The Phantom Herd

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "THE CHANCES IS SLIM AND GITTIN' SLIMMER"

  "Must be going to snow," Weary observed with a sly twinkle, "'cause Paddycat has got his tail brustled up bigger than a trapped coon."

  "Aw, that's because Shunky Cheestely chased him all the way up from thecorral a minute ago," Happy Jack explained the phenomenon. "I betcher heswaps ends some uh these times and gives that dog the s'prise of hislife. He come purty near makin' a stand t'night."

  "We-ell, when he does turn on that thar mongrel purp, they's goin' to besome dawg scattered around over the premises--now I'm tellin' yuh!"Applehead cocked his eye toward Annie-Many-Ponies and nodded his head insolemn warning. "He's takin' a mighty long chance, every time he turnsthat thar trick uh chasin' Compadre all over the place; and them thatthinks anything uh that thar dawg--"

  "I betcher it's goin' to snow, all right," Happy Jack interrupted thewarning. "Chickydees was swarmin' all over the place, t'day."

  "We-ell, now, yuh don't want to go too much on them chickydees,"Applehead dissented. "Change uh wind'll set them flockin' and chirpin'.Ain't ary flake uh snow in the wind t'day, fur's I kin smell--and Icalc'late I kin smell snow fur's the next one."

  "Oh, let's not talk about snow; that's getting to be a painful subject onthis ranch," Rosemary pleaded, while she placed twelve pairs of steelknives and forks on the long, white-oilcloth-covered table.

  "'Painful subject' is right," Luck stated grimly, glancing up from theendless figuring and scribbling which seemed to occupy all his timeindoors that was not actually given over to eating and sleeping. "Ifyou don't begin to smell snow pretty quick, Applehead, I can see where_The Phantom Herd_ don't have any phantom herd." The corners of hismouth quirked upward, though his smile was becoming almost a strangerto his face.

  "We-ell, I dunno's you can blame me because it don't snow. I can't makeit snow if it takes a notion not to snow--"

  "Oh, come and eat, and never mind the snow," called Rosemary impatiently.

  "We've got to mind the snow--or we don't eat much longer!" Luck laidaside his papers with the tired gesture which betrays heavy anxiety. "Thewhole punch of the picture depends on that blizzard and what it leads upto. It's getting close to March,--this is the twentieth of February,--andthe Texas Cattleman's Convention meets the first of April. I've got tohave the picture done by then, so as to show it and get their endorsementas a body, in order to boost the sales up where they belong."

  "Mamma!" Weary looked up at him, open-eyed. "How long have you had thatnotion in your head,--showing the picture to the Cattlemen's Convention?I never heard of it."

  "I might say quite a few things you haven't heard me say before," Luckretorted, so harassed that he never knew how sharp a snub he had given."I've had that in mind from the start; ever since I read when and wherethe convention would meet this spring. We've got to have that blizzard,and we've got to have it before many more days."

  "Oh, well, we'll have it," Rosemary soothed, as she would have comforteda child. "I just know March will come in like a roaring lion! Have somebeans. They're different, to-night. I cooked them with plain salt porkinstead of bacon. You can't imagine what a difference it makes!"

  Luck was on the point of snapping out something that would have hurt herfeelings. He did not want baby-soothing. It did not comfort him in theleast to have her assure him that it would snow, when he knew she hadabsolutely no foundation for such an assurance. But just before he spoke,he remembered how bravely she had been smiling at hardships that wouldhave broken the spirit of most women, so he took the beans and smiled ather, and did not speak at all.

  Trouble, that month, was riding Luck hard. The blizzard that wasabsolutely vital to his picture-plot seemed as remote as in June. Otherstorms had come to delay his work without giving him the benefit of anyspectacular effect. There had been days of whooping wind, when even thesaddle strings popped in the air like whiplashes, and he could not"shoot" interior scenes because he could not shelter his stage from thewind, and everything blew about in a most maddening manner to one who istrying, for instance, to portray the calmness of a ranch-house kitchen atsupper time.

  There had been days of lowering clouds which brought nothing butexasperating little flurries of what Applehead called "spitsnow,"--flurries that passed before Luck could get ready for a scene.There had been one terrific sand storm which had nearly caught them inthe open. But Applehead had warned them, and Luck, fortunately for themall, had heeded the warning. They had reached shelter just before thefull force of the storm had struck them, and for six hours the air was ahell of sand in violent flight through the air. For six hours they couldnot see as far as the stable, and the rooms were filled with animpalpable haze of dust which filtered through minute crevices under theroof and around the doors and windows.

  Luck, when that storm broke, was worried over his negative drying in thegarret, until he had hurried up the ladder to see what might be done. Hehad found the film practically dry, and had carried it down in muchrelief to his dark room which, being light-proof, was also practicallydust-proof.

  There had been other vexations, but there had been fine, clear days aswell. Luck had used those fine days to their full capacity for yieldinghim picture-light. Could he have been certain of getting his "blizzardstuff" now, he would have left but his one load of financial worry. Thatwas a heavy one, but he felt he could carry it with a better grace ifonly he could be sure that his picture would be completed in time.

  "Pass the beans, Luck," Pink broke into his abstraction. "Seems like I'vehad beans before, this week, but I'll try them another whirl, anyway."

  "Ever try syrup on 'em?" old Dave Wiswell looked up from his plate toinquire. "Once you git to likin' 'em that way, they go pretty good fora change."

  Pink, anxious for variety in the monotonous menu, but doubtful of theexperiment, poured a teaspoon of syrup over a teaspoon of beans, conveyedthe mixture to his mouth, and made a hurried trip to the door. "Say! wasthat a joke?" he demanded, when he returned grimacing to his place.

  "Joke? No, ain't no joke about that," the dried little man testifiedearnestly. "Once you git to likin' 'em that way--"

  Pink scowled suspiciously. "I'll take mine straight," he said, and sent aresentful glance at Annie-Many-Ponies who was tittering behind her palm.

  "I calc'late I better beef another critter," Applehead suggestedpacifically. "Worst of it is, the cattle's all so danged pore they ain'tmuch pickin' left on their bones after the hide's skun off. If thatblizzard ever does come, Luck's shore goin' to have all the pore-cowatmosphere he wants!"

  To Luck their talk, good-humored though it was, hurt him like a blow uponbruised flesh. For their faith in him they were eating beans three timesa day with laughter and jest to sweeten the fare. For their faith in himthey were riding early and late, enduring hardships and laughing at them.If he failed, he knew that they would hide their disappointment undersome humorous phase of the failure;--if they could find one. He could nottell them how close he was to failure. He could not tell them in plainwords how much hung upon the coming of that storm in time for him toreach the cowmen at their convention. Their ignorance of the professionkept them from worrying much about it; their absolute confidence in hisknowledge let them laugh at difficulties which held him awake when theywere sleeping.

  But for all that he went doggedly ahead, trusting in luck theoreticallywhile he overlooked nothing that would make for success. While Appleheadsniffed the air and shook his head, Luck was doing everything he couldthink of to keep things going steadily along to a completion of theproduction.

  He made all of his "close-ups," his inserts, and sub-titles. He cutnegative by his continuity sheet at night after the others were all inbed, and pigeon-holed the scenes ready for joining. He ordered what"positive" he would need, and he arranged for his advertising matter. Allhis interior scenes, save the double-exposure "vision" scenes, were doneby the fifteenth of March,--March which had not come in like a roaringlion, as Rosemary had predicted with easy
optimism, but which had beennerve-wrackingly lamblike to the very middle of the month.

  With a dogged persistence in getting ready for the fulfilment of hishopes, he ordered tanks and printer for the final work of getting hisstuff ready for the market. He had at best a crudely primitive outfit,though he saw his bank balance dwindle and dwindle to a most despairinglysmall sum. And still it did not snow nor show any faint promise of snow.

  "Well," he remarked grimly one morning, when the boys asked him atbreakfast about his plans, "you can go back to bed, for all I care. I'vedone everything I can do--till we get that snowstorm. All we can do nowis sit tight and trust to luck."

  "What day uh the month is this?" Applehead wanted to know. His face wassolemn with his responsibility as a weather prophet.

  "The twentieth day of March," Luck replied, with the air of one who hasthe date branded deep on his consciousness.

  "Twentieth uh March--hm-mm? We-ell, now, I have knowed it to storm, andstorm hard, after this time uh year. But comin' the way she did lastfall, 'n' all this here wind 'n' bluster 'n' snowin' on the Zandias andnever comin' no further down, I calc'late the chances is slim, boy--'n'gittin' slimmer every day, now I'm tellin' yuh!"

  "Well, say! Ain't yuh got a purty fair pitcher the way she stands?" BigMedicine inquired aggressively. "Seems t' me we've done enough ridin'and actin', by cripes, t' make half a dozen pitchers better'n what I'veever saw."

  "That isn't the point." Luck's voice was lifeless, with a certain doggedcombativeness that had come into it during the last two months. "We'vegot to have that storm. This isn't going to be any make-shift affair.We've got some good film, yes. But it's like starting a funny story andbeing choked off before you get to the laugh in it. We've got to havethat storm, I tell you!" His eyes challenged them harshly to dispute hisstatement.

  "Well, darn it, have your storm, then. I'm willin'," Big Medicinebellowed with ill-timed facetiousness. "Pink, you run and git Luck astorm; git him a good big one, guaranteed to last 'im four days or moneyrefunded. You git one--"

  "Listen, Bud." Luck stood suddenly before Big Medicine, quivering withnervous rage. "Don't joke about this. There's no joke in this at all. Noone with any brains can see anything funny in having failure stare him inthe face. Twelve of us have put every ounce of our best work and our bestpatience and every dollar we possess in the world into this venture. I'veworked day and night on this picture. I've worked you boys in weatherthat wasn't fit for a dog to be out in. I've seen Rosemary Green slavingin this dark little hole of a kitchen because we can't afford a cook forthe outfit. You've all been dead game--I'll hand it to you forthat--every white chip has gone into the pot. If we fail we'll have toborrow carfare to get outa here. And here's Applehead. We've used hisranch, we've used his house and his horses and himself; we've killed hiscattle for beef, by ----! And we've got just that one chance--the chanceof a storm--for winning out. One chance, and that chance getting slimmerevery day, as he says. No--there's no joke in this; or if there is, I'velost my appetite for comedy. I can't laugh." He stopped as suddenly as hehad begun his rapid speech, caught up his hat, and went out alone intothe soft morning sunlight. He left silence behind him,--a stunned silencethat was awkward to break.

  "It's a perfect shame!" Rosemary said at last, and her lips weretrembling. "He's just about crazy--and I know he hasn't slept a wink,lately, just from worrying."

  "I calc'late that's about the how of it," Applehead agreed, rubbing hischin nervously. "He lays awful still, last few weeks, and that thar's abad sign fer him. And I ain't heerd 'im talkin' in his sleep lately,either. Up till lately he made more pitchers asleep than he done awake.Take it when things was movin' right along, Mis' Green, 'n' Luck wasshore talkative, now I'm tellin' yuh!"

  "My father, he got one oncle," Annie-Many-Ponies spoke up unexpectedlyfrom her favorite corner. "Big Medicine man. Maybe I write one letter,maybe Noisy-Owl he come, make plenty storm. Noisy-Owl, he got awfulstrong medicine for make storm come."

  "Well, by cripes, yuh better send for 'im then!" Big Medicine advisedgruffly, and went out.