THE KITTY-CAT
Pete and Bailey took off their boots just before they entered the
bunk-house. They lugged the defunct mountain lion in and laid it by
Bill Haskins's bunk.
Pete propped the lion's head up with one of Haskin's boots. The effect
was realistic enough. The lion lay stretched out in a most natural
way, apparently gazing languidly at the sleeping cow-puncher. This was
more or less accidental, as they dare not light the lamp for fear of
waking the men. Bailey stole softly to the door and across to the
house. Pete undressed and turned in, to dream of who knows what
ghostly lions prowling through the timberlands of the Blue Range. It
seemed but a few minutes when he heard the clatter of the pack-horse
bell that Mrs. Bailey used to call the men to breakfast. The chill
gray half-light of early morning discovered him with one cautious eye,
gazing across at Haskins, who still snored, despite the bell. "Oh,
Bill!" called Pete. Haskins's snore broke in two as he swallowed the
unlaunched half and sat up rubbing his eyes. He swung his feet down
and yawned prodigiously. "Heh--hell!" he exclaimed as his bare feet
touched the furry back of the lion. Bill glanced down into those
half-closed eyes. His jaw sagged. Then he bounded to the middle of
the room. With a whoop he dashed through the doorway, rounded into the
open, and sprinted for the corral fence, his bare legs twinkling like
the side-rods of a speeding locomotive and his shirt-tail fluttering in
the morning breeze. Andy White leaped from his bunk, saw the dead
lion, and started to follow Haskins. Another cowboy, Avery, was
dancing on one foot endeavoring to don his overalls.
Hank Barley, an old-timer, jumped up with his gun poised, ready for
business. "Why, he's daid!" he exclaimed, poking the lion with the
muzzle of his gun.
Pete rose languidly and began to dress. "What's all the hocus, fellas?
Where's Haskins?"
"Bill he done lit out like he'd lost somethin'," said Barley. "Now I
wonder what young ijjut packed that tree-cat in here last night? Jim
said yesterday he was goin' to do a little lookin' round. Looks like
he sure seen somethin'."
"Yes," drawled Pete. "Jim and me got a buck and this here lion. We
didn't have time to git anything else."
"Too bad you didn't git a bear and a couple of bob-cats while you was
at it."
"Hey, boys!" called Andy from the doorway. "Come see Bill!"
The men crowded to the door. Perched on the top rail of the corral
fence sat Bill Haskins shivering and staring at the house. "We killed
your bed-feller!" called Barley. "He done et your pants afore we
plugged him, but I kin lend you a pair. You had better git a-movin'
afore Ma Bailey--"
"Ssh!" whispered Andy White. "There's Ma standin' in the kitchen door
and--she's seen Bill!"
Bill also realized that he had been seen by Mrs. Bailey. He shivered
and shook, teetering on the top rail until indecision got the better of
his equilibrium. With a wild backward flip he disappeared from the
high-line of vision. Ma Bailey also disappeared. The boys doubled up
and groaned as Bill Haskins crawled on all fours across the corral
toward the shelter of the stable.
"Oh, my Gosh!" gasped Barley. "S-s-ome--body--sh-shoot me and put me
out of my m-misery!"
A few seconds later Bailey crossed the yard carrying an extra pair of
those coverings most essential to male comfort and equanimity.
It was a supernaturally grave bevy of cow-punchers that gathered round
the table that morning. Ma Bailey's silence was eloquent of suppressed
indignation. Bailey also seemed subdued. Pete was as placid as a
sleeping cherub. Only Andy White seemed really overwrought. He seemed
to suffer internally. The sweat stood out on Bill Haskins's red face,
but his appetite was in no way impaired. He ate rapidly and drank much
coffee. Ma Bailey was especially gracious to him. Presently from
Pete's end of the table came a faint "Me-e-ow!" Andy White put down
his cup of coffee and excusing himself fled from the room, Pete stared
after him as though greatly astonished. Barley the imperturbable
seemed to be suffering from internal spasms, and presently left the
table. Blaze Andrews, the quietest of the lot, also departed without
finishing his breakfast.
"Ain't you feelin' well, Ma?" queried Pete innocently.
Bailey rose and said he thought he would "go see to the horses"--a very
unusual procedure for him. Pete also thought it was about time to
depart. He rose and nodded to Bill. "Glad to see you back, Bill."
Then he went swiftly.
Haskins heaved a sigh. "I--doggone it--I--You got any
sticking-plaster, Ma?"
"Yes, William"--and "William" because Ma Bailey was still a bit
indignant, although she appreciated that Bill was more sinned against
than sinning. "Yes, William. Did you hurt yourself?"
"Stepped on a nail--er--this mawnin'. I--I wasn't lookin' where I
stepped."
"What started you out--that way?" queried Mrs. Bailey.
"Why, hell, Ma--I--wasn't meanin' hell, Ma,--but somebody--I reckon I
know who--plants a mountain lion right aside my bunk last night when I
was sleepin'. Fust thing this mawnin' I heard that bell and jumped out
o' my bunk plumb onto the cuss. Like to bruk my neck. That there
lion was a-lookin' right up into my face, kind of sleepy-eyed and
smilin' like he was hungry. I sure didn't stop to find out. 'Course,
when I got my wind, I knowed it was a joke. I reckon I ought to kill
somebody--"
"A lion, Bill? Hev you been drinkin'?"
"Drinkin'! Why, Ma, I ain't had a drop sence--"
"I reckon I better go see what's in that bunk-house," said Mrs. Bailey,
rising. "I'll get you that stickin'-plaster when I come back."
Mrs. Bailey realized that something unusual had started Bill Haskins on
his wild career that morning, but she could not quite believe that
there was a mountain lion--alive or dead--in the bunk-house until she
saw the great beast with her own amazed eyes. And she could not quite
believe that Pete had shot the lion until Bailey himself certified to
Pete's story of the hunt. Mrs. Bailey, for some feminine reason, felt
that she had been cheated. Bailey had not told her about the lion.
She had been indignant with Haskins for his apparently unseemly
conduct, and had been still more indignant with Pete when she
appreciated that he was at the bottom of the joke. But Haskins was
innocent and Pete was now somewhat of a hero. The good woman turned on
her husband and rebuked him roundly for allowing such "goings-on."
Bailey took his dressing-down silently. He felt that the fun had been
worth it. Pete himself was rather proud and obviously afraid he would
show it. But the atmosphere settled to normal when the men went to
work. Pete was commissioned to skin and cut up the deer. Later in the
day he tackled the lion, skinned it, fleshed out the nose, ears, and
eyelids, and salted and rolled the hide. Roth, the storekeeper at
Concho, was somewhat of a taxidermist and Mrs. Bailey had admired the
lion-skin.
Pete felt that he could have used the twenty dollars bounty, but he was
nothing if not generous. That afternoon he rode to Concho with the
lion-skin tied behind the cantle. He returned to the ranch late that
night. Next morning he was mysteriously reticent about the
disappearance of the hide. He intended to surprise Ma Bailey with a
real Christmas present. No one guessed his intent. Pete was good at
keeping his own counsel.
A few evenings later the men, loafing outside the bunk-house, amused
themselves by originating titles for the chief actors in the recent
range-drama. Pete, without question, was "The Lion Tamer," Bailey was
"Big-Chief-not-Afraid-of-a-Buck." Ma Bailey was "Queen of the
Pies"--not analogous to the drama but flattering--and Haskins, after
some argument and much suggestion, was entitled "Claw-Hammer." Such
titles as "Deer-Foot," "Rail-Hopper," "Back-Flip Bill,"
"Wind-Splitter," and the like were discarded in favor of
"Claw-Hammer"--for the unfortunate Bill had stepped on a rusty nail in
his recent exodus from the lion's den, and was at the time suffering
from a swollen and inflamed foot--really a serious injury, although
scoffed at by the good-natured Bill himself despite Mrs. Bailey's
solicitude and solution of peroxide.
Winter, with its thin shifts of snow, its intermittent sunshiny days,
its biting winds that bored through chaps and heavy gloves, was finally
borne away on the reiterant, warm breezes of spring. Mrs. Bailey was
the proud and happy possessor of a lion-skin rug--Pete's Christmas
present to her--proud of the pelt itself and happy because Young Pete
had foregone the bounty that he might make the present, which was
significant of his real affection. Coats and heavy overshoes were
discarded. Birds sang among sprouting aspen twigs, and lean,
mangy-looking coyotes lay on the distant hillsides soaking in the
warmth. Gaunt cattle lowed in the hollows and spring calves staggered
about, gazing at this new world with round, staring eyes.
Houck, the T-Bar-T foreman, had discussed with Bailey the advisability
of defining a line between the two big ranches. They came to an
agreement and both stated that they would send men to roughly survey
the line, fix upon landmarks, and make them known to the riders of both
outfits. Bailey, who had to ride from Concho to the railroad to meet a
Kansas City commission man, sent word back to the Concho to have two
men ride over to Annersley's old homestead the following day. Mrs.
Bailey immediately commissioned Young Pete and Andy to ride over to the
homestead, thinking that Pete was a particularly good choice as he knew
the country thereabouts. She cautioned the boys to behave
themselves--she always did when Andy and Pete set out together--and
giving them a comfortable package of lunch, she turned to her household
work.
"I'm takin' Blue Smoke," stated Pete as Andy packed his saddle to the
corral.
"You're takin' chances then," observed Andy.
"Oh, I got him so he knows which way is north," asserted Pete. "I been
gittin' acquainted with that cayuse, Chico."
"Yes. I seen you settin' on the ground watchin' him buck your saddle
off a couple of times," snorted Andy.
"Well, seein' as this here pasear is straight riding I reckon I'll
crawl him and turn him loose. He needs exercisin'."
"Well, I don't," asserted Andy. "'Course, some folks has always got to
be showin' off. If Bailey was here you wouldn't be ridin' that hoss."
"'And up and down and round and 'cross, that top-boss done his best!'"
sang Pete as he lugged his saddle into the corral.
"'All hell can't glue you to that hoss when he gits headed west,'" Andy
misquoted for the occasion.
"You jest swing that gate open when I git aboard," suggested Pete.
"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River."
Andy laughed.
"The Ridin' Kid from Powder River
Ain't got no lungs nor ary liver,
Some says it was a blue cayuse . . ."
"Go git you a sack and gather up the leavin's," laughed Pete, as he
kicked his foot into the stirrup and hit the saddle before Blue Smoke
knew what had happened. Andy swung the gate open. The horse headed
for the mesa, pitching as he ran. This was not half so bad for Pete as
though Blue Smoke had been forced to confine his efforts to the corral.
Pete had long since discovered that when Blue Smoke saw space ahead of
him, he was not apt to pitch hard, but rather to take it out in running
bucks and then settle down to a high-lope--as he did on this occasion,
after he had tried with his usual gusto to unseat his rider. There is
something admirable in the spirit of a horse that refuses to be ridden,
and there was much to be said for Blue Smoke. He possessed tremendous
energy, high courage, and strength, signified by the black stripe down
his back and the compact muscles of his flanks and fore legs. Pete had
coveted the horse ever since that first and unforgettable experience in
the corral. Bailey had said jokingly that he would give Pete the
outlaw if Pete would break him. Pete had frequently had it out with
Blue Smoke when the men were away. He had taken Bailey at his word,
but as usual had said nothing about riding the animal.
Andy watched Pete until he saw that Blue Smoke had ceased to pitch and
was running, when he swung up and loped out after his companion. He
overtook him a half-mile from the ranch, and loped alongside, watching
Pete with no little admiration and some envy. It struck Andy that
while Pete never made much of his intent or his accomplishment,
whatever it might be, he usually succeeded in gaining his end. There
was something about Pete that puzzled Andy; a kind of silent
forcefulness that emanated neither from bulk nor speech; for Pete was
rather lithe and compact than "beefy" and more inclined to silence than
to speech. Yet there was none of the "do or die" attitude about him,
either. But whatever it was, it was there--evident in Pete's eye as he
turned and glanced at Andy--an intenseness of purpose, not manifest in
any outward show or form.
"You sure tamed him," said Andy admiringly.
"Only for this mornin'," acknowledged Pete. "To-morrow mornin' he'll
go to it ag'in. But I aim to sweat some of it out of him afore we hit
the Blue. Got the makin's?"