CHAPTER XI
CHANCE--CONQUEROR
Sundown's return to the camp occasioned some indirect questioning andnot a little comment. He told the story of his adventure at the Conchoin detail up to the point of his conversation with Will Corliss. Thenhe lapsed into generalities, exhibiting with some little pride thewound on his head as evidence of his attempt to prevent the robbery andincidentally as a reason for being unable to discourse further upon thesubject. His oft-repeated recital invariably concluded with, "I stepsin and tries to stop the first guy when _Wham!_ round goes the room andI takes a sleep."
The men seemed satisfied with Sundown's graphic account in the main.Hi Wingle, the cook, asked no questions, but did a great deal ofthinking. He was aware that Will Corliss had returned to the Concho,and also, through rumor, that Corliss and Fadeaway had been together inAntelope. The fact that the robbers failed to get the money--so it wasgiven out--left the drama unfinished, and as such it lacked sustainedinterest. There would be no bandits to capture; no further excitement;so the talk eventually drifted to other subjects.
The assistant cook's evident melancholy finally gave place to a happiermood as he realized that he had gained a modicum of respect in a campwhere hitherto he had been more or less of a joke. While he grievedover the events which led up to his newly attained prestige as a man ofnerve, he was not a little proud of the prestige itself, andprincipally because he lacked the very quality of courage that he wasnow accredited with. Perhaps the fact that he had "played square," ashe saw it, was the true foundation of his attitude.
He discharged his duties as assistant cook with a new and professionalflourish that amused the riders. When they rolled from their blanketsin the crisp air of the morning, they were never kept waiting for theircoffee, hot bread, and frijoles. Moreover, he always had a small firegoing, around which he arranged the tin plates, cups, knives and forks.This additional fire was acceptable, as the cooking was done on a largesheet-iron camp-stove, the immediate territory of which was sacred toHi Wingle. Wingle, who had been an old-timer when most of the Conchohands were learning the rudiments of the game, took himself and hispresent occupation seriously. His stove was his altar, though burntofferings were infrequent. He guarded his culinary precincts with awatchful eye. His attitude was somewhat akin to that of CardinalRichelieu in the handkerchief scene, "Take but one step within thesesacred bounds and on our head I'll lunch the cuss of Rum," or somethingto that effect. He was short, ruddy, and bald, and his antithesis,Sundown, was a source of constant amazement to him. Wingle had seenmany tall men, but never such an elongated individual as his assistant.It became the habit of one or another of the boys to ask the cook theway to the distant Concho, usually after the evening meal, when theywere loafing by the camp-fire. Wingle would thereupon scratch his headand assume an air of intense concentration. "Well," he wouldinvariably remark, "you take the trail along Sundown's shadder there,and keep a-fannin' it smart for about three hours. When you come tothe end of the shadder, take the right fork of the river, and inanother hour you'll strike the Concho. That's the quickest way." Andthis bit of attenuated humor never failed to produce an effect.
One morning, about a week after Sundown's return to his duties asassistant, while Wingle was drying his hands, preparatory to reading afew pages of his favorite novel, Sundown ambled into camp with anarmful of greasewood, dumped it near the wagon, and, straightening up,rolled a cigarette.
Wingle, immersed in the novel, read for a while and then glanced upquestioningly.
Sundown shook his head.
"Now this here story," said Wingle; "I read her forty-three times comenext round-up, and blamed if I sabe her yet. Now, take it where theperfesser--a slim gent with large round eye-glasses behind whichtwinkled a couple of deep-set studyus eyes--so the book says; now, takeit where he talks about them Hopi graves over there in the valley--"
"This here valley?" queried Sundown, immediately interested.
"Sure! Well, I can sabe all that. I seen 'em."
"Seen 'em?"
"Sure! Why Arizona's got more leavin's of history and dead Injuns andsuch, right on top of the ground, than any other State in the Union.Why, right over there in the canon of the Concho there's a hull ruinedInjun village--stones piled up in little circles, and what was huts andcaves and the leavin's of a old irrigatin' ditch and busted ollas, andbones and arrow-heads and picture-writin' on the rocks--bears andeagles and mounting-lions and hosses--scratched right on the rocks.Them cliffs there is covered with it."
"Them?" queried Sundown, pointing toward the canon, "Do they chargeanything to see it?"
"Well, seein' they been dead about a thousand years, I reckon not."
"A thousand years! Huh! I ain't scared of no Injuns a thousand yearsold. How far is it to them picture-things?"
"'Bout three mile. You can take a hoss and mosey over if you like.Figure on gettin' back 'round noon."
"Any snakes over there?"
"Comf'table thick. You might get a pretty good mess of 'em, if you wasto take your time. I never bother to look for 'em."
Sundown gazed at his length of nether limb and sighed.
"Snakes won't bother you none," said Wingle, reassuringly. "They gettired, same as anybody, and they'd have to climb too fur to see if youwas to home."
Sundown rose and saddled a horse. He mounted and rode slowly towardthe rim of the distant canon. At the canon's brink, he dismounted andled his horse down the trail, stopping frequently to gaze in wondermentat the painted cliffs and masses of red rock strewn along the slopes.High up on the perpendicular face of the canon walls he saw many cavesand wondered how they came to be there. "Makes a fella feel likesayin' his prayers," he muttered. "Wisht I knowed one."
He drifted on down the trail, which wound around huge fragments of rockriven from the cliffs in prehistoric days. He was awed by theimmensity of the chasm and talked continuously to his horse whichshuffled along behind paying careful attention to the footing. Arrivedat the stream the horse drank. Sundown mounted and rode along thenarrow level paralleling the river course. The canon widened, andbefore he realized it he was in a narrow valley carpeted withbunch-grass and dotted with solitary cypress and infrequent clumps ofpine. He paused to inspect a small mound of rock which was partiallysurrounded by a wall of neatly laid stone. Within the semicircularwall was a hole in the ground--the entrance to a cave. Farther alonghe came upon the ruins of a walled square, unmistakably of humanconstruction. He became interested, and, tying his horse to ascrub-cedar, began to dig among the loose stones covering the interiorof the square. He discovered a fragment of painted pottery--thesegment of an olla, smooth, dark red, and decorated with a design inblack. He rubbed the earth from the fragment and polished it on hisoveralls. He unearthed a larger fragment and found that it matched theother piece. He was happy. He forgot his surroundings, and scratchedand dug in the ruin until he accumulated quite a little pile of shards,oddly marked and colored. Eventually he gathered up his spoils andtied them in his handkerchief.
Leaving his horse, he meandered down the valley until he came toanother and larger cave. "Wonder what's down there?" he soliloquized."Mebby one of them Injuns. Been there a thousand years waitin' forsomethin' to turn up. 'Nough to make a fella tired, waitin' thatlong." He wanted to explore the cave, but he was afraid. Moreover,the interior was dark. He pondered. Finally his natural fondness formild adventure overcame his fear. "Got some matches!" he exclaimed,joyfully. "Wonder if it's deep? Guess I could put me legs in first,and if nothin' bites me legs, why, I could follow 'em down to bottom."He put his head in the hole. "Hey!" he hallooed, "are you in there?"He rose to his feet. "Nothin' doin'. Well, here goes. I sure want tosee what's down there."
In his excitement he overlooked the possibility of disturbing a torpidrattler. He slid feet first into the cave, found that he could all butstand upright, and struck a match.
The ancient Hopis buried their dead in a sitting posture on a wo
vengrass mat, with an olla, and frequently a bone dagger, beside them. Inthe clean, dry air of the uplands of Arizona the process of decay isslow. Sundown, unaware of this, hardly anticipated that whichconfronted him as the match flamed blue and flared up, lighting theinterior of the cave with instant brilliance. About six feet fromwhere he crouched was the dried and shriveled figure of a Hopi chief,propped against the wall of the cave. Beside the figure stood thepainted olla untarnished by age. The dead Indian's head was bowed uponhis breast, and his skeleton arms, parchment-skinned and rigid, werecrossed upon his knees.
Sundown scrambled for the circle of daylight above him. "Gee Gosh!" hepanted, as he got to his feet outside the cave. "It was him!" Heclambered over the circle of stones and backed away, eyeing theentrance as though he expected to see the Hopi emerge at any moment.He crouched behind a boulder, his pulses racing. He was keyed to ahigh tension of expectancy. In fact, he was in a decidedly receptivemood for that which immediately happened. He noticed that his horse, ahundred yards or so up the valley, was circling the cedar and pullingback on the reins. He wondered what was the matter with him. Thehorse was usually a well-behaved animal. The explanation came rapidly.Sundown saw the horse back and tear loose from the cedar; saw him whirland charge down the valley snorting. "Guess he seen one, too!" saidSundown making no effort to check the frightened animal. Almostimmediately came the long-drawn bell of a dog following a hot scent.Sundown turned from watching his vanishing steed and saw a hugetimber-wolf leap from a thicket. Behind the wolf came Chance, neckoutstretched, and flanks working at top speed. The wolf dodged aboulder, flashing around it with no apparent loss of ground. Chancerose over the boulder as though borne on the wind. The wolf turned andsnapped at him. Sundown decided instantly that the sepulcher of thedead Hopi was preferable to the proximity of the live wolf, and he madefor the cave.
The wolf circled the wall of stones and also made for the cave.Sundown had arrived a little ahead of him. The top of Sundown's headappeared for an instant; then vanished. The wolf backed snarlingagainst the wall as Chance leaped in. When Sundown's head againappeared, the whirling mass of writhing fur and kicking legs had takenmore definite shape. Chance had fastened on the wolf's shoulder. Thewolf was slashing effectively at the dog's side. Presently they laydown facing each other. Chance licked a long gash in his foreleg. Thewolf snapped as he lay and a red slaver dripped from his fangs. Nottwelve feet away, Sundown gazed upon the scene with fear-wide eyes."Go to it, Chance!" he quavered, and his encouragement was all but thedog's undoing, for he lost the wolf's gaze for an instant, barelyturning in time to meet the vicious charge. Sundown groaned as thewolf, with a slashing stroke, ripped the dog's neck from ear toshoulder. The stones in the enclosure were spattered with red as theywhirled, each trying to reach the throat of the other. Suddenly Chanceleaped up and over the wolf, lunging for his neck as he descended. Thewolf rolled from under and backed toward the cave. "Hey!" yelledSundown. "You can't come in here!"
Chance, weakened from loss of blood, lay watching the wolf as itcrouched tensely. Again the great gray shadow lunged and a brightstreak sprung up on the dog's side. "Gee Gosh!" whined Sundown; "hecan't stand much more of that!" Undoubtedly Chance knew it, for hestraight-way gathered himself and leaped in, diving low for the wolf'sfore leg. As the wolf turned his shoulder, Chance again sprang overhim and, descending, caught him just behind the ear, and held. Thewolf writhed and snarled. Chance gripped in and in, with each savageshake of his head biting deeper. In a mighty effort to free himselfthe wolf surged backward, dragging Chance around the enclosure.Sundown, rising from the cave's mouth, crouched before it. "You gothim! You got him!" he cried. "Once more, now!"
The body of the wolf quivered and sagged, then stiffened as if for alast effort. Chance held. They were both lying on the stones now.Chance with fore feet braced against the wolf's chest. Presently thedog gave a final shake, drew back, and lay panting. From head toflanks he was soaked with blood. The wolf was dead.
Sundown stood up. "Good boy, Chance!" he said. The great, gaunt bodyof the dog raised itself on trembling legs, the pride of the conquerorlighting for a moment his dimming eyes. "It's me, Chance!" saidSundown, stroking the dog's head. Chance wagged his tail and reachingup his torn and bleeding muzzle licked Sundown's hand. Then slowly hesank to the ground, breathed heavily, and rolled to his side. Sundownknelt over him and unaccustomed tears ran down his lean cheeks anddripped on the clotted fur. "You was some fighter, Chance, ole pal!Gee Gosh! He's nothin' except cuts and slashes all over. Gee Gosh!"He drew the dog's head to his lap and sat crooning weird, broken wordsand stroking the torn ears. Suddenly he stopped and put his hand overthe dog's heart. Then he leaped to his feet and, dumping the fragmentsof pottery from his bandanna, tore it in strips and began bandaging thewounds. The gash on Chance's neck still bled. Sundown drew his knifeand cut the sleeve from his shirt. He ripped it open and bound thedog's neck. Realizing that Chance was not dead, he became valiant."We sure put up the great scrap, didn't we, pal? We licked him! Butif he'd 'a' licked you . . ." And Sundown gazed at the still form ofthe wolf and shuddered, not knowing that the wolf would have fled atsight of him had he been able to get away from Chance.
Two hours later, Eleanor Loring, riding along the canon stream, met alean giant, one sleeve of his shirt gone, his hat missing, and hishands splotched with blood. His eyes were wild, his face white andset. He carried a great, shaggy dog in his arms.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, swinging from her pony and coming to him.
"Me? No, lady. But me pal here is hurt bad. Jest breathin'. Killeda wolf back there. Mebby I can save him."
"Why, it's Chance--of the Concho!"
"Yes, lady. What is left of him."
"Do you work for the Concho? Won't you take my horse?"
"I'm assistant cook at the camp. No, thanks, lady. Ridin' mightjoggle him and start him to bleedin'. I can carry him so he'll beeasier-like."
"But how did it happen?"
"I dunno. Chance chased the wolf and they went to it where I wasexplorin' one of them caves. I guess I better be goin'."
The girl reined her horse around and rode down the valley trail,pausing occasionally to watch the tall figure climbing the canon withthat shapeless burden in his arms. "I wonder if any other man on theConcho would have done that?" she asked herself. And Sundown, despitehis more or less terrifying appearance, won her estimation for kindnessat once.
Slowly he climbed the canon trail, resting at each level. The dog hunga limp, dead weight in his arms. Midway up the trail Sundown restedagain, and gazed down into the valley. He imagined he could discernthe place of the fight. "That there wolf," he soliloquized, "he wassome fighter, too. Mebby he didn't like to get licked any more thanChance, here. Wonder what they was fightin' about? I dunno. But, GeeGosh, she was one dandy scrap!"
At the top of the canon wall he again rested. He expected to bedischarged for being late, but solaced himself with the thought that ifhe could save Chance, it was worth the risk.
The riders had returned to the chuck-wagon when Sundown arrived luggingthe inert body of the wolf-dog. They gathered around and asked briefquestions. Sundown, busy washing the dog's wounds, answered as well ashe could. His account of the fight did not suffer for lack ofembellishment, and while he did not absolutely state that he had takena hand in the fight, his story implied it.
"Don't see nothin' on you to show you been in a scrap," remarked ayoung puncher.
"That's because you can't see in deep enough," retorted Sundown. "If Iwasn't in every jump of that fight, me heart was."
"Better shoot him and put him out of his sufferin'," suggested thepuncher.
Sundown rose from beside the dog. Shoot Chance? Not so long as hecould keep between the dog and the cowboy's gun. The puncher, half injest, reached for his holster. Sundown's overwrought nerves gave way.He dropped to his knees and lifted his long arms imploringly. "Don't!Don't!" he
wailed. "He ain't dead! Don't shoot my pal!"
Bud Shoop, who had kept silent, shouldered the puncher aside. "Cut itout, Sinker," he growled. "Can't you sabe that Sundown means it?"
Later in the evening, and fortified with a hearty meal. Sundown gave arevised version of the fight, wherein his participation was modified,though the story lost nothing in re-telling. And, indeed, his ownachievement, of lugging Chance up the canon trail, awakened a kind ofrespect among the easy-going cowboys. To carry an eighty-pound dog upthat trail took sand! Again Sundown had unconsciously won theirrespect. Nothing was said about his late return. And his horse hadfound its way back to the camp.
Sometime in the night, Bud Shoop was awakened by the man next him.
"What's goin' on?" queried Shoop, rising on his elbow.
"Ask me again," said the puncher. "Listen!"
From the vicinity of the wagon came the gurgle of water and then adistinctly canine sneeze.
"Dinged if he ain't fussin' with that dog again!" grumbled Shoop. "Thedam' fool!" Which, as it is the spirit which giveth life to theletter, was not altogether uncomplimentary.
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