CHAPTER XXII
THE USE OF PHOTOGRAPHY
It was noon and the great column of parched animals and hot, dusty men hadcome to a halt under their alkali cloud beside a little stream. Thefoot-weary sheep and cattle, without the usual preliminaries, lay downwhere they stood, relieved for once from the incessant nipping of the dogsand proddings of the men.
Sims, walking among the sheep with down-drawn brows, noted theircondition, how gaunt they were, how dirty and weary, and shook his head incommiseration. Had he but known it he was as gaunt and worn-looking as theweakest of them. Returning to where Larkin had dropped in the shade of thecook-wagon, he said:
"We've got to make it to-night if the Old Boy himself is in the way."
Larkin realized the seriousness of the situation. Water and feed wereplentiful, but owing to the hurry of the drive the animals were starvingon their feet. Less than five miles away was the Gray Bull River, the goalof their march. Once across that and they would be out of the Bar T rangeand free to continue north, for the next ranch-owner had gone in for sheephimself (one of the first to see the handwriting on the wall), and hadgladly granted Larkin's flocks a passage across his range.
"What I can't understand is where all those cowpunchers are," continuedSims. "I'm plenty sure they wouldn't let us through if we was within afoot of the river, they're that cussed."
He had hardly got the words out of his mouth when from ahead of the herdappeared a horseman at a hard gallop, quirting his pony at every fewjumps.
Pulling the animal back on its haunches at the cook-wagon, the ridervaulted out of the saddle and was blurting out his story almost before hehad touched the ground.
"Up ahead there!" he gasped. "Cow-punchers! Looks like a hundred of 'em. Iseen 'em from a butte. I 'low they've dug fifty pits and they've stucksharp stakes into the ground pointed this way. They're ready fer us, an'don't yuh ferget it."
Sims and Larkin looked at each other without speaking. Now it was plainthat the punchers had had plenty of reason for not molesting them; theyhad been preparing a surprise.
"An' that ain't all, boss," went on the rider. "I took a slant through myglasses, and what d'yuh suppose I seen? There, as big as life, was oldBeef Bissell an' Red Tarken, and a lot more o' them cowmen. How they evergot there I dunno, but it's worth figurin' out of a cold winter'sevenin'."
This information came as a knockdown. The two men questioned theirinformant closely, unable to credit their ears, but the man described theranch-owners so accurately that there was no room left for doubt.
"Then what's become o' Jimmie Welsh and his nine men?" asked Simswonderingly.
"Mebbe they're captured; but I couldn't see anythin' of 'em."
"Nope," said Bud slowly, "they aren't captured. They're dead. I knowJimmie and his men, and I picked them for that job because I knew how theywould act. Poor boys! If I get through here alive I'll put a monumentwhere they died."
He ceased speaking, and a sudden silence descended on all the company, forthe other men had been listening to this report. Each man's thoughts inthat one instant were with Jimmie and his nine men in their last extremityat Welsh's Butte, although the site of the tragedy was as yet unknown tothem.
"What about the lay of the country?" Sims finally asked of the scout.
"Dead ahead is the big ford, but that is what the punchers have protected.I could see that either up or down from the ford the water's deep, becausethere ain't no bottoms there--the bank's right on top of the river."
"Where is the next nearest ford?"
"Ten miles northeast, this season of the year," was the reply.
"Thunderation, boss, what'll we do?" inquired Sims petulantly.
"Call Lester, and we three will talk it over," said Bud, a half-formedplan already in his mind.
Presently the three were alone and discussing the situation. Bud proposedhis scheme and outlined it clearly. For perhaps a quarter of an hour hetalked, interrupted by the eager, enthusiastic exclamations of Lester.When he had finished, Sims lay back on his two elbows and regarded hisemployer.
"If yuh keep on this-a-way, boss," he remarked, "I allow we might let yuhherd a few lambs next spring, seein' yuh _will_ learn the sheepbusiness."
Bud grinned at the other's compliment and noted Lester's enthusiasm. Thenthey plunged into the details.
"Better ride your horse around by way of the ford ten miles away," werethe instructions as Lester saddled up. "Then you can come at 'em by therear."
No word of young Larkin's intention had passed about the camp, and thesheepmen watched with considerable wonder the departure of the boy,placing it to Bud's fear of his receiving an injury in the trouble thatwas almost surely bound to happen that night.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, or thereabouts, Lester, with his outfitstrapped on his dejected horse, rode slowly away from the sheepmen'scamp.
Meanwhile, behind the various defenses that had been erected against thecoming of Bud Larkin and his animals, the cowmen and their punchers weremaking ready for their night's battle. The chief actor in these feveredpreparations was Beef Bissell, whose hatred of Larkin was something tofrighten babies with at night.
Since the gallant battle at Welsh's Butte, Bissell had changed some of hisideas regarding sheepmen in general; but he had changed none regardingLarkin in particular. It was now a matter of pride and determination,almost of oath with him, to fight this matter of the range to the finish.The other cowmen stood by him out of principle and because of the need ofa unified stand by men of their association.
So here in the last ditch, ready to sacrifice men, animals, and money,wrong and knowing it, these beef barons prepared to dispute the last inchof their territory. It should never be said, they had sworn, that sheephad crossed the cattle-range of any of them. On this elevating platformthey proposed to make their fight.
To be perfectly just to all concerned, it is only right to add that allwho did not choose to remain, either owners or punchers, were perfectlyfree to withdraw, but in doing so they forfeited their membership in theassociation. But one man had taken advantage of this--Billy Speaker.
"If there's any damage to be done, those sheep have already done it. Whydon't yuh let 'em through, yuh ol' fat-head?" said Speaker to Bissell as,with his cowboys, he threw his leg over the saddle and started homeward.
Despite the havoc to their numbers occasioned by the battle with JimmieWelsh, all the others stood by. With the cowboys this matter of war andits hazards was a decided improvement over the dangerous monotony ofspring round-ups. Moreover, as long as one remained able to collect it,five dollars a day was several pegs better than forty dollars a month andall found.
To-day as the late sun drooped low toward the horizon revolvers and gunswere being oiled, and other preparations made for a vigorous campaign. Thecamp backed directly on the river at the only fordable spot within tenmiles, the stream forming the fourth side to a square, the other threesides of which were breastworks of earth and trenches.
A rope stretched from the three cook-wagons served as a coral for thehorses, and in it were gathered fully sixty-five animals, waitingimpatiently to be hobbled, and turned out to feed. They waited in vain,however, for it was a matter of course that they should stand saddled andready for instant use.
Directly before the front of these earthworks were the pits and _chevauxde frise_ of sharp stakes that had been reported to Bud. The intention wasto stampede the animals if possible, and run them into the pits and uponthe stakes while a force of men, protected by the trenches, poured awithering and continuous fire into the on-surging mass. Meanwhile thegreater force on horseback would be engaging the sheepmen.
That the cowboys knew the location of the flocks goes without saying, forhad they not had spies on the lookout, the telltale pillar of dust thatever floated above the marching thousands would have betrayed their exactposition.
The sun had just dropped below the horizon, when a man in the cowpunchers'camp discerned a weary horse bearing a hump-shouldered
riderdisconsolately in the direction of the ford. The man, bore strange-lookingparaphernalia, and could be classified as neither fish, flesh, norfowl--that is, cowboy, sheepman, or granger.
Without pausing the man urged his horse into the water at the ford, whereit drank deeply. The man flung himself off the saddle and, scooping thewater in his hands, imitated the horse's eagerness. When he had apparentlysatisfied an inordinate thirst he looked up at the man across the riverand said:
"Say, could I git some grub in yore camp?"
"Yuh better move on, pardner. This here's resky territory," replied theother, his Winchester swinging idly back and forth across the stranger'smiddle.
"I'm hungry enough to take a chance," was the reply as Lester walked hismount deliberately across the stream. "Besides, I want to do business withyuh."
Another man, hearing the controversy, came up and ordered the newcomeraway. Lester asked him who he was.
"My name's Bissell," snorted the man.
Lester advanced the rest of the way to shore his hand outstretched.
"I'm plumb glad to know yuh," he said. "My name's Skidmore, an' I've justcome from the Bar T. I take pitchers, I do--yessir, the best in thebusiness; an' if yuh don't believe me, just look at these."
From somewhere in his saddle-bags Skidmore whipped out two photographs andhanded them to Bissell.
There, looking at him, sat Martha, in some of her long-unused finery, andJuliet, the daughter who had until now been the greatest blessing of hislife.
Bissell started back as though he had seen a ghost, so excellent andspeaking were the likenesses.
"Yes, they asked me to come an' take one of yuh, Mr. Bissell," went on thephotographer.
"They did?" snapped Beef suspiciously. "How'd they know where I was?"
"Stelton told 'em. I was there when he got home."
"Oh, yes--Stelton, of course," apologized the owner. "How d'ye take theblame things? With that contraption yuh've got there?"
"Yes, and I think there is still light enough for me to get you!" criedSkidmore, snatching his outfit from the back of his horse and startinghurriedly to set it up.
By this time quite a crowd had gathered, some of whom had never seen acamera in operation, and none of whom had seen such pictures as Skidmorewas able to pass around.
Bissell posed with the embarrassed air of a schoolboy saying his firstpiece, and after that Skidmore was busy arranging his subjects long afterit was too dark to make an impression on the plates. Finally, affectingutter weariness, he asked for food, and the best in the camp was laidbefore him.
"Can't do any more to-night," he said when he had finished. "But to-morrowI can take a few; I have about half-a-dozen plates left."
"I may not look as tidy to-morrow morning as I do now," remarked onepuncher suggestively. "Too bad yuh can't take pictures at night as well asin the daytime."
"I can," announced Skidmore, quite complacently.
"Well, didn't yuh just tell me," demanded an irate cowboy who vainlyundertook to grasp the science of photography, "that the light actin' onthe plate made the pitcher?"
"Yes."
"Well, how in the road to hell can yuh take 'em when it's dark?"
"He rents a star, yuh fool!" volunteered another.
"I make my own light," explained Skidmore.
"How? With a wood-fire?" asked the curious puncher.
"No. Shall I show yuh?"
"Yes."
The reply came in a chorus, for the arrival of this man with his strangeapparatus had created a stir among his hosts that one cannot conceive inthese days of perfect pictures. The cowpunchers were not worrying aboutattack, for they had outposts on duty who could warn them of the advanceof the enemy in plenty of time. The amusement of the camera was a finething with which to pass the lagging hours.
"All right," said Skidmore. "By George," he cried, "I've just the idea! Myplates are low, and I'll take a picture of the whole outfit together."
"What! Get seventy men on the same thing that'll only hold one?" criedanother puncher, furious that these wonders eluded him. "If yuh're foolin'with me, son, I'll shoot yer contraption into a thousand pieces."
"Easiest thing in the world," said the photographer carelessly. "Only I'llhave to ask yuh to move away from the fire; that'll spoil the plate. Ithink over here is a good place." He led the way to a spot directly infront of the horse corral.
Then he caused the lowest row to sit on the ground, the one behind itkneel, and the last stand up, and after peering through his camera madethem close up tightly so that all could get into the picture. By the glowfrom the camp-fire it was a wonderful scene. The light showed broad hats,knotted neckerchiefs, and weather-beaten, grinning faces. It glanced dullyfrom holsters and brightly from guns and buckles.
On a piece of board Skidmore carefully arranged his flashlight powder andtook the cap off the lens. Then he ran to the fire and picked up aburning splinter, telling them all to watch it.
"Steady, now!" he commanded. "All quiet."
He thrust the lighted spill into the powder, and there was a blindingflash, accompanied by a hollow roar like a sudden gust of wind.
The next instant a terrific commotion arose in the corral. There weresqueals of terror, and before the men could catch their breath thesixty-five cow ponies had bolted in a mad stampede, overturning thecook-wagons and thundering across the prairie.
The punchers, absolutely sightless for the instant from looking at theflash of the powder, broke into horrible cursing, and ran blindly here andthere, colliding with one another and adding to the already greatconfusion. Their one desire was to lay hands on the wretched photographer,but that desire was never fulfilled.
For Lester Larkin, having shut his eyes during the flash, easily evadedthe men and made his way to his horse that had been tethered to a treenear the river. With his instrument under his arm he untied the animal,climbed on his back, and dug in the spurs. A moment later, during theheight of the confusion, he was galloping along parallel to the river. Amile and a half from the camp he turned his horse's head and sped at fullspeed toward the advancing herds.
The Free Range Page 22