“He said his name was Smith, that he needed a job, so I gave him one.”
Thus Scotty McGowan summarized his reasons for hiring the man who had
been almost kicked to death that night at the War Paint hitch-rack.
It was a week after the arrival of Hashknife and Sleepy. Smith’s face
had healed up well, but twisted from the deep cuts, which gave him a
perpetual leering expression. The old doctor was glad to get rid of him,
and would receive no recompense from Steve Pelliser. Smith did not even
thank the doctor, which was very ungrateful on his part; but the
doctor’s only comment was that the man had soured on the world and was
not entirely responsible. Scotty McGowan could use another man at the
Diamond R, so Smith got the job.
Hashknife and Sleepy liked their places at the SP ranch, and those of
the ranch liked them. It did not take Steve Pelliser long to discover
that he had two men who were not only cowpunchers but men who knew
cattle. Thursday Adams, who was past fifty and had lived all those fifty
years in the range country, said of Hashknife and Sleepy:
“I dunno where they came from, Steve, but somebody is shy a couple good
hands. Sid Brayton told Hashknife that there wasn’t a puncher in the
State that could stay six jumps on that roan Bucket o’ Blood bronc; and
this mornin’ at daylight I seen Hashknife sneak out with nothin’ on but
his undershirt, overalls and boots.
“I wondered where he was goin’, so I peeked out the winder. Pretty soon
I sees him comin’ out with that man-killin’ roan all saddled. And you
know what a job it is to saddle that brute, Steve. Well, he cramps that
roan almost double, slips into the saddle and gives the roan his head.
“Did they go high? I’d tell a man! He bucked that animal plumb down to
the willers and back ag’in, fannin’ his ears. Then he yanked off the
saddle and came back to the bunkhouse. I asked him what in hell he was
a-tryin’ to do, and he said that all along he had suspected Sid of
stretchin’ the truth. Can you ee-magine that? Takin’ a chance alone?
Man, I wouldn’t fork that Bucket o’ Blood with a dozen men to ride herd
for me—and he sneaked out to do it all alone, jist to prove that there
was one man in the State that could ride him.”
“That’s takin’ fool chances,” said Steve.
“Not when you can ride like that. But they won’t be here long. ’Cause
why? ’Cause Hashknife is always askin’ me, ‘What’s on the other side of
that hill over there? What’s over that hill? There’s that ridge of blue
hills north of here, Thursday—what’s beyond them?
“Sleepy asks questions, too. Derndest fellers I ever seen, Steve. You
never know whether they’re serious or not. And there’s that Bill McGill!
What’re we goin’ to do with him? He’s all healed up, but he jist sets
out there on the porch with Mary.”
Steve smiled and shook his head.
“I dunno, Thursday; don’t even know why he’s here in Willow Valley. He’s
up there now, gassin’ with Mary and Aunt Ida.”
“Aunt Ida’s wastin’ her breath on that maverick—he don’t drink.”
“That’s nothin’ against him.”
“Against him—no! But it ain’t natcheral. And if he don’t quit callin’ me
Mister Thursday I’m goin’ to run him down with a neck yoke. He asked me
if I was named after one of the days of the week. I told him I was one
of a set of twins in a big family. I was born a minute of twelve, and
they called me Thursday the Twelfth. My brother was born a minute after
twelve, and they called him Friday the Thirteenth.
“He asked me if Friday had bad luck, and I said he did—he lost his voice
answerin’ damn’ fool questions. Did it stop him? Huh! He asked me why we
didn’t run numbers on the cows instead of brands. Said it would be much
easier to keep track of them noo-meeri’kly. Know what he meant?”
Steve laughed.
“Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s harmless.”
“Harmless, but irritatin’.” Thursday went away shaking his head.
Bill McGill had suffered exceedingly, was blind for two days, but came
out of it all right. The sun had poisoned him, but now his features were
back to normal, his face peeling off like an onion, as Sleepy expressed
it, and he was able to wear his boots again.
Aunt Ida had come visiting Mary, but with her ever present inclination
to plant seeds of temperance, she was glad for having Bill where she
might sound her warning.
“Really,” protested Bill, “never having indulged, I do not know anything
about the stuff. I am not what you might term a fertile field, Aunt Ida.
I may get drunk, or I may not get drunk. You say that the cowboys drink
too much, that they are ruining their health. Well—” Bill hooked his
clasped hands around one knee and leaned back in his chair—“I would like
to have seen them before they began drinking. Of all the healthy animals
I have ever seen, they are the finest.”
“And yet,” she said severely, “you say you are not a fertile field.”
“No.” Bill laughed. “Perhaps I do not understand your point of view.
Why, you even claim that a thirst for liquor is hereditary.”
“Of course it is. Did your father drink?”
Bill’s smile vanished quickly. He unclasped his fingers and rubbed his
forehead thoughtfully.
“That is a question I can’t answer—because I never knew my father.”
“He died before you were born?”
“Who knows?” He turned and looked at Mary. “Will you believe me when I
say I do not know who my mother and father were? I have the name of
McGill, but it isn’t mine. As far as I can learn, I was never legally
adopted by Dr. McGill, whose name I bear. That is why I am over here—to
find out what I can about myself.”
“Well, goodness gracious!” exclaimed Aunt Ida. “What a calamity!”
“Are you joking?” asked Mary.
“Joking? I wish I were.”
“But how—why look for information in the Valley, Bill?”
“Oh, I suppose it is a wild goose chase. I am more convinced of it all
the time. Aunt Ida, you have lived here a long time, haven’t you?”
“Almost thirty years.”
“Did you ever hear of the Willow Valley Copper Company?”
“Willow Valley Copper Company? No, I don’t believe I have. It has been
many years since the old mining boom. Hoddy might remember. He was in
the thick of it. Oh, yes, he was. And all he ever got out of it was a
broken leg. Rode his horse into a prospect hole.”
“Drunk?” asked Bill innocently.
“Not admittedly, Mr. McGill.”
Aunt Ida arose, picked up her crochet work and went into the house.
“Did I hurt her feelings?” asked Bill. “I wouldn’t do it intentionally,
you know.”
Mary sighed deeply as she shook her head.
“I don’t think so. She has quarreled with Uncle Hoddy for thirty years
over his thirst, but she resents any one else hinting that he drinks.
They are very fond of each other. Uncle Hoddy says he’s cured her of
nagging and preaching and that the cure has quenched his thirst.”
“A double cure.” Bill smiled. Then, seriously, “Did any one ever tell
you that you are pretty, Mary Pelliser?”
Mary flushed quickly, but replied—
“The men of Willow Valley are not nearsighted, you know.”
“You mean—they haven’t?”
“Don’t be foolish.”
“Is it foolish to tell a girl she is pretty? You _are_ pretty.”
“The sunburn has affected your eyes,” said Mary, getting to her feet.
“Don’t go in.”
* * * * *
Mary stopped in the doorway.
“You might ask Dad about that copper mine. He has been around here a
long time, and he might know something about it.”
“Thanks, I will— May I call you Mary?”
“That’s my name.”
“I’m not sure about mine, you know.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s all right—I don’t mind.”
Steve Pelliser had walked up to the porch without either of them seeing
him.
“Don’t quarrel.” He laughed and they turned quickly.
Mary made a face at him and went into the house, while Bill walked to
the edge of the steps.
“Mr. Pelliser,” he said gravely, “I want to ask you a question.”
“And I can answer it right now,” said Steve seriously, “and the answer
is no!”
“Oh!” said Bill blankly. “I’m sorry I—you talked with Aunt Ida?”
“What the hell has she got to do with it?”
“She said she didn’t remember.”
Steve stared at him.
“She didn’t remember what?”
“The Willow Valley Copper Company.”
“Yea-a-ah? Say, what are you talkin’ about?”
“Why, I wanted to ask you if you ever remembered a mining company by
that name.”
“Good gosh! I thought you wanted to marry my daughter!”
“No, I—well, you see, I—” floundered Bill.
“Uh-huh.”
Steve pushed back his sombrero, his eyes thoughtful.
“Willow Valley Copper, eh? What about it?”
They sat down together, while Bill explained why he was there and what
he wanted to find out. Steve humped on the steps, resting his chin on
his hands, while Bill explained about the letters and of his trials and
tribulations before he finally reached the SP ranch.
“There were so many of them companies,” said Steve. “That was a long,
long time ago, young man, and lots of them corporations didn’t last
long. In fact, none of ’em ever lasted more than a year. There wasn’t
any copper to amount to anythin’, and they died a natural death.”
“I suppose I am twenty years too late.”
“Just about. But what’s the difference? You’re a young man, and you’re
educated. This is the wrong country for you, anyway.”
“Wrong?”
“Well, your education wouldn’t do you much good here, unless you go into
a bank, or somethin’ like that. You belong in a city.”
“I suppose that’s true, but I haven’t any desire to return.”
Steve shrugged his shoulders indifferently and got to his feet.
“You’re your own boss, young man, but I think you’re wastin’ time in
tryin’ to run down shadows of twenty years ago.”
“Shadows are what they are, I suppose.”
“That’s all, Bill. I can’t help you. I doubt if there’s anybody in the
Valley who can help you. It has been so long since the old mining days,
and there’s none of the old minin’ men left. No, I think they’re
shadows.”
“Perhaps. Have you any objections to me staying here awhile? I shall
expect to pay my board and room rent, of course.”
“Well, I dunno. I’m not runnin’ a hotel, you know. Why don’tcha go down
to town and live at the hotel?”
“I’d rather not, if you can put up with me.”
Steve shook his head.
“I can’t do it, Bill. I couldn’t take money for your board and room.”
“Give me a job.”
“A job? What doin’?”
“What have you that I _could_ do?”
“Not a thing in the world. You can’t ride.”
“Might learn.”
“I’m not runnin’ a school for riders, and you’d be a long time learnin’.
Better go back to a city.”
“No, I don’t want to go back. I wonder if I might get a position in the
bank at Willow Wells?”
Steve’s eyes narrowed and he gnawed the corner of his lip thoughtfully.
A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, as he said—
“I’ll speak to Mr. Hart about it, Bill.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pelliser.”
Steve nodded and walked down to the corral, where he leaned idly against
the fence.
“It’s a funny old world,” he told himself. “Bill McGill. Two old fools
of fate. Mebbe I’m wrong, but McGill was the name, I’m sure. And I
wonder what Ed will say? Willow Valley Copper Company, your ghost is
still walkin’ the hills. And unless I’m mistaken the danged young fool
is stuck on Mary. The best thing for all concerned is to git him safely
out of this country, before he becomes a nuisance.”