A "BAD MAN'S" END.
"That's where Mexican Jack was killed," answered Abe, coming in the
doorway, frying pan in hand. "He was shot just where you sit. I'll tell
you about it after supper."
John moved away from the spot.
Before long the ranchman called them in, and they enjoyed a supper the
like of which had not fallen to their lot since they left the mine. The
compliment the boys paid Abe's cooking did much to win his heart. Though
they were anxiously waiting to hear the story of the bullet holes and
the spot of blood, Abe continued to talk about gravies, the advantages
of a very hot pan in cooking, and other culinary topics that would have
interested John at another time, for he rather prided himself on his
ability as cook, but which now seemed more than trivial.
The boys lent a hand, and soon the tins were washed and the heavy deal
table cleared. The fire replenished, and Abe's pipe fairly started, all
three drew their stools up to the blaze.
"Well, how about Mexican Jack?" ventured Ben at last, unable to restrain
his curiosity longer.
"Oh, yes, I was going to tell you about that, wasn't I? Well, he was a
hard case," continued the speaker. "Half Mexican, half white man--and
all bad, he was. I made his acquaintance about ten years ago at Boisé
City, and the first thing I heard of him was that he'd just killed a
gambler--gambler was a hard case, so nobody cared much--and Jack
skipped. Shortly after that he went to Denver and bullied the town. Oh,
he was a regular 'bad man.' You know what a 'bad man' is, don't you?"
"Sure," said John. "Tough customer who knows he's tough and takes pride
in it. They're always mighty quick with their guns, and dead shots. One
of 'em shot a man in the arm, near our shack back in Bismarck, and
mother tied it up. It was queer; the bullet went right through and it
looked like a rose where it came out."
"Well," continued Abe, "Jack was a 'bad man,' and he didn't care who
knew it. He had a shooting scrape in Denver and had to jump the town in
pretty lively style. The sheriff's posse got after him, but he killed
two of 'em and got off. After that every sheriff in the country was
looking for him, so he turned outlaw and road agent near Virginia City,
and held up Ben Halliday's stages till the vigilance committee hung some
of his partners and got too hot on his trail. Not a thing more did I
hear of him till he turned up about two years ago with this bunch of
sheep of your father's. He had turned herder and driven 'em all the way
in from Utah." Miller stopped to relight his pipe, for he had forgotten
to keep it going in the interest of his tale. The boys were impatient at
the least delay; the ruddy firelight lit up their faces and showed their
eager interest.
"Your father had bought this ranch and put me in charge just a little
while before Mexican Jack came along; I spotted him at once and he
spotted me, but I didn't let on, for I knew he was all-fired quick with
his gun and I wasn't looking for trouble. Of course he never went to
town: it wasn't healthy for him there; and if he wanted anything he had
to wait till somebody who was going in would get it for him. Even with
such care, though, he knew it wasn't safe for him to stay in one place
very long, so one day in spring he told me he was going to quit and move
on. Don't you boys ever turn 'bad men,'" said Abe, with a laugh; "it
don't pay. Brave as that poor chap was, he was fairly afraid of his
shadow when he got to thinking of sheriffs' posses. One man isn't much
good against the law, even out here. Well," he went on, "I went to town
to get another man--it's thirty miles, so I stayed over night. Charley
Boyd, who runs a liquor joint there, told me a young feller, an
Englishman, he thought, had been in there several times asking about
sheep. Charley said there might be some business in it, so I dropped in
later.
"Boyd went up to a young chap who was sitting watching a faro game.
'Here's your man, Mr. Simmons,' said he. The stranger wanted to know all
about the different bunches of sheep near there, so I told him and
talked a good deal about one thing or another having to do with them. I
remember I told him I was looking for a herder to take the place of a
Mexican that was going to quit. Soon after that he left. I could not
quite make him out, but it was plain enough he wasn't buying."
"What's all this got to do with Mexican Jack?" inquired Ben, who didn't
see the drift of the narrative.
"If you wait a minute, I'll tell you." Abe was vexed at the thoughtless
interruption, and Ben subsided, realizing that he had been rather
foolish. "In the morning I packed my stuff on the led horse, mounted my
own cayuse, and started out. I had just topped the rise near the shack
when a bullet went by with a hum, and then another and another, so I
chased back for cover to the other side. I dismounted, crawled up to the
top, and looked over. There at the door sat Mexican Jack, six-shooter in
hand. I couldn't understand why in the world he should shoot at me, so I
rode over to look up Billy, the other herder, and find out what was up.
He hadn't been to the shack since morning and knew nothing about it, so
he left the sheep and we went down the coulie, which runs just below
here, you know, till we got behind that clump of brush--perhaps you saw
it. We peeked through pretty cautious, I can tell you. The Mexican was
still there, but his body was all hunched up; he seemed drunk or asleep,
for his six-shooter lay on the ground by his side.
"We covered him with our guns, for he was chained lightning with his
shooting irons, and then yelled at him. He didn't answer or move an
inch. We jumped out then, still keeping him covered, and walked slowly
up, ready to riddle him if he should make a move with that deadly pistol
hand of his. Once he quivered a bit and his right hand stirred toward
his gun. I almost plunked him then, I was so nervous, but there was no
other sign of wakefulness or life. We decided he must have gotten hold
of some liquor somewhere, but when we got within about fifty feet of him
Billy noticed a pool of blood at his side. Then we rushed forward--guns
still ready, however--and just as we reached the steps he lurched
forward and fell full on his face--dead!
"A couple of bullets had gone clean through him. We found out when we
turned his body over to the authorities in town that Simmons, the young
Englishman I had met, had come over to America a year before expressly
to kill Mexican Jack, who had shot his brother in some quarrel. I had
supplied the missing link of information, and he had gone early in the
morning to our shack, where he had shot the Mexican twice. Jack
evidently thought I had given him away purposely and tried to settle
me."
"My! what a fiend," said John. "But what became of Simmons?"
"Oh, he went back to town and gave himself up, was tried, and acquitted;
for no jury out here would convict such a man for shooting a bad lot
like Mexican Jack."
"I should think you'd be glad to get rid of him," exclaimed both boys
in chorus. "Weren't you afraid to have him round so long?"
"Oh, no; he wouldn't trouble me, I guess, as long as I let him alone; he
was a blamed good herder, and it was worth while to keep on the right
side of him. Now, you boys want to tumble in, for we'll be going out
right early in the morning to the range."
The twenty-five-mile trip next day to the range where the sheep were
grazing was made without incident, but the country was all new to the
boys and they plied their guide with questions. They learned that Abe
Miller was to stay with them on the range and teach them their duties,
another man taking charge at the ranch house during his absence.
It was expected that Mr. and Mrs. Worth would move to the new mine
(about fifteen miles from the ranch house) in a couple of months.
Their education as herders completed, the boys would be given sole
charge of a large bunch of several thousand sheep. A kind of shed, open
in front and built of round, chinked logs, entirely lacking in comforts
of every kind, was to be their home. Polly, Dick, and Pete, the three
sheep dogs, and the great flock of woolly animals would then be their
only companions.
Abe initiated them at once into the routine of their new occupation and
introduced them to "Polly" and her two sons, Dick and Pete, the
ever-vigilant, intelligent dogs who were to be their capable
assistants.
[Illustration: MANY LAMBS IN THE FLOCK. (_Page 149._)]
It was hardly the work that an enterprising, wide-awake, active person,
young or old, would choose. Untiring vigilance was the one thing
necessary. Watchfulness never ceasing, day and night, rain and shine,
was the chief occupation of the sheep herder. Polly, the dog, was a much
better herder than her young masters at first, and Dick and Pete were
not far behind. They moved the "bunch" to fresh feeding grounds at the
command, and fully understood the wig-wag code of the plains. When
driving at a distance from camp Polly would trot to a hill top and watch
for the boys' signal: if John waved horizontally she would drive them
farther, Dick and Pete assisting; when the bunch had been driven far
enough John's hat would be flapped up and down, and the dogs, with
almost human intelligence, would at once stop their charges.
The attacks of coyotes, wolves, and, more rarely, mountain lions were
the greatest danger to the sheep that the young shepherds had to guard
against. Some of these four-footed enemies were almost always prowling
about, looking hungrily for a chance at a stray sheep or lamb. A coyote
or wolf among an unprotected flock will destroy a surprising number of
sheep in a few minutes, seemingly for the pure love of killing, so there
was good reason for the sharpest kind of lookout.
After the novelty of the life wore off, the boys began to wish
themselves back at the mine. For weeks at a time they did not see
another human being. Each day was like every other day; in the morning
the rope corral enclosing the flock was let down, and the sheep were
driven by the dogs to a place where the feed was good; then the boys
mounted their horses and followed to the grazing ground. During the two
mid hours of the day the animals rested, lying down quietly, and the
brothers would take advantage of this time to get in as much sport as
the spot afforded. Rifles were always slung on the saddle, and the
slinking coyotes gave plenty of opportunity to show good marksmanship.
Occasionally the curiously marked antelope appeared, looking, as Charley
Green once said, "as if some one had started to paint the whole lot tan
but had got tired of the job and left patches of white at odd places";
then the young hunters would set out, and in the excitement of a hunt
forget for a time the monotony of the life. Seldom was it safe for both
to go at once; only at noon, when the sheep were lying down in open,
level country, could the dogs be left wholly in charge.
Towards evening the bunch must be corraled for the night--a difficult
task if there are many lambs in the flock. The boys found, often to
their disgust, that a lamb can run like a deer when it gets thoroughly
frightened. It was shortly after Abe had left them that, in accordance
with his teaching, they began to "round up" the flock preparatory to
stretching the rope corral. Ben was on one side with Polly and Dick,
John on the other with Pete; all was going well, and John and Pete,
neither very experienced in the business in hand, began to feel the
pride that goeth before a fall. Suddenly the sheep fifty yards from
where John stood began to scatter. Pete was sent forthwith to force them
back, and while he was busy there a lamb, long and clumsy of leg,
apparently not strong enough to stand alone, started out on a voyage of
discovery not ten yards from the boy. It would not do to let it stray
far, for a coyote would make short work of it, so John sped off in
pursuit.
As he drew near the little woolly thing it increased its speed, running
as you would imagine a rickety table would run, but it kept going faster
and faster. John, who unfortunately was on foot, found to his
mortification that he could not overtake it. It looked as if he would
have to give up the chase. At last, however, he tried gradually turning
to one side and heading it back to the bunch; even then it might have
got away if Polly, taking in the situation, had not flown to the rescue.
John came back panting, hot, and tired, only to find Ben sitting calmly
in his saddle with a broad grin on his countenance. Even the dogs seemed
to be laughing, their open mouths and lolling tongues giving their faces
a look of keen enjoyment over his discomfiture.
Even after the flock was safely corralled it required almost as much
watching as if in the open. The boys usually took turns, each watching
half the night. A fire was built on one side of the enclosure, and the
watcher lay on the other. The sheep, probably the most helpless animals
one could find, lay right up against each other, their closely packed
bodies looking at night like a patch of snow.
As the young herder fought with himself to keep awake, the howl of a
coyote often broke the stillness; then he must start up, gun in hand,
and make a round of the flock. From time to time he replenished the fire
and made a careful scrutiny of the country round in search of the
lurking enemies of his charges. Till he woke his brother about midnight
there was hardly a minute's rest. Then Ben took up the vigil, while
John slept till daylight; and so began another weary day exactly like
the preceding one.
While in summer sheep are docile and amiable, though never so
interesting as are cattle, horses, or mules, in winter they become
stupid, intractable, and aggravating to the herder. It was in the winter
that the boys' greatest hardships were encountered, for they found it
necessary more than once literally to carry some of the flock through
snow drifts to the ranch. They would not be driven or led, but when a
trail had been made, and a number carried and forced along it, the
remainder would pluck up courage to follow through the bank of snow.
The boys spent all one summer and winter with the sheep. From time to
time Mr. Worth, who had moved his entire outfit over to the new mine,
came out to the range to inspect the animals; and towards the end of the
year the boys each time besought their father to let them go back with
him. For the first time they realized the meaning of an expression they
had often heard: "as crazy as a sheep herder." The shepherd's life in
the far West is as uninteresting, ambitionless, and lonely an existence
as falls to the lot of man. For long periods of time a shepherd is so
entirely alone with his flock and his dogs that the experience not
infrequently costs him his reason. It was a terribly lonely life for
youngsters such as they; though each was company for the other, they
both longed to hear the home sounds and see the familiar faces. Mr.
Worth, however, would not consent to their return till the year was up.
He felt that the discipline was good for them, and besides he was never
willing to have them let go of anything without finishing it.
The new mine was the most important and largest that had been opened. It
was situated on the line of the railroad that had just been constructed,
and was of a more permanent character than the preceding ones. Many of
the miners brought their wives and families with them, so that they
formed quite a settlement. Occasionally the miners' sons would ride out
to visit the Worth boys, who were delighted to see them, though there
was little in common between them. The miners were Easterners, as a
rule, and knew nothing of horsemanship, hunting, or plains-craft; but
they were boys and were gladly received as such. They regaled John and
Ben with accounts of the happenings at the mine, but while they listened
eagerly, this only added to their impatience to return and made them
more discontented with their present life.
When the snow began to melt and the grass to grow green again, the
brothers occupied most of their time in thinking what they would do when
they got back to civilization, for the time of their release was drawing
near.
"I'd go crazy if I had to stay here with these woolly idiots another
year," said John one day.
"Yes," returned Ben, "it's about as tame as anything could be. But what
are we going to do when we get back? You can bet your bottom dollar
father won't let us sit round and enjoy the view."
"I suppose we'll have to get to work at something." John stroked Polly's
head reflectively as he spoke, and the good dog, undemonstrative always,
showed her pleasure only by the slow wagging of her bushy tail.
"But what?" It was Ben who spoke. "I'll be switched if I want to go to
coal mining, and I guess you don't care about it either."
"That's right," replied John, laconically. "I've had enough of mining to
last me a lifetime." He shivered a little at the remembrance of his
experience.
For a time both were silent; each was trying to think of something he
might turn his hand to that would suit his father and at the same time
please himself. It was not an altogether cheerful prospect that lay
before them. They would soon change the solitude for their bustling,
busy home. It was home, and that was good to think of. Yet it was a home
where a boy's love of fun and his healthy animal spirits were not
considered: his capacity for work was what counted. A home where
uncongenial, hard labor awaited them unless they could think of some
other occupation that would satisfy their stern, just, absolutely honest
but unyielding father.
"Well?" said Ben at last.
"Well!" returned John in much the same tone, "there is one thing we
might do--perhaps."
"Well?" said Ben again, eagerly.
"You remember when young Watson was over here the other night," John
began. "He said that a mail route was to be run from Ragged Edge Camp to
the railroad, through the pass in the mountain----"
"Yes, and he had the job. That shuts us out, doesn't it?"
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed John, impatiently. "He's a tenderfoot, and
he'll never in the world be able to make that trip on time, in
winter--he'll never be able to make it at all. You'll see that after he
has been late a few times we'll have a chance. Then I intend to apply
for the job. See?"
John was the more aggressive, the stronger of the two, both in mind and
body. The younger brother had learned to lean on his more independent
spirit, so it was John who always had the deciding voice when there was
a doubtful plan. Ben's yielding disposition enabled him to get along
more comfortably with every one, and especially with the supreme
authority in the household.
The Worth boys soon learned from their occasional visitors that they
would be expected to show their prowess as boxers and wrestlers on their
arrival in camp, so they determined to practise up. Every day at noon,
when the sheep lay down, the two went at each other, good humoredly but
with seriousness, advising one another when a mistake was made. Every
blow, every trick, that Tom Malloy had taught John they tried till they
knew it perfectly. Every feint, every fall, that the Indians practised
they perfected, till by the time their term with the sheep was up their
bodies were as supple and their muscles as strong as constant exercise
and clean, healthy living in the open air could make them.
At last the new men arrived, the boys turned over the sheep to them, and
promptly saddled up for their ride across the mountains. They were glad
to get away from the ranch, but when they reviewed the passed long
months and realized that they had not flinched, they experienced that
peculiar pleasure that comes from carrying through a hard job.