On a range far to the north, Jimmy Price, a youth as time measures age,
followed the barranca's edge and whistled cheerfully. He had never
heard of the Bar-20, and would have showed no interest if he had heard
of it, so long as it lay so far away. He was abroad in search of
adventure and work, and while his finances were almost at ebb tide he
had youth, health, courage and that temperament that laughs at hard luck
and believes in miracles. The tide was so low it must turn soon and
work would be forthcoming when he needed it. Sitting in the saddle with
characteristic erectness he loped down a hill and glanced at the faint
trail that led into the hills to the west. Cogitating a moment he
followed it and soon saw a cow, and soon after others.
"I 'll round up th' ranch house, get a job for awhile an' then drift on
south again," he thought, and the whistle rang out with renewed
cheerfulness.
He noticed that the trail kept to the low ground, skirting even little
hills and showing marked preference for arroyos and draws with but
little regard, apparently, for direction or miles. He had just begun to
cross a small pasture between two hills when a sharp voice asked a
question: "Where you goin'?"
He wheeled and saw a bewhiskered horseman sitting quietly behind a
thicket. The stranger held a rifle at the ready and was examining him
critically. "Where you goin'?" repeated the stranger, ominously. "An'
what's yore business?"
Jimmy bridled at the other's impudent curiosity and the tones in which
it was voiced, and as he looked the stranger over a contemptuous smile
flickered about his thin lips. "Why, I 'm goin' west, an' I 'm lookin'
for th' sunset," he answered with an exasperating drawl. "Ain't seen
it, have you?"
The other's expression remained unchanged, as if he had not heard the
flippant and pugnacious answer. "Where you goin' an' what for?" he
demanded again.
Jimmy turned further around in the saddle and his eyes narrowed. "I 'm
goin' to mind my own business, because it's healthy," he retorted. "You
th' President, or only a king?" he demanded, sarcastically.
"I 'm boss of Tortilla range," came the even reply. "You answer my
question."
"Then you can gimme a job an' save me a lot of fool ridin'," smiled
Jimmy. "It 'll be some experience workin' for a sour dough as ornery as
you are. Fifty per', an' all th' rest of it. Where do I eat an' sleep?"
The stranger gazed steadily at the cool, impudent youngster, who
returned the look with an ironical smile. "Who sent you out here?" he
demanded with blunt directness.
"Nobody," smiled Jimmy. "Nobody sends me nowhere, never, 'less 'n I
want to go. Purty near time to eat, ain't it?"
"Come over here," commanded the Boss of Tortilla range.
"It's closer from you to me than from me to you."
"Yo 're some sassy, now ain't you? I 've got a notion to drop you an'
save somebody else th' job."
"He 'll be lucky if you do, 'cause when that gent drifts along I 'm
natchurally goin' to get there first. It's been tried already."
Anger glinted in the Boss's eyes, but slowly faded as a grim smile
fought its way into view. "I 've a mind to give you a job just for th'
great pleasure of bustin' yore spirit."
"If yo 're bettin' on that card you wants to have a copper handy,"
bantered Jimmy. "It's awful fatal when it's played to win."
"What's yore name, you cub?"
"Elijah--ain't I done prophesied? When do I start punchin' yore eight
cows, Boss?"
"Right now! I like yore infernal gall; an' there's a pleasant time
comin' when I starts again' that spirit."
"Then my name's Jimmy, which is enough for you to know. Which cow do I
punch first?" he grinned.
"You ride ahead along th' trail. I 'll show you where you eat," smiled
the Boss, riding toward him.
Jimmy's face took on an expression of innocence that was ludicrous.
"I allus let age go first," he slowly responded. "I might get lost if I
lead. I 'm plumb polite, I am."
The Boss looked searchingly at him and the smile faded. "What you mean
by that?"
"Just what I said. I 'm plumb polite, an' hereby provin' it. I allus
insist on bein' polite. Otherwise, gimme my month's pay an' I 'll
resign. But I 'm shore some puncher," he laughed.
"I observed yore politeness. I 'm surprised you even know th' term.
But are you shore you won't get lost if you foller me?" asked the Boss
with great sarcasm.
"Oh, that's a chance I gotta take," Jimmy replied as his new employer
drew up alongside. "Anyhow, yo 're better lookin' from behind."
"Jimmy, my lad," observed the Boss, sorrowfully shaking his head, "I
shore sympathize with th' shortness of yore sweet, young life. Somebody
's natchurally goin' to spread you all over some dismal landscape one of
these days."
"An' he 'll be a whole lot lucky if I ain't around when he tries it,"
grinned Jimmy. "I got a' awful temper when I 'm riled, an' I reckons
that would rile me up quite a lot."
The Boss laughed softly and pushed on ahead, Jimmy flushing a little
from shame of his suspicions. But a hundred yards behind him, riding
noiselessly on the sand and grass, was a man who had emerged from
another thicket when he saw the Boss go ahead; and he did not for one
instant remove his eyes from the new member of the outfit. Jimmy, due
to an uncanny instinct, soon realized it, though he did not look around.
"Huh! Reckon I 'm th' meat in this sandwich. Say, Boss, who's th' Injun
ridin' behind me?" he asked.
"That's Longhorn. Look out or he 'll gore you," replied the Boss.
"'That 'd be a bloody shame,' as th' Englishman said. Are all his
habits as pleasant an' sociable?"
"They 're mostly worse; he's a two-gun man."
"Now ain't that lovely! Wonder what he'd do if I scratch my laig
sudden?"
"Let me know ahead of time, so I can get out of th' way. If you do that
it 'll save me fifty dollars an' a lot of worry."
"Huh! I won't save it for you. But I wish I could get out my smokin'
what's in my hip pocket, without Longhorn gamblin' on th' move."
The next day Jimmy rode the west section harassed by many emotions. He
was weaponless, much to his chagrin and rage. He rode a horse that was
such a ludicrous excuse that it made escape out of the question, and
they even locked it in the corral at night. He was always under the
eyes of a man who believed him ignorant of the surveillance. He already
knew that three different brands of cattle "belonged" to the "ranch,"
and his meager experience was sufficient to acquaint him with a blotted
brand when the work had been carelessly done. The Boss was the foreman
and his outfit, so far as Jimmy knew, consisted of Brazo Charley and
Longhorn, both of whom worked nights. The smiling explanation of the
Boss, when Jimmy's guns had been locked up, he knew to be only part
truth. "Yo 're so plumb fighty we dass n't let you have 'em," the Boss
had said. "If we got to bust yore high-strung, unlovely spirit without
killin' you, you can't have no guns. An' th' corral gate is shore
padlocked, so keep th' cayuse I gave you."
Jimmy, enraged, sprang forward to grab at his gun, but Longhorn,
dexterously tripping him, leaned against the wall and grinned evilly as
the angry youth scrambled to his feet. "Easy, Kid," remarked the
gun-man, a Colt swinging carelessly in his hand. "You 'll get as you
give," he grunted. "Mind yore own affairs an' work, an' we 'll treat
you right. Otherwise--" the shrugging shoulders made further
explanations unnecessary.
Jimmy looked from one to the other and silently wheeled, gained the
decrepit horse and rode out to his allotted range, where he saturated
the air with impotent profanity. Chancing to look back he saw a steer
wheel and face the south; and at other times during the day he saw that
repeated by other cattle--nor was this the only signs of trailing.
Having nothing to do but ride and observe the cattle, which showed no
desire to stray beyond the range allotted to them, he observed very
thoroughly; and when he rode back to the bunkhouse that night he had
deciphered the original brand on his cows and also the foundation for
that worn by Brazo Charley's herd on the section next to him. "I dunno
where mine come from, but Charley's uster belong to th' C I, over near
Sagebrush basin. That's a good hundred miles from here, too. Just wait
till I get a gun! Trip me an' steal my guns, huh? If I had a good
cayuse I 'd have that C I bunch over here right quick! I reckon they 'd
like to see this herd."
When he reached the bunkhouse all traces of his anger had disappeared
and he ate hungrily during the silent meal.
When Longhorn and Brazo pushed away from the table Jimmy followed suit
and talked pleasantly of things common to cowmen, until the two picked
up their saddles and rifles and departed in the direction of the corral,
the Boss staying with Jimmy and effectually blocking the door. But he
could not block Jimmy's hearing so easily and when the faint sound of
hoofbeats rolled past the bunkhouse Jimmy knew that there were more than
two men doing the riding. He concluded the number to be five, and
perhaps six; but his face gave no indication of his mind's occupation.
"Play crib?" abruptly demanded the Boss, taking a well-worn deck of
cards from a shelf. Jimmy nodded and the game was soon going on.
"Seventeen," grunted the Boss, pegging slowly. "Pair of fools, they
are," he growled. "Both plumb stuck on one gal an' they go courtin'
together. She reminds _me_ of a slab of bacon, she 's that homely."
Jimmy laughed at the obvious lie. "Well, a gal's a gal out here," he
replied. "Twenty for a pair," he remarked. He wondered, as he pegged,
if it was necessary to take along an escort when one went courting on
the Tortilla. The idea of Brazo and Longhorn tolerating any rival or
any company when courting struck him as ludicrous. "An' which is goin'
to win out, do you reckon?"
"Longhorn--he 's bad; an' a better gun-man. Twenty-three for six. Got
th' other tray?" anxiously grinned the Boss.
"Nothin' but an eight--that's two for th' go. My crib?"
The Boss nodded. "Ugly as blazes," he mused. "_I_ would n't court her,
not even in th' dark--huh! Fifteen two an' a pair. That's bad goin',
very bad goin'," he sighed as he pegged.
"But you can't tell nothin' 'bout wimmen from their looks," remarked
Jimmy, with the grave assurance of a man whose experience in that line
covered years instead of weeks. "Now I knowed a right purty gal once.
She was plumb sweet an' tender an' clingin', she was. An' she had high
ideas, she did. She went an' told me she would n't have nothin' to do
with no man what wasn't honest, an' all that. But when a feller I
knowed rid in to her place one night she shore hid him under her bed for
three days an' nights. He had got real popular with a certain posse
because he was careless with a straight iron. Folks fairly yearned for
to get a good look at him. They rid up to her place and she lied so
sweet an' perfect they shore apologized for even botherin' her. Who 'd
'a' thought to look under _her_ bed, anyhow? Some day he 'll go back
an' natchurally run off with that li'l gal." He scanned his hand and
reached for the pegs. "Got eight here," he grunted.
The Boss regarded him closely. "She stood off a posse with her eyes an'
mouth, eh?"
"Didn't have to stand 'em off. They was plumb ashamed th' minute they
saw her blushes. An' they was plumb sorry for her bein' even a li'l
interested in a no-account brand-blotter like--him." He turned the crib
over and spread it out with a sort of disgust. "Come purty near bein'
somethin' in that crib," he growled.
"An' did you know that feller?" the Boss asked carelessly.
Jimmy started a little. "Why, yes; he was once a pal of mine. But he
got so he could blot a brand plumb clever. Us cow-punchers shore like
to gamble. We are plumb childish th' way we bust into trouble. I never
seen one yet that was worth anythin' that would n't take 'most any kind
of a fool chance just for th' devilment of it."
The Boss ruffled his cards reflectively. "Yes; we are a careless breed.
Sort of flighty an' reckless. Do you think that gal's still in love
with you? Wimmin' is fickle," he laughed.
"_She_ ain't," retorted Jimmy with spirit. "She 'll wait all right--for
him."
The Boss smiled cynically. "You can't hide it, Jimmy. Yo 're th' man
what got so popular with th' sheriff. Ain't you?"
Jimmy half arose, but the Boss waved him to be seated again. "Why, you
ain't got nothin' to fear out here," he assured him. "We sorta like
fellers that 'll take a chance. I reckon we all have took th' short end
one time or another. An' I got th' idea mebby yo 're worth more 'n fifty
a month. Take any chances for a hundred?"
Jimmy relaxed and grinned cheerfully. "I reckon I 'd do a whole lot for
a hundred real dollars every month."
"Yo 're on, fur 's I 'm concerned. I 'll have to speak to th' boys
about it, first. Well, I 'm goin' to turn in. You ride Brazo's an'
yore own range for th' next couple of days. Good night."
Jimmy arose and sauntered carelessly to the door, watched the Boss enter
his own house, and then sat down on the wash bench and gazed contentedly
across the moonlit range. "Gosh," he laughed as he went over his story
of the beautiful girl with the high ideals. "I 'm gettin' to be a
sumptuous liar, I am. It comes so easy I gotta look out or I'll get th'
habit. I'd do mor'n lie, too, to get my gun back, all right."
He stretched ecstatically and then sat up straight. The Boss was coming
toward him and something in his hand glittered in the soft moonlight as
it swung back and forth. "Forget somethin'?" called Jimmy.
"You better stop watchin' th' moonlight," laughed the Boss as he drew
near. "That's a bad sign--'specially while that gal's waitin' for you.
Here's yore gun an' belt--I reckoned mebby you might need it."
Jimmy chuckled as he took the weapon. "I ain't so shore 'bout needin'
it, but I was plumb lost without it. Kept feelin' for it all th' time
an' it was gettin' on my nerves." He weighed it critically and spun the
cylinder, carelessly feeling for the lead in the chambers as the
cylinder stopped. Every one was loaded and a thrill of fierce joy
surged over him. But he was suspicious--the offer was too quick and
transparent. Slipping on the belt he let the gun slide into the
blackened holster and grinned up at the Boss. "Much obliged. It feels
right, now." He drew the Colt again and emptied the cartridges into his
hand. "Them 's th' only pills as will cure troubles a doctor can't
touch," he observed, holding one up close to his face and shaking it at
the smiling Boss in the way of emphasis. His quick ear caught the sound
he strained to hear, the soft swish inside the shell. "Them 's Law in
this country," he soliloquized as he slid the tested shell in one
particular chamber and filled all the others. "Yessir," he remarked as
the cylinder slowly revolved until he had counted the right number of
clicks and knew that the tested shell was in the right place. "Yessir,
them's The Law." The soft moonlight suddenly kissed the leveled barrel
and showed the determination that marked the youthful face behind it.
"An' it shore works both ways, Boss," he said harshly. "Put up yore
paws!"
As the Boss leaped forward the hammer fell and caused a faint, cap-like
report. Then the stars streamed across Jimmy's vision and became
blotted out by an inky-black curtain that suddenly enveloped him. The
Boss picked up the gun and, tossing it on the bench, waited for the
prostrate youth to regain his senses.
Jimmy stirred and looked around, his eyes losing their look of vacancy
and slowly filling with murderous hatred as he saw the man above him and
remembered what had occurred. "Sand _sounds_ like powder, my youthful
friend," the Boss was saying, "but it don't _work_ like powder. I purty
near swallowed yore gal story; but I sorta reckoned mebby I better make
shore about you. Yo 're clever, Jimmy; so clever that I dass n't take
no chances with you. I 'll just tie you up till th' boys come back--we
both know what they 'll say. I 'd 'a' done it then only I like you; an'
I wish you had been in earnest about joinin' us. Now get up."
Jimmy arose slowly and cautiously and then moved like a flash, only to
look down the barrel of a Colt. His clenched hands fell to his side and
he bowed his head; but the Boss was too wary to be caught by any
pretenses of a broken spirit. "Turn 'round an' hol' up yore han's," he
ordered. "I 'll blow you apart if you even squirms."
Jimmy obeyed, seething with impotent fury, but the steady pressure of
the Colt on his back told him how useless it was to resist. Life was
good, even a few hours of it, for in those few hours perhaps a chance
would come to him. The rope that had hung on the wall passed over his
wrists and in a few moments he was helpless. "Now sit down," came the
order and the prisoner obeyed sullenly. The Boss went in the bunkhouse
and soon returned, picked up the captive and, carrying him to the bunk
prepared for him, dumped him in it, tied a few more knots and, closing
the door, securely propped it shut and strode toward his own quarters,
swearing savagely under his breath.
An hour later, while a string of horsemen rode along the crooked,
low-lying trail across the Tortilla, plain in the moonlight, a figure at
the bunkhouse turned the corner, slipped to the door and carefully
removed the props.
Waiting a moment it opened the door slowly and slipped into the black
interior, and chuckled at the sarcastic challenge from the bunk.
"Sneakin' back again, hey?" blazed Jimmy, trying in vain to bridge on
his head and heels and turn over to face the intruder. "Turn me loose
an' gimme a gun--I oughta have a chance!"
"All right," said a quiet, strange voice. "That's what I'm here for; but
don't talk so loud."
"Who 're you?"
"My name 's Cassidy. I 'm from th' Bar-20, what owns them cows you been
abusin'. Huh! he shore tied some knots! Wasn't takin' no more chances
with you, all right!"
"G'wan! He never did take none."
"So I 've observed. Get th' blood circulatin' an' I 'll give you some
war-medicine for that useless gun of yourn what ain't sand."
"Good for you! I'll sidle up agin' that shack an' fill him so full of
lead he won't know what hit him!"
"Well, every man does things in his own way; but I 've been thinkin' he
oughta have a chance. He shore gave you some. Take it all in all, he 's
been purty white to you, Kid. Longhorn 'd 'a' shot you quick tonight."
"Yes; an' I 'm goin' to get him, too!"
"Now you ain't got no gratitude," sighed Cassidy. "You want to hog it
all. I was figgerin' to clean out this place by myself, but now you cut
in an' want to freeze me out. But, Kid, mebby Longhorn won't come back
no more. My outfit's a-layin' for his li'l party. I sent 'em down word
to expect a call on our north section; an' I reckon they got a purty
good idea of th' way up here, in case they don't receive Longhorn an'
his friends as per schedule."
"How long you been up here?" asked Jimmy in surprise, pausing in his
operation of starting his blood to circulating.
"Long enough to know a lot about this layout. For instance, I know yo
're honest. That's why I cut you loose tonight. You see, my friends
might drop in here any minute an' if you was in bad company they might
make a mistake. They acts some hasty, at times. I 'm also offerin' you
a good job if you wants it. We need another man."
"I 'm yourn, all right. An' I reckon I will give th' Boss a chance.
He'll be more surprised, that way."
Cassidy nodded in the dark. "Yes, I reckon so; he 'll have time to
wonder a li'l. Now you tell me how yo 're goin' at this game."
But he didn't get a chance then, for his companion, listening intently,
whistled softly and received an answer. In another moment the room was
full of figures and the soft buzz of animated conversation held his
interest. "All right," said a deep voice. "We 'll keep on an' get that
herd started back at daylight. If Longhorn shows up you can handle him;
if you can't, there 's yore friend Jimmy," and the soft laugh warmed
Jimmy's heart. "Why, Buck," replied Jimmy's friend, "he 's spoke for
that job already." The foreman turned and paused as he stood in the
door. "Don't forget; you ain't to wait for us. Take Jimmy, if you
wants, an' head for Oleson's. I ain't shore that herd of hissn is good
enough for us. We 'll handle this li'l drive-herd easy. So long."
Red Connors stuck his head through a small window: "Hey, if Longhorn
shows up, give him my compliments. I shore bungled that shot."
"'Tain't th' first," chuckled Cassidy. But Buck cut short the arguments
and led the way to Jimmy's pasture.
At daylight the Boss rolled out of his bunk, started a fire and put on a
kettle of water to get hot. Buckling on his gun he opened the door and
started toward the bunkhouse, where everything appeared to be as he had
left it the night before.
"It's a cussed shame," he growled. "But I can't risk him bringin' a
posse out here. _What_ th' devil!" he shouted as he ducked. A bullet
sang over his head, high above him, and he glanced at the bunkhouse with
renewed interest.
Having notified the Boss of his intentions and of the change in the
situation, Jimmy walked around the corner of the house and sent one
dangerously close to strengthen the idea that sand was no longer sand.
But the Boss had surmised this instantly and was greatly shocked by such
miraculous happenings on his range. He nodded cheerfully at the nearing
youth and as cheerfully raised his gun. "An' he gave me a chance, too!
He could 'a' got me easy if he didn't warn me! Well, here goes, Kid,"
he muttered, firing.
Jimmy promptly replied and scored a hit. It was not much of a hit, but
it carried reflection in its sting. The Boss's heart hardened as he
flinched instinctively and he sent forth his shots with cool
deliberation. Jimmy swayed and stopped, which sent the Boss forward on
the jump. But the youth was only further proving his cleverness against
a man whom he could not beat at so long a range. As the Boss stopped
again to get the work over with, a flash of smoke spurted from Jimmy's
hand and the rustler spun half way around, stumbled and fell. Jimmy
paused in indecision, a little suspicious of the fall, but a noise
behind him made him wheel around to look.
A horseman, having topped the little hill just behind the bunkhouse, was
racing down the slope as fast as his worn-out horse could carry him, and
in his upraised hand a Colt glittered as it swung down to become lost in
a spurt of smoke. Longhorn, returning to warn his chief, felt savage
elation at this opportunity to unload quite a cargo of accumulated
grouches of various kinds and sizes, which collection he had picked up
from the Bar-20 northward in a running fight of twenty miles. Only a
lucky cross trail, that had led him off at a tangent and somehow escaped
the eyes of his pursuers, had saved him from the fate of his companions.
Jimmy swung his gun on the newcomer, but it only clicked, and the vexed
youth darted and dodged and ducked with a speed and agility very
creditable as he jammed cartridges into the empty chambers. Jimmy's
interest in the new conditions made him forget that he had a gun and he
stared in rapt and delighted anticipation at the cloud of dust that
swirled suddenly from behind the corral and raced toward the disgruntled
Mr. Longhorn, shouting Red's message as it came.
Mr. Cassidy sat jauntily erect and guided his fresh, gingery mount by
the pressure of cunning knees. The brim of his big sombrero, pinned
back against the crown by the pressure of the wind, revealed the
determination and optimism that struggled to show itself around his
firmly set lips; his neckerchief flapped and cracked behind his head and
the hairs of his snow-white goatskin chaps rippled like a thing of life
and caused Jimmy, even in his fascinated interest, to covet them.
But Longhorn's soul held no reverence for goatskin and he cursed harder
when Red's compliments struck his ear about the time one of Cassidy's
struck his shoulder. He was firing hastily against a man who shot as
though the devil had been his teacher. The man from the Bar-20 used two
guns and they roared like the roll of a drum and flashed through the
heavy, low-lying cloud of swirling smoke like the darting tongue of an
angry snake.
Longhorn, enveloped in the acrid smoke of his own gun, which wrapped him
like a gaseous shroud, knew that his end had come. He was being shot to
pieces by a two-gun man, the like of whose skill he had never before
seen or heard of. As the last note of the short, five second, cracking
tattoo died away Mr. Cassidy slipped his empty guns in their holsters
and turned his pony's head toward the fascinated spectator, whose mouth
offered easy entry to smoke and dust. As Cassidy glanced carelessly
back at the late rustler Jimmy shut his mouth, gulped, opened it to
speak, shut it again and cleared his dry throat. Looking from Cassidy
to Longhorn and back again, he opened his mouth once more.
"You--you--what'd'ju pay for them chaps?" he blurted, idiotically.