CHAPTER XVII
CHICO AND GRANDE
Between the mouth of Hell's Hip Pocket and the cow camp at CarrizoCreek there lie three high ridges and three broad valleys, all runningnorth and south from the Peaks to Bronco Mesa--the heart of the upperrange; and there in compact bands the invaders held their sheep. Fromthe lower levels they strayed out gradually over the rocky mesa; abovethey clambered up toward the wooded peaks; but at night the sheepmenworked back to the three ridges and camped close together for defence.After many years of struggle they had at last obtained their legalrights--their sheep were up to the ears in grama, eating out the heartof the cow country--but Jeff Creede was just over the hill, and theMexicans were afraid. For years now the huge form of "Grande" hadloomed before them whenever they entered that forbidden range, andthey had always given way before him. And now he had the little manChico with him, the son of a soldier, so it was said, and a gentlemanof _categoria_; he always carried a pistol and his eyes were stern andhard. What would not Chico and Grande do to them, now that they werelike bees robbed of their long-hoarded honey, who have nothing leftbut their stings?
So the word passed around amongst the herders and camp rustlers, andJim and Jasp rode from one camp to the other, cursing and exhortingand holding them to their work. The hour of victory had come, buttheir triumph was poisoned by a haunting fear for their sheep. Onehundred thousand sheep--five hundred thousand dollars' worth--theaccumulation of a lifetime--and all in the hands of these cowardlyMexicans, not half of whom would fight! For the day or two that theyheld together they were safe, but when they spread out--and spreadthey must, to reach the western pass--then the cowmen could rush themat night like lions that raid a corral, scattering one band after theother, and the coyotes would do the rest! That was the joint in thearmor of the sheepmen, and it robbed them of their sleep.
Evening came, and the fires of the camp rustlers on the ridges litup the dust cloud that hung in the east. The hateful bray of thesheep was hushed, at last, and the shrill yell of the coyotes rosefrom every hilltop, bidding farewell to the sun; for as vultures andunnumbered birds of prey hovered in the wake of barbarian armies,casting their dread shadows upon the living and glutting upon thedead, so the coyotes follow tirelessly after the sheep, gorgingupon chance carcasses and pulling down the strays. As the wild,gibbering chorus rose and quavered back from the cliffs the cowmen atCarrizo glanced up from their supper and swore, and in the generalpreoccupation Hardy put down his plate and slipped away to thecorral. He was sitting on the fence listening to the mad yelping ofthe coyotes and watching the shadows gather among the peaks, whenCreede strolled over and joined him. There were times when he couldread Hardy like a book, but at others the little man's thoughts werehidden, and he brooded by himself. On such occasions, after asufficient interval, Jeff esteemed it his duty to break in uponthese unprofitable ruminations and bring him back to the light. Sohe clambered up on the top log and joined in the contemplation ofnature.
"Hear them dam' coyotes," he observed sociably. "They'd cry that wayif they'd had a chicken dinner, all around. I bet ye every one of 'emhas got wool in his teeth, right now. Never you mind, birdie," hecontinued, apostrophizing a peculiarly shrill-voiced howler, "I'llgive you a bellyful of mutton pretty soon, if it's the last act. What_you_ going to do now, Rufe?"
"Well," answered Hardy, "I think I'll try and earn my salary by movinga few sheep. And of course we want to gather every beef critter wecan now, while they're fat. The sheep seem to be hugging the mountainpretty close. What's the matter with working the Pocket Butteto-morrow and while the boys are riding we'll warn all the stragglersdown there to keep up against the hills; then as soon as we get 'emlocated we'll jump in some day and move 'em!"
"Huh?" inquired Creede, shoving back his hat and staring. "Did I hearyou say 'move 'em'? Well--er--I thought you left your gun at home," hesuggested guardedly.
"That's right," admitted Hardy, "but don't you let that worry you any.I told you I'd help move those sheep, and I'll do it! We don't needguns, anyhow. Why, I'd just as soon tackle a rattlesnake bare-handedas go after Jasp Swope with my six-shooter. That's just what he'slooking for, boy, with all those thirty-thirties behind him, and he'llhave plenty of witnesses there to swear us into Yuma, too. I tell you,Jeff, I've been thinking this over, and I believe my boss is right."
"Sure," said Creede, showing his teeth in the twilight.
"Say, let up on that, will you?" exclaimed Hardy irritably. "I'mtalking business. Now you let me tell you something." He paused, andfixed his eye on the dust cloud, intently. "I've moved that manysheep twice," he said, throwing out his hand, "and I left my gun athome."
"That's right," conceded Creede.
"Well now, I'll tell you what I'll do," continued Hardy. "If you'llleave your gun at home too and stay with me on this I'll undertake toshoot the last sheep out through West Pass inside of a week. And theonly chance we take is of getting shot at or arrested for assault andbattery. The Territorial Prison end of this gun business never didappeal me, anyway."
"No--nor me either! But what's the scheme?"
The big cowboy leaned forward eagerly, his eyes flashing as he halfguessed the plan.
"We ride out together," said Hardy, his voice far away, as if he sawit in his mind's eye, "unarmed--and we notify every sheep-herder wesee to move. If Jasp Swope or any of his men kill us while we'reunarmed it'll be cold-blooded murder, and there'll be witnesses toprove it. And if the sheep don't move, _we'll move 'em_! What kind ofa crime is that, anyway--to drive sheep off the public range? Thereisn't an officer of the law within sixty miles, anyhow; and if anybodypulls a gun on us we can slug him in self-defence."
"Sure," agreed Creede, "but suppose one of them big-headed ChihuahuaMexicans should happen to shoot you?"
"Well then, I'd be dead," said Hardy soberly. "But wouldn't you ratherbe dead than shut up in that hell-hole down at Yuma?"
"Yes!" cried Creede, holding out his hands as if taking an oath. "Iwould, by God!"
"Well, come on then!" said Hardy, and they shook hands on it likebrothers.
When the _rodeo_ outfit was gathered together in the morning JeffersonCreede deliberately unstrapped his cartridge belt and threw his pistolback onto his bed. Then he winked at his partner as if, rightlyunderstood, the action was in the nature of a joke, and led the way toPocket Butte.
"You fellows rake the ridges to Bullpit Valley," he said, brieflyassigning every man to his post. "Rufe 'n me'll hold 'em up for youabout four o'clock, but don't rush the funeral--we're goin' to move afew sheep first."
He smiled mysteriously as he spoke, staving off their pointed querieswith equivocal answers.
"See you later," he observed, turning his horse into a sheep trail,and with that the outfit was forced to be content.
The offending sheep were found feeding along the eastern slope of along ridge that led down from the upper ground, and the herderswere camped on the summit. There were four men gathered about the fireand as the cowboys approached three of them picked up their carbinesand sat off to one side, fingering the locks nervously. Theappearance of Jeff Creede spelled trouble to all sheepmen andthere were few camps on Bronco Mesa which did not contain a herderwho had been unceremoniously moved by him. But this time thefire-eating cowman rode grandly into camp without any awe-inspiringdemonstrations whatever.
"Are those your sheep?" he inquired, pointing to the grazing herd.
"_Si senor_," responded the boss herder humbly.
"Very well," said Creede, "move 'em, and move 'em quick. I give youthree days to get through that pass." He stretched a heavily muscledarm very straight toward the notch in the western hills and turnedabruptly away. Hardy swung soberly in behind him and the frightenedChihuahuanos were beginning to breathe again after their excitementwhen suddenly Jeff stopped his horse.
"Say," he said, turning to the boss, "what you carryin' that cow'shorn for?"
At this pointed inquiry the boss herder flinched and looked downcast,toying uneasil
y with the primitive instrument at his side.
"To blow," he answered evasively.
"Well, go ahead and blow it, then," suggested Creede amiably. "No--goon! _I_ don't care what happens. Aw here, let me have it a minute!"
He grabbed the horn away impatiently, wiped the mouthpiece with hissleeve, drew a long breath, and blew. A deep bass roar answered to hiseffort, a bellow such as the skin-clad hunters of antiquity sent forthwhen they wound the horn for their hounds, and the hills and valleysof Carrizo and the upper mesa echoed to the blast.
"Say, that's great!" exclaimed the big cowboy, good-naturedlyresisting the appeals of the herder. "I used to have one like thatwhen I was a boy. Oh, I'm a blower, all right--listen to this, now!"He puffed out his chest, screwed his lips into the horn, and blewagain, loud and long.
"How's that for high?" he inquired, glancing roguishly at his partner."And I could keep it up all day," he added, handing the horn back,"only I've got business elsewhere."
"_Oyez, amigo_," he said, bending his brow suddenly upon the Mexicanherder, "remember, now--in three days!" He continued the sentence by acomprehensive sweep of the hand from that spot out through thewestern pass, favored each of the three Chihuahuanos with an abhorrentscowl, and rode slowly away down the hogback.
"Notice anything funny over on that ridge?" he asked, jerking his headcasually toward the east. "That's Swope and Co.--the Sheepmen'sProtective Association--coming over to rescue _companero_." A line ofrapidly moving specks proved the truth of his observation, andCreede's shoulders shook with laughter as he noted their killingpace.
"I tumbled to the idee the minute I set eyes on that cow's horn," hesaid. "It's like this. Every boss herder has a horn; if he gits intotrouble he blows it and all hands come a-runnin' to shoot holes in Mr.Cowman--think I'll make one myself."
He halted behind a rock and scrutinized the approaching horsemen overthe top.
"That's Jasp, in front," he observed impersonally. "I wouldn't mindownin' that black mule of his'n, neither. We'll jest wait until theydip down into the canyon and then double in back of him, and scare upthem _hombres_ over at the mouth of Hell's Hip Pocket. We want to git'em started out of that. I believe you're right, though, Rufe--we canrun this bunch out without firin' a shot."
That evening after the day's riding Creede sat down on his heels bythe fire and heated the end of an iron rod. In his other hand he helda horn, knocked from the bleaching skeleton of a steer that had diedby the water, and to its end where the tip had been sawed off heapplied the red-hot iron, burning a hole through to the hollowcentre.
"Jim," he said, turning to one of the Clark boys, "do you want alittle excitement to-morrow? Well then, you take this old horn and goplay hide 'n' seek with Jasp. Keep him chasin', and while the rest ofthe boys are gatherin' cattle Rufe and me will move a few sheep."
"Well, say," broke in Ben Reavis impatiently, "where do us fellerscome in on this play? I thought there was goin' to be a few shaplessons and a little night work."
"Well," responded the _rodeo_ boss philosophically, "any time youfellers want to go up against them thirty-thirties you can do so. It'syour own funeral, and I'll promise to do the honors right. But I'm alaw-abidin' cuss myself. I'm all the law now, ever since I talked withJim Swope--it's the greatest graft they is."
He paused, busily scraping his horn with a piece of glass.
"They's no doubt about it, fellers," he said at last, "we've been slowin the head. It's a wonder we ain't all of us makin' hat bands inYuma, by this time. I used to think that if you didn't like asheepman's looks the way to do was to wade in and work him over alittle; but that's a misdemeanor, and it don't go now. It took as gooda man as Rufe, here, to put me wise; but I leave my gun in camp afterthis. I've got them Greasers buffaloed, anyhow, and Jasp knows if heplugs me when I'm unarmed it'll be a sure shot for the pen. The timemay come when guns is necessary, but I move that every man leave hissix-shooter in his bed and we'll go after 'em with our bare hands.What d' ye say, Ben?"
Ben Reavis rose up on one elbow, rolled his eyes warily, and passed ajet of tobacco juice into the hissing fire.
"Not f'r me," he said, with profane emphasis.
"No, ner f'r me, either," chimed in Charley Clark. "A man stays dead along time in this dry climate."
"Well, you fellers see how many of my steers you can ketch, then,"said Creede, "and I'll move them sheep myself--leastways, me andRufe."
"All right," assented Reavis resignedly, "but you want to hurry up. Isaw a cloud o' dust halfway to Hidden Water this afternoon."
The next morning as the _rodeo_ outfit hustled out to pick up whatcattle they could before they were scattered by the sheep, Jim Clark,tall, solemn-faced, and angular, rode by devious ways toward theeastern shoulder of the Four Peaks, where a distant clamor told of thegreat herds which mowed the mountain slopes like a thousand sickles.Having seen him well on his way Creede and Hardy galloped down thecanyon, switched off along the hillside and, leaving their horses amongthe rocks, climbed up on a rocky butte to spy out the land below. Highridges and deep canyons, running down from the flanks of the FourPeaks, lay to the east and north and west; and to the south theymerged into the broad expanse of Bronco Mesa.
There it lay, a wilderness of little hills and valleys, flat-toppedbenches and sandy gulches threaded minutely with winding trails andcow paths, green with the illusion of drought-proof giant cactus andvivid desert bushes, one vast preserve of browse and grass from thePeaks to the gorge of the Salagua. Here was the last battle-ground,the last stand of the cowmen against the sheep, and then unless thatformless myth, "The Government," which no man had ever seen or known,stepped in, there would be no more of the struggle; the green mesawould be stripped of its evanescent glory and the sheep would wanderat will. But as long as there was still a chance and the cows hadyoung calves that would die, there was nothing for it but to fight on,warily and desperately, to the end.
As Jefferson Creede looked out across that noble landscape which hehad struggled so resolutely to save and saw the dust clouds of thesheep drifting across it, the tears came to his eyes and blinded hiskeen vision. Here at last was the end of all his struggles and all hisdreams; another year, or two years, and the mesa would be devastatedutterly; his cows would be hollow-flanked and gaunted; his calveswould totter and die, their tender lips pierced with the spiny cactusupon which their hard-mouthed mothers starved; and all that fair landwhich he knew and loved so well would be lost to him forever. Heraised his hand to his eyes as if shading them from the sun, andbrushed the tears away.
"Well, look at those sons o' guns hike," he said, baring his teethvenomously, "and every band headed for Hidden Water! Go it, youtarriers--and if you can't stop to eat the grass, tromple on it! Butwait, and if I don't push in some Greaser's face to-day it'll bebecause every one of them bands is headin' for the western pass."
He clambered slowly down from his perch and swung up into the saddle.
"Talkin' never did do much good with a sheep-herder," he observedwisely. "As the old judge used to say, 'you've got to appeal to hisbetter nature'--with a club."
The most southerly of the seven bands was strung out in marchingorder, the goats in front, the hungriest sheep in the lead; and onboth flanks and far behind, the groups and clusters of feeders,pushing out into the grassy flats and rearing up against the trees andbushes. Without a word to the herders Creede and Hardy took down theirropes and, swinging the _hondas_ upon the goats, turned the advanceguard northwest. The main herd and the drag followed, and then theherders, all in a bunch for courage.
"This is the last time I talk to you," said Creede, his voice stifledwith anger. "Turn to the north, now, and keep a-goin'."
He put spurs to his horse and rode west to the second herd, and bynoon they had turned all seven toward the western pass. Every herderhad his cow's horn and some of them were blowing continually, but noone answered, and a messenger was sent east for aid. They camped forthe heat of the day, making smoke upon the ridges, but no help
came.As the sun sank low and the curly-necked Merinos rose up from theirhuddle and began to drift the Mexicans turned them perforce to thenorth, looking back sulkily toward the mouth of Hell's Hip Pocketwhere other smokes rose against the sky. Until the sun set theytravelled, making their three miles and more, and not until they hadcorralled their flocks for the night did Chico and Grande, the littleand big terrors of the sheep, give way from their strenuous labors.
It was two hours after dark when they rode wearily into the camp atCarrizo Creek. The fire was dying down to embers and the _rodeo_outfit, worn out, had turned in, some in the tin house, othersoutside, under the brush _ramada_ to escape the dew. No one moved asthey approached but Creede did not scruple to wake up Jim Clark inorder to learn the news.
"How'd the old horn work?" he inquired cheerily.
"No good," grunted Clark, rolling over.
"Aw, go on, wouldn't they chase ye?"
"Nope. Nothin' doin'. Say, lemme sleep, will ye?"
"Sure," said Creede, "when I git through with you. Which way was themsheep travellin'?"
"Well, some was goin' straight up over the Four Peaks and the rest wasp'intin' west. You and your old horn--I nigh blowed my fool head offand never got a rise! They was all blowin' them horns over by thePocket this aft."
"Um," said Creede, "they was _all_ blowin', hey? And what else wasthey doin'?"
"Shootin', fer further orders, and driftin' their sheep. They's abouta hundred thousand, right over the hill."
"Huh!" grunted Creede, turning to his belated dinner, "what d'ye makeof that, Rufe?"
"Nothing," replied Hardy, "except more work."
It seemed as if he had hardly fallen asleep when Creede was up again,hurling the wood on the fire.
"Pile out, fellers!" he shouted. "You can sleep all day bimebye. Comeon, Rufe--d'ye want to find them sheep in the corral when you go backto Hidden Water?" And so with relentless energy he roused them up,divided out the work, and was off again for Bronco Mesa.
It was early when they arrived at the first deserted sheep camp, butsearch as they would they could see no signs of the sheep. The punyfire over which the herders had fried their bread and mutton waswind-blown and cold, the burros and camp rustlers were gone, and therewas no guiding dust cloud against the sky. From the little butte whereCreede and Hardy stood the lower mesa stretched away before them likea rocky, cactus-covered plain, the countless ravines and gulcheshidden by the dead level of the benches, and all empty, lifeless,void. They rode for the second camp, farther to the west, and it toowas deserted, the sheep tracks cunningly milled in order to hide thetrail.
"They're gittin' foxy," commented Creede, circling wide to catch thetrend of their departure, "but I bet you money no bunch of ChihuahuaGreasers can hide twenty thousand sheep in my back yard and me notknow it. And I'll bet you further that I can find every one of themsheep and have 'em movin' before twelve o'clock, noon."
Having crystallized his convictions into this sporting proposition the_rodeo_ boss left the wilderness of tracks and headed due south,riding fast until he was clear of sheep signs.
"Now here's where I cut all seven trails," he remarked to hispartner. "I happen to know where this sheep outfit is headin' for."With which enigmatic remark he jerked a thumb toward Hidden Water andcircled to the west and north. Not half an hour later he picked up afresh trail, a broad path stamped hard by thousands of feet, andspurring recklessly along it until he sighted the herd he plungedhelter-skelter into their midst, where they were packed like sardinesin the broad pocket of a dry wash.
"Hey there! _Whoopee--hep--hep!_" he yelled, ploughing his way intothe pack; and Hardy swinging quickly around the flank, rushed the ruckof them forward in his wake. Upon the brow of the hill the boss herderand his helpers brandished their carbines and shouted, but their wordswere drowned in the blare and bray which rose from below. Shoot theydared not, for it meant the beginning of a bloody feud, and theirwarnings were unheeded in the _melee_. The herd was far up the washand galloping wildly toward the north before the frantic Mexicanscould catch up with it on foot, and even then they could do nothingbut run along the wings to save themselves from a "cut." More thanonce, in the night-time, the outraged cowmen of the Four Peaks countryhad thus dashed through their bands, scattering them to the wolves andthe coyotes, destroying a year's increase in a night, while theherders, with visions of shap lessons before them, fired perfunctoryrifle shots at the moon. It was a form of reprisal that they likedleast of all, for it meant a cut, and a cut meant sheep wanderingaimlessly without a master until they became coyote bait--at the rateof five dollars a head.
The _padron_ was a kind man and called them _compadres_, when he waspleased, but if one of them suffered a cut he cursed, and fired him,and made him walk back to town. Hence when Chico and Grande suddenlygave over their drive and rode away to the northwest the Mexicanherders devoted all their attention to keeping the herd together,without trying to make any gun plays. And when the stampede was abatedand still no help came they drifted their sheep steadily to thenorth, leaving the camp rustlers to bring up the impedimenta as bestthey could. Jasper Swope had promised to protect them whenever theyblew their horns, but it was two days since they had seen him, and thetwo _Americanos_ had harried them like hawks.
Never had armed men so lacked a leader as on that day. Their orderswere to shoot only in self-defence; for a war was the last thing whichthe Swope brothers wanted, with their entire fortunes at stake, and noshow of weapons could daunt the ruthless Grande and Chico. All themorning the cow horns bellowed and blared as, sweating and swingingtheir _hondas_, the stern-eyed _Americanos_ rushed band after bandaway. Not a word was passed--no threats, no commands, no warnings forthe future, but like avenging devils they galloped from one herd tothe other and back again, shoving them forward relentlessly, even inthe heat of noon. At evening the seven bands, hopelessly mixed andmingled in the panic, were halfway through the long pass, and theherders were white with dust and running. But not until dusk gatheredin the valleys did Creede rein in his lathered horse and turn grimlyback to camp.
His face was white and caked with dust, the dirt lay clotted in hisbeard, and only the whites of his eyes, rolling and sanguinary, gaveevidence of his humanity; his shirt, half torn from his body byplunging through the cat-claws, hung limp and heavy with sweat; andthe look of him was that of a madman, beside himself with rage. Thedirt, the sweat, the grime, were as heavy on Hardy, and his eyesrolled like a negro's beneath the mask of dust, but weariness hadovercome his madness and he leaned forward upon the horn. They glancedat each other indifferently and then slumped down to endure the longten miles which lay between them and home. It had been a stern fightand the excitement had lulled their hunger, but now the old, slow panggnawed at their vitals and they rolled like drunkards in the saddle.
It was a clear, velvety night, and still, after the wind of the day.Their horses jogged dumbly along, throwing up their heads at everystep from weariness, and the noises of the night fell dully upon theirjaded ears. But just as they turned into Carrizo Creek canyon, Creedesuddenly reined in old Bat Wings and held up his hand to Hardy.
"Did you hear that?" he asked, still listening. "There! Didn't youhear that gun go off? Well, I did--and it was a thirty-thirty, too,over there toward the Pocket."
"Those herders are always shooting away their ammunition," said Hardypeevishly. "Come on, let's get back to camp."
"They don't shoot in the night-time, though," grumbled Creede, leadingoff again. "I'll bet ye some of them Greasers has seen a ghost. Say,"he cried, "the boys may be out doin' some night ridin'!"
But when they rode into camp every man was in his blankets.
"Hey, what's all that shootin' goin' on over there?" he called, wakingup the entire outfit in his excitement.
"Sheepmen," responded some sleeper briefly.
"Cleanin' their guns, mebbe," suggested another, yawning. "Did youmove 'em, Jeff?"
"You betcher neck!" replied Creede promptly, "and I'm goin' bac
k inthe mornin', too."
The morning turned black, and flushed rosy, and fell black again, butfor once the merciless driver of men slept on, for he was over-weary.It was a noise, far away, plaintive, insistent, which finally broughthim to his feet--the bleating of ewes to lambs, of lambs to mothers,of wethers to their fellows, beautiful in itself as the greatelemental sounds of the earth, the abysmal roarings of winds and wavesand waterfalls, but to the cowman hateful as the clamors of hell. AsCreede stood in his blankets, the salt sweat of yesterday still in hiseyes, and that accursed blat in his ears, his nerves gave waysuddenly, and he began to rave. As the discordant babel drew nearerand nearer his passion rose up like a storm that has been longbrewing, his eyes burned, his dirty face turned ghastly. Grabbing uphis six-shooter he stood like a prophet of destruction calling downthe wrath of God Himself, if there was a God, upon the head of everysheepman. But even as he cursed the first dirty brown wave spewed inover the ridge and swept down upon their valley. Then in a moment hismadness overcame him and, raising his heavy pistol, he emptied itagainst them defiantly, while the resounding cliffs took up his wrathand hurled it back. A herder with his rifle leapt up on a distant rockand looked toward their camp, and at the sight the black anger ofJeff's father came upon him, filling him with the lust to kill.
He rushed into the house and came out with a high-power rifle."You _will_ stand up there and laugh at me, will you?" he said,deliberately raising the sights. "You--"
He rested the rifle against one of the _ramada_ posts, and caught hisbreath to aim, while the cowmen regarded him cynically, yet with acold speculation in their eyes. Hardy alone sprang forward to spoilhis aim, and for a minute they bandied words like pistol shots as theystruggled for the gun. Then with a last wailing curse, the big cowboysnapped the cartridge out of his rifle and handed it over to hispartner.
"You're right," he said, "let the dastard live. But if I ever gitanother chanst at Jasp Swope I'll kill him, if I swing for it! He'sthe boy I'm lookin' for, but you see how he dodges me? I've beenmovin' his sheep for two days! He's afraid of me--he's afraid to comeout and fight me like a man! But I'll git 'im--I'll git 'im yet!"
"All right," said Hardy soothingly, "you can do it, for all of me. Butdon't go to shooting Mexicans off of rocks as if they were turkeybuzzards--that's what gets people into the pen. Now, you just take myadvice for once and wash some of that dirt off your face. You'relocoed, man--you're not a human being--and you won't be until you washup and get your belly full."
Half an hour later they sat down to breakfast, the burly fightinganimal and the man who had taught him reason; and as they ate thefierce anger of the cowboy passed away like mists before the morningsun. He heaped his plate up high and emptied it again, drinking coffeefrom his big cup, and as if ashamed of his brutishness he beganforthwith to lay out a campaign of peace. With sheep scurrying inevery direction across the range in the great drive that was now onit was no use to try to gather cows. What they had they could day-herdand the rest would have to wait. The thing to do now was to protectthe feed around the water, so that the cattle would not have to travelso far in the heat of summer. No objection being offered he gave eachman a watercourse to patrol, sending one over into the Pocket to seewhat had happened to Bill Johnson; and then, with his gun packed inhis bed, he started back with Hardy to watch over Hidden Water.
The sun was well up as they topped the high ridge; and the mesa,though ploughed through and through by the trails of the hurryingsheep, still shimmered in its deceptive green. Not for a month hadthere been a cloud in the sky and the grass on the barren places wasalready withering in the heat, yet in the distance the greasewood andthe _palo verdes_ and giant cactus blended into one mighty sheet ofverdure. Only on the ground where the feed should be were there signsof the imminent drought; and where the sheep had crossed the groundlay hard and baked or scuffled into dust. In the presence of thoseswift destroyers the dreaded _ano seco_ had crept in upon themunnoticed, but soon it would scourge the land with heat and dust andfailing waters, and cattle lowing to be fed. And there before theireyes, clipping down the precious grass, tearing up the tender plants,shearing away the browse, moved the sheep; army after army, phalanxand cohort, drifting forward irresistibly, each in its cloud of dust.For a minute the two men sat gazing hopelessly; then Creede leanedforward in his saddle and sighed.
"Well," he observed philosophically, "they're movin', anyhow."
They rode down the long slope and, mounting a low roll, paused againapathetically to watch a band of sheep below.
"Say," exclaimed Creede, his eyes beginning to burn, "d'ye notice howthem sheep are travellin'? And look at them other bands back yonder!By Joe!" he cried, rising in his stirrups, "we've got 'em goin'! Lookat the dust out through the pass, and clean to Hell's Hip Pocket.They're hikin', boy, they're hittin' it up for The Rolls! But what inthe world has struck 'em?"
He stood up straight in his saddle, swinging his head from east towest, but no band of horsemen met his eye. He looked again at theflock below him--the goats, forever in the lead, heading straight forthe western pass; the herders swinging their carbines upon thedrag--and seemed to study upon the miracle.
"Have you got any money to spare, Rufe?" he inquired quietly.
"Sure," responded Hardy.
"Well, then," said Creede deliberately, "I'd like to make you asporting proposition. I'll bet you forty dollars to the price of adrink that old Bill Johnson has been shootin' up their camps. Will yougo me? All right, and I'll make you a little side bet: I'll bet youany money that Jim Swope has lost some sheep!"
He spurred his horse recklessly down the hill, grinning, and at theclatter of rocks the fearful herders jumped forward and raised a greatclamor behind their sheep, whistling and clubbing their guns, but theheart of the monster Grande was no longer turned to wrath. He laughedand called out to them, leaping his horse playfully over washouts andwaving his black hat.
"_Cuidado, hombres_," he shouted, "be careful--do not hurry--look atthe nice grass!" But despite this friendly admonition the herdersstill yelled and whistled at their sheep, jabbing them spitefully withthe sharp muzzles of their rifles until at last, all riot andconfusion, they fled away bleating into the west.
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