Chapter XXIX
_Bud's Conscience_
Those riders who had come from the northern part of the State toSterling were given transportation for themselves and their horses toThe Junction. From there they rode to their respective homes. Among themwere Bud Shoop, the giant sheepman, and Lorry, who seemed more anxiousthan did Shoop to stop at Stacey on their way to the reserve.
"Your maw don't know you been to Sterling," Shoop said as they rodetoward Stacey.
"But she won't care, now we're back again. She'll find out some time."
"I'm willin' to wait," said Bud. "I got you into that hocus. But I hadno more idee than a cat that we'd bump into what we did. They was a timewhen a outfit like ours could 'a' kep' peace in a town by just bein'there. Things are changin'--fast. If the Gov'ment don't do somethin'about allowin' the scum of this country to get hold of guns andca'tridges wholesale, they's goin' to be a whole lot of extrabook-keepin' for the recordin' angel. I tell you what, son, allowin'that I seen enough killin' in my time so as just seein' it don't set toohard on my chest, that mess down to Sterling made me plumb sick to mystummick. I'm wonderin' what would 'a' happened if Sterling hadn't madethat fight and the I.W.W. had run loose. It ain't what we did. That hadto be did. But it's the idee that decent folks, livin' under theAmerican flag, has got to shoot their way back to the law, like wedone."
"Mebby the law ain't right," suggested Lorry.
"Don't you get that idee, son. The law is all right. Mebby it ain'thandled right sometimes."
"But what can anybody do about it?"
"Trouble is that folks who want to do the right thing ain't always gotthe say. Or mebby if they have got the say they leave it to the otherfella.
"What did the folks in Arizona do long back in eighty, when the sheepdisease got bad. First off they doctored up the sick sheep, tryin' tosave 'em. That didn't work, so they took to killin' 'em to save the goodsheep. But the disease had got into the blood of some of the good sheep.Then some of the big sheepmen got busy. Arizona made a law that no stockwas to be shipped into any of her territory without bein' inspected.That helped some. But inspectors is human, and some sick sheep got by.
"Then one day a fella that had some brains got up in the State House andspoke for the shuttin' out of all stock until the disease was stompedout. You see, that disease didn't start in this here country. But whodowned that fella? Why, the sheepmen themselves. It would hurt theirbusiness. And the funny part of it is them sheepmen was willin' enoughto ship sick sheep anywhere they could sell 'em. But some States waswise. California, she put a inspection tax of twenty-five dollars onevery carload of stock enterin' her State--or on one animal; didn't makeno difference. That inspection tax had to be paid by the shipper of thestock, as I said, whether he shipped one head or a hundred. And thestock had to be inspected before loadin'."
"You mean immigrants?" queried Lorry.
"The same. The gate is open too wide. If I had the handlin' of themgates I would shut 'em for ten years and kind of let what we got settledown and get acquainted. But the man hirin' cheap labor wouldn't. He'lltake anything that will work cheap, and the country pays the difference,like we done down to Sterling."
"You mean there can't be cheap labor?"
"The same. Somebody's got to pay."
"Well, Sterling paid," said Lorry, "if a man's life is worth anything."
"Yes, she paid. And the worst part of the whole business is that the menwhat paid didn't owe anything to the smelter or to them others. Theyjust made a present of their lives to this here country. And the countryain't goin' to even say 'thanks.'"
"You're pretty sore about it, aren't you, Bud?"
"I be. And if you had my years you'd be likewise. But what's worryin' meright now is I'm wonderin' what your maw'll say to me when she findsout."
"You can say we been south on business."
"Yes," grunted Bud, "and I got the receipt right here on my left wing."
"Hurtin' you much?"
"Just enough to let me know I'm livin' and ain't ridin' through hellshootin' down a lot of pore, drunk fools that's tryin' to run the oven.And them kind would kick if they was ridin' in hell on a free pass andtheir hotel bills paid. But over there is the hills, and we can thankGod A'mighty for the high trails and the open country. I ain't got thesmell of that town out of my nose yet."
* * * * *
When they arrived at Stacey, Lorry learned that his father had recentlygone to the ranch. After supper that evening, Mrs. Adams mentioned thestrike. The papers printed columns of the awful details; outrages andkillings beyond the thought of possibility. And Mrs. Adams spoke of thecurious circumstance that the men who put down the lawlessness wereunnamed; that all that could be learned of them was that there wereranchers and cowmen who were known by number alone.
"And I'm glad that you didn't go riding off down there," she said toLorry. "The paper says men from all over the State volunteered."
"So am I," said Shoop promptly. "I was readin' about that strike whenwe was over to The Junction. Lorry and me been over that way onbusiness. I seen that that young fella, number thirty-eight, was one ofthe men who went after that machine gun."
"How do you know that he was a young man?" queried Mrs. Adams.
"Why--er--only a young fella would act that foolish, I reckon. You sayJim is feelin' spry ag'in?"
"Oh, much better! He's lame yet. But he can ride."
"That's good."
"And did you see that the paper says men are volunteering to go toFrance? I wonder what will happen next?"
"I dunno," said Shoop gravely. "I been thinkin' about that."
"Well, I hope Lorry won't think that he has to go. Some of the boys intown are talking about it."
"It's in the air," said Shoop.
"And his father will need him now. Could you spare him, if Jim finds hecan't get along alone?"
"I don't know," laughed Bud. "I reckon I need somebody to look afterthem campers up to my old place."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you; the folks that were here last summer stoppedby on their way to Jason. Mrs. Weston and her girl. They said they weregoing to visit Mr. Bronson."
"H'm! Then I reckon I got to keep Lorry. Don't know what three femaleswould do with just Bronson for comp'ny. He's a-tickin' at that writin'machine of his most all day, and sometimes nights. It must be likelivin' in a cave."
"But Dorothy hasn't," said Lorry.
"That's right! My, but that little gal has built up wonderful sinceshe's been up there! Did you see my watch?"
"Why, no!"
"Some style to that!" And Shoop displayed the new watch with pride. "Andhere's the name of the lady what give it to me."
Lorry's mother examined the watch, and handed it to Lorry, to whom thenews of the gift was a surprise.
"But she didn't give him a watch," said Shoop, chuckling.
* * * * *
Up in their room that night, Lorry helped Bud out of his coat. Shoop'sarm was stiff and sore.
"And your mother would think it was a mighty queer business, if sheknowed this," said Bud, "or who that number thirty-eight was downthere."
"You sure made a good bluff, Bud."
"Mebby. But I was scared to death. When I was talkin' about Sterling sofree and easy, and your maw mighty near ketched me that time, my arm wasitchin' like hell-fire, and I dassen scratch it. I never knowed afella's conscience could get to workin' around his system like that.Now, if it was my laig, I could 'a' scratched it with my other footunder the table. Say, but you sure showed red in your face when your mawsaid them Weston folks was up to the camp."
"Oh, I don't know."
"Well, I do. Here, hook onto your Uncle Bud's boot. I'm set: go aheadand pull. You can't do nothin' but shake the buildin'. Say, what doesBronson call his gal 'Peter Pan' for?"
"Why, it's a kind of foreign name," flashed Lorry. "And it sounds allright when you say it right. You said it like the 'pan' was settin' amile o
ff."
"Well, you needn't to get mad."