MAVERICK BASIN
The trail to Maverick Basin led north up Turkey Creek; and on both
sides of the canyon, in caverns and beneath huge crags, the white
houses of the cliff-dwellers caught the eye. The mountains rose up in
jumbled and shattered terraces, split here and there by dark and jagged
chasms which revealed the far heights beyond. These were covered with
black pines and Douglas spruce, clinging close to the shelving slopes;
and below them the oaks and junipers crept in, while at the bottom
there was cactus and mesquite. It was a rough and thorny trail, winding
in and out and up over brushy benches, then down again to the creek.
Startled deer rose up timorously from their beds along the hillside,
wild turkeys ran flapping across the path; and along the bluffs the
tracks of mountain lion and bear told of others who prowled by night.
But the scarcest track of all was that of man, the conqueror, who
claims dominion over the birds and beasts. Like the lions and bears,
men traveled by night or kept off the beaten trails.
Meshackatee rode ahead on a buckskin Indian pony which seemed to totter
beneath his great weight, and, across the saddle in front of him,
he balanced a repeating rifle with a bore like a buffalo gun. Behind
followed Hall, still mounted on the blue roan which had so taken Red
Scarborough's eye; and, scouting on before them, went Meshackatee's
spotted dog, always seeking yet silent as a specter. The canyon opened
out into wide, oak-clad flats with sycamores along the banks of the
creek; and then the hills fell away to the east, giving a view of lone
pinnacles beyond. They rode further and the flats opened out into parks
where deer and wild cattle grazed; and the high cliffs to the west came
down nearer and nearer, as if to cut off their way. Then the trail
left the creek and swung over towards the cliff and at Jump-off Point
it climbed the western rim and led north across Juniper Flats. They
set off at a gallop, heading for a distant divide, and as the sun was
sinking low they topped the last ridge and the Basin lay smiling before
them.
It was a wide and grassy valley, circled about with oak-crowned hills;
and beyond it like a line the great Rim of the Mogollons stood out
blue against the reddening sky. Tall pines, like half-stript sticks,
marked the edge of the unseen forest which covered the sloping plains
beyond; and under the Rim all the caved-off, lesser rims were smothered
in a dense growth of trees. All else seemed shut in, overwhelmed and
obscured; but Maverick Basin lay set like a jewel within the curve
of the golden-brown hills. It was a cowman's paradise, well watered
with meandering streams and sheltered from north winds by the Rim;
its grass was all aripple, a wooded river-bottom flanked the east
and live-oaks made shade along its slopes. Yet here was where the
Scarboroughs had settled down to make a little hell of their own.
Hall looked at it in silence, taking in its placid beauty and the roofs
of peaceful houses among the trees, and as he followed down the slope
he sighed.
"Gitting tired?" inquired Meshackatee, "well, it ain't far, now. See
that long house, off to the west? That's the famous Rock House that the
first settlers built to stand off the bloodthirsty A-paches; and now,
by grab, it's got a bunch of Texas gunmen that could give 'em cards
and spades. It's the Scarborough headquarters, and over to the east is
the big log house of the Bassetts. It was built for Injuns too--with
loop-holes and all--but it's too doggoned close to that hill. The Rock
House stands out in the middle of the plain, where you can't shoot
it up from cover; but sure as hell, if they's ever any trouble, the
Bassetts are going to git ambushed. They're right on the bank of Turkey
Crick, too--where you see all them cottonwood trees--and a bunch of men
could slip up through that brush and ketch 'em in the door at dawn. The
other house, over north, it's the old Jensen place--they're using it
now for a store.
"That's the first real house that was built in the Basin," he went on
with garrulous pride, "and it's sure seen doings in its day. Right
there is where Jens Jensen made his start in the cow business and
give the Basin its name. Them first ones might have been mavericks,
but the kind they're gitting now have been stole from as far as New
Mexico. Old Jens was an honest old jasper, in a way--as honest as they
let 'em git in these parts--but the bunch that come in later would
rather steal a cow than have their breakfast in bed. They was so good
with a running-iron they could write their names with it, and every
one registered a brand that would burn spang over Jensen's. His iron
was JJ and the Scarboroughs put pot-hooks on it that made it look like
SS; the Bassetts jest altered the last J to JB connected and changed
the first J to suit. Sharps Bassett worked it over into an S, like
the Scarboroughs, and Winchester changed it to a W; and Bill, the
black rascal, burned as pretty a WB connected as you ever see in your
life. Oh, these boys git so good they take a pride in blotching brands
and figuring out real elaborate bums--like that feller back in Texas
that altered XIT into a five-pointed star and a cross. He was offered
ten thousand dollars to show how he done it, and now they ain't a
cotton-picker this side of Uvalde that can't burn it over in his sleep.
But that was back in Texas where the competition is strong--out here
they was still in the ABC class, where a man used his initials for the
brand. Well, they pulled off of Jens until they got halfway ashamed of
themselves, he was such a peaceable old duck; and then Judge Malcolm
comes driving into the Basin with fifteen hundred head of cows. The
judge had bought this stuff up in the San Juan country somewhere, or
traded for it someway with them Mormons; and he come right in here,
without 'By your leave' or nothing, and turned them out on the range.
"A-all right, here was where the big doings began, because the Bassetts
and the Scarboroughs claimed to control the whole Basin and wouldn't
let no settlers come in. That is, not unless they acknowledged their
authority and gave 'em a hundred or so; but the Judge--say, he was
a freeborn American citizen and knowed it was public land. It was
open to anybody and he turned his cows out on it, hiring a gunman or
two to take charge--and the whole cussed outfit tied into him. The
Scarboroughs and Bassetts was thick as thieves while they was running
off the Judge's cows; and the first thing he knowed he couldn't gather
five hundred, and not a one of 'em under two years old. Say, the
picking was so good they heard about it back in Texas; and ever since
that time, going onto two years now, these tough Texicans have been
drifting in. Are they tough? They're so bad they'd have me scared if
I hadn't seen Billy the Kid; but there was a killer that had 'em all
beat--and he come from New York City. Never said nothing either, always
smiling and polite; and yet the doggoned little shrimp had them ba-ad
Texans all buffaloed when he onlimbered and went to shooting.
"Oh, the Judge? Well, he was a lawyer, all right. When he see he
couldn't stop 'em, and a couple of his gunmen got shot, he took the
matter into court; but the whole Basin rode down there, drunk and
disorderly and loaded for bear, and swore out a warrant for _him_.
That made the court judge sore, because the county was poor and he see
it was a neighborhood row, so he dismissed all the charges against
everybody. This county is about as big as the state of Pennsylvania and
mileage fees pile up quick: and the whole doggoned outfit was nothing
but a bunch of cow-thieves, so what was the use of it, anyhow?
"Well--so far, so good--the wild bunch comes home and Malcolm he takes
the big think. He's a lawyer, like I says, and them are the boys that
know how to pull the right string. He sends for the Scarboroughs and
offers 'em a hundred head more, if they'll turn state's evidence and
railroad the Bassetts. Well, the Bassetts are Injuns--and they'd made
a little trouble when the Scarboroughs tried to run off some cows--so
Isham and Red seen their chance to git shut of them and they took the
hundred cows. They went down to Tonto and turned in their testimony,
enough to send the Bassetts plumb to hell; but they talked so much they
incriminated themselves and the judge throwed the case out of court.
But by now the Bassetts had got blood in their eyes and they come back
a charging, spent all their money on a lawyer, and had the Scarboroughs
up for perjury. That sent Tonto County broke and court adjourned, but
before they left town the judge or somebody gave the Maverick Basin
crowd a quiet tip: the county was bankrupt, it was three days' hard
hiring for an officer to come up from Tonto, and the idee was they'd
better keep out of court and settle their little differences with a
Winchester."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Hall, "surely they didn't say that!"
"Mebbe not," shrugged Meshackatee, "but they's one thing I know--there
hasn't been an officer up here since."
Hall shook his head sadly and they rode on in silence, Meshackatee with
his eyes on the Rock House far below them and Hall with his head bowed
in thought. In his mind he was picturing the two contending factions
and the battle that seemed certain to come, and when he looked up there
was a strange light in his eyes and he gazed far away across the plain.
"But the other people," he suggested, "there are other settlers,
too--could nothing be done with them?"
"What d'ye mean?" inquired Meshackatee, and Hall threw out his hands in
a gesture of sudden appeal.
"Can't you see?" he cried. "This quarrel must be stopped before it has
gone too far!"
"Oh--them!" responded Meshackatee, tossing his head contemptuously,
"they're afraid to call their souls their own. All that lives to the
west, mostly, are friends of Isham's; and to the east and up Turkey
Crick they're for the Bassetts; but they ain't ary one of 'em would
stand up for his own rights, let alone throw a skeer into Isham.
Because Isham is the man that's behind all this devilment--he's got ten
hired gunmen, right now--and unless he's connected up with the United
States mint he'll have to start something pretty soon."
"Yes, but what about the Bassetts? How can they expect to resist him
unless they, too, hire more men?"
"They're broke," explained Meshackatee, "the lawyers got their money,
and they ain't had the nerve to steal more. And then, being Injuns,
they don't worry. They're three danged snakey _hombres_, to tell you
the truth, and I don't want no trouble with none of 'em. Sharps is
slow, but he's sure; and Winchester is quick and sure; and Bill, he's a
fighting fool. He's whiter than the rest of 'em and he's jest naturally
bad, proud of it and don't care who knows it. That boy would fight a
buzzsaw with his hands tied behind him, if you'd listen to what _he_
says. But ain't you heard the news--they've throwed in with Grimes,
the big sheepman from up over the Rim. He's a holy, fighting terror
that ain't afraid of nobody, or he wouldn't be up on that range. The
Slash-knife outfit has got cows there by the thousand, but that don't
make no difference with Grimes. Every time he meets a cowboy or a
bunch of these here rustlers he drops down off his mule and commences
to shoot and--well, anyhow, he's promised to come down. He's going to
bring his sheep and a bunch of fighting Mexicans and sheep these bad
Teehannos plumb out. Well, you wait; and if he comes he'd better come
a-shooting, because we got no use for _sheep_!"
He shut his jaws down grimly and it was easy to see that he shared the
cowman's prejudice against sheep.
"He ought to be kept out!" exclaimed Hall, after a silence, and
Meshackatee nodded approvingly.
"That's the talk!" he praised, "I knowed you had it in you. Come on,
and we'll turn the woollies back."
"No, I don't mean that," protested Hall, "what I mean is, a man has no
business to stir up trouble by deliberately invading a new range."
"W'y sure!" agreed Meshackatee heartily, "I'm with you, as big as
a wolf. We'll jest go up that way to-morrow and talk reason to Mr.
Grimes, and maybe he'll decide not to come. No, I mean it, by grab--and
say, down at the house, I'll tell 'em you're jest a new man. They're
ranicky as the devil when they ketch some outsider--and of course you
ain't a Texan--so I'll jest tell Miz Zoolah, that's Isham's wife, that
you've come up to help with the sheep."
He spurred up his lagging mount and went galloping across the plain,
but as they drew near the Rock House he reined in suddenly, yet with
his pony dancing nervously to go.
"Your name was Hall, wasn't it?" he inquired with a flourish. "All
right, I'll fix it up. And say--where you going, horse?--what's you say
that other name was? You know, that feller you was looking for?"
"I didn't say," replied Hall and, meeting his calm eyes, Meshackatee
broke into a grin.
"Oh, that's right!" he exclaimed. "My mistake--excuse _me_!" And he
jumped his dancing pony into a lope.