by Zane Grey
“Excuse me, I would not presume to advise you,” returned Wiggate stiffly.
“Aw, I beg your pardon, Mr. Wiggate,” apologized Pan. “I know you mean well. And I sure thank you.”
Wiggate did not answer, but he took something from his vest pocket, It was a lead bullet, slightly flattened.
“Let me see your gun?” he asked.
Pan handed the weapon to him, butt first. Wiggate took it gingerly, and tried to fit the bullet in a chamber of the cylinder, and then in the barrel. It was too large to go in.
“This is the bullet that killed Hardman,” said Wiggate gravely. “It was never fired from your gun. I shall take pains to make this evident in Marco.”
“I don’t know that it matters but I’m sure much obliged,” returned Pan with warmth.
“Well, I’ll do it anyhow. I’ve been fooled by Hardman and, if you want to know it, cheated too. That’s why I broke with him.”
“Hope you didn’t have any other association with him — besides horse buying.”
“No, but I’m lucky I didn’t.”
“Hardman had his finger in a lot of things in Marco. I wonder who’ll take them up. Say, for instance some of the gold claims he jumped.”
“Well! I knew Hardman had mining interests, but I thought they were legitimate. It’s such a queer mixed-up business, this locating, working, and selling claims. I want none of it.”
“Hardman’s men, either at his instigation or Dick’s, deliberately ran two of my men out of their claims. They’ll tell you so.”
“I’m astonished. I certainly am astonished,” replied Wiggate, and he looked it.
“Marco is the hardest town I ever rode into,” declared Pan. “And I thought some of the prairie towns were bad. But I see now that a few wild cowboys, going on a spree, and shooting up a saloon, or shooting each other occasionally, was tame beside Marco.”
“You’re right. Marco is a hard place, and getting worse. There’s considerable gold. The new Eldorado idea, you know. It draws lawless men and women from places that are beginning to wake up. And they prey upon honest men.”
“Did the Yellow Mine belong to Hardman?” asked Pan curiously.
“Him and Matthews. Young Hardman claims it. He’s already clashed with Matthews, so I heard.”
“He’ll do more than clash with Matthews, if he isn’t careful. He’ll cash!” declared Pan grimly. “Matthews is a four-flush sheriff. He wouldn’t face a dangerous man. But he’d make short work of Dick Hardman.”
“If I’m not inquisitive in asking — would you mind telling me, do you mean to meet Matthews and young Hardman?” inquired Wiggate, hesitatingly.
“I’ll avoid them if possible,” rejoined Pan. “Dad and I will get out of Marco pretty pronto. We’re going to Arizona and homestead.”
“That’s sensible. You’ll have money enough to start ranching. I wish you luck. I shall make this my last horse deal out here. It’s profitable, but Marco is a little too — too raw for my blood.”
According to figures that the counters agreed upon there were fourteen hundred and eighty-six wild horses in the trap.
Wiggate paid cash upon the spot. He had some bills of large denomination, but most of the money was in rather small bills. Pan made haste to get rid of all except his share. He doubled the wages of those who had been hired. Then he divided what was left with Blinky.
“My — Gawd!” gasped that worthy, gazing with distended eyes at the enormous roll of bills. “My Gawd!...How much heah?”
“Count it, you wild-eyed cowpuncher,” replied Pan happily. “It’s your half.”
“But, pard, it’s too much,” appealed Blinky. “Shore I’m robbin’ you. This was your drive.”
“Yes, and it was your outfit,” returned Pan. “You furnished the packs, horses, location, and I furnished the execution. Looks like a square deal, share and share alike.”
“All right, pard,” replied Blinky, swallowing hard. “If you reckon thet way...But will you keep this heah roll fer me?”
“Keep it yourself, you Indian.”
“But, pard, I’ll get drunk an’ go on a tear. An’ you know how bad I am when I get lickered up.”
“Blink, you’re not going to drink, unless in that one deal I hinted about,” said Pan meaningly. “Hope we can avoid it.”
“Aw, we’re turnin’ over a new leaf, huh?” queried the cowboy in strangest voice.
“You are, Blink,” replied Pan with a frank, serious smile. “I’ve been a respectable sober cowboy for some time. You’ve been terrible bad.’
“Who said so?” retorted Blinky, aggressively.
“I heard it at the Yellow Mine.”
That name, and the implication conveyed by Pan made Blinky drop his head. But his somber shame quickly fled.
“Wal, pard, I’ll stay sober as long as you. Shake on it.”
Pan made his plans to leave next morning as early as the wild horses they had hobbled could be gotten into shape to travel. Wiggate expected the riders he had sent for to arrive before noon the next day; and it was his opinion that he would have all the horses he had purchased out of there in a week. Pan and Blinky did not share this opinion.
Wiggate and his men were invited to try one of Lying Juan’s suppers, which was so good that Juan had the offer of a new job. Upon being urged by Pan to accept it, he did so.
“I can recommend Lying Juan as the best cook and most truthful man I ever knew,” remarked Pan.
Blinky rolled on the ground.
“Haw! Haw! Wait till Lyin’ Juan tells you one of his whoppers.”
“Lying Juan! I see. I was wondering about such a queer name for a most honest man,” replied Wiggate. “I know he’s a capital cook. And I guess I can risk the rest.”
After supper Pan and Blinky took great pains cutting and fixing the ropes which they intended to use on the wild horses that were to be taken along with them.
“Wal, now thet’s done, an’ I reckon I’d write to my sweetheart, only I don’t know nothin’ to write aboot,” said Blinky.
“Go to bed,” ordered Pan. “We’ve got to be up and at those horses by daylight. You ought to know that tieing the feet of wild horses is sure enough work.”
Next morning it was not yet daylight when Blinky drawled: “Wal, cowboys, we’ve rolled out, wrangled the hosses, swallered some chuck, an’ now fer the hell!”
In the gray of dawn when the kindling east had begun to dwarf the glory of the morning star, the cowboys drove all the hobbled horses into the smaller corral. There they roped off a corner and hung a white tarpaulin over the rope. This was an improvised second corral where they would put the horses, one by one, as they tied up their feet.
Blinky and Gus made one unit to work together, and Pan, his father, and Brown constituted another.
Blinky, as usual, got in the first throw, and the hungry loop of his lasso circled the front feet of the plunging roan. He stood on his head, fell on his side, and struggled vainly to get up. But he was in the iron hands of masters of horses. Every time the roan half rose, Blinky would jerk him down. Presently Gus flopped down on his head and, while the horse gave up for a moment, Blinky slipped the noose off one foot and tied the other foot up with it. They let the roan rise. On three feet he gave a wonderful exhibition of bucking. When he slowed down they drove him behind the rope corral.
“The night’s gone, the day’s come, the work’s begun,” sang out Blinky. “Eat dust, you buckaroos.”
Pan chose the little bay to tie up first. But after he had roped her and got up to her there did not appear to be any urgent reason for such stringent measure. Little Bay was spirited, frightened, but not wild.
“I’ll risk it,” said Pan, and led her to the rope corral.
The sun rose hot and, likewise, the dust. The cowboys did not slacken their pace! It took two hours of exceedingly strenuous labor to tie up all the wild horses. Each horse had presented a new fight. Then came the quick job of packing their outfits, which Juan had got
ten together. Everyone of the men had been kicked, pulled, knocked down, and so coated with sweat and dust that they now resembled Negroes. Their hands were fairly cooked from the hot ropes’ sizzling when the horses plunged. And at nine o’clock they were ready for the momentous twenty-five mile drive to Marco.
“All ready for the parade!” yelled Blinky. “Go ahaid, you fellars. Open the gate, an’ leave it fer me to close.”
Pan and the others were to ride in front, while Blinky drove the horses. The need for men was in front, not behind. As they started down the wing of the trap to open the gate the roped wild horses began a terrific plunging, kicking, bucking and falling down. Some of them bit the rope on their feet. But little by little Blinky drove them out into the open. Pan and his father dropped back to each side, keeping the horses in a close bunch. That left Gus and Brown in front to run down those that tried to escape. The white-footed stallion was the first to make a break. He ran almost as well on three feet as on four, and it took hard riding to catch him, turn him and get him back in the bunch. The next was Pan’s roan. He gave a great deal of trouble.
“Haw! Haw! Thet’s Pan’s hoss. Kill him! I guess mebbe Pan cain’t pick out the runners.”
When the wild horses got out of the narrow gateway between bluff and slope they tried to scatter. The riders had their hands full. Riding, shooting, yelling, swinging their ropes, they moved the horses forward and kept them together. They were learning to run on three feet and tried hard to escape. Just when the melee grew worst they reached the cedar fence, only half of which had been burned by the resentful Hardman outfit, and this obstruction was of signal help to the riders. Once more in a compact bunch, the wild horses grew less difficult to handle.
As Pan rode up the ridge leading out of the valley he turned to have a last look at this memorable place. To his amaze and delight he saw almost as many wild horses as before the drive.
“Gee, I’m greedy,” he muttered. “Lucky as I’ve been, I want to stay and make another drive.”
“Wal, pard, I’m readin’ your mind,” drawled Blinky. “But don’t feel bad. If we tried thet drive again we might ketch a few. But you cain’t fool them broomies twice the same way.”
Another difficulty soon presented itself. Several of the wild horses could not learn to travel well on three feet.
“Reckon they’ve had long enough trial. We gotta cut them loose,” said Blinky.
“We’ll lose them sure,” complained Pan.
“Mebbe so. But we cain’t do nothin’ else. It’s mighty strange, the difference in hosses. Same as people, come to think aboot it. Some hosses learn quick, an’ now an’ then there’s one like thet stallion. He can run like hell. Most wild hosses fight an’ worry themselves, an’ quick as they learn to get along on three feet they make the best of it. Some have to be cut loose. Fact is, pard, we’ve got a mighty fine bunch, an’ we’re comin’ along better’n I expected...Loose your lasso now, cowboy, for you’ll shore need it.”
The need of that scarcely had to be dwelt on, for the instant Gus and Blinky cut loose a poor traveler, he made a wild dash for liberty. But he ran right into a hateful lasso. This one let out a piercing whistle.
All the time the riders were moving the bunch forward down into flat country between gray brushy hills. Evidently this wide pass opened into a larger valley. The travel was mostly over level ground, which facilitated the progress.
It took two men to lasso a horse, hold his ears, cut the rope round his legs, release the noose on his neck and let him go. They could not afford to lose any precious second over this job. Time was too badly needed.
The parade, as Blinky had called it, made only a few miles an hour, and sometimes this advance was not wholly in the right direction. Nevertheless the hours seemed to fly. There was no rest for horses or men. The afternoon had begun to wane before the horses had all made up their minds that fighting and plunging was of no avail. Weary, exhausted, suffering from the bound up legs, they at last surrendered. Whereupon Blinky and Gus cut their feet loose. Sometimes the whole bunch would have to be held up for one horse that, upon release, could not use his freed foot. Pan had an idea the horses did not want that tried on them twice. They showed intelligence. This method was not breeding the horses for saddle and bridle, which was of course the main consideration to come, but it certainly tamed them. It was a little too cruel for Pan to favor.
“Wal, we’ll shore be lucky if we make Snyder’s pasture tonight,” remarked Blinky. “No hope of makin’ Marco.”
Pan had never expected to do so, and therefore was not disappointed. His heart seemed so full and buoyant that he would not have minded more delay. Indeed he rode in the clouds.
The pass proved to be longer than it looked, but at last the drove of horses was headed into the wide flat country toward the west. And soon trail grew into road. The sunset dusk mantled the sweeping prairielike valley, and soon night fell, cool and windy. The wild horses slowed to a walk and had to be driven to do that. Pan felt that he shared their thirst.
When at about ten o’clock, Blinky espied through the gloom landmarks that indicated the pasture he was seeking, it was none too soon for Pan.
“Water an’ grass heah, but no firewood handy,” announced Blinky, as they turned the horses into the pasture. “Fellar named Snyder used to ranch heah. It didn’t pay. This little pasture is lucky fer us. I was heah not long ago. Good fence, an’ we can round up the bunch easy in the mawnin’.”
The weary riders unpacked the outfit, took a long deep drink of the cold water, and unrolling their tarps went supperless to bed. Pan’s eyes closed as if with glue and his thoughts wavered, faded.
Pan’s father was the first to get up, but already the sun was before him. Pan saw him limp around, and leave the pasture to return with an armful of fire wood.
“Pile out!” he yelled. “It’s Siccane, Arizona, or bust!”
One by one the boys rolled from their beds. Pan was the only one who had to pull on his boots. Somebody found soap and towel, which they fought over. The towel had not been clean before this onslaught. Afterward it was unrecognizable. Gus cooked breakfast which, judged from the attack upon it, was creditable to him.
“Wal, our hosses are heah,” said Blinky, cheerfully. “Reckon I was afeared they’d jump the fence. We may have a little hell on the start.”
“Blink, you don’t aim to tie up their feet again, do you?” inquired Pan anxiously.
“Nope. They had all they wanted of thet. Mebbe they’ll try to bust away first off. But our hosses are fresh, too. I’m gamblin’ in three hours we’ll have them in your dad’s corral.”
“Then we don’t have to drive through Marco?”
“Shore not. We’re on the main road thet passes your dad’s. Reckon it’s aboot eight miles or so.”
“Say, Blink, do we take this road on our way south to Siccane?”
“Yep. It’s the only road. You come in on it by stage. It runs north and south. Not very good road this way out of Marco.”
“Then, by golly, we can leave our new horses here,” exclaimed Pan gladly.
“Wal, I’ll be goldarned. Where’s my haid? Shore we can. It’s a first-rate pasture, plenty of water, an’ fair grass. But I’ll have to go in town, thet’s damn shore, you know. An’ we cain’t leave these hosses heah unguarded.”
“Gus, will you and Brown stay here? We’ll leave grub and outfit.”
Brown had to refuse, and explained that he was keen to get back to his mining claim, which he believed now he would be able to work.
“I’ll stay,” said Gus. “It’s a good idee. Workin’ with these hosses a day or two will get ’em fit to travel. An’ I reckon I’d like a job with you, far as Siccane anyway.”
“You’ve got it, and after we reach Siccane, too, if you want one,” replied Pan quickly.
The deal was settled to the satisfaction of all concerned.
“How aboot our pack hosses?” asked Blinky. “Course Charley will have to take his, but
will we need ours? I mean will we have to pack them from heah?”
“No, all that stuff can go in the wagons,” replied Pan. “We’ll need three wagons, anyhow. Maybe more. Dad, how much of an outfit have you at home?”
“You saw it, son,” said Smith, with a laugh. “Mine would go in a saddlebag. But I reckon the women folks will have a wagon load.”
“Rustle. I’m ararin’ to go,” yelled Pan, striding out into the pasture to catch his horse. In the exuberance of the moment Pan would have liked to try conclusions with the white-footed stallion or the blue roan, but he could not spare the time. He led Sorrel back to camp and saddled him. Blinky and Pan’s father were also saddling their mounts.
“I’ll take it easy,” explained Charley Brown, who had made no move. “My claim is over here in the hills not very far.”
“Brown, I’m sorry you won’t go south with us,” said Pan warmly, as he shook hands with the miner. “You’ve sure been a help. And I’m glad we’ve — well, had something to do with removing the claim jumpers.”
As Pan rode out that morning on the sorrel, to face north on the road to Marco, he found it hard to contain himself. This hour was the very first in which he could let himself think of the glorious fulfillment of his dream.
His father was too lame to ride fast and Pan, much as he longed to rush, did not want to leave him behind. But it was utterly impossible for Pan to enter into the animated conversation carried on by his father and Blinky. They were talking wagons, teams, harness, grain, homesteads and what not. Pan rode alone, a little ahead of them.
Almost, he loved this wild and rugged land. But that was the ecstasy of the moment. This iron country was too cut up by mountains, with valleys too bare and waterless, to suit Pan. Not to include the rough and violent element of men attracted by gold!
Nevertheless on this bright autumn morning there was a glamour over valley and ridge, black slope and snowy peak, and the dim distant ranges. The sky was as blue as the inside of a columbine, a rich and beautiful light of gold gilded the wall of rock that boldly cropped out of the mountainside; and the wide sweeping expanse of sage lost itself in a deep purple horizon. Ravens and magpies crossed Pan’s glad eyesight. Jack rabbits bounded down the aisles between the sage bushes. Far out on the plain he descried antelope, moving away with their telltale white rumps. The air was sweet, intoxicating, full of cedar fragrance and the cool breath from off the heights.