Flying U Ranch
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B. M. Bower >> Flying U Ranch
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"What yuh goin' to do?" Happy Jack inquired suspiciously. "Yuh
can't go and monkey with them sheep, er them herders. They ain't
on our land. And, if you don't git killed, old Dunk'll fix yuh
like he fixed the Gordon boys--I know him--to a fare-you-well.
It'd tickle him to death to git something on us fellers. I betche
that's what he's aiming t'do. Git us to fightin' his outfit
so's't--"
"Oh, go off and lie down!" Andy implored him contemptuously.
"We're going to hang those herders, and drive the sheep all over
a cut-back somewhere, like Jesus done to the hogs, and then we're
going over and murder old Dunk, if he's at home, and burn the
house to hide the guilty deed. And, if the sheriff comes snooping
around, asking disagreeable questions, we'll all swear you done
it. So now you know our plans; shut your face and go on to bed.
And be sure," he added witheringly, "you pull the soogans over
your head, so you won't hear the dying shriek of our victims.
We're liable to get kinda excited and torture 'em a while before
we kill 'em."
"Aw, gwan!" gulped Happy Jack mechanically. "You make me sick! If
yuh think I'm goin' to swaller all that, you're away off! You
wouldn't dast do nothing of the kind; and, if yuh did, you'd sure
have a sweet time layin' it onto me!"
"Oh, I don't know," drawled the Native Son, with a slow,
velvet-eyed glance, "any jury in the country would hang you on
your looks, Happy. I knew a man down in the lower part of
California, who was arrested, tried and hanged for murder. And
all the evidence there was against him was the fact that he was
seen within five miles of the place on the same day the murder
was committed; and his face. They had an expert physiognomist
there, and he swore that the fellow had the face of a murderer;
the poor devil looked like a criminal--and, though he had one of
the best lawyers on the Coast, it was adios for him."
"I s'pose you mean I got the face of a criminal!" sputtered Happy
Jack. "It ain't always the purty fellers that wins out-- like you
'n' Pink. I never seen the purty man yit that was worth the
powder it'd take to blow him up! Aw, you fellers make me sick!"
He went off, muttering his opinion of them all, and particularly
of the Native Son, who smiled while he listened. "You go awn and
start something--and you'll wisht you hadn't," they heard him
croak from the big gate, and chuckled over his wrath.
As a matter of fact, the Happy Family, as a whole, or as
individuals, had no intention of committing any great violence
that evening. Pink wanted to see just where this new band of
sheep was spending the night, and to find out, if possible, what
were the herders' intentions. Since the boys were all restless
under their worry, and, since there is a contagious element in
seeking a trouble-zone, none save Happy Jack, who was "sore" at
them, and Weary stayed behind in the coulee with old Patsy while
the others rode away up the grade and out toward Antelope coulee
beyond.
They meant only to reconnoiter, and to warn the herders against
attempting to cross Flying U coulee; though they were not exactly
sure that they would be perfectly polite, or that they would
confine themselves rigidly to the language they were wont to
employ at dances. Andy Green, in particular, seemed rather to
look forward with pleasure to the meeting. Andy, by the way, had
remained heartbrokenly passive during that whole week, because
Weary had extracted from him a promise which Andy, mendacious
though he had the name of being, felt constrained to keep intact.
Though of a truth it irked him much to think of two sheepherders
walking abroad unpunished for their outrage upon his person.
Weary, as he had made plain to them all, wanted to avoid trouble
if it were possible to do so. And, though they grinned together
in secret over his own affair with Dunk--which was not, in their
opinion, exactly pacific--they meant to respect his wishes as far
as human nature was able to do so. So that the Happy Family,
galloping toward the red sunset and the great, gray blot on the
prairie, just where the glory of the west tinged the grass blades
with red, were not one-half as blood-thirsty as they had
proclaimed themselves to be.
While they were yet afar off they could see two men walking
slowly in the immediate vicinity of the huddled band. A hundred
yards away was a small tent, with a couple of horses picketed
near by and feeding placidly. The men turned, gazed long at their
approach, and walked to the tent, which they entered somewhat
hastily.
"Look at 'em dodge outa sight, will you!" cried Cal Emmett, and
lifted up his voice in the yell which sometimes announced the
Happy Family's arrival in Dry Lake after a long, thirsty absence
on roundup. Other voices joined in after that first, shrill
"Ow-ow-ow-eee!" of Cal's; so that presently the whole lot of them
were emitting nerve-crimping yells and spurring their horses into
a thunder of hoofbeats, as they bore down upon the tent. Between
howls they laughed, picturing to themselves four terrified
sheepherders cowering within those frail, canvas walls.
"I'm a rambler, and a gambler, and far from my ho-o-me, And if
yuh don't like me, jest leave me alo-o-ne!" chanted Big Medicine
most horribly, and finished with a yell that almost scared
himself and set his horse to plunging wildly.
"Come out of there, you lop-eared mutton-chewers, and let us pick
the wool outa your teeth!" shouted Andy Green, telling himself
hastily that this was not breaking his promise to Weary, and
yielding to the temptation of coming as close to the guilty
persons as he might; for, while these were not the men who had
tied him and left him alone on the prairie, they belonged to the
same outfit, and there was some comfort in giving them a few
disagreeable minutes.
Pink, in the lead, was turning to ride around the tent, still
yelling, when someone within the tent fired a rifle--and did not
aim as high as he should. The bullet zipped close over the head
of Big Medicine, who happened to be opposite the crack between
the tent-flaps. The hand of Big Medicine jerked back to his hip;
but, quick as he was, the Native Son plunged between him and the
tent before he could take aim.
"Steady, amigo," smiled Miguel. "You aren't a crazy sheepherder."
"No, but I'm goin' to kill off one. Git outa my way!" Big
Medicine was transformed into a cold-eyed, iron-jawed fighting
machine. He dug the spurs in, meaning to ride ahead of Miguel.
But Miguel's spurs also pressed home, so that the two horses
plunged as one. Big Medicine, bellowing one solitary oath, drew
his right leg from the stirrup to dismount. Miguel reached out,
caught him by the arm, and held him to the saddle. And, though
Big Medicine was a strong man, the grip held firm and unyielding.
"You must think of the outfit, you know," said Miguel, smiling
still. "There must be no shooting. Once that begins--" He
shrugged his shoulders with that slight, eloquent movement, which
the Happy Family had come to know so well. He was speaking to
them all, as they crowded up to the scuffle. "The man who feels
the trigger-itch had better throw his gun away," he advised
coolly. "I know, boys. I've seen these things start before. All
hell can't stop you, once you begin to shoot. Put it up, Bud, or
give it to me."
"The man don't live that can shoot at me, by cripes, and git away
with it. Not if he misses killin' me!" Big Medicine was shaking
with rage; but the Native Son saw that he hesitated,
nevertheless, and laughed outright.
"Call him out and give him a thumping. That's good enough for a
sheepherder," he suggested as a substitute.
Perhaps because the Native Son so seldom offered advice, and,
because of his cool courage in interfering with Big Medicine at
such a time, Bud's jaw relaxed and his pale eyes became more
human in their expression. He even permitted Miguel to remove the
big, wicked Colt from his hand, and slide it into his own pocket;
whereat the Happy Family gasped with astonishment. Not even Pink
would have dreamed of attempting such a thing.
"Well he's got to come out and take a lickin', anyway," shouted
Big Medicine vengefully, and rode close enough to slap the canvas
smartly with his quirt. By all the gods he knew by name he called
upon the offender to come forth, while the others drew up in a
rude half-circle to await developments. Heavy silence was the
reply he got. It was as though the men within were sitting tense
and watchful, like cougars crouched for a spring, with claws
unsheathed and muscles quivering.
"You better come out," called Andy sharply, after they had waited
a decent interval. "We didn't come here hunting trouble; we want
to know where you're headed for with these sheep. The fellow that
cut loose with the gun--"
"Aw, don't talk so purty! I'm gitting almighty tired, just
setting here lettin' m' legs hang down. Git your ropes, boys!"
With one sweeping gesture of his arm Big Medicine made plain his
meaning as he rode a few paces away, his fingers fumbling with
the string that held his rope. "I'm goin' to have a look at 'em,
anyway," he grinned. "I sure do hate to see men act so bashful."
With his rope free and ready for action, Big Medicine shook the
loop out, glanced around, and saw that Andy, Pink and Cal Emmett
were also ready, and, with a dexterous flip, settled the noose
neatly over the iron pin that thrust up through the end of the
ridge-pole in front. Andy's loop sank neatly over it a second
later, and the two wheeled and dashed away together, with Pink
and Irish duplicating their performance at the other end of the
tent. The dingy, smoke-stained canvas swayed, toppled, as the
pegs gave way, and finally lay flat upon the prairie fifty feet
from where it had stood, leaving the inmates exposed to the cruel
stare of eight unfriendly cowpunchers. Four cowering figures they
were, with guns in their hands that shook.
"Drop them guns!" thundered Big Medicine, flipping his rope loose
and recoiling it mechanically as he plunged up to the group.
One man obeyed. One gave a squawk of terror and permitted his gun
to go off at random before he fled toward the coulee. The other
two crouched behind their bed-rolls, set their jaws doggedly and
glared defiance.
Pink, Andy, Irish, Big Medicine and the Native Son slid off their
horses and made a rush at them. A rifle barked viciously, and
Slim, sitting prudently on his horse well in the rear, gave a
yell and started for home at a rapid pace.
Considering the provocation the Happy Family behaved with quite
praiseworthy self-control and leniency. They did not lynch those
two herders. They did not kill them, either by bullets, knives,
or beating to death. They took away the guns, however, and they
told them with extreme bluntness what sort of men they believed
them to be. They defined accurately their position in society at
large, in that neighborhood, and stated what would be their
future fate if they persisted in acting with so little caution
and common sense.
At Andy Green's earnest behest they also wound them round and
round with ropes, before they departed, and gave them some very
good advice upon the matter of range rules and the herding of
sheep, particularly of Dot sheep.
"You're playing big luck, if you only had sense enough to know
it," Andy pointed out to the recumbent three before they rode
away. "We didn't come over here on the warpath, and, if you
hadn't got in such a darned hurry to start something, you'd be a
whole lot more comfortable right now. We rode over to tell yuh
not to start them sheep across Flying U coulee; because, if you
do, you're going to have both hands and your hats plumb full uh
trouble. It has taken some little time and fussing to get yuh
gentled down so we can talk to you, and I sure do hope yuh
remember what I'm saying."
"Oh, we'll remember it, all right!" menaced one of the men,
lifting his head turtlewise that he might glare at the group.
"And our bosses'll remember it; you needn't worry about that
none. You wait till--"
The next man to him turned his head and muttered a sentence, and
the speaker dropped his head back upon the ground, silenced.
"It was your own outfit started this style of rope trimming, so
you can't kick about that part of the deal," Pink informed them
melodiously. "It's liable to get to be all the rage with us. So,
if you don't like it, don't come around where we are. And say!"
His dimples stood deep in his cheeks. "You send those ropes home
to-morrow, will yuh? We're liable to need 'em."
"by cripes!" Big Medicine bawled. "What say we haze them sheep a
few miles north, boys?"
"Oh, I guess they'll be all right where they are," Andy
protested, his thirst for revenge assuaged at sight of those
three trussed as he had been trussed, and apparently not liking
it any better than he had liked it. "They'll be good and careful
not to come around the Flying U--or I miss my guess a mile."
The others cast comprehensive glances at their immediate
surroundings, and decided that they had at least made their
meaning plain; there was no occasion for emphasizing their
disapproval any further. They confiscated the rifles, and they
told the fellows why they did so. They very kindly pulled a
tarpaulin over the three to protect them in a measure from the
chill night that was close upon them, and they wished them good
night and pleasant dreams, and rode away home.
On the way they met Weary and Happy Jack, galloping anxiously to
the battle scene. Slim, it appeared from Weary's rapid
explanation, had arrived at the ranch with his horse in a lather
and with a four-inch furrow in the fleshiest part of his leg,
where a bullet had flicked him in passing. The tale he told had
led Weary to believe that Slim was the sole survivor of that
reckless company.
"Mamma! I'm so glad to see you boys able to fork your horses and
swear natural, that I don't believe I can speak my little piece
about staying on your own side the fence and letting trouble do
some of the hunting," he exclaimed thankfully. "I wish you'd
stayed at home and left these blamed Dots alone. But, seeing yuh
didn't, I'm tickled to death to hear you didn't kill anybody off.
I don't want the folks to come home and find the whole bunch in
the pen. It might look as if--"
"You don't want the folks to come home and find the whole ranch
sheeped off, either, and the herders camping up in the white
house, do yuh?" Pink inquired pointedly. "I kinda think," he
added dryly, "those same herders will feel like going away around
Flying U fences with their sheep. I don't believe they'll do any
cutting across."
"I betche old Dunk'll make it interestin' fer this outfit, just
the same," Happy Jack predicted. "Tyin' up three men uh hisn,
like that, and ropin' their tent and draggin' it off, ain't
things he'll pass up. He'll have a possy out here--you see if he
don't!"
"In that case, I'll be sorry for you, Happy," purred Miguel close
beside him. "You're the only one in the outfit that looks capable
of such a vile deed."
"Oh, Dunk won't do anything," Weary said cheerfully. "You'll have
to take those guns back, though. They might take a notion to call
that stealing!"
"You forget," the Native Son reminded calmly, "that we left them
three good ropes in exchange."
Whereupon the Happy Family laughed and went to offer their
unsought sympathy to Slim.
CHAPTER X. The Happy Family Herd Sheep
The boys of the Flying U had many faults in common, aside from
certain individual frailties; one of their chief weaknesses was
over-confidence in their own ability to cope with any situation
which might arise, unexpectedly or otherwise, and a belief that
others felt that same confidence in them, and that enemies were
wont to sit a long time counting the cost before venturing to
offer too great an affront. Also they believed--and made it
manifest in their conversation--that they could even bring the
Old Man back to health if they only had him on the ranch where
they could get at him. They maligned the hospitals and Chicago
doctors most unjustly, and were agreed that all he needed was to
be back on the ranch where somebody could look after him right.
They asserted that, if they ever got tired of living and wanted
to cash in without using a gun or anything, they'd go to a
hospital and tell the doctors to turn loose and try to cure them
of something.
This by way of illustration; also as an explanation of their
sleeping soundly that night, instead of watching for some hostile
demonstration on the part of the Dot outfit. To a man--one never
counted Happy Jack's prophecies of disaster as being anything
more than a personal deformity of thought--they were positive in
their belief that the Dot sheepherders would be very, very
careful not to provoke the Happy Family to further manifestations
of disapproval. They knew what they'd get, if they tried any more
funny business, and they'd be mighty careful where they drove
their sheep after this.
So, with the comfortable glow of victory in their souls, they
laid them down, and, when the animated discussion of that night's
adventure flagged, as their tongues grew sleep-clogged and their
eyelids drooped, they slept in peace; save when Slim, awakened by
the soreness of his leg, grunted a malediction or two before he
began snoring again.
They rose and ate their breakfast in a fair humor with the world.
One grows accustomed to the thought of sickness, even when it
strikes close to the affections, and, with the resilience of
youth and hope, life adjusts itself to make room for the specter
of fear, so that it does not crowd unduly, but stands
half-forgotten in the background of one's thoughts. For that
reason they no longer spoke soberly because of the Old Man lying
hurt unto death in Chicago. And, when they mentioned the Dot
sheep and men, they spoke as men speak of the vanquished.
With the taste of hot biscuits and maple syrup still lingering
pleasantly against their palates, they went out and were
confronted with sheep, blatting sheep, stinking sheep,
devastating sheep, Dot sheep. On the south side of the coulee, up
on the bluff, grazed the band. They fed upon the brow of the hill
opposite the ranch buildings; they squeezed under the fence and
spilled a ragged fringe of running, gray animals down the slope.
Half a mile away though the nearest of them were, the murmur of
them, the smell of them, the whole intolerable presence of them,
filled the Happy Family with an amazed loathing too deep for
words.
Technically, that high, level stretch of land bounding Flying U
coulee on the south was open range. It belonged to the
government. The soil was not fertile enough even for the most
optimistic of "dry land" farmers to locate upon it; and this was
before the dry-land farming craze had swept the country,
gathering in all public land as claims. J. G. Whitmore had
contented himself with acquiring title to the whole of the Flying
U coulee, secure in his belief that the old order of things would
not change, in his life-time, at least, and that the unwritten
law of the range land, which leaves the vicinity of a ranch to
the use of the ranch owner, would never be repealed by new
customs imposed by a new class of people.
Legally, there was no trespassing of the Dots, beyond the two or
three hundred which had made their way through the fence.
Morally, however, and by right of custom, their offense would not
be much greater if they came on down the hill and invaded the Old
Man's pet meadows, just beyond the "little pasture."
Ladies may read this story, so I am not going to pretend to
repeat the things they said, once they were released from dumb
amazement. I should be compelled to improvise and substitute--
which would remove much of the flavor. Let bare facts suffice, at
present.
They saddled in haste, and in haste they rode to the scene. This,
they were convinced, was the band herded by the bug-killer and
the man from Wyoming; and the nerve of those two almost excited
the admiration of the Happy Family. It did not, however, deter
them from their purpose.
Weary, to look at him, was no longer in the mood to preach
patience and a turning of the other cheek. He also made that
change of heart manifest in his speech when Pink, his eyes almost
black, rode up close and gritted at him:
"Well, what's the orders now? Want me to go back and get the wire
nippers so we can let them poor little sheep down into the
meadow? Maybe we better ask the herders down to have some of
Patsy's grub, too; I don't believe they had time to cook much
breakfast. And it wouldn't be a bad idea to haze our own stuff
clear off the range. I'm afraid Dunk's sheep are going to fare
kinda slim, if we go on letting our cattle eat all the good
grass!" Pink did not often indulge in such lengthy sarcasm,
especially toward his beloved Weary; but his exasperation toward
Weary's mild tactics had been growing apace.
Weary's reply, I fear, will have to be omitted. It was terribly
unrefined.
"I want you boys to spread out, around the whole bunch," was his
first printable utterance, "and haze these sheep just as far
south as they can get without taking to the river. Don't get all
het up chasing 'em yourself--make the men (Weary did not call
them men; he called them something very naughty) that's paid for
it do the driving."
"And, if they don't go," drawled the smooth voice of the Native
Son, "what shall we do, amigo? Slap them on the wrist?"
Weary twisted in the saddle and sent him a baleful glance, which
was not at all like Weary the sunny-hearted.
"If you can't figure that out for yourself," he snapped, "you had
better go back and wipe the dishes for Patsy; and, when that's
done, you can pull the weeds out of his radishes. Maybe he'll
give you a nickel to buy candy with, if you do it good." Before
he faced to the front again his harsh glance swept the faces of
his companions.
They were grinning, every man of them, and he knew why. To see
him lose his temper was something of an event with the Happy
Family, who used sometimes to fix the date of an incident by
saying, "It was right after that time Weary got mad, a year ago
last fall," or something of the sort. He grinned himself,
shamefacedly, and told them that they were a bunch of no-account
cusses, anyway, and he'd just about as soon herd sheep himself as
to have to run with such an outfit; which swept his anger from
him and left him his usual self, with but the addition of a
purpose from which nothing could stay him. He was going to settle
the sheep question, and he was going to settle it that day.
Only one injunction did he lay upon the Happy Family. "You
fellows don't want to get excited and go to shooting," he warned,
while they were still out of hearing of the herders. "We don't
want Dunk to get anything like that on us; savvy?"
They "savvied," and they told him so, each after his own
individual manner.
"I guess we ought to be able to put the run on a couple of
sheepherders, without wasting any powder," Pink said loftily,
remembering his meeting with them a few days before.
"One thing sure--we'll make a good job of it this time," promised
Irish, and spurred after Weary, who was leading the way around
the band.
The herders watched them openly and with the manner of men who
are expecting the worst to happen. Unlike the four whose camp had
been laid low the night before, these two were unarmed, as they
had been from the first; which, in Weary's opinion, was a bit of
guile upon the part of Dunk. If trouble came--trouble which it
would take a jury to settle--the fact that the sheepmen were
unarmed would tell heavily in their favor; for, while the petty
meanness of range-stealing and nagging trespass may be harder to
bear than the flourishing of a gun before one's face, it all
sounds harmless enough in the telling.
Weary headed straight for the nearest herder, told him to put his
dogs to work rounding up the sheep, which were scattered over an
area half a mile across while they fed, and, when the herder, who
was the bug-killer, made no move to obey, Weary deliberately
pulled his gun and pointed at his head.
"You move," he directed with grim intent, "and don't take too
much time about it, either."
The bug-killer, an unkempt, ungainly figure, standing with his
back to the morning sun, scowled up at Weary stolidly.
"Yuh dassent shoot," he stated sourly, and did not move.
For answer, Weary pulled back the hammer; also he smiled as
malignantly as it was in his nature to do, and hoped in his heart
that he looked sufficiently terrifying to convince the man. So
they faced each other in a silent clash of wills.
Big Medicine had not been saying much on the way over, which was
unusual. Now he rode forward until he was abreast of Weary, and
he grinned down at the bug-killer in a way to distract his
attention from the gun.
"Nobody don't have to shoot, by cripes!" he bawled. "We hain't
goin' to kill yuh. We'll make yuh wisht, by cripes, we had,
though, b'fore we git through. Git to work, boys, 'n' gether up
some dry grass an' sticks. Over there in them rose-bushes you
oughta find enough bresh. We'll give him a taste uh what we was
talkin' about comm' over, by cripes! I guess he'll be willin' to
drive sheep, all right, when we git through with him.
Haw-haw-haw-w-w!" He leaned forward in the saddle and ogled the
bug-killer with horrid significance.
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