A RIDING JOB
Soon after dinner the following day two riders, their bedrolls upon
the back of a pack-horse, drew up and dismounted near the
blacksmithshop of the Round Seven, where Samuels and Red Carney were
busy repairing the grub wagon.
"Where's Tex?" asked one.
"Huntin' horses," answered Samuels.
"Which my name's Tom King, an' hisn's Leander Stot," introduced the
cow puncher. "We rode the calf round-up fer Y Bar Pierson over agin'
the Highwoods. Which they don't only shove you three meals a day on
the round-up--hot beans, cold beans, an' sour beans.'
"An' the cook's a breed, an' the bread ain't done in the middle, an'
they feed you tea to drink," interrupted Stot, with disgust.
"An' their horses is so tall you got to have a ladder to fork 'em,
an' you wear kidney sores onto 'em where yer spurs comes."
"An' they roust you out so early in the mornin' you got to light
matches to tell what you're gittin' hold of in the horse corral. Tex
he hired us fer to ride the beef round-up on the Round Seven."
"Wagons'll pull in about a week," informed Samuels.
"Where's the rest of the riders? Ain't they no one showed up yet?"
"Oh, yes, 'bout fifteen er so. Me an' Red, here's two of 'em. The
rest of the boys is in the hay field, or buildin' fence."
"Hayin' an' fencin'!" cried King, in surprise. "Say, what kind of an
outfit is this here? Makin' riders do ranch hand's work. Well,
here's two that won't freeze onto no fork handle, nor punch no post
holes in the ground, neither, nor likewise string no wire! Even Y
Bar Pierson never tried that game. Where's the big boss? I ain't
afraid to tell it to him, same as I've told it to you."
Samuels jerked his thumb toward Connie, who was turning his horse
into the corral after a ride through the hay fields: "He's over
yender."
"What! You don't mean that kid?"
"Well," replied Samuels, picking up his hammer, and drawing a piece
of glowing iron from the forge, "some might call him that. Other
folks has kind of learnt to think of him in bigger figgers."
"They ain't no man kin make me pitch hay er do fencin'--let alone a
kid."
"Mebbe," admitted Samuels, and a shower of sparks flew about him as
his hammer descended upon the iron.
The two cow punchers strolled over to the horse corral from which
Connie was emerging, bridle in hand. "Morning, boys," he greeted.
"Just turn your horses into the corral and we'll go up to the house
and see if we can't rustle something to eat."
"You the big boss?"
"Yes. You can roll your beds off at the bunk house."
"I ain't so sure about rollin' off them beds. We mightn't be goin'
to stop."
"Oh, I thought you were to ride for the Round Seven. We were
expecting a few more men to show up. The wagons won't pull for about
a week."
"That's what we thought we come here fer. King's my name, an' this
here's Leander Stot, which we're cow hands an' ain't ranch hands.
The party that's blacksmithin' over there says how all the riders is
fightin' hay, er jobbin' post holes through the sod. Where we come
from ranch hands does such like, an' riders rides. We don't figger
to pitch no hay, nor neither we don't do no fencin'."
"That's all right," smiled Connie. "Just put up your horses. Nobody
works around this outfit unless they want to. Just come up to the
house when you get through and I'll see if I can rustle a cold bite."
The boy turned away. King looked at Stot and Stot looked at King.
"How about it?" asked Stot. "Me--I'm hongry."
"If we throw off them beds, they ain't no law we can't throw 'em on
agin'. Bite of hay won't hurt the cayuses none, neither."
"He says they don't no one work around this outfit onless'n they want
to."
"First time I ever seen a place where they didn't no one work but
them that wanted to--an' everyone workin', even riders. Must be a
bunch of pilgrims."
"That there Tex ain't no pilgrim--not what you'd notice, he ain't.
An' that bird that's blacksmithin', he ain't, neither--by the looks
of him."
King grinned: "Mebbe we better hadn't go up an' eat nothin'. Mebbe
he slips somethin' into the grub that makes folks want to work."
"I'll take a chanct," laughed Stot, as he swung his saddle to the
ground. "I've got the first time yet to hear myself hollerin' fer
work to do, outside of ridin'."
After the lunch which Walt Jones placed upon the table had
disappeared, Connie waved his hand toward the bunk house: "Just make
yourselves at home," he smiled. "Spread your beds in any of the
empty bunks that suit you. The rest of the boys are all working.
They figured they would rather have their pay start now instead of
waiting till the wagons pull out. But, it's all the same to me if
you boys would rather rest up for a few days. We've got plenty of
grub here, and you'll find cards and dominoes, and checkers, and
horseshoes down at the bunk house."
They had stepped out onto the porch, and King hitched at his chaps:
"Two-handed cards ain't no fun, an' dominoes is fer Greasers, an' we
don't savvy checkers, an' pitchin' horseshoes gits tiresome fer an
all day job."
"Well, you can sleep, or do anything else you want to."
"Man can't sleep fer a week," commented Stot. "I wouldn't mind
havin' my pay start in now, neither. I'm broke. Say, boss, ain't
you got a job of ridin' to do? Anythin' jest so it's handlin' stock
of some kind. Ain't you got nothin' to throw in, or throw out? Or,
no broncs to bust? Or nothin' a cow-hand kin do to fill in the time?"
"Rather do any kind of a riding job than work in the hay fields, or
help with the fencing?" asked the boy.
"I'll tell a hand, we would."
"Well," reflected Connie, "I ran onto an old cow this morning, a
couple of miles up the creek, that don't look like she's doing well.
You might catch up a couple of saddle horses and bring her down and
throw her on water just this side of the hay field gate. The feed's
good in there, and she may pick up."
Connie grinned to himself as both men started for the corral with
alacrity. "Better take it kind of easy with her, boys," he
cautioned. "She isn't in very good shape."
"We savvy the doggies, all right," reassured King, "we'll fetch her
in."
And a few minutes later, as the two riders dashed past the house with
a whoop on their way up the creek, Connie Morgan grinned again.
That evening the men from the fields, after much noisy splashing at
the wash bench, trooped into supper. When the meal was half over
Samuels glanced up and down the table: "They was a couple of
_hombres_ drifted in this afternoon fer to ride the round-up. They
allowed they didn't have no appetite fer ranch work. Guess they must
of drifted on."
"They's a couple extry beds layin' down by the bunk house, an' a pack
horse, an' couple of strange ridin' horses in the corral," ventured
Dick Grey.
"I guess they'll be along soon,' explained Connie. 'You see, I
wanted to hold them for the round-up, and they didn't want to do
anything but ride, so I sent them on a little job up the creek."
Down by the bunk house, as darkness settled, one of the cowboys who
had been working in the hay field, voiced the thought that had been
in many minds: "We're riders, same as them two is. Looks like if
hayin' an' fencin' was good enough fer us, it's good enough fer them,
too. We git here first, an' then them two comes along an' gits a
ridin' job, an' we shovel hay."
Dick Grey bristled immediately: "What's eatin' you?" he asked,
truculently, "You don't have to sweat no harder 'cause someone else
is doin' somethin' else, do you? Me--I was satisfied to work at
hayin' to help the boss out to-day, an' I'll be satisfied to do it
to-morrow. It don't make no difference to me what he sets other
folks to doin'. That's his business. An' you can take it from me,
he's the best doggone boss in Montany. You're lucky you lit here, no
matter what he puts you at. If he figgers that's the only way he can
hold them birds, it's all right with me. You bet!"
"What in thunder's that a-comin'?" asked Campbell staring through the
dark at a slowly moving blur that had come into sight a short
distance up the creek.
The blur resolved itself into figures, and Samuels gave a low
exclamation: "Good gosh! Boys, it's them two riders, an' they're
bringin' in old Eva, head an' tail! Oh, my granmammy! I mistrusted
the boss was up to somethin'. He was too blame sober about that
there explainin'. Shut up, all of you, an' make his play good!
Don't pay no 'tention to 'em."
The two riders were almost abreast of the bunk house, where twenty
men stood and solemnly watched their progress along the road that led
down the creek toward the hay field. What they saw was a rider with
his rope around the horns of an old cow which was close-snubbed to
his saddle horn. Following him was another rider with the cow's tail
snubbed to the horn of his saddle. The cow had braced herself
grotesquely against any forward motion, and was being pulled and
pushed down the road by main force, taking stiff-legged, reluctant
steps as the horses passed slowly along the road.
"What's the boss's game? An' what's this here old Eva business?"
asked the cowboy who had registered his complaint about the newcomers
being given riding jobs.
Samuels grinned broadly: "They was playin' the boss fer a kid, which
he's got more brains into his head than some folks has got hay. I
mistrust he's outguessed 'em. He give 'em a ridin' job all right!
That there old cow they fetched in is an old milk cow that got locoed
six or seven year ago, an' they turned her out, an' she's be'n
hangin' around the same bend of the crick ever sence. They's a patch
of loco weed on the side of a little butte clost by, an' she's got a
path wore between it an' the water." With grins and chuckles, and
digs in the ribs, the cowboys and ranch hands who had gathered around
showed their appreciation of Connie's joke on the men who had refused
to work in the fields. "They'll be back, d'rectly," continued
Samuels, "an' we don't want to let on we seen nothin' out of the
ordinary about draggin' in a locoed cow. I got a hunch the boss
ain't through with 'em yet. It's up to us to keep our mouth
shet--onless'n they catch up their own private horses, an' throw
their beds on their pack horse--then we'll cut loose an' laugh 'em
off'n the ranch."
After breakfast the following morning Samuels, who was still
tinkering about the grub wagon, managed to edge into hearing as the
two men reported to Connie at the corral. "Well, did you get her in
all right?" asked the boy.
"Yeh, we fetched her in," answered King, as he stooped to loosen the
rope from his saddle preparatory to entering the corral. "I hope you
ain't got no more like her to fetch in to-day. If you have, we'll
hitch up a team of work horses an' drag 'em in on a stone boat.'
"No, I don't think there are any more to bring in. You won't have
any very hard riding to do to-day. Just ride herd on the one you
brought in yesterday. I don't want to lose her, now we've got her
here." Samuels dived into the blacksmithshop where he stuffed his
bandana into his mouth to keep from bursting into unseemly laughter.
"Say," cried Stot, "what d'you mean ride herd! Why, that old critter
is locoed so bad she can't hardly stand on her feet, let alone go no
place! I bet she ain't moved ten foot from where she bedded down
las' night!"
"Maybe not," answered Connie, "but I don't want her to pull out on
us. That's the only riding job I've got, and there won't be much
work to it. Only, don't lose sight of her for a minute. You better
come in one at a time to dinner and supper. One of you can hold her
while the other one eats. We won't bother about standing night
guard, though. I don't think she'll try to pull after she beds down."
Connie saddled his own horse and rode away.
"Well, I'll be doggoned!" muttered Stot, as he led a Round Seven
horse from the corral.
"You an' me--both!" seconded King, as he threw his saddle on another.
"Course it's his money he's payin' out fer wages. An' if he wants to
pay two men fer holdin' that ol' cow, it ain't none of our business."
"No--but, jest between you an' me--that kid ain't got all his
buttons."
Through a chink in the blacksmithshop wall Samuels, convulsed with
suppressed mirth, watched the two ride away down the creek, to take
their places on herd, in full sight of the hay and fencing crews.
Soon thereafter he found excuse to visit the hay field, and later the
fencing crew, where he spake after this fashion: "The lid's off, fer
as kiddin' them birds goes. The boss has got 'em ridin' herd on that
ol' Eva! The way I got it sized up, if he hadn't wanted 'em kidded
he wouldn't had 'em throw her in where the hull outfit could see 'em.
I dang near busted tryin' to keep from laughin' when he told 'em they
had to come fer meals, one to a time, so the other one could hold
herd. You'd ort to seen their faces! An' the boss, he kep' his'n as
straight, an' talked as serious as a preacher. He's got 'em plumb
fooled--they think he's more locoed than what old Eva is!"
At noon the crews came in from the fields, riding on hayracks, and as
they passed the two riders who had spent the entire morning watching
the old cow which had not moved from the spot where she stood with
nose to the ground, they cut loose with a perfect volley of advice:
"You hadn't ort to be off yer horse!" "Suppose she'd charge!"
"Lookout fer a stampede!" "You hadn't ort to smoke, you might start
the hull herd!" "She looks like she was on the prod!" "Her hair looks
rough, you'd ort to bring out a curry comb!" "Sing her to sleep, an'
then one of you kin come on in to dinner!" "Try blindfoldin' her, an'
she'll be easier to hold!"
"Eva. Eva.
Oh, my heart's a palpitatin'
All the time that I'm a waitin'
For my E-e-e-e-va."
sang one, joyously.
The wagons passed on, leaving Stot and King guarding the old cow in
stony silence. When the rattle of the returning wagons sounded from
up the creek, King called across to Stot: "I'm goin' to dinner! Be
back d'rectly."
In the dining room he ate alone, served by Walt Jones whose face was
imperturbable as a face of stone. "Say, what in thunder is this
place, a ranch, er a lunatic asylum?" questioned King, as he finished
his meal.
The cook regarded him gravely. "This is a ranch," he explained.
"The lunatic asylum is down to Warm Springs. You git off at the
deppo, an'----"
"You go to thunder!" And as King banged the door behind him, Walt
Jones grinned broadly.
At supper time Connie was surprised to see that both Stot and King
had taken their places with the others at the table. Seeing the eyes
of the boy upon them, King explained: "We lost the herd, boss."
"Lost it?" asked Connie, gravely.
Producing a flaming bandana, Stot dabbed at his eyes, and between
sniffling sobs blurted out: "Little Eva's passed away!"
"Passed away! You mean she's dead?"
"Dead as Cleopatra--an' twict as respected," announced King, gravely,
"The end come, peacable an' quiet at 4:15 this P.M."
"But what killed her?"
"It might of be'n the sudden takin' away of her drug. I regret to
report she was an addick.'
"Or," ventured Stot, "it might of be'n suicide."
"Or, maybe," supplemented King, "it was a fit of rage an'
shamefulness over some an' sundry of remarks that was passed in her
hearin'."
"Or, it might of be'n a gun shot wound at the hands of a person, or
persons onknown," suggested Stot, "or jest plain lonesomeness. We
didn't hold no reg'lar inquish, nor no post mortoriam. Anyways, she
ain't lived her life in vain, as the feller says. You win, boss!
You got us fair an' square. It took us quite a while to savvy
you,--but we ain't like a feller that can't take a joke, jest because
it's on him. Anyone that kin put anything over with as straight a
face as you done, is good enough fer us to work fer--an' if these
other birds, here, ain't none too good to go into the hay field, we
ain't neither. So if you got a couple extry pitch forks handy, we'll
lean on 'em tomorrow--if it's suitable to you."
The man's last words were hardly audible in the roars of laughter
that rilled the room--the whole-hearted laughter of appreciation and
comradery. For not a man in the room but felt, that the two had come
through a trying situation with flying colors.
"You're good sports," grinned Connie, when finally he could make
himself heard. "The Round Seven is glad to have you on the payroll."
A long-drawn "Ye-a-a-a!" rose from twenty throats, and when it
subsided the voice of King could be heard as he looked across the
table at Samuels.
"But--makin' us ride herd on one old cow--ain't that the limit?"