Autumn came late to Alberta that year, and in the month of November,
the cattle were still upon the range. The experienced cowman in Alberta
is never deceived by the long sun-laden days of however warm an Autumn.
Well he knows that the climate of Alberta is like unto a temperamental
woman whose tantrums may burst forth into fury even while her smile
lingers.
It is no uncommon thing in Alberta for a period of warm and balmy
weather to be electrically broken by amazing storms and blizzards which
spring into being out of a perfectly clear blue sky. Sometimes they
last but a few hours; sometimes they rage for a week, during which
period the effect is devastating to such of the cattlemen who have
their stock still upon the range. The cattle caught unawares in the
Autumn blizzard upon the open range will sometimes drift for miles
before it and have been known to perish literally by the hundreds when
trapped in coulie and gulch or driven for shelter against fence line,
lie buried body on body. Because, therefore, blizzards are dangerous
matters for the cattle to contend with, it is the custom in Alberta to
round up in the month of October, and some outfits round up as early as
September.
At O Bar O this year there was an atmosphere of restlessness and
uncertainty. The riders were all at hand, awaiting word from the chief
to set forth upon the Fall round-up; to bring in the cattle loose
on the winter range to the home fields, where they would find ample
protection under the long cattle sheds, and be given proper care and
attention over the winter months.
For more than a month streams of cattle belonging to other outfits had
been passing daily along the Banff Highway, coming down from the summer
range on the Indian or Forest Reserve, en route to their winter homes
on the ranches. This steadily moving army kept the O Bar O outfit on
tenter-hooks.
Bully Bill, chewing, spitting, moving restlessly about, eager to be
off, kept his own counsel so far as the murmuring crew were concerned;
but a suggestive question however humorously or pacifically couched
anent the matter of O Bar O round-up aroused his irritation and
profanity to a hair-splitting degree. The harassed foreman was beside
himself with anxiety and uncertainty. The sight of his men slouching
about the corrals and the yards aroused both his wrath and his grief.
He had worked his wits all through the month of October to find
sufficient work to keep his men going, but the work created by the
foreman was of a sort for which a rider feels only contempt. November
the fifth, and _riders_--cowpunchers of the great O Bar O ranch
hauling logs for fire wood or fence posts! Puttering with fencing,
brush-cutting--Indians’ work, by Gad! Snugging up the bunkhouse and
barn with dirt and manure for the winter! By Gravy! Those were jobs for
tenderfeet and Indians. Not for self-respecting riders. No wonder the
fellows were beginning to growl among themselves and cast black looks
at the ranch house. Two of them had quit the service of the old ranch,
two first-class men, at that, and Bully Bill noted them later upon the
Banff Highway, riding with a hated rival outfit.
The O Bar O prided itself on maintaining a prize crew of men. They
knew every inch of the range which extended over a hundred and fifty
thousand acres into the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. They knew the
brands of half the cattlemen in Alberta. They could pick out O Bar O
stock even when the brand was overgrown. At this time of year, skilled
labour of this sort were in great demand and could choose their own
jobs and demand their own price. If P. D. failed to find them regular
men’s jobs, his foreman knew that presently they would give ear to the
solicitations of rival outfits.
“Whispering Jake,” owner of the Bar D Ranch in the Jackass Valley,
kept his eye “peeled” always for O Bar O hands. Himself unable to keep
his men for long, he was satisfied to engage men trained at O Bar O
and discharged for one cause or another. “Whisper,” as he was more
popularly known--the name having been given to him in derision, because
he talked always at the top of his immense voice--had been over the
last few weeks, supposedly to look for a roan heifer, which he declared
had strayed on to O Bar O. Bully Bill knew very well that the cowman
had come, in fact, to look the O Bar O men over and to drop a hint of
the amount of advance he was willing to pay over what the men were
getting from P. D. “Whisper” made a point of going up $20 a month over
O Bar O wages; but he dropped his men as soon as the rush season was
over and left them high and dry for the winter. On the other hand, P.
D. did not raise his men’s wages in the busy seasons, but kept them
on all winter, regardless of slack periods and the drop of price in
cattle. At Christmas, moreover, if the stock were in healthy shape and
the profit of the business warranted it, O Bar O men received an annual
bonus.
This year “Whisper” had learned, through the medium of Holy Smoke, that
during the period when the hands of O Bar O were idling about waiting
for P. D. to give the order to set out upon the round-up, considerable
of the men’s wages had disappeared in poker games played in the
bunkhouse, and also at times in the newspaper man’s camp. The losers,
needing immediate funds, wavered toward the promises of the other
cattlemen, and especially toward “Whispering Jake.”
Chafe and fret and rage internally as Bully Bill might, no word came
forth from the ranch house, where for more than a month the Chess
Champion of Western Canada and the potential challenger of the world
had been closeted each night with Cheerio. When the third man left
the service of O Bar O, Bully Bill hearkened to the suggestion of his
assistant and accompanied by him paid a visit to the ranch house, where
he requested Chum Lee to ask Miss Hilda to come to the front door.
Hilda, in the living-room, intently watching every move upon the board,
looked up surprised at the whispered message of the Chinaman. Glad
to escape from what she clearly perceived was practically the end of
another game, the girl joined the foreman and his assistant upon the
verandah.
“Miss Hilda,” began Bully Bill, “Ho and I are here to-night to ask you
what’re we goin’ to do about the cattle? We can’t afford to wait no
longer.”
Hilda debated the matter, hand on chin. She was looking off quite
absently and suddenly she said to Bully Bill:
“Look here, Bill, if Dad had only moved his Knight instead of his
Castle, he could have checked his King from both ends of the board and
the jig would have been up. But Dad’s losing his nerve. He’s been beat
too often lately. I can just see him fairly breaking. It’s telling on
him. He’s an old man, my Dad is, and it’s terrible at his age to lose
confidence. So long as Dad knew he was the best player in the West, he
was just as cocky and spunky as a two-year-old, but you ought to see
him now. Bunched up in his chair, his old eyes dim, and the eyebrows
sticking out and his lip bulged. You’d hardly know him. Oh! if he had
only moved his Knight! I could just have slapped him when he lifted
that darned Castle. I tell you, Bill, Dad has simply _got_ to beat
him. He’s got to win at least one game. He’d never survive a permanent
defeat, and apart from Dad’s feelings, neither would I!”
“But, look-a-here, Miss Hilda, what’re we all agoin’ to do till then?
We can’t allow them cattle to be out till end of November. Why, them
cattle----”
“Oh, the cattle! The cattle! You give me a pain! Can’t you think of
anything but cattle, cattle, cattle? I guess there’s people in the
world as well as cattle, cattle!”
“So there are, miss, but at this time of year we got to think of the
cattle first, or they’ll get thinking with their own feet and first
thing we know they’ll wander off somewheres where you ain’t goin’ to
see them no more. Just let ’em get awandering up in them hills near
Broken Nose Lake, and I betchu that’ll be the last of ’em. Besides,
I heered down in Cochrane that there’s a sight of rustlers prowlin’
around this year, and the Indians ain’t any too scrupilous and when
they’re hungry, they ain’t depising no handy beef. Why, Jim Lame-Leg’s
doin’ time now for as slick a trick as ever I heerd of. Drive a cow
over a canyon, and then git the job of haulin’ her out, and when she’s
out she’s got her leg broke and she dies on his hand, and the owner
pays for the haulin’ of the cow out with the dead carcass. Lee caught
’im breakin’ a leg of one of the Lazy L’s stock and the boss told him
to go ahead and shoot her and keep the carcass, till someone put him
wise, and he had the Mounty down from the Reserve and Jim Lame-Leg’s
doin’ time now. If we don’t look out there’ll be others just as smart
as Jim and when we come to countin’ up stock, I betchu we’ll be out a
dozen head and more.”
“Well, it’s pretty bad, I know, but I won’t have Dad bothered about
cattle. He’s got enough on his mind right now. Anyway, I believe the
cattle are all right. What’s the matter with the herders, anyway?
They’re still out, aren’t they?”
“Herders! My foot! Excuse my cussing, miss, but when you talk of
herders,--my gosh! Herders ain’t a bit of good when the cold snap
comes. They keep in their tents and holler for the riders and that’s
what the riders is for.”
“But then, look at the weather this year. The cattle’ll get along for
a month yet, I do believe. Last year we had soft weather clear up till
Christmas. You know that and lots of cattle people were sorry they
hadn’t taken advantage of the weather and left the cattle on the range.
Anyway, they’ll come trailing home gradually themselves. Have all the
gates down.”
“Some’ll come home, sure enough, but we got a lot of new stuff and they
ain’t broke to this range. We threw some of the best stock you ever set
eyes on over to the north of Loon Lake. If a storm comes up----”
Holy Smoke, plaiting a long cowhide bullwhip had taken no part in
the conversation, but his ears were pricked up and his crafty eyes
scarcely left the girl’s face.
“I tell you what you’d better do,” suggested Hilda, “get your men
together and start on off. Dad won’t mind, and it’s the only thing to
do.”
“He won’t mind! He threw a million fits last year when I just gathered
in the lighter stuff before he said the word--stuff that was right at
the gate, at that. Orders is flat, nothing doing till he says the word.
He’s God Almighty on the O Bar O--begging your pardon, Miss Hilda--and
he wants every Son-of-a-Gun on the place to know it.”
“I’ll say so!” declared P. D.’s daughter with pride. “Go along in,
then, and put your cards on the table before him.”
“Nothing doing. Tried the job last week. He was out on this verandy
and he was walkin’ up and down, with his hands behind him and his head
dropped, and I ses to myself, ‘Mebbe he’s through. I’ll tuck in a word
edgeways now.’ So I slipped over and----”
“What did Dad say?”
Hilda was leaning forward, wide-eyed with delighted interest. Dad’s
utterances were always matters of the profoundest psychological
interest and pride to his admiring daughter.
Bully Bill lowered his voice confidentially.
“Miss Hilda, I ain’t got the nerve to repeat to you the curious string
of damns and cusses that your father give me and----”
Hilda laughed, a rippling girlish chuckle of genuine pride and delight.
“Isn’t Dad a perfect peach when he starts swearing? Don’t you love
it? It sounds so--so--healthy, somehow. Can’t he just rip out the
dandiest string of swear words you ever did hear? I’ll bet there’s
not another man in the entire country can cuss as my Dad can. Most of
’em run off just the ordinary common old damns, but Dad--why _Dad_
can--can--literally coin cuss words. I’d rather hear my Dad cuss
than--than--hear a prima donna sing. Why, do you know, the very first
word that either Sandy or I learned to speak was ‘damn’!”
Up tossed the young head. Hilda’s white teeth shone as her fresh
laughter rippled forth, and at that musical sound, and the sight of the
beautiful, laughing young woman before him, moved by an irresistible
impulse, Holy Smoke, who had been squatting at his work, jumped
restlessly to his feet. Hilda’s back was to the door. The hall was dark
behind her.
“Miss Hilda,” said Ho, ingratiatingly, “we thought as how if you would
ask your father and----”
“I? Not on your life. It’s all I can do to induce him to eat, let
alone talk of anything else in the world except chess--Kings, Queens,
Knights, Bishops, Rooks, Pawns! Gods and devils! Why did he make this
move, and what object he had in making that, and if he had done this
and hadn’t done that such and such a thing might have happened. Why,
Dad’s just plumb chess crazy!”
“You said it,” grinned Ho delightedly, eager to ingratiate himself
by agreeing with her, and at the same time voice his own thought
regardless of the consequences. “This ain’t no cattle ranch no longer.
It’s a loon ranch.”
“What’s that you say?”
Hilda’s voice had risen with excitement. Someone came out of the
living-room inside, and paused half-way across the hall on his way to
the verandah.
“I said--” repeated Holy Smoke, feeling a curious excitement and
delight in the flaming anger he had aroused--“I said that this ain’t no
longer a cattle ranch but a loon ranch.”
“How dare you say a thing like that about O Bar O. A lot you know about
ranching. You come on over from the States with your wind and your brag
and there’s no one believes a word you say. You dare to insinuate that
my father is----”
“When I said ‘loon,’ Miss Hilda, I wasn’t mentioning no names, but
s’long as you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, I’ll tell you that I was
thinkin’ of that English fly, him that’s made all of the trouble here.
My hands is itchin’ to lariat him and take it out o’ his hide. You
say the word, Miss Hilda, and there’ll be a bunch of us turn the trick
to-night!”
At the mention of Cheerio, the dark blood had rushed into the face of
the girl. Her glance was full of contempt and hatred now.
“You, Holy Smoke! Yes, you’d _need_ to rope your man. I’m thinking
otherwise you’d have your hands D-d-d-d-d-full if you tried to tackle
him man to man with your hands, for, take it from me, he’d make you eat
your words and twist!”
Holy Smoke’s voice was husky:
“Look ahere, d’you mean to say----”
“Yes, I do mean to say--the very worst there is about you, and you can
get right off O Bar O the minute your month is up. I’ll undertake to be
responsible to my father and----”
Ho’s tongue searched his cheek. An ugly chuckle came from him and his
slow words caused the girl to draw back as if struck.
“Since you’re so stuck on him----”
Hilda was aware that the door behind her had opened and then was banged
to. She whirled around, and found herself face to face with Cheerio.
Even in the moonlight, she could see that his face was set and stern as
his glance passed by her and rested upon the shifting gaze of Ho, who
suddenly, hurriedly moved away.
There was no sound now but the sobbing breath of the excited Hilda.
Bully Bill had followed his assistant. She was alone on the verandah
with Cheerio. A moment she looked up in the quiet moonlight at the man
she had told herself so often that she hated.
What must he think of her now? Had he heard Holy Smoke’s taunt? Would
he believe then that she--The thought was intolerable--an agony; but
her agony was turned to a curious bliss, when, quite suddenly, she
felt her hand warmly enclosed. For a long moment, he held her captive
and she felt the deep gaze of his eyes searching her own. Then she was
released, and like one in a dream she heard rather than saw him moving
away from her. Unconsciously, a sob in her throat, Hilda McPherson held
out her arms toward him. But he did not see her. She had a sudden
frantic apprehension that he would go after Holy Smoke--that there
would be a fight and he--An almost primitive fear of harm befalling
him, sent Hilda along to the edge of the verandah. Then she heard
something that stopped her flight, and held her there, straining to
hear the last note of that long, soft whistle which rose in crescendo
like a bird’s song that dropped across the silence of the night and
slowly melted away.
Something rose in a suffocating flood in the heart of the Alberta-born
girl. Spellbound and shaken, suddenly Hilda consciously faced the
truth: She loved!