HOW A MOFFATT HENCHMAN WAS OUSTED
Another episode during this roundup gave Lafe a lasting reputation among
cowmen for cool judgment.
The outfit was working the foothills country. In nearly all the draws of
this region nesters had settled, for one could grow corn and alfalfa in
abundance, and some had laid out small peach orchards. They farmed in
quarter-sections, and generally six or eight miles separated the farms.
Some of them owned a few head of cattle, which grazed on the open range
with the herds of the big companies.
Consequently, when the Anvil wagon went on its roundup and began
gathering cows and calves from valley and hill and brakes, it was joined
at various points by nesters. They came to see that the calves belonging
to any of their cows that might be in a roundup got the proper brand;
and they received free chuck, and worked as members of the outfit.
Late one afternoon a horseman ambled into camp and alighted leisurely
close to the wagon. He left his mount standing almost on top of the pots
whilst he secured a match from a drawer in the chuckbox. Now, it is
contrary to camp tradition to bring one's horse within a certain radius.
Fat Dave stuck his arms akimbo and surveyed the visitor with
ill-concealed rage.
"What for you don't hitch him to the coffee pot?" he sneered. "Perhaps
you'd best put that ol' skate in my bed."
"Pshaw!" said the other, laughing. "I clean forgot, Dave."
He led the beast beyond the woodpile and returned to the fire. Dave was
lifting some coals with a shovel, to put under a pot.
"Going to be with us, Ben?" he inquired, considerably mollified.
"I was sort of figuring on it."
A long silence, while the cook spread live coals on top of the Dutch
oven wherein the bread was baking.
"Why, I didn't know you run any cattle, Ben."
"A few ol' cows. They're my nephew's," said the other.
He squatted on a pile of bedding and engaged the cook in conversation. A
close observer might have remarked that Dave was wary in his replies--at
least, wary for Dave, who was accustomed to call a spade a damned
shovel.
"How're the boys off for beddin'?" asked the visitor.
"Right scarce. These nights get right cold now, I can tell you."
"Somebody'll find room for me, don't you reckon?"
Dave considered a moment.
"You can sleep with me, Ben," he said finally.
When the boys rode in to supper, tired and quiet from a punishing day,
the cook seized an opportunity to speak to the boss. Lafe was adding up
figures in a tally-book on the rim of a wagon wheel.
"Say, Lafe," began the cook, "this here nester, Ben Walsh, that just
come in--"
"Well?" said Johnson.
"What's he doing here? What does he want? That's what I'd like to know.
Hey?"
"He came to get his cattle, I reckon."
"Cattle?" Dave snorted. "Him? Why, he never had even a dogie calf. No,
sir; no, Lafe, that Walsh is a bad hombre. He's mean. Meaner'n poison.
None of the Moffatts ain't no meaner."
"The Moffatts?" Lafe repeated, pausing with his pencil in midair.
"What's this nester got to do with Steve Moffatt or his kin?"
"Why," said the cook, "this Ben done married Moffatt's sister. He sure
thinks he's some gunman, too, Ben does--most as good as Steve."
The boss was very thoughtful as they ate their meal. He spoke civilly to
Walsh and discussed with him the condition of cattle and grass, and the
water supply. He even offered Dave an extra blanket on learning that the
cook had proffered the visitor a bed.
During the work next day, as Lafe was dispersing his riders, he stopped
to ask of Walsh: "Where do you figure you're most like to find yours,
Mr. Walsh?"
The nester mentioned a stretch of chaparral, and Johnson assigned him to
that strip. He noted that Walsh performed his tasks indolently. Once,
too, while they were working the herd, he caught a criticism of his
methods that the nester was voicing to a cowboy. Lafe did not show any
resentment, although the tone employed was raised purposely that he
might hear, but bode his time.
A couple of days passed and the boss became aware that he was being made
a butt by the nester. Malcontents can be found in every outfit. So there
were some in the Anvil who listened to Walsh's low-voiced talk and
joined readily in the laugh. After supper on the third evening, one of
the old hands told Lafe that Walsh was "knocking" him.
"I know," said Johnson.
"But it hurts you with the boys," the other protested. "They don't work
so good. Why, to-day, when you put Walsh on day herd and he went to the
spring instead, a lot of 'em laughed and joked."
"Sure," said Lafe, evenly, "I know. I'm just waiting. Thanks, all the
same, Mit."
Unvarying civility for another day on Johnson's part; on Walsh's, a
cautious expansion of his policy of weakening discipline. The next night
somebody inaugurated a game of pitch on a saddle-blanket by lantern
light. Although the boss had not absolutely tabooed gambling, of late
he had discountenanced it among the Anvil boys on the roundup. He was
about to order the game stopped, when he perceived that Walsh was one of
the players. Upon that he walked over and asked to be allowed to take a
hand.
The game ran with varying fortune. The players praised or cursed the
cards with gusto, according to their luck, as is the way with
cowboys--except Johnson, who won or lost with equal imperturbability.
During a pause, someone told a story. Next deal, Walsh capped it with
another. Just as he reached the point, he paused suddenly to examine his
cards.
"And what," said Lafe, whose mind was on other things, "what did the
girl do then?"
Walsh promptly sprang the point, a time-worn catch which under any other
circumstances Lafe would have readily foreseen. The majority of the
spectators around the blanket broke into crackling laughter. A few kept
silent, for there was a venom, a calculated malice in Walsh's tone which
did not escape the older men. The boss felt it, and for a moment his
eyes held Walsh's steadily. Both wore guns, as did every man during
roundup. Then Lafe threw back his head and laughed with such unaffected
heartiness that the nester seemed puzzled. Throughout the remainder of
the game he looked rather crestfallen.
Dave was cooking dinner about noon. The nester lolled in camp, having
advanced a plea of sickness to avoid work that morning. When the sun was
past its height, the outfit galloped in. Behind came Johnson, his horse
moving at a sober walk. He was dragging a cow at the end of his rope.
Arrived close to the fire, he ordered Mit to heel the animal, and when
she was stretched out, borrowed a sharp knife from the cook. Then he
went to the cow's head and took hold of her tongue.
"Land's sake, Lafe," cried Dave, "what do you aim to do now?"
"Split her tongue," said Johnson.
"Oh," said the cook. Everybody seemed satisfied.
"Split her tongue?" Walsh echoed, raising himself from a tarpaulin.
"That's a new one on me. What're you going to do that for?"
"So she can lick both sides of her calf at once," Lafe drawled, and
released the animal.
A perfect gale of laughter swept from the Anvil outfit.
"Damn my fat haid! Damn my ol' fat haid!" bellowed the cook.
A fig for Walsh and his prowess as a gunfighter! Dave feared no man. He
went his way, grouchy and unreckoning, secure in the sanctity that
hedges a cook. Besides, if that failed him, he had usually a pothook
handy. Now, he threw himself flat on his back and kicked his heels in
the air.
One must give Walsh his due. He had pluck to spare, but ridicule is the
hardest thing to face in life. Besides, what earthly use was there in
defying a whole outfit? He gave a sickly smile and returned to his
tarpaulin.
To him came Lafe after dinner.
"How're you feeling?" he asked.
"Better."
"Well," said the boss, "we're moving to-day, Walsh. You don't seem to
have found any of your stuff. It's certain you won't, where we're
heading. So I reckon it'd save you trouble if you got moving."
Walsh eyed him expectantly.
"All right," he said at last. "You're the boss."
In this manner was discipline restored among the Anvil men.