CHAPTER XXXVIII
HOW A MOFFATT HENCHMAN WAS OUSTED
Another episode during this roundup gave Lafe a lasting reputation amongcowmen for cool judgment.
The outfit was working the foothills country. In nearly all the draws ofthis region nesters had settled, for one could grow corn and alfalfa inabundance, and some had laid out small peach orchards. They farmed inquarter-sections, and generally six or eight miles separated the farms.Some of them owned a few head of cattle, which grazed on the open rangewith the herds of the big companies.
Consequently, when the Anvil wagon went on its roundup and begangathering cows and calves from valley and hill and brakes, it was joinedat various points by nesters. They came to see that the calves belongingto any of their cows that might be in a roundup got the proper brand;and they received free chuck, and worked as members of the outfit.
Late one afternoon a horseman ambled into camp and alighted leisurelyclose to the wagon. He left his mount standing almost on top of the potswhilst he secured a match from a drawer in the chuckbox. Now, it iscontrary to camp tradition to bring one's horse within a certain radius.Fat Dave stuck his arms akimbo and surveyed the visitor withill-concealed rage.
"What for you don't hitch him to the coffee pot?" he sneered. "Perhapsyou'd best put that ol' skate in my bed."
"Pshaw!" said the other, laughing. "I clean forgot, Dave."
He led the beast beyond the woodpile and returned to the fire. Dave waslifting some coals with a shovel, to put under a pot.
"Going to be with us, Ben?" he inquired, considerably mollified.
"I was sort of figuring on it."
A long silence, while the cook spread live coals on top of the Dutchoven wherein the bread was baking.
"Why, I didn't know you run any cattle, Ben."
"A few ol' cows. They're my nephew's," said the other.
He squatted on a pile of bedding and engaged the cook in conversation. Aclose observer might have remarked that Dave was wary in his replies--atleast, wary for Dave, who was accustomed to call a spade a damnedshovel.
"How're the boys off for beddin'?" asked the visitor.
"Right scarce. These nights get right cold now, I can tell you."
"Somebody'll find room for me, don't you reckon?"
Dave considered a moment.
"You can sleep with me, Ben," he said finally.
When the boys rode in to supper, tired and quiet from a punishing day,the cook seized an opportunity to speak to the boss. Lafe was adding upfigures in a tally-book on the rim of a wagon wheel.
"Say, Lafe," began the cook, "this here nester, Ben Walsh, that justcome in--"
"Well?" said Johnson.
"What's he doing here? What does he want? That's what I'd like to know.Hey?"
"He came to get his cattle, I reckon."
"Cattle?" Dave snorted. "Him? Why, he never had even a dogie calf. No,sir; no, Lafe, that Walsh is a bad hombre. He's mean. Meaner'n poison.None of the Moffatts ain't no meaner."
"The Moffatts?" Lafe repeated, pausing with his pencil in midair."What's this nester got to do with Steve Moffatt or his kin?"
"Why," said the cook, "this Ben done married Moffatt's sister. He surethinks he's some gunman, too, Ben does--most as good as Steve."
The boss was very thoughtful as they ate their meal. He spoke civilly toWalsh and discussed with him the condition of cattle and grass, and thewater supply. He even offered Dave an extra blanket on learning that thecook had proffered the visitor a bed.
During the work next day, as Lafe was dispersing his riders, he stoppedto ask of Walsh: "Where do you figure you're most like to find yours,Mr. Walsh?"
The nester mentioned a stretch of chaparral, and Johnson assigned him tothat strip. He noted that Walsh performed his tasks indolently. Once,too, while they were working the herd, he caught a criticism of hismethods that the nester was voicing to a cowboy. Lafe did not show anyresentment, although the tone employed was raised purposely that hemight hear, but bode his time.
A couple of days passed and the boss became aware that he was being madea butt by the nester. Malcontents can be found in every outfit. So therewere some in the Anvil who listened to Walsh's low-voiced talk andjoined readily in the laugh. After supper on the third evening, one ofthe old hands told Lafe that Walsh was "knocking" him.
"I know," said Johnson.
"But it hurts you with the boys," the other protested. "They don't workso good. Why, to-day, when you put Walsh on day herd and he went to thespring instead, a lot of 'em laughed and joked."
"Sure," said Lafe, evenly, "I know. I'm just waiting. Thanks, all thesame, Mit."
Unvarying civility for another day on Johnson's part; on Walsh's, acautious expansion of his policy of weakening discipline. The next nightsomebody inaugurated a game of pitch on a saddle-blanket by lanternlight. Although the boss had not absolutely tabooed gambling, of latehe had discountenanced it among the Anvil boys on the roundup. He wasabout to order the game stopped, when he perceived that Walsh was one ofthe players. Upon that he walked over and asked to be allowed to take ahand.
The game ran with varying fortune. The players praised or cursed thecards with gusto, according to their luck, as is the way withcowboys--except Johnson, who won or lost with equal imperturbability.During a pause, someone told a story. Next deal, Walsh capped it withanother. Just as he reached the point, he paused suddenly to examine hiscards.
"And what," said Lafe, whose mind was on other things, "what did thegirl do then?"
Walsh promptly sprang the point, a time-worn catch which under any othercircumstances Lafe would have readily foreseen. The majority of thespectators around the blanket broke into crackling laughter. A few keptsilent, for there was a venom, a calculated malice in Walsh's tone whichdid not escape the older men. The boss felt it, and for a moment hiseyes held Walsh's steadily. Both wore guns, as did every man duringroundup. Then Lafe threw back his head and laughed with such unaffectedheartiness that the nester seemed puzzled. Throughout the remainder ofthe game he looked rather crestfallen.
Dave was cooking dinner about noon. The nester lolled in camp, havingadvanced a plea of sickness to avoid work that morning. When the sun waspast its height, the outfit galloped in. Behind came Johnson, his horsemoving at a sober walk. He was dragging a cow at the end of his rope.Arrived close to the fire, he ordered Mit to heel the animal, and whenshe was stretched out, borrowed a sharp knife from the cook. Then hewent to the cow's head and took hold of her tongue.
"Land's sake, Lafe," cried Dave, "what do you aim to do now?"
"Split her tongue," said Johnson.
"Oh," said the cook. Everybody seemed satisfied.
"Split her tongue?" Walsh echoed, raising himself from a tarpaulin."That's a new one on me. What're you going to do that for?"
"So she can lick both sides of her calf at once," Lafe drawled, andreleased the animal.
A perfect gale of laughter swept from the Anvil outfit.
"Damn my fat haid! Damn my ol' fat haid!" bellowed the cook.
A fig for Walsh and his prowess as a gunfighter! Dave feared no man. Hewent his way, grouchy and unreckoning, secure in the sanctity thathedges a cook. Besides, if that failed him, he had usually a pothookhandy. Now, he threw himself flat on his back and kicked his heels inthe air.
One must give Walsh his due. He had pluck to spare, but ridicule is thehardest thing to face in life. Besides, what earthly use was there indefying a whole outfit? He gave a sickly smile and returned to histarpaulin.
To him came Lafe after dinner.
"How're you feeling?" he asked.
"Better."
"Well," said the boss, "we're moving to-day, Walsh. You don't seem tohave found any of your stuff. It's certain you won't, where we'reheading. So I reckon it'd save you trouble if you got moving."
Walsh eyed him expectantly.
"All right," he said at last. "You're the boss."
In this manner was discipline restored among the Anvil men.
The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland Page 38
