I hadn’t done much eatin’ or sleepin’ on that trip, an’ I was plumb
beat out; so after I fell asleep, the Friar put a soogan over me and
left me by the fire. He awakened me next mornin’, gettin’ breakfast,
and it didn’t take him very long to talk me into joinin’ on to him for
company. I had been avoidin’ humans, for fear I might be tempted to
start trouble and find the easy way out of it all; but his plan was
just the opposite—to dive so deep into humanity that I could catch a
glimpse o’ the scheme o’ things.
The Friar held that we all had crosses comin’ to us any way. If we
picked ’em up an’ put ’em on our own shoulders, we’d still be free,
an’ the totin’ of our crosses would make us stronger; while if we
tried to run away, we’d be roped an’ thrown, an’ the crosses chained
on us. I’d a heap sooner be free than a slave; so I decided to carry
mine, head up, an’ get right with myself as soon as possible.
The Friar didn’t work off any solemn stuff on me, nor he didn’t try to
be funny; he just turned himself into a sun-glass, an’ focused enough
sunshine on to me to warm me up without any risk of blisterin’. I got
to know him even better those days than I had before. His hair was
gettin’ a bit frosty at the temples; but aside from this, he hadn’t
aged none since the first day I had seen him. He was like some big
tree growin’ all by itself. Every year it seems a little ruggeder,
every year it seems to offer a little roomier shade; but the wind and
the rain and the hot sun don’t seem to make it grow old. They only
seem to make it take a deeper root, and throw out a wider spread o’
boughs.
He told me o’ some o’ the scraps between the cattle men an’ the sheep
men—the Diamond Dot was out o’ the way of sheep at that time. Then I
began to take a little more interest in things, an’ after takin’ note
for a day or so, I prophesied a dry summer; and this brought us around
to Olaf.
The Friar warmed up at mention of him. He said ’at he had never seen a
match turn out better ’n Olaf’s. He said Kit had just what Olaf
lacked, an’ Olaf had just what Kit lacked, an’ their boy was just
about the finest kid he knew of anywhere. We decided to head up their
way an’ pay a visit.
As we rode along we took notice of the way things were changin’. We
passed several sheep wagons, five or six irrigation ditches, an’ here
and there, we found men who put more faith in alfalfa ’n they did in
stock. The Friar had been well to the north when I happened upon him,
and we traveled a sight o’ country before we reached our destination.
Everywhere folks knew him, an’ he knew them; and when I saw their
faces light up at sight of him, I had to admit that he had done the
right thing in stickin’.
Mostly he sang the “Art thou weary,” one for his marchin’ song, now;
and it got into my blood and did a lot to healthen me up again. I
can’t rightly say ’at I ever got religion; but more ’n once religion
has got me an’ lifted me up like the Crazy Water in flood, bearin’ me
on over rocks an’ through whirlpools, an’ showin’ me what a weak,
useless thing I was at the best. The’s somethin’ inside me ’at allus
responded to the Friar’s music, an’ made me willin’ to sweep on over
the edge o’ the world with him; but when he tried to reason out
religion to me, I have to own up ’at the’ was a lot of it I couldn’t
see into.
We passed Skelty’s old place on our way in, an’ found a red-eyed,
black-headed man runnin’ it. His name was Maxwell, but they still
called the place Skelty’s. We went in an’ had dinner, an’ found five
or six Cross-branders there. They were doin’ plenty o’ drinkin’ an’
crackin’ idiotic jokes with the girls; but they nodded friendly enough
to us, an’ we nodded back.
As soon as we finished, the Friar went outside for his smoke; but I
leaned back right where I was for mine. One o’ the Cross-branders, a
tall, gaunt, squinty cuss by the name o’ Dixon, was sittin’ near me,
and presently he turned an’ sez: “You’re Happy Hawkins, ain’t ya?”
“That’s me,” sez I.
“Well, on the level,” sez he, “what became o’ Badger-face?”
“I’ve often wondered about that myself,” sez I.
“We supposed he got killed,” sez he; “but two fellers claimed they saw
him goin’ south in the spring with your huntin’ party.”
“What made ya think he got killed?” sez I.
“’Cause he started over here one night, and never showed up again,”
sez he.
“I don’t know what become of him,” sez I. “Dinky Bradford said he was
goin’ to take him to Africa; but whether he did or not I can’t say. I
never felt no call to pry into Dinky’s business. Looks to me as though
we were goin’ to have an extra dry summer.”
“I say so too,” sez Dixon. “Who was this Dinky Bradford?”
“That’s bothered me a heap,” sez I. “He claimed to be a Greek hero,
though what sort o’ business that is, I can’t say. Finished your
round-up yet?”
“Just got through. Where is this Greek hero these days?” sez he.
“Can’t prove it by me,” sez I. “He’s one o’ these fellers no one seems
to know anything about. I saw him go without eatin’ for four days
once, an’ he came out of it in better shape ’n he went in. Badger-face
was your foreman, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” sez he. “Ol’ Pepper Kendal is foreman now.”
“I should think a foreman would have some load on his shoulders with
the boss gone all winter,” sez I.
“The boss brought a woman back with him this time,” sez Dixon.
“What!” sez I. “You don’t mean ta tell me ’at Ty Jones has got him a
woman after all these years?”
“That’s what,” sez Dixon. “Somethin’ queer about her, too. Ty has had
a new shack built for her up back o’ the old house. They don’t seem
overly friendly for a bride an’ groom.”
“Ain’t nothin’ overly friendly with Ty, is the’?” sez I.
“Oh, I dunno,” sez he. “Ty ain’t as sticky as taffy, but he’s a mighty
good man to work for.”
“What sort of a woman did he get?” sez I.
“She don’t show herself much,” sez he. “She’s tall an’ shapely, an’
right smart younger ’n Ty; but she spends most of her time in the new
shack; and from all we can tell, she’s froze up tighter ’n Ty is.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to jog on. Good luck,” sez I, and me an’ the
Friar rode on. He was as much beat out over Ty Jones gettin’ a woman
as I was; but first thing he thought of was, ’at this might have a
softenin’ effect on Ty, an’ give him an openin’.
We reached Olaf’s in time for supper, and found Kit bustlin’ about as
happy as a little brown hen. The Friar hadn’t sprung it none about the
kid. He was a solid little chunk with a couple o’ dimples and all the
signs o’ health. I looked careful into his eyes. They were full o’
devilment, an’ he scowled his brows down over ’em when I held him; but
they were brown like Kit’s.
“Oh, he’s too dirty to touch,” sez Kit, beamin’ all over with pride.
“I just can’t keep him clean, try as I will.”
“Be careful, Happy, and don’t soil your hands on that baby!” yells the
Friar as though in a panic. “Let me have him. I was dirty once,
myself.”
It was plain to see ’at the kid an’ the Friar were old cronies; and it
was a pleasant sight to see ’em together. The Friar got down on the
floor with him an’ played bear an’ horse an’ the kid entered into it
an’ fair howled with merriment. Kit scolded ’em both an’ took so much
interest in their antics she hardly knew what she was doin’ to the
supper things.
Before long Olaf came in. He still took up all the space not otherwise
occupied; but he had an altogether-satisfied expression which made ya
forget how everlastin’ ugly he really was. He took us out an’ showed
us the garden, an’ the new wire fencin’ an’ the baby’s swing, an’ all
the rest of his treasures. Olaf didn’t want any more changes to take
place in the world. If his vote could have made it, things would just
continue as they were until the earth wore out. It made me feel a
little lonely for a moment; but I entered in as hearty as I could.
Durin’ supper I sez to Kit: “Well, Ty Jones has a woman, now; and if
it improves him as much as it has Olaf, he may blossom out into a good
neighbor to you yet.”
“Ty Jones got a woman!” exclaimed Kit. “Well, I’d just like to lay my
eyes on the woman ’at would take Ty Jones.”
“Oh, all women ain’t so set on havin’ a handsome man as you were,” sez
I.
“Well, I wouldn’t have any other kind,” sez Kit, an’ she gave her head
a toss while Olaf grinned like a full moon.
They were both purty well beat out to think o’ Ty Jones havin’ a
woman, an’ we all talked it over durin’ the rest o’ the meal. After
supper, Olaf took the kid on his lap and sat by the fire tellin’ us
his plans, while Kit cleared up the dishes an’ stuck in a word of her
own now and again. It was plain to see ’at she did full as much o’ the
plannin’ as he did, an’ this was probably what made her so satisfied.
The kid regarded Olaf’s mustache as some sort of an exercisin’
machine, an’ Olaf had to fight him all the time he was talkin’, but he
certainly did set a heap o’ store by that boy.
He told us he had about sixty cows and a fair run o’ two an’ three
year olds with a high average of calves; but that he intended to sell
the whole run to the Double V outfit up on the Rawhide, and get a
small band of sheep. This flattened me out complete; but he had a lot
of arguments on his side. He was also experimentin’ with grain seed
which he had got from Canada, an’ he already had a patch of alfalfa
which was doin’ fine. He was one o’ those fellers who can’t tire
’emselves out, an’ so just keep on workin’ as long as the law allows
’em to use daylight. He had a young Swede workin’ for him, but just at
that time, he was off lookin’ for the work hosses which had voted
’emselves a vacation, an’ had gone up into the hills.
The Friar wanted to go up into the Basin country next day, so we
bedded down purty early. I lay awake a long time thinkin’ over what a
fright Olaf had once been, and how he had straightened out of it.
Next mornin’ we started soon after sun-up. The Friar had a couple o’
women runnin’ a Sunday School at Bosco, and he wanted to see how they
were gettin’ along. They had belonged to his brand of church clear
back in England, and he set a lot of store by ’em; but owned up that
they had their work cut out for ’em at Bosco; it bein’ one o’ the most
ungodly little towns in the whole country.
We nooned on Carter, slipped over Boulder Creek Pass, and reached
Bosco at sun-down. It allus surprised me to see how much travel the
Friar could chalk up, takin’ his weight into account; but he was less
irritatin’ to a hoss ’n airy other man I ever met up with. The more of
a hurry he was in, the more time he took on the bad hills; and he
never robbed a hoss by sleepin’ an hour late in the mornin’, an’
makin’ the hoss even up by travelin’ beyond his gait.
The husband of one o’ these women ran a saloon, the husband of the
other—the women were sisters—was the undertaker and also ran a meat
market. I thought this about the queerest business arrangement I had
ever been confronted against; but the man himself was full as peculiar
as his business.
I have a game I have played with myself all my life. I call it “why,”
an’ I suppose it has furnished me more fun ’n anything else has. I
take any proposition I come across an’ say all the whys about it I can
think up an’ then try to answer ’em. Why did anything ever happen just
as it did happen just when it did happen? This is the joke o’ life to
me. I have played it on myself times without end; but only once in a
while even with myself can I follow the line back to common sense.