by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XVI
THE FLYING-MARE
The Sunday morning following Blake's visit to Ford's Station found theStar C in excitement. Notwithstanding the fact that on every pleasantnight after the day's work had been done it was the custom for the outfitto indulge in a swim, and that Saturday night had been very pleasant, theLimping Water was being violently disturbed, and laughter and splashinggreeted the sun as it looked over the rim of the bank. Cakes of soapglistened on the sand on the west bank and towels hung from convenientlimbs of the bushes which fringed the creek.
Silent, who was noted among his companions for the length of time hecould stay under water, challenged them to a submersion test. The ruleswere simple, inasmuch as they consisted in all plunging under at thesame time, the winner being he who was the last man up. Silent hadsteadfastly refused to have his endurance timed, which his friendsmistook for modesty, and no sooner had all "ducked under" than his headpopped up--but this time he was not alone. Humble, whose utmost limitwas not over half a minute, grew angry at his inability to make a goodshowing and craftily determined to take a handicap. The two stared ateach other for a space and then burst into laughter, forgetting for thetime being what they should do. Other heads bobbed up, and the secretwas out. Only that Silent was the best swimmer in the crowd saved himfrom a ducking, and as it was he had to grab his clothes and run.
After being assured that he was forgiven for his trickery he rejoined hisfriends and his towel.
More fun was now the rule, for dressing required care. The sandy west banksloped gradually to the water's edge, and it was necessary to stand on onefoot on a small stone in the water while the other was dipped to removethe sand. Still on one foot the other must be dried, the stocking put on,then the trouser leg and lastly the boot, and woe to the man who lost hisbalance and splashed stocking and trouser leg as he wildly sought tosave it! Humble splashed while his foot was only half-way through thetrouser leg, and The Orphan fared even worse. Then a race of awkwardrunners was on toward the bunk house, where breakfast was annihilated.
"Hey, Tom, what time do we leave?" asked Bud for the fifth time.
"Nine o'clock, you chump," replied the foreman.
"Three whole hours yet," grumbled Jim as he again plastered his hair tohis head.
"I'll lose my appetite shore," worried Humble. "We got up too blamedearly, that's what we did."
"Why, here's Humble!" cried Silent in mock surprise. "Do _you_ likeapricot pie, and gingerbread and _real_ coffee?"
"You go to the devil," grumbled Humble. "You wouldn't 'a' been asked atall, only she couldn't very well cut you out of it when she asked mealong. _I_'m the one she really wants to feed; you fellers just happento tag on behind, that's all."
"Going to take Lightning with you, Humble?" asked Docile, winking at theothers.
"Why, I shore am," replied Humble in surprise. "Do you reckon I'd leavehim and that d-----d Chink all alone together, you sheep?"
"I was afraid you wouldn't," pessimistically grumbled Docile, but herehe smiled hopefully. "Suppose you take Lee Lung and leave the dog here?"he queried.
"Suppose you quit supposing with your feet!" sarcastically counteredHumble. "I know you ain't got much brains, but you might exercise whatlittle you have got once in a while. It won't hurt you none after youget used to it."
"How are you going to carry him, Humble--like a papoose?" queried Joe witha great show of interest.
Humble stared at him: "Huh!" he muttered, being too much astonished tosay more.
"I asked you how you are going to carry your fighting wolfhound," Joesaid without the quiver of an eyelash. "I thought mebby you was going tosling him on your back like a papoose."
"Carry him! Papoose!" ejaculated Humble in withering irony. "What do youreckon his legs are for? He ain't no statue, he ain't no ornament, he's adog."
"Well, I knowed he ain't no ornament, but I wasn't shore about the rest ofit," responded Joe. "I only wanted to know how he'd get to town. Thereain't no crime in asking about that, is there? I know he can't follow thegait we'll hit up for thirty miles, so I just naturally asked, _sabe?"_
"Oh, you did, did you!" cried Humble, not at all humbly. "He can't followus, can't he?" he yelled belligerently.
"He shore can't, cross my heart," asserted Silent in great earnestness."If he runs to Ford's Station after us and gets there inside of two daysI'll buy him a collar. That goes."
"Huh!" snorted Humble in disgust, "he won't wear your old collar after hewins it. He's got too much pride to wear anything you'll give him."
"He couldn't, you mean," jabbed Jim. "He's so plumb tender that it wouldstrain his back to carry it. Why, he has to sit down and rest if more'ntwo flies get on the same spot at once."
"He can't wag his tail more'n three times in an hour," added Bud, "andwhen he scratches hisself he has to rest for the remainder of the day."
Humble turned to The Orphan in an appealing way: "Did you ever see so manyd----d fools all at once?" he beseeched.
The Orphan placed his finger to his chin and thought for fully half aminute before replying: "I was just figuring," he explained in apologyfor his abstraction. Then his face brightened: "You can tie him up ina blanket--that's the best way. Yes, sir, tie him up in a blanket andsling him at the pommel. We'll take turns carrying him."
"Purple h--l!" yelled Humble. "You're another! The whole crowd are a lotof ----!"
"Sing it, Humble," suggested Tad, laughing. "Sing it!"
"Whistle some of it, and send the rest by mail," assisted Jack Lawson.
"Seen th' dlog?" came a bland, monotonous voice from the doorway, whereLee Lung stood holding a chunk of beef in one hand, while his other handwas hidden behind his back. Over his left shoulder projected half a footof club, which he thought concealed. "Seen th' dlog?" he repeated, smiling.
"Miss Mirandy and holy hell!" shouted Humble, leaping forward at sight ofthe club. There was a swish! and Humble rebounded from the door, at whichhe stared. From the rear of the house came more monotonous words: "Nicedlog-gie. Pletty Lightling. Here come. Gette glub," and Humble gallopedaround the corner of the house, swearing at every jump.
When the laughter had died down Blake smiled grimly: "Some day Lee _will_get that dog, and when he does he'll get him good and hard. Then we'llhave to get another cook. I've told him fifty times if I've told him oncenot to let it go past a joke, but it's no use."
"He won't hurt the cur, he's only stringing Humble," said Bud. "Nobodywould hurt a dog that minded his own business."
"If anybody hit a dog of mine for no cause, he wouldn't do it again unlesshe got me first," quietly remarked The Orphan.
Jim hastily pointed to the corner of the house where a club projected intosight: "There's Lee now!" he whispered hurriedly. "He's laying for him!"
There was a sudden spurt of flame and smoke and the club flew severalyards, struck by three bullets. Humble hopped around the corner holdinghis hand, his words too profane for repetition.
Smoke filtered from The Orphan's holster and eyes opened wide in surpriseat the wonderful quickness of his gunplay, for no one had seen it. Allthere was was smoke.
"Good God!" breathed Blake, staring at the marksman, who had steppedforward and was explaining to Humble. "It's a good thing Shields wassquare!" he muttered.
"Did you see that?" asked Bud of Jim in whispered awe. "And I thought _I_was some beans with a six-shooter!"
"No, but I heard it--was they one or six?" replied Jim.
"I didn't know it was you, Humble," explained The Orphan. "I thought itwas the Chink laying for the dog."
"---- ----! Good for you!" cried Humble in sudden friendliness. "You'reall right, Orphant, but will you be sure next time? That stung likeblazes," he said as he held out his hand. "I can always tell a whiteman by the way he treats a dog. If all men were as good as dogs this worldwould be a blamed sight nicer place to live in, and don't you forget it."
"Still going to take Lightning with you, Humble?" asked Bud.
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p; "No, I ain't going to take Lightning with me!" snapped Humble. "I'm goingto leave him right here on the ranch," here his voice arose to a roar,"and if any sing-song, rope-haired, animated hash-wrastler gets gay whileI'm gone, I'll send him to his heathen hell!"
"Come on, boys," said Blake, snapping his watch shut. "Time to get going."
"Glory be!" exulted Silent, executing a few fancy steps toward the corral,his companions close behind, with the exception of The Orphan, who hadgone into the bunk house for a minute.
As they whooped their way toward the town Blake noticed that a goldpin glittered at the knot of the new recruit's neck-kerchief, and hechuckled when he recalled the warning he had given to the sheriff. Heshrewdly guessed that the apricot pie and the rest of the feast werequite subordinated by The Orphan to the girl who had given him the pin.
Bud suddenly turned in his saddle and pointed to a jackrabbit whichbounded away across the plain like an animated shadow.
"Now, if Humble's bloodhound was only here," he said, "we would rope thatjack and make the cur fight it. It would be a fine fight, all right," helaughed.
"You go to the devil," grunted Humble, and he started ahead at full speed."Come on!" he cried. "Come on, you snails!" and a race was on.
. . . . .
The citizens of Ford's Station saw a low-hanging cloud of dust whichrolled rapidly up from the west and soon a hard-riding crowd of cowboys,in gala attire, galloped down the main street of the town. They slowedto a canter and rode abreast in a single line, the arms of each man overthe shoulders of his nearest companions, and all sang at the top oftheir lungs. On the right end rode Blake, and on the left was TheOrphan. Bill Howland ran out into the street and spotted his new friendimmediately and swung his hat and cheered for the man who had helpedhim out of two bad holes. The Orphan broke from the line and shookhands with the driver, his face wreathed by a grin.
"You old son-of-a-gun!" cried Bill, delighted at the familiarity from sonoted a person as the former outlaw. "How are you, hey?"
The line cried warm greeting as it swung around to shake his hand, andthe driver's chest took on several inches of girth.
"Hullo, Bill!" cried Bud with a laugh. "Seen your old friend Tex lately?"
"Yes, I did," replied Bill. "I saw him out on Thirty-Mile Stretch, but hedidn't do nothing but swear. He didn't want no more run-ins with me, allright, and, besides, my rifle was across my knees. He said as how he wasgoing to come back some day and start things moving about this old town,and I told him to begin with the Star C when he did."
He looked across the street and waved his hand at a group of his friendswho were looking on. "Come on over, fellows," he cried, and when they haddone so he turned and introduced The Orphan to them.
"This ugly cuss here is Charley Winter; this slab-sided curiosity is TommyLarkin, and here is his brother Al; Chet Dare, Duke Irwin, Frank Hicks,Hoke Jones, Gus Shaw and Roy Purvis. All good fellows, every one of them,and all friends of the sheriff. Here comes Jed Carr, the only man in thewhole town who ain't afraid of me since I licked them punchers in thedefile. Hullo, Jed! Shake hands with the man who played h--l with theCross Bar-8 and the Apaches."
"Glad to meet you, Orphan," remarked Jed as he shook hands. "Punchingfor the Star C, eh? Good crowd, most of them, as they run, though Humbleain't very much."
"He ain't, ain't he?" grinned that puncher. "You're some sore about thatday when I cleaned up all your cush at poker, ain't you? Ain't had time toget over it, have you? Want to borrow some?"
"You want to look out for Humble, Jed," bantered Bud. "He's taken a lessonat poker from our cook since he played you. Didn't you, Easy?" he askedHumble.
The roar of laughter which followed Bud's words forced Humble to standtreat: "Come on over and have something with the only man in the crowdthat's got any money," he said.
When they had lined up against the bar jokes began to fly thick and fastand The Orphan felt a peculiar elation steal over him as he slowly puffedat his cigar. Suddenly the door flew open and Bill's glass dropped fromhis hand.
"Bucknell, by God! And as drunk as a fool!" he exclaimed.
The puncher whom The Orphan had tied up above the defile leaned againstthe door frame and his gun wavered from point to point unsteadily as hetried to peer into the dim interior of the room, his face leering as hesought, with a courage born of drink, for the man who had made a fool ofhim.
A bottle crashed against the wall at his side, and as he lurched forward,glancing at the broken glass, a figure leaped to meet him and withagile strength grasped his right wrist, wheeled and got his shoulderunder Bucknell's armpit, took two short steps and straightened up witha jerk. The intruder left the floor and flew headforemost through theair, crashing against the rear wall, where he fell to the floor and layquiet. The Orphan, having foresworn unnecessary gunplay, and alwaysscorning to shoot a drunken man, had executed a clever, quick flying-mare.
As the sheriff stepped into the room Blake ran forward and lifted Bucknellto his feet, supporting him until he could stand alone. The puncher wasgreatly sobered by the shock and blinked confusedly about him. The Orphanwas smoking nonchalantly at the bar and Bill had just given the sheriffthe victim's gun.
"What's the matter?" asked Bucknell, rubbing his forehead, which was cutand bruised.
"Nothing's the matter, yet," answered Shields shortly. "But there wouldhave been if you hadn't been too drunk to know what you was doing. I sawyou and tried to get here first, but it's all right now. Take your gunand get out. Here," he exclaimed, "you promise me to behave yourself andyou can go back to Sneed, for he needs you. Otherwise, it's out of thecountry after Tex for you. Is it a go?"
"What was that, and who done it?" asked Bucknell, clinging to the bar."What was it?" he repeated.
"That was me trying to throw you through the wall," said the sheriff,wishing to give Bucknell no greater cause for animosity against TheOrphan, and for the peace of the community; and also because he wished tohelp The Orphan to refrain from using his gun in the future. "And I'd'a' done it, too, only my hand was sweaty. Will you do what I said?" heasked.
Bucknell straightened up and staggered past the sheriff to where TheOrphan stood: "You done that, but it's all right, ain't it?" he asked."You ain't sore, are you?" His eyes had a crafty look, but the dimnessof the room concealed it, and The Orphan did not notice the look.
"It's all right, Bucknell, and I ain't sore," he replied. "I won't be soreif you do what the sheriff wants you to."
"All right, all right," replied Bucknell. "Have a drink on me, boys. It'sall right now, ain't it? Have a drink on me."
"No more drinking to-day," quickly said the bartender at a look fromShields. "All the good stuff is used up and the rest ain't fit for dogs,let alone my friends. Wait 'til next time, when I'll have some new."
"That's too d----d bad," replied Bucknell, leering at the crowd. "Have asmoke, then. Come on, have a smoke with me."
"We shore will, Bucknell," responded Shields quickly.
As the cowboy started for the door the sheriff placed a hand on hisshoulder: "You behave yourself, Bucknell," he said. "So long."