30,000 On the Hoof

by Grey, Zane

  "Here--I am," Lucinda replied, in a voice from which it seemed all life had drained.

  Logan felt his way to the next stall. It had been used to store hay, of which only a lower layer was left. He called again huskily.

  "Here," she replied, almost under his feet.

  "Luce--girl!" he cried, falling on his knees to feel around for her.

  "What has happened?"

  "I wanted--to milk--before dark... But I never got to it... My time came... Your son, Abraham Lincoln, has just--been born... He was in a hurry to--come into this world."

  "Son! Abraham--oh, my God!... Luce, this is awful... What shall I do?"

  "Leave me here... Go for Mrs. Holbert."

  "Let me carry you up to the cabin."

  "It wouldn't be safe... You'd better go... And hurry!... The baby is alive."

  Logan struck a match with shaking hands. The light flared up. He saw Lucinda lying on the hay, white as a corpse. Her face appeared small--shrunken--her eyes too large--somehow terrible. Tucked under her arm, half covered, lay a strange little mite with a mop of black hair.

  "Well!--Howdy there--Abe!" he said, in a strangled voice.

  But he did not look at his wife again. He extinguished the match with fingers which did not feel the burn.

  "Luce, I hate to leave you. But I'm helpless... If only I----"

  "Go, Logan. Don't waste time."

  Huett left her with a husky utterance, and running clumsily in the dark to the corral, saddled and bridled Buck with hands that shook in spite of his intense efforts to control them. Mounting, he was off up the hill. He found that Buck was not a racer, but was strong and tireless and could lope indefinitely. Except on the grades where Logan was forced to walk or trot, the homesteader kept his horse in open gait.

  The hard action gradually steadied Logan, but he could not remember having known such agitation before. However, his practical habit of thinking out obstacles soon enabled him to apply all his faculties towards the ride through the forest. Where the pines grew dense it was darker and the road was full of pits and roots; but in the open stretches Logan made better time. Vigilant and intense in his concentration over the lay of the land, Logan hardly realized the passing of time. At last he swung out of the deep wood and into the open where the south end of Mormon Lake gleamed under the stars. In less than half an hour he hauled Buck up in front of Holbert's ranch.

  The rancher and his womenfolk were astounded at Logan's onslaught upon their door; particularly his panting relief at finding them at home, and his frantic appeal for help.

  "Hitch up pronto, John," said the older woman calmly. "Mary, you come help me get ready... Don't worry, Huett. It'll be all right. There was once a great and good man born in a manger."

  Logan unsaddled Buck and turned him into the pasture. Then he ran to the barn, where Holbert was readying the wagon by the light of a lantern.

  "Won't take a jiffy," announced the rancher. "Bill went after the hosses.

  I had them in to water no more than hour ago... It's a downhill pull. You can drive it in three hours. My wife is an old hand at birthday parties.

  Don't be upset, Huett. This is kinda common in the lives of settlers."

  Logan had a fleeting idea that he lacked something theses pioneers like Holbert possessed, but their assurance and kindliness heartened him in this extremity. For the first time he echoed Lucinda's wish that they might have had near neighbours. Presently Holbert drove the buck-board up to the cabin, Logan following with the son-in-law, Bill, who was solicitous and helpful. When they arrived at the cabin, the women were emerging.

  "We'll take the lantern," Mrs. Holbert was saying. "But put it out. Give Huett some matches. Put some blankets under the seat... Mary, have I forgotten anything?"

  "I reckon not, maw."

  They climbed into the back seat. Holbert gave the reins over to Logan and jumped down. "Easy team to drive, Huett. Hold them to a fast trot, except on the grades... Good hick!"

  "I'm much obliged, Holbert," said Logan, gratefully. He drove out and turned south on the main road. A half moon had risen over the black forest and gleamed softly on the lake. That would be a help, he thought.

  The women wrapped blankets around their knees and lapsed into a silence welcome to Logan. He attended to the road, forcing into abeyance his acute anxiety, while his sense of dragging time eased away under the influence of swift movement. Holbert had spoken modestly of this team: they trotted on tirelessly, rolling the light buckboard; the lake passed, the moon soared, and the sections of black forest gradually grew longer as the miles went by.

  Before Logan thought such a thing possible he reached Long. Valley, and was soon clattering down into moonlit Sycamore Canyon.

  Halting at the corrals, he leaped out to dash towards the cow-stalls. He could dimly see Lucinda lying on the hay. The moment was exceedingly poignant. His voice almost failed him, but she heard and answered.

  "Aw!" he exclaimed, fervently. "They're here, Luce." And he ran back to the buckboard. "She's alive, Mrs. Holbert!" he cried, boyishly. "She spoke!"

  "Shore she's alive. What was you thinkin', man? Light the lantern an' hand out thet bundle."

  Logan heard the cheery pioneer woman talking solicitously to Lucinda. He halted the team near the corral fence to pace the moonlit path. After an endless interval the younger woman sought him.

  "Maw says to tell you it's a strappin' boy an' favours you," she said.

  "Both doin' fine. In the mawnin' they can be moved to the house. We'll stay heah with them... An' you can go to bed."

  Logan mumbled his profound gratitude to her and to something more of which he was only vaguely conscious. He unhitched the horses and turned them loose to graze. Then he went up to the cabin and sat down outside the open door, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. The silent canyon with its silver winding ribbon seemed to rebuke him.

  "Reckon there was something I didn't figure on," he soliloquized, grimly.

  "And that's been Luce's part in this lousy cattle-range deal of mine. My idee of a husky mate and some strappin' sons!... I reckon now I sure see the cost to a woman."

  Logan worked in the fields. Before August was out Lucinda was helping him with the harvest. The rain and heat for summer season held to normal;

  Logan raised no bumper crop, but he was satisfied with a yield that looked great compared with the failure of the years before. He sacked more potatoes than he would be able to haul to town in one load. The corn did not mature well, but there would be enough to take care of the young stock he wanted to keep enclosed during the winter. By mid-September the harvesting was finished. Then Logan was eager to make his fall trip to Flagg. Upon his return October would be well advanced--the one season he had any leisure to roam the woods with his gun.

  Lucinda kept to her vow regarding the next trip to Flagg. She went, despite the heavy load, and carried the baby on her lap, letting George hang on as best he could. They camped the first night at Turkey Flat, and late the next afternoon made Mormon Lake, where the Holberts welcomed them.

  "Abe Lincoln Huett, huh?" ejaculated the rancher, as the baby was placed on his knee. "Wal, if he ain't a kid! Got your eyes, Huett, only a little darker."

  Logan slept under the wagon with Coyote. At breakfast the following morning Holbert asked more questions about Sycamore Canyon.

  "Thet's a good place, if you ever get started," he said, thoughtfully.

  "My herd is growin' fast. I'm drivin' a hundred head to the railroad next month. Don't forget to find out the latest price."

  "I won't. Holbert, I'm wondering if you could spare me some stock this fall and let me pay you when I do get started."

  "Shore glad to oblige you, Huett... Have you proved up on your homestead yet?"

  "Not till next year."

  "Wal, I'd make application for a patent to the land. Government's awful slow. When the land's yours, wal, it's different. You'll own your homestead allotment an' have right of way over a big range. But in case yo
u cain't make it go down there, I'd advise your locatin' over here north of me. There's a fine range thet some feller will locate sooner or later. An' he might not be a good neighbour. We got to expect rustlin' in this wild country."

  "Rustling! You mean cattle-thieves?"

  "Shore do. Wait till more settlers drift in an' we all raise enough stock. Then we'll ketch it hot, I'll bet."

  "Last thing I'd ever thought of," replied Huett, sombrely.

  Soon he was driving on, with Lucinda beside him, more animated than she had been for months. Logan decided that in the future, when he went to town, it would be the right thing to do to take his wife along.

  "Wife, we'll stay a couple of days," said Logan, upon their arrival at Flagg. "I haven't any money. But I'll trade in this load of potatoes and arrange for credit this time."

  "Logan, are we forced to go in debt?" asked Lucinda.

  "I reckon so. But not much."

  "A little is too much... I'll lend you a hundred dollars."

  "Luce!--Say, have you got that much money?--Well, you just spend it on yourself and the children."

  Babbitt's gave Logan a dollar a bushel for his potatoes and claimed they were the finest ever brought into that store. This pleased Logan and made him thoughtful, although he did not deviate in his ambition to be a cattleman, not a farmer. Nevertheless, he saw clearly the value of good crops while his herd was growing. Logan purchased food supplies, seed, tools, and clothes and boots for himself, of which necessities he was sadly in need. He renewed old acquaintances and made new ones. Flagg, a wide-open frontier town, had begun to grow rapidly, especially in undesirable citizens. Hard characters from New Mexico and Colorado had come to Arizona, and were drifting about looking for a place to lodge.

  Logan hardly saw his wife that day. They took supper at the blacksmith's, where Logan scarcely recognized the new, gayer Lucinda. Next morning he packed his supplies, leaving a space under the seat for Lucinda's purchases, but it developed that he had not left enough room for her numerous bundles. He had to tie many of them on the wagon-side; and about a few Lucinda was both particular and mysterious, refusing to allow him to handle them. Then she surprised him by announcing that if he was ready she would be glad to start for home.

  "I've had a wonderful time," she said gaily. "Everybody was nice--and crazy about the babies. I'm ready if you are. We mustn't waste money. And if I stay another hour I'll spend... Well, it's time to go home, Logan."

  Logan opined she had meant that she might spend money she did not have, as he had done. He had further cause to appreciate this wonderful wife.

  Logan had reason to rejoice for more than good credit in Flagg and at the prospect of an addition to his herd. Lucinda appeared to have changed, to have lost a sombreness that had come so gradually that Logan had scarcely perceived it. She was more like her old self. The ride into Sycamore Canyon after Logan had arranged with Holbert for the new stock was almost as thrilling for her, it appeared, as her first one had been. The golden rod and the purple asters had bloomed during their absence. The canyon was beginning to blaze with scarlet and gold and purple.

  "I'm glad to get back," Lucinda announced as if telling herself something new and exciting. "After all, it's home!"

  Three weeks later Holbert's sons drove in the score and more of lately purchased cows and heifers. All too soon, then, Logan's short fall season for hunting ended with deep snows up on the ridges. Again he was disappointed that he could not trap beaver. He must wait for an open winter. When he completed hanging up the winter supply of meat, he attacked the firewood job. This he made a long and hard one, goaded by the unforgettable fact that Lucinda had been forced to chop wood during her delicate condition while he lay helpless in bed from the cougar wounds.

  Day by day the snows crept down into the canyon, limiting Logan's activities to chores and the killing Or frightening away of the predatory beasts that preyed on his herd. The winter passed swiftly, giving way to an early spring and a warm summer. Lucinda persuaded Logan to wait until fall for the trip to town. Their third boy, whom Logan named Grant Huett, after General Grant, was born at Flagg in October. When they again returned to their ranch the snows were whitening the forest ridge-tops.

  Logan toiled early and late. He had a growing trio of youngsters now--the lusty boys he had prayed for--and prosperity still held aloof. The Government finally gave Logan patent for his homestead, and now the land was his as well as the rights of water, grass, and timber for all the canyon area. But Logan's draught of sweetness was rendered bitter by Holbert's demanding a mortgage on the property for the cattle he had advanced--the little herd which, instead of increasing in number towards the long-deferred fulfilment, had dwindled to a quarter. In spite of his dreams, Huett was a better farmer than a cattle-raiser. But he never faltered, never lost sight of his vision; and while he toiled, his giant frame bent over plough or furrow or axe, the months and years rolled on.

  Chapter EIGHT.

  One early fall afternoon Logan returned from down the canyon with a pale cast of countenance and fire in his grey eyes. He did not vouchsafe any explanation, and Lucinda thought she had better not question him.

  She knew something unusual had happened, but without betraying any curiosity, she managed to observe things that sent the slow, icy constriction to her veins. There was blood on Logan's hands and a bullet-hole in his shirt! He left almost at once, carrying his rifle, aid climbed the ridge into the woods instead of returning down the canyon. As she knew it was impossible to stop him, she felt a little less concern about his going that way rather than in the open.

  "Logan has been shot!" she reasoned, with a sudden sensation of faintness that she thrust off with an effort. An intuition dark and ominous quickly flashed over her..."That Apache!... Matazel!"

  She was as certain that it was the Indian as if she had witnessed the actual deed. Very probably Logan had not seen his assailant, but considering that he had no other enemy, would he not suspect Matazel?

  Lucinda spent uneasy, anxious hours until Logan returned, some time after dark.

  After this incident Lucinda observed that Logan carried his rifle with him whenever he went out, even if only to milk the cows. He grew silent, sombre, watchful and preoccupied. Lucinda did not intrude her great fear upon him. Despite it, she had great confidence in her husband. He had been a scout in the Apache round-up years before; he was a woodsman and a hunter; he had been forewarned against peril and he had answered it with extreme caution.

  The smoky, warm, languorous days passed. The leaves began to carpet the grass with gold and brown. Again the purple asters bloomed along the path to the brook. The wind moaned of the coming of winter. The sun sloped farther towards the south.

  Lucinda lived in constant dread. Always when Logan was absent she had expected another visit from Matazel; she imagined she had heard his stealthy moccasined step on the path. But now added to this was the fear that Logan might not come back from one of his hunting trips.

  "How is it you don't bring in any game?" she asked him.

  "Too early. Not cold enough. But soon," he replied, gruffly.

  He was indeed roaming the forest, canvassing the game trails, but he was not hunting any four-footed beast. One evening he returned with all his strain and tenseness gone. Lucinda saw drops of sweat on his dark brow.

  For once his appetite was poor. When she inquired anxiously if he were sick, he replied: "Kinda off my feed at that." But he smoked a pipe before the fire--something he had not indulged in a great deal formerly.

  Afterwards Logan was his old self, chopping wood with cheerful vigour, stamping in and out of the cabin, breaking his silence. Soon after that the snow whitened the ridges and he began to pack down game-meat for winter use. At last the drifting curtain of white trailed down into the canyon. Lucinda rejoiced, her fear somehow mysteriously abated. They were isolated now for months.

  With two growing youngsters and a baby, Lucinda had her hands full, irrespective of cooking and baking and
sewing. But when she did not think, she touched happiness again. What a difference the children made!

  George was getting big enough to teach. In fact, his father had already begun to interest the boy in guns, knives, tracks, and all pertaining to his wilderness home. Huett's sons would be hunters--Lucinda could not gainsay that, and at length she decided it was well. On her side, however, she made up her mind to give them a good education.

  Late the following spring Lucinda took her children as far as Holbert's with the intention of leaving them there while she accompanied Logan on into Flagg.

  Already Holbert had been south to Payson that spring, and he was full of news. Lucinda seldom gave heed to the conversation of the men, because it invariably had to do with range, cattle, grass, calves, and all pertaining to ranch life. At the very outset, however, Holbert sent a chill shock to her heart.

  "Huett, you knew thet Apache runaway, didn't you?" he queried.

  "Which one?" asked Logan, and Lucinda felt his wariness, if he did not show it to the others.

  "Thet one said to be old Geronimo's son. He used to hang around Payson.

  His name was Matazel."

  "Sure. I remember him. Helped round him up when I was scout for Crook... What about Matazel?"

  "Wal, some Tonto Basin deer-hunters found him daid last fall. Down below your canyon somewhere. He'd been caught behind a pine too small to cover him an' he'd been shot to pieces. Put up a fight, though, they said.

  Empty shells layin' all around his body!"

  "Well!... So that was the end of Matazel," ejaculated Huett.

  "Folks down Payson way was plumb glad. Thet Apache had a bad name. He'd escaped from the reservation several times. Shore hated white people."

  "Who'd he fight with?"

  "Nobody knows. But it was hinted thet the Horner boys might have an idee.

  Their sister fought off an Indian once, when she was alone at home. An' they had a hunch he was the Apache."

  "Good riddance, I'd say," replied Huett, forcibly.

  "Yes. Thar's varmints enough around without renegade Indians... How'd you come off with the lofers?"