The B. M. Bower Megapack

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER 11

  Rowdy Promoted

  Rowdy rode closer. “If you don’t mind paying duty,” he began tentatively, “I can put you next to a range over the line, where I’ll guarantee feed and water the year round for every hoof you own.”

  Eagle Creek lifted his head and looked at him “Whereabouts?” he demanded skeptically.

  “Up in the Red Deer country. Pink knows the place. There’s range a-plenty, and creeks running through that never go dry; and the country isn’t stocked and fenced to death, like this is.”

  “And would we be ordered off soon as we got there?”

  “Sure not—if you paid duty, which would only be about double what you were going to pay for one year’s pasture.”

  Eagle Creek breathed deeply, like a man who has narrowly escaped suffocation. “Young man, I b’lieve you’re a square dealer, and that yuh savvy the cow business. I’ve thought it ever since yuh started t’ work.” His keen old eyes twinkled at the memory of Rowdy’s arrival, and Rowdy grinned. “I take yuh at your word, and yuh can consider yourself in charge uh this herd as it stands. Take it t’ that cow heaven yuh tell about—and damn it, yuh won’t be none the worse for it!”

  “We’ll pass that up,” said Rowdy quietly. “I’ll take the herd through, though; and I’d advise you to get the rest on the road as soon as they can be gathered. It’s a three-hundred-mile drive.”

  “All right. From now on it’s up to you,” Eagle Creek told him briskly. “Take ’em back t’ the Rockin’ R field, and I’ll send the wagons back t’ you. Old Mullen’ll likely make a roar—but that’s most all gove’ment land he’s got fenced, so I guess I can calm him down. Will yuh go near the ranch?”

  “I think so,” said Rowdy. “It will be the shortest way.”

  “Well, I’ll give yuh some blank checks, an’ you can load up with grub and anything else yuh need. I’ll be over there by the time you are, and fix up that duty business. Wooden Shoes’ll have t’ get another outfit together, and get another bunch on the trail. One good thing—I got thirty days t’ get off what cattle is on there; and thirty days uh grass and water’ll put ’em in good shape for the trip. Wish this bunch was as well fixed.”

  “That’s what,” Rowdy assented. “But I think they’ll make it, all right.”

  “I’ll likely want yuh to stay up there and keep cases on ’em. Any objections?”

  “Sure not!” laughed Rowdy. “Only I’ll want Pink and the Silent One to stay with me.”

  “Keep what men yuh want. Anything else?”

  “I don’t think of anything,” said Rowdy. “Only I’d like to have a—talk—with Conroy.” Creek eyed him sharply. “Yuh won’t be apt t’ meet him. Old Bill Brown, up home, would like to see him, too. Bill’s a perseverin’ old cuss, and wants to see Conroy so bad he’s got the sheriff out lookin’ for him. It’s about a bunch uh horses that was run off, three years ago. Yuh brought one of ’em back into the country last spring, yuh mind.”

  Rowdy and Pink looked at one another, but said nothing.

  “Old Bill, he follered your back trail and found out some things he wanted t’ know. Conroy got wind of it, though, and he left the agency kind-a suddint. No use yuh lookin’ for him.”

  “Then we’re ready to hit the grit, I guess.” Rowdy glanced again at Pink who nodded.

  “Well, I ain’t stoppin’ yuh,” Eagle Creek drawled laconically. “S’-long, and good luck t’ yuh.”

  He waited while Pink and the Silent One swung the point back down the hill, with Rowdy helping them, quite unmoved by his sudden promotion. When the herd was fairly started on the backward march, Eagle Creek nodded satisfaction the while he pried off a corner of plug-tobacco.

  “He’s all right,” he asserted emphatically. “That boy suits me, from the ground up. If he don’t put that deal through in good shape, it’ll be becaus’ it can’t be did.”

  Wooden Shoes, with whom Rowdy had always been a prime favorite, agreed with Dutch heartiness. Then, leaving the herd to its new guardian they rode swiftly to overtake and turn back the wagons.

  “Three hundred miles! And part of it across howling desert!” Rowdy drew his brows together. “It’s a big thing for me, all right, Pink; but it’s sure a big contract to take this herd through, if anybody should happen to ask yuh.”

  “Oh, buck up! You’ll make good, all right—if only these creeks wasn’t so bone dry!”

  “Well, there’s water enough in the Rocking R field for today; we’ll throw ’em in there till tomorrow. And I’ve a notion I can find a better trail across to North Fork than the way we came. I’m going to strike out this afternoon and see, anyway, if Quitter Creek hasn’t got water farther up. Once we get up north uh the home ranch, I can see my way clear.”

  “Go to it, boss,” Pink cried heartily. “I don’t see how I’m goin t’ keep from sassing yuh, once in a while, though. That’s what bothers me. What’ll happen if I turn loose on yuh, some time?”

  “You’ll get fired, I expect,” laughed Rowdy, and rode off to announce the news to the rest of the outfit, who were very unhappy in their mystification.

  If their reception of the change of plans and foreman was a bit profane, and their manner toward him a bit familiar, Rowdy didn’t mind. He knew that they did not grudge him his good luck, even while they hated the long drive. He also knew that they watched him furtively; for nothing—not even misfortune—is as sure a test of a man’s character as success. They liked Rowdy, and they did not believe this would spoil him; still, every man of them was secretly a bit anxious.

  On the trail, he rode in his accustomed place, and, so far as appearances went, the party had no foreman. He went forward and helped Pink take down the fence that had been so carefully put up a few hours before, and he whistled while he put it in place again, just as if he had no responsibility in the world. Then the cattle were left to themselves, and the men rode down to their old campground, marked by empty tin-cans and a trodden place where had been the horse corral.

  Rowdy swung down and faced the men gravely. Instinctively they stood at attention, waiting for what he had to say; they felt that the situation was so far out of the ordinary that a few remarks pertaining to their new relations would not be out of place.

  He looked them over appraisingly, and met glances as grave as his own. Straight, capable fellows they were, every man of them.

  “Boys,” he began impressively, “you all know that from today on you’re working under my orders. I never was boss of anything but the cayuse I happened to have under me, and I’m going to extract all the honey there is in the situation. Maybe I’ll never be boss again—but at present I’m it. I want you fellows to remember that important fact, and treat me with proper respect. From now on you can call me Mr. Vaughan; ‘Rowdy’ doesn’t go, except on a legal holiday.

  “Furthermore, I’m not going to get out at daylight and catch up my own horse; I’ll let yuh take turns being flunky, and I’ll expect yuh to saddle my horse every morning and noon, and bring him to the cook-tent—and hold my stirrup for me. Also, you are expected, at all times and places, to anticipate my wants and fall over yourselves waiting on me. You’re just common, ordinary, forty-dollar cow-punchers, and if I treat yuh white, it’s because I pity yuh for not being up where I am. Remember, vassals, that I’m your superior, mentally, morally, socially—”

  “Chap him!” yelled Pink, and made for him “I’ll stand for a lot, but don’t yuh ever think I’m a vassal!”

  “Mutiny is strictly prohibited!” he thundered. “Villains, beware! Gadzooks—er—let’s have a swim before the wagons come!”

  They laughed and made for the creek, feeling rather crestfallen and a bit puzzled.

  “If I had an outfit like this to run, and a three hundred-mile drive to make,” Bob Nevin remarked to the Silent One, “blessed if I’d make a josh of it! I’d cultivate the corrugated brow and the stiff spine—me!”

  “My friend,” the Silent One responded, “don’t be too has
ty in your judgment. It’s because the corrugated brow will come later that he laughs now. You’ll presently find yourself accomplishing the impossible in obedience to the flicker of Rowdy Vaughan’s eyelids. Man, did you never observe the set of his head, and the look of his eye? Rowdy Vaughan will get more out of this crowd than any man ever did; and if he fails, he’ll fail with the band playing ‘Hot Time.’”

  “Maybe so,” Bob admitted, not quite convinced; “but I wonder if he realizes what he’s up against.” At which the Silent One only smiled queerly as he splashed into the water.

  After dinner Rowdy caught up the blue roan, which was his favorite for a hard ride—he seemed to have forgotten his speech concerning “flunkies”—and rode away up the coulee which had brought them into the field the night before. The boys watched him go, speculated a lot, and went to sleep as the best way of putting in the afternoon.

  Pink, who knew quite well what was in Rowdy’s mind, said nothing at all; it is possible that he was several degrees more jealous of the dignity of Rowdy’s position than was Rowdy himself, who had no time to think of anything but the best way of getting the herd to Canada. He would like to have gone along, only that Rowdy did not ask him to. Pink assured himself that it was best for Rowdy not to start playing any favorites, and curled down in the bed-tent with the others and went to sleep.

  It was late that night when Rowdy crept silently into his corner of the tent; but Pink was awake, and whispered to know if he found water. Rowdy’s “Yes” was a mere breath, but it was enough.

  At sunrise the herd trailed up the Rocking R coulee, and Pink and the Silent One pointed them north of the old trail.

  CHAPTER 12

  “You Can Tell Jessie”

  In the days that followed Rowdy was much alone. There was water to hunt, far ahead of the herd, together with the most practicable way of reaching it. He did not take the shortest way across that arid country and leave the next day’s camping-place to chance—as Wooden Shoes had done. He felt that there was too much at stake, and the cattle were too thin for any more dry drives; long drives there were, but such was his generalship that there was always water at the end.

  He rode miles and miles that he might have shirked, and he never slept until the next day’s move, at least, was clearly defined in his mind and he felt sure that he could do no better by going another route.

  These lonely rides gave him over to the clutch of thoughts he had never before harbored in his sunny nature. Grim, ugly thoughts they were, and not nice to remember afterward. They swung persistently around a central subject, as the earth revolves around the sun; and, like the earth, they turned and turned on the axis of his love for a woman.

  In particularly ugly moods he thought that if Harry Conroy were caught and convicted of horsestealing, Jessie must perforce admit his guilt and general unworthiness—Rowdy called it general cussedness—and Rowdy be vindicated in her eyes. Then she would marry him, and go with him to the Red Deer country and—air-castles for miles! When he awoke to the argument again, he would tell himself savagely that if he could, by any means, bring about Conroy’s speedy conviction, he would do so.

  This was unlike Rowdy, whose generous charity toward his enemies came near being a fault. He might feel any amount of resentment for wrong done, but cold-blooded revenge was not in him; that he had suffered so much at Conroy’s hands was due largely to the fact that Conroy was astute enough to read Rowdy aright, and unscrupulous enough to take advantage. Add to that a smallminded jealousy of Rowdy’s popularity and horsemanship, one can easily imagine him doing some rather nasty things. Perhaps the meanest, and the one which rankled most in Rowdy’s memory, was the cutting of Rowdy’s latigo just before a riding contest, in which the purse and the glory of a championship-belt seemed in danger of going to Rowdy.

  Rowdy had got a fall that crippled him for weeks, and Harry had won the purse and belt—and the enmity of several men better than he. For though morally sure of his guilt, no one could prove that he had cut the strap, and so he got off unpunished, except that Pink thrashed him—a bit unscientifically, it is true, since he resorted to throwing rocks toward the last, but with a thoroughness worthy even of Pink.

  But in moods less ugly he shrank from the hurt that must be Jessie’s if she should discover the truth. Jessie’s brother a convicted thief serving his sentence in Deer Lodge! The thought was horrible; it was brutal cruelty. If he could only know where to look for that lad, he’d help him out of the country. It was no good shutting him up in jail; that wouldn’t help him any, or make him better. He hoped he would get off—go somewhere, where they couldn’t find him, and stay there.

  He wondered where he was, and if he had money enough to see him through. He might be no good—he sure wasn’t!—but he was Jessie’s brother, and Jessie believed in him and thought a lot of him. It would be hard lines for that little girl if Harry were caught. Bill Brown, the meddlesome old freak!—he didn’t blame Jessie for not wanting to stop there that night. She did just the right thing.

  With all this going round and round, monotonously persistent in his brain, and with the care of four thousand lean kine and more than a hundred saddle-horses—to say nothing of a dozen overworked, fretful cow-punchers—Rowdy acquired the “corrugated brow” fast enough without any cultivation.

  The men were as the Silent One had predicted. They made drives that lasted far into the night, stood guard, and got along with so little sleep that it was scarce worth mention, and did many things that shaved close the impossible—just because Rowdy looked at them straightly, with half-closed lids, and asked them if they thought they could.

  Pink began to speak of their new foreman as “Moses”; and when the curious asked him why, told them soberly that Rowdy could “hit a rock with his quirt and start a creek running bank full.” When Rowdy heard that, he thought of the miles of weary searching, and wished that it were true.

  They had left the home ranch a day’s drive behind them, and were going north. Rowdy had denied himself the luxury of riding over to see Jessie, and he was repenting the sacrifice in deep gloom and sincerity, when two men rode into camp and dismounted, as if they had a right. The taller one—with brawn and brain a-plenty, by the look of him—announced that he was the sheriff, and would like to stop overnight.

  Rowdy gave him welcome half-heartedly, and questioned him craftily. A sheriff is not a detective, and does not mind giving harmless information; so Rowdy learned that they had traced Conroy thus far, and believed that he was ahead of them and making for Canada. He had dodged them cleverly two or three times, but now they had reason to believe that he was not more than half a day’s ride before them. They wanted to know if the outfit had seen any one that day, or sign of any one having passed that way.

  Rowdy shook his head.

  “I bet it was Harry Conroy driving that little bunch uh horses up the creek, just as we come over the ridge,” spoke Pink eagerly.

  Rowdy could have choked him. “He wouldn’t be driving a lot of horses,” he interposed quickly.

  “Well, he might,” argued Pink. “If I was making a quick get-away, and my horse was about played out—like his was apt t’ be—I’d sure round up the first bunch I seen, and catch me a fresh one—if I was a horse-thief. I’ll bet yuh—”

  The sheriff had put down his cup of coffee. “Is there any place where a man could corral a bunch on the quiet?” he asked crisply. It was evident that Pink’s theory had impressed him.

  “Yes, there is. There’s an old corral up at the ford—Drowning Ford, they call it—that I’d use, if it was me. It was an old line camp, and there’s a cabin. It’s down on the flat by the creek, and it’s as God-forsaken a place as a man’d want t’ hide in, or t’ change mounts.” Pink hitched up his chapbelt and looked across at Rowdy. He was aching for a sight of Harry Conroy in handcuffs, and he was certain that Rowdy felt the same. “If it was me,” he added speculatively, “and I thought I was far enough in the lead, I’d stop there till morning.”
<
br />   “How far is it from here?” demanded the sheriff, standing up.

  Pink told him he guessed it was five miles. Whereupon the sheriff announced his intention of going up there at once, and Pink hinted rather strongly that he would like to go with them. The sheriff did not know Pink; he looked down at his slimness and at the yellow fringe of curls showing under his hat brim, at his pink cheeks and dimples and girlish hands, and threw back his head in a loud ha! ha!

  Pink asked him politely, but rather stiffly, what there was funny about it. The sheriff laughed louder and longer; then, being the sort of man who likes a joke now and then, even in the way of business, he solemnly deputized Pink, and patted him on the shoulder and told him gravely that they couldn’t possibly do without him.

  It looked for a minute as if Pink were going at him with his fists—but he didn’t. He reflected that one must not offer violence to an officer of the law, and that, being made a deputy, he would have to go, anyway; so he gritted his teeth and buckled on his gun, and went along sulkily.

  They rode silently, for the most part, and swiftly.

  Even in the dusk they could see where a band of horses had been driven at a gallop along the creek bank. When they neared the place it was dark. Pink pulled up and spoke for the first time since leaving the tent.

  “We better tie up our horses here and walk,” he said, quite unconscious of the fact that he was usurping the leadership, and thinking only of their quest.

  But the sheriff was old at the business, and not too jealous of his position. He signed to his deputy proper, and they dismounted.

  When they started on, Pink was ahead. The sheriff observed that Pink’s gun still swung in its scabbard at his hip, and he grinned—but that was because he didn’t know Pink. That the gun swung at his hip would have been quite enough for any one who did know him; it didn’t take Pink all day to get into action.