TEX
The hour that Connie had spent with the sheepmen had given the band
time to scatter widely in search of feed, and as the boy approached a
deep coulee three frightened ewes came bounding up from its depths.
Another followed and just as it topped the rim an evil grey shape
closed in on it and Connie caught the flash of a set of gleaming
fangs that snapped together within an inch of the terrified ewe's
throat. Instantly the boy's service revolver was in his hand, and as
the grey shape paused for a second to survey the mounted figure that
had interrupted his meal, the gun spoke, and the wolf-like animal
sprang into the air and fell to the ground snapping and kicking about
on the short buffalo grass. Connie, however, had little chance to
watch the death struggle of his victim, for at the sound of the
explosion, Nigger sunk his head, and arching his back, shot into the
air. He struck the ground with a jolt that seemed to drive the boy's
spine into the base of his skull, and again the horse was in the air.
Mechanically the boy dug in his spurs with all his might. With his
left hand he hung to the reins. His right still grasped the
revolver. Again and again the horse plunged, bucking straight ahead
in a series of stiff-legged plunges that jarred and pounded the boy
unmercifully. Suddenly he was conscious of the sound of a voice:
"Stay with him, cowboy! Stay a long time! Fan him! Hook 'em in!
Ride--cowboy--ride!"
But Connie was slipping. One leg left the stirrup, and the next rise
of the horse sent him flying in a beautiful arc straight over the
animal's head. The boy struck on his hands and knees, and a moment
later he was upon his feet. There was a sound of pounding hoofs, and
he saw Nigger heading across the bench closely followed by a rider on
a curiously spotted horse. The rider was swinging a looped rope
about his head. Suddenly the loop shot out and settled about the
neck of the fleeing Nigger, and a few moments later the rider was
coming toward him, leading the runaway. As he approached Connie
recognized Tex, who greeted him with a grin: "You sure was ridin',
boss! But, why in thunder didn't you haul leather? He was buckin'
straight ahead an' you could of stayed with him."
Connie returned the grin: "To tell the truth, I never thought of it.
But, I don't think I'd have done it if I had. Harmon told me what
cattle men thought of a man that would pull leather."
"Oh, he did, did he? Well, that's all right for him to talk. Of
course, if you want to put up a fancy ride an' all that sort of
stuff, you got to keep your hand off the horn. But, I've seen Bob
Harmon pull leather to keep from gettin' busted onto the ground, an'
I've pulled leather myself, an' I'll do it every time I've got to,
and so will every other cow-hand that's got good sense. Put up as
good a ride as you can but if it comes to grabbin' leather or
quittin' your horse on the top end of a high one, you jest reach down
an' git you a handful every time--unless you're practicin' up for to
ride in some circus. I've handled stock longer than Harmon has, an'
you can take it from me, they ain't no one but a fool goin' to blame
you for haulin' leather when you've got to."
Instinctively, Connie liked this smiling cow puncher, whose hazel
eyes looked steadily into his own. He watched as Tex leaned forward
in his saddle and loosened the rope from the neck of the recalcitrant
Nigger. There was assurance in his every movement. The boy recalled
the easy swing of the looped rope, and the accuracy with which it had
fallen about the neck of the flying horse, and he watched now as the
man coiled the rope and returned it to its place with the dexterity
of long practice. Something about the cowboy reminded him of Waseche
Bill--the soft drawl of his voice, or maybe the manner of the kindly
advice that was offered as man to man for what it was worth, and not
doled out from man to boy in the patronizing manner of a piece of
schooling. Possibly it was because of the realization that here was
a man who was absolutely competent to do the thing that he set out to
do. Despite his youth, Connie Morgan had had wide experience of men.
His judgment had disapproved Harmon from the moment of their first
meeting, and that same judgment approved Tex. Therefore it was no
surprise to the boy when he detected from the man's words that he
held the foreman of the Round Seven in a sort of tolerant contempt.
And instinctively Connie knew that this contempt was not engendered
by any sense of petty jealousy, but was the natural contempt of a
square man for a crook. Here was an ally worth having, but one whose
alliance must be earned, not bargained for--an ally who would
naturally align himself upon the side of right against wrong.
The boy returned the gun to its holster, and the cow-puncher's glance
traveled from the weapon to its victim that lay stretched upon the
ground.
"That was good shootin'," he ventured. "But shootin' coyotes won't
make no hit with Harmon. It would have be'n as much as our job was
worth if one of us had done it."
"Why?" asked the boy in astonishment. "They're a kind of a wolf
ain't they? He was just about to kill one of those sheep when I got
him."
Tex grinned: "Yeh, they're a kind of a wolf, all right, an' they sure
do kill sheep--an that's why Harmon likes 'em. They don't bother the
calves none, but they're death on lambs, an' even old ewes. We've
got orders not to kill no coyotes. They're gettin' thicker every
year around here. John Grey--them was John's sheep--he kills one now
an' then with his rifle, but they've learnt to keep shy of a man
afoot, while us fellows can ride right onto 'em. They're slick,
coyotes are, they soon learn who to keep out of the way of."
"And Harmon wants them to kill Grey's sheep, is that the idea?"
"That's the size of it."
"He told me all about these nesters--about their fencing off all the
water so the range stock can't get any to drink."
"Yes," answered Tex, gravely: "Take John Grey, now; I reckon he's
fenced off all of forty rod of water, to keep the range stock out of
his alfalfa. But, he might have saved his wire."
"Why?"
"Well, it got busted, an' the cattle et the alfalfa."
"I've just been talking with Grey," said the boy, suddenly. "He told
me quite a lot of things about the Round Seven. I'm wondering if
they're true."
"Couldn't say," answered Tex, his attention riveted apparently upon
the rolling of a cigarette.
"Well, among other things, he told me that the Round Seven cattle
were thrown against his fences on purpose so they would break through
and eat his alfalfa. Do you know anything about that?"
Tex lighted his cigarette, carefully blew out the match, and flicked
it into a patch of prickly pears. "A cow-hand ain't hired to figger
on the purpose that's behind the boss's orders. So I couldn't say.
All I know is that along last August, when the range was all burnt
brown, we fogged a bunch of about four hundred steers around all day
on dry range, not lettin' 'em stop to eat, an' about four o'clock in
the evenin' we was ordered to swing 'em in against Grey's fences an'
leave 'em till mornin'. The alfalfa was green an' cool lookin', an'
the water sparkled in the sun, an' the thermometer stood about a
hundred. Next mornin' I kind of noticed they wasn't no alfalfa in
Grey's field, an' most of his west fence was down flat."
"Who ordered that done?"
"Bob Harmon."
"Did Wilson know it?"
"Can't say what Wilson know'd, or what he didn't know. He was away
then--gone for a couple of weeks or so, prospectin' the bad lands."
"Grey told me a lot of other things, too," said Connie, "before he
knew who I was."
Tex grinned: "I reckon you got you an earful."
"I did. Among other things I heard that the Round Seven is a crooked
outfit. That Harmon has got nesters to come over here and settle on
the creeks, and that the water is fenced off with Round Seven wire,
and that Wadell is feeding Round Seven hay to his sheep, and that
he's got another claim over on Shonkin that he holds under another
name, and that Harmon is stealing Round Seven calves, and that Mike
Campbell and Samuels are the only real nesters on Beaver and the
others are all fakes. What I want to know, is all this true?"
"What if it would be?' asked Tex, noncommitally.
"If it's true," flashed the boy, "if that's the kind of an outfit
I've bought, believe me, there's going to be something doing on the
South Slope before long! I've always played a square game, and I'm
always going to. I'm here to clean this outfit up, and every crook
is going to get hurt!"
"They'll be some considerable pain suffered south of the mountains by
the way the moon hangs," opined Tex oracularly.
"Look here, Tex," cried the boy, impulsively. "I've learned to size
men up. I've had to do it all my life. You had rather work for a
square outfit than a crooked one?"
The cow-puncher pondered the words: "It's be'n quite a spell since
I've had the chance," he answered dryly, "I sort of forget."
Connie laughed: "Then what Grey told me is true?" he persisted.
"Let's reason it out," answered Tex. "It's a cinch it ain't poetry,
therefore, by the process of elimination, as the feller says, it must
be truth."
"The Round Seven is going to need a new foreman very soon," said the
boy. "Will you take the job?"
"Is that a bribe? I'm supposed to agree to help git rid of Harmon so
I get his job?"
"It is not--and you know it!" exclaimed the boy. "With you, or
without you, I'm going to see that Harmon gets what's coming to him.
Then the ranch will need someone who is competent to run it. And,
I've got a hunch that you're the man."
"An,' dog my cats, if I don't believe you'll do it! Before the mud
of Eagle is dried on your boots you've found out more than Wilson
ever learnt. I'm for you. An' not because I want to be foreman,
neither. I jest want to see how it feels to set in a square game
again. But take it slow. We might have some rough work ahead of us.
I know a whole lot already, an' I aim to know more about how things
is stacked up. You set tight, boss, an' we'll get the goods on 'em.
But, don't let Harmon suspicion you know nothin' till the time's
right. Wait till along towards the tail end of the calf
round-up--then one of these days you an' me an' the sheriff will pull
a little surprise party--somewheres down in the sage brush."