Whispering Smith

by Frank H. Spearman

  CHAPTER XXIII

  AT THE RIVER

  They found the ranch-house as Marion and Dicksie had left it,deserted. Puss told them every one was at the river. McCloud did notapprove Dicksie's plan of going down to see her cousin first. "Why notlet me ride down and manage it without bringing you into it at all?"he suggested. "It can be done." And after further discussion it was soarranged.

  McCloud and Smith had been joined by Dancing on horseback, and theymade their way around Squaw Lake and across the fields. The fog wasrolling up from the willows at the bend. Men were chopping in thebrush, and McCloud and his companion soon met Lance Dunning riding upthe narrow strip of sand that held the river off the ranch.

  McCloud greeted Dunning, regardless of his amazement, as if he hadparted from him the day before. "How are you making it over here?" heasked. "We are in pretty good shape at the moment down below, and Ithought I would ride over to see if we could do anything for you.This is what you call pretty fair water for this part of the valley,isn't it?"

  Lance swallowed his astonishment. "This isn't water, McCloud; this ishell." He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. "Well, I call thiswhite, anyway, and no mistake--I do indeed, sir! This is WhisperingSmith, isn't it? Glad to see you at Crawling Stone, sir." Which servednot only to surprise but to please Whispering Smith.

  "Some of my men were free," continued McCloud; "I switched somemattresses and sacks around the Y, thinking they might come in playhere for you at the bend. They are at your service if you think youneed them."

  "Need them!" Lance swore fiercely and from the bottom of his heart. Hewas glad to get help from any quarter and made no bones about it.Moreover, McCloud lessened the embarrassment by explaining that he hada personal interest in holding the channel where it ran, lest a changeabove might threaten the approaches already built to the bridge; andWhispering Smith, who would have been on terms with the catfish if hehad been flung into the middle of the Crawling Stone, contributed atonce, like a reenforced spring, to the ease of the situation.

  Lance again took off his hat and wiped the sweat of anxiety from hisdripping forehead. "Whatever differences of opinion I may have withyour damned company, I have no lack of esteem personally, McCloud, foryou, sir, by Heaven! How many men did you bring?"

  "And whatever wheels you Crawling Stone ranchers may have in yourheads on the subject of irrigation," returned McCloud evenly, "I haveno lack of esteem personally, Mr. Dunning, for you. I brought ahundred."

  "Do you want to take charge here? I'm frank, sir; you understand thisgame and I don't."

  "Suppose we look the situation over; meantime, all our supplies haveto be brought across from the Y. What should you think, Mr. Dunning,of putting all the teams you can at that end of the work?"

  "Every man that can be spared from the river shall go at it. Come overhere and look at our work and judge for yourself."

  They rode to where the forces assembled by Lance were throwing upembankments and riprapping. There was hurried running to and fro, aviolent dragging about of willows, and a good deal of shouting.

  Dunning, with some excitement, watched McCloud's face to note theeffect of the activity on him, but McCloud's expression, naturallyreserved, reflected nothing of his views on the subject. Dunningwaved his hand at the lively scene. "They've been at it all night. Howmany would you take away, sir?"

  "You might take them all away, as far as the river is concerned," saidMcCloud after a moment.

  "What? Hell! All?"

  "They are not doing anything, are they, but running around in acircle? And those fellows over there might as well be making mud piesas riprapping at that point. What we need there is a mattress andsandbags--and plenty of them. Bill," directed McCloud in an even toneof business as he turned to Dancing, "see how quick you can get yourgangs over here with what sacks they can carry and walk fast. If youwill put your men on horses, Mr. Dunning, they can help likeeverything. That bank won't last a great while the way the river isgetting under it now." Dancing wheeled like an elephant on his broncoand clattered away through the mud. Lance Dunning, recovering from hissurprise, started his men back for the wagons, and McCloud,dismounting, walked with him to the water's edge to plan the fight forwhat was left of the strip in front of the alfalfa fields.

  When Whispering Smith got back to the house he was in good-humor. Hejoined Dicksie and Marion in the dining-room, where they weredrinking coffee. Afterward Dicksie ordered horses saddled and thethree rode to the river. Up and down the bank as far as they could seein the misty rain, men were moving slowly about--more men, it seemedto Dicksie, than she had ever seen together in her life. The confusionand the noise had disappeared. No one appeared to hurry, but every onehad something to do, and, from the gangs who with sledges were sinking"dead-men" among the trees to hold the cables of the mattress that wasabout to be sunk, and the Japs who were diligently preparing to floatand load it, to the men that were filling and wheeling the sandbags,no one appeared excited. McCloud joined the visitors for a few momentsand then went back to where Dancing and his men on life-lines wereguiding the mattress to its resting-place. In spite of the gloom ofthe rain, which Whispering Smith said was breaking, Dicksie rode backto the house in much better spirits with her two guests; and when theycame from luncheon the sun, as Smith had predicted, was shining.

  "Oh, come out!" cried Dicksie, at the door. Marion had a letter towrite and went upstairs, but Whispering Smith followed Dicksie. "Doeseverything you say come true?" she demanded as she stood in thesunshine.

  She was demure with light-heartedness and he looked at herapprovingly. "I hope nothing I may say ever will come true unless itmakes you happy," he answered lightly. "It would be a shame if it didanything else."

  She pointed two accusing fingers at him. "Do you know what youpromised last night? You have forgotten already! You said you wouldtell me why my leghorns are eating their feathers off."

  "Let me talk with them."

  "Just what I should like. Come on!" said Dicksie, leading the way tothe chicken-yard. "I want you to see my bantams too. I have three ofthe dearest little things. One is setting. They are over the way. Comesee them first. And, oh, you must see my new game chickens. Truly, younever saw anything as handsome as Caesar--he's the rooster; and I havesix pullets. Caesar is perfectly superb."

  When the two reached the chicken-houses Dicksie examined the nestwhere she was setting the bantam hen. "This miserable hen will notset," she exclaimed in despair. "See here, Mr. Smith, she has left hernest again and is scratching around on the ground. Isn't it a shame?I've tied a cord around her leg so she couldn't run away, and she ishobbling around like a scrub pony."

  "Perhaps the eggs are too warm," suggested her companion. "I have hadgreat success in cases like this with powdered ice--not using toomuch, of course; just shave the ice gently and rub it over the eggsone at a time; it will often result in refreshing the attention of thehen."

  Dicksie looked grave. "Aren't you ashamed to make fun of me?"

  Whispering Smith seemed taken aback. "Is it really serious business?"

  "Of course."

  "Very good. Let me watch this hen for a few minutes and diagnose her.You go on to your other chickens. I'll stay here and think."

  Dicksie went down through the yards. When she came back, WhisperingSmith was sitting on a cracker-box watching the bantam. The chickenwas making desperate efforts to get off Dicksie's cord and join itscompanions in the runway. Smith was eying the bantam critically whenDicksie rejoined him. "Do you usually," he asked, looking suddenly up,"have success in setting roosters?"

  "Now you are having fun with me again."

  "No, by Heaven! I am not."

  "Have you diagnosed the case?"

  "I have, and I have diagnosed it as a case of mistaken identity."

  "Identity?"

  "And misapplied energy. Miss Dicksie, you have tied up the wrong bird.This is not a bantam hen at all; this is a bantam rooster. Now thatis _my_ judgment. Compare him with the others. Notice h
ow much darkerhis plumage is--it's the rooster," declared Whispering Smith, wipingthe perplexity from his brow. "Don't feel bad, not at all. Cut himloose, Miss Dicksie--don't hesitate; do it on my responsibility. Nowlet's look at the cannibal leghorns--and great Caesar."