Y BAR COLSTON TALKS
"There's Colston, now!" exclaimed Cameron, rising and hailing a rider
who approached leading two saddled horses. The rider drew up, Cameron
descended to the little white gate, and a moment later was helping the
ranchman to tie his horses to the picket fence. As they approached the
porch, Endicott noted the leathery gauntness of face that bespoke years
on the open range, and as their hands met he also noted the hard, firm
grip, and the keen glance of the grey eyes that seemed to be taking his
measure. The man greeted the ladies with grave deference, and seated
himself in the empty chair.
"Well, I got here, Endicott, but it was a considerable chore. Ain't as
young as I was once. Time I was lettin' go, I guess. Seventy years
old--an' young-hearted as any buck on the range--but along towards
night, after a hard day's ride, I find myself beginin' to realize I be'n
somewheres, an' the old bed-roll looks better to me than a carload of
white-faces."
Instinctively, Endicott liked this man--the bluff heartiness of him, and
the alert litheness of motion that belied the evidence of the white
moustache and silvery white hair. "I hope I shall be half the man you
are at your age," he laughed.
"You will be--if you buy the Y Bar outfit. Believe me young man, there's
enough to do around that outfit to keep a man up an' jumpin' if he was a
hundred an' seventy. A man just naturally ain't got time to get old!"
"Win tells me the ranch is sixty miles from here," smiled Alice, "and
that's a pretty good ride for anybody."
"Pretty good ride! Young woman, if that was all the ridin' I done today
I'd b'en here before breakfast. I couldn't get away till afternoon--up
before daylight this mornin', rode two horses plumb off their feet
huntin' the wagons--foreman quit yesterday--best blamed foreman I ever
had, too. Just up an' quit cold because he took a notion. Tried every
which way to get him to stay--might's well talk to a rock. Away he went,
Lord knows where, leavin' me nothin' on my mind except bein' owner,
manager, ranch boss, an' wagon boss, besides tryin' to sell the outfit.
Confounded young whelp! Best doggone cow-hand on the range."
"Why did you have to hunt wagons, and what has a wagon boss got to do
with a cattle ranch?" asked the girl.
"The wagons are the round-up--the rodeo. We're right in the middle of
the calf round-up. The grub wagon an' the bed wagon makes what you
might call the field headquarters for the round-up--move every day till
they cover the whole range."
"How interesting!" exclaimed the girl, "I know I'm going to love it!"
"Sure is interesting," remarked the old man, drily, "with the wagons
twenty or thirty miles out in the foothills, an' workin' over into the
sheep country, an' eighteen or twenty knot-headed cow-hands hatin'
sheep, an' no foreman to hold 'em level, an' hayin' on full tilt at the
home ranch, an' the ranch hands all huntin' the shade! Yes'm,
interestin's one word for it--but there's a shorter one that I'm afraid
the parson, here, wouldn't recommend that describes it a heap better."
"By the way," said Endicott, "Mr. Cameron tells me that the cattle and
sheep situation is a rather delicate one hereabouts. He says that you
hold the respect of both factions--that you seem to have a peculiar
knack in keeping the situation in hand----"
"Peculiar knack!" exclaimed the ranchman, "peculiar knack's got nothin'
to do with it! Common sense, young man! Just plain common sense, an'
maybe the ability to see that other folks has got rights, same as I
have. The Y Bar stands for a square deal all the way around--when its
own calves are branded, it quits brandin', an' it don't hold that open
range means cattle range an' not sheep range. Any fair-minded man can
take the Y Bar an' run it like I've run it, an' make money, an' let the
other fellow make money, too. There's plenty of range for all of us if
we keep our head. If you're afraid of buyin' into a war--don't buy. I
can sell any day to parties I know are just layin' to get the Y Bar, an'
the minute they got it, trouble would start an' there'd be hell
a-poppin' all along the Mizoo. Somewhere there must be a man that'll buy
that is fair-minded, an' not afraid to take holt an' run the outfit like
I've run it."
Endicott flushed slightly: "I am not afraid of it. I only wanted to
know----"
"An' you've got a right to know. If we deal, I'll stay with you long
enough to wise you up to the whole layout. That would be no more than
right. I'm considerable used to judgin' men, an' I think you can handle
it. Let 'em know right off the reel that you ain't afraid of any of
'em--an' get this before you start out: A man ain't God A'mighty because
he happens to run cattle, an' he ain't the Devil because he runs sheep,
neither. There's cattlemen on this range I wouldn't trust as far as I
could throw a bull by the tail, an' there's sheep-men can have anything
I've got just on their say-so--mind you, that ain't the general
run--pickin' 'em in the dark, I'd tie to a cow-man every time--but
there's exceptions, as the fellow says, to every rule. If that
confounded Tex hadn't quit----"
"_Tex!_" cried Alice, and Endicott smiled at the glad eagerness of the
tone.
The old cattleman glanced at her in surprise: "Yes, my foreman. Best man
on the range--handled men the easiest you ever saw. Never had any
trouble with the sheep outfits--but just the same, there ain't a
sheep-man south of the river that would care to try to put anything over
on him--nor no one else, neither. There ain't any bluff an' bluster
about him, he's the quietest hand you ever saw. But, somehow, lookin'
into them eyes of his--a man just naturally stops to think--that's all."
"Oh, what is he like? Tell me about him! What is his name?"
"Name's Tex. That's all I know, an' that's all----"
"Tex Benton?" interrupted the girl.
The man regarded her curiously. "Maybe, or, Tex Smith, or Tex Jones, or
Tex somethin else."
"I--we knew a Tex, once----"
Colston laughed: "There's lots of Texes here in the cow-country. Tryin'
to find one that you didn't know no more about than that would be like
me goin' East an' sayin' I knew a man by the name of John."
"How long has he worked for you?"
"He quit last evenin'. If he'd of stayed till day after tomorrow, it
would have been just a year." The old man's voice had softened, and his
gaze strayed to the far hills. "I made him foreman when he'd b'en with
me a month," he continued after a short pause. "I can pick men." Another
pause. "He--he called me 'Dad'."
"Did he know you were going to sell?" asked Endicott.
The old man shook his head.
"Then, why did he quit?" Somehow, the question sounded harsh, but the
man seemed not to notice. There was an awkward silence during which the
old man continued to stare out over the hills.
"He quit to get drunk," he said abruptly, and Endicott detected a slight
huskiness in his tone.
Across the table, Alice gasped--and the sound was almost a sob.
Colston cleared his throat roughly, and turned his eyes to the girl:
"That's the way I feel about it, young woman. I got to know him mighty
well, an' I know what was in him. From the time he went to work for me
till he quit, he never took a drink--an', God knows it wasn't because he
didn't want one! He fought it just like he fought bad horses, an' like
he'd of fought men if he'd had to--square an' open. He'd give away an
advantage rather than take one. He was like that.
"I saw him ride an outlaw, once--a big, vicious killer--a devil-horse.
The Red King, we called him, he's run with the wild bunch for years. Two
men had tried him. We buried one where he lit. The other had folks. Tex
run him a week an' trapped him at a water-hole--then, he _rode him_!"
The old man's eyes were shining now, and his fist smote the table top.
"Ah, that was a ride--with the whole outfit lookin' on!" Colston paused
and glanced about the faces at the table, allowing his eyes to rest upon
Alice who was listening eagerly, with parted lips. "Did you ever notice
how sometimes without any reason, things gets kind of--of
onnatural--kind of feel to 'em that's _different_? Well, this ride was
like that. I've seen hundreds of bad horses rode, an' the boys all
yellin' an' bettin', but this time there wasn't no bettin', an' the only
sounds was the sound made by the Red King. It wasn't because they
expected to see Tex killed--all of 'em had seen men killed ridin' bad
horses, an' all of 'em had cheered the next man up. But, somethin' kep'
'em still, with their eyes froze on what they saw. It was uncanny--one
hundred an' forty pounds of man tacklin' eleven hundred pounds of red
fury. There we stood, the white alkali dust raisin' in a cloud, an' the
devil-horse, crazy mad--screamin' shrill like a woman, snappin' like a
wolf, frothin', strikin', kickin', buckin' twistin', sunfishin',
swappin' ends, shootin' ten foot high an' crashin' down on his
back--fightin' every minute with the whole box of tricks, an' a lot of
new ones--an' Tex right up in the middle of him with that twisty smile
on his face, like he wasn't only half interested in what he was doin'.
Didn't even put a bridle on. Rode him with a hackamore--jerked that off
an' give him his head--an' he rode straight up, an' raked him an' fanned
him every jump. It wasn't _human_.
"For three days they fought, man an' horse, before the Red King knew
his master--an' when they got through, the Red King would come when Tex
whistled. For ten days he rode him, an'--there was a horse! A bay so
bright an' sleek that he looked like red gold in the sunlight, mane an'
tail black as ink, an' his eyes chain lightnin'--an' the sound of the
thunder was in his hoofs.
"It was moonlight the night I rode home from the NL. I had just topped a
ridge that juts from the foothills into the open range an' all at once I
heard the thunder of hoofs ahead. I slipped into a scatterin' of bull
pines at the edge an' waited. I didn't wait long. Along the ridge,
runnin' strong an' smooth, like the rush of a storm wind, come a horse
an' rider. Before I could make 'em out, I knew by the sound of the
hoofs, what horse an' what rider. They passed close--so close I could
have reached out an' touched 'em with my quirt. Then I saw what made my
heart jump an' my eyes fair pop out of my head. The Red King flashed
by--no saddle, no bridle, not even an' Injun twitch, mane an' tail
flarin' out in the wind of his own goin', an' the white foam flyin' in
chunks from his open mouth; an' on his back sat Tex, empty handed an'
slick heeled. I thought I caught a glimpse of the twisty smile on his
face, as he swayed on the back of the devil-horse--that, I saw--an' ten
rod further on the ridge broke off in a goat-climb! I went limp, an'
then--'Whoa!' The sound cracked like a pistol shot. The stallion's feet
bunched under him an' three times his length he slid with the loose
rock flyin' like hailstones! He stopped with his forefeet on the edge,
an' his rump nearly touchin' the ground, then he whipped into shape like
a steel spring an' stood there on the rim of the ridge, neck an' tail
arched, head tossin' out that long black mane, red flarin' nostrils
suckin' in the night air, an' a forefoot pawin' the rock. If Remington
or old Charlie Russell could have seen what I saw there in the
moonlight--man an' horse--the best man, an' the best horse in all the
cow-country--the sky black an' soft as velvet, an' the yellow range--no
one will paint it--because no one will ever see the like again. There
they stood, lookin' out over the wild country. And, then Tex slipped
down an' stepped slow to the Red King's head. He put up his arms an'
they closed over the arched neck an' his cheek laid against the satin
skin of him. For what seemed like a long time they stood there, an' then
Tex stepped back an' pointed to the yellow range: 'Go on, boy!' he said,
'_Go!_' An' he brought the flat of his hand down with a slap on the
shiny flank. For just an instant the horse hesitated an' then he went
over the edge. The loose rocks clattered loud, an' then come the sound
of hoofs on the sod as the Red King tore down the valley. Tex watched
him an' all of a sudden his fingers flew to his lips, an' a shrill
whistle cut the air. Down in the valley the devil-horse stopped
short--stopped an' whirled at the sound. Then of a sudden he reared high
his forefeet pawin' the air in a fume of fury an' up out of the night
come the wickedest, wildest scream man ever heard--it was a scream that
got to a man. It sent cold shivers up an' down my back. The Red King had
come into his own again--he was defyin' his master. He turned, then, an'
the last I saw of him was a red blur in the distance.
"Then Tex turned an' started back along the ridge. I could see his face,
now, an' the twisty smile on his lips. I aimed to stay hid an' never let
on I'd seen--it seemed somehow best that way. But when he was right
opposite me he stopped an' rolled a cigarette an' the flare of the match
made my horse jump, an' the next second he was beside me with a gun in
his hand, an' his face flamin' red as the coat of the devil-horse.
"'You saw it?' he says, kind of quiet.
"I shakes my head: 'Yes,' I says, 'but not intentional. I was ridin'
home from the NL, an' I slipped in here to let you by.'
"Pretty soon he spoke again kind of slow: 'If it had b'en anyone else
but you, Dad,' he says, 'I'd of--of--But, you understand, you savvy.
He's wild--we're both wild--the Red King an' me. We'll fight like
hell--for the fun of fightin'--an' then we'll go back to the wild
again--an' we'll go back when we damn please--did you see him when I
whistled?'
"'I saw,' I says. To tell the truth, I was kind of catchy in the throat,
but I managed to blurt out, 'An' that's why you wouldn't brand him?'
"'Yes,' he says, 'that's why--' An' of a sudden, his voice went hard. 'I
licked him to show him I could. But, I didn't brand him--an' if anyone
ever lays an iron on him, I'll kill him as sure as hell--onless the Red
King beats me to it.'" The old man paused and cleared his throat
huskily, and as Alice dabbed at her eyes he noticed that her lips
quivered. "An' that's the way he fought the booze--open an' above
board--not takin' the advantage of stayin' away from it. He carried a
half-pint flask of it all the time. I've seen him take it out an' hold
it up to the sunlight an' watch the glints come an' go--for all the
world like the glints on the coat of the Red King. He'd shake it, an'
watch the beads rise, an' he'd pull the cork an' smell it--breathe its
flavour an' its bouquet deep into his lungs--an' all the while the
little beads of cold sweat would be standin' out on his forehead, like
dew on a tombstone, an' his tongue would be wettin' his lips, an' his
fingers would be twitchin' to carry it to his mouth. Then his lips would
twist into that grin, an' he'd put back the cork, an' put the bottle in
his pocket, an' ride off--_singin'_.
"When I saw him tackle that horse that no man had ever rode, I knew,
somehow, that he'd ride him. An' when I'd see him pull that bottle, just
tormented crazy for a drink, I knew he wouldn't take a drink. An' the
same way, when he come to me yesterday an' said he was goin' to quit, I
knew he was goin' to quit, an' there was nothin' more to be said. I
asked him why, an' open an' above board he says: 'Because I'm goin' to
get drunk.' I couldn't believe my ears at first. It turned me kind of
sick--an' then I knew I loved him. All at once I saw red. You see, I
knew what he didn't know I knew--about his fight with the booze. 'So, it
got you at last, did it?' I says.
"He looked at me with those quiet eyes, an' the twisty smile come
into his face. 'No, Dad,' he says. 'It didn't get me--an' you know
it didn't get me--an' it never could. I showed it I could lick it,
an' that's all there is to it. I'm goin' away now, an' get drunk as
hell--deliberate--not because I have to get drunk, but because I want
to.' An' as I watched the boy ride away, I remembered how it had been
with the Red King--he licked him an' turned him back with the wild
bunch--because he wanted to."