CHAPTER V
BUNK-HOUSE TALK
About noon that day two sad boys rode into the Bar O Ranch, leadingthree tired-looking broncos, who had been put through some severe pacessince early morning. One of the boys and all the horses were hungry, butthe other boy had little desire for food. Whitey had been up againstsome rough adventures in the West. This was his first taste of thetragedy that was frequent, and often necessary in regulating the affairsof those days.
And while Whitey was far from being a coward, as you know, the sight hehad witnessed had left him a bit shaken. He and Injun unsaddled theponies and horses, put them in the corral, and made their way to theranch house. Bill Jordan and John Big Moose were in the living-room.Bill was getting the big Indian to help him with his accounts, whichalways were a puzzle to him. And this morning, after his night ofmerriment at the Junction, Bill was less inclined toward figures thanusual.
"Well, well," said John Big Moose, as the boys entered the room. "Youtwo seem to have extended your holiday to the next morning."
"You look kinda shaky, Whitey," said Bill "You been makin' a night ofit, too?"
Without further questioning Whitey sat down and told the story of theadventure, from the boys' awakening to their finding the bodies of thethree men hanging from the railroad bridge.
"So you were right about String an' Ham's bein' crooks," Bill said, whenthe boy had finished.
"Yes, but even so, it seems terrible for them to die that way," Whiteyreplied.
"The express folks is tired o' havin' their cars robbed, an' if you'dknown what I found out at the Junction, you might o' saved yourself sometrouble," said Bill. "They was a shipment of a hundred thousand dollarsin gold in that there car, an' they was six fellers went along topertect it. Not detectives, or nothin', just fellers that was hired, an'was dyin' for excitement. I reck'n some o' the passengers was as tiredo' bein' held up as those fellers was pinin' for excitement, an' whenString an' Ham an' Whiff made their poor little play, they musta thoughtthey'd struck a hornet's nest."
"But to hang them," Whitey protested. "Why didn't they shoot them, ifthey had to kill them?"
"Well, ye see hangin' makes it look worse for the next fellers whatthinks o' holdin' up a train," said Bill. "They'd stole three o' ourhosses, anyway, an' that's a hangin' offense."
But Whitey was not inclined to argue about the justice or injustice ofthe lynching. He went away with Injun, and tried to eat. And he tried,too, to forget the horror of the scene at the bridge. But all his lifelong he never quite succeeded in doing that.
* * * * *
And that night, in the bunk house, the talk was all about the tragedy ofthe morning. Bill Jordan and four of the cowboys were there, to saynothing of Slim, the cook. Slim had another grievance, for, now that Hamhad gone, he was again forced to cook for the men, misery or no misery.
Whitey loved to sit in the long, half-lighted room, and listen to thetalk and yarns of the cowboys, for, "boys" they were called, whetherthey were eighteen or fifty, and in many ways boys they seemed to haveremained.
They had threshed over the lynching. Whitey had answered a thousandquestions about his experiences, had been praised and blamed with equalfrankness, and now he was glad to see that the subject was to bedropped. For it had reminded Buck Higgins of lariats and their merits,especially for hanging men.
"For all-round use give me a braided linen," said Buck.
He was speaking of a rope that is made as its name suggests, and is verystrong. If you have ever been in the West, you probably have seen amounted cowboy carrying one of these thin but strong ropes coiled at thehorn of his saddle, or dragging on the ground behind him to take thekinks out of it.
"Rawhide's purty good," suggested Shorty Palmer.
"Yes, but braided linen for me," Buck declared. "It's got any otherkind o' rope beat a mile for strength."
"Ever get stretched with one?" Jim Walker asked, with interest.
"Nope," Buck replied, "but I seen other fellers that did."
"G'wan, spill your yarn about it," said Shorty. "We don't care whetherit's true or not."
Buck was inclined to be offended. "Say, you all never heard me tellnothin' but th' truth," he snorted.
"Sure, we didn't," said Jim. "Leastways, your yarns is told about placesso far away that we has t' take 'em as true, not knowin' any one to callon for t' verify 'em."
"Well, if they're made up, you c'n make up just as good onesyourselves," said Buck, and he lapsed into silence.
"Your tale interests me strangely," said Bill. "Get to it. You startedfine."
"He didn't start at all," Jim said.
"That's what Bill means," explained Shorty.
"Aw, let him tell th' story," said Charlie Bassett. "You fellers thatain't liars yourselves is all jealous."
Whitey would have thought that the tale was to go untold had he notknown that every story of Buck's met with this sort of reception, andthat nothing short of an earthquake could keep him from talking.
"Well, just to show you fellers you can't queer me, I _will_ tell aboutthis here lynchin'," Buck declared, after a pause.
"'Twas back in Wyomin', 'bout five years ago," Buck began, "an' I wasworkin' for the Lazy I. An' rustlers was good an' plenty. An' every oneknows that there ain't on easier brand to cover up than a lazy I. It wasgot up by old man Innes, what owned th' ranch, an' lived in Boston, an'was so honest an' unsuspectin' that he'd 'a' trusted Slim, here, with alead nickel."
Fortunately Slim was asleep, and did not hear this reflection on hischaracter, so Buck continued:
"Well, our stock had been disappearin' in bunches, an' purty soon thembunches begins t' seem more like herds, an' somethin' had t' be did,an' Squeak Gordon, th' manager, wa'n't no man for th' job."
"Squeak!" interrupted Jim. "That's a fine name for a white man."
"'Count of his voice," Buck explained briefly, and went on. "So it wasup t' Lem Fisher, th' foreman, an' him an' 'bout seven punchers,includin' me, got th' job. 'Course, we had some idea of where themsteers was goin', an' what brands was goin' over ours, but we waswantin' somethin' pos'tive before we c'd get busy.
"I started talkin' 'bout braided linen ropes, not 'bout cattle thieves,so they's no use tellin' you of all th' figurin', an' trailin', an' hardridin' we did. You know old Mr. Shakespeare sez that levity's th' soulo' wit."
"Brevity," corrected Whitey.
"What's the difference?" demanded Shorty. "Buck don't know what eithero' them words means."
"Neither do you," retorted Buck.
"Anyway, they ain't got nothin' t' do with braided linen ropes. G'wan,"commanded Bill.
"Well," resumed Buck, "one noon, in th' foothills, we come on what wewas after, an' we did some stalkin' t' do it. We ketched three guysred-handed. They was artistic-like re-brandin' some of our calves so'sLazy I'd read Circle W. 'Course, they wa'n't but one thing t' do withthem fellers, an' we perceeds to do it. But unfortunate enough theywa'n't a tree within miles of that there spot. It'd seem as thoughnature hadn't figured on no rus'lers conductin' bizness there, an'gettin' caught.
"We felt purty bad about that, an' knowin' those fellers as we did madeus feel worse. They sure didn't deserve shootin'. Then Lem Fisher, whoalways was handy with his memory, happens t' think of a canyon 'boutthree mile away, with a bridge over it. Sort o' like that place at thewater tank, where them boys was strung up this mornin', only deeper, an'th' stream under it swifter an' rockier.
"Well, we conducts our three friends to this here canyon. They draw lotst' see who goes first, an' a feller named Red Mike wins--- or loses,rather--as he gets number one. The noose of one of these common manilasis attached to Mike's neck, th' other end is fastened to th' bridge,an' he's dropped over.
"An' would you b'lieve it? When Mike comes to the end of that there ropewith a jerk, th' rope breaks, an' Mike goes cavortin' down that swiftstream, at th' rate of 'bout thirty miles an hour, bumpin' against th'rocks an' everythin'. An' he sure must 'a' d
isliked that, for he hatedwater.
"The next feller on th' programmy was called 'Sure Thing' Jones. You c'nimagine why he was called that. He wouldn't even risk bein' honest.Well, Sure Thing watches perceedin's with a good deal of interest, an'he sees Mike disappear 'round a bend of them rapids, his arms an' legswavin' somewhat wild.
"Then Sure Thing goes up to Lem, an' he sez, 'Lem, have you got abraided linen rope in the outfit?'
"'Sure,' says Lem. 'Why?'
"'It's my turn next, an' I wish you'd use it on me,' says Sure Thing.'Ye see what happened t' Mike, an' I don't want t' take no chances. Youknow I can't swim.'"
"Just the same," said Bill Jordan, determined to have the last word,"with all your advertisin' for braided linen ropes, I'll take old magueyfor mine, swimmin' or no swimmin'."
In the midst of the laugh which had followed Buck's grim tale, SittingBull, who had been lying near Whitey, rose to a sitting posture, hiscave-like mouth open wide and raised at the corners, his eyes twinkling.
"See Bull!" Bill Jordan cried delightedly. "He's laughin' at Buck'sstory yet. He's sure got a sense o' humor, that dog. He's just abouthuman."
Bull's expression raised another laugh. All the men liked him, but Billwas his especial admirer, and loved to dwell on Bull's wonderfulintelligence and tell stories about it.
"Me for bed," said Jim Walker. "After that jamboree las' night I feel'sthough I c'd sleep a month."
"Wait a minute till I tell you 'bout me havin' Bull down t' th' Junctionlas' week, an' him chasin' th' fox," Bill said.
"Tell nothin'," Jim answered. "Me for th' hay."
"Aw, g'wan," protested Bill. "'Twon't take a minute, an' you got all'ternity t' sleep in, as the poet says."
"An' I c'n use it," Jim yawned; "but cut loose, an' make it short."
"Well," Bill began, "las' week Thursday I was goin' down t' th' Junctionfor feed, an' I takes Bull along. You know how he likes t' ride in awagon? 'S almost human. Why, that there animal--"
"Here, cut out them side comments," commanded Jim. "We know how smartthat dog is, without your tellin' us any further. Get down t' bed rock!"
"Well," Bill continued, "when we gets t' th' store, an' Al Strong'snigger's loadin' th' feed in th' wagon, I allows t' take Bull for alittle stroll 'round, so's he c'n stretch his legs. So I ties a haltert' his collar an' starts out. I isn't exactly leadin' Bull, he's sort o'leadin' me, for you all know how strong he is. But we sure needs th'halter t' make Bull keep th' peace. He's had more fights at that thereJunction! Say, he's the fightenist dog"--a warning look from Jim keptBill to the thread of his story.
"We passes th' homes of all Bull's live enemies, an' th' graves of hisdead ones, an' gets to a rock, where we c'n sit an' study natur' a bit,before we turns back. An' thinkin' it's safe t' do so, I lets go o'Bull's halter. An' while I'm studyin' an' takin' a nip from a flask Ihappens t' have in my jeans, I forgets Bull for a minit, an' when Ilooks up, he's plumb absent.
"I ain't worried none, till I happens t' think we was only 'bout aquarter mile from that Englishman, Barclay's, place, what has that packo' wolf-hounds that he hunts with. Fox-huntin' he calls it, though whathe mostly chases is coyotes. Ain't it funny how when an Englishman comest' this country he brings his habits with him, or twists ours aroun' t'fit his'n?"
"Say," demanded Jim. "Is this a yarn 'bout a bulldog or a lecture onthem foreign habits? 'Cause if it's that last, I--"
"Well, anyway," Bill interrupted hastily, "I looks down th' road, an'Bull's beatin' it hot foot for that Barclay's place, an' I c'n see whathappens if he meets up with them hounds. So I follers, swift's I can,spillin' some language to Bull--prayers, an' warnin's an' such. Butbefore I gets there, I sees that pack o' hounds swarm over th' fenceinto th' road, an' purty soon, there is Bull, right in their midst, asth' feller says.
"For th' rest of th' way I does nothin' but pray, an' see visions of th'biggest dog fight that ever hit Montana, but I keeps movin' rapid, an'when I gets on th' spot, there's Bull, right in th' middle of th' pack.Now all th' tails is waggin', an' that looks purty good, till I comes t'think that Bull always wags his tail before he goes into battle, 'causehe loves to fight so. An' all them hounds is sniffin' 'round, rightpert, an' Bull is purty cocky, an' when I gets close enough, I hearsBull say:
"'Hello, d'ye want t' fight?'
"'Fight, no,' says one of th' hounds. 'We're goin' to chase a fox. D'yewant t' go?'
"'Sure,' says Bull.
"An' with that th' whole pack o' 'em leaps over a fence, an' beats itoff toward th' hills.
"Well, Bull don't even hesitate. He leaps at that there rail fence an'lands against it with his head, plunk--an' caroms back into th' road. Heleaps again, an' comes back th' same way, but at th' third jump he goesthrough a wider place in th' rails, an' lands on th' other side o' thefence, on that there same head. Then he scrambles to his feet, an'starts off after them hounds.
"Now, you all know that a bulldog ain't built for speed, he's built forwar. In th' first place, his fore legs is so far apart they's almoststrangers, an' his hind legs is too short, an' th' rest of him's tooheavy for all of 'em. But Bull keeps goin', industr'ous. An' he goes sofast that 'bout every thirty yards he stumbles, an' falls on his face,an' his head plows up large chunks of Montana soil.
"By this time them wolf-fox-hounds has flown into them hills, theytouchin' th' ground 'bout every hunderd feet. An' Bull ain't one to letno hounds see him quit, an' he plows along, till at last he gets t' themhills an' is lost t' sight but t' mem'ry dear. Well, I goes back t' thatrock, an' sits down, sad-like, thinkin' mebbe I never will see Bullagain.
"An' p'r'aps it's an hour goes by, when I hears somethin' that soundslike a engine puffin' strong on a upgrade, an' up over one of themhummocks comes Bull, draggin' himself along like he has flatirons tiedt' his feet. An' he's all decorated with real estate, an' burrs, an'everythin' loose what would stick to him. An' when he gets to where Isits, he flops down flat on his back. He sure is exhausted; even hispaws is limp. But one of his eyes seems t' hold a spark o' life, an' hefixes that on me. An' he asks, weak-like:
"'Say, Bill, what in tarnation is a fox?'"
The company looked at Bill fixedly; not reproachfully, but fixedly. Thenslowly the men began to take off their clothes, with the idea of turningin. And Bill Jordan and Whitey started for the ranch house, for the samepurpose.