CHAPTER VIII
THE UPWARD TRAIL
Once across the Missouri the trail began to mount. "Here is the truebuffalo country," thought Mose, as they came to the treeless hills ofthe Great Muddy Water. On these smooth buttes Indian sentinels hadstood, morning and evening, through a thousand years, to signal themovement of the wild herds, and from other distant hills columns ofsmoke by day, or the flare of signal fires at night, had warned thechieftains of the approach of enemies. Down these grassy gulches, aroundthese sugar-loaf mesas, the giant brown cattle of the plains had crawledin long, dark, knobby lines. On the green bottoms they had mated and fedand fought in thousands, roaring like lions, their huge hoofs flingingthe alkaline earth in showers above their heads, their tongues curling,their tails waving like banners.
Mose was already deeply learned in all these dramas. All that he hadever heard or read of the wild country remained in his mind. He carednothing about the towns or the fame of cities, but these deep-worntrails of shaggy beasts filled him with joy. Their histories were moreto him than were the wars of Cyrus and Hannibal. He questioned all themen he met, and their wisdom became his.
Slowly the movers wound their way up the broad, sandy river which camefrom the wilder spaces of the West. The prairie was gone. The tigerlily, the sweet Williams, the pinks, together with the luxuriantmeadows and the bobolinks, were left behind. In their stead, alimitless, upward shelving plain outspread, covered with a short, surly,hairlike grass and certain sturdy, resinous plants supporting flowers ofan unpleasant odor, sticky and weedy. Bristling cacti bulged from thesod; small Quaker-gray sparrows and larks were the only birds. In theswales blue joint grew rank. The only trees were cottonwoods and cutleafwillow, scattered scantily along the elbows in the river.
At last they came to the home of the prairie dog and the antelope--thebuffalo could not be far away! So wide was the earth, so all-embracingthe sky, they seemed to blend at the horizon line, and lakes of watersprang into view, filling a swale in the sod--mystic and beautiful, onlyto vanish like cloud shadows.
The cattle country was soon at hand. Cowboys in sombreros andlong-heeled boots, with kerchiefs knotted about their necks, careeredon swift ponies in and out of the little towns or met the newcomers onthe river road. They rode in a fashion new to Mose, with toes pointedstraight down, the weight of their bodies a little on one side. Theyskimmed the ground like swallows, forcing their ponies mercilessly.Their saddles were very heavy, with high pommels and leather-coveredstirrups, and Mose determined to have one at once. Some of them carriedrifles under their legs in a long holster.
Realizing that those were the real "cow-punchers," the youth studiedtheir outfits as keenly as a country girl scrutinizes the new gown of avisiting city cousin. He changed his manner of riding (which was morenearly that of the cavalry) to theirs. He slung a red kerchief aroundhis neck, and bought a pair of "chaps," a sort of fringed leatherleggings. He had been wearing his pistol at his side, he now slewed itaround to his hip. He purchased also a pair of high-heeled boots and a"rope" (no one called it a "lariat"), and began to acquire thetechnicalities of the range. A horse that reared and leaped to fling itsrider was said to "pitch." Any firearm was a "gun," and any bull, steer,or heifer, a "cow." In a few days all these distinctions had beenmastered, and only the closest observer was able to "cut out" Mose as a"tenderfoot."
Pratt was bound for his brother's ranch on the Big Sandy River, and sopushed on steadily, although it was evident that he was not looked uponwith favor. He had reached a section of country where the cattlemen eyedhis small outfit with contempt and suspicion. He came under the head ofa "nester," or "truck farmer," who was likely to fence in the riversomewhere and homestead some land. He was another menace to the range,and was to be discouraged. The mutter of war was soon heard.
One day a couple of whisky-heated cowboys rode furiously up behind Moseand called out:
"Where in h--l ye think ye're goin', you dam cow milker?"
Mose was angry on the instant and sullenly said: "None of yourbusiness."
After threatening to blow his liver into bits they rode on and repeatedtheir question to Pratt, who significantly replied: "I'm a-goin' to themouth o' the Cannon Ball ef I don't miss it. Any objection?"
"You bet we have, you rowdy baggage puller. You better keep out o' here;the climate's purty severe."
Pratt smiled grimly. "I'm usen to that, boys," he replied, and thecowboys rode on, cursing him for a fool.
At last, late in July, the mouth of the Cannon Ball was reached. Oneafternoon they cut across a peninsular body of high land and came insight of a wide green flat (between two sluggish, percolating streams)whereon a cluster of gray log buildings stood.
"I reckon that's Jake's," said Pratt as they halted to let the horsesbreathe. A minute, zig-zag line of deep green disclosed the course ofthe Cannon Ball, deep sunk in the gravelly soil as it came down to jointhe Big Sandy. All about stood domed and pyramidal and hawk-headedbuttes. On the river bank huge old cottonwoods, worn and leaning,offered the only shadow in a land flooded with vehement, devouringlight. The long journey was at an end.
Daniel raised a peculiar halloo, which brought a horseman hurrying outto meet him. The brother had not forgotten their boyish signal. He rodeup swiftly and slid from his horse without speaking.
Jake resembled his brother in appearance, but his face was sterner andhis eyes keener. He had been made a bold, determined man by the pressureof harsher circumstances. He shook his brother by the hand inself-contained fashion.
"Wal, Dan'l, I'm right glad you got h'yer safe. I reckon this is MissJinnie--she's a right hearty girl, ain't she? Mrs. Pratt, I'm heartilyglad to see ye. This yer little man must be the tit-man. What's yourname, sonny?"
"Dan. H. Pratt," piped the boy.
"Ah--hah! Wal, sir, I reckon you'll make a right smart of a cowboy yet.What's this?" he said, turning to Mose. "This ain't no son-in-law, Ireckon!"
At this question all laughed, Jennie most immoderately of all.
"Not yit, Uncle Jake."
Mose turned red, being much more embarrassed than Jennie. He was indeedenraged, for it hurt his pride to be counted a suitor of this ungainlyand ignorant girl. Right there he resolved to flee at the firstopportunity. Distressful days were at hand.
"You've been a long time gettin' here, Dan."
"Wal, we've had some bad luck. Mam was sick for a spell, and then we hadto lay by an' airn a little money once in a while. I'm glad I'mhere--'peared like we'd wear the hoofs off'n our stawk purty soon." Jakesobered down first. "Wal, now I reckon you best unhook right h'yer for aday or two till we get a minute to look around and see where we're at."So, clucking to the tired horses the train entered upon its last halfmile of a long journey.
Jake's wife, a somber and very reticent woman, with a slender figure anda girlish head, met them at the door of the cabin. Her features wereunusually small for a woman of her height, and, as she shook handssilently, Mose looked into her sad dark eyes and liked her very much.She had no children; the two in which she had once taken a mother's joyslept in two little mounds on the hill just above the house. She seemedglad of the coming of her sister-in-law, though she did not stop to sayso, but returned to the house to hurry supper forward.
After the meal was eaten the brothers lit their pipes and sauntered outto the stables, where they sat down for a long talk. Mose followed themsilently and sat near to listen.
"Now, Dan'l," Jake began, "I'm mighty glad you've come and brought thisyer young feller. We need ye both bad! It's like this"--he paused andlooked around; "I don't want the wimern folks to hear," he explained."Times is goin' to be lively here, shore. They's a big fight on 'twixtus truck farmers and the cattle ranchers. You see, the cattlemen has hadthe free range so long they naturally 'low they own it, and they havethe nerve to tell us fellers to keep off. They explain smooth enoughthat they ain't got nawthin' agin me pussonally--you understand--onlythey 'low me settlin' h'yer will bring others, which is shore aboutright, fer h'yer
you be, kit an' caboodle. Now you comin' in will setthings a-whoopin', an' it ain't no Sunday-school picnic we're a-facin'.We're goin' to plant some o' these men before this is settled. The hullcattle business is built up on robbing the Government. I've said so, an'they're down on me already."
As Jake talked the night fell, and the boy's hair began to stir. A wolfwas "yapping" on a swell, and a far-off heron was uttering his boomingcry. Over the ridges, which cut sharply into the fleckless dull-yellowsky, lay unknown lands out of which almost any variety of fiercemarauder might ride. Surely this was the wild country of which he hadread, where men could talk so glibly of murder and violent death.
"When I moved in here three years ago," continued Jake, "they met me andtold me to get out. I told 'em I weren't takin' a back track that year.One night they rode down a-whoopin' and a-shoutin', and I natcherlypoked my gun out'n the winder and handed out a few to 'em--an' they rodeoff. Next year quite a little squad o' truck farmers moved into the bendjust below, an' we got together and talked it over and agreed to standby. We planted two more o' them, and they got one on us. They controlthe courts, and so we have got to fight. They've got a judge that suits'em now, and this year will be hot--it will, sure."
Dan'l Pratt smoked for a full minute before he said: "You didn't writenothin' of this, Jake."
Jake grinned. "I didn't want to disappoint you, Dan. I knew your heartwas set on comin'."
"Wal, I didn't 'low fer to hunt up no furss," Dan slowly said; "but thefeller that tramps on me is liable to sickness."
Jake chuckled. "I know that, Dan; but how about this young feller?"
"He's all right. He kin shoot like a circus feller, and I reckon he'llstay right by."
Mose, with big heart, said, "You bet I will."
"That's the talk. Well, now, let's go to bed. I've sent word toJennison--he's our captain--and to-morrow we'll settle you on the moutho' the creek, just above here. It's a monstrous fine piece o' ground; Iknow you'll like it."
Mose slept very little that night. He found himself holding his breathin order to be sure that the clamor of a coyote was not a cowboy signalof attack. There was something vastly convincing in Jake Pratt's quietdrawl as he set forth the cause for war.
Early the next morning, Jennison, the leader of the settlers, cameriding into the yard. He was tall, grim lipped and curt spoken. He hadbeen a captain in the Union Army of Volunteers, and was plainly a man ofinflexible purpose and resolution.
"How d'e do, gentlemen?" he called pleasantly, as he reined in hisfoaming broncho. "Nice day."
"Mighty purty. Light off, cap'n, an' shake hands with my brother Dan'l."
Jennison dismounted calmly and easily, dropping the rein over the headof his wild broncho, and after shaking hands all around, said:
"Well, neighbor, I'm right glad to see ye. Jake, your brother, has beensavin' up a homestead for ye--and I reckon he's told you that a mightypurty fight goes with it. You see it's this way: The man that has thewater has the grass and the circle, for by fencing in the river herecontrols the grass for twenty miles. They can range the whole country;nobody else can touch 'em. Williams, of the Circle Bar, controls theriver for twenty miles here, and has fenced it in. Of course he has nolegal right to more than a section or two of it--all the rest is asteal--the V. T. outfit joins him on the West, and so on. They allstand to keep out settlement--any kind--and they'll make a fight onyou--the thing for you to do is move right in on the flat Jake haspicked out for you, and meet all comers."
To this Pratt said: "'Pears to me, captain, that I'd better see if Ican't make some peaceabler arrangement."
"We've tried all peaceable means," replied Jennison impatiently. "Thefact is, the whole cattle business as now constituted is a steal. Itrests on a monopoly of Government land. It's got to go. Settlement iscreeping in and these big ranges which these 'cattle kings' have held,must be free. There is a war due between the sheepmen and the cattlemen,too, and our lay is to side in with the sheepmen. They are mainlyMexicans, but their fight is our feast."
As day advanced men came riding in from the Cannon Ball and from farbelow on the Big Sandy, and under Jennison's leadership the wires of theWilliams fence were cut and Daniel Pratt moved to the creek flat justabove his brother's ranch. Axes rang in the cottonwoods, and whendarkness came, the building of a rude, farmlike cabin went on by thelight of big fires. Mose, in the thick of it, was a-quiver withexcitement. The secrecy, the haste, the glory of flaring fires, thealmost silent swarming of black figures filled his heart to the brimwith exultation. He was satisfied, rapt with it as one in the presenceof heroic music.
But the stars paled before the dawn. The coyotes changed their barkingto a solemn wail as though day came to rob them of some irredeemablejoy. A belated prairie cock began to boom, and then tired, sleepy, andgrimy, the men sat down to breakfast at Jacob Pratt's house. The deedhad been done. Daniel had entered the lion's den.
"Now," said Jennison grimly, "we'll just camp down here in Jake's barnto sleep, and if you need any help, let us know."
The Pratts continued their work, and by noon a habitable shack was readyfor Mrs. Pratt and the children. In the afternoon Mose and Daniel sleptfor a few hours while Jake kept watch. The day ended peacefully, butJennison and one or two others remained to see the newcomer through asecond night.
They sat around a fire not far from the cabin and talked quietly of themost exciting things. The question of Indian outbreaks came up andJennison said: "We won't have any more trouble with the Indians. TheRegulars has broken their backs. They can't do anything now but die."
"They hated to give up this land here," said a small, dark man. "I usedto hear 'em talk it a whole lot. They made out a case."
"Hank lived with 'em four years," Jennison explained to Daniel Pratt.
"The Indians are a good deal better than we give 'em credit for bein',"said another man. "I lived next 'em in Minnesota and I never had notrouble."
Jennison said decisively: "Oh, I guess if you treat 'em right they treatyou right. Ain't that their way, Hank?"
"Well, you see it's like this," said the hairy little man; "they're kindo' suspicious nacherly of the white man--they can't understand what hesays, and they don't get his drift always. They make mistakes that way,but they mean all right. Of course they have young plug-uglies amongst'em jest the same as 'mongst any other c'munity, but the majority of 'emdruther be peaceful with their neighbors. What makes 'em wildest isseein' the buffalo killed off. It's like you havin' your water right cutoff."
As the talk went on, Mose squatted there silently receiving instruction.His eyes burned through the dusk as he listened to the dark little manwho spoke with a note of authority and decision in his voice. His wordsconveyed to Mose a conception of the Indian new to him. These "reddevils" were people. In this man's talk they were husbands and fathers,and sons, and brothers. They loved these lands for which the cattlemenand sheepmen were now about to battle, and they had been dispossessed bythe power of the United States Army, not by law and justice. A desire toknow more of them, to see them in their homes, to understand their wayof thinking, sprang up in the boy's brain.
He edged over close to the plainsman and, in a pause in the talk,whispered to him: "I want you to tell me more about the Indians."
The other man turned quickly and said: "Boy, they're my friends. In ashow-down I'm on their side; my father was a half-breed."
The night passed quietly and nearly all the men went home, leaving thePratts to meet the storm alone, but Jennison had a final word. "You sendyour boy to yon butte, and wave a hat any time during the day and we'llcome, side arms ready. I'll keep an eye on the butte all day and come upand see you to-night. Don't let 'em get the drop on ye."
It was not until the third day that Williams, riding the line in person,came upon the new settler. He sat upon his horse and swore. His face wasdark with passion, but after a few minutes' pause he drew rein and rodeaway.
"Another butter maker," he said to his men as he slipped from thesaddl
e at his own door, "some ten miles up the river."
"Where?"
"Next to Pratt's. I reckon it's that brother o' his he's been talkingabout. They cut my wires and squatted on the Rosebud flat."
"Give the word and we'll run 'em out," said one of his men. "Everyson-of-a-gun of 'em."
Williams shook his head. "No, that won't do. W've got to go slow inrippin' these squatters out o' their holes. They anchor right down tothe roots of the tree of life. I reckon we've got to let 'em creep in;we'll scare 'em all we can before they settle, but when they settlewe've got to go around 'em. If the man was a stranger we might dosomething, but Jake Pratt don't bluff--besides, boys, I've got worsenews for you."
"What's that?"
"A couple of Mexicans with five thousand sheep crossed Lizard Creekyesterday."
The boys leaped to their feet, variously crying out: "Oh, come off! Itcan't be true."
"It is true--I saw 'em myself," insisted Williams.
"Well, that means war. Does the V. T. outfit know it?"
"I don't think so. We've got to stand together now, or we'll be overrunwith sheep. The truck farmers are a small matter compared to thesecursed greasers."
"I guess we'd better send word up the river, hadn't we?" asked hispartner.
"Yes, we want to let the whole county know it."
Cheyenne County was an enormous expanse of hilly plain, if the two wordsmay be used together. Low heights of sharp ascent, pyramid-shapedbuttes, and wide benches (cut here and there by small creek valleys)made up its surface, which, broadly considered, was only the vast,treeless, slowly-rising eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. At longdistances, on the flat, sandy river, groups of squat and squalid ranchbuildings huddled as if to escape the wind. For years it has been asuperb range for cattle, and up till the coming of the first settlementson the Cannon Ball, it had been parceled out among a few big firms, whocut Government timber, dug Government stone, and pastured on Governmentgrass. When the wolves took a few ponies, the ranchers seized theopportunity to make furious outcry and bring in the Government troops tokeep the Indians in awe, and so possessed the land in serenity. Nothingcould be more perfect, more commodious.
But for several years before the coming of the Pratts certain otherominous events were taking place. Over the mountains from the West, orup the slope from New Mexico, enormous herds of small, greasy sheepbegan to appear. They were "walking" for better pasture, and where theywent they destroyed the grasses and poisoned the ground with foul odors.Cattle and horses would not touch any grass which had been even touchedby these ill-smelling woolly creatures. There had been ill-feelingbetween sheepmen and cattlemen from the first, but as water becamescarcer and the range more fully stocked, bitterness developed intohatred and warfare. Sheep herders were considered outcasts, and of nosocial account. To kill one was by some considered a kindness, for itended the misery of a man who would go crazy watching the shifting,crawling maggots anyway. It was bad enough to be a cow milker, but to bea sheep herder was living death.
These herds thickened from year to year. They followed the feed, wereclipped once, sometimes twice, and then were headed back to winter inthe south, dying in myriads on the way--only to reappear augmented innumbers the succeeding year. They were worthless as mutton, and at firstwere never shipped, but as the flocks were graded up, the best wereculled and sent to Eastern markets. They menaced the cattlemen in theWest and South, while the rancher made slow but inexorable advance onthe East. As the cattleman came to understand this his face grew darkand sullen, but thus far no herd had entered the Big Sandy Range, thoughWilliams feared their coming and was ready to do battle.
At the precise time that Daniel Pratt was entering Cheyenne County fromthe East, a Mexican sheepman was moving toward the Cannon Ball from theSouthwest, walking behind ten thousand sheep, leaving a dusty, bare andstinking trail behind him. Williams' report drew the attention of thecattlemen, and the Pratts were for the time forgotten.
A few days after Daniel's assault on the fences of the big ranch, aconference of cattlemen met and appointed a committee to wait upon theowner of the approaching flock of sheep. The Pratts heard of this, and,for reasons of their own, determined to be present. Mose, eager to seethe outcome of these exciting movements, accompanied the Pratts on theirride over the hills.
They found the man and his herders encamped on the bank of a littlestream in a smooth and beautiful valley. He had a covered wagon and asmall tent, and a team of hobbled horses was feeding near. Before thefarmers had time to cross the stream the cattlemen came in sight, ridingrapidly, and the Pratts waited for them to come up. As they halted onthe opposite bank of the stream the sheep owner came out of his tentwith a rifle in his arm and advanced calmly to meet them.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he called pleasantly, but the slant of hischin was significant. He was a tall, thin man with a long beard. He worean ordinary sombrero, with wide, stiff brim, a gray shirt, and loose,gray trousers. At his belt, and significantly in front and buttoneddown, hung two splendid revolvers. Aside from these weapons, he lookedlike a clergyman camping for the summer.
Hitching their horses to the stunted willow and cottonwood trees, thecommittee approached the tent, and Williams, of Circle Bar, becamespokesman: "We have come," he said, "to make a statement. We arepeaceably disposed, but would like to state our side of the case. Therange into which you are walking your sheep is already overstocked withcattle and horses, and we are going to suffer, for you know very wellcattle will not follow sheep. The coming of your flock is likely tobring others, and we can't stand it. We have come to ask you to keep offour range. We have been to big expense to build sheds and fences, and wecan't afford to have sheep thrown in on us."
To this the sheepman made calm reply. He said: "Gentlemen, all that youhave said is true, but it does not interest me. This land belongs asmuch to me as to you. By law you can hold only one quarter section eachby squatters' right. That right I shall respect, but no more. I shalldrive my sheep anywhere on grounds not actually occupied by your feedingcattle. Neither you nor I have much more time to do this kind of thing.The small settler is coming westward. Until he comes I propose to havemy share of Government grass."
The meeting grew stormy. Williams, of Circle Bar, counselled moderation.Others were for beginning war at once. "If this man is looking fortrouble he can easily find it," one of them said.
The sheepman grimly replied: "I have the reputation in my country oftaking care of myself." He drew a revolver and laid it affectionately inthe hollow of his folded left arm. "I have two of these, and in a mix-upwith me, somebody generally gets hurt."
There was deadly serenity in the stranger's utterance, and the cowboysallowed themselves to be persuaded into peace measures, though some wentso far as to handle guns also. They withdrew for a conference, and Jakesaid: "Stranger, we're with you in this fight; we're truck farmers atthe mouth o' the Cannon Ball. My name is Pratt."
The sheepman smiled pleasantly. "Mighty glad to know you, Mr. Pratt. Myname is Delmar."
"This is my brother Dan," said Jake, "and this is his herder."
When Mose took the small, firm hand of the sheepman and looked into hisface he liked him, and the stranger returned his liking. "Your fight ismine, gentlemen," he said. "These cattlemen are holding back settlementfor their own selfish purposes."
Williams, returning at this point, began speaking, but with effort, andwithout looking at Delmar. "We don't want any fuss, so I want to makethis proposition. You take the north side of the Cannon Ball above themain trail, and we'll keep the south side and all the grass up to thetrail. That'll give you range enough for your herd and will savetrouble. We've had all the trouble we want. I don't want any gun-workmyself."
To this the stranger said: "Very well. I'll go look at the ground. If itwill support my sheep I'll keep them on it. I claim to be a reasonableman also, and I've had troubles in my time, and now with a familygrowing up on my hands I'm just as anxious to live peaceable with myfellow-citizens as an
y man, but I want to say to you that I'm a mean manwhen you try to drive me."
Thereupon he shook hands with Williams and several others of the oldermen. After most of the cattlemen had ridden away, Jake said, "Well, now,we'll be glad to see you over at our shack at the mouth o' the CannonBall." He held out his hand and the sheepman shook it heartily. As hewas saying good-by the sheep owner's eyes dwelt keenly on Mose."Youngster, you're a good ways from home and mother."
Mose blushed, as became a youth, and said: "I'm camping in my hat thesedays."
The sheepman smiled. "So am I, but I've got a wife and two daughtersback in Santy Fay. Come and see me. I like your build. Well, gentlemen,just call on me at any time you need me. I'll see that my sheep don'ttrouble you."
"All right; you do the same," replied the Pratts.
"You fellows hold the winning hand," said Delmar; "the small rancherwill sure wipe the sheepman out in time. I've got sense enough to seethat. You can't fight the progress of events. Youngster, you belong tothe winning side," he ended, turning to Mose, "but it's the unpopularside just now."
All this was epic business into which to plunge a boy of eighteen whosehot blood tingled with electric fire at sight of a weapon in the handsof roused and resolute men. He redoubled his revolver practice, andthrough Daniel's gossip and especially through the boasting of Jennie,his skill with the revolver soon became known to Delmar, who invited himto visit him for a trial of skill. "I used to shoot a little myself," hesaid; "come over and we'll try conclusions."
Out of this friendly contest the youth emerged very humble. The oldsheepman dazzled him with his cunning. He shot equally well from eitherhand. He could walk by a tree, wheel suddenly, and fire both revolversover his shoulders, putting the two bullets within an inch of eachother. "That's for use when a man is sneaking onto you from behind," heexplained. "I never used it but once, but it saved my life." He couldfire two shots before Mose could get his pistol from his holster. "A gunis of no use, youngster, unless you can get it into action before theother man. Sling your holster in front and tie it down when you're goingto war, and never let a man come to close quarters with you. The secretof success is to be just a half second ahead of the other man. It savesblood, too."
His hands were quick and sure as the rattlesnake's black, forked tongue.He seemed not to aim--he appeared to shoot from his fist rather thanfrom the extended weapon, and when he had finished Mose said:
"I'm much obliged, Mr. Delmar; I see I didn't know the a b c's--but youtry me again in six months."
The sheepman smiled. "You've got the stuff in you, youngster. If youever get in a serious place, and I'm in reaching distance, let me knowand I'll open a way out for you. Meanwhile, I can make use of you as youare. I need another man. My Mexicans are no company for me. Come overand help me; I'll pay you well and you can have the same fare that I eatmyself. I get lonesome as the old boy."
Thus it came about that Mose, without realizing it, became thatdespised, forlorn thing, a sheep herder. He made a serious socialmistake when he "lined up" with the truck farmers, the tenderfeet andthe "greaser" sheep herders, and cut out "a great gob of trouble" forhimself in Cheyenne County.
He admired Delmar most fervidly, and liked him. There was a quality inhis speech which appealed to the eagle's heart in the boy. The Pratts nolonger interested him; they had settled down into farmers. They hadnothing for him to do but plow and dig roots, for which he had no love.He had not ridden into this wild and splendid country to bend his backover a spade. One day he accepted Delmar's offer and rode home to gethis few little trinkets and to say good-by.
Another reason why he had accepted Delmar's offer lay in the growingannoyance of Jennie's courtship. She made no effort to conceal hergrowing passion. She put herself in his way and laid hands on him withunblushing frankness. Her love chatter wearied him beyond measure, andhe became cruelly short and evasive. Her speech grew sillier as she losther tomboy interests, and Mose avoided her studiously.
That night as he rode up Daniel was at the barn. To him Mose repeatedDelmar's offer.
Pratt at once said: "I don't blame ye fer pullin' out, Mose. I done thebest I could, considerin'. Co'se I can't begin fer to pay ye the wagesDelmar can, but be keerful; trouble is comin', shore pop, and I'd hateto have ye killed, on the wimmen's account. They 'pear to think more o'you than they do o' me."
Jennie's eyes filled with tears when Mose told her of his new job. Shelooked very sad and wistful and more interesting than ever before in herlife as she came out to say good-by.
"Well, Mose, I reckon you're goin' for good?"
"Not so very far," he said, in generous wish to ease her over theparting.
"You'll come 'round once in a while, won't ye?"
"Why, sure! It's only twenty miles over to the camp."
"Come over Sundays, an' we'll have potpie and soda biscuits fer ye," shesaid, with a feminine reliance on the power of food.
"All right," he replied with a smile, and abruptly galloped away.
His heart was light with the freedom of his new condition. He consideredhimself a man now. His wages were definite, and no distinction was drawnbetween him and Delmar himself. Besides, the immense flock of sheepinterested him at first.
His duties were simple. By day he helped to guide the sheep gently totheir feeding and in their search for water; by night he took his turnat guarding from wolves. His sleep was broken often, even when not onguard. They were such timid folk, these sheep; their fears passed easilyinto destructive precipitances.
But the night watch had its joys. As the sunlight died out of the skyand the blazing stars filled the deep blue air above his head, theworld grew mysterious and majestic, as well as menacing. The wolvesclamored from the buttes, which arose on all sides like domes of asleeping city. Crickets cried in the grass, drowsily, and out of thedimness and dusk something vast, like a passion too great for words,fell upon the boy. He turned his face to the unknown West. There thewild creatures dwelt; there were the beings who knew nothing of books ortowns and toil. There life was governed by the ways of the wind, thecurve of the streams, the height of the trees--there--just over the edgeof the plain, the mountains dwelt, waiting for him.
Then his heart ached like that of a young eagle looking from his natalrock into the dim valley, miles below. At such times the youth knew hehad not yet reached the land his heart desired. All this was onlyresting by the way.
At such times, too, in spite of all, he thought of Mary and of Jack;they alone formed his attachments to the East. All else was valueless.To have had them with him in this land would have put his heart entirelyat rest.
The Eagle's Heart Page 8