A NIGHT RIDE AND DEATH OF BUFFALO JIM
"I'll go round up the pasture for you," he ended. "Will Nugget do? I kin
catch him easiest."
As Johnson was saddling, he told Hetty through the window that perhaps
he would not be back for a week.
"Say, Lafe"--Shortredge was at his elbow, plucking the sleeve of his
shirt--"say, I want to go along."
"I don't reckon you'd ought, Buf'lo," Lafe answered. He spoke in a mild
tone, as though the request were a very natural one. "It's all of thirty
miles and you know what fighting fire means. There won't be nothing to
eat but canned tomatoes and mighty li'l water and--"
"Man alive, I know that," said Shortredge, "but I want to go along."
Johnson coiled his rope and hung it carefully from the fork of the
saddle. "No, I don't think you'd ought to go, Buf'lo."
"Why not? Listen to me, Lafe." He began to plead, his manner nervously
insistent. "If it's going to come, it's going to come, and a lot of good
dodging will do. Give me a chance, and not--say, I don't want to crawl
off like a sick rat. Me and you never used to run away, did we? Well,
I'd kind of like--I'd kind of like to be on top of a good horse."
"Me and you both."
"Come on, Lafe. Go get ol' Scrapper for me. I can stand it all right.
Let's see The Hatter together, like we aimed to do. The sun'll be just
busting himself when we get there."
"Well, you know what it means. Go get your saddle. Whatever you say,
goes," said Johnson.
Ten horsemen met them where the path split, the one to the right
sweeping upward and around the rim of the giant mountain. They were in
ill-humor, for all had been roused from sleep and they knew what was
ahead. Therefore, not a word was exchanged as they dog-trotted in single
file. Sometimes only a pinpoint of light, when a cigarette glowed from a
long intake, showed where they moved.
Rough and rocky was the trail. Shortredge came last, by Johnson's
directions, and the cowboy in front turned in the saddle from time to
time to ascertain that he followed in safety. He marveled much that Jim
should attempt this ride, but advice is the last thing his class will
obtrude. The night was black, but the western sky was a pale yellow, and
a broken line of red wavered intermittently above the farther slope of
The Hatter.
Once Shortredge became conscious of something beside him and faced
toward it swiftly, but there was nothing there. He essayed a laugh.
"Pshaw! I'm shore getting foolish," he muttered. "My eyes, I expect."
Twice after that he was moved to peer into the dark on his right hand.
Surely something rode there, hovering very near. Lafe dropped back from
his position at the head of the line, to satisfy himself about his
friend.
"How goes it?"
"Stronger'n the oldest man in the world," said Buffalo cheerily.
Johnson ranged beside him for a short distance. The line wound ever
upward, in silence. Several times a horse's hoof clacked on rocks with
flare of sparks. At last: "Say, Lafe."
"Well?"
"I've been a-figuring that I must have given you and Hetty a right smart
of trouble. There ain't no way of knowing it from you-all, but I kind of
got the idea--"
"You make me tired," said Johnson angrily. "What's wrong with you,
anyhow? You talk like an ol' woman."
"It's right queer," Shortredge continued, "ain't it?"
"What's queer?"
"Why, me and you both starting out the same way. We used to sleep under
the same blankets, me and you did. And here you've got Hetty and li'l
Lafe--say, Lafe, there's one kid for you. He says to me only
yesterday--"
"Look out for this drop," Johnson cautioned.
"And I've got a bum heart and a bum lung. However, it's all in the game.
Hey, Lafe? A feller's got to grin and face the music. That's all there
is for him to do, I take it."
"What you need," his friend remarked sagely, "is a drink. But we ain't
got any along. Now, take a brace and forget it, Buf'lo. Don't go talking
like a quitter. Just as soon as you're a mite stouter, me and you'll go
shares on that bunch of cattle we were looking over. I done had this in
my mind for a long time. I need a partner--need him bad, what with ol'
Horne's work coming on me more every day."
Buffalo started to say something to this, but Johnson touched Nugget
with the spur and scrambled forward to the head of his men. They
continued to climb. Often they would see the shooting flames; again,
merely a dull glow revealed where the fire raged; and now they were
mounting the sheer walls of a canon, now dipping down the faces of
cliffs. A horse rolled into a gulch and crushed his rider's leg. Johnson
told off a man to look after the injured one. Another strayed from sight
and sound, and bawled frantically for twenty minutes before he caught up
with the party. Soon it was necessary to raise the cry of the night
trail in broken country. Lafe began it.
"Here I go." He sent it weirdly behind him in a long yell.
"Here I go."
And, "Here I go" went down the line to the last man.
Shortredge kept a firm seat and allowed the reins to swing loose. Well
he knew that Scrapper was more to be trusted in this work than the
guidance he or anybody else could give.
"Here I go," came Johnson's halloo.
"Here I go."
"Here--I--go," Jim echoed.
The sting of early morning was in the air, and often he shivered. Stare
at the rider in front as he might, he could not shake off the impression
that something kept pace at his side. Vainly he sought the silhouettes
of the advance horsemen, stark against the yellow sky, when they rounded
a bend. Those were real men. He counted them--nine.
"There's ten in this bunch, all the same," he said to Scrapper. "Don't
you see nobody besides us, boy?"
Apparently Scrapper did not. So Shortredge followed behind, encouraging
Scrapper up the heights, leaning far back against the cantle when they
went downward to thread another defile. Some of the chasms they crossed
took his breath away.
"Well," he quavered, with an uneasy laugh. "We're giving him a run for
his money. Hey, ol' feller? We're shore making him ride some."
At long last they climbed to the topmost ridge. Above was the peak of
The Hatter, and the fire stood revealed a mile below. The air was cold,
and a gray shiver ran along the eastern sky. Shortredge's hand flew
suddenly to the breast of his shirt. He gasped for breath.
"How goes it?" yelled the man ahead.
"Fine as silk," he answered after a minute.
They skirted a crag and the devastation of the flames was hidden from
them. No time was to be lost. With Lafe leading the way, they advanced
at a quickened gait.
"Here I go."
"Here I go."
"Here--I--go," said the last man in a faint voice.
He settled gently in the saddle and Scrapper came to a halt. The reins
trailed on the ground and the rider's hands were gripping the mane.
Thus did Buffalo Jim face the music, atop a good horse, as he had
hoped--the music of the spheres, swelling in the blood-red dawn that
broke back of The Hatter.