_Bud Shoop and Bondsman_
As a young man, Bud Shoop had punched cattle on the southern ranges,
cooked for a surveying outfit, prospected in the Mogollons, and essayed
homesteading on the Blue Mesa, served as cattle inspector, and held for
many years the position of foreman on the great Gila Ranch, where, with
diligence and honor, he had built up a reputation envied by many a
lively cow-puncher and seldom tampered with even by Bud's most
vindictive enemies. And he had enemies and many friends.
Meanwhile he had taken on weight until, as one of his friends remarked,
"Most any hoss but a Percheron draft would shy the minute Bud tried to
put his foot in the stirrup."
And when Bud came to that point in his career when he summed up his past
and found that his chief asset was experience, garnished with a somewhat
worn outfit of pack-saddles, tarps, bridles, chaps, and guns, he sighed
heavily.
The old trails were changing to roads. The local freight intermittently
disgorged tons of harvesting machinery. The sound of the Klaxton was
heard in the land. Despite the times and the manners, Bud's girth
increased insidiously. His hard-riding days were past. Progress marched
steadily onward, leaving an after-guard of homesteaders intrenched
behind miles of barbed-wire fence and mazes of irrigating-ditches. The
once open range was now a chessboard of agricultural endeavor, with the
pawns steadying ploughshares as they crept from square to square until
the opposing cattle king suffered ignominious checkmate, his prerogative
of free movement gone, his army scattered, his castles taken, and his
glory surviving only in the annals of the game.
Incidentally, Bud Shoop had saved a little money, and his large
popularity would have won for him a political sinecure; but he disliked
politics quite as heartily as he detested indolence. He needed work not
half so much as he wanted it.
He had failed as a rancher, but he still held his homestead on the Blue
Mesa, some twenty miles from the town of Jason, an old Mormon settlement
in the heart of the mesa country.
Friday morning at sunup Bud saddled his horse, closed the door of his
cabin on the Blue Mesa, and, whistling to his old Airedale, Bondsman,
rode across the mesa and down the mountain trail toward Jason. By
sundown that night he was in town, his horse fed, and he and Bondsman
sitting on the little hotel veranda, watching the villagers as they
passed in the dusk of early evening.
Coatless and perspiring, Bud betook himself next morning to the office
of the supervisor of that district of the Forest Service. Bondsman
accompanied him, stalking seriously at his master's heels. The
supervisor was busy. Bud filled a chair in the outer office, polished
his bald spot with a blue bandanna, and waited.
Presently the supervisor called him in. Bud rose heavily and plodded to
another chair in the private office. Torrance, the supervisor, knew Bud;
knew that he was a solid man in the finer sense of the word from the
shiny dome of his head to his dusty boot. And Torrance thought he knew
why Bud had called. The Airedale sat in the outer office, watching his
master. Occasionally the big dog rapped the floor with his stubby tail.
"He's just tellin' me to go ahead and say my piece, John, and that he'll
wait till I get through. That there dog bosses me around somethin'
scandalous."
"He's getting old and set in his ways," laughed Torrance.
"So be I, John. Kind of settin' in my own way mostly."
"Well, Bud, how are things up on the mesa?"
"Growin' and bloomin' and singin' and feedin' and keepin' still, same as
always."
"What can I do for you?"
"Well, I ain't seen a doctor for so long I can't tell you; but I reckon
I need more exercise and a little salary thrown in for luck."
"I'm glad you came in. You needn't say anything about it, but I'm
scheduled to leave here next month."
"Then I reckon I'm left. Higher up, John?"
"Yes. I have this end of it pretty well whipped into shape. They seem to
think they can use me at headquarters."
Bud frowned prodigiously. The situation did not seem to promise much.
And naturally enough, being a Westerner, Bud disliked to come out
flatfooted and ask for work.
His frown deepened as the supervisor asked another question: "Do you
think you could hold down my job, Bud?"
"Say, John, I've stood for a lot in my time. But, honest, I was lookin'
for a job as ranger. I can ride yet. And if I do say it I know every
hill and cañon, every hogback and draw and flat from here to the Tonto
Basin."
"I know it. I was coming to that. The grazing-leases are the most
important items just now. You know cattle, and you know something about
the Service. You have handled men. I am not joking."
"Well, this is like a hobo gettin' up his nerve to ask for a san'wich,
and havin' the lady of the house come runnin' with a hot apple pie. I'll
tackle anything."
"Well, the Department has confidence enough in me to suggest that I name
a successor, subject to their approval. Do you think that you could hold
down this job?"
"If settin' on it would hold it down, it would never get up alive,
John. But I ain't no author."
"Author?"
"Uh-uh. When it comes to facts, I aim to brand 'em. But them reports to
headquarters--"
The supervisor laughed. "You would be entitled to a clerk. The man I
have would like to stay. And another thing. I have just had an
application from young Adams, of Stacey. He wrote from St. Johns. He
wants to get into the Service. While we are at it, what do you know
about him?"
"Nothin'. But his mother runs a right comf'table eatin'-house over to
Stacey. She's a right fine woman. I knew her when she was wearin' her
hair in a braid."
"I have stopped there. It's a neat place. Would you take the boy on if
you were in my place?"
Bud coughed and studied the ends of his blunt fingers. "Well, now, John,
if I was in your place, I could tell you."
Torrance was amused and rather pleased. Bud's careful evasion was
characteristic. He would do nothing hastily. Moreover, with Shoop as
supervisor, it was safe to assume that the natives would hesitate to
attempt their usual subterfuges in regard to grazing-leases. Bud was too
well known for that. Torrance had had trouble with the cattlemen and
sheepmen. He knew that Shoop's mere name would obviate much argument and
bickering.
"The White Mountain Apaches are eating a lot of beef these days," he
said suddenly.
Shoop grinned. "And it ain't all Gov'ment beef, neither. The line fence
crost Still Cañon is down. They's been a fire up on the shoulder of Ole
Baldy--nothin' much, though. Your telephone line to the lookout is
saggin' bad over by Sheep Crossin'. Some steer'll come along and take it
with him in a hurry one of these days. A grizzly killed a yearlin' over
by the Milk Ranch about a week ago. I seen your ranger, young Winslow,
day before yesterday. He says somebody has been grazin' sheep on the
posted country, west. He was after 'em. The grass is pretty good on the
Blue. The Apaches been killin' wild turkey on the wrong side of their
line. I seen their tracks--and some feathers. They's some down timber
along the north side of the creek over on the meadows. And a couple of
wimmin was held up over by the Notch the other day. I ain't heard the
partic'lars. Young Adams--"
"Where do you get it all, Bud? Only two of the things you mentioned have
been reported in to this office."
"Who, me? Huh! Well, now, John, that's just the run of news that floats
in when you're movin' around the country. If I was to set out to get
info'mation--"
"You'd swamp the office. All right. I'll have my clerk draft a letter of
application. You can sign it. I'll add my word. It will take some time
to put this through, if it goes through. I don't promise anything. Come
in at noon and sign the letter. Then you might drop in in about two
weeks; say Saturday morning. We'll have heard something by then."
Bud beamed. "I'll do that. And while I'm waitin' I'll ride over some of
that country up there and look around."
Torrance leaned forward. "There's one more thing, Bud. I know this job
offers a temptation to a man to favor his friends. So far as this office
is concerned, I don't want you to have any friends. I want things run
straight. I've given the best of my life to the Service. I love it. I
have dipped into my own pocket when Washington couldn't see the need for
improvements. I have bought fire-fighting tools, built trails, and paid
extra salaries at times. Now I will be where I can back you up. Keep
things right up to the minute. If you get stuck, wire me. Here's your
territory on this map. You know the country, but you will find this
system of keeping track of the men a big help. The pins show where each
man is working. We can go over the office detail after we have heard
from headquarters."
Bud perspired, blinked, shuffled his feet. "I ain't goin' to say thanks,
John. You know it."
"That's all right, Bud. Your thanks will be just what you make of this
work when I leave. There has been a big shake-up in the Service. Some of
us stayed on top."
"Congratulations, John. Saturday, come two weeks, then."
And Bud heaved himself up. The Airedale, Bondsman, thumped the floor
with his tail. Bud turned a whimsical face to the supervisor. "Now
listen to that! What does he say? Well, he's tellin' me he sabes I got a
chanct at a job and that he'll keep his mouth shut about what you said,
like me. And that it's about time I quit botherin' folks what's busy and
went back to the hotel so he can watch things go by. That there dog
bosses me around somethin' scandalous."
Torrance smiled, and waved his hand as Bud waddled from the office, with
Bondsman at his heels.
About an hour later, as Torrance was dictating a letter, he glanced up.
Bud Shoop, astride a big bay horse, passed down the street. For a moment
Torrance forgot office detail in a general appreciation of the Western
rider, who, once in the saddle, despite age or physical attributes,
bears himself with a subconscious ease that is a delight to behold, be
he lean Indian, lithe Mexican, or bed-rock American with a girth, say,
of fifty-two inches and weighing perhaps not less than two hundred and
twenty pounds.
"He'll make good," soliloquized the supervisor. "He likes horses and
dogs, and he knows men. He's all human--and there's a lot of him. And
they say that Bud Shoop used to be the last word in riding 'em straight
up, and white lightning with a gun."
The supervisor shook his head. "Take a letter to Collins," he said.
The stenographer glanced up. "Senator Collins, Mr. Torrance?"
"Yes. And make an extra copy. Mark it confidential. You need not file
the copy. I'll take care of it. And if Mr. Shoop is appointed to my
place, he need know nothing about this letter."
"Yes, sir."
"Because, Evers," Said Torrance, relaxing from his official manner a
bit, "it is going to be rather difficult to get Mr. Shoop appointed
here. I want him. I can depend on him. We have had too many theorists in
this field. And remember this; stay with Shoop through thick and thin
and some day you may land a job as private secretary to a State
Senator."
"All right, sir. I didn't know that you were going into politics, Mr.
Torrance."
"You're off the trail a little, Evers. I'll never run for Senator. I'm
with the Service as long as it will have me. But if some clever
politician happens to get hold of Shoop, there isn't a man in this mesa
country that could win against him. He's just the type that the mesa
people like. He is all human.--Dear Senator Collins--"
The stenographer bent over his book.
Later, as Torrance closed his desk, he thought of an incident in Shoop's
life with which he had long been familiar. The Airedale, Bondsman, had
once been shot wantonly by a stray Apache. Shoop had found the dog as
it crawled along the corral fence, trying to get to the cabin. Bud had
ridden fifty miles through a winter snowstorm with Bondsman across the
saddle. An old Mormon veterinary in St. Johns had saved the dog's life.
Shoop had come close to freezing to death during that tedious ride.
Bud Shoop's assets in the game of life amounted to a few acres of mesa
land, a worn outfit of saddlery, and a small bank account. But his
greatest asset, of which he was blissfully unconscious, was a big,
homely love for things human and for animals; a love that set him apart
from his fellows who looked upon men and horses and dogs as merely
useful or otherwise.