The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland
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CHAPTER XL
HE ARRIVES TO VISIT THE JOHNSONS
Shortredge arrived in a buckboard, driven by Jeff Hardin, toward theclose of a July day. They were visible a mile off, but Johnson did notstep down from the porch until they pulled up. Then he went slowly tomeet them. It took a long time for Buffalo to get clear of theconveyance, he was so shaky and uncertain on his legs.
"Hello, Lafe."
"Hello, Buf'lo."
They clasped hands and regarded each other uncomfortably. ThenShortredge paid the driver and the two friends walked to the porch,where Hetty was waiting to welcome the visitor. Such was the greetingbetween them after five years.
"Poor feller," said Johnson, when they had retired that night. "He'slooking worse'n a ghost."
"Oh, Lafe, when I look at him I want to cry. To think we ever--"
"He was the stoutest man I ever set eyes on, once, ol' Buf'lo was. Buthe never would take no care of himself. That, and ridin' broncs, it sortof stove him all up, Hetty. I'm sure glad I done asked him here."
A tent was reared on the knoll under the cottonwood, and in it Jimslept. He scorned the cot which Johnson had procured and spread hisblankets on the ground, as had been his wont in the days of hisstrength. There were several spare saddlers, and when he was feelingespecially strong, Buffalo would accompany Lafe on some of his rides,but that happened very seldom. They never spoke much when together,which was as it had always been, but seemed quite satisfied to jog alongside by side. At long intervals one would comment on the condition ofthe cattle they passed.
Within two weeks the invalid began to gain in weight. By that time heand Lafe, Jr., were staunch friends. For hours together he would builddirt forts under the boy's direction, never seeming to tire of thechanges in ground plan that the child's whims demanded. And the toys hecontrived to fashion, with no other tools than a jackknife, a stick andhandkerchief! Yet his playmate imposed reservations on theircompanionship which sorely puzzled Lafe, Jr. For one thing, he wouldnever dandle the boy on his knee, as his father did, and he laughinglydissuaded him from the rough-and-tumble tests of strength and skill inwhich the boy was accustomed to imitate a bull, or an outlaw steer, orsome equally impulsive creature. Then, too, Hetty had become peculiarlyinsistent on the wording of her son's nightly supplications. Indeed,Shortredge's name became the feature of his prayer.
"You're looking a heap better, Buf'lo," Johnson told him. It was thefirst time he had referred directly to Shortredge's health.
"Shore. I feel a heap better too, Lafe. The cough don't bother me muchat all now. But I done bust a valve or something--run away to your ma,Lafe, boy--I forget what the doc said now, for certain"--Jim was staringoff to the horizon--"it's liable to hit me sudden."
"Hell, no! Doctors don't know nothing."
"Shore not," Buffalo agreed, with a short laugh. "Don't you say nothingto Hetty, Lafe. I'll face the music."
Of nights they would sit on the porch--Buffalo, Hetty and Lafe--thechild scuffling with the dog at their feet, in the last spasmodic energythat foreruns infantile sleep. And they would watch the light fade inthe Canon. The cows came slowly to water, calling one to the other.There were soft creepings amid the leaves. A mocking-bird sang in ahackberry tree. It was all very peaceful.
"You can just make out the top of The Hatter from here, Lafe. Evernotice?" Jim asked.
"You can see him mighty plain sometimes, Buf'lo. Do you mind how we usedto wonder what was on top of that ol' mountain, me and you? He looks soragged up there. That was when you were punching on the Lazy L."
"I reckon I do. I've always sort of hankered to climb to the top of TheHatter," Buffalo went on--"all my life I have. But I never did. You-allknow how that is. They tell me you can see for ninety miles off'n thepeak. It must be right pretty."
"We'll go some day," said Johnson.
Hetty caught her breath and glanced quickly at the visitor, but both menappeared perfectly matter-of-fact. She said: "Weren't you sick lastnight, Mr. Buf'lo? I thought I heard you."
"Yes, ma'am. Nothing to speak of. Just a li'l spell. Sometimes they hitme and then ag'in they don't."
It was dry the next six weeks. It was also scorching hot. The countrybegan to look wan, then lifeless. On a night in early October a ridercame to Johnson's door with word from Horne that the range was on fire.A blaze eight miles wide was sweeping the far shoulder of The Hatter.The messenger delivered this information in a subdued, expressionlessvoice, sitting his foaming horse in front of the porch, to Lafe insidethe house.