AT THE AGENCY
After breakfast on the morning following Connie's talk with the
outlaw, the boy called Tex aside: "Know a fellow named Dick Grey?" he
asked.
"Sure, I know him. Brother to John Grey down the crick. Worked with
him on the PU. couple of years back. Heard he'd got into some kind
of rookus with Major Hogan, an' the Major got him outlawed fer
horse-stealin'."
"Do you believe it--that Grey's a horse thief?"
"No, I wouldn't believe nothin' Major Hogan said, unless he had the
papers for it. An' then I wouldn't believe Dick Grey's a horse
thief. 'Cause he ain't. What you want to know about him for?"
"I want to give him a job. He says he's a cowhand."
"There ain't no better one. But--he's outlawed."
"That's just it. And we've got to fix it so he isn't outlawed,"
answered the boy, and proceeded to tell the whole story to Tex, just
as Grey had told it to him the night before. "And, now, what are we
going to do about it?" he concluded.
The foreman grinned: "Anyone around here that would undertake to buck
the Major would prob'ly find out he'd bit off more than he can chaw.
He's a pretty slick article. He does just about as he pleases, an'
what he says goes."
"What do you mean?" asked the boy.
"Well, there's Cato Emery. He's the Major's agency clerk. He an' I
are pretty good friends, an' he tells me a lot of things he wouldn't
tell no one else. For instance, about the Major, as Injun Agent,
makin' contracts with the PU. Cattle Co., the Major bein' manager of
the PU. They say that's agin the law. An' if it ain't it ought to
be, 'cause the PU. pays for pasturin' five thousan' head on the
reservation, an' then they run in ten or fifteen thousan'. An' other
outfits that run cattle there--like our five hundred head--the
Government never sees a cent of that money. It all sticks to the
Major. They ain't even a report goes in of any other cattle bein' on
the reservation for the reason that it's figured that five thousan'
head is all it will pasture."
"How does he get away with it?" asked the boy.
"Greasin' wise inspectors, an' bluffin' green ones. He's the biggest
bluffer loose, the Major is. He's got every one bluffed."
"He hasn't got me bluffed," answered the boy, quickly. "And besides,
this bluffing game is a game that two can play. There isn't any way
we could find out whether it's true about those hair brands, is
there?"
"We might," answered Tex. "Two of our boys worked for the PU. up
till a couple months ago. Maybe they know somethin' about it. Wait
here a minute."
The foreman stepped to the corral, and returned a few moments later
followed by one of the boys who was helping to break a broncho. "Red
Carney, here, he''s one of the _hombres_ that helped do it. Tell us
about it, Red."
"Well, the Major he come along one day, an' he says how he wanted me
an' Bill Hansen to ride with him down to the big pasture where they
was a lot of mares an' colts. There's a corral down there an' he had
us run in a half a dozen head an' cut out the colts an' turn the
mares back in the pasture. 'I want to play a joke on a friend of
mine,' he says, 'An' I want you boys to take these clippers an' work
a hair brand onto them colts. We won't let 'em out onto the range,'
he says, 'We'll jest let 'em run with the mares in the field.' So we
went to work an' done it, him watchin' on till we was through."
"What brand did you put on them?" asked the boy.
"It was a quarter-circle D, like this." He traced the brand in the
dirt with a stick.
"Whose brand is that?" asked Connie.
"I don't know if it's anyone's brand. That's the way he wanted it,
an' that's the way we done it. They was his colts, an' we didn't ask
no questions."
"What did you do with the colts when you got through?" asked Tex.
"Turned 'em out in the field again with the mares. Then we went back
to the ranch, but the Major, he rode on. Next day one of the boys
found where the wires to the big pasture had be'n cut an' all the
mares an' colts was scattered clean to the Mizoo. Kind of funny,
about that cuttin'," grinned Red. "When the Major was clawin' around
in his pocket after them clippers, the first thing he brung out was a
pair of wire-cuttin' pliers. He never know'd I seen 'em, an' he
slipped 'em back. It wasn't none of my business--it was his fence."
After the cow-boy had returned to the corral, Connie turned to Tex:
"That Quarter-circle D is Dick Grey's horse brand. He told me.
Guess I'll just saddle up and ride to town for a day or so. It's
sort of dull around here----"
"Say, boss,": interrupted Tex, "If you aim to slip over to the
reservation an' lock horns with the Major, take me along, will you?
That there is sure one projeck I'm honin' to see!"
Connie laughed. "Dick Grey is in the house. Keep him here at the
ranch, and tomorrow I'll telephone you where to meet me. I'll
probably want him to go with me, and you can come, too, if you want
to."
In town, the boy hunted up the sheriff who greeted him cordially:
"Hello, Morgan! Got any more cattle rustlers rounded up?"
"No, not exactly," grinned the boy. "I know where Dick Grey is,
though."
The sheriff regarded him curiously: "What you mean?" he asked.
"Why, Dick Grey's an outlaw, isn't he? You want him, don't you?"
The officer, seated upon a bench in front of the livery and boarding
stable, reached down with his knife, before replying, and speared a
chip. "Set down a bit," he invited, "An' tell me about Dick. He
ain't be'n botherin' yer stock, has he?"
"No, but there's a reward up for him, isn't there?"
"Seems to me they is," replied the sheriff, and the boy noted that
the tone was as hard and as cold as the thin, keen blade that sliced
a shaving from the chip. "Where 'bouts is he at? You claimed to
know."
It was with difficulty that Connie maintained a grave face: "He's at
my ranch."
Another shaving curled from the chip and fell to the sidewalk.
"You're holdin' him down there fer me to come an' git him so you kin
claim the reward?" The man's cordiality was all gone, now; and the
boy caught the note of contempt in the words. His mouth twitched at
the corners just as the sheriff cast a sidewise glance into his face.
The next moment the officer's elbow dug him a prod in the ribs:
"Doggone you, boy! You had me goin' fer sure." The lips behind the
drooping mustache were grinning. "I had you sized up different than
that--an' you kind of give me a jolt. Come on, now--what's on your
chest? They ain't no one here but us two."
"They say Dick's a good cow-hand, and I want to hire him."
The officer frowned, and shook his head, slowly: "I sure wisht you
could, Morgan, but--'twouldn't work. They's plenty folks would talk.
'Twouldn't be no time till Major Hogan heard about it, an' I'd have
to go down there an' fetch him in."
Connie nodded: "That's just what I figured," he answered. "But
suppose Major Hogan should withdraw his charge against him, or at
least, for some reason or other, should refuse to prosecute him, what
then?"
"Well, in such case, me an' Rudie Weight, he's the prosecutin'
attorney, we might kind of git together an' have the warrant
withdraw'd or nolled, or whatever they call it. But, they ain't no
chanct that Hogan'll let up on him. He ain't that kind. When he
onct gits it in fer a man, that man might's well pull his freight. I
don't know the inside of that there deal, but I'd bet a hat, Dick
never branded no PU. colts, without he slapped the PU. brand onto
'em."
"I know the inside of it," answered the boy, "And that's what I came
to see you about." For a half-hour he talked while the sheriff
listened, as he sliced thin shavings from his chip. Only one
interruption occurred when a loquacious person adorned with a brand
new mail-order cow costume swaggered up and seated himself beside the
officer: "Hello, shurff! How's every little thing?"
The sheriff regarded him coldly: "Little things like this here bench
ain't commodious fer more'n two folks to onct." He pointed with his
knife blade to a vacant chair in front of the hotel across the
street: "If you ain't suited to keep on walkin', that there chair ort
to fit your shape purty good."
"But, I got somethin' to tell you," answered the man, with an
elaborate wink.
"Don't fergit to remember it next time you see me. Good day."
When the man had passed out of hearing Connie finished his story, and
the officer continued to whittle for several minutes. Then, very
deliberately, he tossed away the remnant of his chip and put up his
knife. "I guess that's about the straight of it. But, that don't
git us nowheres. Knowin' somethin's one thing, an' bein' able to
prove it's another. You couldn't prove nothin' you've told me.
Hogan's got enough folks under his thumb so he's about law proof.
Them that's be'n in with him on these here deals would have to stay
by him to save their own hides, an' besides, he's got plenty others
to swear the way he tells 'em. Fact is, he's got this here country
pretty well bluffed, an' he goes ahead an' does just about as he
pleases, gover'ment or no gover'ment. When it come to a show-down
he'd wiggle out somehow, an' then he'd start in to git even with
every man that had anythin' to do with it."
Connie smiled: "I've got a hunch that it will never come to a
show-down. You see, I haven't been in the country long enough to be
afraid of him. And I've noticed that the last thing in the world
that a bluffer wants is a show-down. A bluffer's got to either quit
cold, or keep on bluffing. Isn't that right?"
The sheriff nodded: "Sounds reasonable, an' jibes in with, what you
might say, numerous an' sundry observations of my own, except an'
pervidin' you've left out one main item. In order to force this here
bluffin' party's hand, you got to find someone that's got the nerve
an' the where-with-all to make him quit. There's plenty folks would
like to see Hogan's bluff called, but there ain't no one that would
care to undertake the job of callin' it."
"Tex is going to pull the wagons in a few days and I promised Dick
Grey a job on the beef round-up," answered Connie. "So, I guess I'll
just saddle up and ride over to the reservation. And by the way, if
Hogan should happen to call you up and withdraw his charge against
Dick, you be ready to take it up with the district attorney."
"You mean you're goin' over there an' lock horns with the Major! An'
you, what you might say, jest a kid! Son, they wouldn't be enough
left of you when you got through to grease a skillit! You, with
cattle on the range, ain't in no shape to buck him--he'd ruin you!"
Connie laughed: "There's a fellow up our way that makes his living
fiddling for dances, and killing meat for the camps. He isn't a very
big man, but he's killed more bear and moose, I guess, than any man
in Alaska. Fiddling Taylor, they call him, and one day he came onto
a big grizzly asleep on a rock. Taylor got his rifle all ready, and
then picked up a dead spruce sapling and prodded the bear in the ribs
to hear him growl."
"Well, what happened?" asked the sheriff, after some moments of
silence.
"The bear growled all right. Gee! Taylor said you could have heard
him four miles up and down the creek. He wasn't over ten feet away,
and he held his rifle right on the bear's eye. But, when the bear
moved, he moved so quick Taylor couldn't shoot."
Connie paused again.
"But, doggone it! What happened?"
"Why, the bear's going yet. You see, when he moved, he moved the
other way. As far as bulk goes, the bear would have made ten of
Taylor, but----"
"Haw, haw, haw!" roared the sheriff. "I git you, all right, son.
I'll be in town fer the next couple days. You might swing around
this way 'fore you go back to the ranch."
Connie called up the Round Seven, and about noon the next day he
picked up Tex and Dick Grey at the reservation fence, and together
they rode to the agency.
A half-dozen Indians were at work painting the agency buildings, and
as they drew near Tex indicated a tall man with a huge gray mustache
and pointed imperial, who seemed to be directing the work: "There's
the Major now. An' there's Steve Longknife, his pet Injun police.
That buildin' they're workin' on is the agency jailhouse. Shines up
pretty good on the outside, don't it, Dick?"
The man addressed grinned a grin that seemed to lack wholeheartedness.
"Dick kind of figgers it ain't goin' to make no difference to him how
it looks on the outside," hazarded the foreman.
The three dismounted and Connie stepped forward, as the tall grey man
turned to meet them: "Major Hogan?" asked the boy.
"That's me. What do you want? Be quick about it. I haven't got
time to fool around."
"Morgan is my name. I'm the new owner of the Round Seven."
"You!"
The boy flushed at the mingled surprise and contempt of the man's
tone. "Yes, me," he answered, but before he could continue, he was
interrupted by the voice of the Major, who had taken a step forward
his eyes on the face of Dick Grey.
"Of all the confounded nerve!" he roared. "I'll put you where you
belong, Dick Grey! Hey, Steve! Steve!" The Indian policeman was at
his side in a moment and Hogan pointed a finger shaking with rage at
Dick Grey. "Take that man and lock him in a cell! Might as well not
have any sheriff when outlaws with a price on their heads can ride
the open range! Maybe McLaughlin can find him, now. Wait till I
phone him!" The Major turned abruptly and stamped into the office.
Grey submitted peacefully to arrest, and Connie and Tex followed the
Major into the building.
A few minutes later Sheriff McLaughlin stepped out of the telephone
booth in Red Bank, and shook his head dolefully: "Young Morgan must
of give the Major an awful proddin'. Accordin' to his tell, that
there bear of Taylor's could of be'n heard four mile an' I jest heard
the Major growl better'n twenty-two mile! An' it looks from here
like he'd follered up his growl. I told that kid he better lay off
the Major!"