HARMON SHOWS HIS HAND
Events shaped themselves much as Tex had predicted. The routine of
the round-up never varied, and the wagons worked gradually into the
country behind the Little Rockys.
One day, two weeks after Connie's meeting with Campbell, Harmon
pulled out on morning circle accompanied by McLaurie, Kid Owens, Milk
River, Connie and one of the new men. "You better drop off an' ride
short circle this mornin'," said the foreman, as he rode at Connie's
side. "The long circles takes us down into them breaks along the bad
lands, an' the way them cayuses is goin' to have to claw up an' down
them ridges, it's goin' to be all an old hand wants to do to stay
on--let alone a new beginner."
This was the first move in the game. Connie knew instantly that
today the calves would be run into the sage brush corral, and then
left in care of the look-out until the cows got tired of walking
around the fences. The boy never batted an eye: "All right," he
replied, "You say when, and we'll swing in. Who's going to be my
partner?"
Harmon's eyes swept his riders, as though making a choice. "I guess
I'll let Comstock go with you," he answered casually. "He's a new
man on the outfit, and these other boys knows the country."
"I'll be kind of glad to ride the short circle," said the boy, with a
yawn. "This riding every day, and all day, gets tiresome when you
haven't been at it any longer than I have. I've been figuring on
going back to the ranch for a while to rest up."
"Couple weeks of rest would do you good," assented the foreman. "You
be'n hangin' right to it for quite a spell, now. 'Course us fellows
is use to it an' don't notice it none, but I've saw a many a pilgrim
hit the round-up that didn't stay with it as long as what you have."
"I'll stick along for a few days," answered the boy. "And then if I
don't feel rested up, I'll lay off for a while."
"Sure. You kin ketch onto us agin when we swing in past Bird Tail.
We won't be no more'n about fifteen mile from the ranch then."
A few miles farther on, the foreman drew up and indicated the course
of the short circle, and Connie and Comstock swung back toward the
wagons. The boy was not in the least surprised when the noon herd
was worked to find that Harmon and the others who had accompanied him
were still out. It was nearly dark when they appeared without any
cattle and turned their horses into the remuda.
"We run onto some of them saddle horses I told you was on the range,
an' tried to pick 'em up, but they was runnin' with a bunch that
ranges down into the bad lands, an' they run us ragged. We never got
'em, at that, an' we run our horses to a frazzle."
For five days Connie rode the range, choosing short circle and
feigning extreme lassitude. The sixth day he spent lying in the
shade of the bed wagon and on the morning of the seventh, saddled his
horse and pulled out for the ranch.
"Plumb wore out," grinned Harmon, with a wink at Kid Owens. "I sure
do hate to lose a hand right in the middle of the round-up. But
that's the way with them coffee-coolers, they kin come an' go as they
like, while us pore cusses has got to stay on the job twenty-five
hours out of the twenty-four. But never mind, I'll be one myself
after the beef round-up. An' that'll give you a chanct to see how
good you be at runnin' the Round Seven. If you save up like I done,
an' don't blow yer money, in a few years you kin quit, too--an' maybe
we kin throw in together an' have a reg'lar outfit."
The two were the last to leave camp that morning, and as they
disappeared over the rim of the coulee, Walt Jones, the cook, grinned
as he seated himself on the wagon tongue with a paring knife in his
hand and a half bushel of spuds at his feet.
"Plumb wore out," he repeated. "Didn't eat no more'n four meals
yesterday, an' nibbled along at his breakfast this mornin', not bein'
able to put no more'n two cuts of pie on top of a pound of steer an'
a double helpin' of fried spuds." One after another the potatoes,
stripped of their peeling, splashed into the boiler of water at his
side. "I ain't wised up to this kid, yet, but I know Harmon's game,
all right. An', believe me, if I was him I'd be right now headin'
straight acrost the flats, an' you couldn't see me fer dust till I'd
crossed the Rio Grande! This here sudden onwee that's afflictin' the
big boss ain't no idle jest, as the feller says, an' I'm a
sheep-herder if that head of his'n ain't more useful than jest a
combination hair meadow an' hatrack." He paused and spat accurately
upon the spiney pad of a prickly pear, "Harmon aims to be a coffee
cooler after the beef round-up, but I'll miss my guess if he don't
start in coolin' coffee right in the middle of the calf round-up--an'
some more along with him--an' the State of Montany'll pay fer the
coffee."
Tex was just turning a little bunch of old cows into the big pasture
when Connie hailed him from the rim of the bench. A few minutes
later he joined the cowboy and together they rode toward the ranch
house, Tex listening while Connie detailed the events of the round-up.
"Don't let on to Canary or Tombstone," he cautioned, as they
approached the corral where the two ranch hands were unharnessing
their teams. "I don't know how they stand, and anyhow there's a
whole lot of things a man can't blab if he don't know 'em. I seen
McLaughlin the other day, an' it's all fixed with him an' Hall to
come a-runnin' when I yelp. Tomorrow we'll ride over an' pick up
Campbell an' Samuels an' then in the evenin' we'll meet up with the
sheriff an' the stock inspector over to Lloyd an' from there we'll
all make a night ride down along the edge of the bad lands an' hole
up in some mud crack where we can hear them old cows bawlin'."
"Did Campbell see you?"
"Yup."
"How about Grey? He wanted to be in on it, too."
"We don't need him," answered Tex. "Grey, he's got him a wife an'
kids. An' if things should happen to git rough down there it ain't
no use of him gittin' plugged. It don't make no difference about us
fellows--but I'd hate to see anything happen to Grey. They've had a
hard enough time a-ready."
"Aren't Campbell and Samuels married?"
"Campbell ain't, an' Samuels--well, Samuels, he wishes he wasn't.
Roundin' up rustlers will be a plumb restful an' peaceable vacation
for him, his daily life bein' turbulent an' tribulatious to an extent
it makes common gun-play look tranquil an' placid."
The two put up their horses and entering the ranch house, Tex went
immediately to the telephone and rang Red Bank. "Hello, Sally!" he
called into the transmitter, "Say, Sally, you see if you can get holt
of McLaughlin an' tell him to call up Tex at the Round Seven, will
you? All right, the quicker, the sooner--much obliged." Tex lighted
the fire in the cook stove, and set the kettle to boil. Presently
the telephone bell rang, "Two long an' three short. That's us!" Tex
picked up the receiver: "Hello, Mac. Yeh, this is Tex. Say, Mac,
you still want to sell that buckskin? ... Well, I might. He ain't
much 'count, but if you happen to be comin' out into the mountains
tomorrow, jest fetch him along, an' I'll meet you at Lloyd along
about dark. There's five different men tryin' to sell me a horse.
If you see Dave Hall ask him if he's got me a brand figgered out,
yet. I'm lookin' for a horse that'll pack a man an' his blankets an'
a couple days' grub. The new boss here is lookin' for one too, an'
so is Mike Campbell, an' Samuels. If yer cayuse is all right, you
can get rid of him easy, even if you an' me can't dicker. So long."
"Well, that's that," said the cowboy, as he dipped some flour from
the barrel.
"But, you didn't tell him anything about Harmon!" said Connie.
Tex grinned: "I told him all he wants to know. You see, with these
here party lines, if you got any particular business that ain't for
general publication, you got to kind of figger a round about way of
sayin' it. There's eighteen different ranches strung along that wire
an' every time a phone rings every one dives for the receiver. Why,
jest while I was talkin', I heard twelve different suppers fryin',
besides Hansen's baby squealin', an' Kearful's phony graft."
"But, the sherrif won't come clear out to Lloyd just to sell a horse,
will he?"
"No. But, he'll be there. You see what I told him was that the
rustlers was to work, an' there was five of 'em, an' he'd need his
blankets an' a couple days' grub, an' he needn't bother to bring no
one else along except Dave Hall, 'cause there'd be me, an' you, an'
Samuels, an' Mike Campbell waitin' for him. The way I told it to him
none of them folks that was hornin' in to get 'em an' earful of
someone else's business can tip it off to Harmon. All they could
savvy was me an' McLaughlin raggin' about a private horse trade."
Tex sliced boiled potatoes into the frying pan and added a generous
portion of bacon grease. The door opened to admit the two ranch
hands. "Here, you Canary, mix up a batch of sinkers, an' Tombstone,
you shovel a couple handfuls of Java into that coffee pot, an' then
fetch in an armful of firewood. We'll have supper ready in about two
jerks. Hello, two shorts, a long, an' a short. That's Two Dot's
ring." Tex beat Canary to the telephone by an arm's reach, and
noiselessly lifting the receiver placed it to his ear. Five minutes
of silence followed, and the cowboy returned the receiver to its hook.
"Two of Jerry Kearful's kids has got the measles, an' that black colt
of his et somethin' an' he's all bloated up. Mrs. Two Dot's goin'
down to Kearful's Sunday an' stay an' help take care of the kids."
"Prob'ly ain't measles," opined the doleful Tombstone. "Prob'ly
small poxt. They'll die, an' Mrs. Two Dot, she'll git it an' spread
it up an' down the crick. I had it onct."
"You couldn't of had it!" exclaimed Canary, scrutinizing Tombstone's
face. "I know'd a feller onct that had it, an' his face looks like
some one had busted him one with a charge of bird shot."
"I did, too!" vociferously maintained Tombstone. Although
inseparable cronies, these two were engaged in petty bickerings from
daylight to dark. "Guess I'd ort to know. Down on the Musselshell,
it was. I was hayin' for the Big Six outfit, an' the foreman sent
twenty mile fer a doctor. He was a good doctor, too--jest as good on
folks as he was on horses an' cattle, an' sheeps, an' besides that he
was a blacksmith. Cost me five dollars, so you might know he wasn't
no bum doctor."
"He soaked you. It wasn't worth more'n two."
"Oh, I don't know! I figger it ort to be worth five dollars to a man
to git his life saved. I can't have small poxt no more, but you
fellers kin. Chances is, you'll have it bad an' I'll have to hay
them cattle alone, besides stoppin' to do all the cookin' an' bury
you all to boot. Wisht the boys was back off the round-up. An' that
colt of Kearful's, chances is, he can't save him. When they git the
bloats, it's all up with 'em. He'd ort to give him sody, an' milk,
an' turpentine shuck up in a quart bottle."
"Why don't you tell him, if you know so much. His ring is a long an'
a short, an' a long."
Tombstone advanced to the instrument and gave the required ring.
"Hello, Kearful, is that you? Heard how yer kids has got the small
poxt... What, measles? That's what you think, but it sounds to me
like the small poxt. I'd ort to know, I had it... Do fer it? Give
'em some medicine, an' put 'em to bed, an' burn the bed an' their
clothes... What kind of medicine? What kind you got? Well give 'em
that, then. Chances is, if you wait till you git some other kind,
they'll die on you. An' that there black colt that's bloated, you
better give him a dost of sody, an' milk, an' turpentine. Git about
a quart of it down him... You ain't got no turpentine? Well, you
might try kerosene, then... You're welcome. Good bye."
"It's sure comfortin', livin' way out here like we do," said Tex,
with an elaborate wink at Connie, "to know we got a good doctor right
here in the house."
"I s'pose you think I don't know nothin' about doctorin'," said
Tombstone, "but, I doctored a bloated horse onct with sody, an' milk,
an' turpentine."
"Yeh, but not kerosene," grinned Tex. "How come you told him
kerosene?"
"You got to use yer head, doctorin', same as anything else. You use
turpentine fer thinnin' out paint, don't you? Well, one time we was
paintin' a barn, an' we run out of turpentine, an' we thinned the
paint with kerosene, an' that shows they're about alike, don't it?"
"Guess so," admitted Tex. "Did the horse you doctored get well?'
"No, he died. But, that's the way with sick horses. All you kin do
is give 'em what you got handy, an' if their time's come they'll die
anyhow, an' if it ain't they'll git well. Come on, supper's ready."
It was a rather grim-faced group of horsemen that pulled out of the
little town of Lloyd the following evening, and struck southward
through the mountains. The moon rose as they rounded the shoulder of
Saw Tooth and pushed out into the open country to the south-eastward.
At the edge of the bad lands, Mike Campbell took the lead and for
several miles the others followed in silence as the nester skirted
the heads of innumerable draws and coulees that led into the maze of
mud cracks and pinnacles and barren ridges that comprise the bad
lands. The lop-sided moon was almost directly over head when the man
turned abruptly into a dry wash that soon became a well defined
coulee, and later a canyon with perpendicular sides of disintegrating
rock. For miles the night horsemen followed the tortuous winding of
the canyon, whose floor was bare, and dry, and hard as the paved
street of a city. Mouths of innumerable connecting canyons yawned
black on either side, and as he rode behind the sheriff, Connie
realized why it was that the bad lands had become a refuge and a
sanctuary for outlaws and hunted men. For they consisted of an
intricate network of canyons and mud cracks, the almost total lack of
feed and water for horses, and the fact that very few men besides the
outlaws themselves, knew the bad lands, and those few were ranchers
and cowboys who lived nearby, and who did not dare to act as guides
to any posse the sheriff might lead in, for the reason that the
outlaws would have retaliated by ambushing them at the very first
opportunity.
It was into one of the yawning side canyons that Mike Campbell turned
after a couple of hours of riding through the darkness. The sides of
this new canyon, whose general direction was east and west, were less
abrupt than those of the main canyon, and here and there upon their
surface, Connie could see patches of coarse bunch grass. An hour
later the guide halted, the others drew in beside him, and all sat in
silence broken only by the creak of saddle leather, and the
occasional movement of a horse. After some moments a sound was borne
to their ears upon the soft night wind. It was the bawling of a
far-off cow. Another cow joined in, and then another, and Dave Hall,
the stock inspector nodded to McLaughlin.
"We're in time, all right," said the sheriff. "It'll be anyway a day
or two yet before the cows will quit the corral. But, in the
meantime, what are we goin' to do fer water an' horse feed?"
For answer, Campbell started his horse, and a few minutes later, led
the party into a shallow buffalo grass basin formed by the widening
of the walls of the canyon. "Here's feed, an' over yonder about
twenty rod, there's a spring of good water. We can lay here fer a
week if we need to. Harmon's corral is about four mile due east of
here, on a thick sage flat. We're almost on the edge of the bad
lands, but fer enough in so they won't no one be botherin' us, an'
near enough so we can hear when them cows quits bellerin'. They's a
rock pinnacle about a half a mile from here, where we can post a
lookout. They've got to cross a couple of miles of flat where the
sage is thin before they git to the corral, an' we kin watch 'em go
in."
The spring proved to be of ample proportion for the needs of the
party. After each had satisfied his thirst, Campbell filled an ample
coffee-pot, and a kettle, the horses were unsaddled, watered,
hobbled, and turned loose to feed.
"We got to do all our cookin' at night," said Campbell. "We can hide
the blaze easy enough, but that there lookout at the corral might see
our smoke if we build a fire daytimes." The water from the spring
flowed for a few rods across the basin before becoming completely
absorbed by the thirsty ground. Along this tiny watercourse a
scrubby growth of cottonwood, chokecherry, and a stunted bull pine or
two had sprung up, and it was upon this meagre source of supply that
Campbell drew for his firewood. After a meal of bacon, store bread,
and coffee, the tired men spread their blankets on the grass, and
soon were fast asleep.