Range Detective for the
Live Stock Sanitary Board.
"That's why he was in sech a hurry to get that train. He must of thought
we knowed about it;" said Limber. "Well, he won't bother us no more." As
they all entered the restaurant, Limber spoke to Powell, "The
inspector'll be ready for us right after lunch."
They were shown a table near the front of the room, which was
well-filled with a typical frontier mixture of humanity. Cowpunchers,
miners, clerks and storekeepers, a couple of commercial travellers, and
an Army officer in uniform, accompanied by his wife and two children,
who had evidently just arrived on the train from California.
In a corner at the rear end of the room sat Glendon with a cowboy whose
mutilated hand had won the name of Three-fingered Jack. They were
talking earnestly in guarded tones. Glendon's back was toward the
entrance of the place, but Jack, who was classed as a "gunman," because
of his expert marksmanship, scrutinized the newcomers sharply.
"Who is that with the Diamond H outfit?" he asked.
Glendon twisted slightly, took a swift glance, scowled and leaned over
to his companion.
"That's Powell, damn him! Bought the Hot Springs and PL herd and ranch
and is going to put up a sanitarium for tubercular children. Limber
stays with him most of the time, and puts in the rest of it at the
Diamond H, so you never know when you're going to run into them. It's
easy to pull the wool over a tenderfoot, but Limber is another
proposition. If there's any trouble, the whole country will side with
Limber. He's as sharp as they make em, and every one knows he's so
damned straight that he leans backward. That doctor is no fool, either."
Three-fingered Jack shrugged his shoulders contemptuously and smiled
into the other man's face. Both had been drinking heavily. The smile was
a studied insult. Glendon did not notice it.
"Losing your nerve, Glen? I'll give that pill-pusher a little scare for
you, and I bet when I get done with him he'll look like a cake of soap
in a Chinese laundry after a big day's washing."
Glendon hesitated. "We'd better steer clear of them. It won't do to
have any trouble now. It would ball things up for us."
"I'll keep away from Limber," promised Jack, now obsessed with one idea;
"but it won't take anything except a good bluff for the tenderfoot."
"That Diamond H is mixing into everything," growled Glendon. "If it
hadn't been for Traynor, King never would have patented that land and
the will wouldn't have been worth the paper it was written on. I've hung
out at the Circle Cross all these years expecting to get hold of the Hot
Springs, but thanks to Traynor and Powell, I got left in the end. Bad
enough when King was alive, shutting me off from the water, but now
Powell is stocking up the range and it's going to knock me into a cocked
hat. There's bound to be trouble between Powell and me before very long.
I'm not going to put up with his prowling around watching things out
there."
"What the devil do you care for the half a dozen calves he may keep you
from rustling?" jeered Jack. "You've got a heap bigger thing ahead of
you, if you just keep your shirt on a bit longer. Then you can quit the
country for good. But, it won't be safe for us to come out there now,
Glen. Better meet somewhere else."
"All right," assented Glendon, with a shrug. "You tell Panchita anytime
you want me, and she'll get word to me."
They made their way rather unsteadily from the long room, unhitched
their ponies and rode toward the corral conversing earnestly in low
tones.
Half an hour later, Powell and the boys of the Diamond H reached the
corrals where their entire shipment now was enclosed. Bronco remained
down in the narrow chute, while the rest, after tying their ponies to
the corral fence, climbed up and perched on the topmost rail.
Powell looked down on a mass of surging horns, his ears assaulted by
deafening bellows. The inspector sat above a narrow passageway in which
a draft of five cattle was driven, then the bar dropped and parted them
from the other animals. As these five cows passed toward the car into
which they were to be loaded, Bronco called the brand and ear-marks to
the inspector, who recorded them. Then the cow was given a slight shove
to accelerate its movements into the open door of the car. If it
hesitated, it was not long, for only a creature of iron could withstand
the fierce prodding in the ribs with sharp wooden poles, and the wild
yells would make an Apache war-whoop sound a whisper of first love.
While the men worked, Limber, seated beside Powell explained the system
of territorial inspection, and that at each shipping point an inspector
was stationed to report officially on every brand and ear-mark of cattle
offered for shipment. Each brand was registered with the Live Stock
Sanitary Board at Phoenix, and reports forwarded immediately after any
shipment, stating the owner of each animal, brand, ear-mark, shipper in
charge, buyer, consigner and consignee. A certificate of health was also
required, and without such official authority from the inspector no
railroad company was permitted to move any live stock over its road. The
shipper in charge, was also compelled to have copies. In addition to
these duties, the inspector was authorized to collect and forward any
amounts received for stray cattle, whose owners were not present or
represented by an agent. Where a brand was found not officially
registered, such animal was sold by the inspector and proceeds remitted
to the board. This was given any claimant who could satisfactorily
explain negligence to record the brand, and prove beyond doubt his
ownership.
Limber, sitting beside Powell on the corral fence, explained these laws
while they watched the inspection.
"Some of the brands are very indistinct," said Powell. "In case there is
doubt, how is it decided?"
"Inspector clips the hair over the brand with horse-clippers, and if
that don't settle it, he sells the animal to the local butcher. You see,
when the hide is fresh from a cow, the first brand shows out the
plainest, even if another is run over afterwards. Sometimes a brand is
registered what gives a feller the chance to alter another. There was,
one man ran O Bar O," Limber drew an imaginary brand on the palm of his
left hand, O-O. "Afterward they found the Crooked H, O-C, the JH and the
D O could be changed to the O-O and work the three biggest herds in the
section. The fellow was honest, never aimed to do no dirty work, but the
brand was stopped by order of the Live Stock Sanitary Board."
The fresh draft, headed by a large cow, was driven into the chute.
"This brand's been monkeyed with," Holy called up to the inspector, who
sat on an elevated platform just above the chute.
There was craning of necks as each one studied the animal, for an
altered brand was the business of every cowman in the Territory.
"What is it?" demanded the inspector.
"She looks more like an inspection certificate than a cow," was the
answer. "Jumping Jehosaphat! Did you ever see such a mix-up? There's a B
D looks like it's been changed from a P L; an' ol' Mule Shoe Quarter
Circle on her side, one ear's slit an' the other's a jinglebob. Hold on,
there's something on the other side."
Continuing his examination he moved around the animal and ejaculated in
surprise; "Damned if here ain't a fresh Circle Cross. What d'ye know
about that, Glendon?"
Every one looked at Glendon, who sat at Limber's left side on the
railing. But before he could reply, Paddy Lafferty jumped into the
corral chute and stooping down studied the cow's front legs, then he
straightened up and spoke.
"Oi don't give a dum what brand she carries, that cow is moine. She runs
over the Hot Springs range. Oi'd know the ould haythin anywheres becase
she got cut by barbed-wire and I docthered her, and she give me the
divvle of a toime when I was doin' it, be jabers! There's the marks of
the woire-cuts on her fore ankles. That brand's been burnt since I sold
the PL herd to Doctor Powell."
"That's a lie!" shouted Glendon. "I bought her four months ago from a
Mexican on the San Pedro. The B D is his brand. He had ten cows and sold
them all to me before he went back to Mexico."
Paddy looked coolly into Glendon's bloodshot eyes. "Yez must hev laid
awake noights fixin' up that loi," he sneered, keeping a close watch on
Glendon's right hand. "Oi giss the inspecther hed betther take charge of
her and sittle the matther. But it stroikes me that B D is a moighty
quare brand for a Greaser to be running."
"As long as the cow has a P L," spoke Powell suddenly, "I suppose it
gives me a voice in the matter also?"
The inspector nodded confirmation, and Powell went on, "Let the
inspector take charge, as Paddy suggested. I don't want any animal on my
range that carries a disputed brand. If the cow belongs to me, I want
her shipped or slaughtered, and all possible disputes about her ended."
"Ship her," ordered the inspector. "I'll look up that B D brand, and if
it is not registered the proceeds of sale will be forwarded to Doctor
Powell. If it is registered, and the Greaser has left, as Glendon
claims, it is up to Glendon to prove ownership by bill of sale from the
Greaser."
"'Tain't the furst toime your brand has got on one of my cows, Glen;"
asserted Paddy hotly. "Oi sold my brand and herd clane and straight to
Docther Powell, and Oi'll sthand boy that sale to the last critter."
Glendon's hand slipped back a few inches, but Limber, sitting beside
him, saw the movement and gripped his wrist in a steel clutch. It was
done so quickly and quietly that no one but Paddy saw it, or heard
Limber say, "Don't be such a fool, Glen. Killin' people don't change the
laws of the Territory."
"If ever I catch that Greaser, I'll make him sweat blood," blustered
Glendon.
Paddy mounted the fence, settled himself, then filled his corn-cob pipe,
lighted it deliberately and took a deep puff before he remarked with a
grim smile, "Oi'll hilp yez do it, Glendon--when yez catch him!"
His wrinkled, gnarled hand smoothed the leg of his overalls, which had
originally been the orthodox blue of all self-respecting overalls, but
long since had succumbed to Paddy's washtub and vigorous muscles. Below
the edges of these anemic patched garments, loomed one old boot and one
shoe, laced crookedly with a piece of rawhide.
The hand ceased its caressing movement, and Paddy squinted up again at
Glendon, "Don't yez be afther fergittin', Glendon, whin yez catch him
I'll take a hand at him--wid yez."