The Last Straw

by Harold Titus

  CHAPTER XVII

  HIS FAITHFUL LITTLE PONY

  In the days that followed you might have seen approaching from adistance a rider for the HC. Watching, you would have noticed that hestopped his horse, rode on, stopped again, rode on and stopped thethird time. Had you not halted and repeated the performance he wouldnot have come toward you and, on coming within eyesight, you might haveseen him sitting with a hand on his holster, or rifle scabbard--for thedeadlier weapons appeared--carelessly enough, outwardly, but latentwith disaster. For war had been declared. Jane Hunter's men were readyfor trouble, waiting for trouble, but it did not come at once forthough Hepburn and Webb and their following hated Tom Beck for the manhe was they respected him and gave heed to his warning to stay awayfrom HC property ... or at least not to be seen thereabouts.

  The war went on, but it was a silent, covert struggle, and though Becksuspected happenings, he could not know all that transpired.

  For instance:

  It was Webb who finally dropped the pliers and declared the jobfinished, standing back to survey the stout cedars which had been boundtogether with wire to form a gate for one of the numerous little blinddraws that stabbed back into the parapet which surrounded Devil's Hole.In the recesses of that draw was the smallest amount of seeping water,enough, say, to keep young calves alive. From a distance of a hundredyards this barricade of tough boughs and steel strands would not bedetected.

  Again:

  They came up from the mouth of the Hole after dusk had fallen, BobbyCole and her father, the old horses drawing the wagon along theindistinct track which wound through the sage. They were tired andsilent and finally the girl's head dropped to Cole's shoulder and sheslept, with his arm about her, holding her close, his lids and mustacheand shoulders drooping.

  The wagon halted, hours later, before the blocked draw and, straddledupon their bodies, the girl liberated first one calf, then another,until six had been shoved from the tail gate into the hidden pen. Thenthey drove back toward their cabin.

  "Why don't I think it's wrong to steal?" the girl asked soberly.

  Alf shook his head. "It ain't ... for us...."

  "But I've read that it is," she protested, scowling into the darkness."I read it in a book, about a man that stole; that book said it waswrong. Why don't I think it's wrong?"

  She turned her face to him and he looked down to see, under thestarlight, her mouth pathetically drooping, her lips trembling, and thebig brown eyes filled with perplexed tears.

  "Why'm I so different from other folks? Maybe that's why I never had nofriends...."

  "It ain't wrong for you to steal from her," he said defensively.

  The girl looked ahead again.

  "No, it can't be. I hate her.... I like to steal from her. But whyain't it wrong for me if it's wrong for anybody else?"

  "I've allus told you it was the thing to do. Ain't that enough?" heasked wearily....

  "Did you see him this mornin'?"--as if to change the subject.

  Bobby nodded her head.

  "He was down. He hurt his hand; got it shut under Webb's window. He....He stayed a long time."

  Her voice was quite changed; rather soft and reverent. "I'm glad hedid. When he's there I feel like I ain't so different ... not so awfuldifferent from other folks...."

  Alf did not reply. The wagon chucked heavily on, the brush scratchedthe wagon bed, the horses plodded listlessly. Dawn came....

  * * * * *

  Another thing:

  Far out to the north and west of the Gap in Devil's Hole was a naturalreservoir, Cathedral Tank. Winter floods were stored there and longafter surrounding miles of quickly growing grasses had become uselessas range because of the lack of drink, this tank afforded water for theH C cattle. Late in the Spring, of course, it became scum covered andfetid but until the caked silt commenced to show on the boulder basinthe cattle would cling there, saving higher range for later use. Then,in other years, they would drift up toward the Hole, graze through theGap and water in the creek until the round-up caught and carried theminto still higher country.

  This spring the desert tank was of far greater importance than everbefore. The Hole was closed to the HC unless rain fell, and the dayswere uniformly clear, so it was wisdom to delay the round-up until thetank was emptied, then shove the cattle straight past the mouth of theHole and start them up country from the lower waters of Coyote Creek.Beck rode to the tank himself and arranged his plans in accordance withthe water he found.

  But after Beck had been there another horseman made the ride, leavingthe timber at dusk, shacking along across the waste country in astraight line for the tank. Cattle, bedded for the night about thewater hole, stirred themselves as he approached and dismounted, thenstood nearby and watched a strange proceeding. The man found a crevicein the rock basin, scraped deeply into it with a clasp knife. Then hewedged in five sticks of dynamite with stones and, finally, rolledboulders over them.

  He led his horse far back after the fuse had been spit, but even wherehe stood, outside the circle of steers, rock fell. After the explosionhad died into the night he pulled at his mustache and regained hissaddle rather deliberately, chuckling to himself.

  The fact that a steer with a broken leg was bawling loudly and thatanother, its life torn out of its side, moaned softly in helplessness,did not impress him. He rode back as he had come.

  * * * * *

  There was little time for love making in the life of the HC foreman.More riders were necessary for the round-up and he was particular aboutthe men he hired. The country had taken sides; rather, it was eitheropenly behind Beck in his handicapped fight, though skeptical of hischances for winning or openly forecasting failure for him and JaneHunter; and of the latter Tom had his doubts. Many of them were notneutral, he knew.

  But he was with Jane when he could be although, since he had declaredhimself to Webb and Hepburn, he did not permit her to ride far from theranch, even when with escort. He wanted her witness to no tragedy, andtragedy impended.

  Of the motives of Webb, Hepburn, Cole and their following he had nodoubts but there was one whose reasons were a mystery to him. Hestudied this long hours, when at work, when lying sleepless on his bunkand even when with Jane Hunter. Hilton was at Webb's and that wasenough to brand him ... but how deeply? He hesitated to enlist her aidin the solution but when he had spent days puzzling to no result hesaid to her:

  "Nothing about what you have been matters with me, but there's onething I want to ask you."

  "And that?"

  He eyed her a speculative moment as they sat beside her desk, theyellow light on her yellow hair.

  "What was this Hilton to you?"

  She colored and dropped her gaze from his, picking at a book in her lap.

  "That belongs to the past," she said, "and you've just said that thepast doesn't matter. I had hoped you never would want to know becauseit touches a spot that isn't healed yet....

  "There was a time," lifting her eyes to his, "when I had made up mymind to marry Dick Hilton."

  He sat very quietly and his expression did not change.

  "That would have been too bad, Jane," he said after a moment.

  She nodded slowly in affirmation.

  "I'd rather he wasn't in the country just now," he went on. "Youwouldn't mind, would you, if I drove him out?"

  She said quickly:

  "You trust me, don't you?"

  He smiled gently and looked at her with a light in his eyes that wasalmost humble.

  "I've trusted you with my love. I want to do things for you. I'd liketo drive this man out of your way."

  He was reluctant to give his real reason because, by doing so, he wouldnecessarily make her aware of the strength of the menace of whichHilton, he felt but could not prove, was a part. He still wanted toshield her from full realization of the force aligned against her.

  She leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands folded.

  "I wish he would
go away, but I wouldn't want to see him driven. Yousee, there are things about me which you will never understand. DickHilton, for a man, was not far different from what I used to be, as awoman. Our impulses were quite similar. Since I feel that I haveestablished my right to exist by trying to do something, to be somebodyto ... walk alone, I've come to an appreciation of the thing that Iused to be, and I pity the old Jane Hunter and all her kind. In spiteof all that he has been, I pity Dick Hilton, Tom, and in that very factI see an indication of strength of which I'm proud....

  "You see, I like to think about myself now; that didn't used to be true.

  "Last year I would have been deeply resentful toward Dick for what hehas done, but now, after my natural anger has gone, I can only be sorryfor him. That, I feel, is true strength.

  "I am not bitter. I don't wish him harm. His environment is to blamefor what he is and perhaps this country, the people he comes in contactwith here, will do for him what they have done for me." Beck thoughtthat this was an unconscious absurdity! "I begrudge him nothing. I onlywish that he might come to see life as I have come to see it.

  "If he could only see himself as he is! Why, he is intelligent, he hasa good mind, he has been generous and kindly, and if he could only getset straight in his outlook I feel that I could call him my friend.

  "Do you understand that?"

  He shook his head, driving back the perplexity he felt.

  "No, I don't understand that.... There's lots of things I'll neverquite understand about you, I expect. That's one thing that made melove you; you interest me.

  "I just thought maybe you'd like him out of the country."

  "I can never be a dog in the manger," she replied. "What is good aboutthis life I would share with my worst enemy, and gladly, because at onetime I was my own worst enemy."

  "You ... you don't think you'd ever want to see him again, Jane?" Withthat evidence of natural jealousy was a gentle reproach, a woe-begoneexpression which, being so groundless in fact, set Jane Hunter laughing.

  "Silly!" she cried, throwing her arms about him.

  "Look at me and read the answer!"

  Beck laughed at himself then.

  "Who wouldn't want _you_ all to himself!" he whispered. "And whowouldn't believe in you!"

  Beck stood a long time under the stars that night, the feel of her lipsstill on his, but an uncomfortable doubt in his heart. He was tolerant,as mountain men are tolerant, but he had been bred in a hard school; hehad learned to weigh men and to discard those who were found wanting.He was not vindictive, but he took no chances. Placing his trust inthose who had showed repeatedly that they were unworthy of trust wastaking a chance and though Jane Hunter had done her best to make herreasoning carry, he could not comprehend.

  Finally he said: "This ain't any compliment to her, wonderin' likethis. It's her way and she sure's got a right to it!"

  But he went to sleep unsatisfied.

  * * * * *

  Out at Cathedral Tank that night the cattle stood snuffing ratherwonderingly. Two days before there had been water which reached theirknees at the deepest place; today there was none. It had trickledthrough the scars the blast had torn in the basin. The bellies of somewere a bit shrunken from lack of it and bodies of the steers that hadbeen killed were bloated. One, even, had already furnished food to acoyote and a pair of vultures.

  Three or four licked the last of the damp silt and then turned eastwardand began the slow trek back toward Devil's Hole, where at this seasonthey had gone since they had been calves.

  The Reverend saw this scattered stringing of cattle and reported it toBeck. Tom looked up from the wheel of the chuck wagon which he wasrepairing and considered.

  "They're early," he muttered. "I hadn't figured they'd leave before theend of the week.... That's bad...."

  The next morning he and Two-Bits, the latter riding his beloved Nigger,with an extra horse carrying the tee-pee, bed and grub, clattered downthe trail into the Hole and made through the brush for the Gap. Theyskirted the Cole ranch, eyeing the Mexicans who were at work clearingsage brush, and a mile further on halted their horses ... rode forward,halted again, rode forward ... stopped.

  "It's McKee," Two-Bits said. "That's Webb's gray horse."

  The other rider came on and they rode forward again, Beck's holsterhitched a bit forward, thumb locked in his belt.

  Two-Bits had been right and when McKee recognized them he averted hisface as though he would ride past without speaking. But this was not tobe for Beck stopped directly in his way and said:

  "Sam, if it was anybody else I'd been shootin' long ago. I ain't gotthe heart to kill you. You recollect, don't you, what I told you andyour crowd about driftin' into our territory?"

  "This ain't your range," McKee grumbled. "This is Cole's."

  His gray eyes met Beck's just once and fell off, showing helpless hatein their depths, the hate of the man who would give battle but whodares not, who is outraged by forces from without and by his ownweakness.

  "No need to argue," Beck replied, tolerance replaced by a snap in histone. "You drag it for your own range, McKee, and don't you stop tolook back."

  Two-Bits was delighted at the hot flush which swept into the other'sface. He loathed McKee and to see him under the dominion of a strongman like Beck appealed to him as immensely funny.

  "An' if my brother was here he'd tell you about a woman that lookedback an' turned to salt," he said. "But if you turn an' look back I'llbet two-bits you turn to somethin' worse!"

  The other flashed one look at him, a look of long-standing hate, devoidof a measure of the fear which he evidenced for Beck. He rode onwithout a word and Two-Bits laughed aloud. McKee did not even look back.

  At the Gap there was water, just enough for a man and his horses for afew days. The seep had stopped and the water was not fresh.

  "I guess it'll do, though," Beck said. "It's mighty important we keepthis stock out of the Hole, Two-Bits. That's why I brought atrustworthy man.

  "Lord, they're stringin' up fast,"--staring out on the desert where thesteers slowly ate their way to the mouth of the Hole. "Funny they'reout of water so soon. If they get up in here,"--gesturing back throughthe Gap,--"there may be hell to pay."

  He helped Two-Bits pitch his tee-pee and rode away.

  Throughout that day the homely cow-boy met the drifting steers andturned them eastward, past the Hole toward the lower waters of CoyoteCreek. They were reluctant to go for they knew that beyond the Gap laywater but Two-Bits slapped his chaps with rein ends and whooped andchased them until the van of the procession moved on in the desireddirection.

  He was up late at night and awoke early in the morning, riding up theGap to turn back those that had stolen past in the night, thenstationing himself in the shade of the parapet to await the others thatcame in increasing numbers.

  Two-Bits did not see the gray horse picking its way along the heightsabove him. The gray's rider saw to it that he was not exposed. Norcould he know that the animal was picketed and that a man crawled overthe rocks on his belly, shoving a rifle before him until, from a pointthat screened him well, he could look down into the Gap.

  Steers strolled up and eyed the sentinel, lifting their noses to snuff,flinging heads about now and then to dislodge flies that their flickingtails could not reach. He would ride out toward them, shoving them downaround the shoulder of the point toward the east, then return to headoff others that took advantage of his absence to make a steal for theGap.

  As he worked, he sang:

  "Ho, I'm a jolly _cow_boy, from Texas now I _hail!_ Give me my quirt and _po-o_-ony, I'm ready for the _trail_; I love the rolling _prai_ries, they're free from care an' _strife!_ Behind a herd of _long_horns I'll journey all my _life!_"

  His voice was unmusical, unlovely, but he sang with fervor, sang asconscientiously as he worked.

  As he came and went the man above watched him, his gray eyes squintingin the glare of light, following now and then the barrel
of the rifle,bringing the ivory sight to bear on the man's back, caressing thetrigger with his finger. A dozen times he stiffened and held his breathand the finger twitched; and each time his body relaxed quickly and hecursed softly, rolling over on his side, impatient at his indecision.

  A continued flush was on his cheeks and the light in his eyes wasbaleful, resolved, yet the lines of his mouth were weak and indecisive.Once, when Two-Bits' raucous voice reached him, he muttered aloud andstiffened again and squeezed the stock with his trigger hand ... thenwent limp.

  Noon came and shadows commenced to spill into the gap from thewestward. The steers that drifted up from the far reaches ofwash-ribbed desert came faster, were more intent, more reluctant to bedriven back. Two-Bits changed to his Nigger horse and drank from thewater hole and rode yipping toward a big roan steer that advanceddeterminedly. The animal doubled and dodged but, shoulder against itsrump, nipping viciously at the critter's back, Nigger aided his riderto success; then swung back.

  Two-Bits' voice floated up as he stroked his horse's neck:

  "Oh, I'm a Texas _cow_boy, lighthearted, brave an' _free_, To roam the wide _prai_rie is always joy to _me_. My trusty little _po-o_-ony is my companion _true_ O'er creeks an' hills an' _riv_ers he's sure to pull me _through!_"

  From above a dull spat. In Two-Bits' ears an abrupt crunching as he wasknocked forward and down and a dull, rending pain spread across hisshoulders. He struck the ground with his face first and instinctivelyhis hand started back toward his holster. The first movement was awhip, then became jerky, faltering, and when the fingers found thehandle of his revolver they fumbled and could not close. He half raisedhimself on the other elbow, dragging his knees beneath his body slowly.

  His mouth was filled with sand. His eyes were.... He did not know whatailed them, but he could not see. He felt dizzy and sick. He hitchedhimself upward another degree, striving to close those fingers on hisrevolver butt. It was a Herculean task, but the only necessary actionthat his groggy mind could recall. He gritted the sand between histeeth in the effort. He would draw! He would fight back! He wasn't gone... yet ... wasn't ...

  And then he collapsed, limp and flat on the ground, as an inert bodywill lie.

  The fingers twitched convulsively; then were still. A stain seepedthrough his vest, dark in the sun. The breath slipped through his teethslowly. The horse stood looking at him, nose low; then stepped closerand snuffed gently; looked rather resentfully at a steer trailingthrough the Gap unheeded, then snuffed again....

  Up above a man was crawling back across the hot rocks to where a grayhorse waited in the sun....

  "I got him," he muttered feverishly as he covered the last distance ata run. "Now, by God, I'll get-- ..."

  Nigger stood there, switching at the flies which alighted on him. Fromtime to time he snuffed and stamped; occasionally he peered far up theHole or out onto the desert almost hopefully, watching distant objectswith erect ears; then the ears would droop quickly and he would chewhis bit and look back at his master with helpless eyes.

  Cattle strayed back from the east where Two-Bits had sent them andentered the Hole, those which had once been driven away passing theprone figure and the watching horse on a trot, others with their nosesin the air smelling water, heedless of else.

  The shadows crept closer and deeper about Two-Bits. Overhead a buzzardwheeled, banking sharply, coming down lazily, then flapped upward andon. It was not yet his time!

  The horse dozed fitfully, one hip slumped, waking now and then with ajerk, pricking his ears at the quiet figure as though he detectedmovement; then letting them droop again rather forlornly. Once hewalked completely about his master, slowly, reins trailing and thenstopped to nose the body gently as if to say:

  "What is this, my friend? I'm only a horse and I don't understand; if Iknew how to help you I would. Won't you tell me what to do? I'm waitinghere just for that; to help you. But I'm only a horse..."

  He plucked grass aimlessly and returned to stand above the man's bodychewing abstractedly, stopping and holding his breath while he gazeddown at the inanimate lump; then chewing again. Once he sighed deeplyand the saddle creaked from the strain his inhalation put on the cinch.

  For hours there had been no movement. Night stole down from the east,shrouding the desert in purple, softening the harsh distances, makingthem seem gentle and easy. Then from the still man came a sound, like asigh that was choked off, and the hand which, hours before had gropedhaltingly for the revolver, stirred ever so slightly.

  Nigger's ears went forward. He stepped gingerly about the body, keepinghis fore feet close to it, swinging his hind parts in a big circle. Henickered softly, almost entreatingly, as if begging his master tospeak, to make more movement; he nuzzled the body rather roughly, thenstamped in impatience ... sighed again and slumped a hip, chewing onhis bit....

  Two-Bits was wet with dew when daylight came, but he had not stirred.The sun peered into the Gap and the drops of moisture, blinking back abrief interval, seemed to draw into his clothing and skin; the rayslicked up the damp that had gathered in the hoof prints about thefigure.

  Nigger lifted his head high and whinnered shrilly at nothing at all.This was another day; there might be hope!

  The flies came and lighted on the crusted stain on the vest and crawleddown inside the shirt ... and after an aeon a sharp, white wire ofconsciousness commenced to glow in Two-Bits' blank mind. The onehand--the gun hand--twitched again and the fingers, puffed from theircramped position, stretched stiffly, resuming their struggle for thegun where it had left off yesterday.

  One foot moved a trifle and a muffled cough sent a small spurt of dustfrom beneath the face pressed into it. Slowly the gun hand gave up itssearch and was still, gathering strength. The arm drew up along theman's side, the hand reached his face. Elbows pressed into the groundand with a moan Two-Bits tried to lift his body ... tried and failedand sank back, with his face turned away from the dirt.

  Nigger blew loudly and shook his whole body and stared. The other horsecame up and stared, too; then moved toward the water hole, the preciouswater, and drank deeply. Nigger watched him as though he, too, woulddrink. But he did not go; remained there, with the reins dangling amongthe flies. Now and then his nostrils twitched and fluttered; his earsquirked in constant query.

  Noon, and another effort to rise. A muttered word this time and asquinting of the eyes that was not wholly witless.

  Two-Bits shifted his position. He could see his tee-pee, his blackkettle on the ashes, his water bucket ... his bucket ... water bucket... water.... He worked his lips heavily. They were burned and crackedand his mouth was an insensate orifice....

  After a time he commenced to crawl, moving an inch at a time, settlingback, moaning. The crusted stain on his vest took on fresh life and theflies buzzed angrily when disturbed. His arms were of little use and heprogressed by slow undulations of his limbs. Once he found a crackbetween two rocks with a toe and shoved himself forward a foot.

  "Damn..." he muttered in feeble triumph.

  A fevered glow came into his eyes. His breath quickened under theeffort. He moaned more; rested less.

  And behind, beside or before him went the excited Nigger. He mutteredsoftly, as in encouragement, doing his best to put his hope intosounds. His heavy mane and forelock fell about his eyes, giving him adisheveled appearance, but he seemed to be trying to say:

  "You're alive; you're alive! You _can_ move after all; you_can_ move! Let me help! Oh, pardner, let me help you!"

  The horse pawed the earth desperately, sending stones and dirtscattering, dust drifting.

  "Keep on!" he seemed to say. "Keep it up! I'm here; we'll get theresomehow!"

  Two-Bits gained shadows. The water was less than a hundred feet away.He moved his head from side to side in an agony of effort and threw onehand clumsily before him. It touched sage brush and after moments ofstruggle he clamped his fingers about the stalk and dragged himself on,gritting his teeth against the pain. He reached a lit
tle wash and triedto rise to his feet. He could not. He floundered in effort and rolledinto it, crying lowly as his torso doubled limply and he sprawled onhis back.

  Nigger stood at the edge, snuffing, peering down. He kicked at a flyirritably and stepped down into the wash himself, nickering in tenderquery.

  It took a long time for Two-Bits to roll over. He cried hoarsely fromthe hurt of the effort and the fevered light in his eyes mounted. Hismouth was no longer without sensation. It and his throat stung andsmarted. Their hurt was worse than the weight of suffering on hisshoulders.... He wanted water as only a man whose life is in thebalance can want water!

  Somehow he crawled out of the wash. It was fifty feet to the holenow.... He cut it to twenty and lay gasping, trembling, burning, Niggerclose beside him, first on one side, then the other, sometimes at hisfeet. Never, though, standing motionless in his path....

  It was ten feet.... Then five. Lifting eye lids was a world of effortin itself. His mouth was open, breath sucking in the dust, but he couldnot close it. He made a hand's breadth and stopped. His limbs twitchedspasmodically and drew up. He made a straining, strangling sound,gathering all the life that remained in his body. He rose on his elbowsand on one knee. He swayed forward, he scrambled drunkenly. He pitcheddown and as he went he made one last, awkward attempt to push his ownweight along. Then fell ... short.

  The right hand half propped his body up. It slid slowly forward,impelled by the weight upon it alone, shoving light sand in its way....Then went limp and extended.

  The tip of his second finger just dented the surface of the water inthe pool!

  The horse switched his tail slowly, as if disconsolate at a waning hope.

  "Hang it all," he might have thought. "Here I thought you were going tomake it and you can't! I _wish_ I knew how to help!"

  He sighed again, this time as if in despair. He waited a long timebefore drinking himself as if hoping that his master would move. Butthe body was motionless ... utterly. The shallow, quick come and go ofbreath was not in evidence. Two-Bits had done all that he could do forhimself....

  Nigger moved to the lip of rock which held the water against the cliff.He snuffed, as if to tantalize himself and then plunged his nose intothe place, guzzling greedily. Great gulps ran down his long throat,little shoots of water left his lips beside the bit and fell back. Hebreathed and drank and made great sounds in satisfying his thirst. Helifted his head and caught his breath and let it slip out in a sigh ofsatisfaction ... drank again.

  Finally he was through and stepped back, holding his lips close, ashorses will whose mouth contains one more swallow. Then he stared atTwo-Bits and moved close to him and chewed instinctively on the bit,letting the water that he did not need spill from his mouth....

  It fell squarely on the back of the man's neck, spattering on his hair,running down under his shirt, driving out the flies....

  Two-Bits swam back again. A strength, a pleasing chill ran through him.He moved the one arm and the fingers slid on into the water. With achoking cry he wriggled forward and thrust his face into the pool....After a long time he drew back and let his fevered forehead soak,breathing more easily through his mouth.

  It was nearly sunset when he rolled over, slowly, painfully, weakly,but not as a man on the edge of death. He looked up at Nigger standingbeside him, nose fluttering encouragement. Just above him a stirrupswung to and fro in a short arc.

  "After a while ... a week or so, I can ... get hold of that ... mebby,"the man said huskily.