CHAPTER VII
HIS "GAT"
"How much 'Jack' did you say you got?" Pinkey, an early caller at theProuty House, sitting on his heel with his back against the wall,awaited with evident interest an answer to this pointed question. Heexplained further in response to Wallie's puzzled look:"Kale--dinero--the long green--_money_."
"Oh," Wallie replied, enlightened, "about $1,800." He was in his bluesilk pajamas, sitting on the iron rail of his bed--it had an edge like aknife-blade.
There was no resemblance between this room and the one he had lastoccupied. The robin's egg-blue alabastine had scaled, exposing largepatches of plaster, and the same thing had happened to the enamel of thewash-bowl and pitcher--the dents in the latter leading to the conclusionthat upon some occasion it had been used as a weapon.
A former occupant who must have learned his art in the penitentiary hadknotted the lace curtains in such a fashion that no one ever hadattempted to untie them, while the prison-like effect of the iron bed,with its dingy pillows and counterpane and sagging middle, was such asto throw a chill over the spirits of the cheeriest traveller.
It had required all Wallie's will power, when he had arrived atmidnight, to rise above the depression superinduced by thesesurroundings. His luggage was piled high in the corner, while the twotrunks setting outside his doorway already had been the cause of threatsof an alarming nature, made against the owner by sundry guests who hadbruised their shins on them in the ill-lighted corridor.
Pinkey's arrival had cheered him wonderfully. Now when that personobserved tentatively that $1,800 was "a good little stake," Wallieblithely offered to count it.
"You got it with you?"
Wallie nodded.
"That's chancey," Pinkey commented. "They's people in the country wouldstick you up if they knowed you carried it."
"I should resist if any one attempted to rob me," Wallie declared as hesat down on the rail gingerly with his bulging wallet.
"What with?" Pinkey inquired, humorously.
Wallie reached under his pillow and produced a pearl-handled revolver of32 calibre.
"Before leaving I purchased this pistol."
Pinkey regarded him with a pained expression.
"Don't use that dude word, feller. Say 'gun,' 'gat,' 'six-shooter,'anything, but don't ever say 'pistol' above a whisper."
A little crest-fallen, Wallie laid it aside and commenced to count hismoney. Pinkey, he could see, was not impressed by the weapon.
"Yes, eighteen hundred exactly. I spent $250 purchasing a campingoutfit."
Pinkey looked at him incredulously. He was thinking of the frying-pan,coffee-pot, and lard-kettle of which his own consisted. He made nocomment, however, until Wallie mentioned his portable bath-tub, which,while expensive, he declared he considered indispensable.
"Yes," Pinkey agreed, drily, "you'll be needin' a portable bath-tubsomething desperate. I wisht I had one. The last good wash I took was inCrystal Lake the other side of the Bear-tooth Mountain. When I was doneI stood out till the sun dried me, then brushed the mud off with awhisk-broom."
"That must have been uncomfortable," Wallie observed, politely. "I hopeyou will feel at liberty to use my tub whenever you wish."
"That won't be often enough to wear it out," said Pinkey, candidly. "Butyou'd better jump into your pants and git over to the land-office. Wewant to nail that 160 before some other 'Scissor-bill' beats you to it."
Under Pinkey's guidance Wallie went to the land office, which was in therear of a secondhand store kept by Mr. Alvin Tucker, who was also theland commissioner.
The office was in the rear and there were two routes by which it waspossible to get in touch with Mr. Tucker: one might gain admittance bywalking over the bureaus, centre-tables, and stoves that blocked thefront entrance, or he could crawl on his hands and knees through a largeroll of chicken-wire wedged into the side door of the establishment.
The main-travelled road, however, was over the tables and bureaus, andthis was chosen by Pinkey and Wallie, who found Mr. Tucker at his deskattending to the State's business.
Mr. Tucker had been blacking a stove and had not yet removed the tracesof his previous occupation, so when Pinkey introduced him his hand wasof a colour to make Wallie hesitate for the fraction of a second beforetaking it.
Mr. Tucker being a man of great good nature took no offense, although hecould scarcely fail to notice Wallie's hesitation; on the contrary, heinquired with the utmost cordiality:
"Well, gents, what can I do for you this morning?" His tone implied thathe had the universe at his disposal, and he also looked it as he tippedback his swivel chair and regarded them.
"He wants to file on the 160 on Skull Crick that Boise Bill abandoned,"said Pinkey.
Tucker's gaze shifted.
"I'm not sure it's open to entry," he replied, hesitatingly.
"Yes, it is. His time was up a month ago, and he ain't even fenced it."
"You know he's quarrelsome," Tucker suggested. "Perhaps it would bebetter to ask his intentions."
"He ain't none," Pinkey declared, bluntly. "He only took it up to holdfor Canby and he's never done a lick of work on it."
"Of course it's right in the middle of Canby's range," Tucker argued,"and you can scarcely blame him for not wanting it homesteaded. Whydon't you select a place that won't conflict with his interests?"
"Why should we consider his interests? He don't think of anybody else'swhen he wants anything," Pinkey demanded.
"Your friend bein' a newcomer, I thought he wouldn't want to locate inthe middle of trouble."
"He can take care of himself," Pinkey declared, confidently; though, asthey both glanced at Wallie, there seemed nothing in his appearance tojustify his friend's optimism. He looked a lamblike pacifist as he satfingering his straw hat diffidently.
Tucker brought his feet down with the air of a man who had done his dutyand washed his hands of consequences; he prepared to make out thenecessary papers. As he handled the documents he left fingerprints ofsuch perfection on the borders that they resembled identification marksfor classification under the Bertillon system, and Wallie was far moreinterested in watching him than in his intimation that there was troublein the offing if he made this filing.
He paid his fees and filled out his application, leaving Tucker's officewith a new feeling of importance and responsibility. One hundred andsixty acres was not much of a ranch as ranches go in Wyoming, but it wasa beginning.
As soon as they were out of the building, Wallie inquired casually:
"Does Miss Spenceley live in my neighbourhood?"
"Across the mounting!" Which reply conveyed nothing to Wallie. Pinkeyadded: "I punch cows for their outfit."
"Indeed," politely. Then, curiosity consuming him, he hazarded anotherquestion:
"What did she say when she heard I was coming?"
"She laughed to kill herself." Pinkey seldom lied when the truth wouldanswer.
In the meantime, Tucker, in guarded language, was informing Canby of theentry by telephone. From the sounds which came through the receiver hehad the impression that the land baron was pulling the telephone out bythe roots in his exasperation at the negligence of his hireling whom hehad supposed had done sufficient work to hold it.
"I'll attend to it," he answered.
Tucker thought there was no doubt about that, and he had a worthyfeeling of having earned the yearly stipend which he received from Canbyfor these small services.
"We'd better sift along and git out there," Pinkey advised when theywere back at the Prouty House.
"To-day?"
"You bet you! That's no dream about Boise Bill bein' ugly, and he mighttry to hold the 160 if he got wind of your filing."
"In that event?"
"In that event," Pinkey mimicked, "he's more'n likely to run you off,unless you got the sand to fight fer it. That's what I meant in mytelegram."
"Oh," said Wallie, enlightened. "'Sand' and--er--intestines aresynonymous terms in your verna
cular?"
Pinkey stared at him.
"Say, feller, you'll have to learn to sling the buckskin before we canunderstand each other. Anyhow, as I was sayin', you got a goodproposition in this 160 if you can hold it."
"If I am within my rights I shall adhere to them at all hazards,"declared Wallie, firmly. "At first, however, I shall use moral suasion."
"Can't you say things plainer?" Pinkey demanded, crossly. "Why don't youtalk United States? You sound like a Fifth Reader. If you mean you aimto argue with him, he'll knock you down with a neck-yoke while you'regittin' started."
"In that event, if he attempted violence, I should use my pistol--my'gat'--and stop him."
"In that event," Pinkey relished the expression, "in that event I shallcarry a shovel along to bury you."
Riding a horse from the livery stable and accompanied by Pinkey drivingtwo pack-horses ahead of him, Wallie left the Prouty House shortly afternoon, followed by comments of a jocular nature from the bystanders.
"How far is it?" inquired Wallie, who was riding his English saddle and"posting."
"Twenty for me and forty for you, if you aim to ride that way," saidPinkey. "Why don't you let out them stirrups and shove your feet in'em?"
Wallie preferred his own style of riding, however, but observed that hehoped never to have another such fall as he had had at The Colonial.
"A feller that's never been throwed has never rid," said Pinkey, sagely,and added: "You'll git used to it."
This Wallie considered a very remote possibility, although he did notsay so.
Once they left the town they turned toward the mountains andconversation ceased shortly, for not only were they obliged to ridesingle file through the sagebrush and cacti but the trot of the liveryhorse soon left Wallie with no breath nor desire to continue it.
The vast tract they were traversing belonged to Canby, so Pinkeyinformed him, and as mile after mile slipped by he was amazed at theextent of it. Through illegal fencing, leasing, and driving smallstockmen from the country by various methods, Canby had obtained controlof a range of astonishing circumference, and Wallie's homestead wasnearly in the middle of it.
Although they had eaten before leaving Prouty, it was not more than twoo'clock before Wallie began to wonder what they would have for supper.They were not making fast time, for his horse stumbled badly and thepack-horses, both old and stiff, travelled slowly, so at three o'clockthe elusive mountains seemed as far away as when they had started.
Unable to refrain any longer, Wallie called to ask how much farther.
"Twelve miles, or some such matter." Pinkey added: "I'm so hungry Idon't know where I'm goin' to sleep to-night. That restaurant is reg'larstummick-robbers."
By four o'clock every muscle in Wallie's body was aching, but hisfatigue was nothing as compared with his hunger. He tried to admire thescenery, to think of his magnificent prospects, of Helene Spenceley, buthis thoughts always came back quickly to the subject of food and awonder as to how soon he could get it.
In his regular, well-fed life he never had imagined, much less known,such a gnawing hunger. His destination represented only something to eatand it seemed to him they never would get there.
"What will we have for supper, Pinkey?" he shouted, finally.
Pinkey replied promptly:
"I was thinkin' we'd have ham and gra-vy and cowpuncher perta-toes; andmaybe I'll build some biscuit, if we kin wait fer 'em."
"Let's not have biscuit--let's have crackers."
Ham and gravy and cowpuncher potatoes! Wallie rode along with his mouthwatering and visualizing the menu until Pinkey came to a halt and saidwith a dramatic gesture:
"There's your future home, Mr. Macpherson! That's what _I_ call areg'lar paradise."
As Mr. Macpherson stared at the Elysium indicated, endeavouring todiscover the resemblance, surprise kept him silent.
So far as he could see, it in nowise differed from the arid plain acrosswhich they had ridden. It was a pebbly tract, covered with sagebrush andcacti, which dropped abruptly to a creek-bed that had no water in it.Filled with sudden misgivings, he asked feebly:
"What's it good for?"
"Look at the view!" said Pinkey, impatiently.
"I can't eat scenery."
"It'll be a great place for dry-farmin'."
Wallie looked at a crack big enough to swallow him and observedhumorously:
"I should judge so."
"You see," Pinkey explained, enthusiastically, "bein' clost to themountings, the snow lays late in the spring and all the moisture they isyou git it."
"I see." Wallie nodded comprehensively. "Why didn't you take it upyourself, Pinkey?"
"Oh, I got to make a livin'."
There was food for thought in the answer and Wallie pondered it as hegot stiffly out of the saddle.
"Can I be of any assistance?" he asked, politely.
"You can git the squaw-axe and hack out a place fer a bed-ground and youcan hunt up some firewood and take a bucket out of the pack and go tothe crick and locate some water while I'm finding a place to picketthese horses."
Because it would hasten supper, it seemed to Wallie that wood and waterwere of more importance than clearing a place to sleep, so he collecteda small pile of twigs and dead sagebrush, then took an aluminum kettlefrom his camping utensils and walked along the bank of Skull Creeklooking for a pool which contained enough water to fill the kettle. Hefinally saw one, and planting his heels in a dirt slide, shot like atoboggan some twenty feet to the bottom. Filling his kettle he walkedback over the boulders looking for a more convenient place to get upthan the one he had descended.
He was abreast of the camp before he knew it.
"Whur you goin'?" Pinkey, who had returned, was hanging over the edgewatching him stumbling along with his kettle of water.
"I'm hunting a place to get up," said Wallie, tartly.
"How did you git down?"
"'Way back there."
"Why didn't you git up the same way?"
"Couldn't--without spilling the water."
"I'll git a rope and snake you."
"This doesn't seem like a very convenient location," said Wallie,querulously.
"You can cut out some toe-holts to-morrow," Pinkey suggested,cheerfully. "The ground has got such a good slope to drain the corralsis the reason I picked it to build on."
This explanation reconciled Wallie to the difficulty of getting water.To build a fire and make the coffee was the work of a moment, but itseemed twenty-four hours to Wallie, sitting on a saddle-blanket watchingevery move like a hungry bird-dog. He thought he never had smelledanything so savoury as the odour of potatoes and onions cooking, andwhen the aroma of boiling coffee was added to it!
Pinkey stopped slicing ham to point at the sunset.
"Ain't that a great picture?"
"Gorgeous," Wallie agreed without looking.
"If I could paint."
"Does it take long to make gravy?" Wallie demanded, impatiently.
"Not so very. I'll git things goin' and let you watch 'em while I go andtake a look at them buzzard-heads. If a horse ain't used to bein' onpicket he's liable to go scratchin' his ear and git caught and chokehisself."
"Couldn't we eat first?" Wallie asked, plaintively.
"No, I'll feel easier if I know they ain't tangled. Keep stirrin' thegravy so it won't burn on you," he called back. "And set the coffee offin a couple of minutes."
Wallie was on his knees absorbed in his task of keeping the gravy fromscorching when a sound made him turn quickly and look behind him.
A large man on a small white pony was riding toward him. He lookedunprepossessing even at a distance and he did not improve, as he camecloser. His nose was long, his jaw was long, his hair needed cutting andwas greasy, while his close-set blue eyes had a decidedly meanexpression. There was a rifle slung under his stirrup-leather, and asix-shooter in its holster on his hip was a conspicuous feature of hiscostume.
He sat for a moment, looking, the
n dropped the bridle reins as hedismounted and sauntered up to the camp-fire.
Wallie was sure that it was "Boise Bill," from a description Pinkey hadgiven him, and his voice was slightly tremulous as he said:
"Good evening."
The stranger paid no attention to his greeting. He was surveying Walliein his riding breeches and puttees with an expression that was at onceamused and insolent.
"Looks like you aimed to camp a spell, from your lay-out," he observed,finally.
"Yes, I am here permanently." Wallie wondered if the stranger could seethat his hand was trembling as he stirred the gravy.
"Indeed! How you got that figgered?" asked the man, mockingly.
Wallie replied with dignity:
"This is my homestead; I filed on it this morning."
"Looks like you'd a-found out if it was open to entry before you went toall that trouble." Boise Bill shuffled his feet so that a cloud of thelight wood-ashes rose and settled in the gravy.
Wallie frowned but picked them out patiently.
"I did," he answered, moving the pan.
"Then somebody's lied to you, fer I filed on this ground and I ain'tabandoned it."
"You've never done any work on it, and Mr. Tucker has my filing fees andapplication so I cannot see that there is any argument about it."
Wallie was very polite and conciliatory.
"You'll find that filin' is one thing and holdin' is another in thisman's country." Quite deliberately he scuffled up another cloud ofcinders.
"I will appreciate it," said Wallie, sharply, "if you won't kick ashesin my gravy!"
"And I will appreciate it," Boise Bill mocked him, "if you'll git yourjunk together and move off my land in about twenty minutes."
"I refuse to be intimidated," said Wallie, paling. "I shall begin acontest suit if necessary."
"I allus fight first and contest afterward." Boise Bill lifted his hugefoot and kicked over first the pan of ham and then the gravy. Walliestood for a second staring at the tragedy. Then his nerves jumped and heshook in a passion which seemed to blind and choke him.
Boise Bill had drawn his six-shooter and Wallie was looking into thebarrel of it. His homestead, his life, was in jeopardy, but this seemednothing at all compared to the fact that the ruffian, with deliberatemalice, had kicked over his supper!
"Have I got to try a chunk o' lead on you?" Boise Bill snarled at him.
For answer Wallie stooped swiftly and gripped the long handle of thefrying-pan. He swung it with all his strength as he would have swung atennis racket. Knocking the six-shooter from Boise Bill's hand he jumpedacross the fire at him. Scarcely conscious of what he was doing in thefrenzy of rage that consumed him, Wallie whipped his littlepearl-handled pistol from his breeches pocket and as Boise Bill openedhis mouth in an exclamation of astonishment, Wallie shoved it down histhroat, yelling shrilly that if he moved an eye-lash he would pull thetrigger!
This was the amazing sight that stopped Pinkey in his tracks aseffectively as a bullet.
Wallie heard his step and asked plaintively but without turning:
"What'll I do with him?"
"As you are, until I pull his fangs."
Pinkey threw the shells from Boise Bill's rifle and removed thecartridges from his six-shooter. Handing the latter back to him he saidlaconically:
"Drift! And don't you take the beef-herd gait, neither."
The malevolent look Boise Bill sent over his shoulder was wasted onWallie who was picking out of the ashes and dusting the ham for which hehad stood ready to shed his blood.
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