by Zane Grey
About ten minutes later, while Ernest was unpacking his smaller bag, the foreman, Siebert, entered. His eyes had more of the hawk-like quality even than before.
“Howard, do you mind my talkin’ out plain before Nebraskie heah?” he queried.
“Not at all. Nebraskie is goin’ to be my friend.”
“Wal, if he is you’re lucky. ... Already there’s a story flyin” around. Dude Hyslip must have got it somewhere or made it up. What’s this about you holdin’ up three bandits on the stage?”
Selby had expected this and welcomed the inquisitive and not unkind query.
“It’s straight goods,” he declared, looking frankly at the foreman and the curious cowboy. “Listen. Here’s how it happened.” And Ernest told in detail the whole affair, not omitting a confession of his reason for not notifying a sheriff at Holbrook.
“So thet was it,” replied Siebert, evidently convinced. “I reckon I believe you, Howard, but if you’ve jest pulled some fun be honest aboot it now.”
“I’ve told the truth—on my honor,” the tenderfoot declared, impulsively.
“Hawk, it ain’t sense, but doggone it—I believe him,” said Nebraskie.
“Wal, so do I. But we’ll keep our traps shet aboot it.... Howard, as Hyslip told it, you hired some Holbrook loafers to make a bluff at robbin’ Miss Hepford, so you could rescue her. Thet’s been done before heah, so she says.”
“Hyslip is a damned liar,” replied Ernest hotly. “I told Nebraskie I’d lick Hyslip if he sang that Ioway song again. But he doesn’t need to sing it. I’ll go right out now—”
“Hold on, rooster,” broke in Siebert persuasively. “It ain’t the thing fer you to do pronto. Hyslip stands in, an’ if you want to hang on, why, you’ll have to go slow. ... Now as fer the holdup, I happen to know somethin’ which I’ll keep to tell Anne Hepford someday. Thet feller you fetched in the stage was Bud Miller, an’ he shore is the genuine article.”
“Why not let me take care of this ridiculous charge myself?” demanded Ernest.
“Wal, all in good time. You’re shore a hothaided boy.... What do you say, Nebraskie?”
“Reckon I’d let it pass,” replied Kemp thoughtfully. “Anyway nobody is goin’ to believe you didn’t come out heah to Red Rock after Anne.”
Next morning at daylight the new hand went to work helping the Mexicans shingle one of the sheds. The cowboys rode by and Dude Hyslip sang, “Son-of-a-gun from Ioway” at the top of his lungs. At mealtimes they passed banter to and fro along with the food, the former of which was directed at Ernest, while of the latter he had to help himself.
That day served only as an initiation. The following one, and those succeeding would have been nightmares for Ernest Selby, except for the inward satisfaction he derived from working for himself and learning about the ranch, and for the disturbing fact that he had at least a glimpse of Anne Hepford every day.
Nothing escaped Ernest’s eyes. The tricks the cowboys played upon him grew in proportion to his efforts to ignore them. Some of them were harmless and funny; others were neither. Ernest accepted everything with good grace. He could afford to be patient, not only because he was in no hurry to show his hand, but because of the redheaded girl. If she had been dazzling in ordinary traveling clothes, he feared to think of seeing her more formally dressed–say for the dance to be given at Springertown presently. Selby decided to go, if only to watch. That insufferable Dude Hyslip! Snatches of cowboy gossip acquainted Ernest with the fact that Dude seemed to have the inside track with the belle of Red Rock.
The new hand did not get a chance to straddle a horse for over a week, and then his mount certainly was not one of the thoroughbreds he saw prancing in the pasture or kicking the bars of the corral. Ernest loved horses and he had to turn away his eyes, whenever the cowboys rode by where he was doing some menial job. He could not help being thrilled by the thought that every one of these beautiful horses belonged to him. What a jolt Mr. Dude Hyslip was going to get someday, when he discovered that the son-of-a-gun from Ioway was his boss!
But Ernest did not allow his infatuation and longing for Anne and his jealousy of Hyslip to interfere with the main issue–his duty to discover what was wrong with John Hepford’s management of Red Rock.
Springertown lay several miles beyond Red Rock. It was the center of a group of ranches, and was larger than Selby had expected. He rode down the main street, taking in the unpainted, high, board-front stores, the hitching rails, the saloons, and the people. It was Saturday and a busy day. Nebraskie had told him the cowboys had the afternoon off, but that privilege did not extend to hired hands, of whom Ernest was one.
The Iowan dismounted and tied his horse to a rail, feeling a wonderful satisfaction in the act. His errand was to leave an order at the Springer brothers’ store, and when that had been attended to, Ernest walked up and down the street, taking a look in the saloons, stopping to exchange amiable talk with a farmer here and a youngster there. But he gave the cowboys, especially the high-stepping ones, already tipsy, a wide berth. He couldn’t help noticing that Steve Monell, Bones Magill, and Shep Davis, of the Red Rock outfit, already were decidedly under the influence of liquor. By dark, according to Nebraskie, these cowboys would be whooping up the town.
In front of one of the stores he encountered a girl much too burdened with parcels for her slight stature. She dropped a parcel, while putting her load into a buckboard outside of the rail, and she climbed up to the front seat without noticing her loss. Ernest stepped out into the road and, recovering it, handed it up with the remark: “Miss, you dropped something.”
“Thanks,” she replied, in confusion.
For a moment Ernest wondered where he had seen her. Then he remembered the dark eyes. It was Daisy Brooks. Here were two opportunities in one, the Iowan thought, and not to be overlooked.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said pleasantly, and he became aware that the bright dress and hat made the difference. “I’m Ernest Howard. Didn’t I meet you that day I arrived on the stage and made the acquaintance of your dad? He asked me to come up to see him, but I haven’t had a chance so far. Wish you’d tell him that you saw me. Maybe I’ll take that job he offered me. They’re sure killing me at Red Rock.”
“We heahed all aboot it,” she said shyly.
“Oh, did you? Well then I don’t need to bother you with my complaints,” replied Ernest, laughing. “I didn’t think I was the talk of the range–just yet.”
“Cowboys usually are—when they go to Red Rock,” she said.
Ernest caught a glimpse of something deep and furtive in the dark eyes before they dropped.
Then her father came out to accost Ernest in his bluff and hearty way.
“Wal, ketched you makin’ up to my gal, eh?” he said laughing, and stepped up heavily into the vehicle. “You’re most as bad as Dude Hyslip.”
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Brooks, I haven’t been introduced to her. But you can’t blame a fellow for talking to a pretty girl. I’m so darned lonesome for a human being to talk to—and seeing Miss Daisy made me remember how—how friendly you were to me on my way up from Holbrook.”
“No offense, son. I was only teasin’ Dais heah,” he said, indicating the blushing girl. “Cain’t you come fer dinner tomorrow? It’s Sunday. Make a kick to Siebert. He’ll let you off.”
“I sure will. Much obliged,” replied the younger man, but if was at Daisy that he looked.
Ernest bade them good-by and strolled on down the street, unaccountably annoyed with himself. Did the whole countryside imagine he had become a laborer at Red Rock only to be near its young mistress? He resented the idea, knowing it to be only half true. He was not overly vain, but it was certain that he had not made any impression whatever upon Anne Hepford. As a result of this encounter with the Brookses and the train of thought they had set into motion, Selby rode back to the ranch in a rather testy state of mind.
At the barn he met Hawk Siebert, the second time he had ever seen that busy
individual alone.
“Can I have tomorrow off?” asked Ernest.
“Shore. An’ why didn’t you stay in town fer the dance tonight?” replied the foreman, good-naturedly, his keen eyes bent hard on his new hand.
“Dance nothing. That outfit of yours would run me out of the hall,” declared Ernest bitterly.
“Like hob they would,” returned Siebert. “Howard, you don’t ’pear to be the runnin’ kind. Reckon you haven’t guessed it, but I’m onto the deal you been gettin’ heah. It’s the wust any admirer of Miss Anne’s ever got.... Wal, you don’t stand deuce-high with that young lady. An’ you’re shore a misfit with my cowboys. But you’ve made good with me, young feller. An’ on Monday you take to ridin’ the range.”
4
ON Sunday morning Selby manifested some interest in his personal appearance, the first time since his arrival at Red Rock, and it did not escape the keen eyes of Nebraskie.
“Huh! Ridin’ in to church with Anne today?” he hazarded, in mingled surprise, curiosity and jealousy.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” taunted the Iowan.
“Wal, reckon it doesn’t matter aboot me, but keep it from Dude. He’s sore as a busted thumb this mawnin’. Anne dished him for the dance last night. She was shore steppin’ high, wide an’ handsome. If thet gurl ain’t the meanest flirt in Arizonie I—I’ll eat my shirt.”
“Nebraskie!” ejaculated Ernest, as much in amazement at this revelation as resentment for the outrage to the object of his admiration.
“Aw, don’t Nebraskie me. An’ don’t try to fool me, either. Wasn’t she askin’ fer you last night? Where’s my new cow-puncher? ... I oughtn’t give you a hunch, Ioway, but you let thet troublemaker alone.”
Ernest went off in high dudgeon with Nebraskie, at the same time walking on the clouds of hope. So Miss Hepford had not forgotten him! Selby walked all the way up to the Brooks’ farm, a good five miles, and never once thought of the distance.
Probably if it had not been for Nebraskie’s chance remark he might have been more impressed by Daisy Brooks. As it was he did only justice to the occasion that plainly meant a great deal to her. The tidy little cottage, the wholesome and savory dinner, certainly attested to her ability as Sam Brooks’ housekeeper. Besides at any other time he might have been more susceptible to Daisy’s shy beauty. The girl’s eyes betrayed her, and once, when she served him at table, and her hand touched his, she turned away quickly, blushing furiously. But in contrast to the blooming rose of Red Rock she seemed only a modest little cornflower.
After dinner Brooks took Selby out to show him the ranch, and particularly the spring which watered the valley, and in dry seasons wholly saved it for the cattle. Ernest had never seen a spring like this. It was a deep dark well roaring from under the mossy cliff, a source of never failing abundance and fertility.
“I shore could do a lot with thet water if I had some capital,” asserted Brooks. “Mebbe someday—”
“Brooks, would you ever sell out—if you got your price?” queried Ernest casually.
“Sell nothin’,” retorted Sam. “Don’t I know what I’ve got? Someday I’ll be a pardner of John Hepford’s or the unlucky cowboy who finally lands Anne.”
“Why unlucky?”
“Say, Howard, have you been at Red Rock all this while an’ don’t know thet yet?”
“I’m afraid I have.”
“Wal, you’re a mighty blind an’ kindhearted boy, thet’s all I’ll say.”
Ernest tramped here and there with Brooks over the small ranch, expressing such keen interest that the rancher was plainly delighted, and as their friendship grew, he grew more loquacious. The talk turned eventually to Hepford and Red Rock Ranch. Sam’s visitor did not betray that he was probably the only employee who did not know there was soon to be a big drive of cattle. Hepford, it appeared, sold many cattle, but only a few times during the last few years had he had one of these big drives. Selby was all curiosity, as befitted a tenderfoot. What was the difference between a small and a large drive? Brooks did not openly declare any irregularity about the latter, yet the intimation was unmistakable.
“Hepford sends bunches of two-year-olds to Holbrook” said Brooks. “But when he sells one of these big drives the cattle don’t get to the railroad. They go out by way of Pine, down over the Blue Ridge, to the reservations. Government buyer named Jones. The last drive was a year ago in June. Funny aboot thet!—Shore’d like to see the reports sent back to the owner, Selby.”
“Sam, I heard Silas Selby was dead,” said Ernest, looking down.
“What?—You don’t say? Wall—Where’d you heah thet?” exclaimed Brooks excitedly.
“It’s known at the ranch. Siebert mentioned it—telling the cowboys they’d have to walk turkey if another owner showed up.”
“Wal, I should smile. Walkin’ turkey ain’t the word. Walkin’ off the ranch is what. Howard, reckon I don’t need to tell you there’re some mean punchers in thet outfit. Thet Dude Hyslip, for instance. Damn him! I’d like to hosswhip him, if no wuss.”
“What’d he do, Sam?” inquired Ernest.
“He hurt Daisy’s feelin’s. She was sweet on Nebraskie Kemp till Dude cut him out. But Nebraskie was serious an’ Dude only fast an’ loose.”
“Nebraskie! ... Well! ... Sam, I’ll remember that when I lick Dude,” said Ernest, soberly.
“Wal, I hope you do. You’re a husky fellar. An’ there’s somethin’, Howard. But be sure to pick a time when Hyslip ain’t packin’ a gun.”
Brooks seemed upset by the news of the death of Selby and he grew thoughtful. Whereupon Ernest bade him good-by and started back on the long walk, glad for the solitude that would give him time to think.
When he arrived at the bunkhouse it still wanted an hour till sunset. Ernest unlocked his bag, took out the precious papers upon which hung so much, and hiding them inside his shirt he strolled off, and then climbed the slope to emerge on a wooded bluff—one of the red-stone cliffs. The view from there was superb, but at the moment Ernest had no eyes for the beauty of the valley. He read over all the legal papers, the correspondence, the yearly reports. Some of these dated back as far as a decade. It was noteworthy, however, that there was no report of the year in which Hepford had taken up the management of Red Rock. And more noteworthy still was the fact that the reports showed no evidence whatever of any big drives of cattle. Here in a nutshell was proof of how twenty thousand head of cattle had slowly dwindled to the present number of six thousand. Hepford obviously was merely a cattle thief. Ernest had not listened to Brooks and Siebert, and the cowboys without learning considerable about past and present rustling. There were cattle thieves of all degrees.
Hepford had probably calculated that he would never come into ownership of the ranch, but while he had the operation of it he would see to feathering his nest. The past ten years had not been lean ones on the range; quite the contrary, and twenty thousand head, counting for frequent sales of two-year-olds and the usual fall bunch of steers, should have still been around that figure, if not a greater number. So John Hepford had gotten rid of in the neighborhood of fifteen thousand head of cattle, and ought to have at least two hundred thousand dollars “salted away,” as the cowboys called it.
But had he been able to hide his tracks or had he counted upon the great improbability of the invalid Selby ever again visiting Red Rock? If he was dishonest, as appeared most damningly evident, did Hawk Siebert deliberately shut his eyes to what must have been plain to any old cattleman? On the other hand, there was a likelihood that Siebert had never seen the reports sent east. Hepford himself probably had made them out Ernest sat there on the bluff pondering, and the only conclusion he could come to was that he ought to set about trying to prevent this last drive of cattle. But before he declared himself he must have something that appeared to be wanting, and he could not say precisely what that was.
Monday dawned, a momentous day for Selby. He was thrown by three horses before he found one he
could stay on, and this one he selected himself. On Monday mornings after a roistering week end the cowboys were a lot of soreheaded spiteful devils. Even their riotous mirth smacked of the sinister. Ernest had ample chance to pick the fight he wanted with Dude Hyslip, but waived it because the first horse that threw him jarred and weakened him considerably. So he contented himself by retaliating in loud voice: “Hyslip, you are a slick rider, but that lets you out. You re good-looking, too, but that only lets you in for some wild dreams which will never get you any place. Do you get my hunch? Ill bet a million dollars I get to see you fired off this ranch.”
“Haw! Haw! Listen to him,” burst out Hyslip jeeringly, though his handsome face flamed. “Why don’t you offer to bet two bits, you poor tenderfoot hick from Ioway?”
“Look out you don’t insult Iowa,” declared the younger man. “And how do you know I haven’t got a million?”
“Boys, he’s gone batty,” howled Hyslip, and the cowboys shared his glee.
Ernest shut up then, realizing he could force the issue whenever he chose, and grimly faced what the day had in store for him.
It had plenty. Riding the range on a hot dusty day in June would not have been any fun even if the cattle had been left out of reckoning. As it was, the new hand’s first day of chasing steers exhausted him completely. That night he fell into bed and slept like a dead man. Nebraskie had to beat him in the morning to awaken him. The second day was even worse. The third was the same. After that the situation began to ease a little.
The job was to round up as many as possible of four-year-old steers each day, and drive them off the range up on the ranch. When Ernest naturally asked who was keeping tally on the number Nebraskie said: “Nobody at this end. Reckon Hepford has ’em counted all right when he sells.”
Selby did not need to be told why the stock was not counted there on the ranch. Therefore he counted them himself, as nearly accurately as was possible. This was the flaw in Hepford’s drives. They came but seldom, and no cowboy could or would remember how many head were driven in. Ernest verified this by asking casual questions now and then at mealtimes.
