ON THE FLAT
As Mayor Maloney had said, every rancher and nester within forty miles
of Wolf River had driven into town for the celebration. Farm wagons,
spring wagons, and automobiles were drawn wheel to wheel upon both
sides of the flat. From the vehicles women and children in holiday
attire applauded the feats of the cowboys with cheers and the waving of
handkerchiefs, while the men stood about in groups and watched with
apparent indifference as they talked of fences and flumes.
From the top of the lumber piles, and the long low roof of the wool
warehouse, the train passengers entered into the spirit of the fun
gasping in horror at some seemingly miraculous escape from death
beneath the pounding hoofs of the cow-horses, only to cheer themselves
hoarse when they saw that the apparent misadventure had been purposely
staged for their benefit.
Races were won by noses. Hats, handkerchiefs, and even coins were
snatched from the ground by riders who hung head and shoulder below
their horses' bellies. Mounts were exchanged at full gallop. Playing
cards were pierced by the bullets of riders who dashed past them at
full speed. And men emptied their guns in the space of seconds without
missing a shot.
In each event the gaudily caparisoned Jack Purdy was at the fore,
either winning or crowding the winner to his supremest effort. And it
was Purdy who furnished the real thrill of the shooting tournament
when, with a six-shooter in each hand, he jumped an empty tomato can
into the air at fifteen paces by sending a bullet into the ground
beneath its base and pierced it with a bullet from each gun before it
returned to earth.
A half-dozen times he managed to slip over for a few words with Alice
Marcum--a bit of explanation of a coming event, or a comment upon the
fine points of a completed one, until unconsciously the girl's interest
centred upon the dashing figure to an extent that she found herself
following his every movement, straining forward when his supremacy hung
in the balance, keenly disappointed when another wrested the honours
from him, and jubilantly exultant at his victories. So engrossed was
she in fallowing the fortunes of her knight that she failed to notice
the growing disapproval of Endicott, who sat frowning and silent by her
side. Failed, also, to notice that as Purdy's attentions waxed more
obvious she herself became the object of many a glance, and lip to ear
observation from the occupants of the close-drawn vehicles.
It was while Mayor Maloney was announcing the roping contest and
explaining that the man who "roped, throw'd, an' hog-tied" his steer in
the least number of seconds, would be the winner, that the girl's
thoughts turned to the cowpuncher who earlier in the day had so
skilfully demonstrated his ability with the lariat.
In vain her eyes sought the faces of the cowboys. She turned to Purdy
who had edged his horse close beside the lumber pile.
"Where is your friend--the one who raced with you for my handkerchief?"
she asked. "I haven't seen him since you both rode up in that first
wild rush. He hasn't been in any of the contests."
"No, mom," answered the cowpuncher, in tones of well-simulated regret;
"he's--he's prob'ly over to some saloon. He's a good man some ways,
Tex is. But he can't keep off the booze."
Kicking his feet from the stirrups the man stood upright in his saddle
and peered over the top of an intervening pile of lumber. "Yes, I
thought so. His horse is over in front of the Headquarters. Him an'
Cinnabar Joe's prob'ly holdin' a booze histin' contest of their own."
Slipping easily into his seat, he unfastened the rope from his saddle,
and began slowly to uncoil it.
"All ready!" called the Mayor. "_Go git him_!"
A huge black steer dashed out into the open with a cowboy in full
pursuit, his loop swinging slowly above his head. Down the middle of
the flat they tore, the loop whirling faster as the horseman gained on
his quarry. Suddenly the rope shot out, a cloud of white dust rose
into the air as the cow-horse stopped in his tracks, a moment of
suspense, and the black steer dashed frantically about seeking an
avenue of escape while in his wake trailed the rope like a long thin
snake with its fangs fastened upon the frantic brute's neck. A roar of
laughter went up from the crowd and Purdy turned to the girl. "Made a
bad throw an' got him around the neck," he explained. "When you git
'em that way you got to turn 'em loose or they'll drag you all over the
flat. A nine-hundred-pound horse hain't got no show ag'in a
fifteen-hundred-pound steer with the rope on his neck. An' even if the
horse would hold, the cinch wouldn't, so _he's_ out of it."
The black steer was rounded up and chased from the arena, and once more
Mayor Maloney, watch in hand, cried "_Go git him_!"
Another steer dashed out and another cowboy with whirling loop
thundered after him. The rope fell across the animal's shoulders and
the loop swung under. The horse stopped, and the steer, his fore legs
jerked from under him, fell heavily. To make his rope fast to the
saddle-horn and slip to the ground leaving the horse to fight it out
with the captive, was the work of a moment for the cowboy who
approached the struggling animal, short rope in hand. Purdy who was
leaning over his saddle-horn, watching the man's every move, gave a cry
of relief.
"He's up behind! That'll fix your clock!" Sure enough, the struggling
animal had succeeded in regaining his hind legs and while the horse,
with the cunning of long practice, kept his rope taut, the steer
plunged about to such good purpose that precious seconds passed before
the cowboy succeeded in making his tie-rope fast to a hind foot,
jerking it from under the struggling animal, and securing it to the
opposite fore foot.
"Three minutes an' forty-three seconds!" announced the Mayor. "Git
ready for the next one. . . . _Go git him_!"
This time the feat was accomplished in a little over two minutes and
the successful cowboy was greeted with a round of applause. Several
others missed their throws or got into difficulty, and Purdy turned to
the girl:
"If I got any luck at all I'd ort to grab off this here contest. They
hain't be'n no fancy ropin' done yet. If I c'n hind-leg mine they
won't be nothin' to it." He rode swiftly away and a moment later, to
the Mayor's "_Go git him_!" dashed out after a red and white steer that
plunged down the field with head down and tail lashing the air. Purdy
crowded his quarry closer than had any of the others and with a swift
sweep of his loop enmeshed the two hind legs of the steer. The next
moment the animal was down and the cowpuncher had a hind foot fast in
the tie rope, Several seconds passed as the man fought for a fore
foot--seconds which to the breathlessly watching girl seemed hours.
Suddenly he sprang erect. "One minute an' forty-nine seconds!"
announced the Mayor and the crowd cheered wildly.
Upon the lumber pile Alice Marcum ceased her handclapping as her eyes
met those of a cowboy who had ridden up unobserved and sat his horse at
almost the exact spot that had, a few moments before, been occupied by
Purdy. She was conscious of a start of surprise. The man sat easily
in his saddle, and his eyes held an amused smile. Once more the girl
found herself resenting the smile that drew down the corner of the thin
lips and managed to convey an amused tolerance or contempt on the part
of its owner toward everything and everyone that came within its radius.
"If they hain't no one else wants to try their hand," began the Mayor,
when the Texan interrupted him:
"Reckon I'll take a shot at it if you've got a steer handy."
"Well, dog my cats! If I hadn't forgot you! Where you be'n at? If
you'd of got here on time you'd of stood a show gittin' one of them
steers that's be'n draw'd. You hain't got no show now 'cause the
onliest one left is a old long-geared roan renegade that's on the
prod----"
Tex yawned: "Jest you tell 'em to run him in, Slim, an' I'll show you
how we-all bust 'em wide open down in Texas."
Three or four cowpunchers started for the corral with a whoop and a few
minutes later the men who had been standing about in groups began to
clamber into wagons or seek refuge behind the wheels as the lean roan
steer shot out onto the flat bounding this way and that, the very
embodiment of wild-eyed fury. But before he had gone twenty yards
there was a thunder of hoofs in his wake and a cow-horse, his rider
motionless as a stone image in his saddle, closed up the distance until
he was running almost against the flank of the frenzied renegade.
There was no preliminary whirling of rope. The man rode with his eyes
fixed on the flying hind hoofs while a thin loop swung from his right
hand, extended low and a little back.
Suddenly--so suddenly that the crowd was still wondering why the man
didn't swing his rope, there was a blur of white dust, a brown streak
as the cow-horse shot across the forefront of the big steer, the thud
of a heavy body on the ground, the glimpse of a man-among the thrashing
hoofs, and then a mighty heaving as the huge steer strained against the
rope that bound his feet, while the cowboy shoved the Stetson to the
back of his head and felt for his tobacco and papers.
"Gosh sakes!" yelled Mayor Maloney excitedly as he stared at the watch
in his hand. "Fifty-seven seconds! They can't beat that down to
Cheyenne!"
At the words, a mighty cheer went up from the crowd and everybody was
talking at once. While over beside the big steer the cowboy mounted
his pony and coiling his rope as he rode, joined the group of riders
who lounged in their saddles and grinned their appreciation.
"Ladies an' gents," began the Mayor, "you have jest witnessed a ropin'
contest the winner of which is Tex Benton to beat who McLaughlin
himself would have to do his da--doggondest! We will now conclood the
afternoon's galaxity of spurious stars, as the circus bills says, with
a buckin' contest which unneedless to say will conclood the afternoon's
celebration of the openin' of a institoot that it's a credit to any
town in reference to which I mean the Wolf River Citizen's Bank in
which we invite to whose vaults a fair share of your patrimony. While
the boys is gittin' ready an' drawin' their horses a couple of gents
will pass amongst you an' give out to one an' all, ladies an' gents
alike, an' no favorytes played, a ticket good fer a free drink in any
saloon in Wolf River on the directors of the bank I have endeavoured to
explain about which. After which they'll be a free feed at the _ho_tel
also on the directors. Owin' to the amount of folks on hand this here
will be pulled off in relays, ladies furst, as they hain't room fer all
to onct, but Hank, here, claims he's got grub enough on hand so all
will git a chanct to shove right out ag'in their belt. An' I might say
right here in doo elegy of our feller townsman that Hank c'n set out as
fillin' an' tasty a meal of vittles as anyone ever cocked a lip over,
barrin', of course, every married man's wife.
"Draw your horses, boys, an' git a-goin'!"
Alice Marcum's surprise at Tex Benton's remarkable feat, after what
Purdy had told her, was nothing to the surprise and rage of Purdy
himself who had sat like an image throughout the performance. When the
Mayor began his oration Purdy's eyes flashed rapidly over the crowd and
seeing that neither Cinnabar Joe nor the doctor were present, slipped
his horse around the end of the lumber pile and dashed for the doctor's
office. "That damn Doc'll wisht he hadn't never double-crossed me!" he
growled, as he swung from the saddle before the horse had come to a
stop. The office was empty and the man turned to the Headquarters
saloon. Inside were the two men he sought, and he approached them with
a snarl.
"What the hell did yeh double-cross me for?" he shouted in a fury.
The doctor pointed to Cinnabar Joe who, still dazed from the effect of
the drug, leaned upon the table. "I didn't double-cross you. The
wrong man got the dope, that's all."
Cinnabar Joe regarded Purdy dully. "He switched glasses," he muttered
thickly.
A swift look of fear flashed into Purdy's eyes. "How'n hell did he
know we fixed his licker?" he cried, for well he realized that if the
Texan had switched glasses he was cognizant of the attempt to dope him.
Moistening his lips with his tongue, the cowpuncher turned abruptly on
his heel. "Guess I'll be gittin' back where they's a lot of folks
around," he muttered as he mounted his horse. "I got to try an' figger
out if he knows it was me got Cinnabar to dope his booze. An' if he
does--" The man's face turned just a shade paler beneath the tan----
"I got to lay off this here buckin' contest. I hain't got the guts to
tackle it."
"Have you drawn your horse?" he had reached the lumber pile and the
girl was smiling down at him. He shook his head dolefully.
"No, mom, I hain't a-goin' to ride. I spraint my shoulder ropin' that
steer an' I just be'n over to see doc an' he says I should keep offen
bad horses fer a spell. It's sure tough luck, too, 'cause I c'd of won
if I c'd of rode. But I s'pose I'd ort to be satisfied, I drug down
most of the other money--all but the ropin', an' I'd of had that if it
hadn't of be'n fer Tex Benton's luck. An' he'll win ag'in, chances
is--if his cinch holds. Here he comes now; him an' that breed. They
hain't never no more'n a rope's len'th apart. Tex must have somethin'
on him the way he dogs him around."
The girl followed his glance to the Texan who approached accompanied by
Bat Lajune and a cowboy who led from the horn of his saddle a
blaze-faced bay with a roman nose. As the three drew nearer the girl
could see the mocking smile upon his lips as his eyes rested for a
moment on Purdy. "I don't like that man," she said, as though speaking
to herself, "and yet----"
"Plenty others don't like him, too," growled Purdy. "I'm glad he's
draw'd that roman nose, 'cause he's the out-buckin'est outlaw that ever
grow'd hair--him an' that pinto, yonder, that's hangin' back on the
rope."
The Texan drew up directly in front of the lumber pile and ignoring
Purdy entirely, raised his Stetson to the girl. The direct cutting of
Purdy had been obviously rude and Alice Marcum felt an increasing
dislike for the man. She returned his greeting with a perfunctory nod
and instantly felt her face grow hot with anger. The Texan was
laughing at her--was regarding her with an amused smile.
A yell went up from the crowd and out on the flat beyond the Texan, a
horse, head down and back humped like an angry cat, was leaping into
the air and striking the ground stiff-legged in a vain effort to shake
the rider from his back.
"'Bout as lively as a mud turtle. He'll sulk in a minute," laughed the
Texan, and true to the prophecy, the horse ceased his efforts and stood
with legs wide apart and nose to the ground.
"Whoopee!"
"He's a ringtailed woozoo!"
"Thumb him!"
"Scratch him!"
The crowd laughed and advised, and the cowboy thumbed and scratched,
but the broncho's only sign of animation was a vicious switching of the
tail.
"Next horse!" cried the Mayor, and a horse shot out, leaving the ground
before the rider was in the saddle. Straight across the flat he bucked
with the cowboy whipping higher and higher in the saddle as he tried in
vain to catch his right stirrup.
"He's a goner!"
"He's clawin' leather!"
To save himself a fall the rider had grabbed the horn of the saddle,
and for him the contest was over.
"Come on, Bat, we'll throw the shell on this old buzzard-head. I'm
number seven an' there's three down!" called the Texan.
The two swung from the saddles and the roman-nosed outlaw pricked his
ears and set against the rope with fore legs braced. The cowboy who
had him in tow took an extra dally around the saddle horn as the Texan,
hackamore in hand, felt his way inch by inch along the taut lead-rope.
As the man's hand touched his nose the outlaw shuddered and braced back
until only the whites of his eyes showed. Up came the hand and the
rawhide hackamore slipped slowly into place.
"He's a-goin' to ride with a hackamore!" cried someone as the Texan
busied himself with the knots. Suddenly the lead-rope slackened and
with a snort of fury the outlaw reared and lashed out with both
forefeet. The Texan stepped swiftly aside and as the horse's feet
struck the ground the loaded end of a rawhide quirt smashed against his
jaw.
Bat Lajune removed the saddle from the Texan's horse and stepped
forward with the thick felt pad which Tex, with a hand in the
cheek-strap of the hackamore, brushed along the outlaw's sides a few
times and then deftly threw over the animal's back. The horse, braced
against the rope, stood trembling in every muscle while Bat brought
forward the saddle with the right stirrup-leather and cinch thrown back
over the seat. As he was about to hand it to the Texan he stopped
suddenly and examined the cinch. Then without a word carried it back,
unsaddled his own horse, and taking the cinch from his saddle exchanged
it for the other.
"Just as easy to switch cinches as it is drinks, ain't it, Bat?"
grinned Tex.
"Ba Goss! Heem look lak' Circle J boun' for be wan man short," replied
the half-breed, and the girl, upon whom not a word nor a move had been
lost, noticed that Purdy's jaw tightened as the Texan laughed at the
apparently irrelevant remark.
The outlaw shuddered as the heavy saddle was thrown upon his back and
the cinch ring deftly caught with a loop of rope and made fast.
Out on the flat number four, on the pinto outlaw, had hit the dirt,
number five had ridden through on a dead one, and number six had quit
his in mid-air.
"Next horse--number seven!" called the Mayor. The cowboy who had the
broncho in tow headed out on the flat prepared to throw off his dallies
and two others, including Purdy, rode forward quirt in hand, to haze
the hate-blinded outlaw from crashing into the wagons. With his hand
gripping the cheek-strap, Tex turned and looked straight into Purdy's
eyes.
"Go crawl under a wagon an' chaw a bone," he said in a low even voice,
"I'll whistle when I want _you_." For an instant the men's glances
locked, while the onlookers held their breath. Purdy was not a
physical coward. The insult was direct, uttered distinctly, and in the
hearing of a crowd. At his hip was the six-gun with which he had just
won a shooting contest--yet he did not draw. The silence was becoming
painful when the man shrugged, and without a word, turned his horse
away. Someone laughed, and the tension broke with a hum of low-voiced
conversation.
"Next horse, ready!"
As the crowd drew back Alice Marcum leaned close to Purdy's ear.
"I think it was splendid!" she whispered; "it was the bravest thing I
ever saw." The man could scarcely believe his ears.
"Is she kiddin' me?" he wondered, as he forced his glance to the girl's
face. But no, she was in earnest, and in her eyes the man read
undisguised admiration. She was speaking again.
"Any one of these," she indicated the crowd with a sweep of her gloved
hand, "would have shot him, but it takes a real man to preserve perfect
self-control under insult."
The cowpuncher drew a long breath. "Yes; mom," he answered; "it was
pretty tough to swaller that. But somehow I kind of--of hated to shoot
him." Inwardly he was puzzled. What did the girl mean? He realized
that she was in earnest and that he had suddenly become a hero in her
eyes. Fate was playing strangely into his hands. A glitter of triumph
flashed into his eyes, a glitter that faded into a look of wistfulness
as they raised once more to hers.
"Would you go to the dance with me tonight, mom? These others--they
don't git me right. They'll think I didn't dast to shoot it out with
him."
The girl hesitated, and the cowpuncher continued. "The transfer
train's pulled out an' the trussle won't be fixed 'til mornin', you
might's well take in the dance."
Beside her Endicott moved uneasily. "Certainly not!" he exclaimed
curtly as his eyes met Purdy's. And then, to the girl, "If you are
bound to attend that performance you can go with me."
"Oh, I can go with you, can I?" asked the girl sweetly. "Well thank
you so much, Winthrop, but really you will have to excuse me. Mr.
Purdy asked me first." There was a sudden flash of daring in her eyes
as she turned to the cowpuncher. "I shall be very glad to go," she
said; "will you call for me at the car?"
"I sure will," he answered, and turned his eyes toward the flats. This
was to be _his_ night, his last on the Wolf River range, he realized
savagely. In the morning he must ride very far away. For before the
eyes of all Wolf River he had swallowed an insult. And the man knew
that Wolf River knew why he did not shoot.