CHAPTER XXXVII
A RESPONSIBLE CITIZEN
Dillon and Hollister were lounging on the bank of Elk Creek through theheat of the day. They had been chasing a jack-rabbit across the mesa forsport. Their broncos were now grazing close at hand.
"Ever notice how a jack-rabbit jumps high when it's crowded?" Dud askedidly.
Bob nodded. "Like a deer. Crowd one an' he gets to jumpin' high. 'D yousee that jack turn a somersault just as I threw my rope the last time?"
Dud's keen eyes ranged the landscape. They were on the edge of the mesawhere it dipped down into the valley. Since he and Bob had decided topreempt a quarter-section each, it had become a habit of his to study thelocalities over which they rode.
"Country looks good round here," he suggested.
"Yes," agreed his friend.
"What we lookin' for anyhow, Bob?"
"Wood, grass, and water."
"Well, they're right here, ain't they?"
Bob had been thinking the same thing himself. They saddled and quarteredover the ground carefully. There was a wide stretch of meadow close tothe junction of Elk Creek and the river. Upon part of it a growth ofyoung willow had sprung up. But he judged that there was nearly onehundred and fifty acres of prairie. This would need no clearing. Richwild grass already covered it luxuriously. For their first crop theycould cut the native hay. Then they could sow timothy. There would be noneed to plough the meadow. The seed could be disked in. Probably the landnever would need ploughing, for it was a soft black loam.
"How about roads?" Bob asked. "The old-timers claim we'll never get roadshere."
"Some one's going to take up all this river land mighty soon. That's acinch. An' the roads will come right soon after the settlers. Fact is,we've got to jump if we're going to take up land on the river an' get achoice location."
"My notion too," agreed Bob. "We'd better get a surveyor out here thisweek."
They did. Inside of a month they had filed papers at the land office,built cabins, and moved their few possessions to the claims. Their houseswere made of logs mud-chinked, with dirt floors and shake roofs insteadof the usual flat dirt ones. They expected later to whipsaw lumber forthe floors. A huge fireplace in one end of each cabin was used forcooking as well as for heat until such time as they could get stoves.Already they planned a garden, and in the evenings were as likely to talkof turnips, beets, peas, beans, and potatoes as of the new Hereford bullsLarson and Harshaw were importing from Denver.
For the handwriting was on the wall. Cattlemen must breed up or go out ofbusiness. The old dogy would not do any longer. Already Utah stock wasdisplacing the poor southern longhorns. Soon these, too, would belong tothe past. Dud and Bob had vision enough to see this and they were makingplans to get a near-pedigreed bull.
Dud sighed in reminiscent appreciation of the old days that werevanishing. He might have been seventy-two instead of twenty-two comingFebruary. Behind him lay apparently all his golden youth.
"We got to adopt ourselves to new ways, old Sure-Shot," he ruminatedaloud. "Got to quit hellin' around an' raisin' Cain. Leastways I have.You never did do any o' that. Yes, sir, I got to be a responsiblecitizen."
The partner of the responsible citizen leaned back in a reclining chairwhich he had made from a plank sawed into five parts that were nailedtogether at angles.
"You'll be raisin' little towheads right soon," he said through a cloudof smoke.
"No, sir. Not me. Not Dud Hollister. I can boss my own se'f for a spellyet," the fair-haired youth protested vehemently. "When I said we got toadopt ourselves, I was thinkin' of barb-wire fences an' timothy hay. 'Sall right to let the dogies rough through the winter an' hunt the gulcheswhen the storms come. But it won't do with stock that's bred up. Harshawlost close to forty per cent of his cattle three years ago. It sure putsome crimp in him. He was hit hard again last winter. You know that. Sayhe'd had valuable stock. Why, it would put him outa business. Surewould."
"Yes," admitted Bob. "There's a schoolmarm down at Meeker was askin' meabout you. You know her--that snappin'-eyed brunette. Wanted to know allabout yore claim, an' was it a good one, an' didn't I think Mr. Hollistera perfect gentleman, an'--"
Dud snatched a blanket from the bunk and smothered the red head. Theyclinched, rolled on the floor, and kicked over the chair and stool.Presently they emerged from battle feeling happier.
"No, we got to feed. Tha's the new law an' the gospel of the range," Dudcontinued. "Got to keep our cattle under fence in winter an' look after'em right. Cattle-raisin' as a gamble will be a losing bet right soon.It's a business now. Am I right?"
"Sounds reasonable to me, Dud."
Bob's face was grave, but he smiled inwardly. The doctrine that hisfriend had just been expounding was not new to him. He had urged it onDud during many a ride and at more than one night camp, had pointed tothe examples of Larson, Harshaw, and the other old-timers. Hollister wasa happy-go-lucky youth. The old hard-riding cattle days suited himbetter. But he, too, had been forced at last to see the logic of thesituation. Now, with all the ardor of a convert, he was urging his viewon a partner who did not need to be convinced.
Dillon knew that stock-raising was entering upon a new phase, that theold loose range system must give way to better care, attention tobreeding, and close business judgment. The cattleman who stuck to the oldways would not survive.
The Fighting Edge Page 37