CHAPTER XIX
BRANDED
There is no calm so peaceful, no peace so idyllic as that which isto be found on a Western ranch on a fine summer evening. Life atsuch a time and in such a place is at its smoothest, its almostUtopian perfection. The whole atmosphere is laden with a sense ofgood-fellowship between men and between beasts. The day's work isover, and men idle and smoke, awaiting the pleasures of an amplefare with appetites healthily sharp-set, and lounge contentedly,contemplating their coming evening's amusement with untroubled minds.
And the beasts which are their care. Fed to repletion on the succulentprairie grasses they know nothing but contentment. The shadow of thebutcher's knife has no terrors for them. They live only for their day.And the evening, when their stomachs are full and repose is in sight,is the height of their contentment.
Then, too, Nature herself is at her gentlest. The fierce passion ofheat has passed, the harsher winds have died down, the worryinginsects are already seeking repose. There is nothing left to harry thehuman mind and temper. It is peace--perfect peace.
It was such an evening on the ranch of the "AZ's." All theseconditions were prevailing, except that the mind of Dan McLagan, theowner, was disturbed. Six of his boys were out on the special duty ofsearching for stolen cattle. This was bad enough, but Dan was frettingand chafing at the unpleasant knowledge that the epidemic of cattlestealing was spreading all too quickly.
He was never a patient man. His Celtic nature still retained all itsnative irritability, and his foreman, Jim Thorpe, had ampledemonstration of it. He had spent several uncomfortable half hoursthat day with his employer. He was responsible for the working of theranch. It was his to see that everything ran smoothly, and though thedepredations of cattle-thieves could hardly come under the heading ofhis responsibilities, yet no employer can resist the temptation ofvisiting his chagrin on the head of his most trusted servant.
The hue and cry had been in progress for several weeks, and as yet noresult of a hopeful nature had been obtained. And, in consequence, atevery opportunity Dan McLagan cursed forcibly into the patient ears ofhis foreman.
Now, Jim was enjoying a respite. Dan had retired to his house forsupper, and he was waiting for his to be served. He was down at thecorrals, leaning on the rails, watching the stolid milch cows nuzzlingand devouring their evening hay. His humor was interested. They hadeaten all day. They would probably eat until their silly eyes closedin sleep. He was not sure they wouldn't continue to chew their cudamidst their bovine dreams. Each cow was already balloon-like, but theinflation was still going on. And each beast was still ready to hornthe others off in its greediness.
He thought, whimsically, that the humbler hog was not given a fairposition in the ranks of gluttony. Surely the bovine was the "limit"in that basest of all passions. One cow held his attention moreparticularly than the others. She was small, and black and white, andher build suggested Brittany extraction. She ran a sort of free lancepiracy all round the corral. Her sharp horns were busy whenever shesaw a sister apparently enjoying herself too cordially. And in everycase she drove the bigger beast out and seized upon her choicestmorsel.
Nor could he help thinking how little was the difference between manand beast. It was only in its objective. The manner was much the same.Yes, and the very means employed created in him an impressionfavorable to the hapless quadruped. Surely their battle for existencewas more honest, more natural.
His mood was pessimistic, even for a man who sees the traffic which ishis keenest interest threatened by a marauding gang of land pirates.Maybe it was the wearing hours of McLagan's nagging that caused hismood. Maybe it was an inclination brought about by the long train ofdisappointments that had been his as he trod his one-way trail. Maybe,as the cynical might suggest, his liver was out of order. However,whether it was sheer pessimism, or even the shadow cast by approachingevents, he felt it would be good when the evening was past, and hecould forget things in the blessed unconsciousness of sleep.
But his meditations were suddenly disturbed. The ranch dogs startedtheir inharmonious chorus, and experience taught him that there areonly two things which will stir the lazy ranch dog to vocal protest;the advent of the disreputable sun-downer, and the run of drivencattle.
He quickly discovered, at sight of a thick rising dust to the westwardof the ranch, that the present disturbance was not caused by anyragged "bum." Cattle were coming in to the yards, and it neededlittle imagination on his part to guess that some of the boys onspecial duty were running in lost stock.
His pessimism vanished in a moment, and in its place a keen enthusiasmstirred. If it were some of the lost stock then they would probablyhave news of the thieves. Maybe even they'd made a capture. He hurriedat once in the direction of the approaching cattle. Nor was he alonein his desire to learn the news. Every man had left his supper at thebunk house to greet the newcomers.
The incoming herd was still some distance away, but the bunch wasconsiderable judging by the cloud of dust. Jim found himself amongst agroup of the boys, and each and all of them were striving to ascertainthe identity of those who were in charge.
"Ther's two o' them, sure," exclaimed Barney Job, after a longscrutiny. "Leastways I ken make out two. The durned fog's that thickyou couldn't get a glimpse o' Peddick's flamin' hair in it."
"Cut it out, Barney," cried the lantern-faced owner of the fiery redhair. "Anyways a sight o' my hair 'ud be more encouragin' than yourugly 'map.' Seems to me, bein' familiar with my hair 'll make thefires of hell, you'll likely see later, come easier to you when theygit busy fumigatin' your carkis."
"Gee! that's an elegant word," cried Hoosier Pete, a stripling ofyouthful elderliness. "Guess you've bin spellin' out Gover'mentReg'lations."
"Yep. San'tary ones. Barney's thinkin' o' gettin' scoured in a kettleo' hot water," said Peddick, with a laugh.
"Needs it," muttered a surly Kentuckian.
"Hey!" interrupted Barney, quite undisturbed by his comrades' remarksupon his necessity for careful ablutions. "Them's Joe Bloc an' DutchKemp. I'd git Dutch's beard anywher's. You couldn't get thro' it witha hay rake. Sure," he went on, shading his eyes, "that's them an'they're drivin' them forty three-year-olds that was pinched up at theback o' the northern spurs. Say----"
But he broke off, concentrating upon the oncoming cattle even moreclosely. Everybody was doing the same. Jim had also recognized the twocow-punchers. And he, like the rest, was wondering and speculating asto the news that was to be poured into their curious ears directly.
The cattle were running and it was evident the two boys were in ahurry for their supper, or to deliver their news. The waiting crowdcleared the way. And one of the boys, at Jim's order, hurried down tothe corrals to receive them. He stood by, joined by several others, tohead the beasts into their quarters.
They came with a rush of shuffling, plodding feet bellowing protest atthe hurry, or welcome at sight of the piles of hay that one or two ofthe men were already pitching into the corral for their consumption.And in less than five minutes they were housed for the night.
Then it was that Jim greeted the two cow-punchers.
"The boss'll be pleased, boys. Glad to see you back, Dutchy, and you,too, Joe. Guess you'll have things to report so----"
The boys were out of their saddles and loosening their cinchas. Theyeyed him curiously without attempting to acknowledge his greeting. Therest of the men had gathered round. And now it was noticeable thatwhile they pointedly ignored their foreman, the newcomers, equallymarkedly, exchanged friendly nods and grins with their colleagues.Just for a moment Jim wondered. Then annoyance added sharpness to hiswords. He was not accustomed to being treated in this cool fashion.
"You best come right up to my shack and report," he said. "You can getsupper after. I'll need to know at once----"
"Best get a look at them beasties fust," said Joe, in a harsh tone,and with an unmistakable laugh.
"Yep," sniggered Dutchy, with an insolent look into Jim's face.
The studied insult of both the men was so apparent that all eyes wereturned curiously upon the foreman. For Jim Thorpe was popular. Morethan popular. He was probably the best-liked man on the range. Then,too, Jim, in their experience, was never one to take things "lyingdown."
His dark, clear brows drew ominously together, and his eyes narrowedunpleasantly.
"Say, the sun's hurt you some, boys, hasn't it?" he asked sharply.Then he went on rapidly, his teeth clipping with each sentence: "Seehere, get right up to my shack. I'll take that report. And I don'tneed any talk about it. Get me?"
But though the men remained silent the insolence of their eyesanswered him. Dutchy slung his saddle over his shoulder and stoodwhile Joe picked up his belongings. And in those moments his eyesunflinchingly fixed his foreman, and a smile, an infuriating smile ofcontempt, slowly broke over his heavy Teutonic features.
It was too much for Jim. He pointed at his shack. "Hustle!" he cried.
But before the men had time to move away, two of the boys, who hadelected to obey their comrade's suggestion, came running up from thecorral.
"Say, boss," cried Barney, excitedly, "get a peek at their brands!"
Nor was there any mistaking the man's anxiety--even awe. There was ageneral rush for the corral. And by the time Jim reluctantly reachedthe fences he heard smothered exclamations on all sides of him. Hecame to the barred gateway and peered over at the cattle inside.
The first thing that caught his eye was the broadside of a big steer.On its shoulder was a brand, at which he stared first incredulously,but presently with horrified amazement. It was the familiar "[doublestar]." He looked at others. Everywhere he saw his own brand,"double-star twice," as it was popularly known, on cattle which herecognized at a glance as being some of his employer's finesthalf-bred Polled Angus stock.
His feelings at that moment were indescribable. Astonishment,incredulity, anger all battled for place, and the outcome of them allwas a laugh at once mirthless and angry. He turned on the two menwaiting with their shouldered saddles.
"I'll take your report--up at the shack." And he pointed at his hut,fifty yards away.
The men moved off obediently. And Jim, left to his own unpleasantthoughts, followed them up.
Half-way to the hut he was joined by McLagan. The Irishman had seenthe cattle come in, and was anxious to learn the particulars. Hismanner, after his recent ill-humor, was almost jocular. He realizedthat these were cattle he had lost.
"Say, Jim, those boys have picked up a dandy bunch of the lost ones.How many?"
But the foreman's humor did not by any means fit in with hisemployer's.
"Didn't count 'em," he said shortly. "I'm just getting the boys'report. You best come along. It looks like being interesting." Justfor a moment a half-smile lit his face.
Dan glanced at him out of the tail of his eyes and fell in beside him.His foreman's manner was new, and he wondered at it. However, Jim madeno effort to open his lips again until they reached the hut.
When they came up the boys were waiting outside the door. Jim promptlyled the way in, angrily conscious of the meaning looks which passedbetween them.
Once inside, and Dan had seated himself on the bed, Jim called the twomen in.
"Come along in, boys," he cried, and his manner had become more usual.He understood their attitude now, and somehow he found himselfsympathizing with their evident suspicions. After all, he had growninto a thorough cattleman. "Speak up, lads. Let's get the yarn. Theboss wants to hear where you found those cattle of his--re-brandedwith my own brand."
McLagan sat up with a jerk.
"Eh?"
His face was a study. But chiefly it expressed a belief that he wasbeing laughed at. Jim looked squarely into his half-resentful eyes andnodded.
"Those cattle they've just brought in are branded with my brand. Youknow the brand. You helped me design it. '[double star].' And," headded whimsically, "it's a mighty fine one for obliterating originalbrands, now I come to study it."
But Dan turned sharply on the two men.
"Let's hear it," he said; and there was no pleasantness in his tone.
It was Joe Bloc who took the lead. Dutchy, though speaking thelanguage of the West freely enough, had, in moments of involvedexplanation, still the Teutonic failing of involving the verb.
"You see, boss," said Joe, his eyes steadily fixed on the foreman'sunflinching face, "we got the news in Barnriff. We'd been out for nighfour days, and we'd decided to ride in here to get fresh plugs. Ourswus good an' done, an' we'd set 'em in Doc Crombie's barn, an' had gotover to the saloon for a feed."
"Feed?"
But Dan's sarcasm had no effect.
"That's how, boss. Wal, right in the bar was one of the '[diamond] P'boys--one of old man Blundell's hands."
"Yes, yes."
"He'd got a tidy yarn, sure, an' seein' we was your hands, an' hisyarn was to do with your stock, he handed it to us with frills. He'djust got in from the hills, wher' he'd been trailin'. He said he'drun into Jim Thorpe's stock, tucked away in as nice a hollow ofsweet grass as you'd find this side of Kentucky. Wal, he hadn't nosuspicion, seein' whose beasties they were, an' he was for makin'back. He'd started, he said, when somethin' struck him. Y'see heguessed of a sudden it was a mighty big bunch for a ranch-foreman tobe running, an' ther' was such a heap o' half-bred Polled Angusamongst 'em. Wal, seein' that kind was your specialty, he justguessed he'd ride round 'em an' git a peek at the brands. Say, as hesaid, the game was clear out at once. They'd every son-of-a-cow got'[double star].' on 'em, but nigh haf wus re-brands _over an'blottin' out the old one_. He got to work an' cut out an' ropedone o' them half-breeds, an' hevin' threw him, got down an lookedclose. The original brand had been burned out, an' the '[double star]'whacked deep over it. That's just all, boss. We got out an' broughtthe bunch in--that is, them we knew belonged to the 'AZ's.'"
An ominous silence followed the finish of his story. The smile onJim's face seemed to be frozen and meaningless. Dan was staringintently at his boots and flicking them with his quirt. Joe turned hishead and exchanged a smile of meaning with Dutchy, and both menshifted into an easy pose, as much as to say, "Well, we've found thecattle duffer for you." The moments passed heavily, then suddenly Danlooked up. There was storm in his eyes. He had forgotten thecow-punchers.
"Well, what are you waitin' for?" he cried. "Get out!"
It was all the thanks the men got for the unctuously given story, andtheir hard work.
They vanished rapidly through the door, and hastened to air theirgrievance and repeat their story with added "frills" to ready ears atthe bunk house.
Jim gazed through the doorway after them, and Dan furtively watchedhim for some silent moments.
"Well?" he said at last.
The tone of his inquiry was peculiar. There was no definite anger init, nor was it a simple question. Yet it stung the man to whom it wasaddressed in a way that set his teeth gritting, and the blood runninghot to his head.
"Well?" he retorted. And their eyes met with the defiance of men ofbig physical courage.
Dan was the first to avert his gaze, but it was only to hide thatwhich lay behind in his thoughts. And when he spoke there was a harshsmile in his eyes.
"What ha' ye got to say t "--he jerked a thumb in the direction of thebunk house--"that feller's yarn?"
Jim's answer was unhesitating. He shrugged as he spoke.
"Guess there's no definite reason to doubt it. There are the cattle.They're all re-branded with my brand. I've seen 'em. The hand that didit was a prentice hand, though. That's the only thing. The veriest kidcould detect the alteration."
"It's your brand." Dan's eyes were still averted.
"Sure it's my brand. There's no need for more than two eyes to seethat."
McLagan's quirt again began to beat his boot-leg. Jim understood thetemper lying behind that nervous movement. He felt sick.
"Wher' d'ye keep your brands?"
"There's one here and one up in the hills, in my little imp
lementshack, where I run my cattle. I keep that there for convenience."
"Just so."
Jim was groping under the bed on which Dan was reclining. He heard thereply, but chose to ignore it.
But he knew by its tone that suspicion had been driven home in thiscattleman's mind. He drew an iron out from amongst the litter underthe bed, and held it up.
"That's the iron," he said. "It would be well to compare it on thebrands. It is identical with the iron I keep up in the hills."
"For convenience."
The men's eyes met again.
"Yes--for convenience." There was a sharpness in the foreman'sacquiescence.
The Irishman's eyes grew hot. The whites began to get bloodshot.
"Seems to me it's fer you to see if that iron fits, an', if so--why?"
In spite of Dan's evident heat his tone was frigid, and its suggestioncould no longer be ignored. Jim Thorpe, conscious of his innocence,was not the man to accept such innuendoes without protest. Suddenlyhis swift rising anger took hold of him, and the fiery protest whichMcLagan had intended to call forth broke out.
"Look here, McLagan," he cried, vainly trying to keep his tone cool,"I've been with you about four years. You know something of myhistory, and the folks I spring from. You know more than any one elseof me. For four years I've worked for you in a way, as you, yourself,have been pleased to say in odd moments of generosity, in a way thatfew hired men generally work out here in the West. You've trusted mein consequence. And you've never found me shirking responsibilities,nor slacking. You've helped me get together a bunch of cattle with aview to becoming independent, and shown me in every way yourconfidence. You've even offered to lease me grazing. These latterthings have not been without profit to you. That's as it should be.However, I just mention these things to point the rise in confidencewhich has grown up between us. You understand? Now the cattle stealingbegins. These cattle are brought in here with my brands on. There isno doubt they are your steers. You listen to the story of the mannerof their finding. You witness the cold suspicion of me which those twomen possess. Those four years go for nothing. Your confidence won'tstand the least strain. You do not accuse me straight out, but show methe suspicion with which you are contaminated in a manner unworthy ofan honest man. I tell you it's rotten. It's--it's despicable. Do youthink I'm going to sit down under this suspicion? It will be all overthe countryside by to-morrow, and I--I shall be a branded man. I tellyou I'm going to sift this matter to the bottom. But make no mistake.Not for your sake--nor for anybody else but myself. Those four yearsof hard honest work don't count with you. Well, they shan't count withme. I'll stay here with you so that I'm handy whenever wanted--youunderstand me, I suppose--'wanted.' But I'll thank you to let mepursue my investigations in the way I choose. Your work shan't suffer.If I don't lay my hands on the thief or thieves in a month's time,then write me down a wrong 'un. If I do round 'em up I'll at once takemy leave of you, for I've no use for a man of your evident calibre."
He was standing when he finished speaking. His dark eyes said far morethan his words, and the clenching hands at his sides conveyed a threatthat Dan was quick to perceive. However he felt the other's words hegave no sign. And his attitude was once more disconcerting andpuzzling to the furious Jim. He wanted one of those outbursts ofCeltic passion he was used to; he wanted a chance to hand outunrestrained the fury that was working up to such a pitch inside him.But the opportunity was not given. Dan spoke coldly and quietly, aprocess which maddened the injured man.
"Words make elegant pictures," he said, "an' I hate pictures. Seehere, Jim Thorpe, you've ladled it out good an' plenty. Now I'm goin'to pass you a dipper o' hash. There's the cattle; there's your brands;there's wher' they was found. Three nuts that need crackin'. You guessyou're goin' to crack them nuts. Wal, I'd say it's up to you. Crack'em. An'--you needn't to stop here to do it. You can get right out an'do the crackin' where you like. An' when you've cracked 'em, an' youfeel like it,--mind, I don't ask you to--you can come along and you'llfind this shack still standin'. That, too, is up to you. Meanwhiles,Joe Bloc'll slep right here. Guess you'll be startin' out crackin'nuts to-morrow morning. There's just one thing I'd like to say beforepartin', Jim," he added, his frigidity thawing slightly. "I'm acattleman first an' last. It's meat and drink an' pocket-money to me.My calibre don't cut any figure when there's cattle stealin' doing. Assure as St. Patrick got busy with the snakes, I'd help to hang thelast cattle-rustler, an' dance on his face after he was dead--if hewas my own brother. Think o' that, and maybe you'll understandthings."
He rose from the bed and walked out of the hut without waiting for areply.
For a full minute Jim stood staring after him through the doorway.Then his eyes came back to the branding-iron on the bed. He stared atit. Then he picked it up and mechanically examined the stars at theend of it. Suddenly he flung it out of sight under the bed where ithad come from, and sat on the blankets with his face resting in hishands.
It was a hideous moment. He was dismissed--under suspicion. Suddenlyhe laughed. But the sound that came was high-pitched, strained, andhad no semblance of a laugh in it. A moment and he sprang to hisfeet.
"By G--, he can't--he can't know what he's done!" he muttered, a newhorror in his tone. "Sacked--'fired'--kicked out! he's branded me assurely--as surely as if he'd put the irons on me!"
The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country Page 21