CHAPTER XXXVII
BUT THE BOSS AGAIN PROVES HIS METTLE
He mounted Tommy, and we rounded up some foothills, where every patch ofweed and mesquite gave up a bunch of cattle. While two of his men wereworking the herd on the roundup ground, Lafe sat Tommy on the outskirts,making one of the cordon of riders that surrounded the cattle and keptthem in. He was talking to a strayman from the Lazy L, who worked withour wagon in order to gather the cattle of his brand which had wanderedfrom their range.
Two bulls started a fight. They were Herefords of tremendous bulk, andwhen they crashed together in the center of the herd, the mass splitapart. Fully a score of bulls had been wandering up and down pickingfights, so Lafe and the strayman paid no especial attention.
However, it is the essence of folly to ignore bulls in combat if thecombat be anywhere near you. None knew this better than Lafe. The bullthat finds himself getting the worst of it will invariably break free,swerve aside and dash at the nearest object, as a diversion. Usually hisfoe goes in hot pursuit.
The two Herefords pawed and bawled and rumbled and butted. Johnson andthe cowboy talked, lolling in the saddle. The bulls drew off from eachother a few steps, bellowed and crashed head-on. The impact wasterrific. One of them rocketed out of the press of cattle straight atLafe.
It happened that Tommy--finding that no work faced him--was taking iteasy, with one hip down and his eyes half shut. The bull caught thehorse under the belly and hurled him and his rider a good ten feetthrough the air. Lafe struck the ground partly under his mount, hisright leg held by Tommy's shoulders. The horse did not rise. He wasdisemboweled.
The cowboys spurred to his aid and dragged Tommy off him. The bulls hadtrotted back to the herd and were now engaged in thundering challengesto other range monarchs. Lafe stood up painfully. He put his right footto the ground, very carefully. A smile of intense satisfaction came overhis face.
"Nothing broken," he said--"just shaken up. Jim-in-ee, but I'm surelucky."
He turned to Tommy, wheezing on the ground and trying weakly to rise.
"Poor li'l devil. Poor ol' Tommy," he said pityingly. After a briefexamination, he shot him between the eyes in order to spare him uselesssuffering.
The boss was very blue throughout the day, and I knew it was for thehorse. Tommy had been a pet, and every one of us felt what it had costLafe. "Poor li'l devil"--that was all, but Johnson was of the kind whowould hardly have said as much audibly for a human being.
Back of his grief I detected a great relief. It was almost a new senseof freedom, revealed in his eyes and his altered manner towards his men.The old quiet authority was his again. Just what he felt was shown whenhe said to me that night, "I reckon if a big ol' bull can't even hurtme, that I've got a few years to live yet awhile. Hey, Dan?"
"You're whistling. That was a close call, though, Lafe."
"If it had been Casey Jones now--" he began, but something in my facestopped him.
"Did you notice?" he asked, without embarrassment.
"Yes. Why did you do it?"
"I got to thinking about Hetty and the kid. And then I quit--quitcold--laid down. Just watch me ride ol' Casey Jones to-morrow, though.I'll sure clean that fine gentleman."
I watched him. We all did. It was a joy to behold. The sorrel was inhigh fettle and the ground was hard. So furiously did Casey Jonespitch--squalling through his gaping mouth at every jump--that one of hishoofs was split in two. Lafe sat him firmly, his poise yielding to everynew move of the bronco, and he shouted in delight as he plied quirt andspur. Time and again Casey Jones leaped straight into the air and turnedback under his rider. Johnson's head would snap back, but his seat wasnever shaken, and he raked the sorrel from shoulder to flank-cinch. Atlast Casey Jones stopped, his legs wide apart, his head drooped and hisbreath whistling. The Anvil men gazed in silence, but with deepapproval.
"Crackee," said a cowboy to me, "the boss is sure some peeler."
"He certainly hasn't forgotten how."
"Me and some of the boys," he went on, "we'd been figuring as how Lafehad sort of lost his nerve. It seemed queer, too, but he's been mightylow-sperited. Did you notice? I reckon that was just a mistake, don'tyou? It must have been."
"A big mistake," I agreed. "He was just a bit worried. That was all.He'll never be that way again."
The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland Page 37
