SLIM AND SLATS.
Mr. Robert Lakewood was a well-to-do manufacturer,
and, having entire confidence in his boys,
both as to their moral character and their ability to
take care of themselves, he, shortly after his arrival
the following day, made no objection to the proposed trip.
"I have known Mr. Leeds by reputation for some
years and have met him once or twice," he said, "and
if he is willing for you to go, I think it will be a
wonderful experience for you."
It turned out that, as soon as the owner of the
ranch learned that they really wished to go and that
their father was willing, he was most enthusiastic
and declared that he would at once write to his
foreman and tell him that they were coming and that
they were to have the full run of the ranch.
"You'll like Jeb," he told them. "There's a real
he-man for you and what he don't know about the
cattle business simply doesn't exist."
* * * * * * * *
"Some folks shore has all the luck."
"Meaning what, Slim?"
"Slim" Jones, a man who, in his high-heeled
boots, stood all of five feet three inches and weighed
fully a hundred and eighty pounds, glanced quickly
up at his companion, a tall, lanky individual, who
responded to the name of Slats.
"Meaning jest what I said, that's what. Here
I've got to hitch up and drive all the way inter Cold
Springs ter meet them eastern dudes an' all you
gotter do is ter stay here an' mend fence."
"Slats" Magee laughed as he drew himself up
to his full six feet four.
"You poor child," he drawled. "You shore do
seem ter have it rubbed in ter ye fer a fact. But,
as the preacher said, 'it's never so bad but it might be
worse,' so cheer up, ol' timer, an' put the best fut
first."
"Easy 'nough ter give advise when ye're on the
safe end," Slim growled as he got up from the nail
keg on which he had been sitting.
"Tell you what'll I'll do jest ter show there's no
hard feelings. I'll flip a coin ter see who goes and
stays ter mend fence."
"Yer mean it?"
Slim looked slightly incredulous as he felt in his
pocket.
"Shore thing, but no whining if yer lose."
Slim had pulled a half-dollar from his pocket and
as he rested it on his thumb-nail preparatory to
snapping it into the air, he said:
"Never a whine. How yer want it?"
"Heads I stay, tails you go."
"Righto, here she goes," and he spun the coin high
in the air. "Tails it is," he announced disgustedly
an instant later. "Didn't I tell yer as how some
folks has all the luck. I hain't a whinin' now, I'm
only makin' a statement o' fact."
"It's shore too bad," Slats consoled him. "But
you'll enjoy the trip if yer only make up yer mind to
it." And he started off toward the corral while the
mournful loser, with a deep sigh of disgust, turned
toward the huge barn.
"Much obliged jest the same fer givin' me a
chance," he called back over his shoulder.
"Don't mention it, ol' timer," the other shouted
back.
It was some two hours later when Slim Jones
driving along the rough and dusty road on the way
to the town, suddenly drew rein and, as the bronchos
came to a willing stop, he muttered "heads I stay,
tails you go." Several times he repeated the phrase,
each time a little louder until the last time he was
almost shouting.
"Why, if it hadda come heads I'd a had ter go
jest the same," he declared. "The onnery slab-sided,
red-haired skunk. If he tells the boys I'll never hear
the last of it. I'll stretch his onery hide on ter the
barn door fer that, I will, sure's my name's Slim
Jones." Then, after a moment's thought, he
continued his soliloquy. "If I warn't more'n half-way
there I'd turn back and make him go." For several
moments he sat in deep thought and finally a slight
grin began to spread over his broad features and,
picking up the rein, he muttered:
"Well, if he don't tell no one mebby I'll only
shoot him full o' holes."
The ultimate destiny of Slats Magee having been
settled to his satisfaction, Slim tightened the reins
and clucked to the drowsing bronchos whereupon
they started off with a sudden jump which all but
jerked him over backward.
"Hey, thar," he shouted, "don't ye know enough
ter start up without yanking the bottom out o' all
creation when I step on the gas?"
Evidently mistaking his question for a command
the bronchos stopped so suddenly that it was only
by the merest chance that Slim saved himself from
pitching over the dashboard.
"What the Sam Hill's got infer yer onery hides?"
he shouted as he drew himself back onto the seat.
"Seem's how ye think I got no right ter give orders,
but I'll larn ye if ye go ter cuttin' up any more
didoes. Now yer better start up easy like 'f ye want
ter keep yer skins on whole."
As if sensing that the driver meant business the
bronchoes started off again this time breaking into
a swift trot which seemed to suit Slim, for he settled
back in his seat with a sigh of relief. An hour later
the buckboard swung into the main street of the
sleepy little town of Cold Springs and on toward
the station at the farther side.
"Yep, train's on time. Be here in 'bout twenty
minutes more or less," the station agent old him as
he paused by the open window.
But it was nearly an hour before the train pulled
in and Slim, pacing up and down the platform nearly
had, what he called, the fidjets before the whistle
was heard far down the line. But nearly all things
come to an end sooner or later and he brightened up
as he saw two boys, the only passengers to alight,
swing off the rear steps as the train came to a
standstill.
A large trunk was dropped from the baggage car
to the platform and in a moment the train had
disappeared around a curve just beyond the town.
"Guess them's my freight, all right," Slim muttered
to himself as he stepped toward them. "You
the fellers what's goin' out ter the Lazy S?" he asked
pausing a few feet away.
"Yes, sir, that's where we want to go," Bob replied.
"Well I come in ter git ye."
"Then you must be Mr. Jones."
"Hey?"
"I said you must be Mr. Jones," Bob repeated.
"Don't know the gent. He may be----" then
Slim stopped short and turned as red as his thick
coating of tan would allow. "Now you mention it,
my name is Jones," he said slowly. "Yer see," he
grinned, "that's the first time I've been called
anything 'cept Slim fer so long that hanged if fer a
minute, I didn't remember what my proper handle
is, but it's Jones, all right."
"My name is Robert Lakewood and this is my
brother John, but our friends call us Bob and Jack,"
Bob explained.
"But how'd you know my handle?" Slim demanded.
"Why, Mr. Leeds told us about you," Bob replied.
"An' me not bein' hard ter describe I reckon yer
had not much trouble in recognizing me. Yer see,
I'm the only fat man on the ranch an' that's why
they call me Slim. But I reckon we'd better be
hittin' the trail or we won't get back afore dark.
You wait right here till I get the team an' we'll pull
freight. Yer see, I had ter hitch the bronks a piece
down the street 'cause they ain't used ter the cars,
but I'll be right back."
"Reckon we'll like that fellow," Bob said as soon
as Slim was out of hearing.
"I do already," Jack agreed. "But he's sure a
character, all right. Do you suppose he can ride a
horse?"
"If they've got one strong enough," Bob laughed.
"Anyhow, there's not much danger of his feet
dragging on the ground," Jack declared.
Meanwhile Slim was talking to himself as he
strode down the street to where he had hitched the
bronchoes. "Them fellers don't seem as bad's I
expected. Mebby we can make real men out 'o 'em
'f they stay long enough."
The boys were sitting on the trunk when he drove
up a few minutes later and almost before he had
brought the bronchoes to a stand they had it on
the back of the buckboard.
"They don't have ter be waited on, that's sure,"
Slim thought as he proceeded to rope the trunk fast
and his opinion of them went up several points.
"How long will it take to drive out to the ranch,"
Bob asked.
"'Bout three hours."
"How about getting something to eat before we
start?"
"Might get a plate o' beans down ter Jake's, but
we'll have ter hurry."
Jake's was anything but an inviting place to eat
to the boys, accustomed to cleanliness, and their first
impulse was to tell their guide that they were not so
hungry after all but, fearful least they might offend
him or at least create an unfavorable impression in
his mind, they said nothing. To their great surprise,
however, the food was good, very good, in fact, and
both declared that the beans were the best they had
ever eaten. Perhaps a keen appetite was, in part at
least, responsible for their decision.
The boys could see that Slim was in a great hurry
to get started, so they made as quick a meal as their
appetites would permit and soon they were whirling
out of town in a cloud of dust, Bob on the seat with
the driver, while Jack was perched somewhat
precariously on top of the trunk behind.
"We'll change seats every few miles," Bob had
promised him when he had insisted that he had just
as soon ride there as on the seat.
For the first few miles hardly a word was spoken.
Slim had made up his mind that he was not going to
take a fancy to "the Eastern dudes," and he hated,
above all things, to have to change his opinion. So
he had answered "yes" and "no" to their questions
and tried his best to be disagreeable. But it was
contrary to his nature and little by little he forgot
his predetermined role and, as Jack told Bob a little
later, began to thaw out. So by the time they were
half-way home they were talking freely and Slim
had been obliged to acknowledge to himself that they
didn't seem so bad after all. Not that he had given
over his determination to have nothing more to do
with them than he could help, unless it was to make
their existence at the ranch so uncomfortable that
they would cut short their visit as soon as it could
be brought about.
"Are there many rattlesnakes out here?" Bob
asked after they had been a little over two hours on
the road.
"Some."
"Big ones?"
"Some."
It had just occurred to Slim that he was not living
up to his resolve seeing that he had been taking the
lead in the conversation for the past few minutes
and so he again began to answer in single words.
"How about Indians?" Jack asked.
"Some."
"Are they civilized?"
"Some."
"Some what?" Bob broke in.
In spite of himself a grin appeared on Slim's good
natured face and the ice began to thaw again.
"Some Indians and they're some civilized."
"Do you ever shoot them?" Jack asked.
Slim turned his head with a sudden jerk. He had
the notion that the boy was trying to kid him, but
Jack's face was perfectly sober.
"Wal-l," he drawled, "yer know they're under the
protection of the government an' they fine us two
bits apiece for every one we shoot and that makes it
some expensive as a sport so we don't shoot more'n
about a dozen or so a day."
"I guess you didn't get me," Jack laughed. "I
meant snakes, not Indians."
"Oh, snakes. Why bless yer soul, just day afore
yesterday we shipped three barrels o' snake oil fer
the second time in a week and there's about a
spoonful ter a snake."
Slim's face was perfectly straight as he made
the statement and Bob gave Jack a sly wink as a
signal to swallow the story.
"They must be rather thick," he said soberly. "It's
a wonder we haven't seen any along the road."
"Wal-l, yer see, it's a little late in the day fer 'em
ter be out now. They mostly come out long 'bout
nine o'clock in the mornin' and get back inter their
holes afore the dew begins ter fall. Yer see, the
dew gets their rattles wet and when they're wet they
kinder stick together and don't work very well, in
fact, yer can't hear 'em much more'n a mile away
unless they're good an' dry."
"And how far can you hear them when they're
in good working order?" Bob asked.
Slim looked at him a moment before answering.
He was not quite sure that he was getting away
with the yarn, but there was nothing in the boy's
face to indicate that he was not taking it all in good
faith, so he answered:
"Wal-l, o' course, it depends some on the way the
wind's blowing. I had a pet snake last summer an'
we used him ter call the boys home ter dinner an'
sometimes they'd be all of five mile away, but
o' course, him bein' a pet, we couldn't make him
rattle very hard, 'cause they do that only when they're
good an' mad."
"My but it must be pretty dangerous around
here," Jack suggested.
"All depends on how quick yer are at dodging
'em. Yer know they can't jump more'n 'about
twenty feet."
"But I always thought that a rattlesnake could
only jump about its own length," Bob said. "You
don't mean that they grow twenty feet long, do
you?"
"Twenty feet ain't nothin'."
"How long was the biggest one you ever saw?"
Jack asked.
"Wal-l, I can't exactly say as ter that, but it was
some more'n twenty feet, 'cause he was going inter
his hole an' I only saw the last thirty feet or so."
Bob winked at his brother again and Jack said
without a trace of doubt in his voice:
"That must have been some snake."
For a few moments there was silence, then Bob,
thinking it would be a good plan to change the
subject, said:
"Is the soil rich out here?"
"Soil rich! I 'spect we've 'bout the richest soil in
th' world out here. All yer have ter do is ter stick
something in the ground and it'll grow, all right.
Yer can raise anything out here, that is, most
anything 'cept pumpkins."
"And what's the matter with them?" Jack asked
soberly.
"Wal-l, yer see, the soil's so rich that the vines
grow so almighty fast that it wears the pumpkins
all out draggin' 'em over the ground."
"That's too bad," Jack declared, "but can't they
hitch an anchor or something of the sort to them and
slow up their speed a bit?"
Slim gave Jack a searching glance as he asked
the question. He was still a trifle uncertain as to
just how far he was getting away with his yarns.
But the glance evidently reassured him, for he went
on:
"Wal-l, I dunno. One fellow tried hitchin' one
of 'em to a tree with a lariat rope but, laws sakes,
it didn't do no good. Busted the rope like it was a
burnt thread an' he give it up."
During the last half hour they had been climbing
a long hill and now, as they reached its top, a scene
of surpassing beauty stretched out before them. A
broad expanse entirely hemmed in by lofty hills
reached for miles, beginning, as it seemed, almost at
their feet.
"Thar's the Lazy S," Slim announced, pointing
toward a set of buildings located near the center of
the basin.
"It's sure pretty," Jack declared "How big is
the ranch?"
"'Bout ten thousand acres more or less ter the
ranch itself, but the cattle range a lot farther'n that."
"Some farm," Bob muttered.
The bronchos had been inclined to lag coming up
the long hill but now, as though they realized that
home was near and supper waiting for them, seemed
imbued with new life and Slim had his hands full
to hold them as they swept down the mountain and
around sharp curves at a pace which, more than
once, made the boys catch their breath. Bob
especially, who at the time was riding on the trunk, was
obliged to cling on with both hands to the back of
the seat. Several times he was on the point of
asking if they were not going faster than was safe,
but the thought that the cowboy would think that
he was frightened, restrained him and he gritted his
teeth and hung on. But he breathed a sigh of relief
when they reached the bottom and swung out onto
the plain.
It was about an hour later when they drove into
the yard of the ranch house, a long one-story
building with a broad porch reaching across the entire
front. A tall gaunt man, his lean face tanned to
the color of brown leather, rose from the low chair,
as they drove up.
"Just in time for supper," he greeted them as he
stepped from the porch and reached out a hand to
each of them.
"This is Mr. Stebbins?" Bob asked as he grasped
the hand.
"At your service," the man smiled, "though I'm
better known as Jeb around these parts."
"We're very glad to know you and we want to
thank you for sending the buckboard over for us,"
Bob assured him as he jumped to the ground.
"Oh, that's all right. Slim needed a vacation,
anyway, and I don't suppose there's much about the
country here that you don't know now," he grinned
as he cast a searching glance toward the cowboy
who was standing at the broncho's heads. "Slim
sure does like to talk about the country and he's all
right, unless he lets his imagination get away with
him then you want to look out. Hope you haven't
been stretching things, Slim," he added.
The cowboy turned his face away as he bent over
ostensibly to examine one of the broncho's feet and
muttered something in a tone too low for them to
catch.
"I see," Jeb smiled as he began unroping the
trunk, "you want to discount everything he's told you
about five hundred percent and you'll probably get
things about right."
"Supper's getting cold, Dad."
The boys looked up to see a girl about their own
age standing in the doorway and, as Bob later
confided to Jack, she was a sight for sore eyes. Her
face, tanned a rich olive, bore a most engaging smile
and her regular clean-cut features gave her a beauty
which somehow seemed out of place in the rough
setting. She wore a simple gingham dress, but it was
spotlessly clean and fresh.
"This is my daughter, Sue," Mr. Stebbins introduced
her.
Both boys felt the blood rushing to their faces as
they acknowledged the introduction, but the girl
greeted them with a grace which at once put them
at their ease.
"The pump's out back and as soon's you've washed
up we'll have supper," Jeb told them as he led the
way into the house. "Musn't keep Charlie waiting,"
he cautioned them. "He's the chief cook and bottle
washer here and if we don't humor him he's apt to
get sulky and then it shows in his cooking."
Charlie, they learned a little later, was a
Chinaman of uncertain age, who had been on the ranch
for many years and they were not long in finding
that what he did not know about cooking was, as
Jack declared, mighty hard to discover. Whatever
else they did at the ranch it was evident that they
did not stint themselves on food, either as to
quantity or quality and, as the long ride had given them
a keen appetite, they did full justice to the meal.
"Now, Sue, you'll have just about time before
dark to show the boys around the place," Jeb said
as he pushed back his chair.
"Righto," she agreed as she led the way from the
room. "How long was Slim's rattlesnake to-day?"
she laughed a moment later.
"Well, he didn't set any definite length to it,"
Bob smiled. "He said he only saw the last thirty
feet of it as it was going into a hole."
"Thirty feet! Was that all? Slim must be losing
his grip. Did he spring the pumpkins on you?"
"Yes, he told us they were the only things they
couldn't raise out here," Jack smiled.
"Slim's really a dear," she told them, "but he does
love to tell big stories. You mustn't believe only
about half what he says, and you want to look out
for Slats Magee. He's a dear, too, but he loves to
play jokes on folks, especially strangers, and some
times he goes a bit too far. Those two boys are
a pair and you mustn't be a bit surprised at anything
they do. Most of the time they're scrapping
together, although they really think the world of each
other. But they'd never in the world acknowledge
it. You won't be here long before Slim will tell
you what a terrible desperado Slats is and, from
what Slats'll tell you about Slim, you'd think he had
committed every crime known to the law, murder
included."
By this time they had reached the immense barn,
larger by many times than they had supposed a barn
could be, and they were intensely interested as their
guide led them from one part to another.
"How many horses do you keep?" Bob asked.
"About forty, I guess. They're out back in the
corral. We'll go out there after a bit, but first I
must take you over to the shack and introduce you
to the boys."
"How many are there?" Jack asked.
"Just an even dozen."
Several of the "boys" were pitching horse shoes
while the others were watching the game and it was
evident that an exciting match was in progress, for
they did not see them until they were standing close
behind.
"Boys, I want you to meet Bob and Jack Lakewood,"
Sue said suddenly, and the way the cowboys
snatched off their hats proved to the boys that their
fair guide was held in high esteem by them.
"This is Slats Magee, and Slim you've already
met. And this is Reds," indicating a tall, rangy
individual whose bright red hair was a constant
source of fun to his fellows. "There's no use of
mentioning last names, as they never use them and
I doubt if all of them know what they are
themselves," she explained as she continued.
"And this is Spike, and Stubby and Bleary and
Shorty and Fats," indicating a man well over six
feet and so slender that Jack later declared that he
could qualify as the living skeleton in a circus.
"And this is Big Foot and Freckles and Runt and
last, but by no means least, Grumpy.
"He isn't really grumpy, you know, he only looks
that way."
The "boys" acknowledged the introduction with
good grace, but both Bob and Jack were aware of a
feeling of hostility in the air which, however, they
were unable to define. It was as though somehow
they did not quite belong but were being accepted as
a necessary evil.
"Now, we'll go look at the horses before it gets
dark," Sue said, and the game of horse shoes was
at once resumed. "You mustn't mind if the boys are
a bit slow about warming up to you," the girl said.
"You see, they're naturally suspicious of strangers,
as we don't see very many out here, but as soon as
they get acquainted they'll be all right and you'll
find them as good a bunch as you ever met. Do
you ride?"
"Some," Bob replied. "They teach cavalry at the
military college we attended last year."
"That's fine. I'm crazy about riding and we'll
have one before breakfast to-morrow morning if
it suits you."
"Couldn't be better," Jack assured her.
Bob and Jack both loved horses and were fairly
good judges of horse flesh, and they were agreeably
surprised when they saw the beautiful animals in
the corral.
"What beauties," both declared in the same breath.
"We think they're pretty good," the girl said and
at the sound of her voice a splendid bay mare
separated herself from the rest and trotted toward her.
"This is my mare and her name is Lady," she
told them as she pulled a big lump of sugar from
her pocket. "Lady always expects sugar whenever
she sees me," she explained.
"And I'll bet she gets it," Jack laughed.
"That's right, isn't it, Lady?" And by a gentle
neigh Lady declared that it was.