CHAPTER VIII
Captain Bill Henry, foreman of the Bar O outfit, and head by choice ofthe season's round up, had just ridden into camp. Most of the men werein the cook-tent when he turned his dripping bay horse in with theothers. Then he picked up his saddle, bridle, and blanket and carriedthem up to the cook-tent, where he threw them down, hitting one of thestake-ropes with such violence as to cause the whole tent to quiver, andone of the boys inside to mutter under his breath:
"Lord, the Cap's on the prod! What in the devil's he got in his gizzardnow?"
"Don't know," answered the second, returning from the stove, where hehad loaded his plate with a wonderful assortment of eatables and seatedhimself on a roll of bedding beside the first speaker. "Too bad hecouldn't knock the roof off'n our heads. He's sure enough mad, justlook at him!" he whispered, as Captain Bill Henry stooped his tall, lankframe to come into the tent.
The men, sitting about inside, glanced up when he entered. Some of themgrinned, others went on with their supper, but the "Cap" from under hisbushy red eyebrows hardly noticed them as he took the necessary dishesfrom the mess-box and strode over to the stove, around which old Evans,the cook, moved in great concern.
"Now just try some o' them beans. Regular Boston baked, Cap, they'llmelt in your mouth. An' here's a kidney stew I've been savin' fer you,"taking from the oven a well concealed stew-pan. "If any o' them boys 'uda found it they'd made short work of it, I reckon."
He removed the cover and held the dish under Bill Henry's nose. The"Cap" gave one sniff. "Phew! Take it away! Don't like the damn'd stuff,nohow!"
A dazed look passed over old Evans' face, giving way to one of mortalinjury. Not a man smiled, though several seemed about to collapse witha sudden spasm which they tried in vain to control. Away went thecontents of the pan, leaving a streak of kidney-stew almost down to thehorse ropes. "If it ain't good enough fer you, it ain't fer me," saidthe cook, his bald head thrown well back upon thin shoulders.
The "Cap" glared at him as he poured out a generous measure of strongcoffee into a large tin cup, then ran his eye about the tent for apossible seat.
A quiet-looking fellow, a youth fresh from the East, got up, politelyoffering him the case of tomatoes upon which he had been sitting. BillHenry refused it with a scowl, taking a seat upon the ground near thefront of the tent, where he crossed his lank legs in front of him. Thecow-puncher sank back upon his case of tomatoes while the "Cap" ate ingreat, hungry mouthfuls, soaking his bread in the sloppy beans andwashing it down with frequent noisy sips of hot coffee. Finally he beganto speak, with a full Missouri twang:
"This beats hell! Not a dang man around this part of the country wantsto throw in with this here outfit. Never saw no such luck! Here we arewith two months' steady work before we make town, an' only ten men to dothe work o' fifteen! I'll hire no more devilish breeds. You can't trust'em no more'n you can a rattler, no, sir! All of 'em quit last night,an' Long Bill along with 'em! I'd never thought it o' Bill. Been ridin'all the evenin' an' couldn't find hair or hide of him. It's enough tomake a man swear a blue streak, yes, sir! Well, I rounded up one breedlimpin' 'round Harris' shack, an' he said his gun went off by accidentan' give him a scratch on the calf o' the leg. Bet ten dollars he's beenin a fight over there! Damn'd nest o' drunken louts! I'll be glad whenwe're away from these here parts!"
At this point one of the cowboys got up, threw his dishes into the pan,and strode outside.
"You on night-herd to-night?" asked the Captain.
"Yep," answered the cow-puncher. "Going to relieve Jack."
"Tell them other fellers to come along in an' git their chuck; it'smighty nigh time to turn in now. Got to make Miller's crossing in themorning."
"All right," answered the man from outside. Then putting his head backinto the tent, exclaimed in a loud whisper: "Here comes Long Bill!"
"The devil he is! It's about time," growled Bill Henry. He had no morethan got the words out of his mouth before a man, head and shouldersabove any cow-puncher there, stalked in.
"Well, Cap, I've come round to git paid off, fer I reckon I'm knockedout of the ring fer a little spell." He stooped and held down forinspection a hand bandaged in a much-stained bandanna handkerchief. "Oneo' them damn'd dogs o' Harris' run his teeth all the way through it," heexplained.
The captain grunted, threw his well cleaned plate over into the dishpan, and rose stiffly to his feet. "What'd you do to the dog?" heasked.
"That was his last bite," roared out Long Bill. "I sent him flyin' intoKingdom Come!"
"Let's see your hand," demanded his chief; thereupon the tall cowboyhesitated an instant, then removed the bandage, and, with an air ofbravado, held out his hand for inspection. Some of the men crowded aboutcuriously, throwing careless jokes of condolement at the sufferer, whileothers passed by regardless.
Captain Bill Henry examined the wounded member carefully, then gruntedagain, while his eyelids contracted until only a sparkle of liquid blueshowed beneath his bushy red brows.
"A mighty bad bite! You'll have a hell of a time with that hand! Whatwere yo' tryin' to do, anyhow--makin' a mark out o' it? Was you holdin'your hand up, or down, or what? That _dog_ must 'a' had a pretty goodeye. Do you know what that looks like to me? Well, sir, it looks mightylike you'd held up your hand to the muzzle of your gun an' pulled thetrigger! Yes, sir, only there ain't no powder marks; so I calculate the_dog_ must 'a' been some distance away when he took aim! The hole'sclean through, just as slick as any bullet could 'a' made it. That dogmust 'a' had a powerful sharp tooth! Well, you ain't goin' to be able tohandle a rope very soon, dog or no dog, that's plain as the nose on yourface. You'd make a mighty good ornament to have around camp, but Ireckon I'll pay you off." Later: "Know of any men I can git aroundhere?"
"Nary one but them breeds over to Harris'," replied Long Bill. "They'redrunker'n lords now, but they'll be wantin' a job in a day or so whenthey sober up, an' I'll send 'em 'round here. I'll be huntin' a jobmyself in about a month, when this here paw o' mine gits well. It'smighty painful."
"You'd better go to town an' see a doctor," drawled the "Cap." "An'while you're on your way stop at Hathaway's an' give him or Jim McCullena letter fer me. I'll have it ready in a minute an' it'll save mesendin' a man over."
Without waiting for a reply from the tall cow-puncher, Captain BillHenry stalked over to his bed, took from the roll a pad of paper, andwas soon lost in the mysteries of letter-writing.
He was an awkwardly built man, but his whole appearance gave one theimpression that he meant business--and he was crammed full of it. Seatedastride his tarp-covered bed, with his back to the few stragglingcow-punchers about the tents, he proceeded in a determined,business-like way to write the letter. Before he had finished thedifficult operation some men rode up to the camp--the men who had beenon herd, hungry for their supper, and two outsiders.
Around the mess-wagon, which had been backed into the cook-tent in theusual order, lounged a group of cowboys whose appetites had beensatisfied and whose duties for the time being were over. Two of the menwho had just come up on horseback joined these, while Captain BillHenry, without looking around, continued his somewhat difficult task ofcomposing a letter, which, when accomplished, he folded carefully.
"Hello! Where did you'ns drop from?" he drawled as he approached thenewcomers. "I was just goin' to send word over to have your wagon joinme at west fork o' Stony Creek. I'm too short o' men to work Stony Creekcountry, anyhow. Hathaway's reps all left me awhile back, an' Long Bill,he's leavin' to-day--got bit by a mad dog over here. Jackson's wagon an'the U Bar ain't goin' to join me till we git down in the LonesomePrairie country, so I was just goin' to send a letter over to yourplace, for if he wants a good round-up on this range he'd better sendover that extra wagon o' his'n. You'ns goin' right back?"
"I'm not," replied Carter. "But McCullen can take word over to theranch. He's going the first thing in the morning."
"Cert. Got to go, anyway, an' I reckon my horse can pack your message
tothe boss if it ain't too heavy," said McCullen.
Old Jim McCullen had been Hathaway's right hand man as long as anyonecould remember. He had put in many years as wagon-boss, and finallyretired from active life to the quieter one at the home-ranch, where hedrew the biggest pay of any man in Hathaway's employ, and practicallymanaged all the details of the great cattle concern. He saw that thewagons were properly provisioned, manned, and started out in the spring,that the men who brought up the trail-herds were paid off; he attendedto the haying, the small irrigating plant that had been started, and toall the innumerable details that go toward the smooth running of a largeranch. Now the "boss" had sent him on a mission whose import heunderstood perfectly--something altogether out of the line of his usualduties, but of greater importance than anything he had ever undertaken.He was going back to the ranch in the morning to tell Hathaway that hisdaughter was apparently all right. He and Carter had pitched their tentnot far from where the round-up was camped, and had ridden over for somebeef. One of the men cut them a liberal piece from a yearling that theyhad just butchered. Carter tied it upon the back of his saddle and rodeoff toward camp, while old Jim McCullen sat down, lighted a cigarette,and listened to the gossip of the round-up.
"Right smart lot o' dogs round them breeds down there," remarked BillHenry, nodding his head toward Harris' ranch. "Long Bill, here, he'sbeen unfortunate. Went up there a-courtin' one o' them pretty Harrisgirls last eyenin', an' blamed if she didn't go an' sick the dogs onhim!"
McCullen sized up his bandaged hand. "Mighty bad-lookin' fist there," hechuckled. "Must 'a' bled some by the looks of that rag. When'd ithappen?"
"This mornin', just as I was startin' to come over to camp."
"You don't tell!" condoled the visitor. "That's mighty bad after sittingup all-night with your best girl!"
"Long Bill's pretty intent after them breed girls," remarked CaptainBill Henry; thereupon the cowboy flushed angrily.
"No breed girls in mine! The new school-marm's more to my likin'," heboasted. "An' from the sweet looks she give me, I reckon I ain't goin'to have no trouble there!"
The next instant Long Bill lay sprawling in the dust, while old JimMcCullen rained blow after blow upon him. When he finished, Long Billremained motionless, the blood streaming from his nose and mouth. OldJim straightened up and looked down at the fallen giant with utmostcontempt, then he pulled his disarranged cartridge belt into shape andglanced at his hands. They were covered with the cowboy's blood.
"Reckon I'd better wash up a bit," he remarked easily, and went into thecook-tent.
The men lounged about, apparently indifferent to the scene which wasbeing enacted. It might have been an every day occurrence, so littleinterest they showed, yet several stalwart fellows gave old Jim McCullenan admiring glance as he passed them.
On the crest of a near divide stood a group of squaws. After a shortconference they proceeded slowly, shyly toward the round-up camp. Somedistance from it they grouped together again and waited while a very oldwoman wrapped in a dingy white blanket came boldly up to the group ofmen, and in a jargon of French and Indian asked for the refuse of thenewly killed yearling. The foreman pointed to where it lay, and grufflytold her to go and get it, but she spied the unconscious figure of LongBill stretched out upon the grassy flat, and with a low cry of woe flungherself down beside him.
"Who done this?" she cried in very plain English, facing the cowboyswith a look of blackest anger. No answer came.
"Better tell her," suggested a cow-puncher who was unrolling his bed."She's a witch, you know."
"If she's a witch she don't need no telling," replied another, at whichthey all laughed.
"A witch?" said one. "I sure thought witches were all burned up!"
The old squaw was examining the fallen man, who began to show signs ofconsciousness. She bristled like a dog at the cowboy's remark.
"_I see beyond!_ I know the future, the past, _everything_!" she criedimpressively. "I read your thoughts! Say what you like, you dogs, butnot one o' you would like me to tell what I read in your lives. _I know!I know! I know everything!_" Her voice reached a high, weird cry. Herblanket had slipped down, leaving her hair in wisps about her mummifiedface. To all appearances she might have been a genuine witch as shegroveled over Long Bill.
"Ask her how she tells fortunes--cards or tea-leaves," said one.
"Or by the palm of your hand or the stars above," suggested another.
"Wonder where she keeps her broomstick," mused a third.
Just then McCullen came out of the cook-tent and faced the spectacle.
"I see he's found a nurse," he remarked, and walked over to his horse.
The old woman stood and gesticulated wildly, throwing mad, incoherentwords at him. Finally her jargon changed into fair English.
"You dog, _you_ did this! And why? Ah, ha, ha! _I know!_ I know allthings! Because of the white girl! So! Ha, ha! Must you alone love thewhite girl so that no man can speak her name? Oh, you can't deny youlove her! _You_, who ride and hunt with her for fifteen years. Cannotanother man open his mouth but that you must fly at him? Ha, ha! _Iknow!_"
"I'll wring your neck, you old----!" said McCullen at his horse's head.
"You will stop my tongue, will you! I'll show you! You are up here towatch that girl--but where's your eyes? What are you doing? This is myson-in-law, and you'd like to wipe him from the face of the earth! Youbeat him in the face--him with one hand! See! How did he get it? Why aresome of my other son-in-laws limping about with bullets in their legs?Why is a man lying dead up in the mountains? Why all this at once? Askthat white girl who teaches little children to be good! Ask thatdevil's child who can put a bullet straight as her eye! _Ask her!_ Shewould destroy my people. Curse her soul, I say!"
Suddenly the witch-like spirit in her seemed to shrivel into the blanketwhich she wrapped about her, then with placid, expressionless face shemade her way to where the yearling had been butchered and hurriedlystuffed the refuse into a gunny sack which she dragged to where theother squaws were waiting, then they all made off.
Long Bill sat up and looked about him. "Curse who?" he asked. "Curse me,I reckon fer not knowin' enough to keep my mouth shut!"
McCullen, with face and lips pallid, had mounted his horse. Long Billpulled himself together and walked over toward him.
"I'll take that back," he said. "I didn't mean it, nohow."
"I reckon I was over-hasty," McCullen replied. "But that was our littlegirl you were talkin' about--little Hope; an' no man on earth, letalone a common squaw-man, ain't goin' to even breathe her namedisrespectfully. She's like my own child. I've almost brought her up.Learned her little baby fingers to shoot, an' had her on a horse beforeshe could talk plain. Don't let her find this out, for I'm plumb sorry Ihad to hurt you; but the man who says more than you did _dies_!" He rodeaway and soon was lost in the deep falling shadows. The men in thecow-camp unrolled their bedding, and all was soon one with the stillnessof the night.
Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life Page 8