THE SHOW-DOWN
It is a great sensation to feel that you are a prospective cattle
king, but somehow when Pecos Dalhart rode back to Verde Crossing
his accustomed gaiety had fled. There were no bows and smiles for
Marcelina, no wordy exchanges with the garrulous Babe—there is a
difference, after all, between stealing cows for eighty dollars a month
and stealing for yourself, and while a moralist might fail to see the
distinction it showed in its effect on Pecos's spirits.
"I'm goin' down to Geronimo," he grumbled, after an uneasy hour at
the store, during which he had tried in vain the cheering power of
whiskey; "you can tell Crit I'll be back to-morrow night for my time,"
and without volunteering any further information he rode down to
the river, plunged across the rocky ford and was swallowed up in the
desert. Two days later he returned, red-eyed and taciturn, and to all
Babe's inquiries he observed that the Geronimo saloons were the worst
deadfalls west of the Rio Grande, for a certainty. His mood did not
improve by waiting, and when Crittenden finally rode in after his long
day's work he demanded his money so brusquely that even that old-timer
was startled.
"Well, sho, sho, boy," he soothed, "don't git excited over nothin'!
To be sure I'll pay you your money." He went down into his overalls
with commendable promptitude, but Pecos only watched him in surly
silence. Something in his pose seemed to impress the shifty cowman; he
drew forth a roll of bills and began to count them out, reluctantly.
"Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, a hundred—there it is—now what's all
this racket about?"
"Nothin'," responded Pecos, stowing away the greenbacks, "but you can
git somebody else to finish up that job."
"Well, here," snapped the cowman, warming up a little as Dalhart cooled
down, "don't I git no accountin' for this month's work? How many did
you brand and what you quittin' for?"
"I branded sixty-seven cows, fifty-five calves, and thirty
two-year-olds," replied the cowboy, boldly, and Crittenden, not knowing
in what iron they were branded, chuckled gleefully.
"Umm," he murmured, "wall, say now, that ain't so bad. Old Upton will
make a buck-jump at the moon when he finds this out. But lookee here,
boy, I'm goin' to be driftin' cows into that country for another month
yet, and that'll be as long as we can brand and ear-mark on account
of the flies in June. Now I want to make a dicker with you for jest
one more month and I'll be generous with you—how about a hundred and
ten—that's pretty nigh four months' wages for a cow-punch!"
"No, I've done quit!" protested Pecos, vigorously. "Steal your own
cattle! When I want to go into the rustlin' business I'll rustle for
myse'f!"
"Jest one more month," insisted Old Crit, "I'll give you a hundred and
twenty!"
The cowboy looked at him a minute and smiled sneeringly. "Well, bein'
as yore money seems to be burnin' a hole in yore pocket," he said, "I
guess I'll have to take it away from you, but I'll tell you right now
I don't approve of this cow-stealin'—it's likely to git a man into
trouble!"
"All right, all right," said Crittenden, making haste to clinch the
bargain, "a hundred and twenty, then; and they hain't nobody ever been
convicted in Geronimo County yet for stealin' cows, so you don't need
to worry none. Pull your freight, now, and I'll be over later on to see
what you've done."
As Pecos Dalhart and José Garcia rode up the Carrizo trail the next
morning driving their pack animals before them, the conversation was
chiefly between José and his mules. Pecos did not approve of Mexicans
and José did not approve of Pecos—he had been making love to his girl,
Marcelina. But about a mile out of Verde Crossing they came across an
object that was worthy of comment—an old cow and her calf, both so
curiously marked that no cowboy could pass them unnoticed. The cow was
covered from shoulder to flank with minute red and white spots and,
plastered generously across her face, was a variegated blotch of the
creamy dun color peculiar to Chihuahua stock. The calf was like its
mother, even to the dun face and spotted neck and ears, but she, on
account of her brand and ear-marks, held the entire attention of the
Texan.
"What brand you call that, Joe?" he inquired, as the old cow
contemplated them from the hillside.
"_Mi fiero!_" exclaimed the Mexican, proudly tapping himself on the
chest.
"Oh, it's yourn, is it?" commented Pecos. "Looks like an Injun arrer
struck by lightnin', don't it? Well, these Mexican irons are too many
for me—I see you got winders in her ears!"
"You bet," assented Joe, "that my mark, un _ventano_, un slash, un
_anzuelo_!"
"A window, a slash, and an underbit, hey—you don't figure on anybody
stealin' _her_, unless they cut 'er ears off, do you? How many cows you
got?"
"Oh, six—eight," answered José, pride of possession loosening up his
tongue, "this good milk cow."
"Milk cow, eh?" repeated Pecos, and then he stopped and pondered a
while. Only the day before he had recorded his Monkey-wrench brand at
Geronimo, although he did not have an honestly acquired cow in the
world—here was a chance to cover his hand. "How much you take for cow,
Joe?" he asked. "I like milk, my camp."
"You take calf too?" inquired the Mexican, shrewdly.
"Sure," said Pecos, "give you twenty dollars for the cow and ten for
the calf!" He drew a roll of bills from his pocket and began to peel
them off temptingly.
"You geev twenty-five for cow," suggested Joe, his slow wits beginning
to move at the sight of real money.
"All right," said Pecos, briskly, "I'll give you twenty-five for the
cow and five for the calf—but you have to give me bill of sale."
"_Stawano_," assented the Mexican, "and I vent her when we geet to
camp, too. Dam' Ol' Crit," he observed, as he pocketed the money, "I
work for heem long time—he make me take trade een store—all time in
debt!"
He threw the spotted cow and calf in with the pack animals and when
they had arrived at Carrizo Springs he roped her and, true to his
promise, ran his Indian arrow brand on her shoulder, thus making her a
living document and memorandum of sale. In the cow country that "vent"
on the shoulder is the only bill of sale required, but Pecos drew up a
formal paper giving the ear-marks and brand, and after Joe had signed
it and gone he roped Old Funny-face again and ran a Monkey-wrench
on her ribs beneath the original mark, all of which is strictly
according to law. After that he herded her close, letting the little
Monkey-wrench calf have all the milk, while he waited expectantly for
Old Crit to drop in.
At the beginning of his long month of waiting Pecos Dalhart was
watchful and conservative. He branded up all the cattle that had
drifted into Lost Dog Cañon, drove them down into his hidden pasture
and closed the breach in his drift fence—then he moved back to Carrizo
and went soberly about his work. Old Funny-face and her spotted calf
were the only Monkey-wrench cows at Carrizo Springs and though he held
a bill of sale for them Pecos was finally compelled to drive them
over the trail to his Lost Dog pasture in order to keep them from
sneaking back home to Verde Crossing and tipping his hand prematurely
to Isaac Crittenden. He was a hard man, Old Crit, especially when his
pocket-book was touched, and Pecos looked for a gunplay when the Boss
finally found him out; but if Crittenden got wind of his duplicity in
advance he might come over with all his Texas cowboys and wipe Mr.
Pecos Dalhart off the map. So at the start he was careful, running
nothing but Wine-glasses on the U cows that still came drifting in
over the mountains, but as the days went by and his courage mounted up
against the time when he was to face Old Crit a spirit of bravado crept
in on him and made him over-bold. All he wanted now was a show-down,
and he wanted it quick—one Monkey-wrench brand would tell the story.
With a sardonic grin Pecos put his rope on a likely young maverick and
burned a Monkey-wrench on his ribs; then, in order that there should be
no mistake, he worked over the brand on a U cow and put his iron on the
calf. As the last days of the month dragged by and the fighting spirit
within him clamored for action he threw caution to the winds, running a
Monkey-wrench on every cow-brute he caught.
For weeks Pecos had watched the brow of the hill where the Verde trail
came in, and he wore his six-shooter constantly, even at his branding,
but when at last Crittenden finally rode in on him he was so intent
about his work that he almost overlooked him. Only the fidgeting of
his horse, which was holding the rope taut on a big U cow that he had
strung out, saved him from being surprised at his task and taken at
a disadvantage. One glance was enough—it was Crit, and he was alone.
Pecos stood up and looked at him as he came slowly down the hill—then,
as the cow struggled to get up, he seized his running iron from the
fire, spread a wet sack over her brand, and burned a big Monkey-wrench
through the steaming cloth.
"Hello!" hailed the cowman, spurring eagerly in on him. "Are you
catchin' many?"
"Oodles of 'em!" answered Pecos, loosening his tie-down strings and
swinging up on his horse. "Git up there, cow, and show yourse'f off
to the Boss!" He slackened the taut reata that was fastened around
her hind feet and as the old cow sprang up, shaking off the sack, the
smoking Monkey-wrench on her ribs stood out like hand-writing on the
wall.
"Wh-what's that?" gasped Crit, staring at the mark. "I thought I told
you to run a Wine-glass!"
"That's right," assented Pecos, dropping his hand to his hip, "but
I got tired of runnin' your old brand, so I studied out a little
improvement!"
He laughed hectoringly as he spoke and the realization of the fraud
that had been perpetrated upon him made Crittenden reel in the saddle.
"Hev—hev you recorded that brand?" he demanded, tensely.
"I certainly have," responded Pecos, "and I didn't see no Wine-glass
registered before me, neither. If I'd been real foxy, like some people
I know, I would've put that in the book too and euchered you out of the
whole bunch. But I'm good-natured, Mr. Crittenden, and bein' as I
was takin' your money I branded most of these U cows in the Wine-glass.
I hope you'll be able to take this reasonable."
"Reasonable!" screamed Crittenden, "reasonable! W'y, if I wasn't the
most reasonable man on earth I'd shoot you so full of lead it'd take a
wagon to haul you to the graveyard. But you don't know who you're up
against, boy, if you think you can fool me like this—the man don't live
that can give Ike Crittenden the double cross. I been in the business
too long. Now I give you jest five minutes to make me out a bill of
sale for your entire brand, whatever you call it. Ef you _don't_—"
He rose up threateningly in his stirrups and his one good eye glared
balefully, but Pecos had been expecting something like this for a month
or more and he did not weaken.
"Go ahead," he said, "my brand is the Monkey-wrench; I come by it as
honest as you come by the Wine-glass, and I'll fight for it. If you
crowd me too hard, I'll shoot; and if you try to run me out of the
country I'll give the whole snap away to Upton."
"W'y, you son of a—" began the cowman malignantly, but he did not
specify. Pecos's ever-ready pistol was out and balanced in his hand.
[Illustration: Pecos's ever-ready pistol was out and balanced in his
hand]
"That'll do, Mr. Crittenden," he said, edging his horse in closer. "I
never took that off o' nobody yet, and 'tain't likely I'll begin with
you. If you're lookin' for trouble you'll find I can accommodate you,
any time—but listen to reason, now. This ain't the first time a cowman
has got himse'f into trouble by hirin' somebody else to do his stealin'
for him—I've been around some, and I know. But they ain't no use of us
fightin' each other—we're both in the same line of business. You leave
me alone and I'll keep shut about this—is it a go?"
The fires of inextinguishable hate were burning in Old Crit's eye and
his jaw trembled as he tried to talk.
"Young man," he began, wagging a warning finger at his enemy, "young
man—" He paused and cursed to himself fervently. "How much will you
take for your brand?" he cried, trying to curb his wrath, "and agree to
quit the country?"
"I ain't that kind of a hold-up," replied Pecos, promptly. "I like this
country and I'm goin' to live here. They's two or three hundred head of
cattle running in here that I branded for you for a hundred and eighty
dollars. They're worth two or three thousand. I've got a little bunch
myself that I picked up on the side, when I wasn't stealin' for you.
Now all I ask is to be left alone, and I'll do the same by you. Is it a
go?"
The cold light of reason came into Crittenden's fiery orb and glittered
like the hard finish of an agate.
"Well," he said, grudgingly, "well—oh hell, yes!" He urged his horse
sullenly up the hill. "Another one of them smart Texicans," he
muttered, "but I'll cure him of suckin' eggs before I'm through with
'im."