THE A-Y had been a very busy place for the past two weeks because of the cattle which had to be re-branded and taken care of, and of other things which had to be done about the ranch. The sheriff had taken title and had persuaded Crawford to remain in nominal charge for a month at the most so as to keep the sale a secret until the new owner would be ready to make it known. So word went around that Crawford had hired the sheriff to put things on a paying basis and that half of the old outfit had left, their places being filled by Charley, the two Larkin brothers and two men from a northern ranch.
Shields had been very much pleased with the cattle which The Orphan had bought for him and had asked Blake if he could borrow the new puncher to help him get things in good running shape. Blake had told The Orphan of the sheriff’s request and had advised him to accept, which the puncher was very glad to do. So this is how the former outlaw became temporary foreman of the A-Y under the sheriff. Only the sheriff’s most intimate friends knew his plans, one of whom was Charley Winter, who found food for mirth in the unique position things had taken. The sheriff’s deputies who had lain out-doors all night on the Cross Bar-8 waiting to capture or kill the outlaw were now working under him, and the best of feelings prevailed. The man who had hunted The Orphan now employed him as the bearer of the responsibilities of the new ranch. Truly, a change!
While The Orphan was busy with his duties on the A-Y the sheriff rode to the Star C and sought out the foreman, whom he finally found engaged in freeing a cow that had become mired in a quicksand. As the terror-stricken animal galloped wildly away from the scene of torture and indignities to its person Blake mopped his face and began to scrape the quicksand from him.
“Playing life-saver, eh?” laughed the sheriff.
The foreman looked up and smiled sheepishly: “Yes,” he replied as he shook hands with the sheriff. “One cow more or less won’t make nor break no ranch, but I just can’t see ’em suffer. The boys and I were passing, so we stopped and got to work. But cows ain’t got no gratitude, not nohow! That ornery beast will be all ready to charge me the first time he sees me afoot. Did you see him try to horn me when I let go?”
His friend laughed, and when they had ridden some distance from the others he turned in his saddle:
“Well, The Orphan is working like a horse, and he likes it, too,” he said. “You ought to hear him giving orders–he just asks a man to do a thing, don’t order it done. When he talks it sounds like the puncher would be doing him the greatest possible favor to do the work he is paid to do, but there is a suggestion that if any nastiness develops, hell will be a peaceful place compared to the near vicinity of the foreman of the A-Y. He sizes up a thing with one look, and then tells how it should be done. Everything has gone off so fine that I’m going to ask you to lose a good man, and real soon, too. What do you say, Tom?”
Blake laughed: “Why, we were a-plenty before he came and we’ll be a-plenty after he goes. That’s for your asking me to turn him over to you. The boys will be both sorry and glad to have him leave, because they like him a whole lot. But of course they want to see him land everything that he can, so they’ll give him a good send-off. That reminds me to say that I know they will want to be on hand when you break the news to him. It’ll be a circus for your Eastern friend, Miss Ritchie.”
“Now you’re talking!” enthused the sheriff. “I want to have as many fireworks at the ceremony as I can possibly get. Oh, it’ll be a great day, all right. We are all going out and take a bang-up lunch, just like we’re going on that picnic that Bill’s been so worried about, and Bill is going to drive the women over in his coach. The first surprise will be the announcement of the new ownership of the A-Y, and right on top of it I’m going to fire the second gun. I hope none of your boys know anything about it,” he added with anxiety.
“Not a thing,” hastily replied the foreman. “You have your wife send a message to me by Joe when he rustles our mail to-morrow and ask us to come to the picnic at the A-Y on the day which you will decide on. They’ll go, all right, no fear about that. Nothing more than your wife’s cooking is needed to attract them,” and he laughed heartily at how suddenly they would come to life at such a summons.
Shields thought intently for a few seconds and then slapped his thigh: “I’ve got it!” he exulted. “I’ll ride over to your place with you and write a letter to my wife telling her just what to do. Joe can deliver it and bring back the invitation. You see, I won’t be home to-night, but that will do the trick, all right. Now, what do you say to this coming Saturday?–this is, let me see: Wednesday. Will that be time enough for you to make any arrangements you may want to make?”
“Shore, plenty of time,” Blake laughed. “It’s good all the way. Joe will be delighted to have a real good excuse to call at your house. He’s a bashful cuss, like all the rest. They talk big, but they’re some bashful all the same. He’s been worrying about it, for one day he came to me with a funny expression on his face and acted like he didn’t know how to begin. So I asked him what was troubling him, and he blurted out like this, as near as I can remember:
“‘Well, you know Mrs. Shields said we was to go to her house when any of us hit town?’ he asked.
“‘I shore do,’ I answered, wondering what was up.
“‘Well, I go to town a lot, and it takes a h–l of a lot of gall to do it,’ he complained, looking so serious that it was funny.
“‘Gall!’ said I, surprised-like, and trying to keep my face straight. ‘Gall! Well, I can’t see that it takes such a brave man to call at a friend’s house when he’s been told to do it.’
“‘Oh, that part of it is all right,” he replied. ‘But she’ll think I only call to get my face fed, and it makes me feel like a–I don’t know what. You see, I always get away quick.’
“‘Well, stay longer, there ain’t no use of being in a hurry,’ I said. ‘Stay and talk a while.’
“‘Then they’ll think I ain’t got enough and push more pie at me, like they did once,’ he complained.
“‘Suppose I give Silent your terrible ordeal to do,’ I suggested tentatively, ‘or Bud, he’s dead anxious for your job.’
“‘Oh, it ain’t as bad as that!’ he cried quickly. ‘I only thought that I’d speak to you about it. I thought you could suggest something.’
“‘Well,’ I replied, ‘every time you call you say I sent you over to ask about the sheriff’s health. How’ll that do?’
“He grinned sheepishly and then swore: ‘H–l, that would make a shore enough mess of it,’ he cried. ‘I’d be a royal American idiot to say a thing like that, now, wouldn’t I?’”
The sheriff laughed heartily, and they talked about the picnic until they had reached the ranch-house, where he wrote the note to his wife. Bidding his friend good-by, he rode out past the corrals and headed for the A-Y.
When about half-way to his own ranch, and on A-Y ground, he surmounted a rise and saw a figure flit from sight behind a thicket, and his curiosity was immediately aroused. Not knowing who the man might be, he stalked his quarry and finally found Bucknell standing beside his horse.
“Well, what’s the trouble now?” the sheriff asked as he came out into sight. He was dangerously near angry, for Bucknell was on forbidden ground and was flushed as if from liquor. “What’s the trouble?” he repeated.
Bucknell looked confused: “Nothing, Sheriff. Why?” he asked, evading the searching gaze of the peace officer.
“Oh, I thought something might have gone wrong on the Cross Bar-8, and that you were looking for me,” Shields coldly replied.
Bucknell looked at the ground and coughed nervously before he replied, which only made the sheriff all the more determined to get at the matter in a true light.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” replied the puncher. “I was just riding out this way–I was some nervous, that’s all.”
“That don’t go with me!” the sheriff said sharply. “I’ve lived too long to bite on a yarn like that. Why, you can’t look at me!”
The puncher did not reply and the sheriff continued:
“Now, look here, Bucknell, take some good advice from me–stay on your ranch, mind your own business and let liquor alone. As sure as you monkey around the Star C Blake will give you a d––n sound licking, and he’s man enough to do it, too, make no error. And as for the A-Y, well, the temporary foreman of that ranch is the cleverest man with a gun that I ever saw, and I’ve seen some good ones in my time. If you go up against him you’ll get shot, for he’d think you were about the easiest proposition he ever met. As sure as you drink you’ll get drunk, and as sure as you get drunk you’ll work up an appetite for a fight, and if you pick a fight with him you’ll never know what hit you. You stick to water and the Cross Bar-8.”
“Oh, I reckon I can take care of my own business,” sullenly replied Bucknell. “I can come out here drunk or sober if I wants to, I reckon.”
“You can do nothing of the kind,” rejoined the sheriff. “And you certainly ought to be able to take care of your own business, as you say,” he retorted, holding his temper with an effort. “But in the past you didn’t, and you may not in the future. And when your business gets too big for you to handle it gets into my hands, and if you make any trouble I’ll d––n soon convince you that I can handle your surplus. Now, get out of here and think it over.”
Bucknell swung into his saddle and then turned, the liquor making him reckless.
“D––n it!” he cried. “The Orphant killed Jimmy and a whole lot more good cow-punchers! He’s nothing but a murdering thief, a d––d rustler, that’s what he is! And you are his best friend, it seems!”
The wan smile flickered across the sheriff’s face, but still he refrained, for such is the foolish consideration given by brave men to liquor. A drunkard may do much with impunity, for the argument states he is not responsible, forgetting that in the beginning he was responsible enough to have left liquor alone, and that injury, whether unintentional or not, is still injury.
“There is no seem about it!” he retorted. “I am his best friend, and he needs friends bad enough, God knows. But speaking of murder, those four good cow-punchers that stopped me in the defile tried hard enough to qualify at it, and The Orphan not only saved me, but also some of them, for I’d a gotten some of them before I cashed. You’re a h–l of a fine cub to talk about murders, you are!”
“That’s all right,” retorted Bucknell, “he’s just what I said he was. And a side pardner of our brave sheriff, too!”
“D––n you!” shouted Shields, his face dark with passion. “You have said enough, any more from you and I’ll break your dirty neck! Just because I felt sorry for you when you got half killed in the saloon and let you stay in the country don’t think you are the boss of this section. When I saw what a pitiful, drunken wreck you were, I felt sorry for you, but not any more. You don’t want decent treatment, you want to get clubbed, and you’re right in line to get just what you need, too! Now, I’m not going to stand any more of your d––d foolishness–my patience is played out. And if you were half a man you wouldn’t sit there like a bump on a log and swallow what I’m saying–you’d put up a fight if you died for it. You are no good, just a drunken, lawless fool of a puncher; just a bag of wind, and it’s up to you to walk a chalk line or I’ll give you a taste of what I carry around with me for bums of your kind. What in h–l do you think I am? No, you don’t, you stay right where you are ’til I get good and ready to have you go! You’ve come d––d near the end of your rope and there is just one thing for you to do, and that is, get out of this country and do it quick! You stay on your own side of the Limping Water, for if I catch you riding off any nervousness off of Cross Bar-8 ground without word from your foreman, I’ll shoot you down like I’d shoot a coyote! And for a dollar I’d wipe up the earth with you right now! You d––d, sneaking, cowardly cur, you tin-horn bully! Pull your stakes and get scarce and don’t you open your mouth to me–come on, lively! Pull your freight!”
Bucknell slowly rode away, his eyes to the ground and not daring to say what seethed in his heart. He swore to himself that he would get square some day on both, not realizing in his anger that when sober he feared them both.
The sheriff stared after him and then returned to the point where he had left his horse. As he mounted he shook his head savagely and swore. Glancing again after the puncher he struck into a canter and rode toward the ranch.
THE picnic aroused quite a stir for so frivolous a thing. When Blake read Mrs. Shields’ invitation to the outfit they acted like schoolboys dismissed for a vacation. Grins of delight were the style on the Star C, and the overflow of bubbling happiness took the form of practical joking against Humble, whose life suddenly held much anxiety. In Ford’s Station there was an air of expectancy, and Bill spent all of Saturday morning from daylight until time to start in cleaning his stage and grooming the horses, whose astonishment quickly passed into prohibitive indignation. After narrowly escaping broken bones and chewed arms Bill decided that the sextet could go as it was.
“Serves ’em right!” he yelled to his friendly enemy, the clerk, after he had barely dodged a vicious kick, wildly waving a curry comb. “Let the ignoramuses go like they are! Let ’em show how cheap and common they are! They never was any good for anything, anyhow, eating their heads off and kicking their best friend!”
“How about the time they beat out them Apaches?” asked the clerk, settling back comfortably against the coach.
“You get out!” yelled Bill pugnaciously. “Who asked you for talk, hey? And get away from that coach, you idiot, you’ll dirty it all up!”
“Sic ’em, Tige!” jeered the clerk pleasantly. “Chew ’em up!”
“What!” yelled Bill, swiftly grabbing up the pail of water which stood near him. “Sic ’em, is it!” he cried, running forward. “Chew ’em up, hey!” he continued, heaving the contents of the pail at the clerk, who nimbly sprang inside the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind him as the water struck it. He leaped out of the other door and was safely away before Bill realized what had happened. Then the driver said things when he saw the mess he had made of the coach, upon which he had spent two hard hours in polishing.
“Suffering dogs!” he shouted, dancing first on one foot and then on the other. “Now look what you’ve done! You’re a h–l of a feller, you are! After me rubbing the skin off’n my hands and breaking my arms a-polishing it up! You good for nothing, mangy half-breed! Wait till I get a hold of you, you long pair of legs, you! Just wait! I’ll show you, all right!”
The clerk twiddled his fingers from afar and jeered in his laughter: “Serves you right! Sic ’em, Towser! Eat ’em up, Fido! Sic ’em, sic ’em!” he shouted joyously, and forthwith ran for his life.
Bill returned to the coach and worked like mad to undo the evil effects he had wrought and finally succeeded in bringing a phantom glow to the time-battered wood. Then he hitched up and drove to the sheriff’s house, where he saw huge baskets on the porch.
“Good morning, Mrs. Shields,” he said as he stamped to the door. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning William,” replied the sheriff’s wife as she hurried to collect shawls and blankets. “Will you mind putting those baskets on the coach, William? We will soon be ready.”
“Why, certainly not, ma’am,” he answered, recklessly grabbing up the two largest. “Jimminee!” he exulted. “These are shore heavy, all right, all right! Must be plumb full of good things! To-day is where your Uncle Bill Halloway gets square for the dinner the company froze him out of. Wonder if there’s apricot pie in this one?” he mused curiously. He gingerly raised the cover and a grin distorted his face. “Must be six, yes, eight–mebby ten!” he soliloquized as he placed it on the stage. “Hullo, bottles of some kind,” he whispered as he picked up another basket. “Hear the little devils clink, eh? Must be coffee and tea, hey? Yes, shore enough it is. Good Lord, how hungry I am–wish I had eaten that breakfast this morning–how in thunder did I know we was going to be so late? I’ll be the strong man at this picnic, all right!”
“Here are some blankets, William,” called Mrs. Shields. “Helen, would you mind showing him how to carry that box?–he’s sure to turn it upside down if you don’t.”
“Next!” he cried, returning from the trip with the blankets. “I put them blankets up on top, Mrs. Shields, is it all right? How do you do, Miss Helen, any more freight?”
“How do you do,” she replied. “This box is to go, please. Now, do be very careful not to turn it up, or jar it!” she warned. “And put it on the seat inside the coach where we can steady it.”
“Gee, what’s in it?” asked Bill, nearly dying from his curiosity. “Must be the joker of the feast, eh?”
“Three layer cakes,” she laughingly replied. “Chocolate, cocoanut and lemon.”
“Um!” he said. “I’ll carry this one high up, it deserves it.”
“Oh, do be careful!” she cried as he swooped it up to his shoulder. “Oh!” she screamed as it thumped against the top of the door frame.
“Whoa! Back up!” cried Bill, executing the order. “Easy, boy–all right, off we go!”
“Grace, Mary,” cried Helen, “we are all ready to go!”
“Ain’t there any more boxes?” asked Bill from the coach.
“Come, girls,” cried Mrs. Shields as she stepped into the coach. “Close the door after you, and lock it, dear.”
Bill gallantly helped the ladies into the coach, grinned at the cake box and started toward the front wheel when he was called back.
“Now, William,” cautioned Mrs. Shields, laughing. “We will not be pursued by Apaches to-day, and this cake must not be shaken!”
“You won’t know you’re riding, ma’am, you shore won’t,” he assured her as he danced toward the front wheel again.
“Wake up there, you!” he yelled from the box. “Come on, Jerry, think you’re glued to the earth? Come on, Tom! Easy there, you fool jackrabbit! –haven’t you learned that you can’t reach this high!”
When they had arrived at the A-Y the baskets were carried into the ranch-house and the women became very busy getting things ready for the feast. Bill took care of his team and then carried the blankets to the grove.
While the picnic was being prepared there arose a series of blood-curdling whoops off to the south where the outfit of the Star C made the air blue with powder smoke. As they came nearer something peculiar was noticed by Helen. It appeared to be a sort of drag drawn by a horse and supported by two long, springy poles, one end of which rested on the ground, and the other fastened to the saddle. While she wondered Bill came up and she turned to him for light.
“What have they got fastened to that horse?” she asked him.
He looked and then smiled: “Why, it is a travois,” he said. “But what under the sun have they got on it? They must be bringing their own grub!”
The travois dragged and bumped over the uneven plain and soon came near enough for its burden to be made out. A man and a dog were strapped to it.
At this point Blake joined Helen and Bill, and as he did so he espied the travois.
“Thunder!” he cried, running forward. “Somebody is hurt! What’s the matter, Silent?” he shouted.
“Matter?” asked Silent, in surprise as the outfit drew near. “There ain’t nothing the matter. Why?”
“What’s that travois doing with you, then?” Blake demanded.
Silent’s face was as grave as that of an owl. “Travois?” he asked. Then his face cleared: “Oh, yes–I near forgot about it,” he added, apologetically. “You see, Humble he shore wanted his dog to come to the picnic, so we reckoned we’d let it come along. Bud and Jim was for slinging it at the end of a rope and dragging it over, but I said no. We ain’t got any ropes to have all frayed out and cut a-dragging dogs to picnics, and I said so, too. So we built the travois and strapped Lightning to it. When Humble saw what we had done he acted real unpolite. He said as how he wasn’t going to have no dog of his’n toted twenty miles in a fool travois. Said that he’d make it stay home first, which was some mean after inviting the dog to come along. He said that he’d go in a travois himself first before he’d let the setter be made a fool of. Well, we simply had to subdue him, and he got so unreasonable that we just had to tie him with his dog. He shore does get awful pig-headed at times.”
“Take off the gag, Jim,” requested Silent, turning to the grinning cow-puncher. “Let him loose now, we’ve arrived.”
Jim leaned over and whispered in Humble’s ear, the information being that there were ladies about, and that all swearing must be thought and not yelled. Then he slipped the gag, and untied the ropes. Gales of laughter met the angry and indignant puncher when he had leaped to his feet, and he flashed one quick glance at the women and then, boiling with wrath and suppressed profanity, fled toward the corrals as swiftly as cramped muscles would allow. The dog snarled at its tormentors and then set off in hot pursuit of its discomfited master, whose waving arms kept time with his speeding legs.
“That’s all the thanks we get,” grumbled Bud, “but then, he don’t know any better anyhow.”
Blake laughed and regarded his grinning and expectant outfit, and the longer he looked at them the more he laughed. They had paid their respects to the women while Silent explained about the travois and now they cast many longing glances at the blankets and cloths spread out on the grass and at the baskets which Bill was busy over. They had tried to coax the driver to them to give information as to what they might expect in the way of edibles, but he had haughtily and disdainfully refused to enlighten them, taking care, however, to arouse their curiosity by looking fondly at the box and the baskets and even showed his elation by taking several fancy steps for their benefit.
“Well, get rid of the cayuses,” said Blake, “and square things with Humble. Bring him back with you or you don’t get any pie. You’re such a darn fool crowd that I can’t get mad this time, but don’t ever drag a man in a travois again.”
“Did he come, or was he kidnapped?” murmured Bud. “What we did once we can do again, and Humble will be on hand when the feast begins.”
Jim had been scowling at Bill, whose manners were most aggravating. “You just wait, you heathen,” threatened Jim. “You’re ace high with the grub, all right, but just you wait ’til we get you alone!”
“Yah!” laughed the driver. “I shore can handle the best cow-wrastler that ever lived.”
“Bill seems to be running this here festival,” Bud complained to Helen.
“Oh, he is our right-hand man,” she replied with enthusiasm. “We couldn’t possibly get along without him, now. He has charge of the pie and cake.”
Bill’s chest expanded: “I’m foreman of the pie and cake herd,” he exclaimed proudly. “You can’t get ahead of me.”
Bud looked at the driver and then significantly waved his hand at the travois: “And you’ll shore travel in style, just like a real pie foreman, too, when we gets a chance to honor you like we wants to.”
“You’ll get no pie if you acts smart, little boy,” retorted the driver. “Run along and play till lunch is ready, and don’t dirty your hands and face.”
“Well, we’ve got fine memories,” Bud suggested as he led the way to the corrals, where he found The Orphan.
“Hullo, Orphan!” he cried enthusiastically as he gripped the outstretched hand. “Plumb glad to see you. How’s things?”
“Glad to see you, boys,” cried the temporary foreman, who was all smiles. “One at a time!” he laughed as they crowded about him. “Make yourselves right at home–that smallest corral is for your cayuses. And you’ll find plenty of soap and water and towels by the bunk-house, and there’s a box of good cigars, a tin of tobacco, and a jug on the table inside. Help yourself to anything you want, the place is all yours.”
“Gee, this is a good game, all right,” Bud laughed as he turned to put his horse in the corral. “The sheriff shore knows how to deal.”
“Leave a cigar for me, Silent,” jokingly warned Jim as his friend turned toward the bunk-house. “Too many smokes will make you sick.”
“Well, you’ve got a gall, all right!” retorted Silent. “You better let me bring yours out to you and keep away from the box, for I’m always plumb suspicious of these goody-goody, it’s-for-your-own-good people.”
A crafty look came to Jack Lawson’s face and he turned to The Orphan: “Has Bill Howland got his cigars yet?” he asked, winking at his friends.
“Why, I don’t know whether he has or not,” replied The Orphan. “But I don’t believe that he has been out of sight of the pies since he came. They’ve got him in a trance.”
“Guess I’ll take him one,” continued Jack, grinning broadly. “He likes to smoke.”
“Shore enough, go ahead,” endorsed the foreman of the A-Y as he turned toward the grove. Then he stopped, and with a knowing look added: “If you want to see Humble, he just went in the bunk-house.”
A yell of dismay arose as the outfit started pell-mell for the house. Silent entered it first and his profanity informed his companions that their fears were well grounded. Neither Humble, cigars, tobacco nor jug were to be seen, and a search was forthwith instituted. Jack looked at a distant corral and saw Lightning as the dog disappeared from sight into it.
“Hey!” he cried. “He’s in the big corral–I just saw his dog go in, and it was wagging its tail a whole lot. Come on, we’ll surround it and show that frisky gent a thing or two!”
No more words were wasted, and in a very short time figures were creeping around the corral. Then there was a scramble as most of the searchers scaled the wall at different points while two of them ran in through the gate. The first thing they saw was the dog, and his tail was still wagging as he curiously followed, nose to the ground, a huge horned toad. He looked up at the sudden disturbance and backed off suspiciously, looking for a way to escape.
“–– ––!” chorused the fooled punchers, who discovered that deductions don’t always deduct, and then they returned to the bunk-house to “slick up.” When finally satisfied about their appearance they made their way to the grove and the sight which greeted their eyes as they entered it almost made them drop in their tracks.
Humble and Bill sat cross-legged on a blanket, which was surrounded with guns. The jug, tobacco and cigars were flanked by pies and a cake, while each of the conspirators held a lighted cigar in one hand while they took turns at the jug. A huge piece of pie rested in a plate at Humble’s side, while Bill’s knee held a piece of cake.
“Hands up!” shouted Humble, grabbing a gun. “Don’t you dare to raid the gallery! You stay right where you are!”
Bill’s blacksnake whip leaped from point to point experimentally, picking up twigs and leaves with disturbing accuracy.
The invaders halted just beyond the range of the whip and consulted uneasily, not noticing that the driver had shortened his weapon by twice the length of its handle. Finally Jim and Docile ran back toward the corral while their friends waited impatiently for their return, grinning at the enemy with an I-told-you-so air.
Bill suddenly leaned forward, the whip slid down into his hand to the end of the handle and cracked viciously. Joe Haines, who had grown a little careless, leaped into the air and yelled, grabbing at his leg.
“Keep your distance, you!” warned the driver, trying to look ferocious. “Twenty feet is the dead-line, children.”
Jim and Docile returned apace and brought with them half a dozen lariats, which ranged in length from thirty to forty feet.
“Hey, you!” cried Humble in alarm. “That ain’t fair!”
Grim silence was the only reply as the invaders each took his rope and surrounded the two. Then, suddenly, the air was full of darting ropes and in less time than it takes to tell of it the pair were hopelessly and helplessly trussed. Silent ran in and hurled the whip away and then squatted before the prisoners, throwing their cigars after the whip as he took up the pie and cake, which he tantalizingly munched before their eyes.
“I like a hog, all right, but you suit me too blamed well!” asserted Bud, grabbing at Silent’s pie.
“Gimme some of that,” demanded Jim, trying for the cake. And when the disturbance had ceased there were no signs of either pie or cake.
“It’s the travois for you, Humble dear!” softly hummed Charley Bailey. “And to the ranch, by the way of town!”
“And Bill will be pleased to explore the Limping Water on the bottom,” amended Jim. “One of us can drive the women home!”
ABOUT thirty people sat in a circle on the grass in the grove on the A-Y, engaged in taking viands from the well-filled plates which made the rounds. Keen humor from all sides kept them in roars of laughter, Humble and Bill provoking the greater part of it. Humble sat next to Miss Ritchie, while The Orphan and Bill flanked Helen, the sheriff next to his new foreman. Humble’s face had a look of benign condescension when he allowed himself to bestow perfunctory attentions on the members of his outfit, whom he graciously called “purty fair punchers in a way.”
Crawford, the former owner of the A-Y, sat next to Shields, and when the lunch had reached the cigar stage he arose and cleared his throat.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Bill and Humble,” he began amid laughter. “I have been regarded as the host of this picnic, and the false position embarrasses me. But any such momentary feeling is compensated by the importance of what I have to tell you.
“When I took up the A-Y it was with a determination to keep it and to spend the rest of my days on it in peace. This I have found to be impossible, and in consequence I have turned it over to a better man. The energy which I have seen applied in the right way for the last few weeks has assured me that the A-Y will soon be second in importance and wealth to no ranch in this country. I have seen order, system, emerge from chaos; I have seen five thousand cattle re-branded and taken care of in such dispatch as to astonish me and be almost beyond my belief. The sheriff has been as economical in the use of his energy as he can be in the use of his words. By that I don’t mean in the way that is causing you to smile, but simply that he knows how to accomplish the most work with the least possible expenditure of effort and time, as witnessed by the condition of this ranch to-day. But while he has been the guiding spirit in the work of putting the ranch on its proper footing, he has had as good assistants as it is possible to find.
“I don’t wish to tire you with any long speech, for brevity is the soul of more than wit, so I will close by telling you that the A-Y is in new and better hands–our sheriff is now its owner, and I extend to him my heartiest wishes for his success in his new venture. I must thank him and all of you for a very pleasant day and a memory to take East with me.”
For an instant there was intense silence, and then a small battle seemed to be taking place. The noise of the shooting and cheering was deafening and smoke rolled down like a heavy fog. The sheriff met the rush toward him and put in a very busy few minutes in shaking hands and replying to the hearty congratulations which poured in upon him from all sides. Everybody was happy and all were talking at once, and Bill could be heard reeling off an unbroken string of words at high speed.
The Orphan fought his way to his best friend and gripped both hands in his own.
“By God, Sheriff!” he cried. “This is great news, and I’m plumb glad to hear it! I hope you have the very best of luck and that your returns, both in pleasure and money, far exceed your fondest expectations. Anything I can do is yours for the asking.”
“Thank you, son,” replied the sheriff, looking fondly into his friend’s eyes. “I’m going to call on you just as soon as I can make myself heard in all this hellabaloo. Just listen to that!” he exclaimed as Silent let loose again.
“Glory be!” yelled he of the misleading name, slapping Humble across the back. “For this you ride home like a white man, Humble–all your sins are forgiven! Hurrah for the sheriff, his family and the A-Y!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, and his cheer was supported unanimously with true cowboy enthusiasm and vim.
“Hurray for me, too!” shouted Bill in laughter. Then he fled, with Silent in hot pursuit.
The sheriff tried to speak, and after several attempts was finally given silence.
“Thank you, everybody!” he cried, his face beaming. “I am happy for many reasons to-day, but foremost among them is the fact that I have so many warm and loyal friends. The A-Y is always open to all of you, and I’ll be some disappointed if you don’t put in a lot of your spare time over here.”
He paused for a few seconds and then looked at The Orphan, who stood at Helen’s side.
“Mr. Crawford did his part a whole lot better than I can do mine, I’m afraid, but I’m going to do my best, anyhow. The news has only been half told–the name of the new foreman of the A-Y henceforth will be The Orphan! Whoop her up, boys!” he shouted, leading a cheer which was not one whit less a cheer than those which had gone before.
The Orphan stared in astonishment, for once in his life he had been surprised. The sheriff at last had the drop on him. He looked from one to another, started to step forward and then changed his mind and looked appealingly at Helen, who smiled in a way to double the speed of his heart-beats.
Her eyes were moist, and the sudden consciousness that she formed half of the objective of all eyes caused her cheeks to go crimson. Her hand impulsively went to his shoulder and without thought on her part, and his incredulous questioning was answered by her.
“It’s all true,” she said earnestly. “I’ve known of it for a whole week now. You are the real foreman of the A-Y, and I most earnestly hope for your success.”
He suddenly seemed to be above the earth and his voice broke in his stammered reply. For a fraction of a second her eyes had told him what he had dreamed of, what he had hoped for above all things, and he grasped her hand for a second as he stepped forward toward his new employer, whose hand met his with a man’s grasp.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” he said, his head whirling from the surprises of a minute. “You’ve been squarer and fairer with me than any man I’ve ever known, and hell will look nice to me if I don’t make good with you.
“Thank you, boys; thank you, Bill: you’re all right, every one of you!” he cried as his friends crowded about him. “What the sheriff said about warm friends was the truth–thank you, Bud and Jim! Thank you, Blake–you’re another brick! Good God, what I have gained in two months! I can scarcely believe it, it seems so like a dream. That’s a real warm grip, all right, though,” he exclaimed as he shook hands with Humble, “so I reckon it’s all true. Two months!” he marveled. “Two glorious, glorious months! A new start in life, a loyal crowd of friends, a–and all in two months! And there is the man I owe it all to,” he suddenly cried, pointing to the sheriff. “There’s the whitest man God ever made, and I’ll kill the man who says I lie!”
“Good boy!” shouted Bill in enthusiastic endorsement. “You two make a pair of aces what can beat any full-house ever got together, and I’ll lick the man who says I lie!” he yelled pugnaciously. “The Orphant may be an orphant, all right, but he’s got a whole lot of brothers.”
Mrs. Shields walked over to The Orphan and placed a motherly hand on his shoulder as he recovered.
“You won’t be an orphan any longer, my boy,” she said, smiling up at him. “You’re one of us now–I always wanted a son, and God has given me one in you.”
DURING the month which followed the picnic things ran smoothly on the A-Y, and the rejuvenated ranch was the pride of the whole contingent, from the sheriff down to the cook. The Orphan had taken charge with a determination which grew firmer with each passing day and the new owner was delighted at the outcome of his plans. The foreman, elated and happy at his sudden shift in fortune, radiated cheerfulness and consideration. His men knew that he would not ask them to do anything which he himself feared to do, which would not have been much consolation to a timid man, since he feared nothing; but to them it meant that they had a foreman who would stick by them through fire and water, and a foreman who commands respect from his outfit is a man whose life is made easy for him. He had known too much of unkindness, harshness, to become angry at mistakes; instead, he set diligently at work to undo them, and mistakes were rare. The very men who had once wished for his life would now fight instantly to save it. They were proud of him, of the owner, the ranch and themeselves; and proudest of all was Bill, once driver of the stage, but now a cowboy working hard and loyally under the man who had once held him up for a smoke.
Visitors were numerous, and every man who called became enthusiastic about the ranch, and after he had departed marveled at the complete change in the man who was its foreman, and felt confidence in the good judgment of the sheriff. Ford’s Station was openly jubilant, for the town exulted in the discomfiture of the Cross Bar-8 and in the proof that their sheriff was right. And Ford’s Station chuckled at the news it heard, for the foreman of the Cross Bar-8 had called twice at the A-Y and was fast losing his prejudice against The Orphan. Sneed had found a quiet, optimistic foreman in the place of his former enemy, and the laughter which lurked in The Orphan’s eyes closed the breach. He had seen the man in a new light, and when he had said his farewell at the close of his second visit the grip of his hand was strong. As for the Star C, a trail had been worn between the two ranches and hardly a day passed but one or more of its punchers dropped in to say a few words to their former bunkmate, and to stir up Bill. The Star C, no less than his own men, swore by The Orphan.
One bright morning the sheriff left for a trip to Chicago and other packing cities to arrange for future cattle shipments, and announced that he would be away for a week or two. On the night following his departure trouble began. The ranch and bunk houses of the Cross Bar-8 were fired into, and when Sneed and his men had returned after a fruitless search in the dark the foreman stared at the wall and swore. Was it The Orphan again? In the absence of the sheriff had he renewed the war? First thought cried that he had, but gradually the idea became untenable. Why should The Orphan risk his splendid berth on the A-Y, his prospects now rich in promise, to work off any lingering hatred? When Sneed had shaken hands with him he found apparent sincerity in the warm clasp. He would ride over at daylight and have the matter settled once and for all. And if satisfied that The Orphan was guiltless of the outrage he would turn his whole attention to the imitator of the former outlaw.
The Orphan was mending his saddle girth when he saw Sneed cantering past the farthest corral. The latter’s horse bore all the signs of hard riding and he looked up inquiringly at the visitor.
“Good morning, Sneed,” he said pleasantly, arising and laying aside the saddle. “What’s up, anything?”
“Yes, and I came over to find out about it,” Sneed answered. “I hardly know how to begin–but here, I’ll tell it from the beginning,” and he related what had occurred, much to the wonder of The Orphan.
“Now,” finished the visitor, “I want to ask you a question, although I may be a d––n fool for doing it. But I want to get this thing thrashed out. Do you know who did it?”
The foreman of the A-Y straightened up, his eyes flashing, and then he realized that Sneed had some right to question him after what had occurred in the past.
“No, Sneed, I do not,” he answered, “but in two guesses I can name the man!”
“Good!” cried Sneed. “Go ahead!”
“Bucknell?”
“No, he was with me in the bunk-house,” replied the foreman of the Cross Bar-8. “It wasn’t him–go on.”
“Tex Williard,” said The Orphan with decision.
“Tex?” cried Sneed. “Why?”
“It’s plain as day, Sneed,” The Orphan answered. “He’s sore at me, but lacks nerve.”
“But, thunderation, how would he hurt you by shooting at us?” Sneed demanded, impatiently.
“Oh, he would scare up a war during the sheriff’s absence by throwing your suspicions on me. He reckoned you would think that I did it, get good and mad, fly off the handle and raise h–l generally. He figured that I, according to the past, would meet you half way and that you or some of your men might kill me. If you didn’t, he reckoned that the sheriff would kick me out of this berth, and that one or both of us might get killed in the argument. He could sit back and laugh to himself at how easy it was to square up old scores from a distance. It’s Tex as sure as I am here, and unless Tex changes his plans and gets out of this country d––n soon he won’t be long in getting what he seems to ache for.”
Sneed pushed back his sombrero and smiled grimly: “I reckon that you’re right,” he replied. “But you ain’t sore at the way I asked, are you? I had to begin somewhere, you know.”
“Sore?” rejoined his companion, angrily. “Sore? I’m so sore that I’m going out after Tex right now. And I’ll get him or know the reason why, too. You go back and post your men about this–and tell them on no account to ride over my range for a few days, for they might get hurt before they are known. Put a couple of them to bed as soon as you get back–you need them to keep watch nights.”
He turned toward the corral and called to a man who was busy near it: “Charley, you take anybody that you want and get in a good sleep before nightfall. I will want both of you to work to-night.”
“All right, after dinner will be time enough,” Charley replied. “I’ll take Lefty Lukins.”
The Orphan went into the ranch house and returned at once with his rifle, a canteen of water and a package of food. As he threw a saddle on his horse Bill galloped up, waving his arms and very much excited.
“Hey, Orphant!” he shouted. “Somebody’s shore enough plugged some of our cows near the creek! I lost his trail at the Cottonwoods!”
“All right, Bill,” replied the foreman, “I’ll go out and look them over. You take another horse and ride to the Star C. Tell Blake to keep watch for Tex Williard, and tell him to hold Tex for me if he sees him. Lively, Bill!”
Bill stared, leaped from his horse, took the saddle from its back and was soon lost to sight in the corral. In a few minutes he galloped past his foreman and Sneed swearing heartily. His quirt arose and fell and soon he was lost to sight over a rise near the ranch-house.
The foreman of the A-Y rode over to Charley: “Charley, in case I don’t get back to-night, you and Lefty keep guard somewhere out here, and shoot any man who don’t halt at your hail. If I return in the dark I’ll whistle Dixie as soon as I see the lights in the bunk house, and I’ll keep it up so you won’t mistake me. So long.”
Sneed and he cantered away together and soon they parted, the former to ride toward his ranch, the latter toward the Cottonwoods near the Limping Water and along the trail left by Bill.
When near the grove The Orphan saw five dead cows and he quickly dismounted to examine them.
“Not dead for long,” he muttered as he examined the blood on them. He leaped into his saddle and galloped through the grove. “Now, by God, somebody pays for them!” he muttered.
Here was a sudden change in things, positions had been reversed, and now he could appreciate the feelings which he had, more than once, aroused in the hearts of numerous foremen. He emerged from the grove and rode rapidly along the trail left by the perpetrator, alert, grim and angry. Soon the trail dipped beneath the waters of the creek and he stopped and thought for a few seconds. If it was Tex, he would not have ridden toward the Cross Bar-8 and the town, and neither would he have ridden south toward the Star C, nor north in the direction of the A-Y. He would seek cover for the day if he was still determined to carry on his game, and would not emerge until night covered his movements. That left him only the west along the creek, and more than that, the creek turned to the south again about five miles farther on and flowed far too close to the ranch-houses of the Star C for safety. He must have left the water at the turn, and toward the turn rode The Orphan, watching intently for the trail to emerge on either bank. His deductions were sound, for when he had rounded the bend of the stream he picked up the trail where it left the water and followed it westward.
The country around the bend was very wild and rough, for ravines between the hills cut seams and gashes in the plain. The underbrush was shoulder high, and he did not know how soon he might become a target. The trail was very fresh in the soft loam of the ravines and the broken branches and trampled leaves were still wet with sap. Soon he hobbled his horse and proceeded on foot, but to one side of and parallel with the trail. He had spent an hour in his advance and had begun to regret having left his horse so early, when he heard the report of a gun near at hand and a bullet hissed viciously over his head as he stooped to go under a low branch.
He threw up his arms, the rifle falling from his hands, pitched forward and rolled down the side of the hill and behind a fallen tree trunk which lay against a thicket. As soon as he had gained this position he glanced in the direction from whence the shot had come and, finding himself screened from sight on that side, quickly jerked off his boots and planted them among the bushes, where they looked as if he had crawled in almost out of sight. That done, he crawled along the ground under the protection of the tree trunk and then squirmed under it, when he pushed himself, feet first, deep into a tangled thicket and waited, Colt in hand, for a sign of his enemy’s approach.
A quarter of an hour had passed in silence when a shot, followed by another, sounded from the hillside. After the lapse of a like interval another shot was fired, this time from the opposite direction. He saw a twig fall by the boots and heard the spat! of the bullet as it hit a stone. Two more shots sounded in rapid succession, and then another long interval of silence. Half an hour passed, but he was not impatient. He most firmly believed that his man would, sooner or later, come out to examine the boots, and time was of no consequence: he wanted the man.
Whoever he was, he was certainly cautious, he did not believe in taking any chances. It was almost certain that he would not leave until he had been assured that he had accomplished his purpose, for it would be most disconcerting at some future time to unexpectedly meet the man he thought he had murdered. Another shot whizzed into the place where the body should have been, according to the silent testimony of the boots. It sounded much closer to the thicket, but in the same direction of the last few shots. Then, after ten minutes of silence, a twig snapped, and directly behind the thicket in which The Orphan was hidden! The foreman’s nerves were tense now, his every sense was alert, for his was a most dangerous position. He quickly glanced over his shoulder into the thicket and found that he could not penetrate the mass of leaves and branches, which reassured him. He was very glad that he had forced himself well into the cover, for soon the leaves rustled and a pebble rolled not more than four feet off, and in front of him, slightly at his right. More rustling and then a head and shoulder slowly pushed past him into view. The man moved very slowly and cautiously and was crouched, his head far in advance of his waist. The Orphan could see only one side of the face, the angle of the man’s jaw and an ear, but that was enough, for he knew the owner. Slowly and without a sound the foreman’s right hand turned at the wrist until the Colt gleamed on a line with the other’s heart. The searcher leaned forward and to one side, that he might better see the boots, when a sound met his ears.
“Don’t move,” whispered the foreman.
The prowler stiffened in his tracks, frozen to rigidity by the command. Then he slowly turned his head and looked squarely into the gun of the man he thought he had killed.
“Christ!” he cried hoarsely, starting back.
“I don’t reckon you’ll ever know Him,” said The Orphan, his voice very low and monotonous. “Stand just as you are–don’t move–I want to talk with you.”
Tex simply stared at him in pitiful helplessness and could not speak, beads of perspiration standing out on his face, testifying to the agony of fear he was in.
“You’re on the wrong side of the game again, Tex,” The Orphan said slowly, watching the puncher narrowly, his gun steady as a rock. “You still want to kill me, it seems. I’ve given you your life twice, once to your knowledge, and I told you with the sheriff that I would shoot you if you ever returned; and still you have come back to have me do it. You were not satisfied to let things rest as they were.”
Tex did not reply, and The Orphan continued, a flicker of contempt about his lips.
“You were never cast for an outlaw, Tex. If I do say it myself, it takes a clever man to live at that game, and I know, for I’ve been all through it. As you see, Sneed and I didn’t shoot each other, for the play was too plain, too transparent. You should have ambushed one of his men, burned his corrals and slaughtered his cattle, for then he might have shot and talked later. And he might have gotten me, too, for I was unsuspecting. I don’t say that I would kill an innocent man to arouse his anger if I had been in your place, I’m only showing you where you made the mistake, where you blundered. Had you killed one of his men it is very probable that his rage would have known no bounds, but as it was the provocation was not great enough.”
Tex remained silent and unconsciously toyed at his ear. The Orphan looked keenly at the movement and wondered where he had seen it before, for it was familiar. His face darkened as memory urged something forward to him out of the dark catacombs of the past, and he stilled his breathing to catch a clue to it. He saw the little ranch his father had worked so hard over to improve, and had fought hard to save, and then the picture of his dying mother came vividly before him; but still something avoided his searching thoughts, something barely eluded him, trembling on the edge of the Then and Now. He saw his father’s body slowly swinging and turning in the light breeze of a perfect day, and he quivered at the nearness of what he was seeking, its proximity was tantalizing. The rope!–the rope about his father’s neck had been of manila fiber; he could never forget the soiled, bleached-yellow streak which had led upward to Eternity. And manila ropes were, at that time, a rarity in that part of the country, for rawhide and braided-hair lariats had been the rule. And on the day when he had given Tex his life in the defile he had noticed the faded yellow rope which had swung at the puncher’s saddle horn. As he strained with renewed hope to catch the elusive impression another scene came before him. It was of three men bent over a cow, engaged in blotting out his father’s brand, and instantly the face of one of them sprang into sharp definition on his mental canvas.
“D––n you!” he cried, his finger tightening on the trigger of the Colt which for so many years had been his best friend. “I know you now, changed as you are! Now I know why you have been so determined for my death. On the day that I cut my father down I swore that I would kill the man who had lynched him if kind fate let me find him, and I have found him. You have just five minutes to live, so make the most of it, you cowardly murderer!”
Tex’s face went suddenly white again and his nerve deserted him. His Colt was in his hand, but oh, so useless! Should he fight to the end? A shudder ran through him at the thought, for life was so good, so precious; far too precious to waste a minute of it by dying before his time was up. Perhaps the foreman would relent, perhaps he would become so wrapped up in the memories of the years gone by as to forget, just for half a second, where he was. The watch in The Orphan’s hand gave him hope, for he would wait until the other glanced at it–that would be his only hope of life.
The foreman’s watch ticked loudly in the palm of his left hand and the Colt in his right never quivered. The first minute passed in terrifying silence, then the second, then the third, but all the time The Orphan’s eyes stared steadily at the man before him, gray, cruel, unblinking.
“They told me to do it! They told me to do it!” shrieked the pitiful, unnerved wreck of a man as he convulsively opened and shut his hand. “I didn’t want to do it! I swear I didn’t want to do it! As God is above, I didn’t want to! They made me, they made me!” he cried, his words swiftly becoming an unintelligible jumble of meaningless sounds. He stared at the black muzzle of the Colt, frozen by terror, fascinated by horror and deadened by despair. The watch ticked on in maddening noise, for his every sense was now most acute, beating in upon his brain like the strokes of a hammer. Then the foreman glanced quickly at it. The gun in Tex’s hand leaped up, but not quickly enough, and a spurt of smoke enveloped his face as he fell. The Orphan stepped back, dropping the Colt into its holster.