Jim Waring of Sonora-Town; Or, Tang of Life

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  Chapter XIV

  _Bondsman's Decision_

  Bud Shoop's homestead on the Blue Mesa lay in a wide level of grassland,round which the spruce of the high country swept in a great, blue-edgedcircle. To the west the barren peak of Mount Baldy maintained a solitaryvigil in sunshine and tempest. Away to the north the timbered plateausdropped from level to level like a gigantic stair until they merged withthe horizon-line of the plains. The air on the Blue Mesa was thin andkeen; warm in the sun, yet instantly cool at dusk. A mountain stream,all but hidden by the grasses, meandered across the mesa to an emeraldhollow of coarse marsh-grass. A few yards from this pool, and on itssouthern side, stood the mountain cabin of the Shoop homestead, a roomybuilding of logs, its wide, easy-sloping veranda roof covered withhome-made shakes. Near the house was a small corral and stable of logs.Out on the mesa a thin crop of oats wavered in the itinerant breeze.Round the cabin was a garden plot that had suffered from want ofattention. Above the gate to the door-yard was a weathered sign on whichwas lettered carefully:

  "The rose is red; the violet blue; Please shut this gate when you come through."

  And on the other side of the sign, challenging the possiblecarelessness of the chance visitor, was the legend:--

  "Now you've been in and had your chuck, Please close this gate, just once, for luck."

  Otherwise the place was like any mountain homestead of the better sort,viewed from without. The interior of the cabin, however, was unusual inthat it boasted of being the only music-room within fifty miles in anydirection.

  When the genial Bud had been overtaken with the idea of homesteading, hehad had visions of a modest success which would allow him to entertainhis erstwhile cow-puncher companions when they should ride his way. Tothis end he had labored with more heart than judgment.

  The main room was large and lighted by two unusually large windows. Thedimensions of the room were ample enough to accommodate a fair number ofdancers. Bud knew that if cowboys loved anything they loved to dance.The phonograph was so common that it offered no distinction in gracingBud's camp; so with much labor and expense he had freighted an uprightpiano from the distant railroad, an innovation that at first had stunnedand then literally taken the natives off their feet. Riders from allover the country heard of Bud's piano, questioned its reality, andfinally made it a point to jog over and see for themselves.

  For a time Bud's homestead was popular. A real piano, fifty miles froma settlement, was something worth riding far to see. But respect for theshining veneer of the case was not long-lived. In a moment ofinspiration, a cowboy pulled out his jackknife and carved his home brandon the shining case. Bud could have said more than he did when hediscovered it. Later another contingent, not to be outdone, followedthis cowboy's incisive example and carved its brand on the piano.Naturally it became a custom. No visitor in boots and chaps left thecabin without first having carved some brand.

  Bud suffered in silence, consoling himself with the thought that whilethere were many pianos in the lower country, there were none like his.And "As long as you don't monkey with her works or shoot her up," hetold his friends, "I don't care how much you carve her; only leaveenough sidin' and roof to hold her together."

  Cowboys came, danced long and late as Bud pumped the mechanical player,and thrilled to the shuffle of high-heeled boots. Contingent aftercontingent came, danced, and departed joyously, leaving Bud short onrations, but happy that he could entertain so royally. Finally thenovelty wore off, and Bud was left with his Airedale, his saddle-ponies,and the hand-carved piano.

  But Bud had profited by the innovation. An Easterner sojourning with Budfor a season, had taught him to play two tunes--"Annie Laurie" and"Dixie." "Real hand-made music," Bud was wont to remark. And with thesetunes at his disposal he was more than content. Many a long evening hesat with his huge bulk swaying in the light of the hanging lamp as hewandered around Maxwelton's braes in search of the true Annie Laurie; orhopped with heavy sprightliness across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, whileBondsman, the patient Airedale, sat on his haunches and accompanied Budwith dismal energy.

  Bud was not a little proud of his accomplishment. The player was allright, but it lacked the human touch. Even when an occasional Apachestrayed in and borrowed tobacco or hinted at a meal, Bud was not aboveentertaining the wondering red man with music. And Bud disliked Apaches.

  And during these latter days Bud had had plenty of opportunity toindulge himself in music. For hours he would sit and gently strike thekeys, finding unexpected harmonies that thrilled and puzzled him. Thediscords didn't count. And Bondsman would hunch up close with watchfuleye and one ear cocked, waiting for the familiar strains of "AnnieLaurie" or "Dixie." He seemed to consider these tunes a sort ofaccompaniment to his song. If he dared to howl when Bud wasextemporizing, Bud would rebuke him solemnly, explaining that it was notconsidered polite in the best circles to interrupt a soloist. And anevening was never complete without "Annie Laurie," and "Dixie," withBondsman's mournful contralto gaming ascendance as the eveningprogressed.

  "That dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous," Bud was wont toremark, as he rose from his labors and prepared for bed. "There I washuntin' around for that chord I lit on the other night and almostfindin' it, when he has to howl like a coyote with a sore throat andspile the whole thing. I ought to learned more tunes."

  * * * * *

  It was almost dusk when Lorry topped the trail that led across the BlueMesa to Bud's cabin. Gray Leg pricked his ears, and jogged over the widelevel, heading straight for the corral. The cabin was dark. Lorryhallooed. A horse in the corral answered, nickering shrilly. Lorry foundsome loose gramma grass in the stable and threw it to the horse. If thiswas Shoop's place, Shoop would not be gone long, or he'd have turned thehorse to graze on the open mesa.

  Lorry entered and lighted the lamp. He gazed with astonishment at thepiano. But that could wait. He was hungry. In a few minutes he had afire going, plates laid for two, had made coffee and cut bacon. He wasmixing the dough for hot biscuit when he heard some one ride up. Hestepped to the door. A bulky figure was pulling a saddle from a horse.Lorry called a greeting.

  "Just a minute, friend," came from the darkness.

  Lorry stepped to the kitchen, and put the biscuit pan in the oven. Asaddle thumped on the veranda, and Bud Shoop, puffing heavily, strodein. He nodded, filled a basin, and washed. As he polished his bald spot,his glance traveled from the stove to the table, and thence to Lorry,and he nodded approval.

  "Looks like you was expectin' comp'ny," he said, smiling.

  "Yep. And chuck's about ready."

  "So am I," said Bud, rubbing his hands.

  "I'm Adams, from Stacey."

  "That don't make me mad," said Bud. "How's things over to your town?"

  "All right, I guess. Mr. Torrance--"

  Bud waved his hand. "Let's eat. Been out since daylight. Them biscuitsis just right. Help yourself to the honey."

  "There's somebody outside," said Lorry, his arm raised to pass the honeyjar.

  "That's my dog, Bondsman. He had to size up your layout, and he'sthrough and waitin' to size up you. Reckon he's hungry, too. Butbusiness before pleasure is his idea mostly. He's tellin' me to let himin. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous. When did youget in?"

  "About sundown."

  "Uh-uh. I seen that your horse hadn't grazed out far yet. How do youlike this country?"

  "Good summer country, all right. Too high for stock in winter."

  "Yes. Four feet of snow on the mesa last winter. When you say 'Arizona'to some folks, they don't think of snow so deep a hoss can't get fromthe woods over there to this cabin." Bud Shoop sighed and rose. "Nevermind them dishes. Mornin' 'll do."

  "Won't take a minute," said Lorry.

  Bud's blue eyes twinkled as he waddled to the living-room. Young Adamswas handy around a kitchen. He had laid plates for two, knew how topunch dough, was willing to wash the dishes without a hint, and had fedthe h
orse in the corral.

  "He trots right along, like he knew where he was goin'," Bud said tohimself. "I like his looks--but that ain't always a sign."

  Lorry whistled as he dried the dishes. Bud was seated in a huge armchairwhen Lorry entered the room. Shoop seemed to pay no attention toBondsman, who whined and occasionally scratched on the door.

  "Funny thing happened this mornin'," said Shoop, settling himself in hischair. "I was ridin' down the ole Milk Ranch Trail when I looked up andseen a bobcat lopin' straight for me. The cat didn't see me, but my hossstopped, waitin' for me to shoot. Well, that kittycat come right alongtill I could 'a' almost roped him. Bondsman--that's my dog--never seenhim, neither, till I hollered. You ought to seen that cat start backwithout losin' a jump. I like to fell off the hoss, laughin'. Bondsmanhe lit out--"

  "I'll let him in," said Lorry, moving toward the door.

  "--After that cat," continued Shoop, "but the cat never treed, I reckon,for pretty soon back comes Bondsman, lookin' as disgusted as a hen in arainstorm. 'We're gettin' too old,' I tells Bondsman--"

  "Ain't you goin' to let him in?" queried Lorry.

  "--We're gettin' too old to chase bobcats just for fun," concludedShoop. "What was you sayin'?"

  "Your dog wants to come in."

  "That's right. Now I thought you was listenin' to me."

  "I was. But ain't he hungry?"

  Shoop chuckled. "Let him in, son."

  Lorry opened the door. Bondsman stalked in, sniffed at Lorry's boots,and padded to the kitchen.

  "What do you feed him?" said Lorry, hesitating.

  "He won't take nothin' from you," said Shoop, heaving himself up. "I'vehad him since he was a pup. You set down and I'll 'tend to him.

  "And I says to him," said Shoop, as he returned to his chair,--"I says,'Bondsman, that there cat was just passin' the buck to us to see if wewas game.' And he ain't got over it yet."

  "I've roped 'em," said Lorry--"roped 'em out of a tree."

  "Uh-uh. Where'd you learn to rope?"

  "At the Starr Ranch. I worked there once."

  "Git tired of it?"

  "Nope. I had a argument with the foreman."

  "Uh-uh. I reckon it ain't hard to pick a fuss with High Chin."

  "I wasn't lookin' for a fuss. It was his funeral."

  "So I heard; all but the procession."

  "And that's why I came up to see you. Mr. Torrance told me to hunt youup."

  "He did, eh? Well, now, John sure gets queer idees. I don't need a manround here."

  "I was after a job in the Service."

  "And he sends you to me. Why, I ain't ever worked a day for theService."

  "I guess he wanted you to look me over," said Lorry, smiling.

  "Well, they's lots of time, 'less you're in a hurry."

  "If I can't get in the Service, I'll look up a job punchin'," saidLorry. "I got to get somethin'."

  Bondsman stalked in, licking his chops. He nuzzled Shoop's hand. Lorrysnapped his fingers. Bondsman strode to him. Lorry patted his knee. Thebig dog crouched and sprang to Lorry's knees, where he sat, studying himquizzically, his head to one side, his keen eyes blinking in thelamplight. Lorry laughed and patted the dog.

  "He's trying to get my number," said Lorry.

  "He's got it," said Shoop. "You could 'a' snapped your fingers off aforehe'd 'a' come nigh you, 'less he wanted to. And while we're talkin'about it, you can tell John Torrance I said to give you a try."

  Lorry sat up quickly. "Guess you didn't know that Buck Hardy is lookin'for me," said Lorry. "Mr. Torrance says I got to square myself with Buckafore I get the job."

  "He did, eh? Well, speakin' of Buck, how would you like to hear a littletalk from a real music-box?"

  "Fine!"

  Shoop waddled to the piano. "I ain't no reg'lar music sharp," heexplained unnecessarily, "but I got a couple of pieces broke to gopolite. This here piano is cold-mouthed, and you got to rein her justright or she'll buffalo you. This here piece is 'Annie Laurie.'"

  As Bud struck the first note, Bondsman leaped from Lorry's knees andtook his place beside the piano. The early dew had just begun to fallwhen Bondsman joined in. Lorry grinned. The dog and his master wereabsolutely serious in their efforts. As the tune progressed, Lorry'sgrin faded, and he sat gazing intently at the huge back of his host.

  "Why, he's playin' like he meant it," thought Lorry. "And folks says BudShoop was a regular top-hand stem-winder in his day."

  Shoop labored at the piano with nervous care. When he turned to Lorryhis face was beaded with sweat.

  "I rode her clean through to the fence," he said, with a kind ofapologetic grin. "How did you like that piece?"

  "I always did like them old tunes," replied Lorry. "Give us another."

  Shoop's face beamed. "I only got one more that I can get my rope on. Butif you can stand it, I can. This here one is 'Dixie.'"

  And Bud straightened his broad shoulders, pushed back his sleeves, andwaded across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, hitting the high spots withstaccato vehemence, as though Dixie had recently suffered from aninundation and he was in a hurry to get to dry land. Bondsman's moodybaritone reached up and up with sad persistency.

  Lorry was both amused and astonished. Shoop's intensity, his real lovefor music, was a revelation. Lorry felt like smiling, yet he did notsmile. Bud Shoop could not play, but his personality forced its ownrecognition, even through the absurd medium of an untutored performanceon that weird upright piano. Lorry began to realize that there wassomething more to Bud Shoop than mere bulk.

  Bud swung round, puffing. "I got that tune where I can keep her in sightas long as she lopes on the level. But when she takes to jumpin' stumpsand makin' them quick turns, I sure have to do some hard ridin' to keepher from losin' herself. Me and Bondsman's been worryin' along behindthem two tunes for quite a spell. I reckon I ought to started inyounger. But, anyhow, that there piano is right good comp'ny. When Ibeen settin' here alone, nights, and feelin' out her paces, I get so hetup and interested that I don't know the fire's out till Bondsman takesto shiverin' and whinin' and tellin' me he'd like to get some sleepafore mornin'."

  And Bondsman, now that the music had stopped, stalked to Lorry and eyedhim with an expression which said plainly: "It's his weak spot--thismusic. You will have to overlook it. He's really a rather decent sort ofperson."

  "I got a mechanical player in the bedroom," said Shoop. "And a reg'laroutfit of tunes for dances."

  Lorry was tempted to ask to hear it, but changed his mind. "I've heardthem players. They're sure good for a dance, but I like real playin'better."

  Bud Shoop grinned. "That's the way with Bondsman here. Now he won't openhis head to one of them paper tunes. I've tried 'em all on him. Youcan't tell me a dog ain't got feelin's."