CHAPTER II
PANHANDLE
While his friends and neighbors called Jim Hastings "Big Jim," he was nomore than average size--compact, vigorous, reared in the Wyoming cattlelands, and typical of the country. He was called Big Jim simply todistinguish him from Little Jim, who was as well known in Laramie as hisfather. Little Jim, when but five years of age, rode his own pony,jogging alongside his father when they went to town, where he wasdecidedly popular with the townsfolk because of his sturdy independenceand humorous grin.
Little Jim talked horses and cattle and ranching with the grown-ups andtook their good-natured joshing philosophically. He seldom retortedhastily, but, rather, blinked his eyes and wrinkled his forehead as hedigested this or that pleasantry, and either gave it the indifferentacknowledgment of "Shucks! Think you can josh _me_?" or, if the occasionand the remark seemed to call for more serious consideration, he rose toit manfully, and often to the embarrassment of the initial speaker.
Little Jim liked to go to town with his father, yet he considered townreally a sort of suburb to his real world, the homestead, which he hadseen change from a prairie level of unfenced space to a small--and tohim--complete kingdom of pasture lot, hayfield, garden, corrals, stable,and house. Town was simply a place to which you went to buy things, getthe mail, exchange views on the weather and grazing, and occasionallyhelp the hands load a shipment of cattle. Little Jim helped by sittingon the top rail of the pens and commenting on the individualcharacteristics of the cattle, and, sometimes, of the men loading them.In such instances he found opportunity to pay off old scores.Incidentally he kept the men in good humor by his lively comment.
Little Jim was six years of age when his mother left to resume herformer occupation of waitress in the station restaurant of Laramie,where she had been popular because of her golden hair, her blue eyes,and her ability to "talk back" to the regular customers in a mannerwhich they seemed to enjoy. Big Jim married her when he was not muchmore than a boy--twenty, in fact; and during the first few years theywere happy together. But homesteading failed to supply more than theirimmediate needs.
Occasional trips to town at first satisfied the wife's craving for theattention and admiration that most men paid to her rather superficialgood looks. But as the years slipped by, with no promise of easierconditions, she became dissatisfied, shrewish, and ashamed of her lackof pretty things to wear. Little Jim was, of course, as blind to allthis as he was to his need for anything other than his overalls, shoes,and jumper. He thought his mother was pretty and he often told her so.
Meanwhile, Big Jim tried to blind himself to his wife's growingdissatisfaction. He was too much of a man to argue her own short-comingsas against his inability to do more for her than he was doing. But whenshe did leave, with simply a brief note saying that she was tired of itall, and would take care of herself, what hit Big Jim the hardest wasthe fact that she could give up Little Jim without so much as a wordabout him. Every one liked Little Jim, and the mother's going provedsomething that Big Jim had tried to ignore for several years--that hiswife cared actually nothing for the boy. When Big Jim finally realizedthis, his indecision evaporated. He would sell out and try his fortunesin Arizona, where his sister Jane lived, the sister who had never seenLittle Jim, but who had often written to Big Jim, inviting him to comeand bring his family for a visit.
Big Jim had enough money from the sale of his effects to make thejourney by train, even after he had deposited half of the proceeds atthe local bank, in his wife's name. But being a true son of the open, hewanted to see the country; so he decided to travel horseback, with apack-animal. Little Jim, used to the saddle, would find the journey areal adventure. They would take it easy. There was no reason for haste.
It had seemed the simplest thing to do, to sell out, leave that part ofthe country, and forget what had happened. There was nothing to begained by staying where they were. Big Jim had lost his interest in theranch. Moreover, there had been some talk of another man, in Laramie, aman who had "kept company" with Jenny Simpson, before she became Mrs.Jim Hastings. Mrs. Hastings was still young and quite good-looking.
It had seemed a simple thing to do--to leave and begin life over againin another land. But Big Jim had forgotten Smiler. Smiler was a dog ofvague ancestry, a rough-coated, yellow dog that belonged solely toLittle Jim. Smiler stuck so closely to Little Jim that their shadowswere veritably one. Smiler was a sort of chuckle-headed, good-naturedanimal, meek, so long as Little Jim's prerogatives were not infringedupon, but a cyclone of yellow wrath if Little Jim were approached by anyone in other than a friendly spirit. Even when Big Jim "roughed" hissmall son, in fun, Smiler grew nervous and bristled, and once, when themother had smacked Little Jim for some offense or other, Smiler hadtaken sides to the extent of jumping between the mother and the boy,ready to do instant battle if his young partner were struck again.
"I'm afraid we can't take Smiler with us," said Big Jim, as Little Jimscurried about next morning, getting ready for the great adventure.
Little Jim stopped as though he had run against a rope. He had not evendreamed but that Smiler would go with them.
Now, Little Jim had not forgathered with punchers and townsfolk fornothing. He was naturally shrewd, and he did not offer or controvertopinions hastily. He stood holding a bit of old tie-rope in his hand,pondering this last unthinkable development of the situation. Smiler wasto be left behind. Jimmy wanted to ask why Smiler could not go. Hewanted to assure his father that Smiler would be a help rather than ahindrance to the expedition.
Little Jim knew that if he wept, his father might pay some attention tothat sort of plea. But Little Jim did not intend to weep, nor askquestions, nor argue. Smiler stood expectantly watching thepreparations. He knew that something important was about to happen, and,with the loyalty of his kind, he was ready to follow, no matter where.Smiler had sniffed the floor of the empty house, the empty stables, thecorral. His folks were going somewhere. Well, he was ready.
Little Jim, who had been gazing wistfully at Smiler, suddenly strode tohis pack and sat down. He bit his lips. Tears welled to his eyes anddrifted slowly down his cheeks. He had not intended to let himselfweep--but there was Smiler, wagging his thick tail, waiting to go.
"I g-g-guess you better go ahead and hit the trail, dad."
"Why, that's what we're going to do. What--" Big Jim glanced at his boy."What's the matter?"
Little Jim did not answer, but his attitude spoke for itself. He haddecided to stay with Smiler.
Big Jim frowned. It was the first time that the boy had ever openlyrebelled. And because it was the first time, Big Jim realized itssignificance. Yet, such loyalty, even to a dog, was worth while.
Big Jim put his hand on Little Jim's shoulder. "Smiler'll get sore feeton the trails, Jimmy. And there won't be a whole lot to eat."
Little Jim blinked up at his father. "Well, he can have half of my grub,and I reckon I can pack him on the saddle with me if his feet gettender."
"All right. But don't blame me if Smiler peters out on the trip."
"Smiler's tough, he is!" stated Little Jim. "He's so tough he bites barbwire. Anyhow, you said we was goin' to take it easy. And he can catchrabbits, I guess."
"Perhaps he won't want to come along," suggested Big Jim as he pulled upa cincha and slipped the end through the ring.
Little Jim beckoned to Smiler who had stood solemnly listening to thecontroversy about himself as though he understood. Smiler trotted overto Jimmy.
"You want to take it plumb easy on this trip," said Little Jim, "and notgo to chasin' around and runnin' yourself ragged gettin' nowhere. If youget sore feet, we'll just have to beef you and hang your hide on thefence."
Smiler grinned and wagged his tail. He pushed up and suddenly lickedLittle Jim's face. Little Jim promptly cuffed him. Smiler came back formore.
Big Jim turned and watched the boy and the dog in their rough-and-tumbleabout the yard. He blinked and turned back to the horses. "Come on,Jimmy. We're all set."
/> "Got to throw my pack on ole Lazy, dad. Gimme a hand, will you?"
Little Jim never would admit that he could not do anything there was tobe done. When he was stuck he simply asked his father to help him.
Big Jim slung up the small pack and drew down the hitch. Little Jimducked under Lazy and took the rope on the other side, passing the endto his father.
"Reckon that pack'll ride all right," said the boy, surveying theoutfit. "Got the _morrals_ and everything, dad?"
"All set, Jimmy."
"Then let's go. I got my ole twenty-two loaded. If we run on to one ofthem stingin' lizards, he's sure a sconer. Does dogs eat lizards?"
Big Jim swung to the saddle and hazed the old pack-horse ahead. "Don'tknow, Jimmy. Sometimes the Indians eat them."
"Eat stingin' lizards?"
"Yep."
"Well, I guess Smiler can, then. Come on, ole-timer!"
Suddenly Little Jim thought of his mother. It seemed that she ought tobe with them. Little Jim had wept when Smiler was in question. Now hegazed with clear-eyed faith at his father.
"It ain't our fault ma ain't goin' with us, is it?" he queried timidly.
Big Jim shrugged his shoulders.
"Say, dad, we're headed west. Thought you said we was goin' to Arizona?"
"We'll turn south, after a while."
Little Jim asked no more questions. His father knew everything--why theywere going and where. Little Jim glanced back to where Smiler paddedalong, his tongue out and his eyes already rimmed with dust, for hewould insist upon traveling tight to Lazy's heels.
Little Jim leaned back. "Stick it out, ole-timer! But don't you go tocuttin' dad's trail till he gets kind of used to seein' you around.Sabe?"
Smiler grinned through a dust-begrimed countenance. He wagged his tail.
Little Jim plunked his horse in the ribs and drew up beside his father.Little Jim felt big and important riding beside his dad. There had beensome kind of trouble at home--and they were leaving it behind. It wouldbe a long trail, and his father sure would need help.
Little Jim drew a deep breath. He wanted to express his unwaveringloyalty to his father. He wanted to talk of his willingness to goanywhere and share any kind of luck. But his resolve to speak evaporatedin a sigh of satisfaction. This was a real holiday, an adventure."Smiler's makin' it fine, dad."
But Big Jim did not seem to hear. He was gazing ahead, where in thedistance loomed an approaching figure on horseback. Little Jim knew whoit was, and was about to say so when his father checked him with agesture. Little Jim saw his father shift his belt round so that his gunhung handy. He said nothing and showed by no other sign that he hadrecognized the approaching rider, who came on swiftly, his high-headedpinto fighting the bit.
Within twenty yards of them, the rider reined his horse to a walk.Little Jim saw the two men eye each other closely. The man on the pintorode past. Little Jim turned to his father.
"I guess Panhandle is goin' to town," said the boy, not knowing justwhat to say, yet feeling that the occasion called for some remark.
"Panhandle" Sears and his father knew each other. They had passed on theroad, neither speaking to the other. And Little Jim was not blind to thesignificant movement of shifting a belt that a gun might hang ready tohand.
Yet he soon forgot the incident in visioning the future. Arizona, AuntJane, and stingin' lizards!
Big Jim rode with head bowed. He was thinking of the man who had justpassed them. If it had not been for the boy, Big Jim and that man wouldhave had it out, there on the road. And Jenny Hastings would have beenthe cause of their quarrel. "Panhandle" Sears had "kept company" withJenny before she became Big Jim's wife. Now that she had left him--
Big Jim turned and gazed back along the road. A far-away cloud of dustrolled toward the distant town of Laramie.
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