Buck Peters, Ranchman

by Clarence Edward Mulford and John Wood Clay

  CHAPTER III

  BUCK MAKES FRIENDS

  The town of Twin River straggled with indifferent impartiality along thebanks of the Black Jack and Little Jill branches where they ran togetherto form the Jones' Luck River, two or three houses lying farther northalong the main stream. The trail from Wayback, the nearest railwaypoint, hugged the east bank of Jones' Luck, shaded throughout its courseby the trees which lined the river, as they did all the streams in thispart of the country: cottonwoods mostly, with an occasional ash or elm.Looking to the east, the rolling ground sloped upward toward a chain ofhills; to the west, beyond the river, the country lay level to thehorizon. On both sides of the trail the underbrush grew thick; springmade of it a perfect paradise of blossoms.

  Boomerang, pet hobo of Twin River and the only one who ever dared tocome back, left Little Nell's with his characteristic hurried shuffleand approached the wooden bridge where the Wayback trail crossed theJill, and continued south to Big Moose. Boomerang was errand boy justnow, useful man about the hotel or one of the saloons when necessitydrove, at other times just plain bum. He was suspected of having been asoldier. A sharp "'tention" would startle him into a second's uprightstiffness which after a furtive look around would relax into hiscustomary shambling lack of backbone. He had one other amusingpeculiarity: let a gun be discharged in his vicinity and there wastrouble right away, trouble the gunner was not looking for; Boomerangwould fly into such a fury of fighting rage, it was a town wonder thatsome indignant citizen had not sent him long ago where he never couldcome back.

  Coming to the bridge he looked casually and from habit along the trailand espied a horseman riding his way. He studied him reflectively a fewseconds and then spat vigorously at something moving on one of thebridge planks, much as the practised gun-man snaps without appearing toaim. "Stranger," he affirmed; "Cow-punch," he added; "Old man," heshrewdly surmised, and shook his head; "Dunno 'im" and he glanced at thestain on the plank to see what he had bagged. Among his other pleasinghuman habits "Boom" used tobacco--as a masticant--there was the evidenceof the fact. But he had missed and after a wistful look for somethingto inspire him to a more successful effort, he shuffled on.

  The horseman came at a steady gait, his horse, a likely-looking bay withblack spots, getting over the ground considerably faster than thecow-ponies common to the locality; approaching the bridge he was slowedto a walk while his rider took in the town with comprehensive glance. Atall man, lean and grizzled, with the far-seeing, almost vacant eye ofthe plainsman, there was nothing, to any one but such a student ofhumanity as "Boom," to indicate his calling, much less his position init. The felt hat, soft shirt and rough, heavy suit, the trousers pushedinto the tops of his boots, were such as a man in the town might wearand many did wear. He forded the stream near the bridge at a walk. PopSnow, better known as Dirty, cleverly balancing himself within an inchof safety in front of the "I-Call" saloon, greeted him affably: "Come along way, stranger?" asked Dirty.

  "From Wayback," announced the other and paused in interested suspense.Dirty had become seized with some internal convulsion, which momentarilythreatened disaster to his balance. His feet swung back and forth inspasmodic jerks, the while his sinful old carcass shook like a man withthe Chagres fever. Finally a strangled wheeze burst from his throat andexplained the crinkle about his eyes: he was laughing.

  "Wayback ain't fur," he declared, licking his lips in anticipation ofthe kernel of his joke about to come. "You can a'most see it frum herethrough the bottom uv--"

  "How d' you know it ain't?" the horseman abruptly interrupted.

  Dirty was hurt. This was not according to Hoyle. Two more words and noself-respecting "gent" could refuse to look toward Wayback through aglass--and certainly not alone. The weather was already too cold to sitfishing for such fish as this; and here was one who had swallowed thebait, rejecting the hook.

  "Why, stranger, I been there," explained Dirty, in aggrievedremonstrance.

  "How long since you been there? Not since two-at-once, was you? Didn'tit used to be at Drigg's Worry? Didn't it?"

  Snow lost his balance. He nodded in open-mouthed silence.

  "Course it was--at Drigg's Worry--and now it's way back," and with agrim chuckle the stranger pressed in his knees and loped on down thetrail to the Sweet-Echo Hotel.

  Dirty stared after him. "Who in hell's that?" he asked himself inprofane astonishment. "It 's never Black Jack--too old; an' it ain'tLucky Jones--too young. He sure said 'two-at-once.' Two-at-once: Iain't heard that in more 'n twenty years." His air-dried throatcompelled inward attention and he got up from his box and turned andlooked at it. "Used to be at Drigg's Worry, did n't it?" he mimicked."Did n't it? An' now it's way back." He kicked the box viciouslyagainst the tavern wall. "D--n yer! This yer blasted town 's gettin'too smart," and he proceeded to make the only change of base he everundertook during the day, by stamping across the bridge to the"Why-Not."

  The door of the I-Call opened and a man appeared. He glanced aroundcarelessly until he noticed the box, which he viewed with an appearanceof lively interest, coming outside and walking around it at a respectfuldistance. "Huh!" he grunted. Having satisfied himself of its conditionhe drawlingly announced it for the benefit of those inside. "Dirty 'sbusted his chair," he informed, and turned to look curiously after PopSnow, who was at that moment slamming the door of the Why-Not behindhim.

  Through the open door three other men came out. They all looked at thebox. One of them stopped and turned it over with his thumb. "Kickedit," he said, and they all looked across at the Why-Not, considering. Aroar from behind them smote upon their ears like a mine blast: "Shutthat door!" With one accord they turned and trooped back again.

  The rider meanwhile was talking to his horse as he covered the shortdistance to the Sweet-Echo Hotel. "Wonderful climate, Allday. If twentyyears don't wear you down no more 'n old Snow you 'll shore be a grandhorse t' own," and he playfully banged him alongside the neck with hisstirrup. Allday limited his resentment to a flattening of the ears andthe rider shook his head sorrowfully. "Yo 're one good li'l hoss butyore patience 'd discourage a saint." He swung off the trail to ridearound the building in search of a shelter of some kind, catching sightof Boomerang just disappearing through the door of the bar-room. "Thingshas been a-movin' 'round Twin River since Frenchy an' me went afterSlippery an' his gang: bridges, reg'lar hotels, an' tramps. An' obligeme by squintin' at th' stable. If Cowan 'd wake up an' find that at th'back door, he 'd fall dead."

  He dismounted and led his horse through the stable door, stopping incontemplation of the interior. He was plainly surprised. "One, two,three, four," he counted, "twenty stalls--twenty tie-'em-by-th'-headstalls--no, there 's a rope behind 'em. Well, I 'm d--d! He ain'tmeanin' to build again in fifty years; no, not never!"

  Allday went willingly enough into one of the stalls--they were nothingnew to him--and fell to eating with no loss of time. Buck watched himfor a few moments and then, throwing saddle and bridle onto hisshoulder, he walked back the way he had come and into the hotel bar. Noone noticed him as he entered, all, even the bartender, being deeplyintent on watching a game of cards. Buck grunted, dropped hisbelongings in a corner, and paused to examine the group. A grand colliedog, lying near the stove in the middle of the room, got up, came andsniffed at him, and went back and lay down again.

  The game was going on at a table close to the bar, over which thebartender leaned, standing on some elevation to enable him to drawcloser. Only two men were playing. The one facing Buck was a big man,in the forties, his brown hair and beard thickly sprinkled with gray;brown eyes, red-rimmed from dissipation, set wide apart from a big, boldnose, stared down at the cards squeezed in a big hand. The other manwas of slight build, with black hair, and the motions of his hands,which Buck had caught as he entered, were those of a gambler: accurate,assured, easy with a smooth swiftness that baffled the eye. He wasdressed like a
cowpunch; he looked like a cow-punch--all but the hands;these, browned as they were, and dirty, exhibited a suppleness that hadnever been injured by hard work. Buck walked up to the bar and a softoath escaped him as he caught sight of the thin, brown face, thestraight nose, the out-standing ears, the keen black eyes--Buck's glanceleaped around the circle of on-lookers in the effort to discover howmany of the gambler's friends were with him. He was satisfied that theman was playing a lone hand. There was a tenseness in the air whichBuck knew well, but from across the hall came a most incongruous sound."Piano, by G--d!" breathed Buck in amazement. The intentness on thegame of those in the room explained why he had seen no one about theplace and he was at a loss to account for the indifference of themusician.

  At the big man's left, standing in the corner between the bar and thewall, was a woman. Her blonde hair and blue eyes set off a face withsome pretensions to beauty, and in point of size she was a fitting matefor the big man at whom she stared with lowering gaze. Close to herstood the hobo, and Buck rightly concluded he was a privilegedcharacter. Surrounding the table were several men quite evidentlypunchers, two or three who might be miners, and an unmistakabletravelling salesman of that race whose business acumen brings them tothe top though they start at the bottom. Buck had gauged them all inthat one glance. Afterward he watched the gambler's hands and a puzzledexpression gradually appeared on his face; he frowned and moveduneasily. Was the man playing fair or were his eyes getting old?Suddenly the frown disappeared and he breathed a sigh of relief: themotion itself had been invisible but Buck had caught the well-rememberedpreliminary flourish; thereafter he studied the faces of the others; thegame had lost interest, even the low voices of the players fell on deafears. His interest quickened as the big man stood up.

  "I 'm done," he declared. "That lets me out, Dave. You 've got th'pile. After to-night I 'll have to pound leather for forty a month andmy keep." He turned to the woman, while an air of relief appeared amongthe others at his game acceptance of the loss. "Go on home, Nell. Iwon't be up yet a while."

  "You won't be up at all," was the level-voiced reply.

  "Eh?" he exclaimed, in surprised questioning.

  She pushed past him and walked to the door. "You won't be up at all,"she repeated, facing him. "You 've lost your pile and sent mine afterit in a game you don't play any better than a four-year-old. I warnedyou not to play. Now you take the consequences." The door slammedafter her. "Boom" silently opened the door into the hall and vanished.

  The big man looked around, dazed. No one met his eye. Dave was slidingthe cards noiselessly through his fingers and the rest appearedfascinated by the motion. The big man turned to the bartender.

  "Slick, gimme a bottle," he demanded. Slick complied without a word andhe bore it in his hand to the table behind the door, where he satdrinking alone, staring out morosely at the gathering darkness.

  Buck dropped into the vacated chair and laid his roll on the table."The time to set in at a two-hand game of draw," he remarked with easygood nature, "is when th' other feller is feelin' all flushed up withwinnin'. If you like to add my pile to that load you got a'ready, I 'mon." He beamed pleasantly on the surrounding faces and a cynical smileplayed for a moment on the thin lips of the man facing him. "Sure," heagreed, and pushed the cards across the table.

  "Bar-keep, set 'em up," said Buck, flicking a bill behind him. Slickbecame busy at once and Buck, in a matter-of-fact manner, placed his gunon the table at his left hand and picked up the pack. "Yes," he went onwith vacuous cheerfulness, "the best man with a full deck I ever sawtold me that. We crossed trails down in Cheyenne. They was shore someterrors in that li'l town, but he was th' one original." He shook hishead in reminiscent wonder, and raised his glass. "Here 's to a growin'pile, Bud," and nodding to the others, who responded with indistinctmurmurs, the drink was drained in the customary gulp. "One more,bar-keep, before we start her," he demanded. "I never drink when I 'ma-playin'." Here he leaned forward and raised his voice. "Friend, youover there by th' winder, yo 're not drinkin'."

  The big man slowly turned his head and looked at Buck with blood-shoteyes, then at the extra glass on his table. "Here 's better luck nermine, friend--not wishin' you no harm, Dave," and he added the drink tothe generous quantity he had already consumed. Buck waved his hand inacknowledgment, then he smiled again on his opponent.

  "Same game you was playin', Bud?" he asked, genially.

  "Suits me," was the laconic reply.

  Buck raised the second drink. "Here's to Tex Ewalt, th' man who showedme th' error of my ways." The tail of his eye was on Dave.

  The name of Tex must have shocked him like a bucket of ice water but hedid not betray it by so much as the flicker of an eyelid. Ewalt and hehad been friends in the Panhandle and both had escaped the fate ofTrendley and his crowd more by luck than merit. Buck knew Dave's historyin Texas, related by Ewalt himself, who had illustrated the tell-taleflourish with which Dave introduced a crooked play; but he did not knowthat Dave Owens was Black Jack, returned after years of wandering, tothe place of his nativity.[#]

  [#] The boy and girl history of David Jones (Black Jack) and his sister,Veia (called Jill) was well known to some of the old timers who went toMontana in the first gold rush and stayed there. It was difficult toget them to tell it and one was sorry to have heard it, if successful.

  Buck shuffled the cards slowly and then with a careful exaggeration ofthe flourish, dealt the hand in a swift shower of dropping units. Asigh of appreciation escaped the observant group and this time Buck gotresults: at sight of the exaggerated flourish an involuntary contractionof the muscles hardened the deceptively boyish form and face of theyounger man and the black eyes stared a challenging question at thesmiling gray ones opposite before dropping to the cards he hadunconsciously gathered up.

  Luck smiled on Buck from the start. He meant that it should. Always agood player, his acquaintance with Tex, who had taught him all he knewof crooked plays, had made him an apt pupil in the school in which hisslippery opponent was a master. With everything coming his way Buck wasquite comfortable. Sooner or later the other would force the fighting.Time enough to sit up and take notice when the flourishing danger signalappeared.

  It came at last. Dave leaned forward and spoke. "Cheyenne, how'djack-pots strike yer? I got ter hit th' trail before six an' it'spretty nigh time to feed."

  "Shore!" assented Buck, heartily.

  The pot grew in a manner scandalous to watch. "Double the ante," softlysuggested Dave.

  "Shore," agreed Buck, with genial alacrity.

  "Double her ag'in."

  "Double she is," was Buck's agreeable response.

  Pass after pass, and Slick stretched out over the bar and craned hisneck. At last, with a graceful flourish a good hand fell to Buck, asuspiciously good hand, while Dave's thin lips were twisted into aone-sided smile. Buck looked at him reproachfully.

  "Bud, you should oughter o' knowed better 'n that. I got six cards."

  The smile faded from Dave's face and he stared at the cards like a manwho sees ghosts. The stare rose slowly to Buck's face, but no one couldpossibly suspect such grieved reproach to be mere duplicity. It was tooridiculous--only Dave knew quite well that he had not dealt six cards."Funny," he said. "Funny how a man 'll make mistakes."

  "I forgive you this once, but don't do it no more," and Buck shuffledthe cards, executed a particularly outrageous flourish, and dealt.

  "Ha! Ha!" barked Bow-Wow Baker. "D--n if they ain't both makin' th'same sign. Must belong to th' same lodge."

  Chesty Sutton dug him in the ribs with an elbow. "Shut up!" he hissed,never taking his eyes from the game.

  Dave passed and Buck opened. Dave drew three cards to two high ones.Buck stood pat. Dave scanned his hand; whatever suspicion he might havehad, vanished: he had never seen the man who could deal him a straightin that fashion. He backed his hand steadily until Buck's assurance andhis own depleted cash made him pause, and he
called. Buck solemnly laiddown four aces. Four!--and Dave would have taken his oath the diamondace had been on the bottom of the deck before the deal--and Buck had notdrawn cards.

  "They 're good," said Dave shortly, dropping his hand into the discard."If you 're goin' to stay around here, Cheyenne, I 'll get revengeto-morrer." He started to rise.

  "Nope, I guess not, Bud. I never play yore kind of a game with th' sameman twice."

  Dave froze in his position. "Meanin'?" he asked, coldly.

  "I don't like th' way you deal," was the frank answer.

  "D--n you!" cursed Dave. His hand flew to his gun--and stopped. Overthe edge of the table a forty-five was threatening with steady mouth.

  "Don't do it, Bud," warned Buck.

  Dave's hand slowly moved forward. "A two-gun man, eh?" he sneered.

  "Shore. Never bet on th' gun on th' table, Bud. You got a lot to learn.Hit her up or you 'll be late--an' down where I came from it's unhealthyto look through a winder without first makin' a noise."

  "Yore argument is good. But I reckon it 'd be a good bet as how you 'lllearn somethin' in Twin River you ain't never learned nowhere else."Dave sauntered carelessly to the front door.

  "You ain't never too old to learn," agreed Buck, sententiously. Thefront door closed quietly after Dave and half a minute later his pony'shoofs were heard pounding along the trail that led toward Big Moose.

  "Cheyenne, put her there! I like yore style!" Chesty Sutton, latepuncher for the Circle X, shoved his hand under Buck's nose withunmistakable friendliness. "_I_ like th' way _you_ play, all right."

  "Me, too," chimed in Bow-Wow. "Dave Owens has got th' lickin' of hislife. An' between you an' I, Cheyenne, I ain't never seed Dave getlicked afore--not reg'lar."

  The chorus of congratulations that followed was so sincere that Buck'sheart warmed toward the company. Chesty secured attention by pointinghis finger at Buck and wagging it impressively. "But you hear me,Cheyenne," he warned. "Dave ain't no quitter. He 's got it agin' youan' he 's h--l on th' shoot. I ain't never heerd of his killin' nobodybut he 's right handy spoilin' yore aim. Ain't he, Bow-Wow?"

  "Look a-here. How often have I told you? You sez so. He is. Don'tallus leave it to me." Bow-Wow's tone was indignant as he rubbed hisright arm reflectively.

  "Gentlemen, I 'm not sayin' a word against anybody, not one word," andSlick glanced from man to man, shaking his head to emphasize his perfectbelief in the high standard of morality prevalent in Twin River. "But Ibegs leave to remark that _I_ like Cheyenne's game--which it is th'first time in my brief but eventful career that I seen five dealt cardsturn into six. You all seen it. It sure happened. Mr. Cheyenne, youhave my joyous admiration. Let's celebrate. An' in th' meantime, mightI inquire, without offence, if Cheyenne has a habit of complainin' oftoo many cards?"

  They had lined up before the bar and all glasses were filled before Buckanswered. Slick stood directly before him and every face, showingnothing beyond polite interest, was turned his way. But Buck well knewthat on his reply depended his position in the community and the gravityof the occasion was in his voice when he spoke.

  "Gentlemen, Mr. Slick has called. There's two ways of playin'. When Iplays with any gentleman here, I plays one way. Dave Owens played th'other way. I played his game."

  He glanced at the silent figure by the window, set down his glass, andstarted to cross the room. Chesty Sutton put out his hand and stoppedhim. "I would n't worry him none, Cheyenne. Ned Monroe 's th' bestboss I ever worked for but hard luck has been pilin' up on him higher 'nth' Rockies since he lost his ranch. Better let him fight it out alone,friend."

  Lost his ranch--Ned Monroe--Buck's intention was doubly strengthened."Leave it to me," was his confident assurance, and he strode across theroom and around the table in front of the window. The sombre eyes ofthe big man were forced to take notice of him.

  "Friend, it's on th' house. Mr. Slick is a right pleasant man, an' he's waitin'." A rapid glance at the bottle told him that Monroe, in hiscomplete oblivion, had forgotten it. Ned eyed him with a puzzled frownwhile the words slowly illumined his clouded mind. At length he turnedslowly, sensed the situation, and rose heavily to his feet. "Sure," wasthe simple reply.

  At the bar significant looks were exchanged. "I 'm beginnin' to _like_Cheyenne," declared Slick, thoughtfully, rubbing the palm of his lefthand against the bar; "which his persuadin' language is fascinatin' tosee."

  "It sure is," Chesty Sutton endorsed promptly, while the others abouthim nodded their heads in silent assent.

  "Well, gentlemen," said Slick, "here 's to th' continued good health ofMr. Cheyenne." Down the line ran the salutation and Buck laughed as hereplaced his empty glass.

  "I shore hope you-all ain't tryin' to scare me none," he insinuated;"because I 'm aimin' to stop up here an'--who in h--l's poundin' thatpie-anner?" he broke off, turning to glare in the direction of themelancholy sound.

  "Ha! Ha!" barked in his ear, and Buck wheeled as if he had been kicked."That's Sandy," explained Bow-Wow Baker. "He thinks he 's some player.An' he is. There ain't nothin' like it between here an' Salt Lake."

  "Oh, yes; there is," contradicted Buck. "You an' him 's a good team. Ibet if you was in th' same room you 'd set up on yore hind laigs an'howl." Bow-Wow drew back, abashed.

  "Set 'em up, Mr. Slick," chuckled the salesman.

  "Don't notice him, Cheyenne," advised Chesty in a disgusted aside. "Hedon't mean nothin' by it. It's just a habit. It's got so I 'm allusexpectin' him to raise his foot an' scratch for fleas," and he witheredthe crestfallen Bow-Wow with a look of scorn.

  "You was sayin' as how you was aimin' to stop here," suggested NedMonroe, his interest awakened at thought of a rising star so oftenfollowing the fall of his own.

  "Yes," acknowledged Buck. "If I find--"

  Crash! Ding-dong! Ding-dong! The noise of the bell was deafening.Buck set down his glass with extreme care and looked at Slick with anair of helpless wonder, but Bow-Bow was ready with the explanation."Grub-pile!" he shouted, making for the side door, grasping hold ofChesty's hand as he went out and dragging that exasperated puncher afterhim by strength of muscle and purpose. "Come on, Cheyenne! No'angel-in-th'-pot,' but a good, square meal, all right."

  Chesty Sutton cast behind him at Buck a glance of miserable apology,seized the door-frame in passing, and delivered to Bow-Wow a well-placedand energetic kick. Relieved of the drag of Chesty's protesting weightand with the added impetus of the impact of Chesty's foot, Bow-Wow shotacross the wide hall, struggling frantically to regain his equilibrium,and passed through the door of the dining-room like a quarter-horse withthe blind staggers. The bell-ringing ended in a crash of brokencrockery, succeeded by a fearful uproar of struggling and profanity.

  The collie bounded to his feet, his hair bristling along his spine, andrushed at the door with a low growl. Ned caught him by the collar andheld him. "Down, Bruce, down!" he commanded, and the dog subsided intomenacing growls.

  Chesty, at the door, snorted in derision. "D--n fool!" he informedthose behind him. "He 's tryin' to climb th' table. Hey, Ned; let th'other dog loose," he suggested, hopefully.

  By the time the highly entertained group had gathered about thedining-room door, the oaths and imprecations had resolved themselvesinto a steady railing. Bow-Wow sat sprawled in a chair, gazing in awedsilence along the path of wreckage wrought by the flying bell; oppositehim, waving a pair of pugnacious fists in close proximity to Bow-Wow'sface, stood Sandy McQueen, proprietor of the Sweet-Echo. It appearedthat he was angry and the spectators waited with absorbed expectancy onwhat would happen next.

  "Ye gilravagin' deevil!" he shouted, "canna ye see an inch afore yer ainnase? Gin ye hae nae better manners na a gyte bull, gang oot to grasslike thae ither cattle. Lord preserv's," he prayed, following thestrained intensity of Bow-Wow's gaze, "look at the cheeny! A 'mruined!" He started to gather up the broken crockery when the roar oflaughter, no longer to be restrained,
assailed his outraged ears. Helooked sourly at his guests. "Ou, ay, ye maun lauch, but wha's to payfor the cheeny? Ou, ay! A ken weel eneuch!"

  The hilarious company pushed into the dining-room and began to help himin his task, casting many jocose reproaches on the overburdened Bow-Wow.Slick returned to the bar-room to clean off the bar before eating, andBuck went after him. "Hey, what have I struck?" he asked, with muchcuriosity. "He sounds worse 'n a circus."

  "He 's mad," explained Slick. "Nobody on God's green earth canunderstand him when he 's mad. Which a circus is music alongside o'him. When he 's ca'm, he talks purty good American."

  "You shore relieves my mind. What is he--Roosian?"

  "Claims to be Scotch. But I dunno--a Scotchman 's a sort of Englishman,ain't he?"

  "That was allus my opinion," agreed Buck.

  "Well--I dunno," and Slick shook his head doubtfully as he hung thetowel onto a handy hook and stooped to come under the bar. "Soundsfunny to me, all right. 'Tain't English; not by a h--l of a sight."

  "Sounds funny to me," echoed Buck. "I 'm _shore_ it ain't English.But, say, Slick; gimme a room. I 'm stoppin' here an' I 'd like to dropmy things where I can find 'em."

  "Right," said Slick, and he led the way into the hall and toward abedroom at the rear. Chesty Sutton stood in the doorway of thedining-room. "Better git in on th' jump, Cheyenne," he advised,anxiously. "Bow-Wow 's that savage, he's boltin' his grub in chunks an'there ain't goin' to be a whole lot left for stragglers."

  "Muzzle him," replied Buck, over his saddle-weighted shoulder, whileSlick only grinned, "If I goes hungry, I eats Bow-Wow. Dog ain't sobad." Chesty chuckled and returned to the sulky Bow-Wow with thewarning.

  Despite Chesty's fears, there was plenty to eat and to spare. Littletalking was done, as every one was hungry, with the possible exceptionof Ned, and even he would have passed for a hungry man. Sandy McQueenand the cook officiated and the race was so nearly a dead heat that thefirst to finish was hardly across the hall before the last pushed hischair back from the table.

  An immediate adjournment to the bar-room was the customary withdrawal,and Buck, doing as the others, found Ned in his former seat beside atable. Buck joined him and showed such an evident desire for privacythat the others forbore to intrude.

  "Ned," said Buck, leaning towards him across the table, "it ain't noneof my business, an' it ain't as I 'm just curious, but was thatstraight, what you said about bein' broke?"

  "That's straight," Ned assured him, gloomily.

  "An' lookin' for a job?" asked Buck, quietly.

  "You bet," was the emphatic reply.

  "Chesty said as how he used to work for you. Was you foreman?"

  "I was foreman an' boss of the NM ranch till them blood-suckers backEast druv me off 'n it--d--n 'em."

  "Boss, was you? Then I reckon you wouldn't refuse a job as foreman,would you?"

  Ned's interest became practical. "Where 's yore ranch?" he asked, withsome show of eagerness.

  "Why, I was aimin' to stop 'round here some'rs."

  "H--l! There ain't a foot o' ground within eighty mile o' where yo 'resittin' as ain't grazed a heap over, less 'n it's some nester hangin' onby his fingers an' toes--an' blamed few o' them, neither. Leastaways,none but th' NM an' Schatz's range, which they says belongs to th' oldDouble Y, both of 'em."

  "What's keepin' them free?"

  "'Bout a regiment o' deputies, I reckon." He smiled grimly. "It'scostin' 'em somethin' to keep th' range free o' cattle. Mebby you couldlease it. That McAllister feller ain't never goin' to get a man to runit for long. Some o' th' boys is feelin' mighty sore an' Schatz is atough nut. It's goin' to be a mighty big job, when he starts, an'that's certain."

  "I 'd like to see it. We 'll go t'morrow."

  Buck's careless defiance of the situation pleased Ned. With the firstevidence of good humor he had shown he hit Buck a resounding slap on theback. "That's you," was his admiring comment.

  The door opened to admit the short, broad figure of a man who, after aglance around the room, made his bow-legged way to their table. Histone betrayed some anxiety as he asked: "Ned, haf you seen mein Fritz?"

  "Nope," answered Ned, "I have n't, Dutch. Hey, boys!" he called,"Anybody seen Pickles?"

  A chorus of denials arose and Chesty sauntered over to get details."W'y, you durned ol' Dutch Onion, you ain't gone an' lost him again,have you?"

  "Ach! Dot leetle _Kobold_! Alvays ven I looks, like a flea he isssomeveres else."

  "How 'd you lose him?" demanded Chesty.

  Dutch stole a look askance at Ned and turned on Chesty a reproachfulface. He laid a glove on the edge of the table. "Dot's Fritz. I turn'round, like dot," suiting action to word, in a complete turn, his righthand reaching out, taking up the glove and whirling it behind his backas he faced the table again. He looked at the empty spot with vastsurprise, in delicious pantomime.

  The glove, meanwhile, had fallen against the nose of Bruce, who sniffedat it and then picked it up and carried it to Slick behind the bar,returning to his resting place with the air of a duty accomplished.

  Dutch continued to stare at the table for several seconds. Then heglanced around and called: "Fritz! Fritz! _Komm' zu mir_--und Fritz issgone," he finished, turning to those at the table an expression ofcomical bewilderment. He took a couple of steps in the direction wherehe supposed the glove to be. Bruce was just lying down. Dutch lookedmore carefully, stooping to see along the floor. A light broke in onhim. He straightened up and excitedly declared: "Yoost like dot! Yoostlike der glove iss Fritz: I know ver he iss bud I can't see him."

  "Dutch, come here." Ned's voice was stern and Dutch approached withhanging countenance. "Where was you when you 'turn 'round like dot'?"asked Ned.

  "Only a minute, Ned; yoost a minute!"

  "Where?"

  "In Ike's I vas; yoost a minute."

  "Ain't I told you to keep out o' there?"

  Dutch moved his feet, licked his lips, and cleared his throat; wordsseemed to fail him.

  While he hesitated the door opened again, something more than sixinches, and Boomerang squeezed through. He shuffled up to Dutch andtouched him on the shoulder. "Hey, Dutch, I been chasin' you all over.Pickles went home wit' Little Nell, see? An' she sent me ter tell you."

  "Vat! mit dot--" he broke off and turned to Ned. "I begs your pardon,but Fritz, he iss leetle--he learn quick. Right avay I go." He was atthe door when Slick hailed him.

  "Hey, Dutchy, this yourn?" The other caught the tossed glove, andnodded.

  "Yah, first der glove, soon iss Fritz," and the door closed behind him.

  "Good as a circus," laughingly declared Buck. "About pay now--how wouldeighty a month hit you, for a starter?"

  "Fine," declared Ned.

  "Then here she is, first month," and Buck handed it over. "Will that beenough to square up what you owe?" he added.

  "W'y, I don't owe nothin'," declared Ned.

  "Well--now--I was just a-thinkin' 'bout th' lady as seemed right vexedwhen you dropped yore roll to Dave." He looked casually at Slick,behind the bar, while he was saying it.

  "Little Nell? I don't owe her nothin', neither. It was my pile,--allof it."

  Buck heaved a sigh of relief. "I 'm right glad to hear it. Then you'll be all ready to hit th' trail with me in th' mornin'?" he asked.

  "Shore; but s'pos'n you can't get th' ranch?" suggested Ned.

  "I 'll get it. An' when I get it I 'll run it, too, less'n they load mewith lead too heavy to sit a horse--then you 'll run it." His smile wasinfectious.

  "Cheyenne, I like yore style. Put 'er there," and he shoved a huge,hairy fist at Buck. "'Nother thing," he went on, "Chesty an' Bow-Wowwas a-goin' over to th' Bitter Root. I 'll tell 'em to hang 'round fora spell. Them 's two good boys. So 's Dutchy--when he ain't a-runnin'after Pickles."

  "All right; you talk to 'em. See you in th' mornin'," and with ageneral good-night, Buck went to his room.

  Chesty
and Bow-Wow joined Ned to have a "night cap" and say good-bye,intending to start early next morning. "No, boys, I 've had enough,"said Ned. "I 've took a job with Cheyenne, an' you boys better hang'round. Find Dutch in th' mornin' an' tell him. An' I 'm a-goin' toturn in, too. I 'm cussed sleepy." The other two sat staring acrossthe table at one another. The news seemed too good to be true.

  "Ha! Ha!" barked Bow-Wow, "I never did like them d--n Bitters, notnohow."

  Chesty nodded his head. "Me, too," he agreed. "Son, there 's a big timedue in these parts: I feel it in my bones."

  Seized with a common impulse they sprang to their feet and began awar-dance around the stove, chanting some Indian gibberish that was aseries of grunts, snarls, and yells. Their profane demands forinformation meeting with no response, the others one by one joined them,until a howling, bobbing ring of men circled the stove, and, growlingand barking at their heels, the dog danced with them. Slick looked onwith an indulgent grin and the row did not cease until Sandy stuck hishead in at the hall door. "Deil tak' ye!" he shouted. "Canna ye let abody sleep?"

  A minute later the room had settled down into its customary decorum andBruce, with a wary look about, now and then, was preparing to resume hisrudely interrupted doze.