SUNDOWN ADVENTURES
By dint of perilous scrambling Sundown managed to keep within sight of
Chance, who had picked up Fernando's tracks leading from the
cottonwoods. The dog leaped over rocks and trotted along the levels,
sniffing until he came to the rift in the cañon wall down which the
herder had toiled on his grewsome errand. Chance climbed the sharp
ascent with clawing reaches of his powerful forelegs and quick thrusts
of his muscular haunches. Sundown followed as best he could. He was
keyed to the strenuous task by that spurious by-product of anticipation
frequently termed a "hunch."
When the dog at last reached the edge of the timber and dashed into
Fernando's deserted camp, Sundown was puzzled until he happened to
recall the incidents leading to Fadeaway's discharge from the Concho.
He reclined beneath a tree familiar to him as a former basis for
recuperation. He felt of himself reminiscently while watching Chance
nose about the camp. Presently the dog came and, squatting on his
haunches, faced his master with the query, "What next?" scintillating
in his glowing eyes.
"I dunno," replied Sundown. "You see, pardner, this here's Fernando's
camp all right. Now, I ain't got nothin' ag'in' that little ole
Fernando man, 'specially as it was him cut the rope that was snakin' me
to glory onct. I ain't got nothin' ag'in' him, or nobody. Mebby Fade
did set after them sheep. Mebby Fernando knows it and sets after him.
Mebby he squats in them cotton-woods by the ford and 'Pom!' goes
somethin' and pore Fadeaway sure makes his name good. Never did like
him, but I ain't got nothin' ag'in' him now. You see, Chance, he's
quit bein' mean, now. And say, gettin' killed ain't no dream. I been
there three, four times myself--all but the singin'. Two wrecks, one
shootin', and one can o' beans that was sick. It sure ain't no fun.
Wonder if gettin' killed that way will square Fade with the Big Boss
over there? I reckon not. 'T ain't what a fella gets done to him that
counts. It's what he does to the other guy, good or bad. Now, take
them martyrs what my pal Billy used to talk about. They was always
standin' 'round gettin' burned and punctured with arrers, and
lengthened out and shortened up when they ought to been takin' boxin'
lessons or sords or somethin'. Huh! I never took much stock in them.
If it's what a fella gets _done_ to him, it's easy money I'll be takin'
tickets at the gate instead of crawlin' under the canvas--and mebby
tryin' to sneak you in, too--eh, Chance?"
To all of which the great wolf-dog listened with exemplary patience.
He would have preferred action, but not unlike many human beings who
strive to appear profound under a broadside of philosophical eloquence,
applauding each bursting shrapnel of platitudes by mentally wagging
their tails, Chance wagged his tail, impressed more by the detonation
than the substance. And Chance was quite a superior dog, as dogs go.
When Sundown finally arrived at the Concho, he was met by Bud Shoop,
who questioned him. Sundown gave a detailed account of his recent
exploration.
"You say they was no burros at the camp--no tarp, or grub, or nothin'?"
"Nope. Nothin' but a dead fire," replied Sundown.
"Any sheep?"
"Mebby four or five. Didn't count 'em."
"Huh! Wonder where the rest of the greaser's herd is grazin'?"
"I dunno. I rode straight acrost to here."
"Looks mighty queer to me," commented the foreman. "I take it that
Fernando's lit out."
"Will they pinch the boss?" queried Sundown.
"I don' know. Anyhow, they can't prove it on him. Even if Jack
did--and I don't mind sayin' it to you--plug Fade, he did it to keep
from gettin' plugged hisself. Do you reckon I'd let any fella
chloroform me with the butt of a .45 and not turn loose? I tell you,
if Jack had been a-goin' to get Fade _right_, you'd 'a' found 'em
closter together. And that ain't all. If Jack had wanted to get Fade,
you can bet he wouldn't got walloped on the head first. The gun that
got Fade weren't packed by a puncher."
"Will they be any more shootin'?" queried Sundown.
"Gettin' cold feet, Sun?"
"Nope. But say, it ain't no fun to get shot up. It don't feel good
and it's like to make a guy cross. A guy can't make pie or eat pie all
shot up, nohow."
"Pie? You sure are loco. What you tryin' to rope now?"
"Nothin'. But onct I was in the repair shop with two docs explorin' me
works with them there shiny little corkscrews, lookin' for a bullit
that Clammie-the-dip let into me system--me bein' mistook for another
friend of his by mistake. After the docs dug up the bullit they says,
'Anything you want to say?'--expectin' me to pass over, I reckon.
'There is,' says I. 'I want to say that I ain't et nothin' sense the
day before Clammie done me dirt. An' if I'm goin' to hit the slide I
jest as soon hit it full of pie as empty.' And them docs commenced to
laugh. 'Let him have it,' says one. 'But don't you reckon ice-cream
would be less apt to--er--hasten--the--er--' jest like that. 'Pussuble
you're correct' says the other.'" Sundown scratched his ear. "And I
et the ice-cream, feelin' kind o' sad-like seein' it wasn't pie. You
see, Bud, gettin' shot up is kind of disconvenient."
"Well, you're the limit!" exclaimed Shoop. "Say, the boss wants to
make a few talks to you to-morrow. Told me to tell you when you come
back. You better go feed up. As I recollec' Hi's wrastlin' out some
pie-dough right now."
"Well, I ain't takin' no chances, Bud."
"You tell that to Hi and see what he says."
"Nope. 'T ain't necessary. You see when them docs seen, about a week
after, that I was comin' strong instead of goin', they says, 'Me man,
if you'd 'a' had pie in your stummick when you was shot, you wouldn't
be here to-day. You'd be planted--or somethin' similar. The fac' that
your stummick was empty evidentially saved your life.' And," concluded
Sundown, "they's no use temptin' Providence now."
Shortly after breakfast next morning Corliss sent for Sundown. The
rancher sat propped up in a wide armchair. He was pale, but his eyes
were clear and steady.
"Bud told me about yesterday," he began, anticipating Sundown's
leisurely and erratic recital. "I understand you found me on the trail
and went for help."
"Yes. I thought you was needin' some about then."
"How did you come to find me?"
"Got lost. Hoss he took me there."
"Did you see any one on the trail?"
"Nope."
"Hear any shooting?"
"Nope. But I seen some turkeys."
"Well, I expect the sheriff will be here tomorrow. He'll want to talk
to you. Answer him straight. Don't try to help me in any way. Just
tell him what you know--not what you think."
"I sure will, boss. Wish Chance could talk. He could tell."
Corliss smiled faintly. "Yes, I suppose he could. You followed him to
Fernando's camp?"
"Uhuh."
"All right. Now, I've had a talk with Bud about something that has
been bothering me. I think I can trust you. I want you to ride to
Antelope to-morrow morning and give a letter from me to the lawyer
there, Kennedy. He'll tell you what to do after that. I don't feel
like talking much, but I'll say this: You remember the water-hole
ranch. Well, I want you to file application to homestead it. Kennedy
will tell you what to do. Don't ask any questions, but do as he says.
You'll have to go to Usher by train and he'll go with you. You won't
lose anything by it."
"Me? Homestead? Huh! And have cows and pigs and things? I don't
jest get you, boss, but what you say goes. Why, I'd homestead a ranch
in hell and take chances on findin' water if you said it. Say,
boss,"--and Sundown leaned toward Corliss confidentially and lowered
his voice,--"I ain't what you'd call a nervy man, but say, I got
somethin' jest as good. I--I--" and Sundown staggered around feeling
for the word he wanted.
"I know. We'll look it up in the dictionary some day when we're in
town. Here's ten dollars for your trip. If you need more, Kennedy
will give it to you."
Sundown departed, thrilled with the thought that his employer had
placed so much confidence in him. He wanted to write a poem, but
circumstances forbade his signaling to his muse. On his way to the
bunk-house he hesitated and retraced his steps to the ranch office.
Corliss told him to come in. He approached his employer deferentially
as though about to ask a favor.
"Say, boss," he began, "they's two things just hit me to onct. Can I
take Chance with me?"
"If you like. Part of your trip will be on the train."
"I can fix that. Then I was thinkin': No! my hoss is lame. I got to
ride a strange hoss, which I'm gettin' kind o' used to. But if you'll
keep your eye on my hoss while I'm gone, it'll ease me mind
considerable. You see he's been with me reg'lar and ain't learned no
bad tricks. If the boys know I'm gone and get to learnin' him about
buckin' and bitin' the arm offen a guy and kickin' a guy's head off and
rollin' on him, and rarin' up and stompin' him, like some, they's no
tellin' what might happen when I get back."
Corliss laughed outright. "That's so. But I guess the boys will be
busy enough without monkeying with your cayuse. If you put that
homestead deal through, you can have any horse on the range except
Chinook. You'll need a team, anyway, when you go to ranching."
"Thanks, boss, but I'm gettin' kind of used to Pill."
"Pill? You mean Phil--Phil Sheridan. That's your horse's name."
"Mebby. I did try callin' him 'Phil.' It went all right when he was
standin' quiet. But when he got to goin' I was lucky if I could holler
just 'Whoa, Pill!' The 'h' got jarred loose every time. 'Course,
bein' a puncher now,"--and Sundown threw out his chest,--"it's
different. Anyhow, Pill is his name because there ain't anything a doc
ever give a fella that can stir up your insides worse 'n he can when he
takes a spell. Your head hurtin' much?"
"No. But it will be if you don't get out of here." And Corliss
laughed and waved his hand toward the door.