ANTONIO LEAVES THE H2
On the H2 Jim Meeker rolled and muttered in his sleep, which had been
more or less fitful because of his aching groin and strained leg.
Gazing confusedly about him he sat bolt upright, swearing softly at
the pain and then, realizing that he was where he should be, grumbled
at the kaleidoscopic dreams that had beset him during his few hours of
sleep, and glanced out of the window. Hastily dressing he strode to
the kitchen door, calling his daughter as he passed her room, and
looked out. The bunk house and the corrals were beginning to loom up
in the early light and the noise in the cook shack told him that Salem
was preparing breakfast for the men. He did not like the looks of the
low, huge, black cloud east of him and as he figured that it would not
pass over the ranch houses unless the wind shifted sharply he suddenly
stared at a corral and then hastened back to his room for the Colt
which lay on the floor beside his bunk. He had seen a man flit past
the further corral, speed across the open, and disappear behind the
corral nearest to the bunk house. This ordinarily would have provoked
no further thought, for his men were crazy-headed enough to do
anything, but while rustling flourished, and so audaciously, and while
a line war was on, it would stand prompt investigation.
Peering again from the door, Colt in hand, Meeker slipped out silently
and ran to the corral wall as rapidly as his injuries would allow.
When he reached it he leaned close to it and waited, his gun levelled
at the corner not ten feet from him. Half a minute later and without a
sound a man suddenly turned it, crouching and alertly watching the
bunk house and cook shack at his left, and then stopped with a jerk
and reached to his thigh as he became aware that he was being watched
at such close range. Straightening up and smothering an exclamation he
faced the foreman and laughed, but to Meeker's suspicious ears it
sounded very much forced and strained.
"No _sabe_ Anton?" asked the prowler, smiling innocently and raising
his hand from the gun.
Meeker stood silent and motionless, the Colt as steady as a rock, and
a heavy frown covered his face as he searched the evil eyes of his
broncho-buster, whose smile remained fixed.
"No _sabe Anton_?" somewhat hastily repeated the other, a faint trace
of anxiety in his voice, but the smile did not waver, and his eyes did
not shift. He began to realize that it was about time for him to leave
the H2, for he knew that few things grow so rapidly as suspicion. And
he knew that the outfit would do very little weighing in his case.
Meeker slowly lowered his weapon and swore; he did not like the
prowling any better than he did the smile and the laugh and the
treacherous eyes.
"I no savvy why yo're flitting around th' scenery when you should
ought to be in bed," he replied, his words ominously low and distinct.
"You've shore had a narrow squeak, for I came nigh on to letting drive
from th' door on a gamble. An' I'll own that I'm some curious as to
why yo're prowling around so early before breakfast. It ain't a whole
lot like you to be out so early before grub time. What dragged you
from th' bunk so d----d early, anyhow?"
Antonio rolled a cigarette to gain time, being elaborately exacting,
and thought quickly for an excuse. Tossing the match in the air and
letting the smoke curl slowly from his nostrils he grinned pleasantly.
"I no sleep--have bad dreams. I wake up, _uno_, _dos_ times an' teenk
someteeng ees wrong. Then I ride to see. Eet ees soon light after that
an' I am hungry, so I come back. Eet ees no more, at all."
"Oh, it ain't!" retorted the foreman, still frowning, for he strongly
doubted the truth of what he had heard, so strongly that he almost
passed the lie. "It's some peculiar how this ranch has been shedding
dreams last night, all right. However, since I had some few myself I
won't say I had all there was loose. But you listen to me, an' listen
good, too. When I want any scouting done before daylight I'll take
care of it myself, savvy? An' if yo're any wise you'll cure yoreself
of th' habit of being out nights percolating around when you ought to
be asleep. You ain't acted none too wide awake lately an' yore string
of cayuses has shore been used hard, so I want it stopped, an' stopped
_sudden_; hear me? I ain't paying you to work nights an' loaf days an'
use up good cayuses riding hell-bent for nothing. You ain't never
around no more when I want you, so you get weaned of flitting around
in th' night air like a whip-poor-will; you might go an' catch
malaria!"
"I no been out bafo'--Juan, he tell you that ees so, _si_."
"Is that so? I sort of reckon he'd tell me anything you want him to if
he thought I'd believe it. Henceforth an' hereafter you mind what
_I've_ just told _you_. You might run up against some rustler what you
don't know very well, an' get shot on suspicion," Meeker hazarded, but
he found no change in the other's face, although he had hit Antonio
hard, and he limped off to the ranch house to get his breakfast,
swearing every time he put his sore leg forward, and at the ranch
responsible for its condition.
Antonio leaned against the corral wall and smoked, gazing off into
space as the foreman left him, for he had much to think about. He
smiled cynically and shrugged his shoulders as he shambled to his
shack, making up his mind to leave the H2 and join Shaw on the mesa as
soon as he could do so, and the sooner the better. Meeker's remark
about meeting strange rustlers, thieves he did not know, was very
disquieting, and it was possible that things might happen suddenly to
the broncho-buster of the H2. Soon emerging from his hut he walked
leisurely to the fartherest corral and returned with his saddle and
bridle. After holding a whispered consultation with Juan and Sanchez,
who both showed great alarm at what he told them, and who called his
attention to the fact that he had lost one of the big brass buttons
from the sleeve of his coat, the three walked to the cook shack for
their breakfast, where, every morning, they fought with Salem.
"Here comes them Lascars again to fill their holds with white man's
grub," the cook growled as he espied them. "If I was th' old man I'd
maroon them, or make 'em walk th' plank. Here, _you_! Get away from
that bench!" he shouted, running out of the shack. "That's _my_ grub!
If you ain't good enough to eat longside of th' crew, d----d if you
can eat with th' cook! Some day I'll slit you open, tail to gills, see
if I don't! Here's yore grub--take it out on th' deck an' fight for
it," and Salem, mounting guard over the bench, waved a huge butcher
knife at them and ordered them off. "Bilgy smelling lubbers! I'll run
afoul of 'em some morning an' make shark's food out of th' whole lot!"
Meanwhile Meeker, finding his breakfast not yet ready, went to
Antonio's shack and glanced in it. The bunk his broncho-buster used
was made up, which struck him as peculiar, since it was well known
that Antonio never made up his bunk until after supper. As he turned
to leave he espied the saddle and saw that the stirrups were streaked
with clay. "Now what was he doing over at th' river last night?" he
soliloquized. Shrugging his shoulders he wheeled and went to the bunk
house, where he stumbled over a box, whacking his shins soundly. His
heartfelt and extemporaneous remarks regarding stiff legs and
malicious boxes awakened Curley, who sat up and vigorously rubbed his
eyes with his rough knuckles. Grunts and profanity came from the other
bunks, Dan swearing with exceptional loquacity and fervor at his
wounded thigh.
"Somebody'll shore have to lift me out like a baby," he grumbled.
"I'll get square for this, all right!"
"Aw, what you cussing about?" demanded Chick, whose arm throbbed with
renewed energy when he sat up. "How'd you like to have an arm like
mine so you can't use it for grub, hey?"
"You an' yore arm can--"
"What's matter, Jim?" interrupted Curley, dropping his feet to the
floor and groping for his trousers. "You got my pants?" he asked Dan,
whereupon Dan told him many things, ending with: "In th' name of
heaven what do I want with pants on this leg! I can't get my own on,
let alone yourn. Mebby Chick has put 'em on his scratched wing!" he
added, with great sarcasm, whereupon Curley found them under his bunk
and muttered a profane request to be told why they had crawled so far
back.
"Yo're a hard luck bunch if yo're as sore as me," growled Meeker,
kicking the offending box out of doors. "I cuss every time I hobble."
"Oh, I ain't sore, not a bit--I'm feeling fine," exulted Curley,
putting one foot into a twisted trouser leg while he hopped
recklessly about to keep his balance, Dan watching him enviously. He
grabbed Chick's shoulder to steady himself and then arose from the
floor to find Chick calling him every name in the language and
offering to whip him with one hand if he grabbed the wounded arm
again.
"Aw, what's th' matter with you!" he demanded, getting the foot
through without further trouble. "I didn't stop to think, you chump!"
"Why didn't you?" snapped Chick, aggressively.
"Curley, yo're a plain, d----d nuisance--get outside where you'll have
plenty of room to get that other leg in," remarked Dan.
"Not satisfied with keeping us all awake by his cussed snoring an'
talking, he goes an' _hops_ right on my bad arm!" Chick remarked. "He
snores something awful, Jim; like a wagon rumbling over a wooden
bridge; an' he whistles every lap."
"You keep away from _me_, you cow!" warned Doc, weighing a Colt in his
hand by the muzzle. "I'll shore bend this right around yore face if
you don't!"
"Aw, go to th' devil! Yo're a bunch of sore-heads, just a bunch of--"
Curley snapped, his words becoming inaudible as he went out to the
wash bench, where Meeker followed him, glad to get away from the
grunting, swearing crowd inside.
"Curley," the foreman began, leaning against the house to ease his
thigh and groin, "that Greaser of our'n is either going _loco_, or he
is up to some devilment, an' I a whole lot favors th' devilment. I
thought of telling him to clean out, get off th' range an' stay off,
but I reckon I'll let him hang around a while longer to see just what
his game is. Of course if he is crooked, it's rustling. I'd like an
awful lot to ketch him rustling; it'd wipe out a lot of guessing, an'
him at th' same time."
"They're all of 'em crooked," Curley replied, refilling the basin.
"Every blasted one, an' he's worse than all th' others--he's a
coyote!"
"Yes, I reckon you ain't far from right," replied Meeker. "Well,
anyway, I put in a bad night an' rolled out earlier'n usual. I looked
out an' saw somebody sneaking around th' corral, an', gettin' my gun,
I went after him hot foot. It was Antonio, an' when I asks for whys
an' wherefores, he gives me a fool yarn about having a dream. He woke
up an' was plumb scared to death somebody was running off with th'
ranch, an', being so all-fired worried about th' safety of th' ranch
he's too lazy to work for, he just couldn't sleep, but had to get up
an' _saddle his cayuse_ an' _ride_ around th' corrals to see if it was
here. Now, what do you think of that?"
"Huh!" snorted Curley. "He don't care a continental cuss about this
ranch or anybody on it, an' never did."
"Which same I endorses; it shore was a sudden change," Meeker replied,
glancing at the Mexican's shack. "I looked in his hut an' saw his bunk
hadn't been used since night afore last, so he must 'a had his dreams
then. There was yaller clay on his stirrups--he must 'a been scared
somebody was going to run off with th' river, too. Now he shore was
rampaging all over creation last night--he didn't have no dreams nor
no sleep in that bunk last night, nohow. Now, th' question is, where
was he, an' what th' devil was he doing? I'd give twenty-five dollars
if I knowed for shore."
"That's easy!" snorted Curley, trying to get water out of his ear.
"Where'd I 'a been last night if I wasn't broke? Why, down in Eagle
having a good time--there's lots of good times in that town if you've
got th' price of more than a look-in. Or, mebby, he was off seeing his
girl, his _dulce_, as he calls her. That's a good way to pass th'
evening, too." Then, seeing the frown on Meeker's face he swiftly
contradicted himself, realizing that it was no time for jesting. "Why,
it looks to me like he might be a little interested in some of th'
promiscuous cattle lifting that's going on 'round here. I'll pump him
easy so he won't know what I'm driving at."
"Yes, you might do that if yo're shore you won't scare him away, but I
want you to pass th' horse corral, anyhow, an' see what horse he rode.
See how hard he pushed it riding around th' corrals, an' if there's
any yellow clay on its legs. Don't let him see you doing it or he'll
get gun-shy an' jump th' country. I'm going up to breakfast--Mary's
calling me."
Curley looked up. "Shore I'll do it. Holy cats! It's raining some on
th' hills, all right. Look yonder!"
"Yes. I saw it this morning early. It passed to th' northeast of us.
I'll be back soon," and the foreman limped away. "Hey, Curley," he
called over his shoulder for Antonio's benefit, "take a look at them
sore yearlings in th' corral," referring to several calves they had
quarantined.
"All right, Jim. They was some better last night. I don't think it's
anything that's catching."
"O-o-h!" yawned Jack in the doorway. "Seems like I just turned
in--gosh, but I'm sleepy."
"Nothing like cold water for that feeling," laughed Curley. "We stayed
up too late last night talking it over. Hullo, Chick; still going to
lick me one-handed?"
"You get away from that water, so I can wash one-handed," replied
Chick. "But you shouldn't ought to 'a done that. No, Jack--go ahead;
but I'm next. Hey, Dan!" he cried, laughing, "shall I bring some water
in to you?"
"I won't stay here an' listen to such language as Dan's ripping off,"
Curley grinned, starting away. "I'm going up to look at them sick
yearlings in Number Two corral."
True to his word Curley looked the animals over thoroughly and then
dodged into the horse corral, where he quickly examined the horses as
he passed them, alert for trouble, for a man on foot takes chances
when he goes among cow-ponies in a corral. Not one of the animals
forming Antonio's _remuda_ appeared to have been ridden and it was not
until he espied Pete, Doc's favorite horse, that he found any signs.
Pete's hair was roughened and still wet from perspiration, there was a
streak of yellow clay along its belly on one side but none on its
hoofs, and dried lather still clung to its jaws. Pete made no effort
to get away, for he was one of the best trained and most intelligent
animals on the ranch, a veteran of many roundups and drives, and he
knew from experience that he would not be called on to do double duty;
he had done his trick while the others rested.
"An' you know I ain't a-going to ride you, hey?" Curley muttered.
"You've had yore turn, an' you know you won't be called on to-day, you
wise old devil. Pete, some people say cayuses ain't got no sense, that
they can't reason--they never knowed you, did they? Well, boy, you'll
have yore turn grazing with th' rest purty soon."
He returned to the bunk house and spent a few minutes inside and then
sauntered easily towards the ranch house, where the foreman met him.
"So there wasn't no clay on his hoofs, hey?" Meeker exclaimed. "Some
on his belly, an' none on his hoofs. Hum! I reckon Pete was left by
hisself while th' Greaser wrastled with th' mud. Must 'a thought he
was prospecting. Well, he's a liar, an' a sneak; watch him close, an'
tell th' rest to do th' same. Mebby we'll get th' chance soon of
stretching his yellow neck some bright morning. I'll be down purty
soon to tell you fellers where to ride."
Curley returned to the wash bench and cleansed his hands, and because
the cold water felt so good, he dipped his face into it again, blowing
like a porpoise. As he squilgeed his face to lessen the duty of the
overworked towel, he heard a step and looked up quickly. Antonio was
leaning against the house and scowling at him, for he had looked
through a crack in the corral wall and had seen Pete being examined.
"Eet ees _bueno_ thees mornin'," the Mexican offered.
"What's good?" Curley retorted, staring because of Antonio's unusual
loquacity.
"_Madre de Dios_, de weatha."
"Oh, salubrious," replied Curley, evading a hole in the towel. "Plumb
sumptuous an' highfalutin', so to speak. You had a nice night for
Eagle, all right. Who-all was down there?"
"Antone not en Eagle--he no leev de rancho," the Mexican replied,
surprised. He hesitated as if to continue and Curley noticed it.
"What's on yore mind, 'Tony? What's eating you? _Pronto_, I'm hungry.
Next!"
"No nex'--I no _sabe_."
"You talkee likum Chinee!" retorted Curley. "Why don't you learn how
to talk English? It's easy enough. An' what do you want, anyhow,
getting so friendly all of a sudden?"
Antonio hesitated again. "What you do een de corral thees mornin'?"
"Oh, I was looking at them yearlings--they was purty bad, but they're
gettin' along all right. What do you think about 'em?"
"No; een de _beeg_ corral."
"Oh, you do!" snapped Curley. "Well, I remembered you was riding
around this morning before sun-up so I reckoned I'd look in an' see if
you rid my cayuse, which you didn't, an' which is good for you. I
ain't a whole lot intending to go moping about on no tired-out bronc,
an' don't you forget it, neither. An' seeing as how it ain't none of
your d----d business what I do or where I go, that's about all for
you."
"You no spik true--_Pah_! eet ees a lie!" cried the Mexican excitedly,
advancing a step, and running into the wash water and a fist, both of
which met him in the face. Curley, reaching for his holster and
finding that he had forgotten to buckle it on, snatched the Remington
from Antonio's sheath while the fallen man was half dazed. Pointing it
at the Mexican's stomach, he ordered him up and then told him things.
"I reckon you got off easy, Greaser--th' next time you calls me a liar
shoot first, or there'll be one less unwashed, shifty-eyed coyote of a
Greaser to ride range nights."
Antonio, drenched and seething with fury, his discolored face working
with passion and his small, cruel eyes snapping, sprang to the wall
and glared at the man who had knocked him down. But for the gun in
Curley's hand there would have been the flash of a knife, but the
Remington was master of the situation. Knife throwing is a useful art
at times, but it has its limitations. Cursing in Spanish, he backed
away and slunk into his shack as Doc Riley stuck his head out of the
bunk house doorway, hoping to be entertained.
"Worth while hanging 'round, Curley? Any chance of seeing a scrap?"
Doc asked, eying the gun in his friend's hand.
"You could 'a seen th' beginning of a scrap a couple of minutes
earlier," Curley replied. "I didn't give him a chance to throw. Why,
he was out all night on Pete, yore cayuse--rode him hard, too. He
said--"
"My Pete! Out all night on Pete!" yelled Doc, taking a quick step
towards Antonio's hut, the door of which slammed shut, whereupon Doc
shouted out his opinions of "Greasers" in general and of Antonio in
particular. "Is that right?" he asked, turning to Curley. "Was he out
on Pete?"
"He shore was--used him up, too."
"I'll break every bone in his yaller carcass!" Doc shouted, shaking
his fist at the hut. "Every time I see him I want to get my gun going,
an' it's getting worse all th' time. Unwashed pup! I'll fill him full
of lead pills surer than anything some of these days, you see if I
don't!"
"If you don't I will," replied Curley. "I just don't know why I didn't
then because--"
"Four bells--grub pile!" rang out the stentorian voice of Salem, who
could shout louder than any man on the ranch, and the conversation
came to an abrupt end, to be renewed at the table.
When Antonio heard the cook's shout he opened the door a trifle and
then, seeing that the coast was clear, picked up the bundle which
contained his belongings, shouldered his saddle, slipped his rifle
under his arm, and ran to the corral. Juan and Sanchez had been there
before him and he found that they not only had taken four of the best
horses, but that they had also picketed two good ones for him, and had
driven off the remainder to graze, which would delay pursuit should it
be instituted. Saddling the better of the two, he left the other and
cantered northwest until hidden from the sight of any one at the
ranch, and then galloped for safety.
Meeker, returning to the bunk house, found his men in far better humor
than they were in when he left them, although the death and burial of
Ed Joyce and the other misfortunes of the day before had quieted them
a little. As he entered the room he heard Salem in the cook shack,
droning a mournful dirge-like air as he slammed things about.
"Hey, cook!" shouted the foreman, standing in the door of the gallery.
"Cook!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"You are shore you didn't recognize none of them thieves that ran off
our herd yesterday?"
"Nary a one, sir. They was running with all sails set two points off
my port bow, which left me astarn of 'em. I was in that water-logged,
four-wheeled hulk of a chuck wagon an' I couldn't overhaul 'em, sir,
'though I gave chase. I tried a shot with th' chaser, but I was
rolling so hard I couldn't hull 'em. But I'll try again when I'm
sober, sir."
"All right, Salem," laughed Meeker. "Curley, you take yore regular
range. Doc, suppose you take th' west, next to Curley? Chick an' Dan
will have to stay here till they get well enough to ride, an' I'll
need somebody on th' ranch after yesterday, anyhow. Jack, how do you
feel? Good! Ride between here an' Eagle. I'm going to go down to that
town an' see what I can find out."
"But I can ride, Jim," offered Chick, eagerly. "This arm won't bother
me much. Let me stick close to Doc, or one of th' boys. Maybe they
might need me, Jim."
"You stay right here, like I said. We'll have to wait till we're all
right before we can get down to work in earnest. An' every one of you
look out for trouble--shoot first an' talk after." He turned again to
the gallery. "Salem, kill a cow an' sun cure th' meat; we might want
it in a hurry sometime soon. That'll be one cow they don't get,
anyway."
"Who's going to ride north, Jim?" asked Doc.
"Nobody; th' Bar-20 has been so d----d anxious to turn our cows an' do
our herding for us, an' run th' earth, we'll just let 'em for a while.
Not much danger of any rustlers buzzing reckless around _that_
neighborhood; they'll earn all they steal if they get away with it."
I saw her face grow cold in death,
I saw her--
came Salem's voice in a new wail. Meeker grabbed a quirt and, leaping
to the gallery, threw it. The song stopped short and other words,
less tuneful, finished the cook's efforts.
"You never mind what you saw!" shouted the foreman. "If you can't sing
anything but graveyard howls, you shut up yore singer!"