Chapter XII
_Bud Shoop and Bondsman_
As a young man, Bud Shoop had punched cattle on the southern ranges,cooked for a surveying outfit, prospected in the Mogollons, and essayedhomesteading on the Blue Mesa, served as cattle inspector, and held formany years the position of foreman on the great Gila Ranch, where, withdiligence and honor, he had built up a reputation envied by many alively cow-puncher and seldom tampered with even by Bud's mostvindictive enemies. And he had enemies and many friends.
Meanwhile he had taken on weight until, as one of his friends remarked,"Most any hoss but a Percheron draft would shy the minute Bud tried toput his foot in the stirrup."
And when Bud came to that point in his career when he summed up his pastand found that his chief asset was experience, garnished with a somewhatworn outfit of pack-saddles, tarps, bridles, chaps, and guns, he sighedheavily.
The old trails were changing to roads. The local freight intermittentlydisgorged tons of harvesting machinery. The sound of the Klaxton washeard in the land. Despite the times and the manners, Bud's girthincreased insidiously. His hard-riding days were past. Progress marchedsteadily onward, leaving an after-guard of homesteaders intrenchedbehind miles of barbed-wire fence and mazes of irrigating-ditches. Theonce open range was now a chessboard of agricultural endeavor, with thepawns steadying ploughshares as they crept from square to square untilthe opposing cattle king suffered ignominious checkmate, his prerogativeof free movement gone, his army scattered, his castles taken, and hisglory surviving only in the annals of the game.
Incidentally, Bud Shoop had saved a little money, and his largepopularity would have won for him a political sinecure; but he dislikedpolitics quite as heartily as he detested indolence. He needed work nothalf so much as he wanted it.
He had failed as a rancher, but he still held his homestead on the BlueMesa, some twenty miles from the town of Jason, an old Mormon settlementin the heart of the mesa country.
Friday morning at sunup Bud saddled his horse, closed the door of hiscabin on the Blue Mesa, and, whistling to his old Airedale, Bondsman,rode across the mesa and down the mountain trail toward Jason. Bysundown that night he was in town, his horse fed, and he and Bondsmansitting on the little hotel veranda, watching the villagers as theypassed in the dusk of early evening.
Coatless and perspiring, Bud betook himself next morning to the officeof the supervisor of that district of the Forest Service. Bondsmanaccompanied him, stalking seriously at his master's heels. Thesupervisor was busy. Bud filled a chair in the outer office, polishedhis bald spot with a blue bandanna, and waited.
Presently the supervisor called him in. Bud rose heavily and plodded toanother chair in the private office. Torrance, the supervisor, knew Bud;knew that he was a solid man in the finer sense of the word from theshiny dome of his head to his dusty boot. And Torrance thought he knewwhy Bud had called. The Airedale sat in the outer office, watching hismaster. Occasionally the big dog rapped the floor with his stubby tail.
"He's just tellin' me to go ahead and say my piece, John, and that he'llwait till I get through. That there dog bosses me around somethin'scandalous."
"He's getting old and set in his ways," laughed Torrance.
"So be I, John. Kind of settin' in my own way mostly."
"Well, Bud, how are things up on the mesa?"
"Growin' and bloomin' and singin' and feedin' and keepin' still, same asalways."
"What can I do for you?"
"Well, I ain't seen a doctor for so long I can't tell you; but I reckonI need more exercise and a little salary thrown in for luck."
"I'm glad you came in. You needn't say anything about it, but I'mscheduled to leave here next month."
"Then I reckon I'm left. Higher up, John?"
"Yes. I have this end of it pretty well whipped into shape. They seem tothink they can use me at headquarters."
Bud frowned prodigiously. The situation did not seem to promise much.And naturally enough, being a Westerner, Bud disliked to come outflatfooted and ask for work.
His frown deepened as the supervisor asked another question: "Do youthink you could hold down my job, Bud?"
"Say, John, I've stood for a lot in my time. But, honest, I was lookin'for a job as ranger. I can ride yet. And if I do say it I know everyhill and canon, every hogback and draw and flat from here to the TontoBasin."
"I know it. I was coming to that. The grazing-leases are the mostimportant items just now. You know cattle, and you know something aboutthe Service. You have handled men. I am not joking."
"Well, this is like a hobo gettin' up his nerve to ask for a san'wich,and havin' the lady of the house come runnin' with a hot apple pie. I'lltackle anything."
"Well, the Department has confidence enough in me to suggest that I namea successor, subject to their approval. Do you think that you could holddown this job?"
"If settin' on it would hold it down, it would never get up alive,John. But I ain't no author."
"Author?"
"Uh-uh. When it comes to facts, I aim to brand 'em. But them reports toheadquarters--"
The supervisor laughed. "You would be entitled to a clerk. The man Ihave would like to stay. And another thing. I have just had anapplication from young Adams, of Stacey. He wrote from St. Johns. Hewants to get into the Service. While we are at it, what do you knowabout him?"
"Nothin'. But his mother runs a right comf'table eatin'-house over toStacey. She's a right fine woman. I knew her when she was wearin' herhair in a braid."
"I have stopped there. It's a neat place. Would you take the boy on ifyou were in my place?"
Bud coughed and studied the ends of his blunt fingers. "Well, now, John,if I was in your place, I could tell you."
Torrance was amused and rather pleased. Bud's careful evasion wascharacteristic. He would do nothing hastily. Moreover, with Shoop assupervisor, it was safe to assume that the natives would hesitate toattempt their usual subterfuges in regard to grazing-leases. Bud was toowell known for that. Torrance had had trouble with the cattlemen andsheepmen. He knew that Shoop's mere name would obviate much argument andbickering.
"The White Mountain Apaches are eating a lot of beef these days," hesaid suddenly.
Shoop grinned. "And it ain't all Gov'ment beef, neither. The line fencecrost Still Canon is down. They's been a fire up on the shoulder of OleBaldy--nothin' much, though. Your telephone line to the lookout issaggin' bad over by Sheep Crossin'. Some steer'll come along and take itwith him in a hurry one of these days. A grizzly killed a yearlin' overby the Milk Ranch about a week ago. I seen your ranger, young Winslow,day before yesterday. He says somebody has been grazin' sheep on theposted country, west. He was after 'em. The grass is pretty good on theBlue. The Apaches been killin' wild turkey on the wrong side of theirline. I seen their tracks--and some feathers. They's some down timberalong the north side of the creek over on the meadows. And a couple ofwimmin was held up over by the Notch the other day. I ain't heard thepartic'lars. Young Adams--"
"Where do you get it all, Bud? Only two of the things you mentioned havebeen reported in to this office."
"Who, me? Huh! Well, now, John, that's just the run of news that floatsin when you're movin' around the country. If I was to set out to getinfo'mation--"
"You'd swamp the office. All right. I'll have my clerk draft a letter ofapplication. You can sign it. I'll add my word. It will take some timeto put this through, if it goes through. I don't promise anything. Comein at noon and sign the letter. Then you might drop in in about twoweeks; say Saturday morning. We'll have heard something by then."
Bud beamed. "I'll do that. And while I'm waitin' I'll ride over some ofthat country up there and look around."
Torrance leaned forward. "There's one more thing, Bud. I know this joboffers a temptation to a man to favor his friends. So far as this officeis concerned, I don't want you to have any friends. I want things runstraight. I've given the best of my life to the Service. I love it. Ihave dipped into my own pocket w
hen Washington couldn't see the need forimprovements. I have bought fire-fighting tools, built trails, and paidextra salaries at times. Now I will be where I can back you up. Keepthings right up to the minute. If you get stuck, wire me. Here's yourterritory on this map. You know the country, but you will find thissystem of keeping track of the men a big help. The pins show where eachman is working. We can go over the office detail after we have heardfrom headquarters."
Bud perspired, blinked, shuffled his feet. "I ain't goin' to say thanks,John. You know it."
"That's all right, Bud. Your thanks will be just what you make of thiswork when I leave. There has been a big shake-up in the Service. Some ofus stayed on top."
"Congratulations, John. Saturday, come two weeks, then."
And Bud heaved himself up. The Airedale, Bondsman, thumped the floorwith his tail. Bud turned a whimsical face to the supervisor. "Nowlisten to that! What does he say? Well, he's tellin' me he sabes I got achanct at a job and that he'll keep his mouth shut about what you said,like me. And that it's about time I quit botherin' folks what's busy andwent back to the hotel so he can watch things go by. That there dogbosses me around somethin' scandalous."
Torrance smiled, and waved his hand as Bud waddled from the office, withBondsman at his heels.
About an hour later, as Torrance was dictating a letter, he glanced up.Bud Shoop, astride a big bay horse, passed down the street. For a momentTorrance forgot office detail in a general appreciation of the Westernrider, who, once in the saddle, despite age or physical attributes,bears himself with a subconscious ease that is a delight to behold, behe lean Indian, lithe Mexican, or bed-rock American with a girth, say,of fifty-two inches and weighing perhaps not less than two hundred andtwenty pounds.
"He'll make good," soliloquized the supervisor. "He likes horses anddogs, and he knows men. He's all human--and there's a lot of him. Andthey say that Bud Shoop used to be the last word in riding 'em straightup, and white lightning with a gun."
The supervisor shook his head. "Take a letter to Collins," he said.
The stenographer glanced up. "Senator Collins, Mr. Torrance?"
"Yes. And make an extra copy. Mark it confidential. You need not filethe copy. I'll take care of it. And if Mr. Shoop is appointed to myplace, he need know nothing about this letter."
"Yes, sir."
"Because, Evers," Said Torrance, relaxing from his official manner abit, "it is going to be rather difficult to get Mr. Shoop appointedhere. I want him. I can depend on him. We have had too many theorists inthis field. And remember this; stay with Shoop through thick and thinand some day you may land a job as private secretary to a StateSenator."
"All right, sir. I didn't know that you were going into politics, Mr.Torrance."
"You're off the trail a little, Evers. I'll never run for Senator. I'mwith the Service as long as it will have me. But if some cleverpolitician happens to get hold of Shoop, there isn't a man in this mesacountry that could win against him. He's just the type that the mesapeople like. He is all human.--Dear Senator Collins--"
The stenographer bent over his book.
Later, as Torrance closed his desk, he thought of an incident in Shoop'slife with which he had long been familiar. The Airedale, Bondsman, hadonce been shot wantonly by a stray Apache. Shoop had found the dog asit crawled along the corral fence, trying to get to the cabin. Bud hadridden fifty miles through a winter snowstorm with Bondsman across thesaddle. An old Mormon veterinary in St. Johns had saved the dog's life.Shoop had come close to freezing to death during that tedious ride.
Bud Shoop's assets in the game of life amounted to a few acres of mesaland, a worn outfit of saddlery, and a small bank account. But hisgreatest asset, of which he was blissfully unconscious, was a big,homely love for things human and for animals; a love that set him apartfrom his fellows who looked upon men and horses and dogs as merelyuseful or otherwise.