Delphi Collected Works of Max Brand US

by Max Brand

  “You wouldn’t call it pitching hay or shoeing a hoss that I’m doing, I guess,” said the old fellow crossly. “I’m fussing at building a barn, but a fine chance I got. I get all my timber here — look at that!”

  He indicated the stacks of beams and lumber around him.

  “And then I get some men out of town to work with me on it. But they get lonely. Don’t like working on a ranch. Besides, they had a scrap with me. I wouldn’t have ’em loafing around the job. Rather have no help at all than have a loafer helping me. So they quit. Then I tried to get my cowhands to give me a lift, but they wouldn’t touch a hammer. Specialists in cows is what they say they are, ding bust ’em! So here I am trying to do something and doing nothing. How can I handle a beam that it takes three men to lift?”

  He illustrated by going to a stack of long and massive timbers and tugging at the end of one of them. He was able to raise that end only a few inches.

  “You see?”

  Bull nodded.

  “Suppose you give me the job handling the timbers?” he suggested. “I ain’t much good with a hammer and nails, but I might manage the lifting.”

  “All by yourself? One man?” he eyed the bulk of Bull hopefully for a moment, then the light faded from his face. “Nope, you couldn’t raise ’em. Not them joists yonder!”

  “I think I could,” said Bull.

  Old Bridewell thrust out his jaw. He had been a combative man in his youth; and he still had the instinct of a fighter.

  “I got ten dollars,” he said, “that says you can’t lift that beam and put her up on end! That one right there, that I tried to lift a minute ago!”

  “All right,” Bull nodded.

  “You’re on for the bet?” the old man chuckled gayly. “All right. Let’s see you give a heave!”

  Bull Hunter obediently stepped to the timber. It was a twelve footer of bulky dimensions, heavy wood not thoroughly seasoned. Yet he did not approach one end of it. He laid his immense hands on the center of it. Old Bridewell chuckled to himself softly as he watched; he was beginning to feel that the big stranger was a little simple-minded. His chuckling ceased when he saw the timber cant over on one edge.

  “Look out!” he called, for Bull had slipped his hand under the lifted side. “You’ll get your fingers smashed plumb off that way.”

  “I have to get a hold under it, you see,” explained Bull calmly, and so saying his knees sagged a little and when they straightened the timber rose lightly in his hands and was placed on his shoulder.

  “Where’d you like to have it?” asked Bull.

  Bridewell rubbed his eyes. “Yonder,” he said faintly.

  Bull walked to the designated place, the great timber teetering up and down, quivering with the jar of each stride. There he swung one end to the ground and thrust the other up until it was erect.

  “Is this the way you want it?” said Bull.

  By this time Bridewell had recovered his self-possession to some degree, yet his eyes were wide as he approached.

  “Yep. Just let it lean agin’ that corner piece, will you, Hunter?”

  Bull obeyed.

  “That might make a fellow’s shoulder sort of sore,” he remarked, “if he had to carry those timbers all day.”

  “All day?” gasped Bridewell, and then he saw that the giant, indeed, was not even panting from his effort. He was already turning his attention to the pile of timbers.

  “Here,” he said, reluctantly drawing out some money. “Here’s your ten.”

  But Bull refused it. “Can’t take it,” he explained. “I just made the bet by way of talk. You see, I knew I could lift it; and you didn’t have any real idea about me. Besides, if I’d lost I couldn’t have paid. I haven’t any money.”

  He said this so gravely and simply that old Bridewell watched him quizzically, half suspecting that there was a touch of irony hidden somewhere. It gradually dawned on him that a man who was flat broke was refusing money which he had won fairly on a bet. The idea staggered Bridewell. He was within an ace of putting Bull Hunter down as a fool. Something held him back, through some underlying respect for the physical might of the big man and a respect, also, for the honesty which looked out of his eyes. He pocketed the money slowly. He was never averse to saving.

  “But I’ve been thinking,” said Bull, as he sadly watched the money disappear, “that you might be needing me to help you put up the barn? Do you think you could hire me?”

  “H’m,” grumbled Bridewell. “You think you could handle these big timbers all day?”

  “Yes,” said Bull, “if none of ’em are any bigger than that last one.

  Yes, I could handle ’em all day easily.”

  It was impossible to doubt that he said this judiciously and not with a desire to overstate his powers. In spite of himself the old rancher believed.

  “You see,” explained Bull eagerly, “you said that you needed three men for that work. That’s why I ask.”

  “And I suppose you’d want the pay of three men?”

  Bull shook his head. “Anything you want to pay me,” he declared.

  The rancher frowned. This sounded like the beginning of a shrewd bargain, and his respect and suspicion were equally increased.

  “Suppose you say what you want?” he asked.

  “Well,” Bull said slowly, “I’d have to have a place to sleep. And — I’m a pretty big eater.”

  “I guess you are,” said Bridewell. “But if you do three men’s work you got a right to three men’s food. What else do you want?”

  Bull considered, as though there were few other wishes that he could express. “I haven’t any money,” he apologized. “D’you think maybe you could pay me a little something outside of food and a place to sleep?”

  Bridewell blinked, and then prepared himself to become angry, when it dawned on him that this was not intended for sarcasm. He found that Bull was searching his face eagerly, as though he feared that he were asking too much.

  “What would do you?” suggested Bridewell tentatively.

  “I dunno,” said Bull, sighing with relief. “Anything you think.”

  It was plain that the big man was half-witted — or nearly so. Bridewell kept the sparkle of exultation out of his eyes.

  “You leave it to me, then, and I’ll do what’s more’n right by you.

  When d’you want to start work?”

  “Right now.”

  CHAPTER 15

  WHEN BULL LEFT the dining room that night after supper, Mrs. Bridewell looked across the table at her husband with horror in her eyes.

  “Did you see?” she gasped. “He ate the whole pot of beans!”

  “Sure I seen him,” and he grinned.

  “But — he’ll eat us out of house and home! Why, he’s like a wolf!”

  Bridewell chuckled with superior knowledge. “He’s ate enough for three,” he admitted, “but he’s worked enough for six — besides, most of his wages come in food. But work? I never seen anything like it! He handled more timbers than a dozen. When it come to spiking them in place he seen me swinging that twelve-pound sledge and near breaking my back. ‘I think it’s easier this way,’ he says. ‘Besides you can hit a lot faster if you use just one hand.’ And he takes the hammer, and sends that big spike in all the way to the head with one lick. And he wondered why I didn’t work the same way! Ain’t got any idea how strong he is.”

  Mrs. Bridewell listened with wide eyes. “The idea,” she murmured. “The idea! Where’s he now?”

  Her husband went to the back door. “He’s sitting over by the pump talking to Tod. Sitting talking like they was one age. I reckon he’s sort of half-witted.”

  “How come?” sharply asked Mrs. Bridewell. “Ain’t Tod got more brains than most growed-up men?”

  “I reckon he has,” admitted the proud father.

  And if they had put the same question to Bull Hunter, the giant would have agreed with them emphatically. He approached the child tamer of Diablo with a diffide
nce that was almost reverence. The freckle-faced boy looked up from his whittling when the shadow of Bull fell athwart him, with an equal admiration; also with suspicion, for the cowpunchers, on the whole, were apt to make game of the youngster and his grave, grown-up ways. He was, therefore, shrewdly suspicious of jests at his expense.

  Furthermore, he had seen the big stranger heaving the great timbers about and whirling the sledge with one hand; he half suspected that the jokes might be pointed with the weight of that heavy hand. His amazement was accordingly great when he found the big man actually sitting down beside him, cross-legged, and he was absolutely stupefied when Bull Hunter said, “I’ve been aiming at this chance to talk to you, Tod, all day.”

  “H’m,” grunted Tod noncommittally, and examined the other with a cautious side glance.

  But the face of Bull Hunter was unutterably free from guile. Tod instantly began to adjust himself. The men he most worshiped were the lean, swift, profanely formidable cowpunchers. But there was something in him that responded with a thrill to this accepted equality with such a man as Bull Hunter. Even his father he had seen stricken to an awed silence at the sight of Bull’s prowess.

  “You see,” explained Bull frankly, “I been wondering how you managed to handle Diablo the way you do.”

  Tod chuckled. “It’s just a trick. You watch me a while with him, you’ll soon catch on.”

  But Bull shook his head as he answered, “Maybe a mighty bright man might figure it out, but I’m not good at figuring things out, Tod.”

  The boy blinked. He was accustomed to the studied understatement of the cowpunchers and he was accustomed, also, to their real vanity which underlay the surface shyness. But it was patent that Bull Hunter, in spite of his size, was truly humble. This conception was new to Tod and slowly grew in his brain. His active eyes ran over the bulk beside him; he almost pitied the giant.

  “Besides,” pondered Bull heavily, “I guess there’s a whole lot of bright men that have seen you handle Diablo, but they couldn’t make out what you did. They tried to ride Diablo and got their necks nearly broken. They were good riders, but I’m not. You see, Diablo’s the first horse I’ve ever seen that could really carry me.” He added apologetically, “I’m so heavy.”

  No vanity, certainly. He gestured toward himself as though he were ashamed of his brawn, and the heart of Tod warmed and expanded. He himself would never be large, and his heart had ached because of his smallness many a time.

  “Yep,” he said judiciously, “you’re pretty heavy. About the heaviest I ever seen, I guess. Maybe Hal Dunbar is as big, but I never seen Hal.”

  “I’ve heard a good deal about Hal, but—”

  He stopped short and stiffened. Tod saw that the eyes of the big man had fixed on the corral in which stood Diablo. A puff of wind had come, and the great black had thrown up his head into it, an imposing picture with mane and tail blown sidewise. Not until the stallion turned away from the unseen thing which he had scented in the wind, did Bull turn to his small companion with a sigh.

  Tod nodded, his eyes glinting. “I know,” he said. “I used to feel that way — before I learned how to handle Diablo.” He interpreted, “You feel like it’d be pretty fine to get onto Diablo’s back and have him gallop under you.”

  “About the finest thing in the world,” sighed Bull Hunter. He cast out his great hands before him as he tried to explain the mysterious emotions which the horse had excited in him. “You see, Tod, I’m pretty big and I’m pretty slow. Most folks have horses, and they get about pretty lively on ’em, but I’ve always had to walk.”

  The enormity of this lack made Tod stare, for travel and horses were inseparably connected in his mind. He shuddered a little at the thought of the big man stalking across the burning and interminable sands of the desert or toiling through the mountains. It seemed to him that he could see the signs of that pain stamped in the face of Bull Hunter, and his heart leaped again in sympathy.

  “So when I saw Diablo—” Bull paused. But Tod had understood. Suddenly the boy became excited.

  “Suppose you was to learn to ride Diablo before Hal Dunbar come to try him out? Suppose that?”

  “Could you teach me?” the giant asked in an almost awed whisper.

  The child looked over his companion with a vague wonder. It would be a tremendous responsibility, this teaching of the giant, but what could be more spectacular than to have such a man as his pupil? But to share his unique empire over Diablo — that would be a great price to pay!

  “No,” he decided, “it wouldn’t do. Besides, suppose even I could teach you how to ride Diablo — with a saddle, which I don’t think I could — what would happen when Hal Dunbar come up to these parts and found that the hoss he wanted was somebody else’s? He’d make an awful fuss — and he’s a fighting man, Bull.”

  He said this impressively, leaning a little toward the giant, and he was rewarded infinitely by seeing the right hand of the giant stir a little toward the holster at his thigh.

  “I guess I’d have to take my chance with him,” was all Bull answered in his mildest tone.

  Tod was beginning to guess that there was a certain amount of mental strength under this quiet exterior. He had often noted that his father, who made by far the most noise, was more easily placated than his mother, in spite of her gentle silences. The strength of Bull Hunter had a strain of the same thing about it.

  “You’d take a chance with Hal Dunbar?” he repeated wonderingly. He trembled a little, with a sort of nervous ecstasy at the thought of that coming encounter. “That’s more’n anybody else in these parts would do. Why, everybody’s heard about Hal Dunbar. Everybody’s scared of him. He can ride anything that’s big enough to carry him; he can fight like a wildcat with his hands; and he can shoot like” — his eye wandered toward a superlative— “like Pete Reeve, almost,” he concluded with a tone of awe.

  A spark of tenderness shone in the eye of Bull. “D’you know Pete

  Reeve?”

  “No, and I don’t want to. Ma had a brother once, and he met up with

  Pete Reeve.”

  A tragedy was inferred in that oblique reference. Bull decided that this was a conversational topic on which he must remain silent, and yet he yearned to speak of the little withered catlike fellow with the wise brain who had done so much for him.

  “When I’m big enough,” mused the boy with a quiet savagery, “maybe

  I’ll meet up with Pete Reeve.”

  Bull switched the talk to a more comfortable topic. “But how’d you make a start with that man-eating Diablo?”

  Tod studied, the question. “I got a way with hosses, you see,” he began modestly.

  He played two brown fingers in his mouth and sent out a shrilling whistle that was answered immediately by a whinny, and a little chestnut gelding, sun-faded to a sand color nearly, cantered into view around the corner of a shed and approached them. He came to a pause nearby, and having studied Bull Hunter with large, unafraid, curious eyes for a moment, began to nibble impertinently at the ragged hat brim of the child.

  “Git away!” exclaimed Tod, and when the chestnut made no move to go, the brown fist flashed up at the reaching head. But the head was jerked away with a motion of catlike deftness.

  “He’s a terrible bother, Crackajack is,” said the boy angrily, and from the corner of his eye he stole a glance of unspeakable pride at the big man.

  “He’s a beauty,” exclaimed Bull Hunter. “A regular beauty!”

  For Crackajack combined the toughness of a mustang and the lean, strong running lines of a thoroughbred in miniature. His legs were as delicately made as the legs of a deer; his head was a little model of impish intelligence and beauty.

  “You and Crackajack are pals,” said Bull. “I guess that’s what you are!”

  “We get on tolerable well,” admitted the boy, whose heart was full with this praise of his pet.

  Bull continued on the agreeable topic. “And I’ll bet he’s fast
, too.

  He looks like speed to me!”

  “Maybe you don’t know hosses, but you sure got hoss sense.” Tod chuckled. “Most folks take Crackajack for a toy pony. He ain’t. I’ve seen him carry a full-grown man all day and keep up with the best of ’em. He don’t mind the weight of me no more’n if I was a feather. He’s fast, he’s tough, and he knows more’n a hoss should know, you might say!”

  He changed his voice, and a brief command made Crackajack give up his teasing and retreat. Bull watched the exquisite little creature go, with a smile of pleasure. He did not know it, but that smile unlocked the last door to Tod’s heart.

  “He was pretty near as wild as Diablo when I first got him,” said the boy. “And mean — say, he’d been kicked around all his life. But I fatted him up in the barn, and he got so’s he’d follow me around. And now he runs loose like a dog and comes when I whistle. He knows more things than you could shake a stick at, Crackajack does.” “I’ll bet he does,” said Bull with shining eyes.

  “Say,” said the boy suddenly, “I’m going to tell you about the way I worked with Diablo.”

  “I’ll take that mighty kind,” said Bull gratefully. “D’you think I’d have a chance with him even if you showed me how?”

  “You got to have a way with hosses,” admitted the boy, and he examined Bull again. “But I think you’ll get on with hossflesh pretty well. When Diablo first come, he used to go plumb crazy when anybody come near his corral. He still does if a growed man comes there. Well, they used to go out and stand and watch him and laugh at him prancing around and kicking up a fuss at the sight of ’em.

  “And it made me mad. Made me plumb mad to see them bother Diablo when he wasn’t doing no harm, when they wasn’t gaining anything by it, either.”

  “I used to go out when nobody was around and stand by the bars with a bit of hay and grain heads in my hand. First off he’d prance around even at me, but pretty soon he seen that I wasn’t big enough to do him no harm, and then he’d just stand still and snort and look at me. Along about the third time he took notice of the grain heads and come and smelled them, and the next day he ate ’em.