CHAPTER IV
"A LITTLE GREEN RIVER"
To suddenly stop off at a cow-town station, without baggage or definiteitinerary, was unconventional, to say the least. Bartley was amused andinterested. Hitherto he had written more or less conventionalstuff--acceptable stories of the subway, the slums, the docks, and thestreets of Eastern cities. But now, as he strode over to the saloon, heforgot that he was a writer of stories. A boyish longing possessed himto see much of the life roundabout, even to the farthest, faint range ofhills--and beyond.
He felt that while he still owed something to his original plan ofvisiting California, he could do worse than stay right where he was. Hehad thought of wiring to have his baggage sent back. Then it occurred tohim that, aside from his shaving-kit and a few essentials, his baggagecomprised but little that he could use out here in the mesa country. Andhe felt a certain relief in not having trunks to look after. Outingflannels and evening clothes would hardly fit into the present scheme ofthings. The local store would furnish him all that he needed. In thisframe of mind he entered the Blue Front Saloon where he found SenatorSteve and his foreman seated at a side table discussing the merits of"Green River."
"Hello!" called the Senator. "Mr. Bartley, meet my foreman, Lon Pelly."
They shook hands.
"Lon says the source of Green River is Joy in the Hills," asserted theSenator, smiling.
The long, lean cow-puncher grinned. "Steve, here, says the source ofGreen River is trouble."
"Now, as a writin' man, what would you say?" queried the Senator.
Bartley gazed at the label on the bottle under discussion. "Well, as awriter, I might say that it depends how far you travel up or down GreenRiver. But as a mere individual enjoying the blessings of companionship,I should say, let's experiment, judiciously."
"Fetch a couple more glasses, Tom," called the Senator.
After the essential formalities, Bartley pushed back his chair, crossedone leg over the other, and lighted a cigar. "I'm rather inclined towardthat Joy in the Hills theory, just now," he asserted.
"That's all right," said Lon Pelly. "Bein' a little inclined don't hurtany. But if you keep on reachin' for Joy, your foot is like to slip.Then comes Trouble."
"Lon's qualified for the finals once or twice," said the Senator. "Now,take _me_, for a horrible example. I been navigatin' Green River, offand on, for quite a spell, and I never got hung up bad."
"Speaking of rivers, they're rather scarce in this country, I believe,"said Bartley.
"Yes. But some of 'em are noticeable in the rainy season," statedSenator Steve. "But you ain't seen Arizona. You've only been peekin'through your fingers at her. Wait till you get on a cayuse and hit thetrail for a few hundred miles--that's the only way to see the country.Now, take 'Cheyenne.' He rides this here country from Utah to theborder, and he can tell you somethin' about Arizona.
"Cheyenne is a kind of hobo puncher that rides the country with hislittle old pack-horse, stoppin' by to work for a grubstake when he hasto, but ramblin' most of the time. He used to be a top-hand once. Workedfor me a spell. But he can't stay in one place long. Wish you could meethim sometime. He can tell you more about this State than any man I know.He's what you might call a character for a story. He stops by regular,at the ranch, mebby for a day or two, and then takes the trail, singin'his little old song. He's kind of a outdoor poet. Makes up his ownsongs."
"What was that one about Arizona that you gave 'em over to the StateHouse onct?" queried Lon Pelly.
"Oh, that wa'n't Cheyenne's own po'try. It was one he read in a magazinethat he gave me. Let's see--
"Arizona! The tramp of cattle, The biting dust and the raw, red brand: Shuffling sheep and the smoke of battle: The upturned face--and the empty hand.
"Dawn and dusk, and the wide world singing, Songs that thrilled with the pulse of life, As we clattered down with our rein chains ringing To woo you--but never to make you wife."
The Senator smiled a trifle apologetically. "There's more of it. Butpo'try ain't just in my line. Once in a while I bust loose onpo'try--that is, my kind of po'try. And I want to say that we sureclattered down from the Butte and the Blue in the old days, with ourrein chains jinglin', thinkin'--some of us--that Arizona was ours tofare-ye-well.
"But we old-timers lived to find out that Arizona was too young to getmarried yet; so we just had to set back and kind of admire her, afterhavin' courted her an amazin' lot, in our young days." The Senatorchuckled. "Now, Lon, here, he'll tell you that there ain't no po'try inthis here country. And I never knew they was till I got time to set backand think over what we unbranded yearlin's used to do."
"For instance?" queried Bartley.
Senator Steve waved his pudgy hand as though shooing a flock of chickensoff a front lawn. "If I was to tell you some of the things thathappened, you would think I was a heap sight bigger liar than I am.Seein' some of them yarns in print, folks around this country would say:'Steve Brown's corralled some tenderfoot and loaded him to the muzzlewith shin tangle and ancient history!' Things that would seem amazin' toyou would never ruffle the hair of the mavericks that helped make thiscountry."
"This country ain't all settled yet," said the foreman, rising. "ReckonI'll step along, Steve."
After the foreman had departed, Bartley turned to the Senator. "Arethere many more like him, out here?"
"Who, Lon? Well, a few. He's been foreman for me quite a spell. Lon hethinks. And that's more than I ever did till after I was thirty. And Lonain't twenty-six, yet."
"I think I'll step over to the drug-store and get a few things," saidBartley.
"So you figure to bed down at the hotel, eh?"
"Yes. For a few days, at least. I want to get over the idea that I haveto take the next train West before I make any further plans."
The Senator accompanied Bartley to the drug-store. The Easterner boughtwhat he needed in the way of shaving-kit and brush and comb. The Senatorexcused himself and crossed the street to talk to a friend. Theafternoon sun slanted across the hot roofs, painting black shadows onthe dusty street. Bartley found Wishful, the proprietor, and told himthat he would like to engage a room with a bath.
Wishful smiled never a smile as he escorted Bartley to a room.
"I'll fetch your bath up, right soon," he said solemnly.
Presently Wishful appeared with a galvanized iron washtub and a kettleof boiling water. Bartley thanked him.
"You can leave 'em out in the hall when you're through," said Wishful.
Bartley enjoyed a refreshing bath and rub-down. Later he set the kettleand tub out in the dim hallway. Then he sat down and wrote a letter tohis friend in California, explaining his change of plan. The afternoonsunlight waned. Bartley gazed out across the vast mesas, lavender-huedand wonderful, as they darkened to blue, then to purple that was shotwith strange half-lights from the descending sun.
Suddenly a giant hand seemed to drop a canopy over the vista, and it wasnight. Bartley lighted the oil lamp and sat staring out into thedarkness. From below came the rattle of dishes. Presently Bartley heardheavy, deliberate footsteps ascending the stairway. Then a clangingcrash and a thud, right outside his door. He flung the door open.Senator Steve was rising from the flattened semblance of a washtub andfeeling of himself tenderly. The Senator blinked, surveyed the wreckedtub and the kettle silently, and then without comment he stepped backand kicked the kettle. It soared and dropped clanging into the hallbelow.
Wishful appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Did you ring, Senator?"
"Yes, I did! And I'm goin' to ring again."
"Hold on!" said Wishful, "I'll come up and get the tub. I got thekettle."
The Senator puffed into Bartley's room and sat on the edge of the bed.He wiped his bald head, smiling cherubically. "Did you hear him, askin'me, a member of the Society for the Prevention of Progress, if I rangfor him! That's about all the respect I command in this community. Isure want to apologize for not stoppin' to knock," added
the Senator.
Bartley grinned. "It was hardly necessary. I heard you."
"I just came up to see if you would take dinner with me and my missus.We're goin' to eat right soon. You see, my missus never met up with areal, live author."
"Thanks, Senator. I'll be glad to meet your family. But suppose youforget that author stuff and just take me as a tenderfoot out to see thesights. I'll like it better."
"Why, sure! And while the House is in session, I might rise to remarkthat I can't help bein' called 'Senator,' because I'm guilty. But,honest, I always feel kinder toward my fellow-bein's who call me justplain 'Steve.'"
"All right. I'll take your word for it."
"Don't you take my word for anything. How do you know but I might betryin' to sell you a gold mine?"
"I think the risk would be about even," said Bartley.
The Senator chuckled. "I just heard Wishful lopin' down the hall withhis bathin' outfit, so I guess the right of way is clear again. Andthere goes the triangle--sounds like the old ranch, that triangle. Yousee, Wishful used to be a cow-hand, and lots of cow-hands stop at thishotel when they're in town. That triangle sounds like home to 'em. I'mstoppin' here myself. But I got a real bathroom out to the ranch. Let'sgo down and look at some beef on the plate."
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