CHAPTER IX
MORONI
The Mormon settlement of Moroni proved to belong to that large classof Western "cities" known as "string-towns"--a long line of stores oneither side of a main street, brick where fires have swept away theshacks, and wood with false fronts where dynamite or a change of windhas checked the conflagration; a miscellaneous conglomeration ofsaloons, restaurants, general stores, and livery stables, all verysatisfying to the material wants of man, but in the ensemble notover-pleasing to the eye.
At first glance, Moroni might have been Reno, Nevada; or Gilroy,California; or Deming, New Mexico; or even Bender--except for therailroad. A second glance, however, disclosed a smaller number ofdisconsolate cow ponies standing in front of the saloons and a largernumber of family rigs tied to the horse rack in front of Swope'sStore; there was also a tithing house with many doors, a brick church,and women and children galore. And for twenty miles around there wasnothing but flowing canals and irrigated fields waving with wheat andalfalfa, all so green and prosperous that a stranger from the backcountry was likely to develop a strong leaning toward the faith beforehe reached town and noticed the tithing house.
As for Hardy, his eyes, so long accustomed to the green lawns andtrees of Berkeley, turned almost wistful as he gazed away across therich fields, dotted with cocks of hay or resounding to the whirr ofthe mower; but for the sweating Latter Day Saints who labored in thefields, he had nothing but the pitying contempt of the cowboy. It wasa fine large country, to be sure, and produced a lot of very necessaryhorse feed, but Chapuli shied when his feet struck the freshlysprinkled street, and somehow his master felt equally ill at ease.
Having purchased his stamp and eaten supper, he was wanderingaimlessly up and down the street--that being the only pleasure andrecourse of an Arizona town outside the doors of a saloon--when in themedley of heterogeneous sounds he heard a familiar voice boom out andas abruptly stop. It was evening and the stores were closed, butvarious citizens still sat along the edge of the sidewalk, smoking andtalking in the semi-darkness. Hardy paused and listened a moment. Thevoice which he had heard was that of no ordinary man; it was deep andresonant, with a rough, overbearing note almost military in itsbrusqueness; but it had ceased and another voice, low and protesting,had taken its place. In the gloom he could just make out the forms ofthe two men, sitting on their heels against the wall and engaged in aone-sided argument. The man with the Southern drawl was doing all thetalking, but as Hardy passed by, the other cut in on him again.
"Well," he demanded in masterful tones, "what ye goin' to do aboutit?" Then, without waiting for an answer, he exclaimed:
"Hello, there, Mr. Hardy!"
"Hello," responded Hardy. "Who is this, anyway?"
"Jim Swope," replied the voice, with dignified directness. "What'reyou doing in these parts?"
"Came down to buy a postage stamp," replied Hardy, following a habithe had of telling the truth in details.
"Huh!" grunted Swope. "It's a wonder you wouldn't go to Bender forit--that Jew over there might make you a rate!"
"Nope," responded Hardy, ignoring the too-evident desire of the Moronistorekeeper to draw him into an argument. "He couldn't do it--they saythe Government loses money every time it sells one. Nice town you'vegot down here," he remarked, by way of a parting compliment; butSwope was not satisfied to let him escape so easily.
"Hold on, there!" he exclaimed, rousing up from his place. "What'syour bloody hurry? Come on back here and shake hands with Mr.Thomas--Mr. Thomas is my boss herder up in Apache County. Thinking ofbringing him down here next Fall," he added laconically, and by thesubtle change in his voice Hardy realized intuitively that that movehad been the subject of their interrupted argument. More than that, hefelt vaguely that he himself was somehow involved in the discussion,the more so as Mr. Thomas balked absolutely at shaking hands withhim.
"I hope Mr. Thomas will find it convenient to stop at the ranch," hemurmured pleasantly, "but don't let me interfere with your business."
"Well, I guess that's all to-night, Shep," remarked Swope, takingcharge of the situation. "I jest wanted you to meet Hardy while youwas together. This is the Mr. Hardy, of the Dos S outfit, youunderstand," he continued, "and a white cowman! If you have to goacross his range, go quick--and tell your men the same. I want themdam' tail-twisters up in that Four Peaks country to know that it paysto be decent to a sheepman, and I'm goin' to show some of 'em, too,before I git through! But any time my sheep happen to git on yourrange, Mr. Hardy," he added reassuringly, "you jest order 'em off, andMr. Thomas here will see to it that they go!"
He turned upon his boss herder with a menacing gesture, as if charginghim with silence, and Thomas, whose sole contribution to theconversation had been a grunt at the end, swung about and ambledsullenly off up the street.
"Feelin' kinder bad to-night," explained Swope, as his _mayordomo_butted into the swinging doors of a saloon and disappeared, "but youremember what I said about them sheep. How do things look up yourway?" he inquired. "Feed pretty good?"
"It's getting awfully dry," replied Hardy noncommittally. "I supposeyour sheep are up on the Black Mesa by this time."
"Ump!" responded the sheepman, and then there was a long pause. "Sitdown," he said at last, squatting upon the edge of the sidewalk, "Iwant to talk business with you."
He lit a short black pipe and leaned back comfortably against a post.
"You seem to be a pretty smooth young feller," he remarked,patronizingly. "How long have you been in these parts? Two months, eh?How'd Judge Ware come to get a-hold of you?"
"Just picked me up down at Bender," replied Hardy.
"Oh, jest picked you up, hey? I thought mebby you was some kin to him.Ain't interested in the cattle, are you? Well, I jest thought youmight be, being put in over Jeff that way, you know. Nice boy, that,but hot-headed as a goat. He'll be making hair bridles down in Yumasome day, I reckon. His old man was the same way. So you ain't no kinto the judge and've got no int'rest in the cattle, either, eh? H'm,how long do you figure on holding down that job?"
"Don't know," replied Hardy; "might quit to-day or get firedto-morrow. It's a good place, though."
"Not the only one, though," suggested the sheepman shrewdly, "not by adam' sight! Ever investigate the sheep business? No? Then you'veoverlooked something! I've lived in this country for nigh onto twentyyears, and followed most every line of business, but I didn't make mypile punching cows, nor running a store, neither--I made it _raisingsheep_. Started in with nothing at the time of the big drought in '92,herding on shares. Sheep did well in them good years that followed,and first thing I knew I was a sheepman. Now I've got forty thousandhead, and I'm making a hundred per cent on my investment every year.Of course, if there comes a drought I'll lose half of 'em, but didyou ever sit down and figure out a hundred per cent a year? Well, fivethousand this year is ten next year, and ten is twenty the next year,and the twenty looks like forty thousand dollars at the end of threeyears. That's quite a jag of money, eh? I won't say what it would bein three years more, but here's the point. You're a young man and outto make a stake, I suppose, like the rest of 'em. What's the use ofwasting your time and energy trying to hold that bunch of half-starvedcows together? What's the use of going into a _poor_ business, man,when there's a _better_ business; and I'll tell you right now, thesheep business is the coming industry of Arizona. The sheepmen aregoing to own this country, from Flag to the Mexican line, and youmight as well git on the boat, boy, before it's too late."
He paused, as if waiting for his points to sink home; then he reachedout and tapped his listener confidentially on the knee.
"Hardy," he said, "I like your style. You've got a head, and you knowhow to keep your mouth shut. More'n that, you don't drink. A man likeyou could git to be a boss sheep-herder in six months; you could makea small fortune in three years and never know you was workin'. Youdon't need to work, boy; I kin git a hundred men to work--what I wantis a man that can _think_. Now, say, I'm goin' to need a
man prettysoon--come around and see me some time."
"All right," said Hardy, reluctantly, "but I might as well tell younow that I'm satisfied where I am."
"Satisfied!" ripped out Swope, with an oath. "Satisfied! Why, manalive, you're jest hanging on by your eyebrows up there at HiddenWater! _You_ haven't got nothin'; you don't even own the house youlive in. I could go up there to-morrow and file on that land and youcouldn't do a dam' thing. Judge Ware thought he was pretty smooth whenhe euchred me out of that place, but I want to tell you, boy--and youcan tell him, if you want to--that Old Man Winship never held no titleto that place, and it's public land to-day. That's all public land upthere; there ain't a foot of land in the Four Peaks country that Ican't run my sheep over if I want to, and keep within my legal rights.So that's where you're at, Mr. Hardy, if you want to know!"
He stopped and rammed a cut of tobacco into his pipe, while Hardytapped his boot meditatively. "Well," he said at last, "if that's theway things are, I'm much obliged to you for not sheeping us out thisSpring. Of course, I haven't been in the country long, and I don'tknow much about these matters, but I tried to accommodate you all Icould, thinking--"
"That ain't the point," broke in Swope, smoking fiercely, "I ain'tthreatening ye, and I appreciate your hospitality--but here's thepoint. What's the use of your monkeying along up there on a job thatis sure to play out, when you can go into a better business? Answer methat, now!"
But Hardy only meditated in silence. It was beyond contemplation thathe should hire himself out as a sheep-herder, but if he said sofrankly it might call down the wrath of Jim Swope upon both him andthe Dos S. So he stood pat and began to fish for information.
"Maybe you just think my job is going to play out," he suggested,diplomatically. "If I'd go to a cowman, now, or ask Judge Ware, theymight tell me I had it cinched for life."
Swope puffed smoke for a minute in a fulminating, dangerous silence.
"Huh!" he said. "I can dead easy answer for that. Your job, Mr. Hardy,lasts jest as long as I want it to--and no longer. Now, you can figurethat out for yourself. But I'd jest like to ask you a question, sinceyou're so smart; how come all us sheepmen kept off your upper rangethis year?"
"Why," said Hardy innocently, "I tried to be friendly and treated youas white as I could, and I suppose--"
"Yes, you suppose," sneered Swope grimly, "but I'll jest tell you; wewanted you to hold your job."
"That's very kind of you, I'm sure," murmured Hardy.
"Yes," replied the sheepman sardonically, "it is--dam' kind of us. Butnow the question is: What ye goin' to do about it?"
"Why, in what way?"
"Well, now," began Swope, patiently feeling his way, "suppose, jestfor instance, that some fool Mexican herder should accidentally get inon your upper range--would you feel it your duty to put him off?"
"Well," said Hardy, hedging, "I really hadn't considered the matterseriously. Of course, if Judge Ware--"
"The judge is in San Francisco," put in Swope curtly. "Now, supposethat _all_ of us sheepmen should decide that we wanted some of thatgood feed up on Bronco Mesa, and, suppose, furthermore, that we shouldall go up there, as we have a perfect legal right to do, what wouldyou do?"
"I don't know," replied Hardy politely.
"Well, supposen I dropped a stick of dynamite under you," burst outSwope hoarsely, "would you jump? Speak up, man, you know what I'mtalking about. You don't think you can stand off the whole Sheepmen'sProtective Association, do you? Well, then, will ye abide by the lawand give us our legal rights or will ye fight like a dam' fool and gitsent to Yuma for your pains? That's what I want to know, and when youtalk to me you talk to the whole Sheepmen's Association, with moneyenough in its treasury to send up every cowman in the Four Peakscountry! What I want to know is this--will you fight?"
"I might," answered Hardy quietly.
"Oh, you might, hey?" jeered the sheepman, tapping his pipe ominouslyon the sidewalk. "You might, he-ey? Well, look at Jeff Creede--_he_fought--and what's he got to show for it? Look at his old man--_he_fought--and where is he now? Tell me that!
"But, say, now," he exclaimed, changing his tone abruptly, "this ain'twhat I started to talk about. I want to speak with you, Mr. Hardy, ona matter of business. You jest think them things over until I see youagain--and, of course, all this is on the q. t. But now let's talkbusiness. When you want to buy a postage stamp you come down here toMoroni, don't you? And why? Why, because it's near, sure! But when youwant a wagon-load of grub--and there ain't no one sells provisionscheaper than I do, beans four-fifty, bacon sixteen cents, flour adollar-ninety, everything as reasonable--you haul it clean across thedesert from Bender. That easy adds a cent a pound on every ton youpull, to say nothin' of the time. Well, what I want to know is this:Does Einstein sell you grub that much cheaper? Take flour, forinstance--what does that cost you?"
"I don't know," answered Hardy, whose anger was rising underthis unwarranted commercial badgering. "Same as with you, Isuppose--dollar-ninety."
"Ah!" exclaimed Swope triumphantly, "and the extra freight on a sackwould be fifty cents, wouldn't it--a cent a pound, and a fifty-poundsack! Well, now say, Hardy, we're good friends, you know, and allthat--and Jasp and me steered all them sheep around you, yourecollect--what's the matter with your buying your summer supplies offof me? I'll guarantee to meet any price that Bender Sheeny canmake--and, of course, I'll do what's right by you--but, by Joe, Ithink you owe it to me!"
He paused and waited impatiently for his answer, but once more Hardybalked him.
"I don't doubt there's a good deal in what you say, Mr. Swope," hesaid, not without a certain weariness, "but you'll have to take thatmatter up with Judge Ware."
"Don't you have the ordering of the supplies?" demanded Swopesharply.
"Yes, but he pays for them. All I do is to order what I want and O. K.the bills. My credit is good with Einstein, and the rate lies betweenhim and Judge Ware."
"Well, your credit is good here, too," replied Swope acidly, "but Isee you'd rather trade with a Jew than stand in with your friends, anyday."
"I tell you I haven't got a thing to do with it," replied Hardywarmly. "I take my orders from Judge Ware, and if he tells me to tradehere I'll be glad to do so--it'll save me two days' freighting--butI'm not the boss by any means."
"No, nor you ain't much of a supe, neither," growled Swope morosely."In fact, I consider you a dam' bum supe. Some people, now, after theyhad been accommodated, would take a little trouble, but I notice youain't breaking your back for me. Hell, no, you don't care if I _never_make a deal. But that's all right, Mr. Hardy, I'll try and do as muchfor you about that job of yourn."
"Well, you must think I'm stuck on that job," cried Hardy hotly, "theway you talk about it! You seem to have an idea that if I get let outit'll make some difference to me, but I might as well tell you rightnow, Mr. Swope, that it won't. I've got a good horse and I've gotmoney to travel on, and I'm just holding this job to accommodate JudgeWare. So if you have any idea of taking it out on him you can just saythe word and I'll quit!"
"Um-m!" muttered the sheepman, taken aback by this sudden burst oftemper, "you're a hot-headed boy, ain't you?" He surveyed himcritically in the half light, as if appraising his value as a fighter,and then proceeded in a more conciliatory manner. "But you mustn't letyour temper git away with you like that," he said. "You're likely tosay something you'll be sorry for later."
"Oh, I don't know," retorted Hardy. "It might relieve my mind some.I've only been in this country a few months, but if a sheepman is theonly man that has any legal or moral rights I'd like to know about it.You talk about coming in on our upper range, having a right to thewhole country, and all that. Now I'd like to ask you whether in youropinion a cowman has got a right to live?"
"Oh, tut, tut, now," protested Swope, "you're gettin' excited."
"Well, of course I'm getting excited," replied Hardy, with feeling."You start in by telling me the sheepmen are going to take the wholecountry, from Flag
to the line; then you ask me what I'd do if aMexican came in on us; then you say you can sheep us out any time youwant to, and what am I going to do about it! Is that the way you talkto a man who has done his best to be your friend?"
"I never said we was going to sheep you out," retorted the sheepmansullenly. "And if I'd 'a' thought for a minute you would take on likethis about it I'd've let you go bust for your postage stamps."
"I know you didn't _say_ it," said Hardy, "but you hinted it good andstrong, all right. And when a man comes as near to it as you have Ithink I've got a right to ask him straight out what his intentionsare. Now how about it--are you going to sheep us out next Fall or areyou going to give us a chance?"
"Oh hell!" burst out Swope, in a mock fury, "I'm never going to talkto _you_ any more! You're crazy, man! _I_ never said I was going tosheep you out!"
"No," retorted Hardy dryly, "and you never said you wasn't, either."
"Yes, I did, too," spat back Swope, seizing at a straw. "Didn't Iintroduce you to my boss herder and tell him to keep off your range?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Hardy coldly. "Did you?"
For a moment the sheepman sat rigid in the darkness. Then he rose tohis feet, cursing.
"Well, you can jest politely go to hell," he said, with venomousdeliberation, and racked off down the street.
Hidden Water Page 9