CHAPTER III
THIRTY MILES TO THE CONCHO
John Corliss rode up to the water-hole, dismounted, and pushed throughthe gate. His horse "Chinook" watched him with gently inquisitiveeyes. Chinook was not accustomed to inattention when he was thirsty.He had covered the thirty miles from the Concho Ranch in five long,dry, and dusty hours. He nickered. "In a minute," said Corliss. Thenhe knocked at the ranch-house door. Riders of the Concho usuallystrode jingling into the ranch-house without formality. Corliss,however, had been gazing at the lean stovepipe for hours before hefinally decided that there was smoke rising from it. He knocked asecond time.
"She ain't locked," came in a rusty, smothered voice.
Corliss shoved the door open with his knee. The interior was heavywith smoke. Near the stove knelt Sundown trying to encourage the smoketo more perpendicular behavior. He coughed. "She ain't good in herintentions, this here stove. One time she goes and the next time shestays and takes a smoke. Her innards is out of gear. Whew!"
"The damper has slipped down," said Corliss.
"Her little ole chest-pertector is kind o' worked down toward herstummick. There, now she feels better a'ready."
"Cooking chuck?" queried Corliss, glancing round the bare room.
"Rabbit," replied Sundown. "When I hit this here hotel I was hungry.I seen a rabbit--not this here one, but the other one. This one wassettin' in a bunch of-brush on me right-of-way. I was behind andrunnin' to make up time. I kind o' seen the leetle prairie-dog give methe red to slow down, but it was too late. Hit his cyclone cellar withme right driver, and got wrecked. This here leetle wad o' cotton wasunder me steam-chest. No other passengers hurt, except the engineer."
Corliss laughed. "You're a railroad man, I take it. Belong in thiscountry?"
Sundown rose from his knees and backed away from the stove. "Nope.Don't belong anywhere, I guess. My address when I'm to home is SundownSlim, Outdoors, Anywhere, speakin' general."
"Come in afoot?"
"Uhuh. Kind o' thought I'd get a job. Fellas at Antelope told me theywanted a cook at this hotel. I reckon they do--and some boarders andsomethin' to cook."
"That's one of their jokes. Pretty stiff joke, sending you in hereafoot."
"Oh, I ain't sore, mister. They stole me nanny, all right, but I feeljest as good here as anywhere."
Corliss led Chinook to the water-hole. Sundown followed.
"Ever think how many kinds of water they was?" queried Sundown. "Someis jest water; then they's some got a taste; then some's jest wet, butthis here is fine! Felt like jumpin' in and drinkin' from the bottomup when I lit here. Where do you live?"
"On the Concho, thirty miles south."
"Any towns in between?"
Corliss smiled. "No, there isn't a fence or a house from here to theranch."
"Gee Gosh! Any cows in this country?"
"Yes. The Concho runs ten thousand head on the range."
"Had your supper?"
"No. I was late getting away from the ranch. Expected to makeAntelope, but I guess I'll bush here to-night."
"Well, seein' you're the first boarder at me hotel, I'll pass thehash." And Sundown stepped into the house and returned with the halfrabbit. "I got some coffee, too. I can cook to beat the band when Igot somethin' to cook. Help yourself, pardner. What's mine isanybody's that's hungry. I et the other half."
"Don't mind if I do. Thanks. Say, you can cook?"
"Next to writin' po'try it's me long suit."
"Well, I'm no judge of poetry," said Corliss. "This rabbit tastespretty good."
"You ain't a cop, be you?" queried Sundown.
"No. Why?"
"Nothin'. I was jest wonderin'."
"You have traveled some, I take it."
"Me? Say! I'm the ramblin' son with the nervous feet. Been round theworld and back again on them same feet, and some freights. Had a palonct. He was a college guy. Run on to him on a cattle-boat. He writpo'try that was the real thing! It's ketchin' and I guess I caught itfrom him. He was a good little pal."
"What became of him?"
"I dunno, pardner. They was a wreck--but guess I'll get that coffee."
"How did you cross the Beaver Dam?" inquired Corliss as Sundownreappeared with his can of coffee.
"So that's what you call that creek back there? Well, it don't need noBeaver hitched on to it to say what I'd call it. I come through lastnight, but I'm dry now."
The cattle-man proffered Sundown tobacco and papers. They smoked andgazed at the stars. "Said your friend was a college man. What was hisname?" queried Corliss, turning to glance at Sundown.
"Well, his real name was Billy Corliss, but I called him jest Bill."
"Corliss! When did you lose track of him?"
"In that wreck, 'bout a year ago. We was ridin' a fast freight goin'west. He said he was goin' home, but he never said where it was. Hita open switch--so they said after--and when they pulled the stitches,and took that plaster dingus off me leg, I starts out huntin' forBilly. Nobody knowed anything about him. Wasn't no signs in thewreck,--so they said. You see I was in that fadeaway joint six weeks."
"What did he look like?"
"Billy? More like a girl than a man. Slim-like, with blue eyes andkind o' bright, wavy-like hair. He never said nothin' about his folks.He was a awful quiet kid."
John Corliss studied Sundown's face. "You say he was killed in awreck?"
"I ain't sure. But I reckon he was. It was a bad one. He was ridin'a empty, just ahead of me. Then the whole train buckled up andsomethin' hit me on the lid. That's all I remember, till after."
"What are you going to do now? Go back to Antelope?"
"Me? Guess I will. I was lookin' for a job cooking but the pay ain'tright here. What you lookin' at me that way for?"
"Sit still. I'm all right. My brother Will left home three years ago.Didn't say a word to any one. He'd been to school East, and he wrotesome things for the magazines--poetry. I was wondering--"
"Say, mister, what's your name?"
"John Corliss."
"Gee Gosh! I knowed when I et that rabbit this mornin' that somethin'was goin' to happen. Thought it was po'try, but I was mistook."
"So you ate your half of the rabbit this morning, eh?"
"Sure!!--"
"And you gave me the rest. You sure are loco."
"Mebby I be. Anyhow, I'm used to bein' hungry. They ain't so much ofme to keep as you--crossways, I mean. Of course, up and down--"
"Well, I'm right sorry," said Corliss. "You're the queerest Hobo Iever saw."
"That's what they all say," said Sundown, grinning. "I ain't no commonhand-out grabber, not me! I learnt things from Bill. He had class!"
"You sure Will never said anything about the Concho, or his brother, orChance?"
"Chance? Who's he?"
"Wolf-dog that belonged to Will."
"Gee Gosh! Big, and long legs, and kind of long, rough hair, and deepin the chest and--"
"That's Chance; but how did you know?"
"Why, Billy writ a pome 'bout him onct. Sold it and we lived high--fora week. Sure as you live! It was called 'Chance of the Concher.' GeeGosh! I thought it was jest one of them poetical dogs, like."
Corliss, who was not given to sentiment, smoked and pondered thepossibility of his brother's whereabouts. He had written to all thelarge cities asking for information from the police as to theprobability of their being able to locate his brother. The answers hadnot been encouraging. At the end of three years he practically gave upmaking inquiry and turned his whole attention to the management of theConcho. There had been trouble between the cattle and sheep interestsand time had passed more swiftly than he had realized. His meetingwith Sundown had awakened the old regret for his brother's uncalled-fordisappearance. Had he been positive that his brother had been killedin the wreck he would have felt a kind of relief. As it was, theuncertainty as to his whereabo
uts, his welfare, worried and perplexedhim, especially in view of the fact that he was on his way to Antelopeto present to the Forest Service a petition from the cattle-men of thevalley for grazing allotments. The sheep had been destroying thegrazing on the west side of the river. There had been bickerings andfinally an open declaration of war against David Loring, the oldsheep-man of the valley. Corliss wished to avoid friction with DavidLoring. Their ranches were opposite each other. And as Corliss wasknown as level-headed and shrewd, it devolved upon him to present inperson the complaint and petition of his brother cattle-men. Argumentwith David Loring, as he had passed the latter's homestead thatmorning, had delayed him on his journey to Antelope. Presently he gotup and entered the ranch-house. Sundown followed and poked about inthe corners of the room. He found a bundle of gunny-sacks andspreading them on the floor, laid his blankets on them.
Corliss stepped out and led Chinook to the distant mesa and picketedhim for the night. As he returned, he considered the advisability ofhiring the tramp to cook until his own cook returned from Phoenix. Heentered the house, kicked off his leather chaps, tossed his spurs intoa corner, and made a bed of his saddle-blankets and saddle. "I'll bestarting early," he said as he drew off his boots. "What are youintending to do next?"
"Me? Well, I ain't got no plans. Beat it back to Antelope, I guess.Say, mister, do you think my pal was your brother?"
"I don't know. From your description I should say so. See here. Idon't know you, but I need a cook. The Concho is thirty miles in. I'mheaded the other way, but if you are game to walk it, I'll see if I canuse you."
"Me! You ain't givin' me another josh, be you?"
"Never a josh. You won't think so when you get to punchin' dough forfifteen hungry cowboys. Want to try it?"
"Say, mister, I'm just comin' to. A guy told me in Antelope that theywas a John Corliss--only he said Jack--what was needin' a cook. Justthunk of it, seein' as I was thinkin' of Billy most ever since I metyou. Are you the one?"
"Guess I am," said Corliss, smiling. "It's up to you."
"Say, mister, that listens like home more'n anything I heard since Iwas a kid. I can sure cook, but I ain't no rider."
"How long would it take you to foot it to the Concho?"
"Oh, travelin' easy, say 'bout eight hours."
"Don't see that you need a horse, then, even if there was one handy."
"Nope. I don't need no horse. All I need is a job."
"All right. You'd have to travel thirty miles either way--to get outof here. I won't be there, but you can tell my foreman, Bud Shoop,that I sent you in."
"And I'll jest be tellin' him that 'bout twelve, to-morrow. I surewisht Billy was here. He'd sure be glad to know his ole pal wascookin' for his brother. Me for the shavin's. And say, thanks,pardner. Reckon they ain't all jokers in Arizona."
"No. There are a few that can't make or take one," said Corliss."Hope you'll make the ranch all right."
"I'm there! Next to cookin' and writin' po'try, walkin' is me longsuit."
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