The Rules of the Game

by Stewart Edward White

  XXIII

  By end of summer California John was fairly on his road. He enteredoffice at a time when the local public sentiment was almost unanimouslyagainst the system of Forest Reserves. The first thing he did was todischarge eight of the Plant rangers. These fell back on their rights,and California John, to his surprise, found that he could not thuscontrol his own men. He wagged his head in his first discouragement. Itwas necessary to recommend to Washington that these men be removed; andCalifornia John knew well by experience what happened to suchrecommendations. Nevertheless he sat him down to his typewriter, andwith one rigid forefinger, pecked out such a request. Having thusaccomplished his duty in the matter, but without hope of results, hewent about other things. Promptly within two weeks came the necessaryauthority. The eight ornamentals were removed.

  Somewhat encouraged, California John next undertook the sheep problem.That, under Plant, had been in the nature of a protected industry.California John and his delighted rangers plunged neck deep into a sheepwar. They found themselves with a man's job on their hands. Thesheepmen, by long immunity, had come to know the higher mountainsintimately, and could hide themselves from any but the mostconscientious search. When discovered, they submitted peacefully tobeing removed from the Reserve. At the boundaries the rangers' powerceased. The sheepmen simply waited outside the line. It was manifestlyimpossible to watch each separate flock all the time. As soon assurveillance was relaxed, over the line they slipped, again to fattenon prohibited feed until again discovered, and again removed. Therangers had no power of arrest; they could use only necessary force inejecting the trespassers. It was possible to sue in the United Statescourts, but the process was slow and unsatisfactory, and the damagesawarded the Government amounted to so little that the sheepmencheerfully paid them as a sort of grazing tax. The point was, that theygot the feed--either free or at a nominal cost--and the rangers werepowerless to stop them.

  Over this problem California John puzzled a long time.

  "We ain't doing any good playing hide and coop," he told Ross; "it'sjust using up our time. We got to get at it different. I wish thoseregulations was worded just the least mite different!"

  He produced the worn Blue Book and his own instructions and thumbed themover for the hundredth time.

  "'Employ only necessary force,'" he muttered; "'remove them beyond theconfines of the reserve.'" He bit savagely at his pipe. Suddenly histension relaxed and his wonted shrewdly humorous expression returned tohis brown and lean old face. "Ross," said he, "this is going to be plumbamusing. Do you guess we-all can track up with any sheep?"

  "Jim Hutchins's herders must have sneaked back over by Iron Mountain,"suggested Fletcher.

  "Jim Hutchins," mused California John; "where is he now? Know?"

  "I heard tell he was at Stockton."

  "Well, that's all right then. If Jim was around, he might start ashootin' row, and we don't want any of that."

  "Well, I don't know as I'm afraid of Jim Hutchins," said Ross Fletcher.

  "Neither am I, sonny," replied California John; "but this is agrand-stand play, and we got to bring her off without complications. Youget the boys organized. We start to-morrow."

  "What you got up your sleeve?" asked Ross.

  "Never you mind."

  "Who's going to have charge of the office?"

  "Nobody," stated California John positively; "we tackle one thing to atime."

  Next day the six rangers under command of their supervisor disappearedin the wilderness. When they reached the trackless country of thegranite and snow and the lost short-hair meadows, they began scouting.Sign of sheep they found in plenty, but no sheep. Signal smokes overdistant ranges rose straight up, and died; but never could they discoverwhere the fire had been burned. Sheepmen of the old type are the best ofmountaineers, and their skill has been so often tested that they are asfull of tricks as so many foxes. The fires they burned left no ash. Thesmokes they sent up warned all for two hundred miles.

  Nevertheless, by the end of three days young Tom Carroll and CharleyMorton trailed down a band of three thousand head. They came upon theflock grazing peacefully over blind hillsides in the torment ofsplintered granite. The herders grinned, as the rangers came in sight.They had been "tagged" in this "game of hide and coop." As a matter ofcourse they began to pack their camp on the two burros that grazed amongthe sheep; they ordered the dogs to round up the flock. For two weeksthey had grazed unmolested, and they were perfectly satisfied to pay theinconvenience of a day's journey over to the Inyo line.

  "'llo boys," said their leader, flashing his teeth at them. "'Wan startnow?"

  "These Jim Hutchins's sheep?" inquired Carroll.

  But at that question the Frenchman suddenly lost all his command of theEnglish language.

  "They're Hutchins's all right," said Charley, who had ridden out to lookat the brand painted black on the animals' flanks. "No go to-night," hetold the attentive herder. "Camp here."

  He threw off his saddle. Tom Carroll rode away to find California John.

  The two together, with Ross Fletcher, whom they had stumbled uponaccidentally, returned late the following afternoon. By sunrise nextmorning the flocks were under way for Inyo. The sheep strung out by thedogs went forward steadily like something molten; the sheepherdersplodded along staff in hand; the rangers brought up the rear, riding.Thus they went for the marching portions of two days. Then at noon theytopped the main crest at the broad Pass, and the sheer descents on theInyo side lay before them. From beneath them flowed the plains of Owen'sValley, so far down that the white roads showed like gossamer threads,the ranches like tiny squares of green. Eight thousand feet almoststraight down the precipice fell away. Across the valley rose the WhiteMountains and the Panamints, and beyond them dimly could be guessedDeath Valley and the sombre Funeral Ranges. To the north was a lake withislands swimming in it, and above it empty craters looking from abovelike photographs of the topography of the moon; and beyond it tier aftertier, as far as the eye could reach, the blue mountains of Nevada. Anarrow gorge, standing fairly on end, led down from the Pass. Withouthesitation, like a sluggishly moving, viscid brown fluid, the sheepflowed over the edge. The dogs, their flanking duties relieved by thewalls of dark basalt on either hand, fell to the rear with theirmasters. The mountain-bred horses dropped calmly down the rough andprecipitous trail.

  At the end of an hour the basalt gorge opened out to a wide steep slopeof talus on which grew in clumps the first sage brush of the desert.Here California John called a halt. The line of the Reserve, unmarked asyet save by landmarks and rare rough "monuments" of loose stones, laybut just beyond.

  "This is as far as we go," he told the chief herder.

  The Frenchman flashed his teeth, and bowed with some courtesy. "Aurevoi'," said he.

  "Hold on," repeated California John, "I said this is as far as we go.That means you, too; and your men."

  "But th' ship!" cried the chief herder.

  "My rangers will put them off the Reserve, according to regulation,"stated California John.

  The Frenchman stared at him.

  "W'at you do?" he gasped at last. "Where we go?"

  "I'm going to put you off the Reserve, too, but on the west side," saidCalifornia John. The old man's figure straightened in his saddle, andhis hand dropped to the worn and shiny butt of his weapon: "No; none ofthat! Take your hand off your gun! I got the right to use _necessary_force; and, by God, I'll do it!"

  The herder began a voluble discourse of mingled protestations andexposition. California John cut him short.

  "I know my instructions as well as you do," said he. "They tell me toput sheep and herders off the Reserve without using unnecessary force;but _there ain't nothing said about putting them off in the sameplace!_"

  Ross Fletcher rocked with joy in his saddle.

  "So that's what you had up your sleeve!" he fairly shouted. "Why, it'sas simple as a b'ar trap!"

  California John pointed his gnarled forefinger at the herder. />
  "Call your dogs!" he commanded sharply. "Call them in, and tie them! Thefirst dog loose in camp will be shot. If you care for your dogs, tiethem up. Now drop your gun on the ground. Tom, you take theirshootin'-irons." He produced from his saddle bags several new pairs ofhand-cuffs, which he surveyed with satisfaction, "This is business,"said he; "I bought these on my own hook. You bet I don't mean to have toshoot any of you fellows in the back; and I ain't going to sit up nightseither. Snap 'em on, Charley. Now, Ross, you and Tom run those sheepover the line, and then follow us up."

  As the full meaning of the situation broke on the Frenchman's mind, hewent frantic. By the time he and his herders should be released, thewhole eighty-mile width of the Sierras would lie between him and hisflocks. He would have to await his chance to slip by the rangers. In thethree weeks or more that must elapse before he could get back, theflocks would inevitably be about destroyed. For it is a striking fact,and one on which California John had built his plan, that sheep left totheir own devices soon perish. They scatter. The coyotes, bears andcougars gather to the feast. It would be most probable that thesheep-hating cattlemen of Inyo would enjoy mutton chops.

  California John collected his scattered forces, delegated two men toeject the captives; and went after more sheep. He separated thus threeflocks from their herders. After that the sheep question was settled;government feed was too expensive.

  "That's off'n our minds," said he. "Now we'll tackle the next job."

  He went at it in his slow, painstaking way, and accomplished it. Never,if he could help it, did he depend on the mails when the case was withinriding distance. He preferred to argue the matter out, face to face.

  "The Government _prefers_ friends," he told everybody, and then took hisstand, in all good feeling, according as the other man provedreasonable. Some of the regulations were galling to the mountaintraditions. He did not attempt to explain or defend them, but simplystated their provisions.

  "Now, I'm swore in to see that these are carried out," said he, "always,and if you ain't going to toe the mark, why, you see, it puts me in onehell of a hole, don't it? I ain't liking to be put in the position offighting all my old neighbours, and I sure can't lie down on my job. Itdon't _really_ mean much to you, now does it, Link? and it helps me outa lot."

  "Well, I know you're square, John, and I'll do it," said themountaineer reluctantly, "but I wouldn't do it for any other blank of ablank in creation!"

  Thus California John was able, by personality, to reduce much frictionand settle many disputes. He could be uncompromising enough on occasion.

  Thus Win Spencer and Tom Hoyt had a violent quarrel over cattleallotments which they brought to California John for settlement. Eachtold a different story, so the evidence pointed clearly to neitherparty. California John listened in silence.

  "I won't take sides," said he; "settle it for yourselves. _I'd just assoon make enemies of both of you as of one_."

  Then in the middle of summer came the trial of it all. The Service sentnotice that, beginning the following season, a grazing tax would becharged, and it requested the Supervisor to send in his estimate ofgrazing allotments. California John sat him down at his typewriter andmade out the required list. Simeon Wright's name did not appear therein.In due time somebody wanted, officially, to know why not. CaliforniaJohn told them, clearly, giving the reasons that the range wasoverstocked, and quoting the regulations as to preference being given tothe small owner dwelling in or near the Forests. He did this just as agood carpenter might finish the under side of a drain; not that it woulddo any good, but for his own satisfaction.

  "We will now listen to the roar of the lion," he told Ross Fletcher,"after which I'll hand over my scalp to save 'em the trouble ofsharpening up their knives."

  As a matter of fact the lion did roar, but no faintest echo reached theSierras. For the first time Simeon Wright and the influence SimeonWright could bring to bear failed of their accustomed effect atWashington. An honest, fearless, and single-minded Chief, backed by anenthusiastic Service, saw justice rather than expediency. CaliforniaJohn received back his recommendation marked "Approved."

  The old man tore open the long official envelope, when he received itfrom Martin's hand, and carried it to the light, where he adjustedprecisely his bowed spectacles, and, in his slow, methodical way,proceeded to investigate the contents. As he caught sight of the wordand its initials his hand involuntarily closed to crush the papers, andhis gaunt form straightened. In his mild blue eye sprang fire. He turnedto Martin, his voice vibrant with an emotion carefully suppressedthrough the nine long years of his faithful service.

  "They've turned down Wright," said he, "and they've give us anappropriation. They've turned down old Wright! By God, we've got a man!"

  He strode from the store, his head high. As he went up the street acanvas sign over the empty storehouse attracted his attention. He pulledhis bleached moustache a moment; then removed his floppy old hat, andentered.

  An old-fashioned exhorting evangelist was holding forth to threelistless and inattentive sinners. A tired-looking woman sat at aminiature portable organ. At the close of the services California Johnwandered forward.

  "I'm plumb busted," said he frankly, "and that's the reason I couldn'tchip in. I couldn't buy fleas for a dawg. I'm afraid you didn't winmuch."

  The preacher looked gloomily at a nickle and a ten-cent piece.

  "Dependin' on this sort of thing to get along?" asked California John.

  "Yes," said the preacher. The woman looked out of the window.

  California John said no more, but went out of the building and down thestreet to Austin's saloon.

  "Howdy, boys," he greeted the loungers and card players. "Saw off aminute. There's goin' to be a gospel meetin' right here a half-hour fromnow. I'm goin' to hold it and I'm goin' out now to rustle acongregation. At the close we'll take up a collection for the benefitof the church."

  At the end of the period mentioned he placed himself behind the bar andfaced a roomful of grinning men.

  "This is serious, boys. Take off your hat, Bud. Wipe them snickers off'nyour face. We're all sinners; and I reckon now's as good a time as anyto realize the fact. I don't know much about the Bible; but I do recallenough to hold divine services for once, and I intend to have 'emrespected."

  For fifteen minutes California John conducted his services according tohis notion. Then he stated briefly his cause and took up his collection.

  "Nine-forty-five," said he thoughtfully, looking at the silver. Hecarefully extracted two nickels, and dumped the rest in his pocket. "Ireckon I've earned a drink out of this," he stated; "any objections?"

  There were none; so California John bought his drink and departed.

  "That's all right," he told the astonished and grateful evangelist, "Ihad to do somethin' to blow off steam, or else go on a hell of a drunk.And it would have been plumb ruinous to do that. So you see, it's luckyI met you." The old man's twinkling and humorous blue eyes gazedquizzically at the uneasy evangelist, divided between gratitude and hisnotion that he ought to reprobate this attitude of mind. Then theysoftened. California John laid his hand on the preacher's shoulder."Don't get discouraged," said he; "don't do it. The God of Justice stillrules. I've just had some news that proves it."