CORPORAL FAIRCLOTH ARRIVES
As the loading fell to a routine it quickened its pace. Every seven
or eight minutes the two loaded cars were replaced by empty ones
whose floors had already been strewn with sand. When the outer yards
emptied their live freight into the loading pens, the cowboys whose
duty it was galloped off into the low hills for more. Sometimes
Dakota Fraley rode with them, but for the most part he busied himself
hastening the loading operations.
Brand-Inspector West, small, wiry-haired, nervous, with worry in his
eyes and a semi-apologetic manner he tried in vain to conceal, had
much to struggle against in the performance of his duty. Wherever he
got he was in the way, principally Dakota's. From the edge of the
gangways near the car doors Dakota brushed him unceremoniously; on
the stockade fence near the gangways he was a nuisance to the
prodders. Here and there he darted, peering through the bars,
reaching over the railing of the gangways, snatching hasty glances at
the jumbled herds in the outer pens, as inefficient as he was
conscientious.
Cockney Aikens lounged on the roof of the loading cars, where he
overlooked everything, moving lazily from car to car as they filled
and were shunted back. He saw the bewildered efforts of the
brand-inspector, and his eyes followed Dakota from place to place,
altering their focus sometimes to the pens and gangways below him.
As the largest shipper, his foreman, Dakota Fraley, had charge of the
operations, and all but a couple of the cowboys about the yards were
from the H-Lazy Z outfit.
Mrs. Aikens and Stamford crossed the tracks and stationed themselves
near the gangways.
Many of the cattle were of Texan breed, their long white horns
swaying awkwardly up the gangways to catch now and then in car door
or fence, momentarily holding up the line. The faster the loading
moved, the more disturbing these breaks in the swing of the work. A
tremendous steer, its horns projecting over the gangway railing,
lumbered up the slope and paused at the car door, doubting the width
of the opening. At a vicious prod from Dakota it dashed forward,
jammed the point of one horn in the side of the car, withdrew it, and
in a panic drove the other horn in the other side.
The line behind, a solid mass, jammed tighter and tighter. Two
cowboys leaped to Dakota's assistance, but the steer only closed its
eyes to their blows and stood braced.
Cockney, looking down at first with some amusement, saw what was
happening back in the gangway and heaved himself upright. Dropping
to the side of the gangway, he tossed Dakota and another cowboy to
the ground and reached a hand across to either horn. Without
apparent effort he forced the steer's head sideways so that its horns
ran diagonally with the opening, and, swinging a leg over the
railing, kicked the brute forward into the car.
Catching Stamford's admiring gaze he paused only long enough to
thrust an unlit cigarette between his lips, before sidling down the
outside of the railing to the stockade. There the brand-inspector
had stubbornly installed himself, refusing to make way for the
prodders and protesting at the speed of the loading. Cockney,
holding to the railing with one hand, reached across the backs of the
cattle and lifted the little man clear over the gangway, depositing
him laughingly on the ground.
"Such a little fellow," he bantered, "yet so much in the way!"
He winked at Stamford and his wife.
West exploded in a typical volley of Western oaths. Cockney waved a
finger at him.
"Oh, fie, West! And before ladies! Mary, that's not part of his
duties. It's only an accomplishment that has gained him more
notoriety than his official capacity. He wants to give the
impression of guarding the Great West from cattle-thieving and
rustling." He pointed to West's flaming face. "That's not anger.
West never gets mad. It's shame at losing control before ladies."
West's hat came off with a sweeping bow to Mrs. Aikens.
"We don't expect ladies at these little affairs," he apologised. "At
the same time"--turning to Cockney--"I must insist on being permitted
to do my duty--else I'll order the loading to stop."
Dakota came blustering under the gangway.
"West's got his job to do, Mr. Aikens. Let him alone."
Cockney lolled against the railing, looking with twisted lips down
into Dakota's sullen eyes.
"Shall I lift him up where he can see everything, Dakota, and protect
him from your bullying?"
Something about it made Dakota's eyes drop.
"Don't mind him, West," soothed the foreman. "You come over here and
stand on the fence. As long as you don't get in the way about the
gangways you're all right."
Stamford failed to see how any one on the fence, except at the
gangways, could see more of the cattle than their backs.
Cockney Aikens watched Dakota thoughtfully as the latter pulled
himself to the other gangway. Then he climbed to his old perch on
the roof and lay on his elbow without lighting his cigarette. And
Mary Aikens watched her husband.
"Poor West!" sympathised Stamford. "He leads a dog's life. I can
feel for small men."
He saw she was not listening. "I was saying----"
"I'm afraid I wasn't listening, Mr. Stamford," she said
apologetically. "What were you saying?"
"I don't believe I remember. I never say much worth while."
"It wasn't--that," she explained uncomfortably.
Stamford yielded to her embarrassment. "West and your husband should
change jobs."
A gust of laughter broke from her lips. It startled him, but he went
on:
"I don't think Dakota Fraley would stop Cockney Aikens----"
"Do you think Dakota was doing it purposely?"
Stamford stared. "I didn't think of that. Perhaps---- But why
should he----"
"Of course," she laughed, "why should he?"
"Your husband would make an admirable brand-inspector, and West's
size would be no handicap to a rancher."
"Jim isn't a rancher; he wasn't born with the first qualification....
I don't believe that's to his discredit, do you?"
She was challenging him with her eyes, facing him squarely.
"Cockney Aikens possesses the greatest qualification of all," he
replied, "--the capacity for picking the right man to boss the
job--and the right woman to make such a job on the Red Deer
endurable."
"That is very eastern of you, Mr. Stamford," she smiled. "I have
known the social life that sort of thing springs from." Her face
went dreamy. "The right man, you say--yes--perhaps he has
picked--the right man. I suppose--that is a qualification."
Stamford felt constrained once more to change the subject.
From the corner of his eye he saw Cockney suddenly raise himself and
look away to the hills. Stamford turned in the same direction.
A Mounted Policeman was seated motionless on his horse on the crest
of a rise, looking down on the station yard. For only a moment
Cockney looked, then slid from the roof to the gangway railing, a
frown on his handsome face. At the same instant Dakota dropped from
the fence surrounding the stockade and whispered to a companion, and
the two sauntered away round the corner of the cattle pens.
A moment later Cockney sauntered carelessly after them and peered
away into the Saskatoonberry and bulberry bushes that filled a coulee
extending from close to the tracks. In long strides he retraced his
steps, crossed the tracks to his horse behind the station, and loped
off over the prairie toward the herd-filled coulees.