by B. M. Bower
“Pink, what time was it when we went to bed last night?” Andy asked him in the tone of one who wished to eliminate all doubt of his virtue.
“Why—it was pretty early. We didn’t light the lamp at all, you remember. You went to bed before I did—we couldn’t see the cards—” He stopped confusedly, and again he gave the two women the impression that he blushed. “We weren’t playing for money,” he hurriedly explained. “Just for pastime. It’s—pretty lonesome—sometimes.”
“Somebody did something to somebody last night,” Andy informed Pink with a resentful impatience. “Miss Hallman thinks we’re the guilty parties—me in particular, because she don’t like me. It’s something about some shacks—damaging property, she called it. Just what was it you said was done, Miss Hallman?” He turned his honest, gray eyes toward her and met her suspicious look steadily.
Miss Hallman bit her lip. She had been perfectly sure of the guilt of Andy Green, and of the others who were his friends. Now, in spite of all reason she was not so sure. And there had been nothing more tangible than two pairs of innocent-looking eyes and the irreproachable manners of two men to change her conviction.
“Well, I naturally took it for granted that you did it,” she weakened. “The shacks were moved off eighties that you have filed upon, Mr. Green. Mr. Owens told me this morning that you men came by his place and threatened him yesterday, and ordered him to move. No one else would have any object in molesting him or the others.” Her voice hardened again as her mind dwelt upon the circumstances. “It must have been you!” she finished sharply.
Whereupon Pink gave her a distressed look that made Miss Hallman flush unmistakably. “I’m just about distracted, this morning,” she apologized. “I took it upon myself to see these settlers through—and everybody makes it just as hard as possible for me. Why should all you fellows treat us the way you do? We—”
“Why, we aren’t doing a thing!” Pink protested diffidently. “We thought we’d take up some claims and go to ranching for ourselves, when we got discharged from the Flying U. We didn’t mean any harm—everybody’s taking up claims. We’ve bought some cattle and we’re going to try and get ahead, like other folks. We—I wanted to cut out all this wildness—”
“Are those your cattle up on the hill? Some men shipped in four carloads of young stock, yesterday, to Dry Lake. They drove them out here intending to turn them on the range, and a couple of men—”
“Four men,” Miss Allen corrected with a furtive twinkle in her eyes.
“Some men refused to let them cross that big coulee back there. They drove the cattle back toward Dry Lake, and told Mr. Simmons and Mr. Chase and some others that they shouldn’t come on this bench back here at all. That was another thing I wanted to see you men about.”
“Maybe they were going to mix their stock up with ours,” Pink ventured mildly.
“Your men shot, and shot, and shot—the atmosphere up there is shot so full of holes that the wind just whistles through!” Miss Allen informed then gravely, with her eyebrows all puckered together and the furtive little twinkle in her eyes. “And they yelled so that we could hear them from the house! They made those poor cows and those poor, weenty calves just go trotting back across the coulee. My new book on farming says you positively must not hurry cattle. It—oh, it does something to the butter-fat—joggles it all up or something—I’ll lend you the book. I found the chapter on Proper Treatment of Dairy Stock, and I watched those men with the book in my hands. Why, it was terribly unscientific, the way they drove those cow-critters!”
“I’ll come over and get the book,” Andy promised her, with a look in his eyes that displeased Miss Hallman very much. “We’re ashamed of our ignorance. We’d like to have you learn us what’s in the book.”
“I will. And every week—just think of that! I’m to get a real farm paper.”
“I’d like to borrow the paper too,” Andy declared instantly.
“Oh, and—what’s going to be done about all those bullet-holes? They—they might create a draught—”
“We’ll ride around that way and plug ’em up,” Andy assured her solemnly. “Whenever you’ve got time to show me about where they’re at.”
“It will be a pleasure. I can tell where they are, but they’re too high for me to reach. Wherever the wind whistles there’s a hole in the atmosphere. And there are places where the air just quivers, so you can see it. That is the shock those bold, bad men gave it with the words they used. They—used—words, Mr. Green! If we could scheme some way to pull out all those wrinkles—I do love a nice, clean, smooth atmosphere where I live. It’s so wrinkly—”
“I’ll attend to all that, right away.”
Miss Hallman decided that she had nothing further to say to Mr. Green. She wheeled her horse rather abruptly and rode off with a curt goodbye. Miss Allen, being new at the business of handling a horse, took more time in pulling her mount around. While her back was turned to Florence Grace and her face was turned toward Pink and Andy, she gave them a twinkling glance that had one lowered eyelid to it, twisted her lips, and spoke sharply to her horse. They might make of it what they would. Florence Grace looked back impatiently—perhaps suspiciously also—and saw Miss Allen coming on with docile haste.
So that ended the interview which Miss Hallman had meant to be so impressive. A lot of nonsense that left a laugh behind and the idea that Miss Allen at least did not disapprove of harassing claim-jumpers. Andy Green was two hundred per cent. more cheerful after that, and his brain was more active and his determination more fixed. For all that he stared after them thoughtfully.
“She winked at us—if I’ve got eyes in my head. What do you reckon she meant, Pink?” he asked when the two riders had climbed over the ridge. “And what she said about the bold, bad men shooting holes that have to be plugged up—and about liking a nice, smooth atmosphere? Do you suppose she meant that it’s liable to take bold, bad men to clean the atmosphere, or—”
“What difference does it make what she meant? There’s jumpers left—two on Bud’s place—and he’s oary-eyed over it, and was going to read ’em the riot act proper, when I left to come over here. And a couple of men drove onto that south eighty of Mig’s with a load of lumber, just as I come by. Looks to me like we’ve got our hands full, Andy. There’ll be holes to plug up somewhere besides in the atmosphere, if you ask me.”
“Long as they don’t get anything on us I ain’t in the state of mind where I give a darn. That little brown-eyed Susan’ll keep us posted if they start anything new—what did she mean by that wink, do you reckon?”
“Ah, don’t get softening of the emotions,” Pink advised impatiently. “That’s the worst thing we’ve got to steer clear of, Andy! All them women in the game is going to make it four times as hard to stand ’em off. Irish is foolish over this one you’re gettin’ stuck on—you’ll be fighting each other, if you don’t look out. That Florence Grace lady ain’t so slow—she’s going to use the women to keep us fellows guessing.”
Andy sighed. “We can block that play, of course,” he said. “Come on, Pink, let’s go round up the boys and see what’s been taking place with them cattle. Shipped in four carloads already, have they?” He began pulling on his chaps rather hurriedly. “Worst of it is, you can’t stampede a bunch of darned tame cows, either,” he complained.
They found Irish and the Native Son on day-herd, with the cattle scattered well along the western line of the claims. Big Medicine, Weary, Cal Emmett and Jack Bates were just returning from driving the settlers’ stock well across Antelope Coulee which had been decided upon as a hypothetical boundary line until such time as a fence could be built.
They talked with the day-herders, and they talked with the other four. Chip came up from the ranch with the Kid riding proudly beside him on Silver, and told them that the Honorable Mr. Blake was at the Flying U and had sent word that he would be pleased to take the legal end of the fight, if the Happy Family so desired. Which was in itself a vast
encouragement. The Honorable Blake had said that they were well within their rights thus far, and advised them to permit service of the contest notices, and to go calmly on fulfilling the law. Which was all very well as far as it went, providing they were permitted to go on calmly.
“What about them cattle they’re trying to git across our land?” Slim wanted to know. “We got a right to keep ’em off, ain’t we?”
Chip said that he thought they had, but to make sure, he would ask the Honorable Blake. Trespassing, he said, might be avoided—
Right there Andy was seized with an idea. He took Chip—because of his artistic talents which, he said, had been plumb wasted lately—to one side. After wards they departed in haste, with Pink and Weary galloping close at their heels. In a couple of hours they returned to the boundary where the cattle still fed all scattered out in a long line, and behind them drove Pink and Weary in the one wagon which the Family possessed.
“It oughta help some,” grinned Andy, when the Native Son came curiously over to see what it was they were erecting there on the prairie. “It’s a fair warning, and shows ’em where to head in at.”
The Native Son read the sign, which was three feet long and stood nailed to two posts ready for planting solidly in the earth. He showed his even, white teeth in a smile of approval. “Back it up, and it ought to do some good,” he said.
They dug holes and set the posts, and drove on to where they meant to plant another sign exactly like the first. That day they planted twelve sign-boards along their west line. They might not do any good, but they were a fair warning and as such were worth the trouble.
That afternoon Andy was riding back along the line when he saw a rider pull up at the first sign and read it carefully. He galloped in haste to the spot and found that his suspicions were correct; it was Miss Allen.
“Well,” she said when he came near, “I suppose that means me. Does it?” She pointed to the sign, which read like this:
WARNING!!
NO TRESPASSING EAST OF HERE
All Shacks, Live-Stock and Pilgrims
Promptly AND Painfully Removed
From These Premises
“I’m over the line,” she notified him, pulling her horse backward a few feet. “You’re getting awfully particular, seems to me. Oh, did you know that a lot of men are going to play it’s New Year’s Eve and hold watch meetings tonight?”
“Never heard a word about it,” he declared truthfully, and waited for more.
“That’s not strange—seeing it’s a surprise party. Still—I’m sure you are expected to—attend.”
“And where is all this to take place?” Andy looked at her intently, smiling a little.
“Oh, over there—and there—and there.” She pointed to three new shacks—the official dwellings of certain contestants. “Stag parties, they are, I believe. But I doubt if they’ll have any very exciting time; most of these new settlers are too busy getting the ground ready for crops, to go to parties. Some people are pretty disgusted, I can tell you, Mr. Green. Some people talk about ingratitude and wonder why the colony doesn’t hang together better. Some people even wonder why it is that folks are interested mainly in their own affairs, and decline to attend watch meetings and—receptions. So I’m afraid very few, except your nearest neighbors, will be present, after all might I ask when you expect to—to move again, Mr. Green?”
Smiling still, Andy shook his head. “I expect to be pretty busy this spring,” he told her evasively. “Aren’t any of you ladies invited to those parties, Miss Allen?”
“Not a one. But let me tell you something, Mr. Green. Some folks think that perhaps we lady-settlers ought to organize a club for the well being of our intellects. Some folks are trying to get up parties just for women—see the point? They think it would be better for the—atmosphere.”
“Oh.” Andy studied the possibilities of such a move. If Florence Grace should set the women after them, he could see how the Happy Family would be hampered at every turn. “Well, I must be going. Say, did you know this country is full of wild animals, Miss Allen? They prowl around nights. And there’s a gang of wild men that hang out up there in those mountains—they prowl around nights, too. They’re outlaws. They kill off every sheriff’s party that tries to round them up, and they kidnap children and ladies. If you should hear any disturbance, any time, don’t be scared. Just stay inside after dark and keep your door locked. And if you should organize that ladies’ club, you better hold your meetings in the afternoon, don’t you think?”
When he had ridden on and left her, Andy was somewhat ashamed of such puerile falsehoods. But then, she had started the allegorical method of imparting advice, he remembered. So presently went whistling to round up the boys and tell them what he had learned.
CHAPTER 13
IRISH WORKS FOR THE CAUSE
Big Medicine with Weary and Chip to bear him company, rode up to the shack nearest his own, which had been hastily built by a raw-boned Dane who might be called truly Americanized. Big Medicine did not waste time in superfluities or in making threats of what he meant to do. He called the Dane to the door—claim-jumpers were keeping close to their cabins, these days—and told him that he was on another man’s land, and asked him if he meant to move.
“Sure I don’t intend to move!” retorted the Dane with praiseworthy promptness. “I’m going to hold ’er down solid.”
“Yuh hear what says, boys.” Big Medicine turned to his companions “He ain’t going to git off’n my land, he says. Weary, yuh better go tell the bunch I need’em.”
Weary immediately departed. He was not gone so very long, and when he returned the Happy Family was with him, even to Patsy who drove the wagon with all the ease of a veteran of many roundups. The Dane tried bluster, but that did not seem to work. Nothing seemed to work, except the Happy Family.
There in broad daylight, with no more words than were needful, they moved the Dane, and his shack. When they began to raise the building he was so unwise as to flourish a gun, and thereby made it perfectly right and lawful that Big Medicine should take the gun away from him and march him ahead of his own forty-five.
They took the shack directly past one of the trespassing signs, and Big Medicine stopped accommodatingly while the Dane was permitted to read the sign three times aloud. That the Dane did not seem truly appreciative of the privilege was no fault of Big Medicine’s, surely. They went on, skidding the little building sledlike over the uneven prairie. They took it down into Antelope Coulee and left it there, right side up and with not even a pane of glass broken in the window.
“There, darn yuh, live there awhile!” Andy gritted to when the timbers were withdrawn from beneath the cabin and they were ready to leave. “You can’t say we damaged your property—this time. Come back, and there’s no telling what we’re liable to do.”
Since Big Medicine kept his gun, the Dane could do nothing but swear while he watched them ride up the hill and out of sight.
They made straight for the next interloper, remarking frequently that it was much simpler and easier to do their moving in daylight. There they had an audience, for Florence Grace rode furiously up just as they were getting under way. The Happy Family spoke very nicely to Florence Grace, and when she spoke very sharply to them they were discreetly hard of hearing and became absorbed in their work.
Several settlers came before that shack was moved, but they only stood around and talked among themselves, and were careful not to get in the way or to hinder, and to lower their voices so that the Happy Family need not hear unless they chose to listen.
So they slid that shack into the coulee, righted it carefully and left it there—where it would be exceedingly difficult to get it out, by the way; since it is much easier to drag a building down hill than up, and the steeper the hill and the higher, the greater the difference.
They loaded the timbers into the wagon and methodically on to the next shack, their audience increased to a couple of dozen perturbed settlers. T
he owner of this particular shack, feeling the strength of numbers behind him, was disposed to argue the point.
“Oh, you’ll sweat for this!” he shouted impotently when the Happy Family was placing the timbers.
“Ah, git outa the way!” said Andy, coming toward him with a crowbar. “We’re sweating now, if that makes yuh feel any better.”
The man got out of the way, and went and stood with the group of onlookers, and talked vaguely of having the law on them—whatever he meant by that.
By the time they had placed the third shack in the bottom of the coulee, the sun was setting. They dragged the timbers up the steep bluff with their ropes and their saddle-horses, loaded them on to the wagon and threw the crowbars and rolling timbers in, and turned to look curiously and unashamed at their audience. Andy, still tacitly their leader, rode a few steps forward.
“That’ll be all today,” he announced politely. “Except that load of lumber back here on the bench where it don’t belong—we aim to haul that over the line. Seeing your considerable interest in our affairs, I’ll just say that we filed on our claims according to law, and we’re living on ’em according to law. Till somebody proves in court that we’re not, there don’t any shack, or any stock, stay on our side the line any longer than it takes to get them off. There’s the signs, folks—read ’em and take ’em to heart. You can go home now. The show’s over.”
He lifted his hat to the women—and there were several now—and went away to join his fellows, who had ridden on slowly till he might overtake them. He found Happy Jack grumbling and predicting evil, as it was his nature to do, but he merely straightened his aching back and laughed at the prophecies.