In May and June each year the Eastern and Northern cattle buyers flock
into Arizona to procure "feeders" for their grass ranges in other
sections. One, two and three-year old steers are then shipped to be held
on pasture and finally "topped" on grain in some Eastern centre, to
prepare the animals for the Kansas City, Denver, Omaha or Chicago
stockyards.
A number of fine steers had been gathered on the Hot Springs range, and
were being driven to Willcox to make part of a contract between a
Montana buyer and the Diamond H and PL. The spring rains had been
abundant. Wild grasses rose to the height of a pony's knees; sleek
Hereford cattle browsed contentedly, while white-faced calves romped and
raced between. Arizona was at its smiling best.
Powell, riding behind the herd while Limber directed a couple of Mexican
vaqueros, was satisfied that he had made no mistake in identifying
himself with this country. The plans for the Sanitarium were maturing
perfectly. Letters with suggestions and experience culled from the best
authorities all over the continent, as well as European health resorts,
were in each mail. Architects had submitted drafts and plans, from which
Powell was selecting the very best ideas.
Arrangements regarding the consolidation of the Diamond H work with the
PL and Hot Springs herds had proven ideal, and the only unpleasant
feature Powell had encountered was embodied in his neighbour, Glendon.
Though the man's antagonism to the doctor had now reached a point of
open animosity, Powell ignored it. Limber went frequently to the Circle
Cross, and old Chappo, making visits to Juan, managed to keep in touch
with Katherine. They all knew they were unable to do more than this,
unless she should allow it, or some dire necessity force her to call on
them for help. Powell was compelled to keep entirely aloof from the
Circle Cross, fearing to precipitate some disagreeable scene, should
Glendon be in one of his aggressive moods. The doctor knew Glendon's
type well enough to understand that the brunt of such situation would
fall with its full weight on the woman. He hoped that she did not
misinterpret his absence as due to indifference, since it was the only
way he could help.
Limber dropped back of the herd and rode beside the doctor without
speaking. There were long intervals when these two were together that
neither spoke, yet each man knew the comradeship of the other. The
cattle were plodding along steadily and in the distance could be seen
the smoke of a train creeping like a rattlesnake across the flat between
Cochise and Willcox.
The cowboy threw his leg across the horn of his saddle, sitting sidewise
as he rolled a cigarette, which he proffered to Powell. Then making one
for himself, the two men smoked as they rode.
"Juan told me last night that he had found another dead calf up the
riverbed, and poisoned it," said Limber. "Thar was fresh lion tracks. He
thinks it's the lion that was in the cave, but it ain't been thar since
the day we found Mrs. Glendon and Donnie. It must of smelt our tracks
and quit. Juan has been watchin' for it ever since I tole him about it."
"How much is the bounty?" asked Powell, puffing at his cigarette.
"Twenty-five dollars for a lion scalp," replied Limber. "I hope Juan
gets it. We've been having lots of calves killed this year. Mr. Traynor
figgers on puttin' a couple of men out trappin' and poisonin' them and
the coyotes. It'll pay to do it. We had to shoot two horses not long
ago, because their backs was broke."
"Do they fight at close quarters?" asked Powell. "The South American
ones are nasty things."
"Well, sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. Say, did any one ever
tell you about the time Hasayampa fit the mountain lion?"
"No, or I should not have forgotten it, I am sure," Powell smiled in
anticipation.
Limber tossed away his dead cigarette, swung around in his saddle and
began, "Hasayampa had a peculiar experience with a mountain-lion onct.
You see, he was livin' in a one-room stone cabin down Aravaipa Canon all
alone by hisself, exceptin' for an ol' brindle dog named Killem.
Hasayampa allowed that Killem was a canine orphun asylum, because he was
related to near every dog between Willcox and the San Pedro. Killem's
nose was bull-dog, his ears was collie, his tail looked something like a
pug's the way it tried to curl up in a doughnut. He had a brindle coat
of hair that was sprinkled with white patches and them mixed with black.
He sure done his best to bear a resemblance to every one of his family
connections. He had been a dandy scrapper when he was young, but he was
so ol' he shed all his teeth, but his ki-yi was guaranteed
indestructible. Hasayampa had trouble with a mountain-lion what wanted
to make sociable calls, but was too bashful to come in daylight. It
formed a strong attachment for some pigs Bill was raisin', an' that lion
adopted 'em on the installment plan, an' the ol' sow took on somethin'
dreadful. So between the pigs squealin' and Killem ki-yiing, he was
pretty near crazy. Hasayampa said he couldn't stand the lady pig's
grief, so he killed her and then he guv Killem a good kick to make him
shet up, and went back to bed.
"The cabin had one door an' a little winder. Hasayampa was lyin' on his
bunk with a candle stuck in a beer-bottle on a box longside him, right
under the winder. Suddenly ol' Killem hopped right through the winder
glass and landed plump on top of Hasayampa. He jumped up to kick Killem
out, but before he done it, derned if that lion didn't come through the
same way, but he knocked over the box and put out the candle. Then
Killem and the lion started in for fust blood.
"Hasayampa's six-shooter had been knocked off'n the box and Hasayampa
made a break fer the door--the room seemed a leetle bit crowded just
then--but the door was locked and the key somewhar on the floor. He
begun scratching for that key.
"Just about this time the stovepipe got knocked down. Thar warn't mutch
fire, but plenty of smoke. Next thing they hit the table whar he had
piled up all the tin plates, cups and pans that he washed on Sundays.
Hasayampa said the noise was somethin' fierce, for Killem was yellin',
'Pen and ink,' the lion was screechin' its head off, and both of 'em
kickin' tin things in every direction.
"All this time Hasayampa was havin' troubles of his own. He was clawin'
the floor, lookin' for the key or his six-shooter. He didn't care which,
but he wanted one of 'em and he wanted it in a hurry, which wasn't
unreasonable noways, when you remember it was his own property he was
huntin'. He finally got on his stomach and spun aroun' like a cartwheel
and that was how he found his gun. Trustin' to luck he edged closer to
the noise and put his gun against somethin' and fired. Thar was a yelp
from Killem, a screech from the lion, then somethin' flopped around on
the floor, but whether it was the lion or the dorg, was a conundrum
Hasayampa wasn't prepared to answer off hand.
"Things got quiet. He crawled careful till he found the candle and lit
it, holdin' his gun ready. Then he looked aroun'. Thar was Killem
settin' scrintched up in one corner of the room, a bullet hole through
one ear, but thar warn't no lion nowhar to be seen, and Hasayampa
figgered he had shot Killem and the lion had gone out the winder, same
route he took comin' in. Hasayampa did some tall cussin, and begun
pickin' things up, when he seen the end of the lion's tail stickin' out
under the bunk. He backed off without losin' no time and shot under the
bunk. The lion never even kicked.
"After he'd waited to be sure it was dead, Hasayampa hauled it out by
the tail, feelin' mighty big at such a shot in a dark room. Then he
begun to hunt to see whar the bullet went in. Thar was just one bullet
hole, and that was when he shot it under the bunk. He had missed it clar
the fust time, but that lion was as dead as a door-nail when he fired
the second shot, and Hasayampa knowed it."