The herd delivered at Sandy Creek had traveled only half way, for the
remaining part of the journey would be on the railroad. The work of
loading the cars was fast, furious fun to anyone who could find humor
enough in his make-up to regard it so. Then came a long, wearying ride
for the five men picked from the drive outfit to attend to the cattle on
the way to the cattle pens of the city. Their work at last done, they
"saw the sights" and were now returning to Sandy Creek.
The baggage smoking-car reeked with strong tobacco, the clouds of smoke
shifting with the air currents, and dimly through the haze could be seen
several men. Three of these were playing cards near the baggage-room
door, while two more lounged in a seat half way down the aisle and on
the other side of the car. Across from the card-players, reading a
magazine, was a fat man, and near the water cooler was a
dyspeptic-looking individual who was grumbling about the country through
which he was passing.
The first five, as their wearing apparel proclaimed, were not of the
kind usually found on trains, not the drummer, the tourist, or the
farmer. Their heads were covered with heavy sombreros, their coats were
of thick, black woolens, and their shirts were also of wool. Around the
throat of each was a large handkerchief, knotted at the back; their
trousers were protected by "chaps," of which three were of goatskin.
The boots were tight-fitting, narrow, and with high heels, and to them
were strapped heavy spurs. Around the waist, hanging loosely from one
hip, each wore a wide belt containing fifty cartridges in the loops, and
supporting a huge Colt's revolver, which rested against the thigh.
They were happy and were trying to sing but, owing to different tastes,
there was noticeable a lack of harmony. "Oh Susanna" never did go well
with "Annie Laurie," and as for "Dixie," it was hopelessly at odds with
the other two. But they were happy, exuberantly so, for they had
enjoyed their relaxation in the city and now were returning to the
station where their horses were waiting to carry them over the two
hundred miles which lay between their ranch and the nearest
railroad-station.
For a change the city had been pleasant, but after they had spent
several days there it lost its charm and would not have been acceptable
to them even as a place in which to die. They had spent their money,
smoked "top-notcher" cigars, seen the "shows" and feasted each as his
fancy dictated, and as behooved cowpunchers with money in their pockets.
Now they were glad that every hour reduced the time of their stay in the
smoky, jolting, rocking train, for they did not like trains, and this
train was particularly bad. So they passed the hours as best they might
and waited impatiently for the stop at Sandy Creek, where they had left
their horses. Their trip to the "fence country" was now a memory, and
they chafed to be again in the saddle on the open, wind-swept range,
where miles were insignificant and the silence soothing.
The fat man, despairing of reading, watched the card-players and smiled
in good humor as he listened to their conversation, while the dyspeptic,
nervously twisting his newspaper, wished that he were at his
destination. The baggage-room door opened and the conductor looked down
on the card-players and grinned. Skinny moved over in the seat to make
room for the genial conductor.
"Sit down, Simms, an' take a hand," he invited. Laughter arose
continually and the fat man joined in it, leaning forward more closely
to watch the play.
Lanky tossed his cards face down on the board and grinned at the
onlooker.
"Billy shore bluffs more on a varigated flush than any man I ever saw."
"Call him once in a while and he 'll get cured of it," laughed the fat
man, bracing himself as the train swung around a sharp turn.
"He 's too smart," growled Billy Williams. "He tried that an' found I
did n't have no varigated flushes. Come on, Lanky, if yo 're playing
cards, put up."
Farther down the car, their feet resting easily on the seat in front of
them, Hopalong and Red puffed slowly at their large, black cigars and
spoke infrequently, both idly watching the plain flit by in wearying
sameness, and both tired and lazy from doing nothing but ride.
"Blast th' cars, anyhow," grunted Hopalong, but he received no reply,
for his companion was too disgusted to say anything.
A startling, sudden increase in the roar of the train and a gust of hot,
sulphurous smoke caused Hopalong to look up at the brakeman, who came
down the swaying aisle as the door slammed shut.
"Phew!" he exclaimed, genially. "Why in thunder don't you fellows smoke
up?"
Hopalong blew a heavy ring, stretched energetically and grinned: "Much
farther to Sandy Creek?"
"Oh, you don't get off for three hours yet," laughed the brakeman.
"That's shore a long time to ride this bronc train," moodily complained
Red as the singing began again. "She shore pitches a-plenty," he added.
The train-hand smiled and seated himself on the arm of the front seat:
"Oh, it might be worse."
"Not this side of hades," replied Red with decision, watching his
friend, who was slapping the cushions to see the dust fly out: "Hey, let
up on that, will you! There's dust a-plenty without no help from you!"
The brakeman glanced at the card-players and then at Hopalong.
"Do your friends always sing like that?" he inquired.
"Mostly, but sometimes it's worse."
"On the level?"
"Shore enough; they're singing 'Dixie,' now. It's their best song."
"That ain't 'Dixie!'"
"Yes it is: that is, most of it."
"Well, then, what's the rest of it?"
"Oh, them's variations of their own," remarked Red, yawning and
stretching. "Just wait till they start something sentimental; you 'll
shore weep."
"I hope they stick to the variations. Say, you must be a pretty nifty
gang on the shoot, ain't you?"
"Oh, some," answered Hopalong.
"I wish you fellers had been aboard with us one day about a month ago.
We was the wrong end of a hold-up, and we got cleaned out proper, too."
"An' how many of 'em did you get?" asked Hopalong quickly, sitting bolt
upright.
The fat man suddenly lost his interest in the card-game and turned an
eager ear to the brakeman, while the dyspeptic stopped punching holes in
his time-card and listened. The card-players glanced up and then
returned to their game, but they, too, were listening.
The brakeman was surprised: "How many did we get! Gosh! we didn't get
none! They was six to our five."
"How many cards did you draw, you Piute?" asked Lanky.
"None of yore business; I ain't dealing, an' I would n't tell you if I
was," retorted Billy.
"Well, I can ask, can't I?"
"Yes--you can, an' did."
"You didn't get none?" cried Hopalong, doubting his ears.
"I should say not!"
"An' they owned th' whole train?"
"They did."