CHAPTER XXII
THE HORSE THAT KILLED DUNBAR
In the Homeric simplicity of the cow camps, where the primitive emotionsstill rule, any soul-stirring which cannot find its expression in cursesis pretty sure to seek the level of laughter. The boys were profoundlymoved by Bowles' declaration of intention, but after gazing upon him fora spell in mingled incredulity and awe, their lips began to curl.
"Aw--_him_!" they said. "Him ride Dunbar? Umph-umm! We'll wake up somemornin' and find him gone!"
Then, as a morning or two passed and Bowles was still in his place, theybegan to lapse into jest.
"Old Henry will shore be s'prised when he comes back from town,"observed blithesome Happy Jack. "He'll find Bowles ridin' Dunbar with ahackamore and feedin' him sugar from his hand. Big doin's soon to come,boys--boss and family goin' down to Chula Vista to-morrer."
"Well, we better hog-tie Hinglish, then," grumbled Buck Buchanan; "he'llnever last till mornin'. Gittin' right close on to that time!"
"Never you mind about Hinglish," retorted Brigham Clark, whose loyaltyhad been fanned to a flame. "If it was you, Buck Buchanan, we couldn'tsee you fer dust right now. They ain't a man of ye dares to _say_ he'dride Dunbar, let alone the doin' of it. Will you ride him second if hethrows Bowles off? Well, keep yore face shut, then! The whole bunch ofye ought to be canned fer tryin' to git 'im killed!"
"Well, let 'im go on away, then!" burst out Hardy Atkins. "_We_ nevertold 'im to ride Dunbar--we told 'im to quit his four-flushin' andeither make good or git. There's the road down there--let 'im take toit!"
He jerked an imperious hand at Bowles, who answered him with a scowl.
"If you will kindly mind your own business, Mr. Atkins," he purled, "Ishall certainly be greatly obliged."
He gave each word the Harvard accent and tipped it off with venom, forBowles was losing his repose. In fact, he was mad, mad all over, and atevery remark he bristled like a dog. A concatenation of circumstanceshad thrown him into the company of these Texas brawlers, but he aimed toshow by every means in his power his absolute contempt for theirtrickery and his determination to stand on his rights. He had said hewould ride Dunbar, and that was enough--he had given his word as agentleman. Therefore, he resented their insinuations and desired only tobe left alone. Certainly he had enough on his mind to keep him occupiedwithout responding to ill-natured remarks.
Fate was piling things up on poor Bowles, and he earnestly longed forthe end. There is a cynic's saying that every time a man gets intotrouble his girl goes back on him, just to carry out the run of luck;and while of course it isn't true, it seemed that way to Bowles. Perhapshis own manner had had something to do with it, but, the morning afterhis rebuff, Dixie greeted him almost as a stranger, and, falling backshortly afterward into her old carefree way of talking, she began tojosh with the boys. Then she took a long ride with Brigham, a ride thatleft him all lit up with enthusiasm and made him want to talk aboutlove. As a matter of fact, Dixie had sensed something big in the air andwas anxiously ferreting it out, but Bowles did not know about that. Allhe knew was that he disapproved of her conduct, and wondered vaguelywhat her mother would say. Not that it was any of his business, but hewondered all the same; and, wondering, shook his head and sighed.
But three days of flirting and sleuthing brought nothing to Dixie's net.From the cook down, the outfit was a solid phalanx against her--theywould talk and smile but they never showed their hand. One clue and onlyone she had--there seemed to be an unusual interest in when she wasgoing to town. First on one pretext and then on another they inquiredcasually about the date, and if her folks were going along too. So,whatever the deviltry was, it was something that called for secrecy--andit was due on the day they left home. She looked them over as theygathered about the evening fire, and smoothed her hair downthoughtfully--and the next morning she started for town.
The sale of his steers was making Henry Lee a lot of trouble--and theholding of them as well. Not being able to find a buyer at his price, heset the cowboys to fence mending--lest the outlaws should breach thewires--and went back and forth to town. And this morning his wife wentwith him, sitting close behind the grays, with Dixie riding fast behind.Their dust changed to haze on the horizon before any one moved a hand,and then Hardy Atkins turned on Bowles.
"All right, Mr. Bowles," he said. "Here's where we see yore hand. I'llsaddle that hawse if you'll ride 'im, but don't make me that trouble fernothin', because if you _do_----"
"Oh, shut up!" snapped Bowles, whose nerves were worn to a frazzle."What's the use of talking about it? Put the saddle on him!"
"Holy Jehu!" whistled Atkins. "Listen to the boy talk, will you? Musthave somethin' on his mind--what?"
"Well, quit yore foolin'!" put in Brigham abruptly. "We'll all git firedfer this, and him liable to git killed to boot, so hurry up and let'shave it over with!"
"I'll go ye!" laughed the ex-twister, skipping off with a sprightlystep. "Come on, boys; it'll take the bunch of us--but I'll saddle oldDunbar or die! 'O-oh, hit's not the 'unting that 'urts the 'orse's'oofs; hit's the 'ammer, 'ammer, 'ammer on the 'ard 'ighway!'E-e-e--hoo!"
He laughed and cut another caper as he ended this bald refrain, andBrigham glowered at him balefully.
"'Hit's!'" he quoted. "'_Hit's!_' Listen to the ignorant cracker! Inever seen a Texican yet that could talk the straight U. S.! But go onnow, you low-flung cotton-pickers, and I'll fix Bowles fer his ridin'!"
They hustled away as he spoke, the best of them to wrangle Dunbar, andthe rest to admire the sight. Here was an event that would go down inBat Wing history, and only the cook stayed away. Life had been stale,flat, and unprofitable to Gloomy Gus since he delivered the oration overHappy Jack, and the very care with which all hands refrained fromspeaking of it showed how poignant the joke had been. Faces which hadlooked pleasant to him before were repulsive now, and in this last assayon Bowles he saw but a recrudescence of the horse-play which had workedsuch havoc with his own pride. Therefore, he was morose and sullen andstayed with his pots and pans.
"I want to warn you, Mr. Bowles," he called, as Bowles came,full-rigged, from the bunk-house. "I want to give you warnin'--thethawse is dangerous!"
"All right, Mr. Mosby," answered Bowles absently, as he started for theround corral.
"He done killed a man!" croaked Gloomy Gus. "A right good cow-puncher,too--I knowed him well. Jim Dunbar--the top rider of the outfit. Don'tsay I never warned you, now--keep off that hawse!"
"All right, Mr. Mosby," responded Bowles, but he never missed a stride.The time had come to show himself a man, and, like an athlete who goesforth to win, his thoughts were on the battle.
"You want to set him limber," reiterated Brigham in his ear. "Ride 'imlike a drunk man, and whip 'im at every jump--it gives you somethin' todo. Grab 'im with yore spurs every time he lights; and look out he don'tbite yore legs. Here, take my quirt--it's heavier--and if he starts togo over backwards, hit 'im hard between the ears. You kin ride 'im,pardner, I know it! Jest keep cool and don't get stiff!"
"All right, Brig," muttered Bowles; "all right!" But his eyes were onthe corral.
A cloud of dust rose on the still morning air like smoke from somered-burning fire, and through the poles of the fence he could see horsesrunning like mad, and men with trailing ropes. Then, as the stampederose to a thunder of feet, he heard a shrill yell of triumph, andscrambling men jerked the bars from the gate. The current of gallopingslackened, it paused, and the leaders shot out the gap with a sea ofhigh-flung heads behind. When the dust of their outrush had settled,there was only one horse left inside--the horse that killed Dunbar--andhe lay grunting in the dirt.
"Fetch me that hackamore!" yelled Hardy Atkins from where he knelt onthe brute's straining neck. "Now bring me that well-rope--we'll tie uphis dad-burned leg!"
They gave him the ropes as he called for them, and he rigged them withmasterful hands--first the rough-twisted hackamore, to go over his headand cut off his breath; then the two-inch well-rope, t
o hang from hisneck and serve later to noose his hind foot. Then all hands tailed on tothe throw-rope; they swayed back as he rose to his feet; and when Dunbarwent to the end of it, the heave they gave threw him flat. He leaped upand flew back on his haunches, and the rope halter cut off his breath.His sides heaved as he struggled against it; his eyes bulged big and heshook his head; then, with a final paroxysm, he sank to his knees andthey slackened away on the rope. A single mighty breath, and he was upon his feet and fighting; and they choked him down again. Then HardyAtkins stepped in behind and picked up the end of the shoulder rope,where it dragged between his legs, and drew the loop up to his hocks. Ajerk--a kick at the burn--and Dunbar was put on three legs. He fought,because that was his nature, but it was in vain; they trussed his footup high, tied the rope's end to the neck loop, and clapped a broad blindover his eyes. So Dunbar was conquered, and while he squealed andcow-kicked, they lashed Bowles' saddle on his bowed-up back and slippedthe bit between his teeth.
There he stood at last, old Dunbar the man-killer, sweating andtrembling and cringing his head to the blind, and Bowles jumped down offthe fence.
"All right," he said, "you can let down his foot. I'll pull up theblinder myself."
"Say yore prayers first, Mr. Man," gritted Atkins, lolling and moppinghis face. "If he's half as good as his promise, you'll never git offalive!"
"Very likely," observed Bowles grimly. "You can let his foot down now."
"Hey! Git a move on!" yelled a cow-puncher up on the fence. "They'ssomebody comin' up the road!"
"Aw, let 'em come," drawled Atkins carelessly. "They're hurryin' up tosee the show. Step up and look 'im over!" he grinned at Bowles. "Norush--you got lots of time!"
"Let his foot down!" snarled Bowles, his nerves giving way to anger."I'm not----"
"It's Dix!" clamored the cow-puncher on the fence-top. "It's Dix!"
There was a rush for the fence to make certain, and as Dixie Lee dashedin through the horse lot, Hardy Atkins threw down his hat and cursed.Then he stood irresolute, gazing first at Bowles and then at the fence,until suddenly she slipped through the bars and came striding across thecorral.
"Oho, Hardy Atkins," she panted, as she tapped at her boot with a quirt."So this is what you were up to--riding horses while Dad went to town!Didn't he tell you to keep off that Dunbar horse? Well, then, youjust----"
She paused as she sensed the tense silence, and then she saw Bowles,walking resolutely up to the horse. In a flash it all came clear toher--the feud, the fights, and now this compact to ride.
"Mr. Bowles!" she cried, raising her voice in a sudden command--butbefore she could get out the words Hardy Atkins laid his hand on herarm.
"You go on back to the house!" he said, fixing her with his horse-tamingeyes. "You go back where you belong! I'm doin' this!"
"You let go of me!" stormed Dixie Lee, making a savage pass at him withher quirt--and then a great shout drowned their quarrel and made themforget everything but Bowles.
The obsession of days of brooding had laid hold upon him and left himwith a single, fixed idea--to ride Dunbar or die. And to him, no lessthan to Hardy Atkins, the coming of Dixie Lee was a disappointment. Fora minute, he too had stood irresolute; then, with the simplicity ofmadness, he went straight to the blindfolded horse and began to lowerhis foot. As the quarrel sprang up, he gathered his reins; withoutlooking back, he hooked his stirrup; and then, very gently, he rose tothe saddle. Then the shout rang out, and he reached down and twitched upthe blind.
Gazing out from beneath the band which had held him in utter darkness,the deep-set rattlesnake eye of Dunbar rolled hatefully at the man onhis back. He crooked his neck and twisted his malformed head, and Bowlesfelt him swelling like a lizard between his knees--then, with a squeal,he bared his teeth and snapped at his leg like a dog. The next momenthis head went down and he rose in a series of buck-jumps, whirlingsideways, turning half-way round, and landing with a jolt. And at everyjolt Bowles' head snapped back and his muscles grew stiff at the jar.But just as the world began to grow black, and he felt himself shaken inhis seat, the trailing neck rope lapped Dunbar about the hind legs andhe paused to kick himself free.
It was only a moment's respite, but it heartened the rider mightily. Hecaught the stirrup that he had lost, wiped the mist from his eyes, andsettled himself deep in the saddle.
"Good boy! Stay with 'im!" yelled the maniacs on the fence-posts; andthen old Dunbar broke loose. The man never lived that could ridehim--Bowles realized that as he clutched for the horn--and then hispride rose in him and he sat limber and swung the quirt. One, two, threetimes, he felt himself jarred to the center, and the blood burstsuddenly from his mouth and nose and splashed in a crimson flood. He hadno knowledge of what was happening now, for he could not see; and then,with a heart-breaking wrench, he felt himself hurled from the saddle andsent tumbling heels over head. He struck, and the corral dirt rose inhis face; there was a cloud before him, a mist; and then, as thedizziness vanished, he beheld the man-killer charging at him through thedust with all his teeth agleam.
"THE MAN-KILLER CHARGED AT HIM THROUGH THE DUST"]
"Look out!" yelled the crowd on the fence-top. "Look out!"
And Bowles scrambled up and fell over to one side. His knees were weak;they would not bear him; and through the dust cloud he saw Dunbar slideand turn again. Then of a sudden he was in a tangle of legs and stirrupsand striking feet, and somebody grabbed him by the arm. Three pistolshots rang out above him; he was snaked violently aside; and old Dunbarwent down like a log. Somebody had killed him, that was certain; but itwas not Brigham, for he could tell by the characteristic cursing that itwas his partner who had pulled him out and was dragging him across thecorral. He blinked and opened his eyes as he fetched up against thefence--and there was Dixie Lee, with a big, smoking pistol in her hand,striding after him out of the dust.
She looked down at him, her eyes blazing with anger; and then, snappingthe empty cartridges out of the Colt's, she handed it back to a puncher.
"Well," she said, "I hope you boys are satisfied now!" And without asecond look at Brigham, Bowles, Hardy Atkins, or the remains of Dunbar,she turned and strode back to the house.
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