AT POINDEXTER'S
John Saxton trotted his pony through a broken gate into a great yard
that had once been sown in blue grass, and at the center of which lay
the crumbled ruins of a fountain. This was clearly no ordinary
establishment, as he had been warned, and he was uncertain how to hail
it. However, before he could make his presence known, a frowsy man in
corduroy emerged from the great front door and came toward him.
"My name's Saxton, and you must be Snyder."
"Correct," said the man and they shook hands.
"Going to stay a while?"
"A day or two." John threw down the slicker in which he had wrapped a
few articles from his bag at Great River, the nearest railway station.
"I got your letter all right," said Snyder. "Walk in and help yourself."
He led the pony toward the outbuildings, while Saxton filled his pipe
and viewed the pile before him with interest. He had been making a
careful inspection of all the properties that had fallen to his care.
This had necessitated a good deal of traveling. He had begun in Colorado
and worked eastward, going slowly, and getting the best advice
obtainable as to the value of his principals' holdings. Much of their
property was practically worthless. Title had been gained under
foreclosure to vast areas which had no value. A waterworks plant stood
in the prairie where there had once been a Kansas town. The place was
depopulated and the smokestack stood as a monument to blighted hopes.
Ranch houses were inhabited by squatters, who had not been on his books
at all, and who paid no tribute to Boston. He was viewed with suspicion
by these tenants, and on inquiry at the county seats, he found generally
that they were lawless men, and that it would be better for him to let
them alone. It was patent that they would not pay rent, and to eject
them merely in the maintenance of a principle involved useless expense
and violence.
"This certainly beats them all," Saxton muttered aloud.
He had reached in his itinerary what his papers called the Poindexter
property. He had found that the place was famous throughout this part of
the country for the idiosyncrasies of its sometime owners, three young
men who had come out of the East to show how the cattle business should
be managed. They had secured an immense acreage and built a stone ranch
house whose curious architecture imparted to the Platte Valley a touch
of medievalism that was little appreciated by the neighboring cattlemen.
One of the owners, a Philadelphian named Poindexter, who had a weakness
for architecture and had studied the subject briefly at his university,
contributed the buildings and his two associates bought the cattle.
There were one thousand acres of rolling pasture here, much of it lying
along the river, and a practical man could hardly have failed to
succeed; but theft, disease in the herd and inexperience in buying and
selling, had wrought the ranchmen's destruction. Before their money was
exhausted, Poindexter and his associates lived in considerable state,
and entertained the friends who came to see them according to the best
usages of Eastern country life within, and their own mild approximation
of Western life without. Tom Poindexter's preceptor in architecture, an
elderly gentleman with a sense of humor, had found a pleasure which he
hardly dared to express in the medieval tone of the house and buildings.
"All you need, Tom," he said, "to make the thing complete, is a
drawbridge and a moat. The possibilities are great in the light of
modern improvements in such things. An electric drawbridge, operated
solely by switches and buttons, would be worth while." The folly of man
seems to express itself naturally in the habitations which he builds for
himself; the folly of Tom Poindexter had been of huge dimensions and he
had built a fairly permanent monument to it. He and his associates began
with an ambition to give tone to the cattle business, and if novel ideas
could have saved them, they would not have failed. One of their happy
notions was to use Poindexter's coat of arms as a brand, and this was
only abandoned when their foreman declared that no calf so elaborately
marked could live. They finally devised an insignium consisting of the
Greek Omega in a circle of stars.
"There's a remnant of the Poindexter herd out there somewhere," Wheaton
had said to Saxton. "The fellow Snyder, that I put in as a caretaker,
ought to have gathered up the loose cattle by this time; that's what I
told him to do when I put him there."
Saxton turned and looked out over the rolling plain. A few rods away lay
the river, and where it curved nearest the house stood a group of
cottonwoods, like sentinels drawn together for colloquy. Scattered here
and there over the plain were straggling herds. On a far crest of the
rolling pastures a lonely horseman paused, sharply outlined for a moment
against the sky; in another direction, a blur drew his eyes to where a
group of the black Polled Angus cattle grazed, giving the one blot of
deep color to the plain.
Snyder reappeared, and Saxton followed him into the house.
"It isn't haunted or anything like that?" John asked, glancing over the
long hall.
"No. They have a joke about that at Great River. They say the only
reason is that there ain't any idiot ghosts."
There was much in the place to appeal to Saxton's quiet humor. The house
was two stories high and there was a great hall, with an immense
fireplace at one end. The sleeping rooms opened on a gallery above the
hall. An effort had been made to give the house the appearance of
Western wildness by introducing a great abundance of skins of wild
beasts,--a highly dishonest bit of decorating, for they had been bought
in Chicago. How else, indeed, would skins of German boars and Polar
bears be found in a ranch house on the Platte River! Under one wing of
the stairway, which divided to left and right at the center of the hall,
was the dining-room; under the other was the ranch office.
"Those fellows thought a good deal of their stomachs," said Snyder, as
Saxton opened and shut the empty drawers of the sideboard, which had
been built into one end of the western wall of the room, in such a
manner that a pane of glass, instead of a mirror, filled the center. The
intention of this was obviously to utilize the sunset for decorative
purposes, and Saxton chuckled as he comprehended the idea.
"I suppose our mortgage covers the sunset, too," he said. Nearly every
portable thing of value had been removed, and evidently in haste; but
the heavy oak chairs and the table remained. Snyder did his own modest
cooking in the kitchen, which was in great disorder. The floor of the
office was littered with scraps of paper. The original tenants had
evidently made a quick settlement of their business affairs before
leaving. Snyder slept here; his blanket lay in a heap on the long bench
that was built into one side of the room, and a battered valise
otherwise marked it as his lodging place. Saxton viewed the room with
disgust; it was more like a kennel than a bedroom. His foot struck
something on the floor; it was a silver letter-seal bearing the peculiar
Poindexter brand, and he thrust it into his pocket with a laugh.
"My ranching wasn't so bad after all," he muttered.
"What's that?" asked Snyder, who was stolidly following him about.
"Nothing. If you have a pony we'll take a ride around the fences."
They spent the day in the saddle riding over the range. The ridiculous
character of the Poindexter undertaking could not spoil the real value
of the land. There was, Saxton could see, the making here of a great
farming property; he felt his old interest in outdoor life quickening as
he rode back to the house in the evening.
Snyder cooked supper for both of them, while Saxton repaired a decrepit
windmill which had been designed to supply the house with water. He had
formed a poor opinion of the caretaker, who seemed to know nothing of
the property and who had, as far as he could see, no well defined
duties. The man struck him as an odd person for the bank to have chosen
to be the custodian of a ranch property. There was nothing for any one
to do unless the range were again stocked and cattle raising undertaken
as a serious business. Saxton was used to rough men and their ways. He
had a happy faculty of adapting himself to the conversational capacities
of illiterate men, and enjoyed drawing them out and getting their point
of view; but Snyder's was not a visage that inspired confidence. He had
a great shock of black hair and a scraggy beard. He lacked an eye, and
he had a habit of drawing his head around in order to accommodate his
remaining orb to any necessity. He did this with an insinuating kind of
deliberation that became tiresome in a long interview.
"This place is too fancy to be of much use," the man vouchsafed, puffing
at his pipe. "You may find some dude that wants to plant money where
another dude has dug the first hole; but I reckon you'll have a hard
time catching him. A real cattleman wouldn't care for all this house. It
might be made into a stable, but a horse would look ridiculous in here.
You might have a corn crib made out of it; or it would do for a hotel if
you could get dudes to spend the summer here; but I reckon it's a
little hot out here for summer boarders."
"The only real value is in the land," said Saxton. "I'm told there's no
better on the river. The house is a handicap, or would be so regarded by
the kind of men who make money out of cattle. Have you ever tried
rounding up the cattle that strayed through the fences? The Poindexter
crowd must have branded their last calves about two years ago. Assuming
that only a part of them was sold or run off, there ought to be some
two-year-olds still loose in this country and they'd be worth finding."
Snyder took his pipe from his mouth and snorted. "Yer jokin' I guess.
These fellers around here are good fellers, and all that, but I guess
they don't give anything back. I guess we ain't got any cattle coming to
us."
"You think you'd rather not try it?"
"Not much!" was the expressive reply. The fellow smoked slowly, bringing
his eye into position to see how Saxton had taken his answer.
John was refilling his own pipe and did not look up.
"Who've you been reporting to, Snyder?"
"How's that?"
"Who have you been considering yourself responsible to?"
"Well, Jim Wheaton at the Clarkson National hired me, and I reckon I'd
report to him if I reported to anybody. But if you're going to run this
shebang and want to be reported to, I guess I can report to you." He
brought his turret around again and Saxton this time met his eye.
"I want you to report to me," said John quietly. "In the first place I
want the house and the other buildings cleaned out. After that the
fences must be put in shape. And then we'll see if we can't find some of
our cows. You can't tell; we may open up a real ranch here and go into
business."
Snyder was sprawling at his ease in a Morris chair, and had placed his
feet on a barrel. He did not seem interested in the activities hinted
at.
"Well, if you're the boss I'll do it your way. I got along all right
with Wheaton."
He did not say whether he intended to submit to authority or not, and
Saxton dropped the discussion. John rose and found a candle with which
he lighted himself to bed in one of the rooms above. The whole place was
dirty and desolate. The house had never been filled save once, and that
was on the occasion of a housewarming which Poindexter and his fellows
had given when they first took possession. One of their friends had
chartered a private car and had brought out a party of young men and
women, who had enlivened the house for a few days; but since then no
woman had entered the place. In the Poindexter days it had been
carefully kept, but now it was in a sorry plight. There had been a whole
year of neglect and vacancy, in which the house had been used as a
meeting place for the wilder spirits of the neighborhood, who had not
hesitated to carry off whatever pleased their fancy and could be put on
the back of a horse. Saxton chose for himself the least disorderly of
the rooms, in which the furniture was whole, and where there were even a
few books lying about. He determined to leave for Clarkson the following
morning, and formulated in his mind the result of his journey and plans
for the future of the incongruous combination of properties that had
been entrusted to him. He sat for an hour looking out over the moon-lit
valley. He followed the long sweep of the plain, through which he could
see for miles the bright ribbon of the river. A train of cars rumbled
far away, on the iron trail between the two oceans, intensifying the
loneliness of the strange house.
"I seem to find only the lonely places," he said aloud, setting his
teeth hard into his pipe.
In the morning he ate the breakfast of coffee, hard-tack and bacon which
Snyder prepared.
"I guess you want me to hustle things up a little," said Snyder, more
amiably than on the day before. He turned his one eye and his grin on
Saxton, who merely said that matters must take a new turn, and that if a
ranch could be made out of the place there was no better time to begin
than the present. He had not formulated plans for the future, and could
not do so without the consent and approval of his principals; but he
meant to put the property in as good condition as possible without
waiting for instructions. Snyder rode with him to the railway station.
"Give my regards to Mr. Wheaton," he said, as Saxton swung himself into
the train. "You'll find me here at the old stand when you come back."
"A queer customer and undoubtedly a bad lot," was Saxton's reflection.
When Saxton had written out the report of his trip he took it to
Wheaton, to get his suggestions before forwarding it to Boston. He
looked upon the cashier as his predecessor, and wished to avail himself
of Wheaton's knowledge of the local conditions affecting the several
properties that had now passed to his care. Wheaton undoubtedly wished
to be of assistance, and in their discussion of the report, the cashier
made many suggestions of value, of which Saxton was glad to avail
himself.
"As to the Poindexter place," said Saxton finally, "I've been
advertising it for sale in the hope of finding a buyer, but without
results. The people at headquarters can't bother about the details of
these things, but I'm blessed if I can see why we should maintain a
caretaker. There's nothing there to take care of. That house is worse
than useless. I'm going back in a few days to see if I can't coax home
some of the cattle we're entitled to; they must be wandering over the
country,--if they haven't been rustled, and then I suppose we may as
well dispense with Snyder."
He had used the plural pronoun out of courtesy to Wheaton, wishing him
to feel that his sanction was asked in any changes that were made.
"I don't see that there's anything else to do," Wheaton answered. "I've
been to the ranch, and there's little personal property there worth
caring for. That man Snyder came along one day and asked for a job and I
sent him out there thinking he'd keep things in order until the Trust
Company sent its own representative here."
There were times when Wheaton's black eyes contracted curiously, and
this was one of the times.
"I don't like discharging a man that you've employed," Saxton replied.
"Oh, that's all right. You can't keep him if he performs no service.
Don't trouble about him on my account. How soon are you going back
there?"
"Next week some time."
"Traveling about the country isn't much fun," Wheaton said,
sympathetically.
"Oh, I rather like it," replied Saxton, putting on his hat.
Saxton was not surprised when he returned to the ranch to find that
Snyder had made no effort to obey his instructions. He made his visit
unexpectedly, leaving the train at Great River, where he secured a horse
and rode over to the ranch. He reached the house in the middle of the
morning and found the front door bolted and barred on the inside. After
much pounding he succeeded in bringing Snyder to the door, evidently
both surprised and displeased at his interruption.
"Howdy, boss," was the salutation of the frowsy custodian; "I wasn't
feeling just right to-day and was takin' a little nap."
The great hall showed signs of a carousal. The dirt had increased since
Saxton's first appearance. Empty bottles that had been doing service as
candlesticks stood in their greasy shrouds on the table. Saxton sat down
on a keg, which had evidently been recently emptied, and lighted a pipe.
He resolved to make quick work of Snyder.
"How many cattle have you rounded up since I was here?" he demanded.
"Well, to tell the truth," began Snyder, "there ain't been much time for
doing that since you was here."
"No; I suppose you were busy mending fences and cleaning house. Now you
have been drawing forty dollars a month for doing nothing. I'll treat
you better than you deserve and give you ten dollars bonus to get out. I
believe the pony in the corral belongs to you. We'll let it go at that.
Here's your money."
"Well, I guess as Mr. Wheaton hired me, he'd better fire me," the fellow
began, bringing his eye to bear upon Saxton.
"Yes, I spoke to Mr. Wheaton about you. He understands that you're to
go."
"He does, does he?" Snyder replied with a sneer. "He must have forgot
that I had an arrangement with him by the year."
"Well, it's all off," said Saxton, rising. He began throwing open the
windows and doors to let in fresh air, for the place was foul with the
stale fumes of whisky and tobacco.
"Well, I guess I'll have to see Mr. Wheaton," Snyder retorted, finding
that Saxton was paying no further attention to him. He collected his few
belongings, watching in astonishment the violence with which Saxton was
gathering up and disposing of rubbish.
"Going to clean up a little?" he asked, with his leer.
"No, I'm just exercising for fun," replied Saxton. "If you're ready,
you'd better take your pony and skip."
Snyder growled his resentment and moved toward the door with a bundle
under his arm and a saddle and bridle thrown over his shoulder.
"I'll be up town to see Mr. Wheaton in a day or two," he declared, as he
slouched through the door.
"He seems to be more interested in Wheaton than Wheaton is in him,"
observed Saxton to himself.
Saxton spent a week at Great River. He hired a man to repair fences and
put the house in order. He visited several of the large ranch owners and
asked them for aid in picking out the scattered remnants of the
Poindexter herd. Nearly all of them volunteered to help, with the result
that he collected about one hundred cattle and sold them at Great River
for cash. He expected to see or hear of Snyder in the town but the
fellow had disappeared.
The fact was that Snyder had ridden over to the next station beyond
Great River for his spree, that place being to his liking because it was
beyond the jurisdiction of the sheriff whose headquarters were
maintained at Great River,--an official who took his office seriously,
and who had warned Snyder that his latest offense--getting drunk and
smashing a saloon sideboard--must not be repeated. After he had been
satisfactorily drunk for a week and had gambled away such of his fortune
as the saloonkeeper had not acquired in direct course of commerce,
Snyder came to himself sufficiently to send a telegram. Then he sat down
to wait, with something of the ease of spirit with which an honest man
sends forth a sight draft for collection from a town where he is a
stranger, and awaits returns in the full enjoyment of the comforts of
his inn.
On the third day, receiving no message from the outside world, Snyder
sold his pony and took the train for Clarkson.