -With a speed that left her dumbfounded, the pig sprang sidewise on to a -spot his glance had certainly not been regarding, and simultaneously -tore with his jaws at a writhing, earth-colored coil. Shiela drew off -respectfully and in trepidation, while he devoured his victim with -beautiful hog voracity. It was the dreaded rattler, which he had killed -with two lightning strokes of forefeet and jaws. - -So the days passed. - -In the meantime, O’Donnell had other things than Shiela or wolves to -think about. The manager had resigned, and the boss added to the -superintendence of the active work of the range, the conduct of the -business of the Tumbling H company, the sale and the shipping of -Tumbling H cattle. He was an enthusiast on improving the breed of his -cattle and horses; and his anger was deep, therefore, when late in the -autumn his men found the remains of a young stallion. He was a splendid -beast, but newly come from Kentucky, and ignorant of perils and the -necessity for perpetual vigilance. Apparently he had been cut out from -the band he lorded it over,--sheer foolhardiness, this--and, alone in -the battle against heavy odds, had been pulled down. That he died full -of fight was sufficiently evident: the battered body of an exceptionally -large young wolf lay on the ground beside his own. - -Shiela sniffed at the carcass of this creature, then moved away -unconcernedly, circling for another scent; but the hide caught -O’Donnell’s gaze and held it. The coat was of a peculiar tawny hue, -running in spots to red. There was something in the lines of the body -and legs that struck a reminiscent chord in his memory. He glanced from -it to Shiela, turning the body over with his foot. - -“If that isn’t one of your litter, old girl, I’m much mistaken,” he -said. - -Shiela, then, must atone. With all the dogs of Deadeye to help, she -should hunt these bold ravagers. Hers was the crime; hers must be the -expiation, even at the cost of life. - -“Well, old girl,” he said, as he ambled away from headquarters three -days later, with Shiela beside him, “here’s your one chance to wipe out -your little slip. A lot of us humans don’t get that, my lady. So go to -it and clear your name, Shee-la.” - -There were twenty-five dogs on hand at the rendezvous, about thirteen -more than were needed, and they ranged from bloodhounds and greyhounds -to a wheezy water-spaniel, which thought he knew a scent when he struck -it, and whose master fondled the same delusion of him. His presence led -to a dispute at the outset, because the spaniel persisted in messing -about and mugging a trail, and his owner pig-headedly abetted him. The -owner was set in argument, and carried a long, smooth-bore rifle. -However, both were persuaded to go home, quite convinced that spiteful -jealousy was at the bottom of this attitude. - -“So that’s Shiela?” queried a Gourd puncher. “I reckon you ought to kill -her, O’Donnell. It’s her pup and his father what’s raising all the hell. -She might run away ag’in and--” - -“She’s my dog, Joe,” the boss cut in. - -Hard upon his words, old Rags gave tongue and went away on a warm scent. -Luck was with the hunters. Within two miles the dogs were running free, -their noses in the air, making the ridges ring to their eager yelping; -and a wolf, a tawny, limber-limbed wolf, smashed through a tangle of -weeds and briars at the head of a gulch and streaked across the open -country. The pack laid themselves out in pursuit, Shiela and the -greyhounds running silently. - -The wolfhound was well up with the leaders. A dozen strides would have -brought the quarry to bay, when a speckled gray shape burst into view -beneath her feet and departed at a tangent to her line of running, -heading for a shallow draw. Shiela and one greyhound swerved and dashed -after him. The others of the pack kept on behind the flagging fugitive. - -Everything was against the gray. He was old, and the combats and the -hunts of years had stiffened his muscles. He was full fed and heavy; -slumbering, he had blundered into the chase when he could have lain low. -The two silent things behind carried in their sinewy bodies the speed -and stamina of generations of dogs whose special business in life it had -been to run. A wall of earth faced them, the bank of a dried stream, and -he must scale it in his flight. Well he knew that the race was over. He -must fight, and as well here as elsewhere. When it comes to the last -test of courage, the king of wolves is indeed a king. - -A rapid glance over his shoulder showed him the greyhound almost at his -flank. He reached the bank by a desperate spurt, whirled, and with one -rending stroke, cast back the first pursuer, coughing in the throes of -death. But the shock of the charge shook him for an instant and in that -fraction of time he was unprepared to withstand the crushing velocity of -Shiela’s onslaught. On his hind legs, his worn fangs gleaming, he -received her. She went straight for his throat, and the grip being an -eminently satisfactory one, she did not release it. - -[Illustration: “_On his hind legs, his worn fangs gleaming, he received -her_”] - -To and fro the big gray dragged her, over and over, tearing with his -forefeet to pry her off, snapping his wide jaws in futile efforts to -seize his enemy. His hind claws ripped unavailingly along the -wolfhound’s sides; he writhed and twisted to gain an inch of freedom for -his head--only an inch, and he could reach her shoulder. Once only -Shiela growled, a deep, rumbling note of content. She knew what she had -to do, and she felt this to be the right way. Slowly her jaws tightened -and she hung to him soundlessly. The rasping snarls grew fainter; the -tremendous heavings and lurchings slackened. The old lord of the cañon -had made his last fight. - -It was O’Donnell who drove her off. Blown but triumphant, he raced from -the slaughter of the first quarry, and gave a long whistle of -incredulity at sight of the slain. - -“Father and son--father and son in one day,” he exclaimed. Then, “Poor -Shee-la.” - -As they trotted cheerily homeward, the wolfhound kept close to -O’Donnell’s horse, and whenever she glanced up at him, frisking clumsily -the while, he grinned down at her. - -“You’ve wiped out your fault, Shee-la. You’ve done more than most,” he -observed seriously, as they neared the ranch. “I thought once I’d have -to send you away. Or--or send you out on the long trail.” Shiela leaped -playfully at his horse’s bridle. “But we’ll stick together. Only,” he -drew a deep breath, “we’ll take a holiday. We’ll go back--back home to -County Mayo, old girl.” - - - - - VI - MOLLY - - -It may be there are persons who will scoff at the assertion that there -is more of sentiment in a cow than in any creature of four legs that -walks the earth. Cavilers, these--hard-shelled individuals who look at -the gentle bovine through the eye of commercialism, not gifted to see -beyond her barnyard activities toward the nourishment of mankind. It is -reasonably established that one may approach a horse in comradely -security, confident of fair play. The rules as to hybrids are these: you -walk up to a mule in a spirit of veneration and religious preparedness, -wearing a sickly aspect of confidence. And you quaver soothing words and -carry a club behind your back. - -But toward a cow--ah, that is different. Here is a mainstay of life, a -pillar and prop of civilization. Here is--well, a cow is a cow. Why, -there was the time when three hundred furiously anxious, bawling mothers -smashed out of a stout wooden corral on the Turkey Track range and laid -a straight course across seven leagues of territory, in quest of their -helpless progeny, mercilessly cooped in cars at a railroad siding, -awaiting shipment to an Arizona butcher. They kept two well-grown men -atop a water-tank for five hours, and--but to attempt a citation of -cases would be idle. This is the simple tale of Molly. - -She was not an especially pretty animal, Molly--just plain cow, dun in -color, with a Jersey strain somewhere among her remote forebears. Yet, -one could not gaze on Molly for long without a feeling of profound -respect pervading his soul. It was not because one could see with half -an eye that she gave large quantities of milk; that was merely the -performance of her natural functions. Nor was it that her wistful regard -suggested all the sorrows of her sex. Molly in some way made a subtle -appeal to sympathy that cannot be voiced. - -As a matter of fact, she ought to have been the pampered occupant of a -clover field by day and of a stall by night. Instead, she was roaming -the zacaton flats of the Tumbling K and losing herself among the -blackbrush ridges, in vague wonder that the world was grown so large. -Designed to be a respectable milch-cow on a dairy farm, here she was in -the heart of a wilderness, and all because of a boy. - -He came among us, pink and white and fearfully clean; and he was the -owner’s son. There were eleven thousand cows in our domain, but milk had -been a thing of rumor to the outfit, perhaps because it is inconvenient -to milk on horseback. Now, however, Vance shoved his legs under the -boards at the bunk-house and objected to clear, biting coffee. So, when -he departed blacker than a Mexican, with a two months’ beard and -overalls sustained by a strand of rope,--babbling wild things of a bath -he would take, a bath that would endure for a day and a night,--we still -had Molly. - -“That cow’s got a mind, I tell you,” Uncle Henry assured the outfit at -supper. “She’s got a mind jist like you or me, Dave, only better than -yourn. Pass them frijoles.” - -Perhaps Molly did have a mind. At any rate, she was humanly lonesome. To -be the only one of her kind in a tract of five thousand acres--they kept -her in the horse pasture--was depressing to a companionable disposition. -The bronchos on the river flats and mesquite-clothed hills were shy, -wild creatures, subject to alarms and foolish panic. With mild wonder -she would watch them break into a run at a sound or a strange scent. -They were masterful, too, always driving her away from the water-holes -and the salt until they had had their fill. Instinctively she was afraid -when one of them approached with careless confidence that she would give -place. Yet, though unhappy, Molly never overlooked her duty, and each -morning and each evening she stood quiet while Uncle Henry milked her, -occasionally rumbling a note of satisfaction or sweeping at a fly with -cautious backward swings of her head. Uncle Henry was becoming too stiff -for hard riding, and now spent most of his time trying to persuade -himself and others that the odd jobs he applied himself to were of his -own choosing. - -One morning Molly awoke to turmoil. Wondrous noises came to her on the -west wind, and she arose and walked to the imprisoning fence. Truly the -Tumbling K was become a Babel. In the wide, browned valleys, on the -mesas, and far into the fastnesses of the Mules, bulls and cows and -clumsy calves were on the march, with riders hanging in rear. Molly -could hear the churning of the hosts on the round-up ground, and to her -nostrils was wafted the taint of the dust belching heavenward in clouds. -For the Tumbling K range was to be divided, and eight thousand head must -be turned over to the retiring partner. - -Where did all the cattle come from? Molly had never dreamed there were -such hordes of her kind in the world. Armies of them filed by in long -lines, the cowboys on flank and in rear shouting, whistling, spurring -into the press in their efforts to urge the herds forward. Molly stood -at the barb-wire fence most of the day, staring at this rally of her -species. Sometimes she bawled a troubled greeting. - -And the little calves! Many a toddling new-born, strayed from its mother -and solicitous of protection, staggered out to sniff at the kindly -disposed creature that nosed it so tenderly from the other side of a -four-strand barrier. All night the trampling of sleepless thousands and -the bawling of steers and worried cows came to disturb Molly’s slumbers. -The bed-ground for the herds was not four hundred yards distant from the -pasture fence. She could see tiny intermittent lights move slowly about -them in a wide circle, where the men on guard smoked as they rode their -rounds. - -Next day her heart was filled with forebodings and uneasiness. Hundreds -of cattle were driven into an extensive corral within the confines of -her pasture, and thence, in small groups, they went into a chute, -propelled by the whoops and outcries of sundry reckless horsemen who -crowded their rear. Molly watched and wondered. She saw these cattle -forced singly into a narrow runway; she saw them caught fast in a -squeezer, heard their bellows of consternation and fright; and then -there reached her the stinging odor of burned hair, when the branding -irons seared the flesh. Upon which Molly would flip her tail in the air -and lope away. But she always returned; much as she feared it, she could -not leave this anguished assemblage. - -It was Uncle Henry who discovered that the arrival of the herds was -demoralizing our faithful benefactor. She no longer grazed sedately; -even the succulent grama-grass of the creek-bottom failed to hold her, -and she walked the barb-wire ceaselessly day and night. Her weight fell -off in alarming fashion, and when, on the third evening, Uncle Henry -approached with outstretched hand and honeyed speech, and the milk-pail -cunningly concealed, she shook her big, patient head and moved off. He -followed, and she quickened her pace. - -“Consarn your fat haid!” roared Uncle Henry, never a patient man. “Hold -still or I’ll take the hide off’n you.” - -He tore after Molly, threatening dire visitations. Now, it takes an -extremely clever person to circumvent a determined cow, when he is on -foot and she has five thousand acres in which to manœuver, and Uncle -Henry returned to headquarters, howling for somebody to lend him a horse -and he would drag that old fool clear to Texas. We went without milk -that night, and grumbled and swore precisely as if we had had nothing -else all our lives. - - * * * * * - -“Hi-yi! Bear down on him, cowboys. More frijoles here!” - -With a yell, Big John sprang to the lever of the squeezer and threw all -his strength on it, gripping a plunging steer about the middle as he -strove to win through the chute. - -“Hot iron! Hot iron!” the wagon boss shrieked. “Somebody build that fire -up. All right. That’s got him, Cas.” - -Molly hung about near the corral, gazing on these frenzied activities in -consternation. It was early morning and low-hanging mists were shredding -before the sun. - -Some calves passed through the chute by inadvertence. Being too small -for the squeezer to hold, they were noosed as they came out, and branded -on the ground. One was so tiny that the men at work beside the runway, -idly rolling cigarettes during a halt in the operations, failed -altogether to perceive him above the heavy lower boarding. As a result, -he sauntered into the open, and there was no noose ready to snare. His -ears were twitching with curiosity, and he moved his legs as if they -were stiff and his feet hurt, as indeed they did, because he had come -many weary miles and he was not three days old. - -“Hi-yi! There goes a calf!” yelled the punchers. “Go to him, John. He’s -just your size.” - -Big John grinned, spat on his hands, and made a dive for the fugitive. -“The li’l’ rascal,” he chuckled, grabbing for its tail. Instead of -taking to the open and falling a prey to a roper, the calf lunged -sideways and went under the horse-pasture fence. He was so short that he -easily bowed his back and slid beneath the wire. The outfit sent up a -shout of laughter, and exhorted John to stay with him; but the giant -remained where he was, gazing fixedly at the fugitive. Molly was on the -other side of the fence. - -To her side the white-face bolted, confident of sanctuary. For a cow, -Molly was terribly agitated. She turned about and about, trying to -obtain a really good look at this forward baby who greeted her as his -mother. The calf, on his part, kept close in an endeavor to secure his -supper, being very hungry and properly careless as to where he got it. -Molly smelled and sniffed at him, and edged off in intense nervousness. -Evidently quite positive in his own mind that he had found what he had -been seeking, the calf gave over all useless fuss and set himself -resolutely to obtain a meal. - -“Let him go, John,” the boss called. “We lost his mother over on the -Magayan. Molly’ll look after him. Look out! Bear down on him, cowboys! -It’s that big ol’ bull.” - -Molly was thrilling to long-pent yearnings, and the vapors of -self-delusion welled up to befog her instincts. After five minutes of -nosing, the Jersey came to the conclusion that this must be her son, and -yielded to his hungry importunities. With a deep murmur of content, she -walked away, followed by her adopted baby. And behind a sage-brush, safe -from interference, she fed him. The outfit watched them go in amazement, -prophesying many things. - -One of the few things they did not foretell came to pass next morning. -Molly had hidden the calf behind some soapweed while she went to graze a -few rods off, and, the dawn being still gray and the air stinging cold, -we picked that particular bunch of weed for a bonfire to provide warmth -while the wrangler was bringing up the horses. When the match flared, -the calf on the other side of the shooting sparks staggered to his feet. - -Ba-a-a-a-aw! - -“It’s the little ’un,” John whooped. - -He said no more, because at that moment came the dull pounding of hoofs -on grass, and there was Molly, her head held high, turning her gaze -jerkily from one to another, after the manner of cows when preparing to -charge. We forgot about the fire for the moment and headed for the -corral fence, streaming across country twenty strong, with Molly in hot -pursuit. Big John eluded her by dodging dexterously behind a bush, -leaving a portion of his overalls with the cow, and she abandoned the -chase at once, returning to her charge. Him she licked and caressed with -many mumbled endearments, making sure that he was unhurt. The calf took -all this stoically and as a matter of course, considering it his due, -and fell to breakfast. Molly gazed across at her late friends sitting -spectrally astride the fence, and all the anger was gone from her eyes. -They were large and melting with tenderness. - -A crippled horse was shot that day,--the broncho-buster threw him too -hard, breaking a leg,--and to the carcass a coyote skulked when night -shut down. About eleven o’clock Molly got to her knees, in which -position she remained a few seconds, meditating; then rose to walk -about, nibbling at the grass. All cattle get up in this manner between -eleven o’clock and midnight to graze for a few minutes and then lie down -on the other side. This may be the basis of an old superstition that -“good cows say their prayers.” - -Molly, with the warmth of the snuggling calf still on her side, wandered -farther than she intended. Abruptly she thrust her nose into the wind -and sniffed. It was a stale, penetrating stench, and inherited knowledge -warned her there was danger. Back ran Molly in a tremor of anxiety, her -head wagging from side to side in her efforts to glimpse the marauder. -Behind a clump of bear-grass crouched a coyote, his foxlike nose pointed -toward the spot where snoozed her unprotected son. Inch by inch he slunk -forward; now his muscles grew taut for the leap. - -Whoo-oo-oo-huh! snorted Molly, smashing down upon him. - -The wolf straightened and wheeled with a flash of gray, and sprang, all -in one movement. So marvelously quick was he that escape would have been -certain ninety-nine times in a hundred. A bull would have borne down on -him with lowered head and eyes shut, like a runaway freight train; a cow -charges with eyes open, and Molly, consumed with mother-wrath, ripped -sideways with her sharp horns as the hunter swerved. A shapeless bundle -of brown-gray fur was tossed into the air, and when it struck the ground -and rebounded, Molly went at it again. This time she caught him full -with her horns, and, quite by chance, followed stumblingly on his ribs -with her forefeet. The coyote squirmed away from this terrible avenger, -snapping futilely at her muzzle, and a cry from the calf distracted the -Jersey from a burning desire to complete the good work. When she -abandoned him to run to her adopted son, the wolf made as if to flee; -but he was hurt unto death, and sank down miserably under a mesquite, -his glinting eyes searching the brush for foes. And through the long -night he panted out his life, until at dawn the last spark flickered. - -“It’s a big ol’ ki-yote”--John stirred the carcass with his boot--“A -bull done ripped him.” - -“There aren’t any bulls in the horse pasture,” the boss retorted. “Only -Molly.” - -By one impulse the outfit turned in their saddles to look for her. There -stood the Jersey a hundred paces off, feeding tranquilly on mesquite -pods. Toddling at her heels was a red, white-faced calf of sturdy frame -and curly coat. Molly was behaving as if she had never done anything -more exciting in her life than eat bran mash. - -“Good ol’ Molly,” they called back, as they rode to the bunk-house for -dinner. Molly, hearing the familiar name, lifted her head to regard the -cavalcade soberly. - -We went without milk cheerfully enough now and speculated at every meal -as to the probable course Molly would pursue as the calf grew. There was -little else to talk about. Some vowed she would get over her -hallucination quickly and abandon the youngster. Uncle Henry thought -differently. - -“She’s a better mother to him than his own would have been. I never done -saw a range cow look after her calf like Molly does that rascal. And -ain’t he fat!” he exclaimed. - -The wagon boss conceived it to be in the line of his duty to brand the -calf. A man was despatched to rope him. He returned presently to say -that Molly would not permit him to get near. “She went on the peck and -gored my horse.” He exhibited a red wale along his mount’s flank. - -“You can’t rope a calf away from its mother?” the boss exclaimed, -dumbfounded. “Pshaw! You’d better go back to cotton-pickin’, Cas.” - -He spurred away to bring in the culprit himself. What were cowboys -coming to nowadays? He would show them! We mounted the corral fence the -better to view proceedings, and waxed merry of spirit when Molly chased -the boss six separate times. Molly would not be frightened or enticed -away from her son, but turned to confront this unexpected enemy when he -galloped at her. As for the calf, he glued himself to Molly’s side and -would not budge therefrom. - -“Will we stretch her out, Pink?” we shouted. - -“No,” the boss roared. - -He made another try and almost got his rope over the calf; but the -Jersey went at him just then and gave him something else to do. So the -boss ambled back, grinning sheepishly behind his sandy mustache. - -“I reckon”--he cleared his throat--“I reckon that’s one on me, boys. Let -him go just now. We’ll get him in the spring.” - -Uncle Henry was the only human being that the Jersey would permit within -five yards of her baby. He entertained a sort of proprietary affection -for the cow, and she reciprocated save when such cordial relationship -clashed with her love for the adopted one. At such moments Uncle Henry -was not to be considered, of course, and she was as ready to put him on -the fence or speed him round a bush as any other member of the Tumbling -K outfit. - -Upon a day in September, he was on his way back from patching the line -fence, when he espied Molly trotting distractedly about a narrow draw. -She stopped to stare as he approached, then resumed her agitated run. -From time to time she dashed to the brink of an arroyo to gaze down. -Uncle Henry watched her, surmising from the stores of his experience -what had happened. - -“She’ll jist about go on the prod and rip me if I try to git him out.” - -Molly took a few steps toward him, lowed pitifully, and returned to look -down at the unfortunate calf. He advanced with caution, anticipating a -rush; but Molly only lowed again and made way for him. - -“I swan, she wants me to pull him out,” said Uncle Henry in a reverent -tone. “If that don’t beat every--” - -He alighted and walked to the arroyo’s rim. Ten feet below, on the sandy -bottom of a hole whose precipitous sides prevented him climbing out, lay -the white-face. Uncle Henry deftly dropped a noose over its head, and -dragged the kicking youngster to safety. When he went to remove the -rope, Molly suffered him to handle her son, though she glared in swift -suspicion when Uncle Henry threw him to the ground and knelt on his body -to free the loop from his neck. - -“Boys,” said the boss at supper one night, “Molly has got to go.” - -“Oh-ho! Ho, indeed!” Uncle Henry retorted with fine sarcasm. “Oh, yes,” -he added, unable to think of anything better to say. - -The boss shook his head sadly over the clamor that ensued. He spoke of -the matter as a man of feeling would acquaint a wife of her husband’s -taking-off; but it had to be. An order had come to deliver Molly to -Bockus, the butcher at Blackwater. - -What! Lose Molly? The boss was locoed, or worse. Had he by any chance -secured a bottle, of whose whereabouts we were in ignorance? We would -buy the cow ourselves first. - -It was an off-day. The branding was done, and the Tumbling K outfit was -awaiting the arrival of a purchase of four thousand steers from the -South. Thus it came about that twelve of us rode into Blackwater, and -Big John was spokesman. John was not much of a speaker, being given to -profanity when a congestion of language threatened, but he had a grand -theme, and talked about Molly in a way that made us cough. - -“Bless my heart,” cried the owner of the Tumbling K, when the nub of the -matter was revealed. “Bless my heart!” - -He gaped, then squeezed the mighty muscles of Big John’s shoulder and -laughed. All this fuss about a cow--one forlorn dun cow. The puncher -grinned in his turn, shuffling his feet; for they knew and understood -each other, these two, having been associated for eighteen years. That -is why Bockus received the strange explanation he did when he called to -protest against the delay in delivering Molly. - -“It’s just this way,” the cattleman observed, slipping an elastic band -about his tally-book. “If I let you have that cow for thirty, I lose -precisely nine hundred and thirty-seven dollars. No; Molly stays.” - -“Nine hundred and--Why, man, you’re crazy! How’s that?” - -“Ask those strikers of mine,” came the answer, accompanied by a chuckle. -“Great weather, isn’t it? How is veal selling to-day?” - -“But look a-here, Vance, let me have the calf, anyway. You owe me that -much,” the fat Bockus protested. - -“All right. Send out for him, though,” said the cattleman. - -It happened that Bockus despatched a youth with a pair of mules hitched -to a wagon, for the calf. He was a wily urchin, and a glance satisfied -him that Molly’s son could be taken from her only by craft. Accordingly -he loafed all of one forenoon in the horse pasture with his wagon close -at hand, and when the unsuspecting Jersey strayed off some hundreds of -yards to secure better grazing, he made a sudden descent upon the -white-face, locked his fingers about its nose so that the calf could not -utter a sound, threw and tied him, then heaved the outraged victim into -the wagon and made off. Molly returned shortly, and missing the apple of -her eye, set out on a search of the immediate vicinity. In the distance -a wagon raised the dust of the Blackwater trail, going rapidly. The boy -did not feel any too secure even with a fence between them, and lashed -his mules, shrilling oaths at the gawky beasts. - -The cow brought up at the fence, every sense on the alert to detect the -presence of the calf in the fast-disappearing vehicle. Some subtle -intuition told Molly he was there, and she retreated a few steps. Then, -with a crash, she went through the four strands of wire, and, with a -long gash in her left shoulder dripping blood, started after them at a -swinging trot. - -Brother Ducey was conducting an open-air revival service among the -mining population of Blackwater. He was a powerful exhorter, was the -brother, and, as most of his congregation were women, with a sprinkling -of men who would presently go on the night shift six hundred feet into -the bowels of the earth, his picture of a lurid, living perdition had -them swaying and rocking on the benches. Their groans and lamentations -rolled up the street. - -“You’re all a-going to hell!” he shouted. “Your feet are on the hot -bricks now. Hell is--” And, again-- “Hell--” - -Brother Ducey broke off and glared wrathfully at an imp of a boy who -drove a clanking wagon at top speed completely around the meeting-place, -making for the slaughter-house beyond. - -Then Molly arrived and took no such devious route. She went straight -through the congregation, overturning the mourners’ bench, and, unable -to differentiate between friends and foes, headed for the rostrum. -Brother Ducey waved his arms wildly and squalled “Shoo!” But, as Molly -would not “shoo,” he scaled a tree with the speed of a lizard, from -which vantage-point he besought somebody to shoot the animal. - -The Jersey did not pause to trifle with these hysterical worshipers. Her -business was to find her baby, and she was almost up with him. In truth, -the cow was an awesome sight as she charged anew after the wagon, the -blood trailing from her shoulder, froth flaking her muzzle. Evidently -the butcher’s assistant found her so. - -“I can’t beat her to the gate!” he gasped, with a glance backward. - -Whereupon he wheeled again and galloped his team in front of Bockus’ -store. There he abandoned them, springing through the door just as Molly -swept down the road. The calf bawled a greeting and the Jersey began to -circle the wagon, occasionally prodding at the mules just to be on the -safe side in the event of their having had anything to do with this -theft. They kicked at her in return, but did not offer to run away. - -“Somebody rope her! Somebody rope her!” Bockus cried, dancing up and -down in his shop. “No, don’t shoot. Them locoed Tumbling K’s will wipe -out the town if you do.” - -Alas, there was nobody in Blackwater competent to do it. They were a -peaceful, industrious mining folk, and a cow was a dubious thing to -them, to be handled respectfully in the best of moods. And an enraged -animal like Molly! Blackwater suspended business, shut up shop, and hid -indoors or took refuge on the roof. - -From time to time Molly abandoned the wagon temporarily to seek revenge -where it might be given to her. In this way she made forays over half -the town, and put Bill Terry, the postmaster, through a new plate-glass -window that Tom Zeigler had imported at enormous expense. Tom swore that -Vance would have to pay for it. - -“Send for one of them fool cowboys!” Bockus screamed, after an hour of -this. - -His boy stole forth on an emaciated pony, and, eluding the cow by a -burst of speed, brought Blackwater’s prayerful appeal to the Tumbling K -headquarters. - -We rode in and roped Molly. Then certain of us did some trafficking with -Bockus, Big John laying down the terms, with the result that the cord -around the calf’s legs was loosed and he was restored to his mother. - -All the blind savagery was departed from Molly now. She sauntered over -to a patch of grass and began to eat, with the calf at her heels, and -the stare she turned on the citizens of Blackwater was noncommittal, -even kindly. - -Her departure took on something of the character of a pageant. Brother -Ducey was induced to make an oration--or he could not be restrained--at -any rate, Brother Ducey delivered a speech setting forth the -extraordinary qualities of the cow. It was really a remarkable tribute, -but all the notice Molly took was to flick one ear as she masticated a -bunch of grass. - -“And, brethern and sisters, what does this brave creature teach us? -Hey?” he demanded, in conclusion. - -“I dunno,” mumbled a gentleman at whom he was staring, in a hopeless -tone. - -“I ask you-all ag’in, what she done taught us when she come a-seeking of -her young in the very heart of our meetin’? Why, it’s plain as the mole -on Lon Rainey’s face,” cried Brother Ducey. “I forgive her a-chasing of -me up that cottonwood,--it’s a right good thing it was so handy,--and -Miz Ducey kin sew the pants. But what did this noble animal show? Jist -what I was praying of you-all to reveal, brethern and sisters. She -showed love and devotion, and a generous sacrifice for somebody else -besides her own self. That’s what she done showed. You-all do likewise. -Brother Perry will now pass the hat.” - -We took Molly back to the Tumbling K and turned her into the horse -pasture. She came peaceably enough, six of us acting as escort of honor. -She is there now, followed everywhere she goes by a husky red calf with -a white face. Molly is firmly persuaded that he is her son and the pride -of the range. - - - - - VII - THE BABY AND THE PUMA - - -The wagon jolted and whined over rough ground, winding among giant -pines. Off to the right followed a tawny shape, flitting from blotch of -shadow to screening bush, blending with the blurred outlines of tree and -rock. The moon was hidden and Brother Schoonover drove with -circumspection, lest his ark and all his possessions be wrecked in the -wilderness. - -“Doggone that moon. It ain’t never working when you need it right bad,” -cried Brother Schoonover, cracking his whip. “That limb was like to -blind me. Stead-ay, Glossy. Now, girl--now.” - -The puma crouched flat on hearing the voice. Then the wagon drew out of -sight beyond a tope of trees and he sprang to the shelter of a mesquite. -There he peered again at the nester’s outfit going down the valley -through the dark. It labored heavily; Brother Schoonover’s tones reached -him, raised in sharp rebuke of the mare; and presently he slunk in -pursuit. - -Don’t imagine that Bowallopus--such was he dubbed from that night of -adventure--was stalking prey. Nothing was farther removed from his -purpose. He was dreadfully afraid, but curiosity overrode fear! Time and -again he halted to abandon the game and go about the serious things of -life, but could not. The wagon and its inmates had him fast. - -Bowallopus was not even hungry, but he trailed along in rear. Perhaps -there lurked a sneaking hope far back in that hard skull of his that -something might transpire toward the further easement of his stomach, -but it never for a moment dulled his caution. - -The nester whistled at the mare and urged her forward, and twice the -harsh scream of the brakes stayed Bowallopus rigid in his tracks. It -should not be held against Brother Schoonover that he forgot on three -occasions the Biblical limitations as regards profane words, because the -night was deceptive and he was far from water. All he had on earth was -with him there in the wagon, and he could descry no suitable place to -camp. The family spring-bed was slung from ropes off the floor under the -arched canvas top, and on it his wife slept. Curled warmly in the hollow -of her arm was the baby. Sometimes the lurchings of their home rolled -him quite away from her side, to return him on the rebound. He slept -placidly, being a seasoned traveler. - -Just before descending a gulch to cross a dried creek-bed, Brother -Schoonover drove slap against a large rock, being now far off any -trails. The wagon careened to the point of overturning and the baby slid -from his mother’s arms. Mrs. Schoonover had raised the canvas for -purposes of ventilation--she suffered from an affection of the -lungs--and he shot downward through the hole. Being utterly helpless, he -was unhurt. He hit the ground lightly and the wheel missed him a full -half-inch. - -Of course the shock woke the baby, but he was so astonished for a minute -that he could only hold his breath ready for what might befall. When he -did let out a yell, the wagon was thumping over the stones, with the -driver standing up to beat the mare, and the couple in it could not have -heard a steam calliope ten yards off. - -Bowallopus vanished when the brown bundle dropped. A hundred paces and -he halted in a thicket, arrested by a gurgling treble cry. The puma had -seen children before, playing near the shack of a Mexican woodchopper, -and he knew that note of distress. Very cautiously he crept back and -began to circle. - - The felidae steal upon their prey noiselessly, treading on the - soft elastic pads of the soles of the feet, without risk of - betrayal from the rustle caused by non-retractile claws. When - within a short distance, they crouch and spring, bounding many - times their length upon their unsuspecting victims, which, borne - down by the descending weight of the fierce foe, are at once - fastened upon by the deadly grip of the well-armed jaw and by - the united action of eighteen fully-extended piercing claws. - -So says an old school book--or it may be an ancient natural history--and -it is very illuminating and authoritative. But it happens that -Bowallopus belonged to a class of felidae which does not prey upon man -or the children of men, and he did none of these things. He waited until -the groaning of the wagon died away, his head up, keen for sound or -sight of danger. A puma relies more on his ears and eyes than on his -nose to apprise him of enemy or victim. Then he went forward stealthily, -moving in a wide semicircle. - -The baby threshed about with his chubby arms and howled, whereat -Bowallopus shrank back, hissing like an enraged gander, his tail lashing -from side to side. Perhaps the threatening noise chilled the boy to -silence; at any rate he broke off in his wail and lay quiet. The lion -went nearer. He stood above the brown bundle, his muscles ready for -combat or instant flight, and eyed it suspiciously. Much as a house cat -would pick up a questionable bit of loot from the floor, Bowallopus -seized the dress in his teeth and lifted the baby. Schoonover, Jr., -waved a pudgy hand in lively terror and slapped the beast on the nose. -Horribly surprised, Bowallopus dropped him and sprang back. Then he -gathered himself to leap. - -“Hi!” yelled Brother Schoonover. - -The lion snarled as he turned to flee, but the nester had stopped in his -run and was down on one knee. Bowallopus cleared the distance between -him and some brush with a magnificent, sinuous jump, but as he went, a -crashing sound smote his ears and sharp burning pains ripped along loins -and back. Brother Schoonover had loaded his old smooth-bore with -bird-shot that day to the end that he might pot a dog-rabbit or a brace -of wild doves for supper, and Bowallopus received the entire charge. - -Without paying the slightest heed to the fleeing puma, the nester threw -down his weapon and clasped his son. Instantly the baby shrieked his -loudest, and “God, he ain’t hurt a bit,” cried Brother Schoonover in a -great voice. He was shaking like a cottonwood leaf and his fright -impelled the child to further outcry, so contagious is fear. And now -Mrs. Schoonover came running, unable to remain longer in the wagon with -bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh lying helpless somewhere in the -dark along the trail--she could see him dead. She prayed audibly as she -ran. - -“Give him to me,” she said, snatching the baby from his sire as though -he had been much to blame. - -“It weren’t my fault, Sally Jo,” he protested. - -“You drive most awful reckless, Brother Schoonover,” returned his wife, -and hugged her son closer. - -“He ain’t hurt a mite. Just scared,” she announced, after a wondrous -inspection by touch of hand. “Something done tore his dress.” - -“A big ol’ line had him, Sally Jo,” the nester exclaimed. “I swan he was -a monster. He went a-smashing up among the bushes and rocks.” - -“You didn’t kill him? You done let him go and he most had eat our -child?” shrilled Mrs. Schoonover. - -“I reckon I done missed, Sally Jo. There, there, girl--it’s all right -now. You cain’t hurt a line with birdshot. It won’t even tickle him. -This here shot would bounce off’n a kitten’s hide, this here would.” - -They went back to the wagon, Mrs. Schoonover carrying the baby. The -nester opined that he had had enough of driving for one night and they -would camp here. - -“It’s hard on Glossy, but I’ll go find her water first thing in the -morning”--he poked a finger playfully among his son’s ribs--“So that ol’ -line was like to git you, boy? Ol’ Bowallopus was a-looking you over for -a meal?” - -Brother Schoonover hobbled the mare and they went to rest. - -Bowallopus lay on a flat rock amid the lower ridges next day, sunning -himself. He was not far from home and felt perfectly secure. In a gulch, -washed out by floods numberless generations ago, was a large hole that -led into a shallow cave. There was in front a sandstone ledge much to -the beast’s liking, and here the puma resided, as a stinging odor -proclaimed. - -He was very handsome, was Bowallopus. On his side, he measured eight -feet ten inches from the tip of his nose to tip of tail, and his weight -could not have been less than two hundred and forty pounds. Just now the -superb richness of his reddish brown coat was marred by unsightly clots -in the region of his rump, and he was constantly reminded thereof by a -gnawing and itching of innumerable tiny spots. The irritation meant that -the wounds were healing, but Bowallopus’s temper was very bad -nevertheless. He licked his sores tenderly and settled himself to bask -in the glare, lids drooping. - -Five miles away, Brother Schoonover was digging with might and main into -the side of a low hill, for he had found a spring bubbling from the rock -and was now engaged in fashioning a dugout for a home. - -Bowallopus went up the valley early that evening, being minded to kill. -And before darkness closed down he arrived at a butte about three miles -from his lair. - -The huge cat crawled warily to a ledge and composed himself to wait. At -the other side of the butte vague figures were moving, and Bowallopus -could hear plainly the crisp munching of grass. These were the range -mares wearing the Anvil brand, and he had taken toll of their young many -times before. In the position he had selected they could not wind him; -and along the base of the butte ran a trail down which the mares went to -drink. - -The sun sank back of the mountains. A big roan stallion which ruled the -band gave over eating and lay down to roll. Invigorated by this -exercise, he whinnied joyously and started for the pool. One mare, with -her colt, followed at his heels. The others began to close in, slowly, -then in groups, until they were moving in loose array towards water. The -leader picked the butte trail, paused to pull a tempting tuft, and -rounded a bend. Then he snorted an alarm and swerved outward. - -Bowallopus let him go--he was too formidable for attack--but the mare -and her colt were below him. On the stallion’s warning he hurled himself -downward, a yellow streak in the gloom, and bore the luckless colt to -the ground. The crunch of its broken spine was drowned in the rumble of -flying hoofs. Bowallopus gripped his prey by the neck and started -homewards. Twice he was compelled to stop to obtain a fresh hold, but he -dragged the carcass to the washout. - -It happened that he made a foray early one evening to Wolf Creek in -quest of a deer. - -Sometimes, if he were exceedingly crafty, and wind and bough of tree -were right, he could slay when a deer stole timidly to drink. Bowallopus -went down the valley, alert and noiseless as was his wont. Suddenly he -stiffened, the hairs on neck and back pringling. - -Here was a fence. There could be no doubt of that. It was a very crude -contrivance of one strand of wire, but he could see the posts standing -in a ghostly, wavering line. Bowallopus walked along it, tensely -expectant. In the distance a tiny light shone like a fallen star, and -Bowallopus paused often to stare. This was the lantern in Brother -Schoonover’s house. He had fenced a quarter-section, or had enclosed it -sufficiently to conform with the law, and now occupied a one-roomed -dugout constructed of logs and earth. The Brother was fully determined -to prove up on this claim, and already indulged in dreams of how the -place would look when green under Kaffir corn, and a red-roofed house on -the hill back of them. He had longed all his life for a house with a red -roof, for it could be descried so far and looked so cheery. - -The puma made the circuit of the place and watched and listened. -Presently the light went out and all was still. He did not tarry long, -being seized of a feeling of unrest. All heart for the hunt was gone -from him and he struck northward, intent on putting distance between -himself and this newest invader of his domain. While the dark was yet -young, he scaled a pine tree--a tree bole was to the lion as greensward -to the antelope--and sat comfortably on a thick limb. Once he tilted his -nose and sent his screech vibrating to the topmost hills. It was a -rending cry like the scream of a woman in mortal pain--no animal but a -horse in its death agony can produce a sound more terrifying. After a -while he descended and went northward once more; but there was no -yowling from Bowallopus now. He had to find something to eat, and -stealth alone could accomplish that end. - -Yet he was back at the fence next night and on many nights succeeding. -The dugout and its dwellers recurred again and again to tempt his -curiosity, however far he raided. Bowallopus had no desire to forage -there, but he simply could not keep away. And gradually the feeling of -anxiety over their presence became a fixed dread, an obsession. - -Brother Schoonover acquired a dog from a passing Mexican freighter and -owned the mongrel for exactly seven days and six nights. Most of that -period was spent by the canine back of the shack, tied to a post. Then -he was released and ventured too far in the dusk, and Bowallopus -gathered him in. When the nester found the remains he forgot all about -the spirit of kindly charity for which he had been so strong in a two -days’ debate with Brother Ducey in Texas, and railed against all created -things save those man had domesticated. - -After this episode Bowallopus absented himself from the vicinity of the -Schoonover home for a space. He went up into the mountains, where he -contrived to get considerable veal and young beef. Winter was coming -upon the land and a calf did not hug his mother’s side so closely of a -night, being grown and prideful. - -In the sheen of a late November gloaming, he dropped from a jutting rock -on the rim of The Hatter and padded along a burro trail. This was the -way down the big mountain which the woodchoppers took; thence they drove -their patient beasts of burden seventy long miles to town. Bowallopus -slunk beside the well-worn path, one eye cocked for trouble. He was -ferociously hungry; his stomach clamored for food; and at sight of a -scurrying jackrabbit, a peculiar pulsating ache started back of his -jowl. - -Abruptly he drew back and flopped downward behind a thorny bush. Below, -on the shoulder of The Hatter, clung a shack of boughs and sod. A man -was even then hammering on its roof, while a woman passed him up bits of -old tin. Half way between the puma and the hut, a small boy was toiling -under a pile of fagots, tied over his back. - -All this Bowallopus saw, but what interested him most was an object -nearer at hand. Not twenty feet away a Mexican baby played in the dirt, -crowing with delight over possession of a captive lizard. The child was -perhaps two years old and much too naked for that time of year, but she -was hearty and cared naught for that. Her brother had brought her up the -trail, leaving her to amuse herself as best she might whilst he gathered -firewood. Naturally he forgot all about the toddler, the job not being -to his liking. - -Bowallopus listened and watched and waited. The baby rolled in the dust. -The man and woman were busily engaged and the boy had been sent to fetch -a bucket of water. A bull-bat flew over the puma’s head. A hush crept -over The Hatter. - -It may be that he shut his eyes when he launched himself and struck, -though she was so very, very little. There was no cry to betray--only -the throaty snarls of the puma, now turned mankiller and more horribly -afraid and fearfully daring than he had ever been in his life. - -“A big ol’ mountain line done eat a Mexican baby up yonder,” Brother -Schoonover reported to his wife. - -“You keep buckshot in that gun, Brother Schoonover; do you hear? Oh, my -li’l’ lamb! What if that wicked lion had eat you up?” Her son did not -appear at all disturbed by the speculation, but thumped on her breast -with his fists. - -There was a tremendous to-do up and down the country for eighty leagues. -The manager of the Anvil offered a hundred dollars reward for the -murderer’s hide and the cowboys of the region blazed away at every -bobcat that showed a hair within their line of vision. Even Richter’s -sheep herders bestirred themselves to set traps, but all to no avail. -And the victim being a native child, the killing soon ceased to be a -live topic. - -The winter arrived in the wake of a norther. It blustered for a -fortnight, then set in to be bitterly cold. Bowallopus fared well, and -grew ever more malignant and furtive. One rib was cracked owing to -misjudgment of distance, but accidents are likely to occur to the best -of hunters. In diving from a tree for the back of a colt, he missed and -came down close to the mare. In a flash he gathered himself and leaped -again, but the mother’s heels crashed full on his side and she went away -at full speed, her son running a good second. On another occasion a -young bull caught him with a headlong rush, unprepared on his kill, and -would have made short work with so excellent a start, had not Bowallopus -sought safety in the fleetness of his legs. He was a sapient animal and -knew when he had enough. - -Spring came at last, and Bowallopus had a fight. It was a family -affair--his wife was not wholly blameless--and it is better for all -concerned to say only that he came off the victor. A young puma had -wandered into his ridges from the south and west, and he never went -back. When a mountain lion does fight, it is worth going many miles to -see. - -Some years it will rain so hard in this part of the cow country that the -nesters can but sit and watch their puny efforts at raising corn seep -away; but the cattle rejoice exceedingly. It must be admitted, however, -that this happens extremely seldom. Generally the land bakes under -cloudless skies from February to June and the earth opens in cracks, as -though gasping for breath. - -Brother Schoonover broke his ground and planned to raise a bumper crop -of corn, the signs being propitious. He made two trips to town, three -days each way by wagon, in order to make all ready. Bowallopus used -often to see him toiling long after sunset; the puma spent many hours of -the dark in sinister vigil beyond the fence, where he could see the -light burning steadily in the dugout. Again he would prowl completely -around the claim, keeping always off the wire, for that solitary strand -was associated with man. Once he topped the hill back of the home in -late afternoon, though it was seldom he went abroad in daylight, and hid -behind a boulder. The Schoonover baby was crawling near the door, on -hands and knees. Bowallopus never once removed his gaze from him in a -full hour. - -His own domestic affairs had progressed of late. Three sons had been -born to his wife, who hid them on a day when she detected a certain -glint in her lord’s eyes. Bowallopus discovered their hiding-place and -slew the cubs and ate them. - -Rain should have fallen in June, but it did not. July passed, and the -country quivered under a white ball that was the sun. The cattle gave up -the hopeless fight. In the valley the air reeked of carcasses. Brother -Schoonover finished a weary day in his waste fields in August, and said -to his wife: - -“Well, Sally Jo, I reckon we’ll be moving agin.” - -“No, no; don’t say so. Have we really got to go, Jed? We’re always -moving. This is a right cruel country, ain’t it, Jed? Nowhere for a -person to get along nice and quiet.” - -He made no reply, but picked his son from the floor and set him on his -knee. Then he stared out over his bare acres and began to laugh. - -“Don’t,” she entreated. “That’s awful. It ain’t so bad as that, Jed.” - -“We’ve done nothing but move for six years, Sally Jo. Or I reckon it’s -nearer eight, counting them over in the Nations? And I made certain this -place would do and we’d have a home.” - -“Jed,” she said, putting a hand awkwardly on his shoulder. “Can’t we -stay? Ain’t there no way? Perhaps you could get a job somewhere--with -the Anvil boys. Oh, anything, so’s we don’t have to move again. It’ll be -so soon now. I’ll never live through it, I know.” - -He eyed her anxiously, dandling the baby the while. - -“That’s one of the reasons,” he said. “You ought to be near where a -doctor can be got handy, Sally Jo. No, we’ll have to give this up. I’ll -take you back to my folks for the winter. We ought for to be there -anyway. The ol’ man, he’s getting feeble, and first thing we know, he’ll -be leaving that farm to Sam instead of me, Sally Jo. Cheer up, girl; -we’ll find another place.” - -“All right,” she returned hopelessly. - -Two nights later they made camp among giant pines in the valley. The -mare grazed near, hobbled to prevent her straying. Brother Schoonover -lighted the fire and his wife cooked supper of bacon and bread and -coffee. That must suffice until they reached town--and afterwards, more -of the same diet, for the family treasury was down to eleven dollars. - -They washed the pots and tin plates, and put the baby to bed in the -wagon. Then the couple knelt down and Brother Schoonover offered up a -prayer. He always prayed to his Maker in a loud voice before retiring, -invoking benedictions on the entire world and all the dwellers thereon. -Only two exceptions did he ever make and he made those -religiously--nothing could induce him to intercede for reigning -monarchs, and he made special mention of the Republican party only that -they might be excluded from the general benefits to accrue. - -When they were rising to their feet, Sally Jo clutched her husband’s -arm. - -“What’s that, Jed? There--back of them mesquite.” - -“I cain’t see nothing. Where?” - -“Don’t you see? Look along my finger. There, it’s moving again. It looks -like a dog, Jed.” - -Her husband saw now and sucked in his breath. Off to the right a tawny -shape flitted from blotch of shadow to screening bush, blending with the -blurred outline of tree and rock. - -“Hush,” he cautioned, tiptoeing to the wagon. - -The reliable smooth-bore lay on the seat. Brother Schoonover slipped the -shell out without a sound and put in another loaded with buckshot. That -done, he lay down under the wagon and pretended to be asleep, but the -gun protruded through the spokes of a wheel and the Brother occasionally -sighted along the barrel. It was dark, but there was a pale glow from -the stars, which would suffice for the work in hand. - -“When he gits in line with that pine tree,” he murmured. - -A mountain lion was circling the camp. He had stumbled upon the nester’s -outfit by chance and had no business there, but curiosity beat down -doubts and caution. He had glimpsed the baby near the fire and had -cringed to earth momentarily. Now, he was the more eager. The sight of -the couple on their knees and the man’s harsh tones drove him back a few -yards, and he had inadvertently moved from shadow while one might count -three; but now all was quiet. He lay in the gloom surveying the camp. -The mare cropped the grass noisily on the far side and the puma -determined to take a closer look over there. - -He emerged so eerily from nowhere that Brother Schoonover almost doubted -his senses when he saw a head and neck between the sights in line with -the tree. There was a flash and a terrific roar. Brother Schoonover was -knocked backward by the kick of the gun, and his wife cried out. The -baby awoke and squalled in affright. - -The puma made a convulsive leap high into the air, hitting out blindly -with his mighty paws. He came down with claws tearing into the earth, -and whirled about and crouched to meet the unseen enemy. Mrs. Schoonover -cowered in the wagon, covering the baby’s head with her apron that he -might not hear the uproar. - -“I got you, hey?” Brother Schoonover shouted, furiously elated. “Well, -here’s another of the same kind.” - -He held the gun firmly against his shoulder and sent a charge straight -between the eyes glaring at him like two living coals. The puma lurched -forward and stretched out. He coughed once, his muscles jerking; then -stiffened. - -In the morning, a mountain lion lay on the edge of camp, his hide -riddled with shot. Still, he was very handsome. He measured eight feet -ten inches from the tip of his nose to tip of tail, and his weight could -not have been less than two hundred and forty pounds. - -While his mother prepared breakfast and his father watered and harnessed -the mare, the Schoonover baby inspected the creature. He pulled its ears -and kicked it with fine deliberation on the point of the nose. - -“Do you aim to leave it here, Brother Schoonover?” his wife asked, when -they were ready to set forward. - -“Shore. The hide ain’t no good at this season. And he’s shot all to -bits. Do you know, Sally Jo, I got a idea this is the same ol’ mountain -line what found our son? It’s like he’s the same one that eat the pore -li’l’ Mexican, too, don’t you reckon? Ol’ Bowallopus?” - -“It wouldn’t surprise me none,” she answered, and shuddered. Her husband -spurned the carcass with his boot. - -They got under way. High up in the sky appeared two black specks. -Brother Schoonover pointed to them. - -“They’ll rip him to pieces in no time. But we’ll keep the claws and -whiskers and the end of his tail for the baby to play with. Hey, Sally -Jo?” - -The specks grew larger. Soon they showed as birds, hovering on -effortless wings above the camping ground. Brother Schoonover whacked -the mare in high glee, and they set out again on their pilgrimage. - -Before they had gone half a mile, the buzzards shot from the blue vault -to earth. - - - - - VIII - THE MANKILLER - - -All this happened in the Bad Year, which was not so many months ago. The -outfit issued daily from their camps--riding bog, skinning cattle and -driving in the helpless to the home pastures to be fed on oil-cake and -alfalfa. The cows were walking skeletons, wild of eye, ready to wheel in -impotent anger on their rescuers; or sinking weakly to the ground at the -least urging, never to rise again. Every creek was dry. Springs that -were held eternal became slimy mudholes and a trap. A well-grown man -could easily step across the San Pedro, oozing sluggishly past mauled -carcasses. - -Wherever one rode he found bones of hapless creatures, or starved cows -stretched flat on their sides, waiting for death to end their -sufferings. And the flies settled in sickening, heaving clusters. Each -mire held its victim. Wobbly-legged calves wandered over the range, -crying for mothers that could never come. And the sun blazed down out of -a pale sky. - -Even the saving mesquite in the draws and on the ridges was failing as -sustenance; of grass there was none. The country lay bleak and gasping -from Tombstone to the border. Not even a desert cow, accustomed to slake -her water hunger by chewing cactus, could have long survived such -blighting months. How we prayed for rain! - -Manuel Salazar gave heed to the comet where he lay on his tarp, and -crossed himself to avert the death-curse which was come upon the land. -This weird luminary portended dire events and Manuel began, like a -prudent man, to take thought of his religion. There might be nothing in -religion, as Chico contended; but a man never knows, and it is the part -of wisdom to be on the safe side. - -Then, one evening, when the mountains were taking on their blue sheen -and the beauty of these vast stretches smote one with a feeling akin to -pain, Archie Smith rode up to headquarters and tossed a human hand on -the porch. - -“Found it in the far corner of the Zacaton Bottom,” he said. - -Jim Floyd recognized it at once by the triangular scar on the palm. The -hand had been gnawed off cleanly at the wrist. Floyd wrapped the -gruesome thing in a sack, wishful to give it decent interment when -opportunity should offer. - -“It’s ol’ man Greer’s,” he said. “You remember ol’ man Greer? He used to -dig postholes for the Lazy L. Where’s the rest of him, Smith?” - -“I aim to go and see. Ki-yotes eat him up, don’t you reckon, Jim?” - -“It sure looks that way. Pore ol’ Greer--he could dig postholes right -quick,” the boss answered. - -What Archie found of the digger of postholes established nothing of the -manner of death. Both arms were gone and wolves had dragged the body; -hence, there was no real argument against the theory that old man Greer, -who indulged a taste for _tequila_, had sustained a fall from his horse -and had perished miserably within sight of the ranch. Yet Archie found -this hard to believe. Wolves do not crush in the skull of a man, and it -was the cowboy’s conviction that anyone could fall off Hardtimes, the -digger’s mount, twice or thrice a day with no other injury than the blow -to his pride. - -Two days later Manuel Salazar brought in Greer’s horse, shockingly gaunt -and worried, and swelled as to the head. But what interested the outfit, -when the saddle and bridle had been removed from Hardtimes, were long, -parallel wales along neck and flank. Archie pronounced them to be the -marks of a horse’s teeth. - -“That don’t show anything. He wandered off and got into a fight with -another horse,” Floyd asserted. “Yes, sir; it’s like that he done just -that.” - -After which he dismissed the unfortunate Greer from his mind. The outfit -shook its head and expressed sorrow for the lonely digger, but opined -that his fate surely went to show how injurious steady application to -_tequila_ could be, more especially in cruel weather. The Mexicans, and -the nesters in outlying parts, were not satisfied with the explanation -put forward. They discussed the mystery during protracted pauses in work -and in the dark of the night. When two men met on a trail and halted to -pass the time of day, old man Greer was the subject of talk. There were -rumors of a snug fortune the digger had amassed and buried--sixty-six -thousand dollars in gold, it was. Joe Toole, who made a nice, -comfortable living by systematic theft of calves from the cattle -company, did not hesitate to hint that Greer had died a victim to its -professional gun-fighter for reasons best known to the rich corporation; -but, then, Joe was prejudiced. Soon the death grew to a murder, and no -man not of white blood would ride the Zacaton Bottom after nightfall. - -Tommy Floyd talked of these and other matters to his father as the boss -was feeding Apache. - -“Pshaw!” Floyd said contemptuously. “Don’t you put no stock in them -stories, Tommy, boy. Some people in this here country can smell a skunk -when they sight a dead tree.” - -“But what do you guess killed him, Dad?” - -“I don’t know, son. I sure wish I did,” was the troubled reply. - -He punched Apache in the ribs to make him move over. The huge jack laid -back his ears and his tail whisked threateningly, but he gave place with -an awkward flop, and Floyd laughed. Others might fear Apache, but he -knew there was not the least particle of viciousness lurking in that -hammerlike head. Of all the ranch possessions--blooded horses, -thoroughbred Herefords and cowponies--he liked the jack best. It -pandered to his vanity that others should avoid the monster, or approach -him in diffidence, with suspicion and anxiety; and, in truth, Apache’s -appearance was sufficiently appalling. Great as was his blue-gray bulk, -it was dwarfed by the ponderous head; his knees were large and bulbous, -and when he opened his mouth to bray, laying bare the powerful teeth, -Apache was a spectacle to scare the intrepid. Horses would run at sight -of him; an entire pasture would squeal with fear and flee on his -approach. Yet there was not a gentler animal to handle in the million -acres of the company’s range. - -Toward the fag-end of a day Tommy was eating _panocha_ on the steps of -the porch, a favorite diversion with him. While removing some particles -thereof from his cheek, in the region of his ear, he espied his father -riding homeward from the Zacaton Bottom. Something in the way the boss -swayed in the saddle brought Tommy’s head up alertly. Floyd was clinging -to the horn and the reins trailed on the ground. The boy threw his crust -away and ran to meet him. A dozen yards from the house the horse -stopped, as though he knew that the end of the journey had come for his -master. - -“That black devil, Tommy!” his father gasped, and lurched outward and to -the ground. - -Two of the boys came running and bore Floyd to his bed. That he had -contrived to ride home filled them with wonder at his endurance and -fortitude--nearly the whole of his right side was torn away, one arm -swung limply, and there were ragged cuts on the head. Tommy hovered -near, crying to him to open his eyes. - -The boss never regained consciousness, and died at midnight. - -A Mexican doctor was summoned from a border village--his American -competitor was off in the Dragoons, assisting at an increase to the -population. After a minute examination the man of medicine announced -that five ribs were broken. It was his opinion that Señor Floyd had met -with an accident, from the effects of which he had passed away. Nobody -was inclined to dispute this finding. - -“Something done tromped him,” Dan Harkey asserted. “It’s like one of -them bulls got into the Bottom and went for him when he got down to -drink.” - -“No,” said Archie positively; “a bull couldn’t have tore him up that -way. It looks to me like teeth done that.” - -Then Tommy awoke from the benumbed state in which he had moved since the -tragedy and repeated his father’s dying words. They were very simple of -interpretation. A black man had drifted into the country from eastern -Texas, and lived, an outcast, on a place not fifteen miles from -headquarters. It was well known that Floyd had had trouble with him, -being possessed of an aggressive contempt for negroes, and twice had -made threats to run the newcomer off. - -“A nigrah could easy have beat him up thataway,” Dan declared. “A nigrah -could do most anything. Yes, sir; he beat him to death--that’s what he -done. It’s like he used that old hoe of his’n.” - -Word of the killing flew over the land in the marvelous fashion news is -carried in the cow-country. Within twelve hours men knew of it in the -most remote cañons of the Huachucas, and a party of nine set forth from -headquarters. But somebody had carried warning, for the lonely hut was -untenanted and the door swung loose on its rawhide hinges. - -They buried Floyd on top of a hill where the wind had a free sweep, and -piled a few stones atop. Tommy fashioned a cross out of two rough -boards; and the boss sleeps there to-day. The sheriff was deeply stirred -and had notices posted throughout the territory. - - $250 REWARD - - For the arrest, dead or alive, of the man who brutally murdered - James Floyd, boss of the Tumbling K, sixteen miles from here, - some time yesterday evening. This man is supposed to be a negro; - about forty years of age; black; about six feet in height and - weighing close to two hundred pounds. Has a razor scar above the - left ear. - - He has in his possession a .35 caliber autoloading rifle, No. - 5096, and a .32-30 pistol. He may be riding a sorrel horse with - a roached mane, branded 93 on left hip. - - This crime is one of the most dastardly in the criminal annals - of the Territory, and I earnestly urge every officer and other - person receiving this circular to do everything in his power to - effect the capture of this human fiend. - - The above reward is only a preliminary reward, which may be - increased later to one thousand dollars, when the governor, with - whom the matter will be taken up, is heard from. - - Wire me if any suspect is arrested, or if any information is - obtained whatever concerning this negro, at my expense. - -[Illustration: “_The lonely hut was untenanted_”] - -Two months passed, and nothing was heard or seen of the black man. The -rains held off. North and east the ranges were deluged. A blight -appeared to have fallen upon the Tumbling K. The land grew a shade -grayer, the dust spurts whirled in gleeful, savage dance, and the cattle -gave up the effort of living and lay down to die. All that the boys -could do was to distribute salt and feed and work frantically to -maintain the water supply. The emaciated brutes would eat of the -oil-cake and hay, and sweat profusely on the nose, then stiffen out and -expire with a sigh. Those that clung to life carried swollen under-jaws -from the strain of tearing at the short grass. - -“Poor bastard!” Archie grunted, tailing up a cow he had already helped -to her feet three times. “It fair makes a man sick at the stummick to -see ’em. Here, you doggone ol’ she-devil! Why don’t you try for to help -yourself? Up you come! That’s it; try to hook me.” - -It was no use. He shot her where she lay, and skinned her. Then, with -the wet hide dragging at the end of a rope and her calf thrown over the -fork of the saddle, he set out for headquarters. The orphan was a lusty -youngster, and Archie made him many promises, accompanied by many -strange oaths. - -“Li’l’ dogy,” he said, “I’ll find a mammy for you to-night if I have to -tie up the old milch cow. Do you think you can suck a milch cow, dogy? -Sure you can. Man alive, feel of him kick! He’s a stout rascal. You’ll -be a fine steer some day, dogy.” - -On a black-dark night flames leaped above the rim of the mountain, and -the Tumbling K were roused from bed to go forth with wet sacks, and rage -in their hearts, for the scum of humanity who would fire a range. -Twenty-six hours in the saddle and six more fighting the leaping, -treacherous enemy; then two hours of sweating sleep on saddle-blankets -beside their hobbled horses, and back a score of miles on desperate -trails for fresh mounts--three separate times they beat out the blaze -with sacks and back-firing. Once more, rising heavy-lidded and dripping -from the stupor of utter exhaustion, they saw it licking hungrily -through the Gap. No unlucky cigarette-stub thrown amid parched grass, no -abandoned campfire, had done this. It was the deliberate work of an -enemy. - -Orders came to move the cattle down into the valley, lest they perish to -the last horn, to the last torn hoof. - -“It’ll take you three days to move ’em ten miles,” the manager said; -“but never mind. Ease ’em. Ease ’em careful. The man who yells at a cow, -or pushes her along, gets his time right there. The only real way to -handle cattle is to let ’em do what they want and work ’em as you can. -Think that over, boys.” - -Manuel Salazar remembered this warning as he moved his tired horse at a -snail’s pace behind a bunch of sick ones in the Zacaton Bottom. Manuel -made twenty dollars a month with consummate ease, working only seven -days in the week and only thirteen hours a day; and he would not throw -his job away lightly. Therefore he permitted the gaunt cows to straggle -as pleased them, humming to himself while they nibbled at tufts here and -there. If one turned its head to look at him it fell from sheer -weakness; therefore he held aloof. So the sad procession crept along. - -It was in Manuel’s mind to save a mile by moving the bunch through the -horse pasture. He put them through the gate with no trouble and was -dreamily planning how he might steal back a hair rope Chico had stolen -from him, when the quirt slipped out of his fingers. The vaquero got -down to pick it from the ground. - -“Hi! Hi!” he yelled in panic, and ducked just in time. - -A black shape towered above him, striking with forefeet, reaching for -the nimble Manuel with its teeth. Its mouth yawned agape; Salazar swore -he could have rammed a lard bucket into it. The vaquero swerved from -under the deadly hoofs and hit out blindly with the quirt. The stallion -screamed his rage for the first time and lunged at him, head swinging -low, the lips flicking back from the ferocious teeth. Manuel seized a -stone, put to his hand by the blessed saints, and hurled it with -precision, striking the horse on the nose. Midnight blared from pain and -shook his royal mane in fury, but the shock stayed him and Salazar -gained his horse. - -“Now,” he yelled, pulling his gun and maneuvering his mount that he -might be ready to flee, “come on, you! You want to fight? That’s music -to me.” - -But Midnight did not want to fight. He had employed craft in stealing -upon the man, and now he moved off sulkily, the whites of his eyes -rolled back, a thin stream of blood trickling from his muzzle. Salazar -longed to shoot holes through his shiny black hide, but contented -himself with abuse instead. Was not the stallion worth five thousand -dollars? Who was he--Manuel, a poor vaquero--to be considered in the -same thought with so noble a beast? - -“Tommy,” he said as he unsaddled at headquarters, “I’ve found who killed -your pore father. Yes, and old man Greer, too. Don’t look so pale, -Tommy.” - -Tommy stalked into the manager’s office next forenoon, a very solemn and -very determined, if a short and somewhat dirty figure. He was white -under his freckles, and he talked through his teeth, jerkily, his eyes -fixed unwaveringly on the manager’s face. - -“Midnight!” the manager exclaimed. “Nonsense! Why, he wouldn’t harm a -fly. That horse would never kill a man. He’s worth five thousand -dollars. Since we got him from Kentucky, two years ago, a woman could -handle him, Tommy, boy. Salazar must have been teasing him. You’ll have -to look somewhere else, Tommy.” - -“You mean you ain’t going to do nothing, Mr. Chalmers?” Tommy asked in a -dry voice. - -“Of course not. Midnight? Impossible. Why, that horse is worth five -thousand dollars. He couldn’t have done it.” - -Tommy went back home very slowly. That night he sat beside Manuel’s -candle and cleaned and oiled a sawed-off .25-30 rifle, inherited from -the man who slept on the hill. Salazar smoked lazily and watched him -through drooping lids. The boy finished his task and leaned forward on -the stool, staring at the tiny flame, the weapon across his knees. - -Of what avail to shoot Midnight? Of course it would be easy. Tommy had -acquired some degree of skill by blowing the heads off chickens whenever -any were desired for the dinner-table, and he felt assured that at two -hundred yards he could pick off the stallion with one pressure of his -finger. It would be mere child’s work to distinguish Midnight from the -mares, even on the murkiest night. But, after all--had the stallion done -the killing? He had only Manuel’s experience and suspicions to go on. -Moreover, if he took punishment into his own hands they might throw him -into a jail. Midnight was worth five thousand dollars: assuredly Mr. -Chalmers would cast Tommy out into the world to shift for himself. He -put the rifle back under his bunk. - -Very discreetly Tommy entered the horse pasture at sunup--he had been -unable to sleep for scheming--and made his way down the mile-long fence -toward the corner where the mares usually grazed at that hour. He had a -six-shooter in his pocket for an emergency, but he hoped that he would -not use it. Midnight sighted him and stood rigid a full minute, twenty -paces in advance of the mares, gazing at the boy. He was a regal animal; -Tommy thought he had never seen so glorious a horse. Then the stallion -advanced with mincing steps, his head bobbing, the ears laid back. He -sidled nearer, without haste, whinnying softly. The boy waited until he -was a dozen feet distant, then threw himself flat and rolled under the -barbed-wire fence. With a rending scream Midnight reared and plunged for -him, his forefeet battering the ground where Tommy had fallen. He tore -at the earth in discomfiture and wrath, and raved up and down on the -other side of the fence, his nostrils flaring, his eyes a glare of -demoniacal hate. Tommy surveyed him in deathly quiet. - -The dark came warm, with puffs of hot wind, so that the Tumbling K men -reviled the discomfort joyously, since it presaged rain. So long as the -cold nights endured there could be no relief. Tommy slipped from the -bunkhouse for a breath of air, though it was past bedtime and they had -told him to turn in. - -“Apache!” he called in a low tone, gliding into the stall. - -The jack cocked his monstrous ears and listened, knowing well the voice. -Tommy put a halter over his head and opened the stall door. It was -gnawed and scarred by Apache’s teeth and hoofs, and the boy wrenched it -from the hinges and laid it aslant on the ground. - -“You done bust your way out, Apache,” he whispered. “You hear me, you -ol’ devil?” - -He led him out into the corral and thence into the lane, talking softly -as they went. Apache raised his nose and sniffed of the wind. When they -reached the horse pasture the boy tore out the strands of wire at a spot -near the corner of the fence. - -“You was fond of my Dad, wasn’t you, Apache?” Tommy quavered, working -with nervous fingers to unbuckle the halter. “Then go to it.” - -The jack required no bidding. He wrenched free and stepped carefully -over the wire into Midnight’s domain. Apache never did anything in -ill-judged haste. A blur, two hundred yards off, attracted him and he -headed toward it eagerly. A moment, and he stopped; then went forward -with caution. - -Midnight had seen him coming. He trotted out from his band of mares and -halted expectantly. Next instant he had recognized Apache for what he -was, and shrilled a challenge. The jack brayed like a fiend and went -forward slowly to meet him. - -Now, a capable jack can whip any stallion that ever breathed. It is -really an education to watch a jack like the mighty Apache fight. There -exists the same difference between the methods of a stallion and a jack -as between those of a nervous amateur boxer and the seasoned champion. A -jack has no fear that anyone can detect, and is practically insensible -to pain. One can see at a glance what an advantage this gives him over -an opponent with any lingering predilection for longevity. - -Also, a jack never fights for glory, never fights for the gallery. His -sole object is to win. Wherefore, no idle and frivolous prancing about -for him--no swift rush in, a blind striking with hoofs, a tearing with -the teeth, then out again. A jack is not constructed that way. Fighting -is a business--a serious, albeit a pleasurable, business; and he attends -to that side of it with passionate singleness of purpose. He will watch -his opportunity with the alert coolness of the professional, wasting not -an ounce of energy. When the opening comes he goes to it like the stroke -of a rattler, gets his grip and shuts his eyes and hangs on. There is -considerable of the bulldog in a jack, and if he is to be gotten off at -all, one must pry him off with a crowbar; in fact, next to a Shetland -stallion, which is the darlingest little fighter that ever tore at an -enemy’s ribs, nothing more instructive can be witnessed than a -full-sized jack in a fair field and no interruptions. - -Apache had fought before--many, many times. Therefore he made for the -foe with circumspection, his head jerking sideways, his tail tucked, -ears laid flat on his neck, and his feet barely touching the ground, so -lightly did his tense muscles carry him. One evil eye measured the giant -horse with venomous composure. - -Vastly different was Midnight’s attack. The stallion had pluck to spare, -but his temper was overhasty and his skill slight. Rage forever clouded -his judgment in encounter. He had learned only one plan of battle and -that was to rush and bear down his opponent. There was his rival. He -would kill him. Midnight’s was a simple creed. - -His harsh scream rent the night silence, and the fight was on. Another -horse would have circled so formidable an adversary in an endeavor to -create an opening, but the black’s temper was too imperious for delay. -Straight was his rush. He bore down on the jack at the top of his speed, -his wonderful, supple body a-quiver with eagerness and anger. - -Then Apache did a remarkable thing--a thing almost human in ingenuity. -What Apache didn’t know about fighting is best forgotten. Swerving ever -so slightly as the black came, he lunged to meet him, crashing shoulder -to shoulder with all the strength of his tough sinews behind the impact. -Hit sideways, taken off his balance, the force of Midnight’s own charge -contributed to his overthrow. Down he tumbled, scrambling with his feet -as he fell. Before his body touched the ground, the jack whirled and -lashed with both heels into his sides. With the same appalling speed, -Apache drove for the throat of his prostrate enemy, secured his grip and -shut his eyes, wrenching frenziedly from side to side and upward. - -It is well not to tell further what Apache did to the mankiller. A jack -has about as much sense of mercy as he has of fear, and he has never -been taught any rules of warfare. When he gets his enemy where his enemy -would like to get him, he does his utmost to obliterate him from the -face of the earth. So it was that next day the Tumbling K men were -barely able to recognize the Kentucky stallion in the torn, broken, -black pulp they found in the horse pasture. - -All night long Apache brayed and screeched. The noise of his triumph -would set a soul to quaking. It pierced Manuel’s dreams and he muttered -in his sleep a prayer for protection from the Evil One. The jack pranced -around and around his victim, and up and down the pasture, wild with the -joy of battle, magnificent in his superb strength and the pride of -victory. Toward dawn he abandoned the carcass and drove off the -terror-stricken mares as the just spoils of the conqueror. - -Big white clouds boiled up back of the mountains that afternoon, with a -stiff wind from the southeast behind them; and at sunset the heavens -opened of their blessed treasure. Manuel and Tommy lay in the bunkhouse -listening to the thunder of rain on the sod roof. A burro came to the -door and poked his patient head inside, seeking warmth and a friendly -dry spot. - -“Come in!” cried Manuel cheerily. “Take a chair. Tommy, give him your -bed. Ain’t that music, though? Hark! Oh, the cattle! Can’t you see them -soaking in it, boy?” - -A yellow mongrel ousted the doubtful burro from the doorway and began -nosing about for a place to rest his uneasy rump. The roof was leaking -in strong, hearty streams, and Salazar sprawled on his back, letting the -water run on to his chest. He was smiling placidly. Tommy snuggled into -the blankets and pictured to himself a new land of much grass, and -clear-eyed, contented cows and high-tailed calves. - -“The curse is lifted,” Manuel observed piously. “Yes, sir. The dear God -sent the jack to kill that stallion. How else could it be? What do you -think, Tommy, boy?” - -“I reckon so,” said Tommy. - - - - - IX - NEUTRIA - - -My name is Neutria. It means Beaver, and they gave it me because I tuck -my tail. Nobody but Chappo ever called me a pretty horse, but Chappo -once said in my hearing that my ugly roan hide covered more beauty than -all the girls of Sonora possessed; and Chappo really knew everything -worth knowing. - -He was not my first master. There was another, to speak of whom is -pain--a tall man, with only one eye, and a long, sandy mustache, stained -of the tobacco he chewed perpetually. This person owned my mother and we -lived in a small pasture among the lesser hills of the San José range. -What he did to sustain life was never quite plain to us, because the -land he held remained uncultivated and he spent much time by himself in -his dirty shack, drinking from a demijohn which he kept hidden under -some sacks in a corner. Oftentimes he would come from his drinking and -drive us into a corral he had constructed of ocatilla. There he would -beat my mother, and chase us about and about. I was very young then and -he spared me. She was terribly afraid of him, and whenever he roared at -her, even though it was in the sixty-acre field, where he could be -evaded, she fell to trembling and would walk falteringly to the halter -he held out. - -There were nights when he forgot us entirely and left us in a small -wooden pen, without anything to eat or drink. Occasionally a calf was -dragged up and shoved in with us, and it would bawl for a day and a -night for the mother from whose side it had been torn. After a while he -would brand the little creature with his own mark of the inverted -pitchfork. In this manner he gathered a respectable bunch of cattle, -though I know of two cows only which he ever bought. - -This is not the place to tell how he broke me to the saddle. He made me -obey him, but he did not break my spirit, even though my sides were -bloody from his savage anger. Although Sloan branded all else he could -get, on me he never put the iron. - -“What for you haven’t got the Pitchfork on that li’l’ horse, Sloan?” a -cowboy asked him one day at Buzzard’s Feast. - -“He don’t need it, this hoss don’t. He’s so doggone ornery nobody’d -steal him,” said my master. - -Later I heard the other--a roaring, swaggering boy, with a kind eye and -soothing hands--tell a friend that the only animal Sloan did not brand -was the one which he owned legally. - -Whenever the strength was in me, I fought him. He was a powerful man, -with a punishing knee-grip and a poise that was almost unshakable, -whatever his condition. But oppression begets cunning, and ride as he -might, there were times when I could hurl him off. If a horse take -thought when he starts his pitch, instead of bucking in blind, raving -anger, there is a chance that he will have the victory. I mastered a -trick of rocketing straight into the air and whirling about back under -the rider, before my feet touched the ground. This is difficult, but -imparts a really terrific shock; even Sloan could not withstand it. Of -course he would beat and spur me almost to death when he was able to -walk again. If that method of fighting him failed, there was another, -dangerous to horse and rider alike. I would rear high, with my head -thrown back, whereupon Sloan would kick his feet free of the stirrups -lest he be caught under me when I toppled. Then, before he could -recover, my head would shoot down between my forelegs and once more I -would go to pitching. It was very efficacious, this stratagem, and the -pleasure of it was much enhanced if the ground was rocky or there were -cactus and mesquite into which he could be flung. - -In spite of the endless cruelty to which Sloan subjected me, he taught -me much. Whatever else he might be, he was a cowman; but he knew and -practiced a lot that no honest cowman should know. Sometimes he would -reverse the shoes on my feet that the impress on the ground might appear -to be a trail leading in the opposite direction to his line of travel. -He rode much at night, so that I became expert at picking my way down -rock-cluttered declivities in the blackest of the dark. Once when he -fled before a body of horsemen which had discovered three calves hogtied -in a box cañon, I managed to distance them. Thereupon he alighted and -muffled my hoofs with gunny-sacks, that he might follow a stony -creek-bed without sound. - -“Damn, but you kin climb out when you want to,” he said grudgingly, when -we were safe at home. - -Because I learned quickly and never forgot, Sloan held his hand from -killing me in any of his outbursts of rage. At least a dozen times did -he tie me fast to a snubbing-post and belabor my head and neck and ribs -with a stout club, until I grew sick from pain and my glazing eyes -warned him that he had touched the limit of my endurance. Then he would -desist, for I was of value to him. These fits of frenzy were occasioned -by the most trifling happenings. Perhaps when he came to drive in my -mother and me, we did not move fast enough--she was growing very old--or -she exhibited a too great fear. Then he would rope us and proceed to -torture until his temper waned. - -I come now to the time he killed my mother and I won a brief freedom. -The weather had been murderously hot. From January to July no drop of -rain fell and our hills grew sullenly naked and brown. Sloan’s spring -ceased its flow. He did not discover that for two days, being stupefied, -and we were terribly wasted when he turned us out to find water for -ourselves. - -There was no grass. The earth showed gray as the rocks and as bare, and -the rocks gave back the heat in shimmering waves. Where the ground had -cracked under the sun, giant fissures gaped for the feet of the unwary. -Five miles from home we saw some cows stumbling hopelessly out of a -cañon and learned that there, too, the water had failed. Their dried -skins drew tight over their bones and the panic of desperation glared -from their eyes. One prodded at my mother as we passed, refusing to give -place as cattle do to horses, then sank weakly to the ground. Later she -stretched out on her side, and we knew that the end was near. - -Turkey buzzards strutted everywhere, gorged to apathy. They would -cluster on a carcass, unwinking and insolent, and watch us nosing in -quest of a bite to eat. Fires had ravaged the lower ridges, and trees -and brush were stripped clean. To remain here meant slow death, and we -fared higher. - -We met with cattle on the upper slopes, spent and picking their path -with care. A heifer slipped and rolled downward almost beneath our feet. -There were many orphan calves, bawling impotently against echoing -cañons’ walls, and carrion-crows hung soundlessly in flocks, their -shadows flitting swiftly over the earth in front of us. We came on the -body of a horse at a dried waterhole. He had plunged from a ledge in his -exhaustion, to die helplessly in sight of the place he sought. Crows had -torn out the eyes. - -But I would not let my mother become disheartened. All these creatures -were moving downward, and some propelling force has always driven me -upward in time of stress. So I led her far among the peaks. It was -desolate enough, of a certainty--so barren that my poor, tottering -mother wanted to go back, though she knew well that the homeward stretch -was beyond her strength--but I urged her forward. - -We came at last to four peaks, away up in those mountains, and threading -a defile, emerged into a cuplike draw among them; and there were -mesquite in profusion and many green things. And more precious than all, -a tiny spring bubbled behind a boulder at the north end. It would not -water more than four head, but it sufficed, and we tarried on its edge -all of one evening. - -For forty days we stayed in our random home and gained in flesh and in -strength. Then, one hot, sticky evening, great banks of mist surged -upward and massed around our beloved peaks, and the rain broke from the -press and drenched the hills. We turned our backs to the driving -torrents, clamped our tails and let the cool water soak into our -crackling hides. - -What a difference in the land when the sun showed again, clear and warm! -It was as a dead thing come to life. Tender shoots thrust their heads -above the hard ground; the trees stopped their complaints, and nodded -and rustled jauntily to a southwest breeze, for the sap stirred within -them and soon they would put forth new leaves. A ground squirrel emerged -from a hole, blinked impudently at us, and then dashed off across the -rocks, reckless from sheer joy of being alive. We sniffed of the good, -fresh wind and headed for the lower reaches, for there would be rare -grazing now that the rains had washed the valleys. Thus we came to live -close to our old home. - -Sloan came riding on an October day. - -“Crackee, but you two is fat,” he shouted gleefully. - -He had a new horse, a high, long-backed sorrel with the legs of a racer. -I knew the breed,--a steel-dust valley horse, built for speed and -helpless as a wagon among our crags. Sloan drove us in and got down to -put a halter on the mare. - -My mother had never concealed her dread of him. It moved him always to -an excess of fury, but she had learned terror in youth and it held her -through all her years. Now she snorted, her limbs a-tremble, and drew -back. The sweat stood out on her muzzle and dyed her neck. - -“What,” Sloan bellowed, “you ol’ she-devil, you ain’t learned to quit -dodging yet? Then, by God, I’ll learn you.” - -He swung a breast-yoke with all his force, smashing my mother squarely -between the ears. The mare gave a moan, a long sigh, and sank slowly to -the ground, the eyelids flickering. I saw her legs stiffen. - -He kicked her where she lay and started for me, but I rushed by him, -lashing with my shoeless heels as I went. They caught him full in the -chest. I can hear yet the grunt he gave at the impact; then over he -went. - -He had put up only two bars of the corral gate. I took them with a rush -and headed for the high hills. Sloan scrambled to his feet, coughing and -swearing, and ran to the sorrel. In the saddle, he fired twice, but -though the bullets slashed the ground ahead of me, I never wavered. He -let out a shout and spurred after, making ready his rope as he came. It -made my blood dance to see these futile efforts. For a valley horse is -to a mountain horse as a house kitten is to a wild-cat. It is true that -an exceptional valley horse, if turned loose in the hills young enough, -may in three years’ time develop into a fair mountain pony--with good -schooling, that is. Even then he will lack something of our depth of -chest and perfection of feet. But put a valley horse, green, in the -mountains, and he will stand and shiver and sweat, not daring to -venture. So I was elated when Sloan came pounding behind, knowing full -well that the sorrel could never follow where I would lead. - -The chase led up a rocky cañon filled with post-oak, along a mesa, -through a gap, skirted a summit, and dipped downward into another cañon. -Now we were straightened out for my familiar peaks. Suddenly I became -aware that the pursuers had dropped back, and, easing in my run, I saw -Sloan beating the sorrel over the head with his rope. He was ever thus, -blaming his mount on the least excuse. - -Two days and a night I fled. Of course it was necessary to pause for a -few hours to eat grass and to drink, but fear of Sloan kept me moving. I -struck south, then westward. Fences delayed my flight considerably in -the valleys, but I had had experience with them, and roamed along until -I discovered a spot where the wires were partially down and could be -jumped, or until I found a watergap. I suppose I covered one hundred and -sixty miles, but not all in a straight line by any means, and at sundown -of the second day I was in a goodly range of hills. Here I rested. - -A band of bronchos wandered into a draw where I fed that night, and I -joined them. We roved where we willed, and the rain fell abundantly and -the grass was green and plentiful. - -Why is it one can never be entirely happy? If one be breast-high in -succulent zacaton, a fly will mar the feast. I have observed a mare in a -field of alfalfa, neglecting what she could have without effort, to -stretch unavailingly through the fence after a tuft of tough -Johnson-grass; in fact, I have done that myself. Here was I with -millions of virgin acres in which to wander; all I could eat; agreeable -companions. Yet I pined to hear a man’s voice. That sounds inexplicable, -but it is the truth. Even Sloan’s harsh bass tones would have been -welcome, after six months of freedom. Man’s companionship had been bred -in me, and though his presence might bring terror, yet I longed for it, -and the master-grip of his hand. - -Winter passed and the long, dry season opened in a blaze of heat. A -horseman bore down on us one day, from the south, and we massed swiftly -for escape. Within a mile, two more riders appeared, and my companions -increased their pace to a gallop. Only I, of all the band, knew what -this meant. The others were bronchos who had never felt the rope and -they ran blindly, ignorant of the cordon closing in from every -direction. But I was cleverer. Suddenly darting from the herd, I sped -within sixty feet of a cowboy--not close enough for his loop--and gained -the mouth of a cañon. Up this I spurted, the rider in hot chase. - -How often are pride and conceit confounded. The cañon narrowed--narrowed -to sheer walls fifty feet apart--and there ahead of me, blocking my -path, was a cliff of red-streaked rock. Water trickled down its face. -That much I perceived, and then it rushed upon me that the race was run. -I turned short about and tried to go by him as I had passed Sloan, but -he threw his rope and caught me cleanly. Sloan had taught me the lesson -of the rope--taught it in bitter vindictiveness--and I followed my -captor without struggle. - -“Done got a maverick,” he announced, when he rejoined his comrades. - -“He’s been rode before, Chappo,” another said. “Look at the way he -follows. And there’s been a cinch sore on his left side. Look.” - -“I cain’t see it,” Chappo said obstinately. “He’s a maverick, I’m -a-telling you. And he’s my horse, because I done found him.” - -When he had me in the corral at headquarters, Chappo walked fearlessly -to my head. Of course I began to quiver, for well I knew what this -portended. - -“You pore son-of-a-gun,” he muttered, and stopped. “So he done beat you -over the haid?” - -He scratched my ears and rubbed my head lightly between the eyes. All -the while, he talked to me in a low tone, with a sort of laugh behind -it. Chappo was a small man, no higher than a fence post, but there was -something in his touch that made me fear and yet want him to keep on -rubbing. When he attempted to put the bridle on, I stood rigid, -expectant. Surely the beating would come now. It did not. Instead, he -said, “You ol’ rascal, you,” and jabbed me in the ribs with his thumb. -Now, here is a curious thing. A man can jab you with his thumb so that -it hurts, and he can jab you in the same place with the same force and -it will only tickle pleasantly. Everything depends on the spirit in -which it is done. Chappo’s thumb was very agreeable and I laid back my -ears and pretended to nip at him. - -“I’ll top you,” he said, “and then I’ll put the Box C on you.” - -It amused me vastly to hear this mite of a man tell so confidently how -he would ride me, when even the terrible Sloan could not keep the saddle -at times. Just to scare him, I bowed my back when he slapped the blanket -on. Then I rolled my eyes backward to note the effect. He was grinning, -actually grinning--and his hat did not show above my withers. Next, he -threw on the saddle, and the curve in my spine was unmistakable; but he -merely hummed a tune and began to cinch me tightly, with careless -freedom, just as if we had been friends all our years. It surprised me -so much that I suffered his impertinence in quiet. - -There were some cowboys on the fence, watching. - -“Want me to ear him, Chappo?” one asked. - -“No-oo. Me and him’s friends already. Ain’t we?” He made me walk a few -steps, still grinning as he inspected the significant upward tilt of the -saddle. “Look at his tail, boys. We’ll shore have to call him Beaver.” - -“Call him Neutria,” one cried. - -My new master nodded and then stood directly in front. I tried to look -away, but his eyes drew mine in spite of me, and when he backed off, I -followed, though he exerted no pressure on the bit. There was nothing -hard and there was nothing mean in those eyes; a devil lurked in -Sloan’s. Chappo’s were clear and very good-natured, yet oddly -compelling. - -“That’s all right,” he said. “Now we know each other, me and you, -Neutria.” - -He pulled my head around by the cheek of the bridle and next moment was -atop. I remained motionless. The grip of his knees was curiously at -variance with his bulk: somehow that grip raised a doubt in my mind that -I could shed him. - -Next second I was pitching, more from force of habit than from any wish -to hurt this youth. What was the matter? No spurs gored my sides; I felt -no sting of quirt. Instead, Chappo merely swayed in the saddle and he -whooped me on to further effort, hitting my shoulders gleefully with his -hat. This was too much--a wight of one hundred and twenty pounds to make -game of me! I paused for breath and to gather strength. - -“Hey, you ain’t quitting?” he inquired. “Wipe her up, li’l’ feller. Fly -at it.” - -After that it was imperative I should do my best--Sloan could never have -kept his seat when I let myself loose to his challenge. Every trick his -brutality had taught me I employed, and only once did Chappo waver. He -was riding on his spurs now, yet he had to grab desperately for the -horn; but he righted himself with a laugh and renewed his yelling. At -last I was compelled to stop. - -“You’re shore a dandy, Neutria,” he panted. “Let’s call it an even -break.” - -That suited me admirably. It would have been a shame to injure the boy. - -I never pitched with Chappo again. He was always kind to me, save once -only. That was when he placed the Box C on my left hip with a red-hot -iron. It pained horribly, but I realized that all horses had to go -through this ordeal and that Chappo did not mean to be brutal. - -What times we had that summer and autumn! It was a year of frequent -rains, and horses and cattle were sleek and fat and rollicking. Chappo -and I would go out from camp twice each week and prowl the mountains the -livelong day. Perhaps a long-eared calf would be roused up--he is one -that has escaped branding--and my master would settle himself and take -down his rope even as I flashed in pursuit, over rocks and brush, down -cañons’ sides, up cliffs, shooting through defiles. It is something to -be a mountain horse, though it is I who say it; no other horse in the -world could have carried Chappo at full speed where I carried him after -mavericks. And he never faltered. - -“Wherever you put your doggone feet is good enough for me, Neutria,” he -said once, at the bottom of a perilous descent. - -Chappo was an excellent cowhand, more skilled than Sloan. He would -seldom miss a throw in the wildest country, and when he had the calf -roped, down he would jump and hogtie it before one could count thirty. -Then I would fall to grazing while he built a fire, heated his -running-iron and put the company brand on the captive. There were days -when we caught four or five in this manner. It was glorious sport. - -And then, of course, there was the fall roundup, when all our -riders--twenty-two in number--swept the range in daily drives. We -collected more than nineteen thousand head of cattle; some of the -long-horned steers Chappo and I brought in had not set eyes on a man -since they were suckling calves. It was good to chase these outlaws, -they being stout and hearty on the rope, and it nerved me to see -Chappo’s fearlessness and confidence. He would tie to one of the big -brutes without hesitation, whatever the nature of the ground, trusting -implicitly to me to throw it. If a steer had dragged me down, it would -have meant maiming for Chappo and me, so I was ever on my guard. I -always contrived to throw them, even though some weighed two hundred -pounds heavier than I. - -I was Chappo’s top horse--that is to say, his best saddler. Consequently -it was me he rode to town on the rare occasions he could get there. I -took the best of care of him. - -On one occasion when he had spent an entire morning in town visiting -various places of call with friends, Chappo bet fifty dollars I could -throw an enormous bull they had in a feeding-pen. It was an intensely -foolish wager; besides, he hadn’t the money, and was earning only forty -dollars a month. The sight of this bull--a Hereford--appalled me for a -moment, for he was a monstrous fellow, blocky and solid; but Chappo -patted my neck and whispered to me, and when he let his noose fly, I -darted off with taut muscles, unafraid, yet ready for the tremendous jar -that would come with the tightened rope. What a giant he was! When he -lunged, the girth nearly cut me in two, and for the fraction of a second -I thought my feet would fly from under me and that Chappo would be -ignominiously prostrated in the dust. Then, at the critical moment, we -gave him slack, let him run to the end of it, wheeled like a striking -snake, and with a cunning heave, flopped him ponderously on the ground. -It broke his neck and they put Chappo in the calaboose. The boss got him -out only after much ceremony and considerable loose talk and the payment -of moneys. - -Chappo dearly loved to go to town. He was always in excellent humor on -these trips and would attempt feats that reflected more credit on his -stoutness of heart than on his head. On a night, he tried to make me -climb the steps of the hotel veranda and enter the bar. Had it been -anyone but Chappo, I would have pitched him off without more ado, such -was the childishness of this display. But because it was Chappo and I -could feel from his legs that all was not right with him, I meekly -ascended the steps and walked into the bar, taking heed where I placed -my feet. A crowd of loafers cheered me and filled a large bowl, that I -might drink, but Chappo would have none of this. - -He sang much on the road back to camp. It was dark as a panther’s lair. -Chappo would hum and drone a few lines, then relapse into abrupt -silences. I kept every sense alert, for his safety depended on me. Once, -when he sagged in the saddle, I stopped until he got settled again. -After that he rode with firmer seat, but his good humor seemed to have -vanished. We reached a point where a cow trail, a mere thread so faint -that it was barely discernible, led off from the main trail. - -“Here, you,” Chappo said, jerking me about, “who’s running this show? -Hey? Doggone your fat haid. This is a cut-off.” - -The trail was new to me, but I took it obediently. It led in the general -direction of camp, but became vaguer as we proceeded. Finally it merged -into the brown of a hillside. - -“Hell!” Chappo exclaimed. “Where’s that cussed trail gone to, Neutria? -Well, let’s hit across country, boy. What’s twenty miles between two of -us?” - -We struck over a hill at a trot. Suddenly my heart gave a leap and every -hair on my body seemed to tingle. Just in time I sat back on my -haunches. Chappo swore and struck me sharply with the spur. - -“What’s the matter with you, you ol’ rascal? I swan. . . . Seen a -skunk?” he cried. - -I began to shiver, and that sobered him. It was too dark to make out -anything and he lighted a match. A gulf yawned beneath us, where the -hill dropped away to a jumble of rocks. Chappo sucked in his breath and -let the match fall. Then he turned me around. - -“Neutria,” was all he said, but let his hand rest for a long minute on -my withers. - -We were following the Gap trail on a day in late autumn when, in -rounding a bend, we almost collided with a rider. - -“Hel-lo,” came in surprised accents. It was Sloan, on his sorrel. - -“Howdy,” Chappo said. “Nice and cool, ain’t it?” - -“Whose hoss is that?” - -“He’s my horse. Finest cowhorse in these here mountains.” Chappo would -often boast thus. It was unwise, but it made me very proud nevertheless. - -“Huh-huh. And who might you be?” - -“The Emp’ror of Rooshia.” - -“Sure. You might be, but you ain’t. You got papers for this here hoss?” - -“No, I ain’t got no papers for him. Don’t you see the Box C on him? -That’s papers enough.” Chappo was careless and bold, but I knew he was -anxious. - -“You got to have papers in Mexico. That’s my hoss, son.” - -“Yes?” said Chappo. “Where’s your papers, then?” - -“I kin prove he’s mine,” Sloan said evenly. “I’ll be obliged for that -hoss, pardner.” - -My master thought a moment. “What’s your name?” he asked. - -“Sloan.” - -“Yes? I’ve heard of you, Sloan. The company knows you, too. There ain’t -no use in gitting mad. Let’s talk business.” - -“All right, son. But that’s my hoss and I’ll be obliged for him.” - -“Sloan, I’m going to tell you about Neutria here. I caught him with a -bunch of bronchos. He was a maverick, so I done put my brand on him. -What’ll you take for him?” - -“I won’t take nothing.” I recognized that surly bass growl. He had been -drinking. - -“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. To save trouble, I’ll buy him off’n you. Me -and him is friends. So I’ll give you seventy-five dollars gold for this -here li’l’ horse. That’s a good price, Sloan. I’ll raise the money in a -week.” - -“No, you won’t, young feller. You won’t give me seventy-five dollars, -nor you won’t give me seventy-five thousand dollars. That’s my hoss. I -won’t sell him. Him and me’s got a li’l’ account to square up, and--” - -“Then it’s up to you to prove he’s yours,” Chappo answered. I scarcely -knew his voice, it had gone so hard and cold. - -“You don’t believe this hoss is mine?” - -“Not me. You rustle calves, Sloan, and--” - -“I love a thief,” Sloan said, “but I hate a liar.” - -What happened then was beyond my powers of perception. I felt Chappo -reach to his hip. There was a flash that singed my face, and Sloan sat -his sorrel with a smoking six-shooter in his hand. My master tumbled -sideways, twisting the saddle as he fell, and struck the ground on his -shoulders. - -“Don’t shoot, Sloan,” he begged, “I ain’t got my gun. You’ve done for me -anyway. Don’t.” - -But Sloan slued his horse that he might obtain a clear shot, and pulled -twice on him with deliberate aim. - -“Now,” he cried clutching my reins, “now I’ll settle with you.” - -I reared straight up and plunged forward at him. The headstall snapped -and the bit dropped from my mouth. With the smack of my shod hoofs on -his flank, the sorrel began to pitch, and Sloan dropped his gun. - -With that I ran--ran as I had never run before in my life. When utterly -worn out, I slowed to a walk and endeavored to rid myself of the saddle, -which galled me badly. For a long time it resisted every effort, but I -did not despair. Chappo’s fall had turned it underneath my belly and -there it was in reach of my hind feet. Before dawn I had kicked and torn -the thing from my sides, and was free and unencumbered. - -Why tell of my frantic wanderings during the next two days? The spot -where my master had fallen drew me irresistibly. I could not leave; but -I feared Sloan more than ever and spent the hours in cautious circlings -of the vicinity of the Gap. At last I could bear it no longer. - -The moon was shining as I lightly trod the Gap trail. Going warily as a -coyote, I was brought to a standstill by a strong taint. I sniffed and -was fearfully expectant, but still advanced. Something was swinging from -the lowest limb of an elm. A rope creaked mournfully to the swinging. I -snorted and made a circuit of the thing, approaching gingerly. A gust of -wind turned the object, so that the moon lighted its every line. - -It was Sloan. - -A hundred yards beyond, I came on a small pile of rocks. They had laid -Chappo where he fell. Above the rocks was a rude cross, fashioned of -mesquite boughs. - -I am a free rover now. Sometimes I run with the wild horses. Again I go -off for solitary pilgrimages into the mountain fastnesses. - -Often I steal back at night to the Gap trail. And there, beside the pile -of stones and the cross, I whinny--whinny again. But Chappo never -answers. - - THE END - - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Inconsistencies in -hyphenation have been retained. Obvious typesetting errors have been -corrected without note. - -[End of _The Untamed_, by George Pattullo] - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Untamed, by George Pattullo - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNTAMED *** - -***** This file should be named 63307-0.txt or 63307-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/3/0/63307/ - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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