The cattle that Powell and Traynor had watched starting from the Diamond
H, constituted the first shipment of the season, contracted to an
Eastern buyer. Official inspection by the Live Stock Sanitary Board was
exacted, not only regarding the health of shipped cattle, but also to
protect cattlemen from rustlers on the miles of open range.
After reaching Willcox, the boys of the Diamond H drove the herd into
the shipping pens beside the railroad track, locked the gates and turned
with joyous expectation toward the main street of town. Limber parted
from the others a short distance from the corrals.
"I'll tell the inspector we'll be ready tomorrow mornin' soon as the
cars get in," he said, and without waiting reply rode toward the part of
town where the more pretentious houses were bunched.
Like schoolboys out for a holiday, Bronco, Holy and Roarer raced their
ponies to the Cowboys' Rest Corral. Here they were greeted vociferously
by Buckboard Bill, who had retired from driving a skeleton stage and
established the only place where horses or vehicles might be hired.
A few minutes elapsed before the three cowpunchers, afoot, made their
way along the street. Ponies standing with dangling reins and hoofs
buried fetlock deep in the fine, white alkali sand in front of the
stores, told that many other cowpunchers from other ranches were in
town. The Diamond H boys quickly identified the owner of each pony by
its brand.
A row of irregular buildings, consisting of three stores, a Chinese
restaurant, several saloons and a hotel, formed the principal street of
Willcox. Facing the stores across the dusty expanse, lay the Southern
Pacific depot which was the heart of the town, while radiating from it
east and west, like great arteries, ran the steel tracks of the
railroad. Pack burros, loaded with miners' supplies, shuffled out on the
road to Dos Cabezas. Many of these tiny animals were animated
woodpiles--only legs and wagging ears visible from beneath a canopy of
split wood destined for a camp where fuel was not procurable, otherwise.
The only break in the grey monotone of the landscape was the few
cottonwood trees, planted by optimistic souls around their dwelling
places.
It was a typical frontier town of three hundred people, two-thirds of
whom were Mexicans speaking no English. If, by chance, a stranger
alighted from the "passenger" train, the arrival of which was the most
important event of each day, the town, like a naughty child with dirty
face and torn clothes, looked the new-comer over critically. If he met
the inspection squarely, it held out a friendly hand, and as long as he
"played fair" that hand was ready to fight for him and his.
The boys from the Diamond H sauntered leisurely along the street,
exchanging greetings with those they knew, until, under their usual
pretext of expecting mail, they reached the combination store and
post-office. It was an important duty to ascertain beyond doubt whether
any letters were waiting to be claimed by Peter N. Hewland, Dick
Reynolds and Henry Jackson, who were thus able to keep their legal
identification. At all other times they were known as Bronco Pete, Holy
Dick, whose vocabulary of cuss-words held the Arizona record, and
Hell-roarer Jack, with a gentle falsetto voice which under stress of
emotion became a tiny squeak. Convenience had curtailed these names to
Bronc, Holy and Roarer.
Having digested the information that no mail awaited them, they entered
into conversation. One could learn the news of territory, county and
nation in the post-office, besides ascertaining what outfits were in
town. Additional attractions were found in the posters to be read,
notices of round-up work, advertisements of stolen horses or stray
cattle.
It was while browsing on such literature that Bronco halted with mouth
half-open and disbelieving eyes. He read the hand-written notice
deliberately to the end twice before he turned to where Roarer and Holy
were inspecting silver-mounted spurs--which they did not need, but
intended to buy because they had to spend their money someway.
"Say, boys, thar's goin' to be a ice-cream festival tonight!"
"Shucks!" squeaked Roarer. "Try something else, Bronc. You all know that
thar ain't no ice any nearer than Tucson. And nobody's fool enough to
send ninety miles and pay cut-throat rates for ice just to make
ice-cream, except a regular ijit."
The grin on Roarer's face and the faces of other by-standers recalled
Bronco's exploit of ordering ice from Tucson, and reaching the Diamond H
with nothing but a wet blanket in the wagon.
Succumbing to the alluring display in a mail order catalogue, Bronco had
bought an ice-cream freezer, declaring he was going to get filled up on
that delicacy for once in his life--if it took three months' pay. The
episode became historic, and the freezer kindling wood.
"If you don't believe me," challenged Bronco, "come and see for
yourself! What's more, it says here, it's goin' to be free with cake
throwed in," he finished triumphantly.
Holy edged beside Bronco and peered over his shoulder. "Derned if it
ain't so," he acknowledged at last. "But, mebbe that air paper's lyin'."
"What do you think of that?" ruminated Bronco, his mouth watering in
anticipation. "Ice-cream--and cake throwed in free gratis for nothin'.
Looks like some one's struck it rich--turnin' all that loose on the
range for everybody to corral."
"I don't believe it," gloomily asserted Holy, who had acted as escort
for Bronco and the ice that failed. "You can't get ice from Tucson so's
thar'd be anything left unless you order a whole carload at onct."
"Well," retorted Bronco in self-defence, "it depends on who's cartin'
the ice. You would keep on cussin' all the way to the ranch that time,
Holy, an it's no wonder the ice was all melted up. But, this yer ice is
goin' to be in the church and won't have its constitution tried so
hard."
Holy and Roarer looked at each other uncertainly. They hungered for that
ice-cream and cake; but the necessity of treading consecrated board
floors made the matter serious.
"I wonder if you've got to have 'em deal you a ticket if you don't
belong in the pasture?" speculated Bronco, unable to tear himself from
the vicinity of the poster. "Say, Larry," he called to the store-keeper,
"how about this here ice-scream layout? Is it a bluff, or sure enough
free-for-all?"
"Sure enough," answered Larry. "There's a new minister come to town and
the women-folks have pitched in and fixed this up so he can get
acquainted with people. You boys had better take it in. Every one's
going to be there. We're shutting up the stores at seven o'clock
tonight, so everybody can go."
"Say, Larry, did they sure enough get the ice here all right?"
questioned Holy doubtfully.
"They sure did! And that ice-cream and cake is way up in G. Home-made,
every bit of it. What's more, the ladies went to the saloon-keepers and
got them all to promise to shut up the saloons from seven till eleven
tonight. So every one's got to go to the Festival or else go home to
bed."
"I guess we're headed for the ice-scream, boys;" announced Bronco, and
the others nodded acquiescence.
They filed out of the store and, after registering on the empty page of
the hotel book, received a key and mounted the protesting stairs that
ascended outside the hotel to the upper rooms.
While they were engaged in splashing soapy water over faces and hands,
brushing dusty coats and plastering down anarchistic locks, Limber
joined them and was informed of the evening plans.
"Well, I'll see you over there," he promised. "I'm goin' to supper now.
Then I've got to have a talk with Paddy Lafferty and find out what he's
holdin' his herd at."
He reached the door, paused and looked back quizzically. "I reckon you
boys'll be all right tonight, seein' as how you'll all be in church. So
long."
After supper the three cowboys joined a stream of people moving toward
the church, where open doors emitted rays of welcoming light. It was a
medley of humanity possible only in a frontier town. Women had
resurrected dresses more or less old in style, from the depths of
swaddling sheets necessary to keep them from the dust of sandstorms
penetrating chests and trunks. Husbands, whose "best suits" smelled of
camphor, helped shoo small girls in stiffly starched white dresses, tied
with varied-coloured sashes, and boys who twisted and squirmed uneasily
under the galling yoke of white collars and shirts.
Fortified with promises of ice-cream and cake, the youngsters were
distributed on a double row of chairs back of the minister and facing
the audience, where they had a full view of the other victims. Many
miners had wandered into town for their usual Saturday-night and Sunday
recreation, only to face the unprecedented situation of the closed
stores and saloons--learning that there was no "balm in Gilead" from
seven till eleven, for the first time on record in the Territory, they
headed voluntarily for the church. Mexicans, whose own Catholic church
was only opened twice a year, when the Padre came to marry and baptize
wholesale--and frequently married the parents when he baptized the
infant--rubbed elbows with clerks from the stores, bartenders and
prospectors.
Holy, Bronco and Roarer, with amiable, though uneasy grins, faced the
pretty school-teacher, Miss Gordon, a recent importation from San
Francisco. She smiled sweetly at them and held out a small, white hand,
which Bronco took hold of as gingerly as though it were a hot
branding-iron, and let it drop as quickly. Holy, not to be outdone,
extended his own horny hand, but Miss Gordon said, "I have to ask for
your pistols, please, until you are ready to go. There are so many
people here tonight we had to make this rule."
In consternation that was almost paralysis, they stared at her
outstretched hand, then looked at her wheedling smile. Reluctantly,
half-bewildered, each man slowly drew his beloved gun from the holster
in which it reposed, and helpless, watched her add it to the stack on a
table behind her. Then they looked at each other forlornly. Still under
the influence of that dazzling smile, they made no resistance as Miss
Gordon drove them forward. They were as embarrassed as though stripped
of more conventional apparel than six-shooters, but they hoped the
contortions of their faces might be classed as happy smiles when they
saw they were expected to shake hands with the long, rigid line of the
Committee of Ladies which flanked the minister.
As Limber entered the church, he saw his outfit run the gauntlet of
introductions, then they turned precipitately with relieved countenances
and slipped into chairs at the centre of the room. Bronco advised this
location. "Ice-cream might give out if we get too fur back. Thar's a lot
of people here tonight."
A program followed in which the school children sang a song, pitched in
as many keys as there were voices. A recitation by a boy of fourteen,
starting in a megaphone voice, and after the fifth line lapsing into a
whisper, a gasp, silence--a bobbing head--and ending in hasty exit.
Next a five-year old carefully starched youngster galloped breathlessly
without a pause through a couple of verses, exploiting her knowledge
that she knew the audience would be surprised that "one my age should
speak in public on the stage." The applause had hardly died when a buxom
lady with white kid slippers three sizes too small, appropriated the
piano. She arranged her toes on the pedals, then wiggled her feet until
the heels slid out. An expression of beatitude adorned her face, her
chubby hands were lifted and came down on the tinkling keys.
The assaulted, helpless piano responded with the familiar "Maiden's
Prayer," while an apparition in a white lace curtain materialized at the
back door of the room, flopping and twisting toward the spell-bound
spectators. The number had been announced as an "Interpretative dance,"
and Holy whispered cautiously to Bronco, "Is it an Apache dance, or has
she just tooken carbolic acid?"
"Search me," was the response. "Looks like a mixture of both of 'em."
The dancer was agile and angular. She had the distinction of being the
only old maid in the county. Her bare, thin arms waved, gyrated,
supplicated; her knees cracked audibly several times, but her mind was
far away. She was mentally repeating the instructions she had studied so
carefully from a book entitled, "The Art of Classic Dancing without a
Teacher." Then with a last squirm, a convulsive shudder, she flopped to
the floor, and ended the agony with one or two feeble kicks.
"It was a fit!" decided Bronco. "But it's the wust one I ever seed
anything have."
The last number on the program was a little, weazened man with brilliant
red hair, lighter red beard, faded blue eyes, who had brought a small
talking machine. With stupendous dignity he wound it up, then stood with
a new record ready to immediately replace the one being scratched out by
the needle. The pile of records was formidable and he was apparently
determined to skip none, until the head committee lady gently, but
firmly and diplomatically, came to the rescue.
He bowed his appreciation of the tumulutous applause, assuming it was
intended for him. It continued unabated. He opened his mouth wide, to
express his gratification at the ovation accorded. The muscles of his
face twitched, his eyes stared wildly and as the audience leaned forward
anxiously, a terrific sneeze smote the air and a set of false teeth
catapulted like a meteor in the midst of the audience.
A suppressed titter, a bobbing of bodies in the vicinity of the teeth,
and then one of the children, groping on the floor, located the lost
property and rose with a triumphant squeal.
"I got 'em!"
The red-haired individual grasped the rescued property with a smile that
proved Nature may abhor a vacuum but sometimes permits it to exist. The
owner of the touring teeth surveyed them, then nonchalantly popped them
into their accustomed place before he gathered up his records, machine,
and resumed his seat in the front row of the audience, which directed
its attention to the minister.
He was a tall, raw-boned man in long-tailed coat and the white muslin
tie needed a woman's touch, for one end had escaped and hung like the
tail of a kite, as he advanced to the table on which stood a white
pitcher, decorated with brilliantly coloured flowers; a part of the
china set loaned by one of the ladies, whose artistic soul scorned such
trifles as proportion, perspective or the mere "holding the mirror up to
Nature."
In a few words the minister expressed his delight at this large
gathering when he had expected a small one, and thanked the dear ladies
who had arranged the beautiful program. Then he beamed graciously at the
wiggling children.
"I know these little ones are growing impatient, so will only hold you
long enough to relate an incident that returned to my memory as I sat
here tonight.
"Many years ago I was travelling through an unsettled Southern district,
and passing a high, board fence heard a child's voice praying. I stood
up in my buggy and looked over. I saw a little girl, a dog, a cat and a
small Jersey calf. I waited till her prayer ended, then asked, 'My dear,
what are you doing?'
"'I'm playing Sunday school,' she replied. 'Kitty and Ponto and the calf
are my Sunday-school scholars, and I'm the preacher.'
"A few more words and I went on my way, meditating upon the beauty of
the child's devotion. I did not happen to return for nearly a year, but
when I approached the fence I paused and peered over. The child was
there alone.
"'How is your Sunday-school getting along?' I asked. She broke into
sobs.
"'Kitty and Ponto got to fighting something awful,' she answered,
'and--'
"'And where is the calf?' I said.
"'He got too big to come--unless I had a box of grain for him to eat!'
"The story came back to me and I wondered how many of you who are here
tonight will get 'too big to come' to services tomorrow morning?"
There were amused titters from many, guilty faces and sidelong glances,
but the tension was relieved by the next words of the minister; "Now, we
will enjoy the refreshments so generously provided by our dear sisters!"
At the back of the room were three immense ice-cream freezers. The
committee, armed with heaping plates of the frozen delicacy, flanked by
generous slices of chocolate layer cake, moved swiftly among the
audience. Miss Jenkins carried a large tray to the group formed by Holy,
Bronco and Roarer.
Their eyes appraised the huge heaps of tri-coloured cream--chocolate,
vanilla and strawberry, without a doubt. Their hands were reaching to
appropriate the plates when Miss Jenkins, who had danced the Maiden's
Prayer, lisped affectedly, "Won't you boys help me a tiny, tiny bit,
peath?"
She held out the tray and rolled her eyes pathetically. "It's awfully
heavy for poor little me, and there are so many people to wait on. Won't
you, peath, path it around and when it's all gone I'll have some more
ready for you to therve."
Appalled they stared at her, as she continued her baby appeal and kept
the tray in front of them so there was no possible retreat. The three
reached out simultaneously. By some slip the tray lowered a bit and
Holy's hand went into a cold, wet mess. With a half-choked oath he
jerked back--and the tray crashed to the floor. A scream rose from the
lady who had lent her hand-painted plates, and in the confusion that
followed the three cowpunchers slipped out of the church obsessed with
visions of a tri-coloured milky way that wended between gobs of squashed
chocolate cake and hand-painted flowers.
Down the street they moved. It was no time for mere words. Even Holy's
vocabulary was inadequate to express their feelings. Everything was
dark, every place was closed. It was not later than eight o'clock and
there was no place to go except to their room in the hotel.
In gloomy silence they mounted the stairs and sought refuge in the
little room. Through the window they had a view of the church and the
moving silhouettes within. The iron entered more deeply.
Roarer went to the window, and like the prophet of old contemplated the
Promised Land that his feet were not to tread. Suddenly his gentle,
falsetto voice pierced the silence.
"I hope that ice-scream will choke that outfit, especially that
lace-curtain female critter! Why didn't she let us alone, anyhow? We was
gettin' along all right until she went and butted in!"
There was no response, and he continued forlornly, "Gosh! There was
strawberry and chocolate and vanilly all on the same plate, and that
hunk of cake was as big as my fists! And every one in town's eatin' it
exceptin' us!"
They lighted the tiny coal oil lamp and tried to reconcile themselves to
the inevitable. As the smoke from their cigarettes filled the room their
effervescent spirits reasserted themselves. Holy minced over to one of
the narrow beds and robbed it of a sheet which he proceeded to pull over
his shoulders and twist about his wrists while the other two watched him
curiously. Then the empty corridors and rooms rang with shouts of
laughter as Holy twisted, cavorted and gyrated, waved his long arms and
extended supplicating hands in an amusingly accurate imitation of the
dance of the Maiden's Prayer. It was their revenge for the loss of the
cream.
An unexpected climax was reached when the sheet slipped and precipitated
Holy full-length on the floor, but the sounds that rose on the air could
never be confused with the words of any Maiden's Prayer.
Bronco leaned forward listening intently, and as silence reigned once
more, he announced, "Say, Holy, that was the best you ever done yet. I
counted sixteen new cuss words that I never heerd you use before. That
was the best Maiden's Swear I ever listened to!"
Roarer looked up suddenly. "Say, did you notice them freezers was right
along side the back door? Mebbe we kin slip over and corral one of 'em
without being cotched. I'm powerful thirsty and there ain't no place to
get nothin' till eleven o'clock except the church."
"We could make a try at it," responded the others hopefully.
They slipped down the stairs. At the bottom, Bronco suggested they get
spoons from the hotel kitchen. It was a matter of generalship to boost
Roarer through the window, where his collision with pots and pans was no
impediment to his triumphal return with a soup ladle and two large
spoons. In the darkness Roarer was able to retain the ladle for himself,
handing the spoons to the other boys. Thus equipped they sneaked to the
rear of the church and crawled cautiously to the open door. One of the
cans was within easy reach--the other two some distance from the door.
Conversation was in full swing and every one's attention was directed
toward the minister at the front part of the room.
"Slip her quick," whispered Bronco, "and then we kin pack her out on the
prairie and eat all we want."
The plan was carried out successfully. Roarer and Bronco slid the
freezer until it was outside the door. Swiftly they lifted the tin can
from the tub of ice and hastened away with their prize, while Holy kept
pace with them.
At a safe distance from the church, they paused and removed the cover.
Roarer thrust his dipper down, but had to reach further than he
expected. Deeper he scooped without reward. Once more he tried. It was
too dark to see inside of the can.
"Say, are you tryin' to hog it all yourself?" protested Bronco.
"Nope, Take your turn now."
Bronco wasted no time, and the other two listened to the click of his
spoon against the tin can. After a few seconds, he raised up, saying,
"All right, Holy. You're next!"
"How is it?" asked Holy as he leaned over the can.
"Fine as silk," was Bronco's recommendation.
"Best ice-scream I ever et," asserted Roarer.
Holy's spoon tattooed on the tin; it scraped forlornly, then there was
breathless silence, a grunt, followed by the sound of an empty ice-cream
freezer receiving several vigorous kicks accompanied by a terrific
volley of cuss-words.
"You darn chumps," he gasped at last, "what made you go and take the one
that hadn't northin' in it!"
"Oh, darn it all. What's the use," piped Roarer's gentle voice. "Let's
go back and go to bed. Thar ain't nothin' else to do in this yere town."
They were settled in their beds when Limber opened the door and peered
into the room.
"Hello! I been lookin' all over for you," he announced. "When did you
get back? I was up here a while ago and none of you was in."
"Oh, we was just walkin' around town a piece," was Bronco's answer.
"Well, I got your guns for you. You all went off in sech a hurry from
the church that you forgot 'em. It's too bad you boys didn't stay for
the feed. It was fine."
"Oh, we knowed we had a hard day's work ahead of us," drawled Bronco,
"so we figured we'd better come home and git to bed."
"Some one stole one of the freezers," continued Limber, soberly. "But
whoever done it got the empty one."
"Served the derned galoots right," pronounced Bronco virtuously.
"That's what I say," endorsed Roarer, while Holy expressed his
sentiments more forcibly.
Limber struck a match which he held to his cigarette, but his eyes
regarded the grave faces of the boys. The match flickered out and the
room was again in darkness, but not before they had seen the ghost of a
twinkle in Limber's grey eyes.
"They got the freezer all right," he continued in the darkness.
"Who found it?" asked Bronco carelessly, pretending to smother a yawn.
"I done it," said Limber. "I was just a walkin' around town a piece,
like you all was doin', and I come across it accidental like."
Silence was the only comment.
"The Inspector will be ready for us at eleven o'clock. Agent says the
cars will be here by that time, so we can load out and get back to the
ranch by supper."
"All right," chorused three voices in the dark, and Limber went to his
own room. As he lighted the lamp there was a broad grin on his face, and
his eyes danced with laughter, while he reiterated Bronco's
denunciation, "Served the darned galoots right!"
Willcox slept late Sunday morning, so no one noticed shadowy figures
dismount from three cowponies two hours before daylight. A struggling
calf was making a heroic fight for freedom, but found itself propelled
toward the picket fence surrounding the church and thrust through the
gate. The mysterious men hitched the animal firmly inside the fence,
then two placards of pasteboard, tied loosely together, were thrown
across the calf's back and secured like a pack-saddle by strong cord.
This accomplished, the three men mounted their ponies and disappeared in
the starlight.
Willcox woke, rubbed its eyes and remembered a minister was to hold
Divine Services that day of the year. Ten o'clock arrived. The first
youngsters and their adult family connections approached the church
gate. They congregated in animated groups, were joined by others, and
finally spectators across the street, realizing that something
interesting was detaining the congregation from entering the church,
sauntered over. These inquirers hastened back to town and circulated
news that caused a veritable stampede.
By the time the minister reached the scene the crowd composed the entire
population of the town--men, women, children and dogs, several of the
latter adding to the excitement by proceeding to settle feuds of long
standing.
The Reverend Silas Hunter passed through the gate and his eyes swept the
crowd, then rested on the centre of attraction--a husky, white-faced
calf tethered to the fence by a rope. The animal had been lying down, in
no way disturbed by the people or dog-fights, but as the Dominie
scrutinized it, it rose and bellowed loudly into his face amid shouts of
laughter. Across the calf's back swung the placards on which, printed
in irregular letters, were the words;
I AM NOT TO BIG TO KUM
BUT FOR GODS SAKE HEAD
OF THE PROJIGUL SON.
"Oh!" ejaculated the Reverend Hunter, beaming upon the assemblage. "I
see we have a donation. We will keep the calf, sell it and apply the
proceeds to our Church Funds. Now," he addressed two half-grown lads,
"you boys sit close to the door during services and see that the calf
does not get away. Some unprincipled person might try to steal it, you
know. We will find a place to care for it after services."
Across the street Bronco, Roarer and Holy stood in consultation. They
had hovered on the edge of the crowd when the minister made his
announcement, and they realized there was to be no opportunity to get
possession of that calf in order to turn it loose--as they had planned.
"Say, he sure called our hands," said Holy despondently. "He's too
derned smart to be a minister. What the devil are we goin' to do about
it?"
"Let him keep the doggone calf and we'll have to put up a jackpot for
the feller that owns it," advised Bronco.
"It ain't marked," squeaked Roarer excitedly. "Did any of you see the
brand on the cow it was with?"
None of them had noticed such a trifle in their desire to capture the
calf and accomplish the trick without discovery.
"Well, I guess we'll have to own up," asserted Holy, as they dropped
side by side on the wooden bench in front of the hotel, and stared
hopelessly across at the calf and the widely-opened church door.
"We sure got a hoodoo on us this trip," said Bronco. "First we got
buncoed out of the ice-scream by that female window-curtain, then we
goes and steals an empty ice-cream freezer and now we're stuck about
that air calf. It'd be easy enough, to pay for it if we knowed the
mother's brand, but seein' as we didn't pay attention to that, we've
just got to buck up and go to that gospel-shark and tell him we done it.
There's no tellin' what he'll do about it, let alone the feller that
owns the calf. Darn it all, why didn't Limber stick along with us all
the time and keep us from gettin' into this mix-up?"
"Looks to me like Limber can't do nothin' more'n he's done, except he
chloroforms us the next time we get in town," replied Holy emphatically.
Then the unexpected happened. The restless calf, working against the
stiff, new rope, untied it. Before any one in the church had observed
it, the animal was down the railroad track and pushing its way among
numbers of cattle that always congregated near the inspection chutes. It
moved to and fro, searching for its mother. The watching cowboys could
see the two placards still firmly in place.
"Gee! If we could just get them pasteboards off'n her, nobody would know
what calf it is"; Bronco said breathlessly.
"Come along!"
It was Holy who spoke and led the way to where their ponies stood tied
and saddled ready for work when Limber and the Inspector arrived.
"We kin ride down there and scoop it off in no time."
The ponies dashed forward in a cloud of dust, but as they neared the
group, a long-horned buckskin cow turned angrily as the calf pushed
against it, and with a sidesweep of her horn she caught the string that
held the placards. The string broke, but the placards snapped over the
cow's eyes, twisted lightly to her horn, and with a frightened bellow
she dashed down the railroad track, past the emerging congregation, with
the pasteboards banging and flapping across her face until she
disappeared.
"That's the fust decent buckskin cow I ever seed," said Bronco. "She
may have a yeller hide but she's a thoroughbred Hereford inside, you
bet!"
Then Limber and the Inspector came toward them, and joined in the ride
to the corrals. As they passed the group of cattle they saw the calf
contentedly taking nourishment from a cow that was evidently its mother.
Bronco, Holy and Roarer cast surreptitious glances at the ear-marks and
brand of the cow. Their eyes met. Idiotic grins spread over each face.
The cow was branded Diamond H. None of them spoke.
The cattle were inspected and loaded without any untoward incident, and
Limber breathed more easily as the time approached for him to head his
men toward the ranch. It was only during leisure hours in town that
mischief hatched, and the foreman could never tell what might develope
in a very short time.
It was with a feeling of relief from responsibility that Limber tucked
the certified check in his pocket, but as they started homeward the boys
were as glad as he. Bronco's ear-splitting whistles, "Home, sweet home,"
found sympathetic response in the breasts of the other men. It had been
a strenuous trip. The ranch loomed like a haven of rest.
The next morning Powell and Traynor discussed Paddy's proposition with
Limber, as they sat in the court-yard of the ranch, after Limber had
started the men for their day's work.
"Thirty-five thousand in gold coin is what he wants," said the foreman,
"and his bunch of stuff is worth every cent of it with the ranch throwed
in. He won't count anything under six months old, if you want to tally
the herd out, and tail 'em."
"It's a good buy," Traynor replied. Then turned to Powell. "Paddy is
unique. He is seventy-six years old and has toiled many years to
accumulate a herd. He cannot read or write a word, and carries every
item of his accounts in his memory. The storekeepers say that Paddy
never makes an error when their statements for six months are read to
him, no matter whether the mistake is to his advantage or not. He lives
alone. Refuses to accept silver or paper money and insists on gold for
all sales. He buries his money secretly, as he has no faith in banks. He
is a joke in the corrals, but no joke, however, when he is roused. A
bunch of rustlers found that out to their sorrow."
Limber's eyes twinkled, as Traynor added, "Tell the doctor what
happened. You were there, I wasn't."
"Well, the rustlers rounded up a band of fine horses and cattle and was
makin' for the Mexican border. Pretty near got thar when ol' Paddy run
into them alone. Him and me had just parted trails, and when I heerd
shootin' I hurried to him. The rustlers was back of some rocks on the
hill-slope, Paddy a lyin' down in back of a bit of brush not big enough
to hide a good-sized jack-rabbit. His head was hid and all the rest of
him in plain sight, and those rustlers was pumpin' lead as fast as they
could. So was Paddy, but they had the advantage of him every way. Four
of 'em back of the rocks. Paddy had shot two of their horses from under
them, and they let the stolen stock run whilst they hunted shelter
afoot. Jest as I got near enough to help him, he got a cartridge jammed
in his Winchester, and couldn't get it out. He worked and cussed around,
then got right up on his feet and walked around that hillside, as if he
was prospectin' for a mine, takin' his time to find something to pry out
that cartridge. And those rustlers kept popping away at him. Every time
the dust kicked up close, Paddy'd squint at the rocks and cuss harder.
Then jest as I got into the game, he got that gun fixed, and derned if
he didn't jest walk slow up the hill, and fust thing, the rustlers come
a humping out from the rocks in every direction, and all of 'em--four
men--with their hands helt up over their heads, and Paddy back of 'em."
"That was one of the times Paddy did not whisper," laughed Traynor.
"Well, I'll see Paddy for you, and now, Limber, Doctor Powell wants to
go see the Hot Springs and talk with Doctor King."
"Doctor Powell could cut across the Galiuros the day the boys start from
here with the herd," said Limber, "or, if Doctor Powell wanted to stay
at the Springs a couple of days with King, I could take him there and
then go on to Willcox to attend to the loadin', and go back to the
Springs. Anyway suits me that suits him and you."
"That would be the best," commented Traynor. "You and Doctor Powell can
leave here the same day that the herd starts to Willcox. Then let the
doctor wait at Hot Springs until you get back there after the shipment."
"It would suit me perfectly," was Powell's hearty reply. "That is if I
will not be imposing unwarrantedly on Doctor King's hospitality."
"If you knew him you would not say that," Traynor spoke earnestly. "He
is one of the biggest-hearted men I have ever known. You and he will
find many topics of mutual interest apart from your profession. I am
pretty sure he will be delighted with your idea of sanitarium for
children as he loves children dearly. He has not an enemy in Arizona.
Every one likes him."
So the matter was settled, and four days later Limber and Doctor Powell
started just after daylight breakfast for their ride of twenty-six miles
across the Galiuro Mountains to the Hot Springs.