"TURN HIM LOOSE!"
Blue Smoke was one of those unfortunate animals known as an outlaw. He
was a blue roan with a black stripe down his back, a tough, strong
pony, with a white-rimmed eye as uncompromising as the muzzle of a
cocked gun. He was of no special use as a cow-pony and was kept about
the ranch merely because he happened to belong to the Concho caviayard.
It took a wise horse and two good men to get a saddle on him when some
aspiring newcomer intimated that he could ride anything with hair on
it. He was the inevitable test of the new man. No one as yet had
ridden him to a finish; nor was it expected. The man who could stand a
brief ten seconds' punishment astride of the outlaw was considered a
pretty fair rider. It was customary to time the performance, as one
would time a race, but in the instance of riding Blue Smoke the man was
timed rather than the horse. So far, Bailey himself held the record.
He had stayed with the outlaw fifteen seconds.
Pete learned this, and much more, about Blue Smoke's disposition while
the men ate and joked with Mrs. Bailey. And Mrs. Bailey, good woman,
was no less eloquent than the men in describing the outlaw's unenviable
temperament, never dreaming that the men would allow a boy of Pete's
years to ride the horse. Pete, a bit embarrassed in this lively
company, attended heartily to his plate. He gathered, indirectly, that
he was expected to demonstrate his ability as a rider, sooner or later.
He hoped that it would be later.
After dinner the men loafed out and gravitated lazily toward the
corral, where they stood eying the horses and commenting on this and
that pony. Pete had eyes for no horse but Blue Smoke. He admitted to
himself that he did not want to ride that horse. He knew that his rise
would be sudden and that his fall would be great. Still, he sported
the habiliments of a full-fledged buckaroo, and he would have to live
up to them. A man who could not sit the hurricane-deck of a pitching
horse was of little use to the ranch. In the busy season each man
caught up his string of ponies and rode them as he needed them. There
was neither time nor disposition to choose.
Pete wished that Blue Smoke had a little more of Rowdy's equable
disposition. It was typical of Pete, however, that he absolutely hated
to leave an unpleasant task to an indefinite future. Moreover, he
rather liked the Concho boys and the foreman. He wanted to ride with
them. That was the main thing. Any hesitancy he had in regard to
riding the outlaw was the outcome of discretion rather than of fear.
Bailey had said there was no work for him. Pete felt that he had
rather risk his neck a dozen times than to return to the town of Concho
and tell Roth that he had been unsuccessful in getting work. Yet Pete
did not forget his shrewdness. He would bargain with the foreman.
"How long kin a fella stick on that there Blue Smoke hoss?" he queried
presently.
"Depends on the man," said Bailey, grinning.
"Bailey here stayed with him fifteen seconds onct," said a cowboy.
Pete pushed hack his hat. "Well, I ain't no bronco-twister, but I
reckon I could ride him a couple o' jumps. Who's keepin' time on the
dog-gone cayuse?"
"Anybody that's got a watch," replied Bailey.
Pete hitched up his chaps. "I got a watch and I'd hate to bust her.
If you'll hold her till I git through"--and he handed the watch to the
nearest cowboy. "If you'll throw my saddle on 'im, I reckon I'll walk
him round a little and see what kind of action he's got."
"Shucks!" exclaimed Bailey; "that hoss would jest nacherally pitch you
so high you wouldn't git back in time for the fall round-up, kid. He's
bad."
"Well, you said they wa'n't no job till fall, anyhow," said Pete.
"Mebby I'd git back in time for a job."
Bailey shook his head. "I was joshin'--this mornin'."
"'Bout my ridin' that hoss? Well, I ain't. I'm kind of a stranger up
here, and I reckon you fellas think, because that doggone ole soap-foot
fell down with me, that I can't ride 'em."
"Oh, mebby some of 'em," laughed Bailey.
Pete's black eyes flashed. To him the matter was anything but a joke.
"You give me a job if I stick on that hoss for fifteen seconds? Why,
I'm game to crawl him and see who wins out. If I git pitched, I lose.
And I'm taking all the chances."
"Throw a saddle on him and give the kid a chanct," suggested a cowboy.
Bailey turned and looked at Pete, whose eyes were alight with the hope
of winning out--not for the sake of any brief glory, Pete's compressed
lips denied that, but for the sake of demonstrating his ability to hold
down a job on the ranch.
"Rope him, Monte," said Bailey. "Take the sorrel. I'll throw the
kid's saddle on him."
"Do I git the job if I stick?" queried Pete nervously.
"Mebby," said Bailey.
Now Pete's watch was a long-suffering dollar watch that went when it
wanted to and ceased to go when it felt like resting. At present the
watch was on furlough and had been for several days. A good shake
would start it going--and once started it seemed anxious to make up for
lost time by racing at a delirious pace that ignored the sun, the
stars, and all that makes the deliberate progress of the hours. If
Pete could arrange it so that his riding could be timed by his own
watch, he thought he could win, with something to spare. After a wild
battle with the punchers, Blue Smoke was saddled with Pete's saddle.
He still fought the men. There was no time for discussion if Pete
intended to ride.
"Go to 'im!" cried Bailey.
Pete hitched up his chaps and crawled over the bars. "Jest time him
for me," said Pete, turning to the cowboy who held his watch.
The cowboy glanced at the watch, put it to his ear, then glanced at it
again. "The durn thing's stopped!" he asserted.
"Shake her," said Pete.
Pete slipped into the saddle. "Turn 'im loose!" he cried.
The men jumped back. Blue Smoke lunged and went at it. Pete gritted
his teeth and hung to the rope. The corral revolved and the buildings
teetered drunkenly. Blue Smoke was not a running bucker, but did his
pitching in a small area--and viciously. Pete's head snapped back and
forth. He lost all sense of time, direction, and place. He was jolted
and jarred by a grunting cyclone that flung him up and sideways, met
him coming down and racked every muscle in his body. Pete dully hoped
that it would soon be over. He was bleeding at the nose. His neck
felt as though it had been broken. He wanted to let go and fall.
Anything was better than this terrible punishment.
He heard shouting, and then a woman's shrill voice. Blue Smoke gave a
quick pitch and twist. Pete felt something crash up against him.
Suddenly it was night. All motion had ceased.
When he came to, Mrs. Bailey was kneeling beside him and ringed around
were the curious faces of the cowboys.
"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River," muttered Pete. "Did I make it?"
"That horse liked to killed you," said Mrs. Bailey. "If I'd 'a' knew
the boys was up to this . . . and him just a boy! Jim Bailey, you
ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Ma Bailey wiped Pete's face with her
apron and put her motherly arm beneath his head. "If he was my boy,
Jim Bailey, I'd--I'd--show you!"
Pete raised on his elbow. "I'm all right, mam. It wa'n't his fault.
I said I could ride that hoss. Did I make it?"
"Accordin' to your watch here," said the puncher who held Pete's
irresponsible timepiece, "you rid him for four hours and sixteen
minutes. The hands was a-fannin' it round like a windmill in a
cyclone. But she's quit, now."
"Do I git the job?" queried Pete.
"You get right to bed! It's a wonder every bone in your body ain't
broke!" exclaimed Ma Bailey.
"Bed!" snorted Pete. He rose stiffly. His hat was gone and one spur
was missing. His legs felt heavy. His neck ached; but his black eyes
were bright and blinking.
"Goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Bailey. "Why, the boy is comin' to all
right!"
"You bet!" said Pete, grinning, although he felt far from all right.
He realized that he rather owed Mrs. Bailey something in the way of an
expression of gratitude for her interest. "I--you, you sure can make
the best pie ever turned loose!" he asserted.
"Pie!" gasped the foreman's wife, "and him almost killed by that blue
devil there! You come right in the house, wash your face, and I'll fix
you up."
"The kid's all right, mother," said Bailey placatingly.
Mrs. Bailey turned on her husband. "That's not your fault, Jim Bailey.
Such goin's-on! You great, lazy hulk, you, to go set a boy to ridin'
that hoss that you dassent ride yourself. If he was my boy--"
"Well, I'm willin'," said Pete, who began to realize the power behind
the throne.
"Bless his heart!" Mrs. Bailey put her arm about his shoulders. Pete
was mightily embarrassed. No woman had ever caressed him, so far as he
could remember. The men would sure think him a softy, to allow all
this strange mothering; but he could not help himself. Evidently the
foreman's wife was a power in the land, for the men had taken her
berating silently and respectfully. But before they reached the house
Pete was only too glad to feel Mrs. Bailey's arm round his shoulders,
for the ground seemed unnecessarily uneven, and the trees had a strange
way of rocking back and forth, although there was no wind.
Mrs. Bailey insisted that he lie down, and she spread a blanket on her
own white bed. Pete did not want to lie down. But Mrs. Bailey
insisted, helping him to unbuckle his chaps and even to pull off his
boots. The bed felt soft and comfortable to his aching body. The room
was darkened. Mrs. Bailey tiptoed through the doorway. Pete gazed
drowsily at a flaming lithograph on the wall; a basket of fruit such as
was never known on land or sea, placed on a highly polished table such
as was never made by human hands. The colors of the chromo grew dimmer
and dimmer. Pete sighed and fell asleep.
Mrs. Bailey, like most folk in that locality, knew something of Pete's
earlier life. Rumor had it that Pete was a bad one--a tough kid--that
he had even killed two cowboys of the T-Bar-T. Mrs. Bailey had never
seen Pete until that morning. Yet she immediately formed her own
opinion of him, intuition guiding her aright. Young Pete was simply
unfortunate--not vicious. She could see that at a glance. And he was
a manly youngster with a quick, direct eye. He had come to the Concho
looking for work. The men had played their usual pranks, fortunately
with no serious consequences. But Bailey should have known better, and
she told him so that afternoon in the kitchen, while Pete slumbered
blissfully in the next room. "And he can help around the place, even
if it is slack times," she concluded.
That evening was one of the happiest evenings of Pete's life. He had
never known the tender solicitude of a woman. Mrs. Bailey treated him
as a sort of semi-invalid, waiting on him, silencing the men's
good-natured joshing with her sharp tongue, feeding him canned
peaches--a rare treat--and finally enthroning him in her own ample
rocking-chair, somewhat to Pete's embarrassment, and much to the
amusement of the men.
"He sure can ride it!" said a cowboy, indicating the rocking-chair.
"Bill Haskins, you need a shave!" said Mrs. Bailey.
The aforesaid Bill Haskins, unable to see any connection between his
remark and the condition of his beard, stared from one to another of
his blank-faced companions, grew red, stammered, and felt of his chin.
"I reckon I do," he said weakly, and rising he plodded to the
bunk-house.
"And if you want to smoke," said Mrs. Bailey, indicating another of the
boys who had just rolled and lighted a cigarette, "there's all outdoors
to do it in."
This puncher also grew red, rose, and sauntered out.
Bailey and the two remaining cowboys shuffled their feet, wondering who
would be the next to suffer the slings and arrows of Ma Bailey's
indignation. _They_ considered the Blue Smoke episode closed.
Evidently Ma Bailey did not. Bailey himself wisely suggested that they
go over to the bunk-house. It would be cooler there. The cowboys rose
promptly and departed. But they were cowboys and not to be silenced so
easily.
They loved Ma Bailey and they dearly loved to tease her. Strong,
rugged, and used to activity, they could not be quiet long. Mrs.
Bailey hitched a chair close to Pete and had learned much of his early
history--for Pete felt that the least he could do was to answer her
kindly questions--and he, in turn, had been feeling quite at home in
her evident sympathy, when an unearthly yell shattered the quiet of the
summer evening. More yells--and a voice from the darkness stated that
some one was hurt bad; to bring a light. Groans, heartrending and
hoarse, punctuated the succeeding silence. "It's Jim," the voice
asserted. "Guess his leg's bruk."
The groaning continued. Mrs. Bailey rose and seized the lamp. Pete
got up stiffly and followed her out. One of the men was down on all
fours, jumping about in ludicrous imitation of a bucking horse; and
another was astride him, beating him not too gently with a quirt. As
Ma Bailey came in sight the other cowboys swung their hats and shouted
encouragement to the rider. Bailey was not visible.
"Stay with 'im!" cried one. "Rake 'im! He's gittin' played out! Look
out! He's goin' to sunfish! Bust 'im wide open!"
It was a huge parody of the afternoon performance, staged for Ma
Bailey's special benefit. Suddenly the cowboy who represented Blue
Smoke made an astounding buck and his rider bit the dust.
Ma Bailey held the lamp aloft and gazed sternly at the two sweating,
puffing cowboys. "Where's Bailey?" she queried sharply.
One of the men stepped forward and doffing his hat assumed an attitude
of profound gravity. "Blue there, he done pitched your husband, mam,
and broke his leg. Your husband done loped off on three laigs, to git
the doctor to fix it."
"Let me catch sight of him and I'll fix it!" she snorted. "Jim, if
you're hidin' in that bunk-house you come out here--and behave
yourself. Lord knows you are old enough to know better."
"That's right, mam. Jim is sure old enough to know better 'n to behave
hisself. You feed us so plumb good, mam, that we jest can't set still
nohow. I reckon it was the pie that done it. Reckon them dried apples
kind of turned to cider."
Mrs. Bailey swung around with all the dignity of a liner leaving
harbor, and headed for the house.
"Is she gone?" came in a hoarse whisper.
"You come near this house to-night and you'll find out!" Mrs. Bailey
advised from the doorway.
"It's the hay for yours, Jim," comforted a cowboy.
Pete hesitated as to which course were better. Finally he decided to
"throw in" with the men.
Bailey lighted the hanging lamp in the bunk-house, and the boys
shuffled in, grinning sheepishly. "You're sure a he-widder to-night,"
said Bill Haskins sympathetically.
Bailey grinned. His good wife was used to such pranks. In fact the
altogether unexpected and amusing carryings on of the boys did much
toward lightening the monotony when times were dull, as they were just
then. Had the boys ceased to cut up for any length of time, Ma Bailey
would have thought them ill and would have doctored them accordingly.
Pete became interested in watching Bill Haskins endeavor to shave
himself with cold water by the light of the hanging lamp.
Presently Pete's attention was diverted to the cowboy whom Mrs. Bailey
had sent outdoors to smoke. He had fished up from somewhere a piece of
cardboard and a blue pencil. He was diligently lettering a sign which
he eventually showed to his companions with no little pride. It read:
"NO SMOKING ALOUD."
Pete did not see the joke, but he laughed heartily with the rest. The
laughter had just about subsided when a voice came from across the way:
"Jim, you come right straight to bed!"
Bailey indicated a bunk for Pete and stepped from the bunk-house.
Presently the boys heard Mrs. Bailey's voice. "Good-night, boys."
"Good-night, Ma!" they chorused heartily.
And "Good-night, Pete," came from the house.
"Good-night, Ma!" shrilled Pete, blushing.
"I'm plumb sore!" asserted Haskins. "'Good-night, boys,' is good
enough for us. But did you hear what come after! I kin see who gits
all the extra pie around this here ranch! I've half a mind to quit."
"What--eatin' pie?"
"Nope! Joshin' Ma. She allus gits the best of us."