by B. M. Bower
He was lucky. The Happy Family were foregathered there, wrangling with Happy Jack over some trifling thing. He joined zealously in the argument and helped them thrash Happy Jack in the word-war, before he came at his errand.
“Say, boys, we’ll have to get busy now,” he told them seriously at last. “Florence Grace is onto us bigger’n a wolf—and if I’m any judge, that lady’s going to be some fighter. We’ve either got to plow up a bunch of ground and plant some darn thing, or else get stock on and pasture it. They ain’t going to over look any bets from now on. I met her back here on the bench. She was so mad she talked too much and I got next to their scheme—seems like we’ve knocked the Syndicate outa quite a bunch of money, all right. They want this land, and they think they’re going to get it.
“Now my idea is this: We’ve got to have stock, or we can’t graze the land. And if we take Flying U cattle and throw ’em on here, they’ll contest us for taking fake claims, for the outfit. So what’s the matter with us buying a bunch from the Old Man?”
“I’m broke,” began Pink promptly, but Andy stopped him.
“Listen here. We buy a bunch of stock and give him mortgages for the money, with the cattle for security. We graze ’em till the mortgage runs out—till we prove up, that means—and then we don’t spot up, and the Old Man takes the stock back, see? We’re grazing our own stock, according to law—but the outfit—”
“Where do we git off at?” demanded Happy Jack suspiciously. “We got to live—and it takes money to buy grub, these days.”
“Well, we’ll make out all right. We can have so many head of cattle named for the mortgage; there’ll be increase, and we should get that. By the time we all prove up we’ll have a little bunch of stock of our own’ d’ uh see? And we’ll have the range—what there is left. These squatters ain’t going to last over winter, if you ask me. And it’ll be a long, cold day when another bunch of greenhorns bites on any colony scheme.”
“How do you know the Old Man’ll do that, though?” Weary wanted to know. “He’s pretty mad. I rode over to the ranch last week to see Chip, and the Old Man wouldn’t have anything to say to me.”
“Well, what’s the matter with all of us going? He can’t pass up the whole bunch. We can put it up to him just the way it is, and he’ll see where it’s going to be to his interest to let us have the cattle. Why, darn it, he can’t help seeing now why we quit!” Pink looked ready to start then, while his enthusiasm was fresh.
“Neither can Florence Grace help seeing why we did it,” Andy supplemented dryly. “She can think what she darn pleases—all we got to do is deliver the goods right up to the handle, on these claims and not let her prove anything on us.”
“It’ll take a lot uh fencing,” Happy Jack croaked pessimistically. “We ain’t got the money to buy wire and posts, ner the time to build the fence.”
“What’s the matter with rang-herding ’em?” Andy seemed to have thought it all out, and to have an answer for every objection. “We can take turns at that—and we must all be careful and don’t let ’em graze on our neighbors!”
Whereat the Happy Family grinned understandingly.
“Maybe the Old Man’ll let us have three or four hundred head uh cows on shares,” Cal hazarded optimistically.
“Can’t take ’em that way,” said the Native Son languidly. “It wouldn’t be safe. Andy’s right; the way to do is buy the cattle outright, and give a mortgage on the bunch. And I think we better split the bunch, and let every fellow buy a few head. We can graze ’em together—the law can’t stop us from doing that.”
“Sounds good—if the Old Man will come to the centre,” said Weary dubiously. The chill atmosphere of Flying U coulee, with strangers in the bunk-house and with the Old Man scowling at his paper on the porch, had left its effect upon Weary, sunny-souled as he was.
“Oh, he’ll come through,” cried Cal, moving toward his horse, “gee whiz, he’s got to! Come on—let’s go and get it done with. As it stands now, we ain’t got a thing to do but set around and look wise—unless we go spoiling good grass with plows. First thing we know our neighbors will be saying we ain’t improving our claims!”
“You improve yours every time you git off it!” stated Happy Jack spitefully because of past wrongs. “You could improve mine a whole lot that way, too,” he added when he heard the laugh of approval from the others.
They rung all the changes possible upon that witticism while they mounted and rode away, every man of them secretly glad of some excuse for making overtures to the Old Man. Spite of the excitement of getting on to their claims, and of watching strangers driving here and there in haste, and hauling loads of lumber toilfully over the untracked grass and building chickencoop dwellings as nearly alike as the buttons on a new shirt—spite of all that they had felt keenly their exile from Flying U ranch. They had stayed away, for two reasons: one was a latent stubbornness which made them resent the Old Man’s resentment; the other was a matter of policy, as preached by Andy Green and the Native Son. It would not do, said these two cautious ones, to be running to the Flying U outfit all the time.
So the Happy Family had steered clear since that afternoon when they had simulated treachery to the outfit. And fate played them a scurvy trick in spite of their caution, for just as they rode down the Hog’s Back and across the ford, Florence Grace Hallman rode away from the White House and met them fairly at the stable.
Florence Grace smiled a peculiar smile as she went past them. A smile that promised she would not forget; a smile that told them how sure she felt of having caught them fairly. With the smile went a chilly, supercilious bow that was worse than a direct cut, and which the Happy Family returned doubtfully, not at all sure of the rules governing warfare with a woman.
CHAPTER 9
THE HAPPY FAMILY BUYS A BUNCH OF CATTLE
With the Kid riding gleefully upon Weary’s shoulder they trooped up the path their own feet had helped wear deep to the bunk-house. They looked in at the open door and snorted at the cheerlessness of the place.
“Why don’t you come back here and stay?” the Kid demanded. “I was going to sleep down here with you—and now Doctor Dell won’t let me. These hobees are no good. They’re damn’ bone-head. Daddy Chip says so. I wish you’d come back, so I can sleep with you. One man’s named Ole and he’s got a funny eye that looks at the other one all the time. I wish you’d come back.”
The Happy Family wished the same thing, but they did not say so. Instead they told the Kid to ask his mother if he couldn’t come and visit them in their new shacks, and promised indulgences that would have shocked the Little Doctor had she heard them. So they went on to the house, where the Old Man sat on the porch looking madder than when they had left him three weeks before.
“Why don’t yuh run them nesters outa the country?” he demanded peevishly when they were close enough for speech. “Here they come and accuse me to my face of trying to defraud the gov’ment. Doggone you boys, what you think you’re up to, anyway? What’s three or four thousand acres when they’re swarming in here like flies to a butcherin’? They can’t make a living—serve ’em right. What you doggone rowdies want now?”
Not a cordial welcome, that—if they went no deeper than his words. But there was the old twinkle back of the querulousness in the Old Man’s eyes, and the old pucker of the lips behind his grizzled whiskers. “You’ve got that doggone Kid broke to foller yuh so we can’t keep him on the ranch no more,” he added fretfully. “Tried to run away twice, on Silver. Chip had to go round him up. Found him last time pretty near over to Antelope coulee, hittin’ the high places for town. Might as well take yuh back, I guess, and save time running after the Kid.”
“We’ve got to hold down our claims,” Weary minded him regretfully. In three weeks, he could see a difference the Old Man, and the change hurt him.
Lines were deeper drawn, and the kind old eyes were a shade more sunken.
“What’s that amount to?” grumbled the Old Man,
looking from one to the other under his graying eye brows. “You can’t stop them dry-farmers from taking the country. Yuh might as well try to dip the Missouri dry with a bucket. They’ll flood the country with stock—”
“No, they won’t,” put in Big Medicine, impatient for the real meat of their errand. “By cripes, we got a scheme to beat that—you tell ’im, Weary.”
“We want to buy a bunch of cattle from you,” Weary said obediently. “We want to graze our claims, instead of trying to crop the land. We haven’t any fence up, so we’ll have to range-herd our stock, of course. I—don’t hardly think any nester stock will get by us, J. G. And seeing our land runs straight through from Meeker’s line fence to yours, we kinda think we’ve got the nesters pretty well corralled. They’re welcome to the range between Antelope coulee and Dry Lake, far as we’re concerned. Soon as we can afford it,” he added tranquilly, “we’ll stretch a fence along our west line that’ll hold all the darn milkcows they’ve a mind to ship out here.”
“Huh!” The Old Man studied them quizzically, his chin on his chest.
“How many yuh want?” he asked abruptly.
“All you’ll sell us. We want to give mortgages, with the stock for security.”
“Oh, yuh do, ay? What if I have to foreclose on yuh?” The pucker of his lips grew more pronounced. “Where do you git off at, then?”
“Well, we kinda thought we could fix it up to save part of the increase outa the wreck, anyway.”
“Oh. That’s it ay?” He studied them another minute. “You’ll want all my best cows, too, I reckon—all that grade stock I shipped in last spring. Ay?”
“We wouldn’t mind,” grinned Weary, glancing at the others roosting at ease along the edge of the porch.
“Think you could handle five-hundred head—the pick uh the bunch?”
“Sure, we could! We’d rather split ’em up amongst us, though—let every fellow buy so many. We can throw in together on the herding.”
“Think you can keep the milk-cows between you and Dry Lake, ay?” The Old Man chuckled—the first little chuckle since the Happy Family left him so unceremoniously three weeks before. “How about that, Pink?”
“Why, I think we can,” chirped Pink cheerfully.
“Huh! Well, you’re the toughest bunch, take yuh up one side and down the other, I ever seen keep onta jail—I guess maybe you can do it. But lemme tell you boys something—and I want you to remember it: You don’t want to git the idea in your heads you’re going to have any snap; you ain’t. If I know B from a bull’s foot, you’ve got your work cut out for yuh. I’ve been keeping cases pretty close on this dry-farm craze, and this stampede for claims. Folks are land crazy. They’ve got the idea that a few acres of land is going to make ’em free and independent—and it don’t matter much what the land is, or where it is. So long as it’s land, and they can git it from the government for next to nothing, they’re satisfied. And yuh want to remember that. Yuh don’t want to take it for granted they’re going to take a look at your deadline and back up. If they ship in stock, they’re going to see to it that stock don’t starve. You’ll have to hold off men and women that’s making their last stand, some of ’em, for a home of their own. They ain’t going to give up if they can help it. You get a man with his back agin the wall, and he’ll fight till he drops. I don’t need to tell yuh that.”
The Happy Family listened to him soberly, their eyes staring broodily at the picture he conjured.
“Well, by golly, we’re makin’ our last stand, too,” Slim blurted with his customary unexpectedness. “Our back’s agin the wall right now. If we can’t hold ’em back from takin’ what little range is left, this outfit’s going under. We got to hold ’em, by golly, er there won’t be no more Flying U.”
“Well,” said Andy Green quietly, “that’s all right. We’re going to hold ’em.”
The Old Man lifted his bent head and looked from one to another. Pride shone in his eyes, that had lately stared resentment. “Yuh know, don’t yuh, the biggest club they can use?” He leaned forward a little, his lips working under his beard.
“Sure, we know. We’ll look out for that.” Weary smiled hearteningly.
“We want a good lawyer to draw up those mortgages,” put in the Native Son lazily. “And we’ll pay eight per cent. interest.”
“Doggonedest crazy bunch ever I struck,” grumbled the Old Man with grateful insincerity. “What you fellers don’t think of, there ain’t any use in mentioning. Oh, Dell! Bring out that jug Blake sent me! Doggoned thirsty bunch out here—won’t stir a foot till they sample that wine! Got to get rid of ’em somehow—they claim to be full uh business as a jack rabbit is of fleas! When yuh want to git out and round up them cows? Wagon’s over on Dry creek som’ers—or ought to be. Yuh might take your soogans and ride ove’ there tomorrow or next day and ketch ’em. I’ll write a note to Chip and tell ’im what’s to be done. And while you’re pickin’ your bunch you can draw wages just the same as ever, and help them double-dutch blisterin’ milk-fed pilgrims with the calf crop.”
“We’ll sure do that,” promised Weary for the bunch. “We can start in the morning, all right.”
“Take a taste uh this wine. None of your tobacco-juice stuff; this comes straight from Fresno. Senator Blake sent it the other day. Fill up that glass, Dell! What yuh want to be so doggone stingy fer? Think this bunch uh freaks are going to stand for that? They can’t git the taste outa less’n a pint. This ain’t any doggone liver-tonic like you dope out.”
The Little Doctor smiled understandingly and filled their glasses with the precious wine from sunland. She did not know what had happened, but she did know that the Old Man had seized another hand-hold on life in the last hour, and she was grateful. She even permitted the Kid to take a tiny sip, just because the Happy Family hated to see him refused anything he wanted.
So Flying U coulee was for the time being filled with the same old laughter and the same atmosphere of care-free contentment with life. The Countess stewed uncomplainingly in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the boys. The Old Man grumbled hypocritically at them from his big chair, and named their faults in the tone that transmuted them into virtues. The Little Doctor heard about Miss Allen and her three partners, who were building a four-room shack on the four corners of four claims, and how Irish had been caught more than once in the act of staring fixedly in the direction of that shack. She heard a good many things, and she guessed a good many more.
By mid afternoon the Old Man was fifty per cent brighter and better than he had been in the morning, and he laughed and bullied them as of old. When they left he told them to clear out and stay out, and that if he caught them hanging around his ranch, and making it look as if he were backing them and trying to defraud the government, he’d sic the dog onto them. Which tickled the Kid immensely, because there wasn’t any dog to sic.
CHAPTER 10
WHEREIN ANDY GREEN LIES TO A LADY
In the soft-creeping dusk came Andy Green, slouched in the saddle with the weariness of riding since dawn; slouched to one side and singing, with his hat far back on his head and the last of a red sunset tinting darkly the hills above him. Tip-toe on a pinnacle a great, yellow star poised and winked at him knowingly. Andy’s eyes twinkled answer as he glanced up that way. “We’ve got her going, old-timer,” he announced lazily to the star.
Six miles back toward the edge of the “breaks” which are really the beginning of the Badlands that border the Missouri River all through that part of Montana, an even five hundred head of the Flying U’s best grade cows and their calves were settling down for the night upon a knoll that had been the bed-ground of many a herd. At the Flying U ranch, in the care of the Old Man, were the mortgages that would make the Happy Family nominal owners of those five hundred cows and their calves. In the morning Andy would ride back and help bring the herd upon its spring grazing ground, which was the claims; in the meantime he was leisurely obeying an impulse to ride into One Man coulee and spend
the night under his own roof. And, say what you will, there is a satisfaction not to be denied in sleeping sometimes under one’s own roof; and it doesn’t matter in the least that the roof is made of prairie dirt thrown upon cottonwood poles. So he sang while he rode, and his voice boomed loud in the coulee and scared long stilled echoes into repeating the song:
“We’re here because we’re here, because we’re here, because we’re here,
“We’re here because we’re here, because we’re here, because we’re here—”
That, if you please, is a song; there are a lot more verses exactly like this one, which may be sung to the tune of Auld Lang Syne with much effectiveness when one is in a certain mood. So Andy sang, while his tired horse picked its way circumspectly among the scattered rocks of the trail up the coulee.
“It’s time you’re here, it’s time you’re here,
It’s time that you were here—”
mocked an echo not of the hills.
Andy swore in his astonishment and gave his horse a kick as a mild hint for haste. He thought he knew every woman-voice in the neighborhood—or had until the colony came—but this voice, high and sweet and with a compelling note that stirred him vaguely, was absolutely strange. While he loped forward, silenced for the moment, he was conscious of a swift, keen thankfulness that Pink had at the last minute decided to stay in camp that night instead of accompanying Andy to One Man. He was in that mood when a sentimental encounter appealed to him strongly; and a woman’s voice, singing to him from One Man cabin, promised undetermined adventure.
He did not sing again. There had been something in the voice that held him quiet, listening, expectant. But she also was silent after that last, high note—like a meadow lark startled in the middle of his song, thought Andy whimsically.
He came within sight of the cabin, squatting in the shadow of the grove at its back. He half expected to see a light, but the window was dark, the door closed as he had left it. He felt a faint, unreasoning disappointment that it was so. But he had heard her. That high note that lingered upon the word “here” still tingled his senses. His eyes sent seeking glances here and there as he rode up.
