CHAPTER XIII
A SNOW-SCENE
There was a big fire out under the mesquite that night and a band ofcowboys, in all the bravery of spurs, shaps, and pistols, rompedaround it in a stage-struck exuberance of spirits. The night washardly cold enough to call for fringed leather _chaparejos_, and theirguns should have been left in their blankets; nor are long-shankedTexas spurs quite the proper thing about camp, having a dirty way ofcatching and tripping their wearers; but the _rodeo_ outfit felt thatit was on dress parade and was trying its best to look the cowboypart. Bill Lightfoot even had a red silk handkerchief draped about hisneck, with the slack in front, like a German napkin; and his cartridgebelt was slung so low that it threatened every moment to drop his hugeColt's revolver into the dirt--but who could say a word?
The news of Judge Ware's visit had passed through the Four Peakscountry like the rumor of an Indian uprising and every man rode intoHidden Water with an eye out for calico, some with a foolish grin,some downcast and reserved, some swaggering in the natural pride ofthe lady's man. But a becoming modesty had kept Lucy Ware indoors, andKitty had limited herself to a furtive survey of the scene from behindwhat was left of Sallie Winship's lace curtains. With the subtlewisdom of a _rodeo_ boss Jefferson Creede had excused himself to theladies at the first sound of jangling horse-bells, and now he keptresolutely away from the house, busying himself with the manifoldduties of his position. To the leading questions of Bill Lightfoot andthe "fly bunch" which followed his lead he turned a deaf ear orreplied in unsatisfying monosyllables; and at last, as the fire lit upthe trees and flickered upon their guns and silver-mounted trappingsand no fair maids sallied forth to admire them, the overwroughtemotions of the cowboys sought expression in song.
"Oh my little girl she lives in the town,"
chanted Lightfoot, and the fly bunch, catching the contagion, joinedpromptly in on the refrain:
_"A toodle link, a toodle link, a too--oo-dle a day!"_
At this sudden and suggestive outbreak Jeff Creede surveyed BillLightfoot coldly and puffed on his cigarette. Bill was always tryingto make trouble.
"And every time I see 'er, she asts me f'r a gown,"
carolled the leading cowboy; and the bunch, not to seem faint-hearted,chimed in again:
_"Reladin to reladin, and reladin to relate!"_
Now they were verging toward the sensational part of the ballad, theplace where a real gentleman would quit, but Lightfoot only tossed hishead defiantly.
"O-Oh--" he began, and then he stopped with his mouth open. The_rodeo_ boss had suddenly risen to an upright position and fixed himwith his eye.
"I like to see you boys enjoyin' yourselves," he observed, quietly,"but please don't discuss _politics_ or _religion_ while them ladiesis over at the house. You better switch off onto 'My Bonnie Lies overthe Ocean,' Bill." And Bill switched.
"What's the matter?" he demanded aggrieved, "ain't anybody but you gotany rights and privileges around here? You go sportin' around andhavin' a good time all day, but as soon as one of us punchers openshis mouth you want to jump down his throat. What do _we_ know aboutladies--_I_ ain't seen none!"
The discussion of the moral code which followed was becomingacrimonious and personal to a degree when a peal of girlish laughterechoed from the ranch house and the cowboys beheld Judge Ware andHardy, accompanied by Miss Lucy and Kitty Bonnair, coming towardstheir fire. A less tactful man might have taken advantage of the hushto utter a final word of warning to his rebellious subjects, butCreede knew Kitty Bonnair and the human heart too well. As the partycame into camp he rose quietly and introduced the judge and the ladiesto every man present, without deviation and without exception, andthen, having offered Miss Ware his cracker box, he moved over a man ortwo and sat down.
In the bulk of his mighty frame, the rugged power of his countenance,and the unconscious authority of his words he was easily master ofthem all; but though he had the voice of Mars and a head like OlympianZeus he must needs abase his proud spirit to the demands of theoccasion, for the jealousy of mortal man is a proverb. Where thepunchers that he hired for thirty dollars a month were decked out inshaps and handkerchiefs he sat in his shirt-sleeves and overalls, withonly his high-heeled boots and the enormous black sombrero which healways wore, to mark him for their king. And the first merry questionwhich Miss Kitty asked he allowed to pass unnoticed, until BillLightfoot--to save the credit of the bunch--answered it himself.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied politely. "That was a genuwine cowboy song wewas singin'--we sing 'em to keep the cattle awake at night."
"Oh, how interesting!" exclaimed Kitty, leaning forward in hereagerness. "But why do you try to keep them awake? I should think theywould be so tired, after travelling all day."
"Yes, ma'am," responded Bill, twisting his silk handkerchiefnervously, "but if they go to sleep and anything wakes 'em up quickthey stompede--so we ride through 'em and sing songs."
"Just think of that, Lucy!" cried Miss Kitty enthusiastically. "And itwas such a pretty tune, too! Won't you sing it again, Mr. Lightfoot?I'd just love to hear it!"
Here was a facer for Mr. Lightfoot, and Jefferson Creede, to whom alleyes were turned in the crisis, smiled maliciously and let him sweat.
"Bill ain't in very good voice to-night," he observed at last, as thesuspense became unbearable, "and we're kinder bashful about singin' tocompany, anyway. But if you want to hear somethin' good, you want togit Bill goin' about Coloraydo. Sure, Mr. Lightfoot is our beststory-teller; and he's had some mighty excitin' times up there in themparts, hain't you, Bill?"
Bill cast a baleful glance at his rival and thrust out his chininsolently. His Coloraydo experiences were a matter of jest with JeffCreede, but with the ladies it might be different. His courage rosebefore the flattering solicitude of Kitty Bonnair and he resolved thenand there to fool Mr. Creede or know the reason why.
"Well," he replied, stoutly, "they may look kinder tame alongside ofyour Arizona lies, but--"
"Oh, Mr. Lightfoot, _do_ tell me all about it!" broke in Kitty, withan alluring smile. "Colorado is an awfully wild country, isn't it? Anddid you ever have any adventures with bears?"
"Bears!" exclaimed Bill contemptuously. "Bears! Huh, we don't take nomore account of ordinary bears up in Coloraydo than they do of coonsdown here. But them big silver-tips--ump-um--excuse _me_!" He pausedand swaggered a little on the precarious support of his cracker box."And yet, Miss Bunnair," he said, lowering his voice to a confidentialkey, "I slept a whole night with one of them big fellers and neverturned a hair. I could've killed him the next day, too, but I was sograteful to him I spared his life."
This was the regular "come-on" for Lightfoot's snow-storm story, andCreede showed his white teeth scornfully as Bill leaned back and beganthe yarn.
"You see, Miss Bunnair," began the Colorado cowboy, rolling his eyesabout the circle to quell any tendency to give him away, "Coloraydo isan altogether different country from this here. The mountains ismighty steep and brushy, with snow on the peaks, and the cactus ain'tmore 'n a inch high out on the perairie. But they's plenty of feed andwater--you betcher life I wisht I was back there now instead offightin' sheep down here! The only thing aginst that country up thereis the blizzards. Them storms is very destructive to life. Yes, ma'am.They's never any notice given but suddenly the wind will begin to blowand the cattle will begin to drift, and then about the time your horseis give out and your ears frozen it'll begin to snow!
"Well, this time I'm tellin' about I was up on the Canadian River westof the Medicine Bow Mountains and she came on to snow--and snow, Ithought it would bury me alive! I was lost in a big park--a kind ofplain or perairie among the mountains. Yes'm, they have'm there--biglevel places--and it was thirty miles across this here level perairie.The wind was blowin' something awful and the snow just piled up on myhat like somebody was shovellin' it off a roof, but I kept strugglin'on and tryin' to git to the other side, or maybe find some shelteredplace, until i
t was like walkin' in your sleep. And that light fluffysnow jest closed in over me until I was covered up ten feet deep. Ofcourse my horse had give out long ago, and I was jest beginnin' todespair when I come across one of them big piles of rocks they have upthere, scattered around promiscus-like on the face of nature; and Ibegin crawlin' in and crawlin' in, hopin' to find some cave orsomethin', and jest as I was despairin' my feet fell into a kind oftrail, kinder smooth and worn, but old, you know, and stomped hardunder the snow. Well, I follers along this path with my feet until itcome to a hole in the rocks; and when I come to that hole I went rightin, fer I was desprit; and I crawled in and crawled in until I come toa big nest of leaves, and then I begin to burrow down into themleaves. And as soon as I had made a hole I pulled them leaves over meand fell to sleep, I was that exhausted.
"But after a while I had some awful bad dreams, and when I woke up Ifelt somethin' kickin' under me. Yes 'm, that's right; I feltsomethin' kinder movin' around and squirmin', and when I begin toinvestergate I found I was layin' down right square on top of atremenjous big grizzly bear! Well, you fellers can laugh, but I was,all the same. What do you know about it, you woolies, punchin' cowsdown here in the rocks and cactus?
"How's that, Miss Bunnair? W'y sure, he was hibernatin'! They allhibernate up in them cold countries. Well, the funny part of this wasthat Old Brin had gone to sleep suckin' his off fore foot, jest like alittle baby, and when I had piled in on top of him I had knocked hispaw out of his mouth and he was tryin' to git it back. But he was allquilled up with himself under them leaves, and his claws was so longhe couldn't git that foot back into his mouth nohow. He snooped andgrabbed and fumbled, and every minute he was gittin' madder andmadder, a-suckin' and slobberin' like a calf tryin' to draw milk outof the hired man's thumb, and a-gruntin' and groanin' somethin'awful.
"Well, I see my finish in about a minute if he ever got good an' wokeup, so I resolved to do somethin' desprit. I jest naturally grabbedonto that foot and twisted it around and stuck it into his mouthmyself! Afraid? Ump-um, not me--the only thing I was afraid of wasthat he'd git my hand and go to suckin' it by mistake. But when Isteered his paw around in front of him he jest grabbed onto that bigblack pad on the bottom of his foot like it was m'lasses candy, andwent off to sleep again as peaceful as a kitten."
The man from Coloraydo ended his tale abruptly, with an air ofsuspense, and Kitty Bonnair took the cue.
"What did I do then?" demanded Lightfoot, with a reminiscent smile."Well, it was a ground-hog case with me--if I moved I'd freeze todeath and if I knocked his paw out'n his mouth again he'd mash my facein with it--so I jest snuggled down against him, tucked my head underhis chin, and went to sleep, holdin' that paw in his mouth with bothhands."
"Oh, Mr. Lightfoot," exclaimed Kitty, "how could you? Why, that's themost remarkable experience I ever heard of! Lucy, I'm going to putthat story in my book when I get home, and--but what _are_ youlaughing at, Mr. Creede?"
"Who? Me?" inquired Jeff, who had been rocking about as if helplesswith laughter. "W'y, _I_ ain't laughin'!"
"Yes, you are too!" accused Miss Kitty. "And I want you to tell mewhat it is. Don't you think Mr. Lightfoot's story is true?"
"True?" echoed Creede, soberly. "W'y, sure it's true. I ain't neverbeen up in those parts; but if Bill says so, that settles it. I neverknew a feller from Coloraydo yet that could tell a lie. No, I was jestlaughin' to think of that old bear suckin' his paw that way."
He added this last with such an air of subterfuge and evasion thatKitty was not deceived for a moment.
"No, you're _not_, Mr. Creede," she cried, "you're just making fun ofme--so there!"
She stamped her foot and pouted prettily, and the big cowboy's facetook on a look of great concern.
"Oh, no, ma'am," he protested, "but since it's gone so far I reckonI'll have to come through now in order to square myself. Of course Inever had no real adventures, you know,--nothin' that you would careto write down or put in a book, like Bill's,--but jest hearin' himtell that story of gittin' snowed in reminded me of a littleexperience I had up north here in Coconino County. You know Arizonaain't all sand and cactus--not by no means. Them San FranciscoMountains up above Flag are sure snow-crested and covered with talltimber and it gits so cold up there in the winter-time that it breaksrocks. No, that's straight! Them prospectors up there when they runshort of powder jest drill a line of holes in a rock and when one ofthem awful cold snaps comes on they run out and fill the holes up withhot water out of the tea-kittle. Well, sir, when that water freezes,which it does in about a minute, it jest naturally busts them rockswide open--but that ain't what I started to tell you about."
He paused and contemplated his hearers with impressive dignity.
"Cold ain't nothin'," he continued gravely, "after you git used toit; but once in a while, ladies, she snows up there. And when I say'snows' I don't refer to such phenominer as Bill was tellin' about upin Coloraydo, but the real genuwine Arizona article--the kind thatgits started and can't stop, no more 'n a cloudburst. Well, one time Iwas knockin' around up there in Coconino when I ought to've been athome, and I come to a big plain or perairie that was _seventy milesacross_, and I got lost on that big plain, right in the dead ofwinter. They was an awful cold wind blowin' at the time, but I couldsee the mountains on the other side and so I struck out for 'em. Butjest as I got in the middle of that great plain or perairie, she comeon to snow. At first she come straight down, kinder soft and fluffy;then she began to beat in from the sides, and the flakes began to gitbigger and bigger, until I felt like the Chinaman that walked downMain Street when they had that snow-storm in Tucson. Yes, sir, it wasjest like havin' every old whiskey bum in town soakin' you withsnow-balls--and all the kids thrown in.
"My horse he began to puff and blow and the snow began to bank uphigher and higher in front of us and on top of us until, bymeby, hecouldn't stand no more, and he jest laid down and died. Well, ofcourse that put me afoot and I was almost despairin'. The snow wasstacked up on top of me about ten feet deep and I was desprit, but Ikept surgin' right ahead, punchin' a hole through that fluffy stuff,until she was twenty foot deep. But I wasn't afraid none--ump-um, notme--I jest kept a-crawlin' and a-crawlin', hopin' to find some rocksor shelter, until she stacked up on top of me thirty foot deep._Thirty foot_--and slumped down on top o' me until I felt like ahorny-toad under a haystack. Well, I was gittin' powerful weak andpuny, but jest as I was despairin' I come across a big rock, right outthere in the middle of that great plain or perairie. I tried to crawlaround that old rock but the snow was pushin' down so heavy on top o'me I couldn't do nothin', and so when she was _fif-ty-two foot deep_by actual measurement I jest give out an' laid down to die."
He paused and fixed a speculative eye on Bill Lightfoot.
"I reckon that would be considered pretty deep up in Coloraydo," hesuggested, and then he began to roll a cigarette. Sitting in rigidpostures before the fire the punchers surveyed his face with slow andsuspicious glances; and for once Kitty Bonnair was silent, watchinghis deliberate motions with a troubled frown. Balanced rakishly uponhis cracker box Bill Lightfoot regarded his rival with a sneeringsmile, a retort trembling on his lips, but Creede only leaned forwardand picked a smoking brand from the fire--he was waiting for the"come-on."
Now to ask the expected question at the end of such a story was totake a big chance. Having been bitten a time or two all around, the_rodeo_ hands were wary of Jeff Creede and his barbed jests; thevisitors, being ignorant, were still gaping expectantly; it was up toBill Lightfoot to spring the mine. For a moment he hesitated, and thenhis red-hot impetuosity, which had often got him into trouble before,carried him away.
"W'y, sure it would be deep for Coloraydo," he answered, guardedly.
Jefferson Creede glanced up at him, smoking luxuriously, holding thecigarette to his lips with his hand as if concealing a smile.
"Aw, rats," snapped out Lightfoot at last, "why don't you finish upand quit? What happened then?"
"Then?" drawled
Creede, with a slow smile. "W'y, nothin', Bill--_Idied_!"
"Ah-hah-hah!" yelled the punchers, throwing up handfuls of dirt in theextravagance of their delight, and before Bill could realize theenormity of the sell one of his own partisans rose up and kicked thecracker box out from under him in token of utter defeat. For an hourafter their precipitate retreat the visitors could hear the whoopsand gibes of the cowboys, the loud-mouthed and indignant retorts ofLightfoot, and the soothing remonstrances of Jefferson Creede--andfrom the house Kitty the irrepressible, added to their merriment ashriek of silvery laughter. But after it was all over and he had won,the round-up boss swore soberly at himself and sighed, for hediscerned on the morrow's horizon the Indian signs of trouble.
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