It was broad day when I woke up—that is, the sun was beginnin’ to
rise—an’ the fire had dwindled to coals, the breeze had begun to stir
itself, an’ I was consid’able chilly. I saw the Friar’s nose stickin’
out o’ one side of his tarp an’ Horace’s nose stickin’ out the other,
an’ I grinned purty contentedly.
My experience is, that quarrelsome people usually get along well
together an’ make good company; but sad, serious, silent, polite folks
is about the wearin’est sort of an affliction a body can have about.
I once heard a missionary preach about what a noble thing it was to
control the temper. He must have been a good man, ’cause he was
unusual solemn an’ wore his hair long an’ oily; but he only looked at
one side o’ the question. I’ve known fellers who had such good control
o’ their tempers that after they’d once been put out o’ humor over
some little thing, they could keep from bein’ good tempered again for
a year. And then again, when a feller keeps too tight a holt on his
temper, his hands get numb, an’ his temper’s liable to shy at some
silly thing an’ get clear away from him.
What I liked about both the Friar an’ Horace was, ’at they hadn’t
froze up all their feelin’s. It was possible to get ’em stirred up
about things, an’ this allus struck me as bein’ human; so I was glad
to see Horace warmin’ his feet in the small o’ the Friar’s back, an’ I
whistled a jig under my breath while gettin’ breakfast.
They grumbled consid’able when I rousted ’em out; but by the time they
had soused their heads in the crick, they were in good humor again;
an’ hungry! Say! Ever since I’d give him his treatment, Horace had had
an appetite like a stray dog; while the Friar allus was a full hand at
clearin’ tables, except on his one off-day a week. I gave the Friar a
wink just as Horace splashed into his third cup o’ coffee, an’ sez:
“Friar, you should have seen this creature when he first came out
here. His muscles had all turned to fat, so that he could hardly
wobble from one place to another, an’ he was so soft that when he’d
lie down at night, his nerves would stick into him an’ keep him awake.
Now, if it wasn’t for that fringy thing he wears on his face, he’d
look almost exactly like a small-sized human.”
The only come-back Horace made was to start to sing with his mouth
full o’ cornbread an’ bacon. This was more ’n any one could stand, so
I tipped him over backward, an’ asked the Friar which way he was
headin’.
The Friar’s face went grave at once; and then he began to post me up
on Olaf the Swede. I had heard some rumors that summer, but hadn’t
paid much heed to ’em. It now turned out that the Friar and Olaf had
struck up friendly affiliations; so he was able to give me all the
details.
Badger-face had a disposition like a bilious wolf, and when he was
denied the satisfaction o’ jerkin’ Olaf out o’ this world, he had
turned to with earnest patience to make Olaf regret it as much as he
did. Olaf could stand more ’n the youngest son in a large family o’
mules, but he had his limitations, the same as the rest of us; so when
he saw that Badger was engaged in makin’ the earth no fit place for
him to habitate, he began to feel resentful.
When a boss is mean, he is still the boss and he don’t irritate beyond
endurance; but a foreman is nothin’ but a fellow worker, after all; so
when he gets mean, he’s small and spidery in his meanness; and I
reckon ’at Olaf was justified in tryin’ to unjoint Badger-face,
thorough and complete.
O’ course, Ty had to back up Badger for the sake o’ discipline; but he
didn’t wreak any vengeance on Olaf when he tendered in his
resignation, which proves ’at Ty still was full o’ respect for Olaf.
Badger was groanin’ on his back when Olaf left; but he called out that
he intended to get square, if he had to wear all the curves off his
own body to do it.
Olaf had the gift o’ sensin’ men, all right; but his judgment wasn’t
such as to make a yearlin’ bull willin’ to swap, and what he did was
to take the Pearl Crick Spread as a homestead. It was only about
fifteen miles from the Cross brand ranch house, and it was one o’ the
choicest bits in the whole country. This act was on a par with an
infant baby sneakin’ into a wolf den to steal meat. The Friar put the
finishin’ touch by sayin’ that Olaf had bought the old, run-down T
brand, and then I lost patience.
“Does Olaf sleep with a lightnin’ rod connected to the back of his
neck?” I asked as sober as a boil.
“What do ya mean?” asked the Friar, who was innocent about some
things.
“Well, that looks like another good way to attract trouble,” sez I.
“Olaf does not want any trouble,” sez the Friar with dignity. “All he
wants is an opportunity to work his claim in peace. He has more
self-control ’n airy other man I’ve ever known.”
“It’s a handy thing to have, too,” sez I, “providin’ a feller knows
how to use it. Why, ya could change a T brand to a Cross quicker ’n a
one-armed Mexican could roll a cigarette. Ty Jones’ll get more o’ that
brand ’n ever Olaf will. How is Kit Murray gettin’ along?”
“She is a fine girl,” sez the Friar, his face lightin’. “She has cut
out all her wild ways, and Mother Shipley sez her daughter thinks as
much of her as if they was sisters. I got word last week ’at her
husband died in a hospital; and I hope she’ll marry Olaf some day.”
“Well, I’ll bet the liquor again’ the bottle ’at she never does it,”
sez I. “In the first place, she’s got too much style, and in the
second, she’s got too much sense. Ty’s already got more stuff ’n he
can take care of through a dry summer, and the next one we have, he is
goin’ to need Pearl Crick Spread. A grizzly traffics along without
bein’ disturbed, until he gets the idee that he owns consid’able
property, and has legal rights. Then one day the’ don’t seem to be
anything else demandin’ attention, so out go a parcel o’ men and
harvest the grizzly. That’s the way it’ll be with Olaf.”
“I advised him to move,” sez the Friar; “but he’s set in his ways.”
“Self-control,” sez I. “I was workin’ in a mine once with a mule and a
Hungarian; and both of ’em had an unusual stock o’ self-control. One
day right after a fuse had been lit, the mule decided to rest near the
spot; an’ the Hun decided to make the mule proceed. We argued with ’em
as long as it was safe; but the mule had his self-control an’ all four
feet set, and the Hun was usin’ _his_ self-control an’ a shovel.
All we ever found was the mule’s right hind leg stickin’ through the
Hungarian’s hat, and we buried these jus’ as they was.”
The Friar sighed, pursed up his lips, and sez: “I wish I could help
him.”
“Help him all you can, Friar,” sez I; “but after the fuse is burnin’,
you pull yourself out to safety. Ty Jones could easy spare you without
goin’ into mournin’.”
The Friar rode on about his business, an’ me an’ Horace went back to
the ranch, him pumpin’ me constant for further particulars about Olaf
an’ Kit. “Horace,” sez I finally, “did you ever see these folks?”
“I never did,” sez he.
“Then,” sez I, “what you got again’ ’em ’at you want ’em to marry?”
“Marriage,” sez he with the recklessness common to old bachelors, “is
the proper condition under which humans should live—and besides, I
don’t like what you tell about Ty Jones.”
From that on, Horace began to talk hunt; and when Horace talked
anything, he was as hard to forget as a split lip. He had brought out
some rifles which the clerk had told him would kill grizzlies on
sight, and Horace had an awful appetite to wipe out the memory o’ that
woodchuck.
I admit that no one has any right to be surprised at anything some one
else wants to do; but I never did get quite hardened to Horace Walpole
Bradford. When ya looked at him, ya knew he was a middle-aged man with
side-burn whiskers; but when ya listened to his talk, he sounded like
a fourteen-year-old boy who had run away to slaughter Injuns in
wholesale quantities.
All of his projecs were boyish; he purt’ nigh had his backbone bucked
up through the peak of his head before he’d give in that ridin’ mean
ones was a trade to itself; and the same with ropin’, and several
other things. It ground him bitter because his body hadn’t slipped
back as young as his mind, an’ he worked at it constant, tryin’ to
make it so.
He wore black angora chaps, two guns, silver spurs, rattlesnake
hat-band, Injun-work gauntlets, silk neckerchief through a silver
slip, leather wristlets, an’ as tough an expression as he could work
up; but the one thing of his old life he refused to discard was his
side-burns. Sometimes he’d go without shavin’ for two weeks, an’ we’d
all think he was raisin’ a beard; but one day he’d catch sight of
himself in a lookin’-glass, an’ then he’d grub out the new growth an’
leave the hedge to blossom in all its glory.
We were long handed for the winter as usual, an’ the’ wasn’t any
reason why we couldn’t take a hunt; so Tank an’ Spider egged him on,
an’ I wasn’t much set again’ it myself. Horace agreed to pay us our
wages while we were away, an’ offered Jabez pay for the hosses; but o’
course he wouldn’t listen to it; and for a few days he even talked
some o’ goin’ with us, though he didn’t ever care much for huntin’.
Finally we started out with a big pack train an’ enough ammunition for
an army. Besides me an’ Horace, the’ was Tank, Spider Kelley, Tillte
Dutch, an’ Mexican Slim. Slim was to do the cookin’, an’ the rest of
us were to divvy up on the other chores all alike, Horace not to be
treated much different simply because he was payin’ us our wages; but
he was to have the decidin’ vote on where we should go an’ how long
we’d stay. It was fine weather most o’ the time, though now an’ again
we’d get snowed up for a day or so in the high parts.
I had allus felt on friendly terms with the wild creatures; an’ I had
told him before we started that I wouldn’t have no part in usin’
hosses for bear-bait, nor shootin’ bears in traps, nor killin’ a lot
o’ stuff we had no use for; but Horace turned out to be as decent a
hunter as I ever met up with, an’ after the second day out he did as
little silly shootin’ as any of us. He wasn’t downright blood-thirsty,
like a lot of ’em who get their first taste too late in life. He cared
more for the fun o’ campin’ out an’ stalkin’ game than he did for
killin’. We only got one silver-tip, most of ’em havin’ holed up; but
we found all the other game we wanted. Horace killed the grizzly,
which was a monster big one, and this wiped the woodchuck off his
record, and inflated his self-respect until the safety valve on his
conceit boiler was fizzin’ half the time.
We made a permanent camp not far from Olaf’s shack, an’ it didn’t take
me long to see ’at the foxy Horace was more interested in Olaf an’ his
war with Ty Jones than he was in huntin’. As soon as we had our camp
arranged, he got me to take him over to Pearl Crick Spread to call on
Olaf. I told him that Olaf wasn’t what you’d call sociable; but he
insisted, so we went.
We found Olaf in an infernal temper, an’ some tempted to take it out
on the first human he met; but this didn’t phaze Horace. He thought he
could start Olaf by tellin’ him that Kit Murray was a widow; but the
Friar had already told him and Olaf wouldn’t thaw worth a cent. He
kept on askin’ questions, even when they wasn’t answered, until Olaf
got hungry an’ asked us in to eat dinner with him. After we had eaten,
we sat around the fire smokin’, an’ Horace looked as contented as a
cat. He kept at his questionin’ until he got Olaf to talkin’ freer ’n
I had supposed he could talk.
Horace tried him out on all sorts o’ things, an’ when Olaf snubbed
him, why, he just overlooked it an’ tried somethin’ else. Finally he
tried his hand at religion, an’ this was what loosened Olaf up. Now
Olaf was actually religious, and called himself a Christian, but the’
was a heap o’ difference between his brand o’ it an’ the Friar’s.
Olaf’s God took more solid satisfaction in makin’ hell utterly
infernal than a civilized community takes in a penitentiary; an’ Olaf
was purty certain as to who was goin’ there. When he got to talkin’
religion in earnest, his face grew hard an’ his eyes bright, an’ he
gloated over the souls in torment till he showed his teeth in a grin.
The’ wasn’t any doubt in his mind that Ty Jones was goin’ to be among
those present, an’ this led him into tellin’ what had put him so far
out o’ humor before we’d come along.
He had found another one of his cows shot an’ only a couple o’ steaks
cut off. He fair frothed at the mouth when he told us this, an’ he
didn’t make any bones of givin’ Ty the credit for it. He cut loose an’
told us a string o’ things ’at he knew about Ty, an’ ya couldn’t blame
him for feelin’ sore. He talked along in a rush after he got started,
tellin’ o’ the way ’at Ty changed brands an’ butchered other fellers’
stock an’ wasn’t above takin’ human life when it stood in his way. “He
made me as big a devil as he is,” sez Olaf; “an’ now he knows ’at I
can’t get any backin’; so he is just persecutin’ me; but some o’ these
days, I’ll get a chance at him.”
Horace had dropped into a silence while Olaf was talkin’; but now he
raised a finger at me, an’ said: “I’ll tell you what we’ll do: instead
of huntin’ ordinary wild beasts, we’ll just keep watch on Olaf’s
stuff, an’ when any one bothers it, why, we’ll take ’em into some town
with a jail.”
Olaf shook his head, an’ I told Horace that the’ wasn’t any law for
big cattle men; but Horace was all worked up, an’ after we’d left Olaf
an’ started for camp, he didn’t talk of anything else. He put it
before the boys; but they were all again’ it, an’ told him a lot o’
tales about fellers who had tried to buck the big cattle men. Horace
called us all cowards; but we only laughed at his ignorance an’ let
him carry on as far as he liked. He sat up way into the night broodin’
over it, an’ from that on he did a lot o’ scoutin’ on his own hook. We
used to keep an eye on him, though; so after all he had his own way
about it, an’ Olaf’s stuff was watched purty close.
The boys was proud of Horace, just as they’d have been proud of a
fightin’ terrier; but they was worried about him, too, in just about
the same way.
“I tell you, that little runt would shoot to kill if he got a chance,”
sez Tank Williams, one night while Horace was away.
“Aw ya can’t tell,” sez Spider. “He thinks he would; but he’s never
been up against it yet, an’ ya can’t tell.”
“Well, what if he did shoot,” sez Slim, “we wouldn’t have to mix in,
would we?”
“You know blame well we’d mix in,” sez Tank, “an’ you can’t tell where
it would end. If Horace had ’a’ come out here when he was a kid, he’d
’a’ turned out one o’ the bad men for true. It’s in his blood. Look at
him! when he came here first, he didn’t have no more get-up ’n a sofy
piller; but look what he’s gone through since. I saw him, myself,
march along without food for four days, an’ when we came up with that
cow, he was willin’ to help kill her with a rock or strangle her to
death, an’ he didn’t make no more bones o’ calf-milkin’ her than a
coyote would. He started out in life with more devilment in him ’n any
of us, an’ what he’s achin’ for now is a mix-in with the Cross brand
outfit. That’s my guess.”
“An’ that’s my guess,” I chimed in; but just then we heard two shots
close together, then a pause an’ three more shots. We jammed on our
hats an’ guns an’ rushed outside. It was a moonlight night, an’ we
hustled in the direction o’ the shots. Before long we made out Horace
an’ Tillte Dutch comin’ towards us, an’ Horace was struttin’ like
Cupid the bulldog used to walk, after he’d flung a steer. It was the
first time I’d ever noticed this, but I noticed it plain, out there in
the moonlight.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I reckon ’at somebody knows by now that Olaf’s stuff is havin’ a
little interest took in it,” sez Horace.
We came back into the old log cabin where we was campin’, an’ Dutch
told about how Horace had got him to walk with him, an’ had sat down
on a rock where they could see Olaf’s little bunch o’ cattle grazin’.
He said ’at Horace sat with his rifle across his lap and kept watch
like an Injun scout.
After a time they saw two men creep out of a ravine not far from where
they was sittin’ an’ sneak down on the bunch o’ cows. One of ’em had
shot a cow, an’ Horace had shot him, bringin’ him down, but not
killin’ him. The two had run for the ravine, an’ Horace had tried to
cut ’em off, an’ he had gone along ’cause Horace had; but the two had
got to their hosses first. Each o’ the two had taken one shot, an’
Horace had shot back but none o’ these last shots had hit anything,
an’ the two had got away.
“I’ll bet they haven’t got so far away but what we’ll hear from ’em
again,” sez Tank.
“The thing for us to do is to start back to the Diamond Dot,” sez I.
“We shall stay here, an’ see what happens,” sez Horace, lightin’ his
pipe. His eyes were dancin’ an’ he was all puffed up. I didn’t say any
more. I just looked at him. He was the same old Horace, side-burns an’
all; but still the’ was enough difference for me to begin to regret
havin’ give him the treatment. I had cured his nerve so complete it
seemed likely to boss the whole crowd of us into trouble.