by Grey, Zane
Bud appeared to be industriously working over something. It was a section of aspen tree, split in half, on the white surface of which he had carved some words. Jim bent over Curly, who was intent on the artist.
Hackamore Jocelyn, N. G.
Drift Fence Cutter Died with his boots on, Sept. 1889.
"I clean forgit the date," said Bud, viewing his work with satisfaction.
"Reckon it's aboot the twenty-third. Towards the end of September, anyhow. An' what's the date amount to? Jocelyn should never hey bin borned. All we aim to celebrate with this heah tombstone is thet he's damn good an' daid," replied Curly.
The other cowboys noted Bud's work with quite different points of view.
"Bud, anyone could see you onct worked in a graveyard," said Cherry.
"What's the idee--cuttin' out a haidpiece fer thet greaser?" inquired Lonestar, scornfully. "There'd be sum sense in it if we'd buried Slinger."
"Shore. But it's good practice in case Slinger croaks," observed Bud.
"Hey I gotta tell you fellars any more thet Slinger will live?" queried Curly, annoyed that his judgment was questioned.
"He might, Curly. Life is darn oncertain. I'll bet you Slinger croaks," returned Bud, much animated at the prospect of a wager.
"Aw hell!"
"Wal, then, I'll bet you he croaks before Doc Shields gits hyar," went on Bud.
"You'd gamble on your grandma's coffin," asserted Curly, in supreme disgust. "Funniest thing, too. You always lose."
"Like hob I do! Right this minnit your spurs an' chaps belong to me.
You'd be naked 'most but fer my magnanimity."
"Bud, it shore ain't no wonder no gurl will stick to you," replied Curly.
"Woes a gurl got to do with games uv chance? I'm a born better, as you know to your cost."
"But you'll bet on anythin' in Gawd's world," protested Curly.
"Thet's the secret. How much did I clean up when the boss licked you--an'
Cherry an' Up an' Lonestar? Huh! I got it all down, an' if we live to reach Flag ag'in, I'll be rich."
"Shore. An' you'll be drunk, too."
"Curly, you make me orful tired. If I wasn't so all-fired fond uv you--fer no reason thet any human bein' could see--I'd be riled at your insults... Now listen. Money talks. Put up or shet up. Hyar's my roll."
Bud exhibited a roll of greenbacks that made Curly's eyes stick out and likewise excited Lonestar and Cherry.
"Where'n hell'd you git thet?"
"I bin holdin' out. Now produce your roll. It'll look like a peapod thet a hors stepped on... Wal, mebbe not so flat," added Bud, as Curly retaliated by surprising him. "Now, hyar's a bet thet'll show how game I am. My roll ag'in' yours thet Slinger won't croak!"
Curly's face was saved, and the risk of his money, too, by the arrival of lack Way and Dr. Shields. The latter was a little man, lost in a heavy slicker. From the exchange of greetings he was well acquainted with several of the Diamond. He got off, and out of the slicker, then removed a small medicine-satchel and a parcel from the saddle-bag.
"Where's your man?" he queried, after being introduced to Jim. "Fetch clean hot water."
Jim did not think it necessary to awaken Molly. The job would be gruesome and she would insist on helping. Dr. Shields felt Dunn's pulse and heart, and said, "Hum!" which meant little to Jim. Then he cut open Dunn's blood-caked garments, and first removed the bandages from the wound in the abdomen. At sight of this he shook his head. When he saw that the bullet had gone clear through he nodded his head. So Jim inferred it was both bad and good. Cherry fetched a pan of hot water. Whereupon the doctor went to work, and, with Jim's assistance, in an hour had all six wounds dressed.
To Jim's amaze, Slinger opened his eyes. No doubt all the while he had been conscious.
"You ought to be a boss-doctor," he said. "Hurtin' me wuss'n the bullets... Am I goin' to cash?"
"Dunn, that shot in your belly ought to have killed you long ago," replied the doctor. "The one in your hip is bad, but not critical. The others just gun-shots."
"Did you fetch any whisky?"
Shields made haste to supply this evident pressing need. "Jim," said Slinger, "I knowed you gave me some whisky of Jocelyn's. But I shore didn't want to live on thet."
Suddenly Molly sat up, wide-eyed and bewildered.
"Hullo, wood-mouse! You've shore slept a lot," said Dunn. "Oh, Arch!--Jim!"
"Molly, this is Dr. Shields from Flag. He has just attended to your brother's wounds, and--"
But Jim could not reply to Molly's mutely questioning eves. And Dr.
Shields, blunt as he was, shrank from their wonderful eager look.
"Molly, I'm further from bein' daid than last night," spoke up Slinger for himself.
"Don't talk. Don't move," admonished the doctor, and he led Jim and Molly away. "Very likely he told the truth," continued Shields, presently. "I can't make predictions. He ought to have passed out long ago. Some of these cowboys are like Indians, to whom bullet holes and knife-cuts are nothing. Your Curly Prentiss is one... Miracles happen. This man might live. If he lasts till tomorrow I'd say there was hope. I'll stay."
The rain dripped through the roof of the old cabin, in some places in little streams, one of which happened to go down Bud Chalfack's neck. It had the effect of a lighted match dropped in gunpowder.
"Bud, why don't you git used to water?" complained Curly, when the explosion had subsided.
Molly had dinner in the cabin and she was the object of much solicitude.
She went back to her shelter, claiming it dry, at least. The three Cibeque men became restless as the afternoon grew late. Boyd Flick did not return. All the cowboys save Bud passed the time playing cards. Bud had evidently become enamoured of his carving ability, for he spent hours over the other half of the aspen log. When he exhibited his latest bit of sculptural genius the cowboys were spellbound. Bud had hewn out a masterpiece of a wooden headpiece for a grave. And he had engraved upon it: "Curly Prentiss. Died ----. Unmarried." This he presented to Curly, before the bursting cowboys.
"You bow-legged, kangaroo-rat!" declared Curly, who could not see the joke. "I could of married a hundred gurls."
And so the day passed, every minute of it with less strain for Jim. He was attentive to Molly, who began another vigil over her brother. The rain roared on the canvas, but Molly was comfortable.
"Traft, you look fagged out," said Dr. Shields, when night fell. "Go to bed. I'll keep tab on Dunn and wake you if there's any turn for the worse. He simply amazes me."
Jim slipped under Molly's shelter to encourage her and say good-night. In the dark he was feeling round for her when she tugged at him.
"Ssh! He's asleep," she whispered.
"Molly, you'll not sit up all night again? Dr. Shields said he'd watch."
"I'll lay down when I get sleepy," she said. "Jim, I'm beginnin' to hope."
"So am I," replied Jim, and put his arms around her. Molly gave a start and then slowly relaxed. Jim waited to see what she would do. After a long moment she stirred, and in the dim light of the smouldering camp fire he saw her head come up. Then shyly and sweetly, but surely, she returned his embrace, and just brushed his cheek with her lips. Thrilled and utterly grateful and content, he bade her good-night.
He sought his own bed in the stall behind which Seth Haverly had met his death. Once stretched out, Jim discovered how weary he actually was, and that was the extent of his conscious mental activity for this trying day.
He slept till the ring of axe and stirring of men roused him. It was a dark, wet, gray dawn, but evidently the rain had ceased. While pulling on his boots, he heard Curly speak:
"Wal, Doc, how's your patient this mawnin'?"
"I give up, Prentiss. You cowboys are not made of flesh and blood. Dunn just asked for a cigarette," replied the doctor. Jim went to the fire in a hurry.
"Then he must be--be--" he faltered, just overcome with hope for Molly.
"Traft, I reckon he'll pull
through. I'll look him over after breakfast.
Then you can send a man with me. I left my horses tied in a corral over here where the road ends. Guess they'll be all right, but I'd like to hurry."
"Boss, it shore is good," said Curly. "My hunch was all right. But I was scared stiff fer the little gurl."
Jim felt too grateful for expression and had to restrain himself from rushing in to Molly. At the breakfast call she appeared pale, yet somehow glowing, and to Jim's delight she chose a seat beside him.
The morning showed a prospect of clearing weather. A bit of sunlight tipped the spear-pointed spruces on the ridge. Jays and squirrels were noisily in attendance upon the cabin.
Dr. Shields seemed vastly relieved, and not a little glad.
"Miss Molly, you can rest easy," he said. "Your brother will live... Traft, I'm leaving only a few instructions. Give. Dunn a little whisky and water now and then, for a couple of days. If fever sets in send for me. But there's no sign of that or other complications. His wounds have closed clean in this forest air. Then begin to feed him nourishing soups, beef tea, and presently light food. But don't overdo.
In about ten days make a canvas litter and have four men pack him to the road, where you can safely haul him in a wagon to Flag."
When the genial doctor had said good-bye to all and ridden away with his guide, Bud ejaculated plaintively: "Nourishin' soup! Beef tea! I need somethin' like thet myself."
"My Gawd!" added Curly, his loyal champion, at times. "So do I. This heah fence-buildin' has run me down to skin an' bones."
"I'll bet a two-dollar bill thet if I got shot up our deaf-an'dumb cook would feed me salt mackerel," ended Bud, in disgust.
Long since Jim had learned this apparent discontent and garrulousness were just their perennial spirit of fun, but he still found occasion to pretend he did not understand them.
"Curly, you and Bud are so darn full of energy--suppose you split some shingles and repair the cabin roof," he suggested, dryly.
"Boss, it ain't a-goin' to rain no more," replied Bud.
"I think it might. It's clouding up just like Curly's face now."
"Boss, I'm as weak as a sick cat," protested Curly.
"You'll feel better at work. That's what you boys need. Good hard work."
"Wal, fer cripe's sake!" exploded Bud.
"Come on, Bud," said Curly, with resignation. "No turkeyhuntin' this heah mawnin'. We gotta work while our Mizzourie boss looks at his gurl like a dyin' duck in a thunderstorm."
They hailed Cherry on the way out, "You're helpin' us split shingles."
"Who said so?" demanded that worthy, affronted.
"We said so. Orders from the boss."
It was well that Jim had advised this job, for no sooner had it been completed than the swift-moving clouds rolled up black and the rain poured down in a gray deluge. It rained all day. The cooped-up cowboys talked and played and joked and quarrelled. Once Jim heard a thought-provoking speech from Curly, evidently made in deep argument:
"Wal, I tell you gazaboos there's only one man in Arizonie who could fill Jocelyn's boots on the Diamond."
Jim saw Molly at meal-times. She had grown shyer as the strain of anxiety lessened. And the cowboys, now that her cause for distress had been removed, began to pay pretty compliments and make sly little speeches and eye her with flirtatious longing. She seemed even shyer with Jim. But he was happy, and when night fell, with the rain teeming down, he could not resist a moment alone with her under the canvas. Slinger, however, was awake, evidently suffering, and cursing Dr. Shields about the limited nips of whisky. Jim could only squeeze Molly's hand and say good-night.
It stormed that night, a regular equinoctial gale. The old cabin groaned and threatened to fly away on the wings of the wind. Jim thought there really was risk, for the rafters were heavy. Nevertheless, like the cowboys, he took the risk. It was wonderful to lie snug and warm, however, and listen to the crash and roar of the gale through the forest, and the intermittent and varying spells of rain on the roof. Now and then a faint flash of lightning showed the lashing pines, and dull thunder reverberated across the heavens. Toward morning the fury of the storm abated and it turned cold. When daylight came the sky was fast clearing. the air had a keen cold edge, and the colour of the forest had perceptibly changed. There were hints of red in the maples, brown in the oaks, and the aspens showed a splash of gold. The willow leaves were gone. Autumn had come to this low part of the Diamond, and he ventured a guess that winter had laid a white mantle on the high promontories. This caused Jim concern, for he had hoped to get the drift fence finished before the snow fell.
He went outside to wash. The morning was beautiful, with rose and gold clouds skimming the tree tops, and the sky a deep blue. The brook was a rushing torrent of amber water, full of floating aspen leaves, and it was cold enough to make his fingers ache.
He was wiping his face with his scarf when Curly and Bud appeared, each with a rifle and a fine turkey gobbler.
"Mawnin', boss, did you hey enough sleep?" drawled Curly. "Boss, you ain't risin' with the larks no more," added Bud, with pretended solicitude. "I hope you've no wuss ailment than--"
Jim swore mildly at them. "You went wild-turkey-hunting without taking me! It's a low-down trick. When I've been waiting and longing to go... I'll get even with you."
"Boss, I'm downright sorry," replied Curly, with profound regret. "But it was dark an' cold, an' Bud says--"
"Aw, don't lie it on to me," interrupted Bud, scornfully. "You know you said, 'It'll jest aboot make the boss weep if we waddle in with a couple of turks.'"
"It just has done that," said Jim.
"Wal, wait till Jeff roasts these young birds!" added Curly. "Boy, yore mouth'll water so you'll swear you've got dropsy."
"Ahuh. Do I get to go along next time? Of course there's a lot of odd jobs around camp--"
Vociferously and in unison Curly and Bud gave remarkable evidence of their regret and how they would make amends that very day.
It turned out that Jim would not leave Molly. Her brother was in agony most of the time, with fever threatening, and not until late did he grow easier. They were all concerned about Slinger, except Curly, who said:
"Wal, the third day is the wust. From now on he'll mend fast."
Next morning, however, Jim routed Curly and Bud out so early that they could not see even a tree for half an hour.
"Boss, wild turkeys is wild, shore, but they ain't owls," complained Bud.
And Curly, loyal as always, vowed that Jim was not going to be permitted to shoot a turkey while still on the roost. "Thet's pot-huntin', an' not sporty atall."
"After eating that turkey drumstick last night, I'd perpetrate any kind of a dark deed to get another," averred Jim.
"Didn't I tell you? Wal, now don't talk so much, an' mebbe, if it ever gits daytime, we'll see a flock," rejoined Curly.
Jim, therefore, kept his exuberant spirits under restraint. He noticed, however, that Bud and Curly talked right on as usual, and after a few moments he dryly mentioned the fact.
"Wal, you see, these heah turkeys air used to us cowboys ridin' around in the woods," explained Curly. "They know our voices."
Daylight came, with rosy colour and nipping air, with frost like diamonds on the gramma grass, and so quiet that a falling aspen leaf rustled loudly. Evidently they had come up to the head of the park, for they crossed a brook and passed a tumble-down log cabin, where Hack Jocelyn had elected to hide with Molly and wait for the ransom. Curly remarked about how the plans of crooked men went wrong more often than right.
"Flick ought to ride in today," he added. "He might be cute enough to savvy the way the deal has turned out an' skedaddle with the money."
"I don't believe--" began Jim, when he got a prod from Bud.
"Hist!" he whispered. "Shet up, you elocuteners! Turkey!"
Jim heard the well-known gobble of a turkey, and it certainly resembled that of a tame turkey at home. Bud led the way over a
rise of ground, under green and gold aspens, into an open glade, wildly closed at its upper end by a confusion of maples, oak, and pines. There were logs on the ground, and one huge pine across them. Something crashed ahead through the brush, snapping twigs. Then came a rap of bone on wood.
"Elk. Never mind him," whispered Bud. "There! A big gobbler--lookin' at us." He forced his rifle into Jim's eager hands. "Where?... That thing?
It's a stump."
"Take a chance, boss," said Curly, with a chuckle. "If it's a stump it ain't a-goin' to run. An' if it's a turkey, keep on shootin'."
"Aim low an' be quick," added Bud.
"But I tell you that thing is a black stump," remonstrated Jim, always and forever looking for tricks from these boys. "Honest to Gawd, boss, it's a turk," appealed Bud.
"Well, to please you. But I know it's a stump I can see," replied Jim, and he levelled the rifle and fired. To his utter consternation the motionless stump turned into the most magnificent bird he had ever seen.
It ran swift as a deer. It thumped the ground. It was black and bronze, with a wonderful speckled tail, like an immense fan.
"Stump, huh? Why didn't you peg him while he was tannin'?" queried Bud.
"Gosh! I forgot I had a gun. What a sight! Say, that wasn't a turkey, but an ostrich!"
"Wal, it was shore a rotten shot," said Curly. "But he didn't scare the flock... See them scratchin' over heah--under the jackpines?"
Jim did see them and grew wildly excited. It was an enormous flock, some of which exhibited signs of nervousness.
"Duck now, an' crawl after me," whispered Bud, getting down on his knees.
"They've seen or heerd us, but we'll get a shot if we're smart... Now, boss, don't crawl like a elephant with a broken laig."
Jim did not see anything but grass and leaves, the ground, logs, and tree trunks for several strenuous moments. But he heard turkeys gobble, and then, close at hand: put-put, put-put-put.
"Damn!" swore Bud. "It's always the hens thet bust up every-thin'...0
Lord! hyar they come... Now stand up an' shoot."
Jim got to his feet and certain was it that he shook. The great black and bronze gobblers, the sleek, smaller, less conspicuous hens, were coming under the scrub pines, out into the open. They no longer resembled tame turkeys. The huge-breasted gobblers, with their long beards, their stately nodding walk, suddenly halted. Jim picked out one that looked as high as a church and pulled the trigger.
