AT THE CIRCLE BAR
In the two weeks that followed his arrival at Dry Bottom, Hollis had
much time to meditate upon the great change that had come into his life.
His conclusion that there was nothing in common between cattle raising
and journalism was not a result of an involved process of reasoning, and
had he not been endowed with a sense of humor he might have become
embittered. Though a sacrifice be made cheerfully, there lingers always
its ghost to draw mental pictures of "what might have been." Hollis
would have been more than human had he not felt some little regret over
his sacrifice.
It had seemed to him, as two weeks before he had ridden away from the
court house--sitting on the seat of the buckboard beside Neil Norton,
his suitcases tucked snugly away underneath--that he was once and for
all severing his connection with the big, bustling world in which he had
moved; in whose busy scenes he had been so vitally interested. His had
been a big work; seated at his desk in the "city" room of his newspaper
he had many times likened himself unto an argus-eyed recording angel
whose business it was to keep in view each of the many atoms of a busy
multitude and to accord to them that amount of space that their
importance seemed to demand. He had loved his work; it had broadened
him, had provided him with exactly the proportion of mental exercise
needed to keep him on edge and in a position to enjoy life. He had lived
in the East--really lived. Out here he would merely exist, though, he
assured himself grimly, his enemies would have to pay dearly for his
sacrifice.
The picture of his journey to the Circle Bar ranch was still fresh in
his mind as he rode slowly away from Neil Norton, whom he had left
sitting in his saddle on a ridge, watching him. The long twilight had
brought its lengthening shadows that night before Norton had struck the
Circle Bar trail, and before they had traveled a mile of the ten that
lay before them night had come. Hollis had been little inclined to talk
and Norton did not disturb him, but gave his attention to the horses.
There had been no moon and few stars, and darkness, as under a blanket,
had settled over them before they were many miles from Dry Bottom.
The country seemed nothing more than a vast plain, broken here and there
by ridges and depressions. Occasionally a low hill loomed out of the
darkness, the shadows deepening around it; now and then the buckboard
passed through a draw, the wheels sinking hub-deep in the loose sand.
Several dry arroyos crossed the trail, but with a knowledge that seemed
almost marvelous Norton cleverly avoided these pitfalls. Hollis could
not see a foot ahead, but the location of the trail seemed to be no
mystery to the range boss, for he drove the horses steadily on,
hesitating for nothing.
Once during the ride Norton broke the silence with a subdued cackle of
mirth, and at another time he laughed aloud.
"I'd liked to have seen Big Bill when you hit him!" he observed, regret
in his voice. "I reckon he might have been just a little surprised!"
To which Hollis made no reply. At another time Norton broke the silence
long enough to inquire:
"I reckon mebbe you wouldn't have hit him so hard if you'd knowed who he
was?"
"I think I should have hit a little harder," returned Hollis quietly.
"Why, hell!" declared Norton with a laugh; "I reckon you would have done
just that!"
About ten o'clock they came in sight of some straggling posts, and
Norton assured Hollis that the posts were strung with wire, forming a
fence which skirted one side of the Circle Bar pasture. A few minutes
later a dog barked and at Norton's call came bounding up to the
buckboard, yipping joyously. Hollis could make out his shape as he
cavorted about.
"My dog," offered the range boss. "Half wolf, the other half just dog."
He chuckled over his joke. "Best dog you ever see," he boasted; "money
couldn't buy him. Like dogs?"
Hollis nodded and then realizing that Norton could not see him in the
darkness, voiced a quick "yes".
In the distance Hollis saw a sudden square of light illuminate the wall
of darkness into which they had been driving; a door had been opened.
Evidently the dog's barking had aroused the inmates of the building, for
as the buckboard drew nearer Hollis saw several figures flit out of the
door-way. Norton drove the horses close to the building and brought them
to a halt with a sonorous "whoa"! Then he turned to Hollis and spoke
with a drawl: "This here building is the Circle Bar bunkhouse; them's
some of your men."
Hollis remarked the size of the building and Norton laughed grimly.
"There was a time when it wasn't any too big," he said. "Five years ago
your dad had twenty-seven men on the pay-roll. If Dunlavey an' his damn
association hadn't showed up he'd have had them yet." He turned toward
three men who were lounging in the doorway. "Hey, you guys!" he yelled;
"this here's your new boss. If you-all ain't glued there you might grab
his grips an' tote them up to the ranchhouse. Tell the missus that I'll
be along directly with the boss."
Amusement over the Southern twang that marked Norton's speech filled
Hollis. He had noticed it before and it had made plain to him the reason
of Norton's unhurried movements, his slow humor, his habit of quiet
scrutiny.
But he had little time for reflection. At Norton's words two men sprang
forward to the buckboard and he saw his suitcases disappear into the
darkness in the direction of a light that he now saw flickering from
some little distance. He jumped out of the buckboard and saw another man
spring to the horses' heads and lead them away into the darkness. Then
he followed Norton into the light from the open doorway. Presently he
was shaking hands with a man who stood there, whose chief articles of
raiment were overalls, boots, and a woolen shirt. Almost instantly, it
seemed, two of the others had returned and Norton was introducing them
as "Ace," "Lanky," and "Weary." These pseudonyms were picturesque and
descriptive, though at the time Hollis was in a state of pained
incomprehension concerning them. Later he was informed that Ace had been
so named on account of having once been caught slipping a playing card
of that character into his bootleg during a game of poker.
Incidentally--Hollis was told--gun-play had resulted. That Ace was still
active proved that the other man might have profited by keeping his
knowledge to himself. Obviously, Lanky deserved his appellation--he was
a trifle over six feet tall and proportioned like a young sapling. Weary
had been born tired--so Hollis was told by the latter's defamers;
defamers, for later Hollis discovered that no man in the outfit could
show more surprising agility on occasion than this same Weary.
Hollis found himself inside the bunkhouse, where he was critically
inspected by the three men--and before he left, by the fourth, who
answered to the name of "Bud." Norton told him that these four comprised
his outfit--Bud acting as blacksmith. Hollis remained with the men only
long enough to announce that there would be no change; that he intended
to hang on and fight for his rights. When Norton told them that Hollis
had already begun the fight by slugging Dunlavey and Yuma Ed, the
enthusiasm of the four men was unbounded. They assured him profanely
that they were with him to the "finish"--whatever it might be. After
which Hollis departed to the ranchhouse.
He found Mrs. Norton to be a pleasant faced woman of twenty-seven or
eight, who had--according to Norton--"bossed him for seven years."
Norton grinned hugely over his wife's embarrassed protest.
"I haven't 'bossed' him," she told Hollis, while Norton looked on with
amusement, "though there have been times when he richly deserved it."
There was a spirited flash in the lady's eyes as she looked at her lord.
"I don't wish to take sides in any marital controversy," Hollis told
them. "I don't care to parade my ignorance. However," he smiled, with a
wink at Norton, "most men need a boss, if for no other reason than to
teach them the value of discipline."
"There!" said Mrs. Norton with a triumphant laugh, and immediately left
the two men and went into the kitchen.
After partaking of a hearty meal Hollis and Norton went out on the porch
for a smoke and a talk, and it was near midnight when Hollis tumbled
into bed, distinctly pleased with the range boss and his admirable wife.
He was asleep within five minutes.
The sun was streaming into his window when he hopped out of bed the next
morning, refreshed and eager to make a trip of inspection over his
property. He came down stairs lightly, in the hope of being able to slip
outside without disturbing anybody, but upon opening the stair door he
was surprised to find the cloth on the table in the dining room already
spread and hot food steaming upon it. Mrs. Norton was bustling about
from the kitchen to the dining room. Evidently the Nortons had been
astir for hours.
Mrs. Norton smilingly directed him to a wash basin on a bench just
outside the door and stood in the opening a moment, watching him as he
drenched his face with the cold water. There was in her manner only the
solicitous concern of the hostess whose desire is to place a guest at
ease. Hollis decided that Norton had been most fortunate in his choice
of a "boss."
"Neil has gone down into the big basin to look after the men," she told
him from the doorway. "I don't expect him to return for some little
time. Come in to breakfast when you are ready."
To his protest that he would wait until Norton's return before
breakfasting she replied with a smile that her husband had already
breakfasted, telling him also that in this part of the country everyone
rose with the sun.
He stood on the edge of the porch for a moment after washing, drinking
in the air that came to him from the plains--a breeze laden with the
clear aroma of the sage-brush moist with the dew of the night. When he
entered the house Mrs. Norton was nowhere to be seen and he drew up a
chair and breakfasted alone.
A little later he embarked upon a tour of inspection. All of the
buildings, with the exception of the ranchhouse, which was constructed
of logs, with a gable roof and plastered interstices--were built of
adobe, low, squat structures with flat roofs. There were six of
them--the bunkhouse, mess house, blacksmith shop, the range boss's
private shack (from which Norton and his wife had removed after the
death of the elder Hollis), the stable, and one other building for the
storing of miscellaneous articles. Hollis inspected them all and was not
quite convinced that they had reached the stage of dilapidation
suggested by Judge Graney.
During his inspection Hollis had seen a patch of garden, some chickens,
and down in a small pasture some cows that he supposed were kept for
milking. He was leaning on the top rail of the corral fence after he had
concluded his trip of inspection when he heard a clatter of hoofs behind
him and turned to observe Norton, just riding up to the corral gate. The
range boss wore a grin of pleasure.
"How you findin' things?" he questioned.
"In better shape than I expected--after listening to Judge Graney,"
smiled Hollis.
Norton looked critically at him. "Then you ain't changed your mind about
stayin' here?" he inquired.
"No," returned Hollis; "I believe I shall get used to it in time."
Norton dismounted, his eyes alight with satisfaction. "That's the
stuff!" he declared. He threw the reins over his pony's head and seized
Hollis by an arm. "Come along with me--down to my shack," he said; "I've
got somethin' to show you."
Without further words he led Hollis toward a building--the one he had
occupied previous to the death of the elder Hollis. There were three
rooms in the building and in the front one were several articles of
furniture and some boxes. One of these boxes Norton opened, taking
therefrom several articles of wearing apparel, consisting of a pair of
corduroy trousers, a pair of leathern chaps, boots, spurs, two woolen
shirts, a blue neckerchief, a broad felt hat, and last, with a grin of
amusement over Hollis's astonished expression, a cartridge belt to which
was attached a holster containing a Colt .45.
"I bought this outfit over at Santa Fe two months ago," he informed
Hollis, who was gravely contemplating the lay-out, "expectin' to wear
them myself some day. But when I got home I found they didn't quite
fit." He surveyed Hollis with a critical eye. "I've been thinkin' ever
since you come that you'd fit pretty snug in them." He raised a
protesting hand as Hollis was about to speak. "I ain't givin' them to
you," he grinned. "But you can't wear no tenderfoot clothes out here.
Some day when we're together an' we've got time you can blow me to
another outfit; I won't hesitate about takin' it." He leaned over and
tapped the butt of the Colt. "You ever handle one of them?" he
questioned.
Hollis nodded. Once during a shooting tournament he had done good work
with a pistol. But Norton laughed at his nod.
"Mebbe we do it a little different out here," he smiled. "You hop into
them duds an' we'll go out into the cottonwood yonder an' try out your
gun." He pointed through the door to a small clump of cottonwoods beyond
the bunkhouse.
He went out and fifteen minutes later Hollis joined him, looking
thoroughly at home in his picturesque rigging. An hour later they
returned to the corral fence, where Norton caught up his pony and
another, saddling the latter for Hollis. He commented briefly upon the
new owner's ability with the six-shooter.
"You use your fists a little better than you use a gun," he remarked
with his peculiar drawl, "but I reckon that on the whole you'll be able
to take care of yourself--after you've had a little practise gettin'
your gun out." He laughed with a grim humor. "More men have been killed
in this country on account of bein' slow on the draw than for any other
reason. Don't never monkey with it unless you intend to use it, an' then
see that you get it out middlin' rapid. That's the recipe," he advised.
The pony that he had selected for Hollis was a slant-eyed beast, larger
than the average, with rangy limbs, black in color with a white muzzle
and fetlocks. Hollis voted him a "beaut" after he had ridden him a mile
or two and found that he had an easy, steady stride.
Together they made a round of the basin, returning to the ranchhouse for
dinner. Hollis was saddle weary and when Norton proposed another trip
during the afternoon he was met with the response that the new owner
purposed enjoying the cool of the ranchhouse porch for the remainder of
the day.
The next morning Hollis was up with the dawn and out on the porch
splashing water over his face from the wash basin that stood outside the
door. For a long time after washing he stood on the porch, looking out
over the big basin at this new and strange world. Endless it seemed,
lying before him in its solemn silence; a world of peace, of eternal
sunlight, smiling skies, and infinite distance. It seemed unreal to him.
Did this same planet hold the busy cities to which he had been
accustomed? The stuffy room, with its smell of damp ink, its litter of
papers--his room in the newspaper offices, filled with desks and the
clatter of typewriters? Through whose windows came the incessant clamor
that welled up from the streets below? He laughed at the thought and
turned to see Norton standing in the doorway looking at him with a
smile.
"Comparin' her with your little old East?" inquired the latter.
Hollis confessed that he had been doing something of that sort.
"Well," returned Norton, "there ain't any way to compare this country
with anything else. Seems as though when the world was made the Lord had
a few million miles left which he didn't know what to do with an' so he
just dumped it down out here. An' then, havin' business somewhere else
about that time he forgot about it an' left it to get along as best it
could--which wasn't none too rapid."
This conversation had taken place just twelve days ago, yet Norton's
words still remained fresh in Hollis's mind. Yet he did not altogether
agree with Norton. The West had impressed him far more than he cared to
admit.
This morning, directly after breakfast Hollis and Norton had saddled
their horses and ridden out of the basin toward the river, into a
section of the country that Hollis had not yet explored. Emerging from
the basin, they came to a long, high ridge. On its crest Norton halted.
Hollis likewise drew in his pony. From here they could see a great
stretch of country, sweeping away into the basin beneath it, toward a
mountain range whose peaks rose barren and smooth in the white sunlight.
"This here's 'Razor-Back' ridge," explained Norton as the ponies halted;
"called that on account of bein' so unusually narrow on the top." He
pointed to some buildings which Hollis had seen but to which he had
given very little attention, thinking they were those of the Circle Bar.
"Them's the Circle Cross buildings," resumed Norton. "They're about
three miles from the Circle Bar ranchhouse, directly north through that
cottonwood back of the bunkhouse where you tried your gun the day after
you come out here. Down below there--where you see them two big
cottonwood trees--is 'Big Elk' crossin'. There's another somethin' like
it back up the crick a ways, on the other side of the ranchhouse, called
the 'Narrows.'" He laughed grimly. "But we don't use them crossins'
much--they're dead lines; generally you'll find there's a Circle Cross
man or so hangin' around them--with a rifle. So it don't pay to go
monkeyin' around there unless you've got pressin' business."
He made a grimace. "It's my opinion that a good many Circle Bar cattle
have crossed the crick in them two places--never to come back." He swept
a hand up the river, indicating the sentinel like buttes that frowned
above the bed of the stream. "The crick is pretty shallow," he
continued, "but Big Elk an' the Narrows are the only two places where a
man can cross in safety--if we consider that there wouldn't be any
Circle Cross man hangin' around them two places. But there ain't no
other place to cross an' so we don't go on the other side much."
He turned to Hollis, looking at him with a quaint smile. "From here you
can see everything that amounts to anything in this section--which ain't
a heap. Of course over there are some mountains--where we was a few days
ago lookin' up the boys"--he pointed to some serrated peaks that rose
somberly in the southwestern distance--"but as you saw there ain't much
to them except rocks an' lava beds. There's some hills there"--pointing
to the south--"but there ain't nothin' to see in them. They look a heap
better from here than they do when you get close to them. That's the way
with lots of things, ain't it?"
Hollis smiled. "I like it," he said quietly, "much better than I did
when I came." He turned to Norton with a whimsical smile. "I suppose it
will strike you as peculiar, but I've got a notion that I would like to
ride around a while alone. I don't mean that I don't like your company,
for I do. But the notion has just struck me."
Norton laughed indulgently. "I reckon I won't consider that you're
trying to slight me," he returned. "I know exactly how you feel; that
sort of thing comes over everybody who comes to this country--sooner or
later. Generally it's later, when a man has got used to the silence an'
the bigness an' so on. But in your case it's sooner. You'll have to have
it out with yourself."
His voice grew serious. "But don't go ridin' too far. An' keep away from
the river trail."
In spite of his ready acquiescence he sat for some time on his pony,
watching Hollis as the latter urged his pony along the ridge. Just
before Hollis disappeared down the slope of the ridge he turned and
waved a hand to Norton, and the latter, with a grim, admiring smile,
wheeled his pony and loped it over the back trail.
Once down the slope of the ridge Hollis urged his pony out into the
level of the basin, through some deep saccatone grass, keeping well away
from the river trail as advised by the range boss.
In spite of his serious thoughts Hollis had not been dismayed over the
prospect of remaining at the Circle Bar to fight Dunlavey and his crew.
He rather loved a fight; the thought of clashing with an opposing force
had always filled him with a sensation of indefinable exultation. He
reveled in the primitive passions. He had been endowed by nature with
those mental and physical qualities that combine to produce the perfect
fighter. He was six feet of brawn and muscle; not an ounce of
superfluous flesh encumbered him--he had been hammered and hardened into
a state of physical perfection by several years of athletic training,
sensible living, and good, hard, healthy labor. Circumstances had not
permitted him to live a life of ease. The trouble between his
parents--which had always been much of a mystery to him--had forced him
at a tender age to go out into the world and fight for existence. It had
toughened him; it had trained his mind through experience; it had given
him poise, persistence, tenacity--those rare mental qualities without
which man seldom rises above mediocrity.
Before leaving Dry Bottom to come to the Circle Bar he had telegraphed
his mother that he would be forced to remain indefinitely in the West,
and the sending of this telegram had committed him irrevocably to his
sacrifice. He knew that when his mother received a letter from him
explaining the nature of the work that required his presence in Dry
Bottom she would approve his course. At least he was certain that she
would not advise surrendering.
After riding for more than an hour he came to a shallow draw and urged
his pony through the deep sand of its center. On the other side of the
draw the country became suddenly rocky; great boulders were strewn
indiscriminately about, as though some giant hand had distributed them
carelessly, without regard to their final resting place. A lava bed,
looming gray and dead under a barren rock hill, caught his attention,
and he drew his pony to a halt and sat quietly in the saddle examining
it. From the lava bed his gaze went to a weird mineral shape that rose
in the distance--an inverted cone that seemed perfectly balanced on its
narrowest point. He studied this long without moving, struck with the
miraculous stability of the thing; it seemed that a slight touch would
send it tumbling down.
He realized that he had stumbled upon a spot that would have provided
pleasure to a geological student. To him it was merely a source of
wonder and awe. Some mighty upheaval of nature had created this, and he
continued to gaze at it, his mind full of conjecture.
To his right rose a precipitous rock wall surmounted by a fringe of
thick shrubbery. On the left was another wall, perpendicular, flat on
its top and stretching away into the distance, forming a grass plateau.
Directly in front of him was a narrow canyon through which he could see
a plain that stretched away into the unknown distance.
It was a magnificent country; he did not now regret his decision to
remain here. He pulled out his watch, noting that its hands pointed to
ten, and realized that he must be off if he expected to reach the Circle
Bar by noon.
He sat erect in the saddle, about to wheel his pony toward the draw
through which he had entered, when he heard a sharp sound. Startled, he
glanced swiftly to his right, searching the immediate vicinity for the
agency which had created sound in this vast silence. He stiffened slowly
in the saddle, his face gradually paling. Not over a hundred feet from
him, partly concealed by a big boulder, stood a man with a rifle, the
muzzle of the weapon trained fairly on him.