The Ranch at the Wolverine

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER VII

  WARD HUNTS WOLVES

  The fate of the four heifer calves became permanently wrapped in theblank fog of mystery. Billy Louise watched for them when she rode outin the hills, and spent a good deal of time heretofore given over todreaming in trying to solve the riddle of their disappearance. CharlieFox insisted upon keeping to the theory that they had merely strayed.Marthy grumbled sometimes over the loss, and Ward--well, Ward did notput in an appearance again that fall or winter and so did not hear ofthe incident.

  November brought a long, tiresome storm of snow and sleet and chillwinds, which even the beasts would not face, except when they wereforced. After that there were days of chilly sunlight, nights of blackfrost, and more wind and rain and snow. Each little ranch oasiswithdrew into itself and settled down to pass the winter in physicalcomfort and mental isolation. Even Billy Louise seldom rode abroadunless she was compelled to, which was not often. The stage whichpassed through the Wolverine basin twice a week left scanty mail in thestarch-box which Billy Louise had herself nailed to a post nearest thetrail. Now and then a chance traveler pulled thankfully out of thetrail, stopped for a warm dinner or a bed, and afterwards went his way.But from October until the hills were green, there was never a sight ofWard, and Billy Louise changed her mood and her opinion of him three orfour times a week.

  Ward, as a matter of fact, had a very good reason for his absence. Hewas working for a rancher over on the other side of the mountains, andwhen he got leave of absence, it was merely that he might ride to hisclaim and sleep there a night in compliance with the law, and see thatnothing was disturbed. He was earning forty dollars a month, which hecould not afford to jeopardize by any prolonged absence; and he was totake part of his pay in cows. Also, he had made arrangements to keephis few head of stock with the rancher's for a nominal sum, whichbarely saved Ward from the humiliation of feeling that the man wasgiving him something for nothing. Junkins, the rancher, was a goodfellow, and he had a fair sense of values. He knew that he could payWard these wages and let him winter his stock there--I believe Ward hadseven or eight head at that time--and still make a fair profit on hislabor. For Ward stuck to his work, and he worked fast, with the driveof his nervous energy and the impatience he always felt toward anyobstacle. Junkins considered privately that Ward was giving him thework of two men, while he had the appetite of one. So that it was tohis interest to induce Ward to stay until spring opened and gave himplenty to do on his own claim; and such was Ward's anxiety to acquiresome property and a certain financial security, that he put behind himthe temptation to ride down to the Wolverine until he was once more hisown master. He had sold his time to Junkins. He would not pilfer thehours it would take to ride twenty miles and back again, even to seeBilly Louise; which proves that he was no moral weakling, whatever elsehe might be.

  Then, in April, he left Junkins and drove home a nice little bunch often cows and a two-year-old and two yearlings. One of the cows had aweek-old calf, and there would be more before long. Ward sang thewhole of _Chisholm Trail_ at the top of his voice, as he drifted thecattle slowly up the long hill to the top of the divide, from where hecould look down over lower hills into his own little creek-bottom.

  "With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky, I'll quit punching cows in the sweet by-and-by,"

  he finished exuberantly and promised himself that he would ride down tothe Wolverine the very next day "and see how the folks came through thewinter." He wanted to tell William Louisa that he was some cowmanhimself, these days. He thought he had made a pretty good showing inthe last twelve months; for when he first met her, at the Cedar Creekford, he hadn't owned a hoof except the four which belonged to Rattler,his horse. He thought that maybe, if the play came right and he didn'tlose his nerve, he might tell William Louisa something else! It seemedto him that he had earned the right now.

  He rode three miles oblivious to his surroundings, while he wentcarefully over his acquaintance--no, his friendship--with Billy Louiseand tried to guess what she would say when he told her what he hadwanted to tell her for a year; what he had been hungry to tell her.Sometimes he smiled a little, and sometimes he looked gloomy. He endedby hurrying the cattle down the canyon so that he might ride on to theWolverine that night. It would be tough on Rattler, but then, what's arange cayuse made for, anyway? Rattler had had a snap, all winter; hecould stand a hard deal once, for a change. It would do the old skategood to lift himself over fifty miles once more.

  Whether it did Rattler any good or not, it put new heart into Ward toride down the bluff and see the wink of the cabin window once more. Hesmiled suddenly to himself, threw back his shoulders, and lifted up hisvoice in the doggerel that had come to be a sort of bond between thetwo.

  "I'm on my best horse and a-comin' on the run, Best blamed cowboy that ever pulled a gun,"

  he shouted gleefully. A yellow square opened in the cabin's side, anda figure stood outlined against the shining background. Ward laughedhappily.

  "Coma ti yi youpy, youpy-a, youpy-a," he sang uproariously.

  Billy Louise turned her head toward the interior of the cabin and thenleft the light and merged into the darkness without. Ward risked abroken neck and went down the last bit of slope as if he were trying tohead a steer. By the time he galloped up to the gate, Billy Louise wasleaning over it. He could see her form dimly there.

  "'Lo, Bill," he said softly and slid out of the saddle and went up toher. "How you was, already?" Again his voice was like a kiss.

  "'Lo, Ward!" (in a tone that returned the kiss). "Don't know whetherthe stopping's good to-night or not. We've quit taking in tramps.Where the dickens have you been for the last ten years?" And that, ontop of a firm conviction in Billy's Louise's mind that she did not carewhether Ward ever crossed her trail again, and that when he did, hewould have to do a lot of explaining before she would thaw to anythingapproaching friendliness. Oh, well, we all change our minds sometimes.

  "I felt like it was twenty," Ward affirmed. "Do I get any supper,William? I like to have ridden my horse to a standstill getting hereto-night; know that? I hope you appreciate the fact."

  "It's a wonder you wouldn't have started a little sooner, then," BillyLouise retorted. "Along about Christmas, for instance."

  "Wasn't my fault I didn't, William. Think I've got nothing to do butchase around the country calling on young ladies? I've been a wageslave, Bill-Loo. Come on while I put up my horse. Poor devil, I drovecattle from Junkins' place with him, and they weren't what you couldcall trail-broke, either. And then I came on down here. I've been inthe saddle since daylight, young lady; and Rattler's been under it."

  "Well, I'm very sure that it is not my fault," Billy Louise disclaimed,as she walked beside him to the stable.

  "I'm not so sure of that! I might produce some pretty strong evidencethat the last twenty miles is your fault. Say, you didn't know I'vegone into the cow business myself, did you, William? I've been workinglike one son-of-a-gun all fall and winter, and I'm in the cattle-kingclass--to the extent of twelve head. I knew you were crazy to hear theglad tidings, so I tried to kill off a horse to get here and tell you.You and me'll be running a wagon and full crew in another year, don'tyou reckon? And send reps over into Wyoming and around, to look afterour interests!" He laughed at himself with a perfect understanding ofhis own insignificance as a cattle-owner, and Billy Louise laughed withhim, though not at him, for it seemed to her that Ward had done well,considering his small opportunities.

  To be sure, in these days when civilization travels by million-dollarmilestones, and the hero of a ten-dollar story scorns any enterprisewhich requires less than five figures to name its profits, Ward andBilly Louise and Charlie Fox--and all their neighbors--do not amount tomuch. But it is a fact that real men and women in the real worldbeyond the horizon work hard and fight real battles for a very smallsuccess compared with Big Interests and the modern storyman. And I'mtelling you of some real people in
a real world out in the sagebrushcountry, where not even a story hero may consistently become amillionaire in ten chapters. There is no millionaire material in thesagebrush country, you know, unless it is planted there by the BigInterests; and the Big Interests do not plant in barren soil. So iftwelve head of cattle look too trifling to mention, I can't help it.Ward worked mighty hard for those few animals, and saved and schemed,and denied himself much pleasure. Therefore, he did as well as any manunder the circumstances could do and be honest.

  He did not do so very well when it came to telling Billy Louisesomething. Twice during his visit he had to admit to himself that theplay came right to tell her. And both times Ward shied like a horse inthe moonlight. For all that he sang about half the way home, the nextday, and for the rest of the way he built castles; which proves thathis visit had not been disappointing.

  He rode out into the pasture where his cattle were grazing and satlooking at them while he smoked a cigarette. And while he smoked, thatsmall herd grew and multiplied before the eyes of his imagination,until he needed a full crew of riders to take care of them. He shippeda trainload of beef to Chicago before he threw away the cigarette stub,and he laughed to himself when he rode back to the log cabin in thegrove of quaking aspens.

  "I'm getting my money's worth out of that bunch, just in the fun ofplanning ahead," he realized, while he whittled shavings from the edgeof a cracker-box to start his supper fire. "A few cows and calves makethe best day-dream material I've struck yet; wish I had more of thesame. I'd make old Dame Fortune put a different brand on me, pronto.She could spell it with an F, but it wouldn't be football. If thecards fall right," he mused, when the fire was hot and crackling, andhe was slicing bacon with his pocket-knife, "I'll get the best of heryet. And--" His coffee-pail boiled over and interrupted him. Heburned his fingers before he slid the pail to a cooler spot, and afterthat he thought of the joys of having a certain gray-eyed girl for hishousekeeper, and for a time he forgot about his newly acquired herd.

  And then his day-dreams received a severer jolt, and one more lasting.He began to realize something that he had always known: that there issomething more to the cattle business than branding the calves andselling the beef.

  When the first calf went to dull the hunger of the wolves that howledo'nights among the rocks and stunted pines on Bannock Butte, Ward sworea good deal and resolved to ride with his rifle tied on the saddlehereafter. Also, he went back immediately, got a little fat, bluebottle of strychnine, and returned and "salted" the small remnant ofthe carcass. It was no part of his dreams to have the profit chewedoff his little herd by wolves.

  When the second calf was pulled down in spite of the mother's defense,within half a mile of his cabin, Ward postponed a trip he had meant tomake to the Wolverine and went out on the trail of the wolves. In theloose soil of the lower ridge he tracked them easily and rode at ashuffling trot along the cow-trail they had followed, his eyes keen forsome further sign of them. He guessed that there would be at least oneden farther up in the gulch that opened out ahead, and if he could findit and get the pups--well, the bounty on one litter would even hisloss, even if he were not lucky enough to get one of the old ones. Hehad a shovel tied to the saddle under his left leg, to use in case hefound a den.

  So, planning a crusade against these enemies to his enterprise, hepicked his way slowly up the side of the deep gully that had a littlestream wandering through rocks at the bottom. His eyes, that BillyLouise had found so quick and keen, noted every little jutting shelf ofrock, every badger hole, every bush. It looked like a good place fordens of wolf or coyote. And with the sun shining down warm on hisshoulders, and the meadow larks singing from swaying weeds, and rabbitsscuttling away through the rocks now and then, Ward began to forget theill-luck that had brought him out and to enjoy the hunt for its ownsake.

  Farther along there were so many places that would bear investigationthat he left Rattler on a level spot, and with his rifle andsix-shooter, went forward on foot, climbing over ledges of rock,forcing his way through green-budded, wild-rose bushes or sliding downloose, gravelly slopes.

  One place--a tiny cave under a huge bowlder--looked promising. Therewere wolf tracks going in and out, plenty of them. But there were nobones or offal anywhere around, and Ward decided that it was not afamily residence, but that the wolves had perhaps invaded the nest ofsome other animal. He went on hopefully. That side of the gulch wascobwebbed with tracks.

  Then, quite accidentally, he glanced across to the far side, his eyesattracted to something which had moved. He could see nothing at first,though from the corner of his eye he had certainly caught a flicker ofmovement over there. Yellow sand, gray rocks and bushes, and above acurlew circling, with long beak outstretched before, and long, red legsstretched out behind. He almost believed he had but caught the swiftpassing of a cloud shadow over there and was on the point of climbingfarther up his own slope, to where a yawning hole in the hill showedsigns of being pawed and trampled. Then an outline slowly defineditself among a jumble of rocks; head, sloping back, two points forears. It might be a rock, but it began to look more and more like awolf sitting up on its haunches watching him fixedly.

  Even while Ward lifted his rifle and got the ivory bead snugly fittedinto the notch of the rear sight with his eye, he would not have bettwo-bits that he was aiming at an animal. He pulled the trigger with asteady crooking of his forefinger and the whole gulch clamored with thenoise. The object over there leaped high, came down heavily, androlled ten feet down the hill to another level, where it bounded threeor four times convulsively, slid a few feet farther, and lay stillbehind a bush.

  "Got you that time, you old Turk, if you did nearly fool me playing youwere part of the scenery." Ward slid recklessly down to the bottom,sought a narrow place, jumped the creek, and climbed exultantly towhere the wolf lay twisted on its back, its eyes half open and glazed,its jaws parted in a sardonic grin. Ward grinned also as he looked atit. He gave the carcass a poke with his boot-toe and glanced up thehill toward the rocks.

  "Maybe you were playing lookout for the bunch," he said, "and thenagain, maybe you ain't hooked up with a family; though from the looks,you ain't weaned your pups yet--till just now." Leaving the wolf whereshe lay, he climbed to the rocks where he had first seen her. They layhigh piled, but he could see daylight through every open space and soknew there was no den. The base rested solidly on the yellow earth.

  Ward stood and looked at the slope below. To the right and half-waydown was a ten-foot ledge, and below that outcropped a steep bank ofearth. He could not see what lay immediately below, but while he wasstill staring, a pointed, gray nose topped by pert, gray ears pokedcautiously over the bank, hovered there sniffing, and dropped back outof sight.

  "You little son-of-a-gun!" he exclaimed and dug in his heels on thesharp descent. "I've got you right where I want you, now."

  The den was tunneled into the earth just over another ledge, whichunderlay the bank there, and gave a sheer drop of ten or fifteen feetto the slope below, where a thick fringe of blossoming cherry bushesgrew close and hid the ledge so completely that the den had beenperfectly concealed from across the gulch. It was a case where theshovel was needed. Ward "flagged" the den by throwing his coat downbefore the opening and went back to where Rattler waited. He wasjubilant over his good luck. With an average litter of pups, and theold wolf besides, the bounty would make those two calves the mostprofitable animals in the bunch, reckoned on the basis of moneyinvested in them.

  With the shovel he enlarged the tunnel, and between strokes he heardthe whimpering of the pups. The sound sobered his face to a pityingdetermination. Poor little devils, it was not their fault that theywere born to be a menace rather than a help to mankind. He was sorryfor their terror, while he dug back to where they huddled against thefarthest wall of their nest. He worked fast that he might the soonerend their discomfort, and his forehead was puckered into a frown at theharsh law of life that it must preserv
e its existence at the expense ofsome other life. Yet he dug back and back, burrowing into the banktoward the whimpering. It was farther than he had thought, but thesoil was a loose sand and gravel, and he made good headway.

  Then, laying down his shovel, he reached into a hysterical squirm ofsoft hair and sharp little teeth that snapped at his gloved hand. Oneby one he hauled them out, whining, biting, struggling like the littlesavages they were. One by one he sent them into oblivion with a sharptap of the shovel. There were eight, just big enough to make little,investigative trips outside the den when all was quiet. Ward was gladhe had found them and wiped them out of existence, but it had not beenpleasant work.

  He wiped the perspiration off his face with his handkerchief, pushedhis hat to the back of his head, and sat down on the ledge beside thepile of dirt he had thrown out. He felt the need of a smoke, after allthat exertion.

  It was while he was smoking and resting that he first became consciousof the pile of dirt as something more than the obstacle between himselfand the wolf-pups. He blew a little cloud of smoke from his mouth,leaned and lifted a handful of sand, picked something out of it, andlooked at it intently. He said "Humph!" skeptically. Then he turnedhis head and stared at the ledge above and to the right of him, twistedhalf around and scanned the steep slope immediately above the earthbank, and then looked at the gulch beneath him. He took his cigarettefrom his lips, said, "Well, I'll be darned!" and put it back again.With his forefinger he turned over a small, rusty lump the size of apea, wiped it upon his sleeve, and bent over it eagerly, holding it sothat the light struck it revealingly. His face glowed. Save the wantof tenderness in his eyes, he looked as though Billy Louise stoodbefore him; the same guarded gladness, the same intent eagerness.

  Ward sprawled over that pile of gravel and sand and searched with hisfingers, as young girls search a thick bank of clover for the magicfour leaves. He found one other small lump that he kept, but beyondthat his search was barren of result. Still, that glow remained in hisface. Finally he roused himself as though he realized that he wasbehaving foolishly. He made himself another cigarette and smoked itfast, keeping pace with his shuttling thoughts. And by the time thepaper tube was burned down to an inch-long stub, he had won back hismanner of imperturbable calm; only his eyes betrayed a hiddenexcitement.

  "Looks like there's money in wolves," he said aloud and laughed alittle. "Old Lady Fortune, you want to watch out, or I'm liable to getthe best of you yet! Looks like I've got a hand to draw to, now.Youp-_ee-ee_!" His forced imperturbability exploded in the yell, andafter that he moved briskly.

  "I've got to play safe on this," he warned himself, while he scalpedthe last of the pups. "No use getting rattled. If she's good as shelooks, she's fine. She'll help boost my little bunch of cattle, andthat's all I want. I ain't going to go hog-wild over it, like so manydo."

  He went over and skinned the mother wolf, and with the pelts in astrong-smelling bundle, returned to the sand pile and filled hisneckerchief as full as he could tie it. Then he went down into thegulch, jumped the creek with his load--and got a foot wet where hisboot leaked along the sole--and climbed hurriedly up to where Rattlerwaited and dozed in the sunshine, with the reins dropped to the ground.

  Rattler objected to those fresh wolf-skins, and Ward lifted adisciplinary boot-toe to his ribs. His mood did not accept patientlyany unnecessary delay in getting home, and he succeeded in makingRattler aware of his mood. Rattler laid back his ears and took thetrail in long, rabbit-jumps for spite, risking his own and his master'sbones unchecked and unchided. The pace pleased Ward, and to the riskhe gave no thought. He was reconstructing his air-castles on broaderlines and smiling now and then to himself.