XXVI. BALAAM AND PEDRO
Resigned to wait for the Judge's horses, Balaam went into his officethis dry, bright morning and read nine accumulated newspapers; forhe was behindhand. Then he rode out on the ditches, and met his manreturning with the troublesome animals at last. He hastened home andsent for the Virginian. He had made a decision.
"See here," he said; "those horses are coming. What trail would you takeover to the Judge's?"
"Shortest trail's right through the Bow Laig Mountains," said theforeman, in his gentle voice.
"Guess you're right. It's dinner-time. We'll start right afterward.We'll make Little Muddy Crossing by sundown, and Sunk Creek to-morrow,and the next day'll see us through. Can a wagon get through Sunk CreekCanyon?"
The Virginian smiled. "I reckon it can't, seh, and stay resembling awagon."
Balaam told them to saddle Pedro and one packhorse, and drive the bunchof horses into a corral, roping the Judge's two, who proved extremelywild. He had decided to take this journey himself on remembering certainpolitics soon to be rife in Cheyenne. For Judge Henry was indeed agreater man than Balaam. This personally conducted return of the horseswould temper its tardiness, and, moreover, the sight of some New Yorkvisitors would be a good thing after seven months of no warmer touchwith that metropolis than the Sunday HERALD, always eight days old whenit reached the Butte Creek Ranch.
They forded Butte Creek, and, crossing the well-travelled trail whichfollows down to Drybone, turned their faces toward the uninhabitedcountry that began immediately, as the ocean begins off a sandy shore.And as a single mast on which no sail is shining stands at the horizonand seems to add a loneliness to the surrounding sea, so the long grayline of fence, almost a mile away, that ended Balaam's land on this sidethe creek, stretched along the waste ground and added desolation tothe plain. No solitary watercourse with margin of cottonwoods or willowthickets flowed here to stripe the dingy, yellow world with interruptinggreen, nor were cattle to be seen dotting the distance, nor movingobjects at all, nor any bird in the soundless air. The last gate wasshut by the Virginian, who looked back at the pleasant trees of theranch, and then followed on in single file across the alkali of No Man'sLand.
No cloud was in the sky. The desert's grim noon shone sombrely on flatand hill. The sagebrush was dull like zinc. Thick heat rose near at handfrom the caked alkali, and pale heat shrouded the distant peaks.
There were five horses. Balaam led on Pedro, his squat figure stiff inthe saddle, but solid as a rock, and tilted a little forward, as hishabit was. One of the Judge's horses came next, a sorrel, dragging backcontinually on the rope by which he was led. After him ambled Balaam'swise pack-animal, carrying the light burden of two days' food andlodging. She was an old mare who could still go when she chose, but hadbeen schooled by the years, and kept the trail, giving no trouble to theVirginian who came behind her. He also sat solid as a rock, yet subtlybending to the struggles of the wild horse he led, as a steel springbends and balances and resumes its poise.
Thus they made but slow time, and when they topped the last dull rise ofground and looked down on the long slant of ragged, caked earth to thecrossing of Little Muddy, with its single tree and few mean bushes, thefinal distance where eyesight ends had deepened to violet from the thin,steady blue they had stared at for so many hours, and all heat wasgone from the universal dryness. The horses drank a long time from thesluggish yellow water, and its alkaline taste and warmth were equallywelcome to the men. They built a little fire, and when supper was ended,smoked but a short while and in silence, before they got in the blanketsthat were spread in a smooth place beside the water.
They had picketed the two horses of the Judge in the best grass theycould find, letting the rest go free to find pasture where they could.When the first light came, the Virginian attended to breakfast, whileBalaam rode away on the sorrel to bring in the loose horses. They hadgone far out of sight, and when he returned with them, after some twohours, he was on Pedro. Pedro was soaking with sweat, and red frothcreamed from his mouth. The Virginian saw the horses must have been hardto drive in, especially after Balaam brought them the wild sorrel as aleader.
"If you'd kep' ridin' him, 'stead of changin' off on your hawss, they'dhave behaved quieter," said the foreman.
"That's good seasonable advice," said Balaam, sarcastically. "I couldhave told you that now."
"I could have told you when you started," said the Virginian, heatingthe coffee for Balaam.
Balaam was eloquent on the outrageous conduct of the horses. He had comeup with them evidently striking back for Butte Creek, with the old marein the lead.
"But I soon showed her the road she was to go," he said, as he drovethem now to the water.
The Virginian noticed the slight limp of the mare, and how her pasternwas cut as if with a stone or the sharp heel of a boot.
"I guess she'll not be in a hurry to travel except when she's wantedto," continued Balaam. He sat down, and sullenly poured himself somecoffee. "We'll be in luck if we make any Sunk Creek this night."
He went on with his breakfast, thinking aloud for the benefit of hiscompanion, who made no comments, preferring silence to the discomfort oftalking with a man whose vindictive humor was so thoroughly uppermost.He did not even listen very attentively, but continued his preparationsfor departure, washing the dishes, rolling the blankets, and movingabout in his usual way of easy and visible good nature.
"Six o'clock, already," said Balaam, saddling the horses. "And we'llnot get started for ten minutes more." Then he came to Pedro. "So youhaven't quit fooling yet, haven't you?" he exclaimed, for the ponyshrank as he lifted the bridle. "Take that for your sore mouth!" and herammed the bit in, at which Pedro flung back and reared.
"Well, I never saw Pedro act that way yet," said the Virginian.
"Ah, rubbish!" said Balaam. "They're all the same. Not a bastard onebut's laying for his chance to do for you. Some'll buck you off, andsome'll roll with you, and some'll fight you with their fore feet. Theymay play good for a year, but the Western pony's man's enemy, and whenhe judges he's got his chance, he's going to do his best. And if youcome out alive it won't be his fault." Balaam paused for a while,packing. "You've got to keep them afraid of you," he said next; "that'swhat you've got to do if you don't want trouble. That Pedro horse therehas been fed, hand-fed, and fooled with like a damn pet, and what's thatpolicy done? Why, he goes ugly when he thinks it's time, and decideshe'll not drive any horses into camp this morning. He knows better now."
"Mr. Balaam," said the Virginian, "I'll buy that hawss off yu' rightnow."
Balaam shook his head. "You'll not do that right now or any other time,"said he. "I happen to want him."
The Virginian could do no more. He had heard cow-punchers say torefractory ponies, "You keep still, or I'll Balaam you!" and he nowunderstood the aptness of the expression.
Meanwhile Balaam began to lead Pedro to the creek for a last drinkbefore starting across the torrid drought. The horse held back on therein a little, and Balaam turned and cut the whip across his forehead.A delay of forcing and backing followed, while the Virginian, alreadyin the saddle, waited. The minutes passed, and no immediate prospect,apparently, of getting nearer Sunk Creek.
"He ain' goin' to follow you while you're beatin' his haid," theSoutherner at length remarked.
"Do you think you can teach me anything about horses?" retorted Balaam.
"Well, it don't look like I could," said the Virginian, lazily.
"Then don't try it, so long as it's not your horse, my friend."
Again the Southerner levelled his eye on Balaam. "All right," he said,in the same gentle voice. "And don't you call me your friend. You'vemade that mistake twiced."
The road was shadeless, as it had been from the start, and they couldnot travel fast. During the first few hours all coolness was driven outof the glassy morning, and another day of illimitable sun invested theworld with its blaze. The pale Bow Leg Range was coming nearer, but itshard hot slants a
nd rifts suggested no sort of freshness, and eventhe pines that spread for wide miles along near the summit counted fornothing in the distance and the glare, but seemed mere patches of dulldry discoloration. No talk was exchanged between the two travellers, forthe cow-puncher had nothing to say and Balaam was sulky, so they movedalong in silent endurance of each other's company and the tedium of thejourney.
But the slow succession of rise and fall in the plain changed andshortened. The earth's surface became lumpy, rising into mounds andknotted systems of steep small hills cut apart by staring gashes ofsand, where water poured in the spring from the melting snow. After atime they ascended through the foot-hills till the plain below was for awhile concealed, but came again into view in its entirety, distant and athing of the past, while some magpies sailed down to meet them fromthe new country they were entering. They passed up through a smalltransparent forest of dead trees standing stark and white, and a littlehigher came on a line of narrow moisture that crossed the way and formeda stale pool among some willow thickets. They turned aside to watertheir horses, and found near the pool a circular spot of ashes and somepoles lying, and beside these a cage-like edifice of willow wands builtin the ground.
"Indian camp," observed the Virginian.
There were the tracks of five or six horses on the farther side of thepool, and they did not come into the trail, but led off among the rockson some system of their own.
"They're about a week old," said Balaam. "It's part of that outfitthat's been hunting."
"They've gone on to visit their friends," added the cow-puncher.
"Yes, on the Southern Reservation. How far do you call Sunk Creek now?"
"Well," said the Virginian, calculating, "it's mighty nigh fo'ty milesfrom Muddy Crossin', an' I reckon we've come eighteen."
"Just about. It's noon." Balaam snapped his watch shut. "We'll rest heretill 12:30."
When it was time to go, the Virginian looked musingly at the mountains."We'll need to travel right smart to get through the canyon to-night,"he said.
"Tell you what," said Balaam; "we'll rope the Judge's horses togetherand drive 'em in front of us. That'll make speed."
"Mightn't they get away on us?" objected the Virginian. "They're pow'fulwild."
"They can't get away from me, I guess," said Balaam, and the arrangementwas adopted. "We're the first this season over this piece of the trail,"he observed presently.
His companion had noticed the ground already, and assented. There wereno tracks anywhere to be seen over which winter had not come and gonesince they had been made. Presently the trail wound into a sultry gulchthat hemmed in the heat and seemed to draw down the sun's rays morevertically. The sorrel horse chose this place to make a try for liberty.He suddenly whirled from the trail, dragging with him his less inventivefellow. Leaving the Virginian with the old mare, Balaam headed them off,for Pedro was quick, and they came jumping down the bank together, butswiftly crossed up on the other side, getting much higher before theycould be reached. It was no place for this sort of game, as the sides ofthe ravine were ploughed with steep channels, broken with jutting knobsof rock, and impeded by short twisted pines that swung out from theirroots horizontally over the pitch of the hill. The Virginian helped,but used his horse with more judgment, keeping as much on the level aspossible, and endeavoring to anticipate the next turn of the runawaysbefore they made it, while Balaam attempted to follow them close,wheeling short when they doubled, heavily beating up the face of theslope, veering again to come down to the point he had left, and wheneverhe felt Pedro begin to flag, driving his spurs into the horse andforcing him to keep up the pace. He had set out to overtake and captureon the side of the mountain these two animals who had been runningwild for many weeks, and now carried no weight but themselves, andthe futility of such work could not penetrate his obstinate and risingtemper. He had made up his mind not to give in. The Virginian soondecided to move slowly along for the present, preventing the wild horsesfrom passing down the gulch again, but otherwise saving his own animalfrom useless fatigue. He saw that Pedro was reeking wet, with mouthopen, and constantly stumbling, though he galloped on. The cow-puncherkept the group in sight, driving the packhorse in front of him, andwatching the tactics of the sorrel, who had now undoubtedly becomethe leader of the expedition, and was at the top of the gulch, in vaintrying to find an outlet through its rocky rim to the levels above. Hesoon judged this to be no thoroughfare, and changing his plan, trotteddown to the bottom and up the other side, gaining more and more; forin this new descent Pedro had fallen twice. Then the sorrel showed thecleverness of a genuinely vicious horse. The Virginian saw him stopand fall to kicking his companion with all the energy that a short ropewould permit. The rope slipped, and both, unencumbered, reached the topand disappeared. Leaving the packhorse for Balaam, the Virginian startedafter them and came into a high tableland, beyond which the mountainsbegan in earnest. The runaways were moving across toward these at aneasy rate. He followed for a moment, then looking back, and seeing nosign of Balaam, waited, for the horses were sure not to go fast whenthey reached good pasture or water.
He got out of the saddle and sat on the ground, watching, till the marecame up slowly into sight, and Balaam behind her. When they were near,Balaam dismounted and struck Pedro fearfully, until the stick broke, andhe raised the splintered half to continue.
Seeing the pony's condition, the Virginian spoke, and said, "I'd letthat hawss alone."
Balaam turned to him, but wholly possessed by passion did not seem tohear, and the Southerner noticed how white and like that of a maniac hisface was. The stick slid to the ground.
"He played he was tired," said Balaam, looking at the Virginian withglazed eyes. The violence of his rage affected him physically, like somestroke of illness. "He played out on me on purpose." The man's voicewas dry and light. "He's perfectly fresh now," he continued, and turnedagain to the coughing, swaying horse, whose eyes were closed. Not havingthe stick, he seized the animal's unresisting head and shook it. TheVirginian watched him a moment, and rose to stop such a spectacle. Then,as if conscious he was doing no real hurt, Balaam ceased, and turningagain in slow fashion looked across the level, where the runaways werestill visible.
"I'll have to take your horse," he said, "mine's played out on me."
"You ain' goin' to touch my hawss."
Again the words seemed not entirely to reach Balaam's understanding, sodulled by rage were his senses. He made no answer, but mounted Pedro;and the failing pony walked mechanically forward, while the Virginian,puzzled, stood looking after him. Balaam seemed without purpose of goinganywhere, and stopped in a moment. Suddenly he was at work at something.This sight was odd and new to look at. For a few seconds it had nomeaning to the Virginian as he watched. Then his mind grasped thehorror, too late. Even with his cry of execration and the tiger springthat he gave to stop Balaam, the monstrosity was wrought. Pedro sankmotionless, his head rolling flat on the earth. Balaam was jammedbeneath him. The man had struggled to his feet before the Virginianreached the spot, and the horse then lifted his head and turned itpiteously round.
Then vengeance like a blast struck Balaam. The Virginian hurled him tothe ground, lifted and hurled him again, lifted him and beat his faceand struck his jaw. The man's strong ox-like fighting availed nothing.He fended his eyes as best he could against these sledge-hammer blowsof justice. He felt blindly for his pistol. That arm was caught andwrenched backward, and crushed and doubled. He seemed to hear his ownbones, and set up a hideous screaming of hate and pain. Then thepistol at last came out, and together with the hand that grasped it wasinstantly stamped into the dust. Once again the creature was lifted andslung so that he lay across Pedro's saddle a blurred, dingy, wet pulp.
Vengeance had come and gone. The man and the horse were motionless.Around them, silence seemed to gather like a witness.
"If you are dead," said the Virginian, "I am glad of it." He stoodlooking down at Balaam and Pedro, prone in the middle of the opentableland. The
n he saw Balaam looking at him. It was the quiet stare ofsight without thought or feeling, the mere visual sense alone, almostfrightful in its separation from any self. But as he watched thoseeyes, the self came back into them. "I have not killed you," said theVirginian. "Well, I ain't goin' to do any more to yu'--if that's asatisfaction to know."
Then he began to attend to Balaam with impersonal skill, like some onehired for the purpose. "He ain't hurt bad," he asserted aloud, as ifthe man were some nameless patient; and then to Balaam he remarked, "Ireckon it might have put a less tough man than you out of business forquite a while. I'm goin' to get some water now." When he returned withthe water, Balsam was sitting up, looking about him. He had not yetspoken, nor did he now speak. The sunlight flashed on the six-shooterwhere it lay, and the Virginian secured it. "She ain't so pretty as shewas," he remarked, as he examined the weapon. "But she'll go right handyyet."
Strength was in a measure returning to Pedro. He was a young horse,and the exhaustion neither of anguish nor of over-riding was enoughto affect him long or seriously. He got himself on his feet and walkedwaveringly over to the old mare, and stood by her for comfort. Thecow-puncher came up to him, and Pedro, after starting back slightly,seemed to comprehend that he was in friendly hands. It was plain that hewould soon be able to travel slowly if no weight was on him, and that hewould be a very good horse again. Whether they abandoned the runaways ornot, there was no staying here for night to overtake them without foodor water. The day was still high, and what its next few hours had instore the Virginian could not say, and he left them to take care ofthemselves, determining meanwhile that he would take command of theminutes and maintain the position he had assumed both as to Balaam andPedro. He took Pedro's saddle off, threw the mare's pack to the ground,put Balaam's saddle on her, and on that stowed or tied her originalpack, which he could do, since it was so light. Then he went to Balaam,who was sitting up.
"I reckon you can travel," said the Virginian. "And your hawss can. Ifyou're comin' with me, you'll ride your mare. I'm goin' to trail themhawsses. If you're not comin' with me, your hawss comes with me, andyou'll take fifty dollars for him."
Balaam was indifferent to this good bargain. He did not look at theother or speak, but rose and searched about him on the ground. TheVirginian was also indifferent as to whether Balaam chose to answer ornot. Seeing Balaam searching the ground, he finished what he had to say.
"I have your six-shooter, and you'll have it when I'm ready for you to.Now, I'm goin'," he concluded.
Balaam's intellect was clear enough now, and he saw that though the restof this journey would be nearly intolerable, it must go on. He lookedat the impassive cow-puncher getting ready to go and tying a rope onPedro's neck to lead him, then he looked at the mountains where therunaways had vanished, and it did not seem credible to him that he hadcome into such straits. He was helped stiffly on the mare, and the threehorses in single file took up their journey once more, and came slowlyamong the mountains. The perpetual desert was ended, and they crossed asmall brook, where they missed the trail. The Virginian dismounted tofind where the horses had turned off, and discovered that they had gonestraight up the ridge by the watercourse.
"There's been a man camped in hyeh inside a month," he said, kicking upa rag of red flannel. "White man and two hawsses. Ours have went up hisold tracks."
It was not easy for Balaam to speak yet, and he kept his silence. But heremembered that Shorty had spoken of a trapper who had started for SunkCreek.
For three hours they followed the runaways' course over softer ground,and steadily ascending, passed one or two springs, at length, wherethe mud was not yet settled in the hoofprints. Then they came througha corner of pine forest and down a sudden bank among quaking-asps to agreen park. Here the runaways beside a stream were grazing at ease, butsaw them coming, and started on again, following down the stream.For the present all to be done was to keep them in sight. This creekreceived tributaries and widened, making a valley for itself. Abovethe bottom, lining the first terrace of the ridge, began the pines, andstretched back, unbroken over intervening summit and basin, to cease atlast where the higher peaks presided.
"This hyeh's the middle fork of Sunk Creek," said the Virginian. "We'llget on to our right road again where they join."
Soon a game trail marked itself along the stream. If this would onlycontinue, the runaways would be nearly sure to follow it down into thecanyon. Then there would be no way for them but to go on and come outinto their own country, where they would make for the Judge's ranch oftheir own accord. The great point was to reach the canyon before dark.They passed into permanent shadow; for though the other side ofthe creek shone in full day, the sun had departed behind the ridgesimmediately above them. Coolness filled the air, and the silence, whichin this deep valley of invading shadow seemed too silent, was relievedby the birds. Not birds of song, but a freakish band of gray talkativeobservers, who came calling and croaking along through the pines, andinspected the cavalcade, keeping it company for a while, and then flyingup into the woods again. The travellers came round a corner on a littlespread of marsh, and from somewhere in the middle of it rose a buzzardand sailed on its black pinions into the air above them, wheelingand wheeling, but did not grow distant. As it swept over the trail,something fell from its claw, a rag of red flannel; and each man in turnlooked at it as his horse went by.
"I wonder if there's plenty elk and deer hyeh?" said the Virginian.
"I guess there is," Balaam replied, speaking at last. The travellers hadbecome strangely reconciled.
"There's game 'most all over these mountains," the Virginian continued;"country not been settled long enough to scare them out." So they fellinto casual conversation, and for the first time were glad of eachother's company.
The sound of a new bird came from the pines above--the hoot of anowl--and was answered from some other part of the wood. This they didnot particularly notice at first, but soon they heard the same note,unexpectedly distant, like an echo. The game trail, now quite a definedpath beside the river, showed no sign of changing its course or fadingout into blank ground, as these uncertain guides do so often. It ledconsistently in the desired direction, and the two men were relieved tosee it continue. Not only were the runaways easier to keep track of,but better speed was made along this valley. The pervading imminence ofnight more and more dispelled the lingering afternoon, though there wasyet no twilight in the open, and the high peaks opposite shone yellowin the invisible sun. But now the owls hooted again. Their music hadsomething in it that caused both the Virginian and Balaam to look up atthe pines and wish that this valley would end. Perhaps it was early fornight-birds to begin; or perhaps it was that the sound never seemed tofall behind, but moved abreast of them among the trees above, as theyrode on without pause down below; some influence made the faces of thetravellers grave. The spell of evil which the sight of the wheelingbuzzard had begun, deepened as evening grew, while ever and again alongthe creek the singular call and answer of the owls wandered among thedarkness of the trees not far away.
The sun was gone from the peaks when at length the other side of thestream opened into a long wide meadow. The trail they followed, aftercrossing a flat willow thicket by the water, ran into dense pines, thathere for the first time reached all the way down to the water's edge.The two men came out of the willows, and saw ahead the capriciousrunaways leave the bottom and go up the hill and enter the wood.
"We must hinder that," said the Virginian; and he dropped Pedro's rope."There's your six-shooter. You keep the trail, and camp down there"--hepointed to where the trees came to the water--"till I head them hawssesoff. I may not get back right away." He galloped up the open hilland went into the pine, choosing a place above where the vagrants haddisappeared.
Balaam dismounted, and picking up his six-shooter, took the rope offPedro's neck and drove him slowly down toward where the wood began.Its interior was already dim, and Balaam saw that here must be theirstopping-place to-night, since there was
no telling how wide this pinestrip might extend along the trail before they could come out of it andreach another suitable camping-ground. Pedro had recovered his strength,and he now showed signs of restlessness. He shied where there was noteven a stone in the trail, and finally turned sharply round. Balaamexpected he was going to rush back on the way they had come; but thehorse stood still, breathing excitedly. He was urged forward again,though he turned more than once. But when they were a few paces from thewood, and Balaam had got off preparatory to camping, the horse snortedand dashed into the water, and stood still there. The astonished Balaamfollowed to turn him; but Pedro seemed to lose control of himself,and plunged to the middle of the river, and was evidently intending tocross. Fearing that he would escape to the opposite meadow and add totheir difficulties, Balaam, with the idea of turning him round, drew hissix-shooter and fired in front of the horse, divining, even as the flashcut the dusk, the secret of all this--the Indians; but too late. Hisbruised hand had stiffened, marring his aim, and he saw Pedro fall overin the water then rise and struggle up the bank on the farther shore,where he now hurried also, to find that he had broken the pony's leg.
He needed no interpreter for the voices of the seeming owls that hadhaunted the latter hour of their journey, and he knew that his beast'skeener instinct had perceived the destruction that lurked in theinterior of the wood. The history of the trapper whose horse hadreturned without him might have been--might still be--his own; and hethought of the rag that had fallen from the buzzard's talons when he hadbeen disturbed at his meal in the marsh. "Peaceable" Indians were stillin these mountains, and some few of them had for the past hour beenskirting his journey unseen, and now waited for him in the wood whichthey expected him to enter. They had been too wary to use their riflesor show themselves, lest these travellers should be only part of alarger company following, who would hear the noise of a shot, and catchthem in the act of murder. So, safe under the cover of the pines, theyhad planned to sling their silent noose, and drag the white man from hishorse as he passed through the trees.
Balaam looked over the river at the ominous wood, and then he lookedat Pedro, the horse that he had first maimed and now ruined, to whom heprobably owed his life. He was lying on the ground, quietly looking overthe green meadow, where dusk was gathering. Perhaps he was not sufferingfrom his wound yet, as he rested on the ground; and into his animalintelligence there probably came no knowledge of this final stroke ofhis fate. At any rate, no sound of pain came from Pedro, whose friendlyand gentle face remained turned toward the meadow. Once more Balaamfired his pistol, and this time the aim was true, and the horse rolledover, with a ball through his brain. It was the best reward thatremained for him.
Then Balaam rejoined the old mare, and turned from the middle fork ofSunk Creek. He dashed across the wide field, and went over a ridge, andfound his way along in the night till he came to the old trail--theroad which they would never have left but for him and his obstinacy. Heunsaddled the weary mare by Sunk Creek, where the canyon begins, lettingher drag a rope and find pasture and water, while he, lighting no fireto betray him, crouched close under a tree till the light came. Hethought of the Virginian in the wood. But what could either have donefor the other had he stayed to look for him among the pines? If thecow-puncher came back to the corner, he would follow Balaam's tracks ornot. They would meet, at any rate, where the creeks joined.
But they did not meet. And then to Balaam the prospect of going onwardto the Sunk Creek Ranch became more than he could bear. To come withoutthe horses, to meet Judge Henry, to meet the guests of the Judge's,looking as he did now after his punishment by the Virginian, to give thenews about the Judge's favorite man--no, how could he tell such a storyas this? Balaam went no farther than a certain cabin, where he slept,and wrote a letter to the Judge. This the owner of the cabin delivered.And so, having spread news which would at once cause a search for theVirginian, and having constructed such sentences to the Judge as wouldmost smoothly explain how, being overtaken by illness, he had not wishedto be a burden at Sunk Creek, Balaam turned homeward by himself. By thetime he was once more at Butte Creek, his general appearance was a thingless to be noticed. And there was Shorty, waiting!
One way and another, the lost dog had been able to gather some readymoney. He was cheerful because of this momentary purseful of prosperity.
"And so I come back, yu' see," he said. "For I figured on getting Pedroback as soon as I could when I sold him to yu'."
"You're behind the times, Shorty," said Balaam.
Shorty looked blank. "You've sure not sold Pedro?" he exclaimed.
"Them Indians," said Balaam, "got after me on the Bow Leg trail. Gotafter me and that Virginia man. But they didn't get me."
Balaam wagged his bullet head to imply that this escape was due to hisown superior intelligence. The Virginian had been stupid, and so theIndians had got him. "And they shot your horse," Balaam finished. "Stopand get some dinner with the boys."
Having eaten, Shorty rode away in mournful spirits. For he had made sosure of once more riding and talking with Pedro, his friend whom he hadtaught to shake hands.