Partners of Chance

  CHAPTER IX

  AT THE BOX-S

  When they emerged from the western end of the gulch, they paused torest. Not over a half-mile south stood the ranch-house, just back of arow of giant cottonwoods.

  Cheyenne pointed out the stables, corrals, and bunk-house. "A mightyneat little outfit," he remarked, as they started on again.

  "Little?"

  "Senator Steve's only got about sixty thousand acres under fence."

  "Then I'd like to see a big ranch," laughed Bartley.

  "You can't. They ain't nothin' to see more'n you see right now. Why, Iknow a outfit down in Texas that would call this here ranch their northpasture--and they got three more about the same size, besides theregular range. But standin' in any one place you can't see any more thanyou do right now. Steve just keeps up this here ranch so he can haveelbow-room. Yonder comes one of his boys. Reckon he seen us."

  A rider had just reined his horse round and was loping toward them.

  "He seen we was afoot," said Cheyenne.

  "Mighty decent of him--" began Bartley, but Cheyenne waved thesuggestion aside. "Decent nothin'! A man afoot looks as queer to awaddie as we did to that ole bull."

  The puncher loped up, recognized Cheyenne, nodded to Bartley, and seemedto hesitate. Cheyenne made no explanation of their plight, so thepuncher simply turned back and loped toward the ranch-house.

  "Just steppin' over to tell Steve we're here," said Cheyenne, asBartley's face expressed astonishment.

  They plodded on, came to a gate, limped down a long lane, came toanother gate, and there Senator Steve met them.

  "I'd 'a' sent a man with a buckboard if I had known you planned to walkover from Antelope," he asserted, and his eyes twinkled.

  Cheyenne frowned prodigiously. "Steve," he said slowly, "you canlovin'ly and trustfully go plumb to hell!"

  Cheyenne turned and limped slowly toward the bunk-house.

  Mrs. Brown welcomed Bartley as the Senator ushered him into theliving-room. The Senator half-filled a tumbler from a cold, dark bottleand handed it to Bartley.

  "'Green River,'" he said.

  "Mrs. Brown," said Bartley as he bowed.

  Then the Senator escorted Bartley to the bathroom. The tub was alreadyfilled with steaming water. A row of snow-white towels hung on the rack.The Senator waved his hand and, stepping out, closed the door.

  A few minutes later he knocked at the bathroom door. "There's a sparerazor in the cabinet, and all the fixings. And when you're ready there'sa pair of clean socks on the doorknob."

  Bartley heard the Senator's heavy, deliberate step as he passed down thehallway.

  "A little 'Green River,' a hot bath, and clean socks," murmured Bartley."Things might be worse."

  His tired muscles relaxed under the beneficent warmth of the bath. Heshaved, dressed, and stepped out into the hall. He sniffed. "Chicken!"he murmured soulfully.

  Mrs. Senator Brown was supervising the cooking of a dinner that Bartleynever forgot. Boiled chicken, dumplings, rich gravy, mashed potatoes,creamed carrots, sliced tomatoes--to begin with. And then the pie!Bartley furnished the appetite.

  But that was not until after the Senator had returned from thebunk-house. He had seen to it that Cheyenne had had a bucket of hotwater, soap, and towels and grease for his sore feet. In direct andeffectual kindliness, without obviously expressed sympathy, theWesterner is peculiarly supreme.

  Back in the living-room Bartley made himself comfortable, admiring thegenerous proportions of the house, the choice Indian blankets, the widefireplace, and the general solidity of everything, which reflected thepersonality of his hosts.

  Presently the Senator came in. "Cheyenne tells me that somebody set youafoot, down at the water-hole."

  "Did he also tell you about your bull?"

  "No! Is that how he came to tear his jeans?"

  Bartley nodded. And he told the Senator of their recent experience inthe gulch.

  The Senator chuckled. "Don't say a word to Mrs. Brown about it. I'llhave Cheyenne in, after dinner, and sweat it out of him. You see,Cheyenne won't eat with us. He always eats with the boys. No use askinghim to eat in here. And, say, Bartley, we've got a little surprise foryou. One of my boys caught up your horse, old Dobe. Dobe was dragging arope. Looks like he broke away from some one. I had him turned into thecorral. Dobe was raised on this range."

  "Broke loose and came back!" exclaimed Bartley. "That's good news,Senator. I like that horse."

  "But Cheyenne is out of luck," said the Senator. "He thought more ofthose horses, Filaree and Joshua, than he did of anything on earth. I'llsend one of the boys back to the water-hole to-morrow, for your saddlesand outfit. But now you're here, how do you like the country?"

  "Almost as much as I like some of the people living in it," statedBartley.

  "Not including Panhandle Sears, eh?"

  "I'm pretty well fed up on walking," and Bartley smiled.

  "Sears is a worthless hombre," stated the Senator. "He's one of a gangthat steal stock, and generally live by their wits and never seem to getcaught. But he made a big mistake when he lifted Cheyenne's horses.Cheyenne already has a grievance against Sears. Some day Cheyenne willopen up--and that will be the last of Mr. Sears."

  "I had an idea there was something like that in the wind," said Bartley."Cheyenne hasn't said much about Sears, but I was present at that crapgame."

  The Senator chuckled. "I heard about it. Heard you offered to take onSears if he would put his gun on the table."

  Bartley flushed. "I must have been excited."

  The Senator leaned forward in his big, easy-chair. "Cheyenne wants me tolet him take a couple of horses to trail Panhandle. And, judging fromwhat Cheyenne said, he thinks you are going along with him. There's lotsof country right round here to see, without taking any unnecessaryrisks."

  "I understand," said Bartley.

  "And this is your headquarters, as long as you want to stay," continuedthe Senator.

  "Thank you. It's a big temptation to stay, Senator."

  "How?"

  "Well, it was rather understood, without anything being said, that Iwould help Cheyenne find his horses and mine. Dobe came back; but thathardly excuses me from going with Cheyenne."

  "But your horse is here; and you seem to be in pretty fair health, rightnow."

  "I appreciate the hint, Senator."

  "But you don't agree with me a whole lot."

  "Well, not quite. Chance rather chucked us together, Cheyenne and me,and I think I'll travel with him for a while. I like to hear him sing."

  "He likes to hear him sing!" scoffed the Senator, frowning. He sat backin his chair, blew smoke-rings, puffed out his cheeks, and presentlyrose. "Bartley, I see that you're set on chousin' around the countrywith that warbling waddie--just to hear him sing, as you say. I sayyou're a dam' fool.

  "But you're the kind of a dam' fool I want to shake hands with. Youaren't excited and you don't play to the gallery; so if there's anythingyou want on this ranch, from a posse to a pack-outfit, it's yours. Andif either of you get Sears, I'll sure chip in my share to buy hisheadstone."

  "I wouldn't have it inscribed until we get back," laughed Bartley.

  "No; I don't think I will. Trailin' horse-thieves on their own stampingground ain't what an insurance company would call a good risk."