CHAPTER IV
THE BRANDING-IRON
Stratton was never sure just how long he stood staring at her in dumb,dazed bewilderment. After those mental pictures of the Mary Thorne he hadexpected to find, it was small wonder that the sight of this slip of ablack-frocked girl, with her soft voice, her tawny-golden hair and wistfuleyes, should stun him into temporary speechlessness. Even when he finallypulled himself together to feel a hot flush flaming in his face and findone gloved hand recklessly crumpling his new Stetson, he could not quitecredit the evidence of his hearing.
"I--I beg pardon," he said stiffly. "But it doesn't seem possible that--"
He hesitated. The girl's smile deepened whimsically.
"I know," she said ruefully. "It never does. Nobody seems to think a girlcan seriously attempt to run a cattle-ranch--even the way I'm trying torun it, with a capable foreman to look after things. Sometimes I wonderif--"
She paused, her glance falling on the book she held. Stratton saw that itwas a shabby account-book, a stubby pencil thrust between the leaves.
"Yes?" he prompted, scarcely aware what made him ask the question.
She looked up at him, her eyes a little wider than before. They were awarm hazel, and for an instant in their depths Stratton glimpsed atroubled expression, so veiled and swiftly passing that a moment later hecould not be sure he had read aright.
"It's nothing," she shrugged. "You probably know what a lot of nagginglittle worries a ranchman has, and sometimes it seems to me they all haveto come at once. I suppose even a man gets a bit discouraged, now andthen."
"He sure does," agreed Buck. "What--er--particular sort of worry do youmean?"
He asked the question impulsively without realizing how it might sound,coming from a total stranger. The girl's slim figure stiffened and herchin went up. Then--perhaps something in his expression told her he hadnot meant to be impertinent--her face cleared.
"The principal one is lack of help," she explained readily enough, and yetStratton got a curious impression, somehow, that this wasn't really theworst of her troubles. "We're awfully short-handed." She hesitated aninstant and then went on frankly, "To tell the truth, when you first camein I was hoping you might be looking for a job."
For an instant Buck had all he could do to conceal his amazement at thisextraordinary turn of events.
"You mean I'd stand a chance of being taken on?" he countered, sparringfor time.
"Of course! That is--You are a cow-puncher, aren't you?"
Stratton's lips twitched slightly.
"I've worked around cattle all my life."
"Then naturally it would be all right. I should be very glad to hire you.Tex Lynch usually looks after all that, but he's away this afternoon andthere's no reason why I shouldn't--" Her quaint air of dignity was marredby a sudden, amused twitch of the lips. "I'm really awfully pleased youdid come to me," she smiled. "He's been telling me for over two weeks thathe couldn't hire a man for love or money; it'll be amusing to show himwhat I've done, sitting quietly here at home."
"That's all settled, then?" Stratton had been doing some rapid thinking."You'd like me to start in right away, I suppose? That'll suit me fine. Myname's Bob Green. If you'll just explain to Lynch that I'm hired, I'll godown to the bunk-house and he can put me to work when he comes back."
With a slight bow, he was moving away when Miss Thorne stopped him.
"Wait!" she cried. "Why, you haven't said a word about wages."
Buck turned back, biting his lip and inwardly cursing himself for hiscarelessness.
"I s'posed it would be the usual forty dollars," he explained.
"We pay that for new hands," the girl informed him in some surprise. Shesat down beside the table and opened her book. "I can put you down forforty, I suppose, and then Tex will tell me what it ought to be after he'sseen you work. Green, did you say?"
"Robert Green."
"And the address?"
Buck scratched his head.
"I don't guess I've got any," he returned. "I used to punch cows in Texas,but I've been away two years and a half, and the last outfit I was withhas sold out to farmers."
"Oh!" She looked up swiftly and her gaze leaped unerringly to the scarwhich showed below his tumbled hair. "Oh! I see. You--you've been throughthe war."
Her voice broke a little, and to Buck's astonishment she turned quitewhite as her eyes sought the book again. A sudden fear smote him that shehad guessed his real identity, but he dismissed the notion quickly. Such athing was next to impossible when she had never set eyes upon him beforeto-day.
"That's all, I think," she said presently in a low voice. "You'll findthe bunk-house, at the foot of the slope beside the creek. I'll speak toTex as soon as he comes back."
Outside the ranch house, Buck paused for a moment or two, ostensibly tostare admiringly at a carefully tended flower-bed, but in reality toadjust his mind to the new and extraordinary situation. During the lasttwo hours he had speculated a good deal on this interview, but not evenhis wildest imaginings had pictured the turn it had actually taken.
"Hired as a puncher on my own ranch by the girl whose father stole it fromme!" he murmured under his breath. "It's a scream! Darned if it wouldn'tmake a good vaudeville turn."
But as he walked slowly back to where he had left his horse, Stratton'sface grew thoughtful. He was trying to analyze the motives which hadprompted him to accept such a position and found them a trifle mixed.Undeniably the girl's unexpected personality influenced him considerably.She did not strike him, even remotely, as the sort who would deliberatelydo anything dishonest. And though Buck knew there were women who might beable to assume that air of almost childlike innocence, he did not believe,somehow, that in her case it was assumed. At any rate a little delay woulddo no harm. By accepting the proffered job he would be able to study thelady and the situation at his leisure. Also--and this he told himself waseven more important--he would have a chance of quietly investigatingconditions on the ranch. Pop Daggett's vague hints, his own observations,and the intuition he had that Miss Thorne was worrying about somethingmuch more vital than the mere lack of hands, all combined to make him feelthat things were not going right at the Shoe-Bar. Of course it might besimply a case of rotten management. But in the back of Buck's mind therelurked a curious notion that something deeper and more far-reaching wasgoing on beneath the surface, though of what nature he could not evenguess.
Leading the roan into a corral which ranged beyond the kitchen, Strattonunsaddled him and turned him loose. Having hung the saddle and bridle inthe adjacent shed, he tucked his bundle under one arm and headed for thebunk-house. He was within a few yards of the entrance to the long, adobestructure when the door was suddenly flung open and a slim, slight figure,hatless and stripped to the waist, plunged out, closely pursued by threeother men.
He ran blindly with head down, and Buck had just time to drop his bundleand extend both arms to prevent a collision. An instant later his tensemuscles quivered under the impact of some hundred and thirty pounds ofsolid bone and muscle; the runner staggered and flung up his head, a gaspof terror jolted from his lips.
"Oh!" he said more quietly, his tone an equal blend of astonishment andrelief. "I thought--Don't let 'em--"
He broke off, flushing. He was a pleasant-faced youngster of not more thaneighteen or nineteen, with a tangled mop of blonde hair and blue eyes, thepupils of which were curiously dilated. Stratton, whose extended arms hadcaught the boy just under the armpits, could feel his heart poundingfuriously.
"What's the matter, kid?" he asked briefly.
"They were going to brand me--on the back," the boy muttered.
Over the fellow's bare, muscular shoulders Buck's glance swept the triowho had pulled up just outside the bunk-house door. They seemed typicalcow-punchers in dress and manner. Two of them were tall and well set up;the third was short and stocky and held a branding iron in one hand.Meeting Stratton's gaze, he laughed loudly.
"By cripes, Bud! Yuh shore
are easy. I thought yuh had more guts than tobe scared of an iron that's hardly had the chill took off."
He guffawed again, the other two joining in. A flush crept up into theboy's face, but his lips were firm now, and as he turned to face theothers his eyes narrowed slightly.
"If it's so cold as that mebbe you'd like me to try it on yuh," hesuggested significantly.
The short man haw-hawed again, but not quite so boisterously. Buck noticedthat he held the branding iron carefully away from his leg.
"I shore wouldn't hollar like you done 'fore I was touched," he retorted."Wal, we got his goat good that time, didn't we, Butch? Better come in an'git yore shirt on 'fore the boss sees yuh half naked."
He turned and disappeared into the bunk-house, followed by the two otherpunchers. Buck picked up his bundle and glanced at the boy.
"Seems like you've got a right sociable, amusing bunch around here," hedrawled.
The youngster's lips parted impulsively, to close as swiftly over hiswhite teeth.
"Oh, they're a great lot of jokers," he returned non-committally, movingtoward the door. "Coming in?"
The room they entered was long and rather narrow, with built-in bunksoccupying most of the wall space, while the usual assemblage of bridles,ropes, old hats, and garments, hanging from pegs, crowded the remainder.Opposite the door stood a rusty, pot-bellied stove which gave forth a heatthat seemed rather superfluous on such a warm evening. The stocky fellow,having leaned his branding-iron against the adobe chimney, was occupied inclosing the drafts. His two companions, both rolling cigarettes, stoodbeside him, while lounging at a rough table to the left of the door sattwo other men, one of them idly shuffling a pack of dirty cards. As heentered, Stratton was conscious of the intent scrutiny of all five, and aneasy, careless smile curved his lips.
"Reckon this is the bunk-house, all right," he drawled. "The lady told meit was down this way. My name's Bob Green--Buck for short. I've just beenhired to show you guys how to punch cows proper."
There was a barely perceptible silence, broken by one of the men at thetable.
"Hired?" he repeated curtly. "Why, I thought Tex went to town."
"Tex?" queried Stratton. "Oh, you mean the foreman. The lady did saysomething about that when she signed me up. Said she'd tell him about itwhen he came back."
He was aware of a swift exchange of glances between several of the men.The stocky fellow suddenly abandoned his manipulation of the stove-dampersand came forward.
"Oh, that's it?" he remarked with an amiable grin. "Tex most always doesthe hirin', yuh see. Glad to know yuh. My name's McCabe--Slim, they callsme, 'count uh my sylph-like figger. These here guys is Bill Joyce an' hisside-kick, Butch Siegrist; likewise Flint Kreeger an' Doc Peters over tothe table. Bud Jessup yuh already met."
He chuckled, and Buck glancing toward the corner where the youngster wastucking in the tails of his flannel shirt, smiled slightly.
"Got acquainted kinda sudden, didn't we?" he grinned. "Glad to meet yougents. Whereabouts is a bunk I can stake my claim to?"
"This here's vacant," spoke up Bud Jessup quickly, indicating one next tohis own.
Buck stepped over and tossed his bundle into it. As he did so the raucousclanging of a bell sounded from the direction of the ranch-house,accompanied by a stentorian shout: "Grub-pile!" which galvanized thepunchers into action.
Stratton and the boy were the last to leave the room, and as he reachedthe door Buck noticed a tiny wisp of smoke curling up from the floor toone side of the stove. Looking closer he saw that it was caused by thebranding-iron, one corner of which rested on the end of a board where therough flooring came in contact with the square of hard-packed earthbeneath the stove. Bud Jessup saw it, too, and without comment he steppedover and moved the iron to a safer position.
Still without words, the two left the bunk-house. But as they headed forthe kitchen Buck's eyes narrowed slightly and he flashed a momentaryglance at his companion which was full of curiosity and thoughtfulspeculation.
Shoe-Bar Stratton Page 4
