Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp: The Blue-Roan Outlaw and Other Stories

by Will C. Barnes

  DUMMY

  By permission _National Wool Growers' Magazine_

  "Take him, Bob; take him, boy." The woman pointed to a coyote skulkingin the sage brush a hundred yards from the camp wagon beside which shestood. The dog raced toward the animal which turned and stopped, a nastysnarl coming from its lips, teeth bared, every hair of its mane erect.Almost as large as a full grown wolf it outweighed the dog by manypounds.

  Surprised at the coyote's hostile attitude the Airedale stopped for amoment, then advanced cautiously, realizing that this coyote differedsomewhat from those he had met before.

  Instantly the coyote flew at the dog, burying its keen teeth deep in hisleft leg, leaping quickly back to avoid a clinch, its jaws snapping likecastanets. The dog, though taken by surprise, fought with all the furyof his breed, but being only a pup was manifestly overmatched. Realizingthe dangerous character of the coyote, the woman seized the camp axestanding at the front wheel of the wagon and ran to the aid of herprotector.

  The coyote tore loose from the dog's grip and jumped at her as she camenearer. She swung the axe as the animal raised in the air, missed itshead by six inches, and, before she could gather herself for anotherblow, it sank its fangs deep into her bare arm. Encouraged by herpresence the dog fastened himself to the animal's hindquarters, butshaking him loose it lunged at her again. She stood her ground,thrusting the axe at the brute in an endeavor to keep it at bay.Meantime the door to the camp wagon opened, a boy about fifteen jumpedto the ground, in his hand a heavy automatic pistol. As the coyotesprang at the woman's body he thrust the weapon under her arm almost inthe animal's face, and the shot that followed blew half its ugly headaway.

  As the beast sank to the ground the woman dropped the axe, ran to thewagon, picked up a rope hobble that lay on the tongue, tied it aroundher arm above the wound and, with a short piece of stick, twisted theimprovised tourniquet until it sank deep into the white flesh. The boy,the while uttering those strange inarticulate sounds of the deaf anddumb, wrote a few words upon the slate that hung from his neck by aleather thong and handed it to the woman. "The signal--shoot thesignal," she read.

  She seized the automatic the boy had used, raised it above her head,fired two quick shots, waited a moment, and fired two more. As shelistened there came through the still cold air an answer, sharp andstaccato as the spark from a wireless.

  Then, and not until then, did the woman relax and sink to the ground asif dead.

  The physical disabilities of the boy had given him a keenness andcomprehension far beyond his years. He clambered into the wagon, drewfrom its scabbard a heavy rifle, jumped to the ground and repeated thesignal three times. Could his ears have served him he would have heardthe answering shots, this time much nearer.

  No rider in a Wild West relay race ever quit his pony with greater speedthan did Jim Stanley as he reached his camp, where with one quick glancehe realized what had happened. As he dropped beside his wife she openedher eyes, grasped his hand and struggled to rise. The boy ran to thewagon returning quickly with a small box, the well known red cross onits black shining side proving it to be a "first aid kit." The womansmiled faintly. Away back in the mountains the forest ranger's wife hadonce showed her the box the government furnished all its rangers, andwhen the lambs were shipped in August she coaxed Stanley to bring oneback. He rather laughed at the idea, but to please her, bought one and,with a woman's foresight, it had always been kept in the camp wagon.

  The prevalence of rabies among the coyotes was the one live topic inevery sheep and cattle camp all over the range country and, realizingthe serious nature of the wound, the man took the box from the boy,opened it and seized the booklet which told briefly what to do in suchan emergency.

  The pressure of the tourniquet was lessened, causing the wound to bleedfreely, a most valuable aid to its cleansing, and in a few minutes ithad been well washed with hot water, flooded with a strong solution ofcarbolic acid and bound tightly with one of the bandages from the box.

  In the meantime, the man had decided on his course. At a sign from himthe boy mounted the horse Stanley had ridden into camp and rode rapidlyoff across the range. While he was gone, Stanley outlined his plans tohis wife. With good luck they could intercept the auto stage, thatpassed down the road every day, at a point some thirty miles distant.From there it was seventy-five miles to town which they would reach thatnight in time to catch the midnight train to the nearest Pasteurinstitute.

  "But the sheep, Jim?" and the woman looked anxiously out on the range."We can't leave them all alone, you better let me make the ride bymyself and you stay here, for I can get through all right."

  Stanley shook his head. "Not for all the sheep in the world would I letyou go alone." He kissed her cheeks.

  "But Jim," she pleaded, "it's too much to risk and I'll make it withouta bit of trouble."

  The boy was just turning the point of a little hill near camp drivingbefore him the two horses hobbled out the night before. Stanley pointedto him. "Dummy can turn the trick all right enough, he's the best herderin this whole range for his age, and he'll get 'em through if any onecan. He's only a boy, but he has a lot of good horse-sense and if theweather holds out he'll work the herd from here to the winter range andnot lose a sheep."

  "But we'll take the team with us; how can he move camp?" and she glancedat the big roomy camp wagon.

  "That saddle pony of mine will carry all the grub and bedding he'll needand the wagon can stand right here till some of us can get back and haulit away."

  The man hung a nose bag full of oats on each horse, saddling them asthey ate, and while he was getting out the pack outfit, food, and othersupplies for the boy, she was writing his instructions on the slate,supplemented by many signs and motions which he read as easily as thewritten words. He was to stay in this camp two or three days longer,then pack the pony with his camp outfit and drift the sheep slowlytoward the winter range seventy-five miles below.

  "Take plenty of food," she wrote, "for it may be ten days before someone gets out to relieve you. You know the way, don't you?"

  Dummy nodded eagerly. He had come up with the sheep in the spring andknew every camp and bed-ground on the trail.

  "Don't you worry about him," Stanley told his wife, when she again spokeof the danger of leaving the boy all alone. "He's short two good ears,that's sure, but he more than makes up for them in gumption andcommon-sense. If it don't come on to storm, he'll make it through allright and by the time he gets there I'll have a man ready to relievehim, if I'm not there myself."

  "And if it does storm," he continued, "he'll probably do just about aswell as any one else, for out here, if it comes on a blizzard, all thebest man in the world could do would be to let the sheep drift before ittill they strike shelter."

  Fifteen minutes later, the boy watched them ride out of sight, over aridge near camp. As the two figures were lost to view he turned towardthe wagon and took a short survey of his surroundings. Out on the rangetwelve hundred ewes were peacefully grazing with no hand but his toguide and protect them; what a chance to show the stuff in him! Deepdown in his heart he hoped that the man who was to come out from therailroad to relieve him would be delayed for many days. It would givehim a chance to make good and show his worth.

  "_Out on the range 1200 ewes were grazing_"]

  For three days Dummy led an uneventful life. The dog was recovering fromhis wounds, the sheep were doing well, and he had shot another rascallycoyote that came skulking about the camp one evening.

  On the fourth day the sky was overcast with heavy clouds that seemedthreatening and, as the feed near camp was about gone, he decided it wastime to be moving. In two hours he was off, the dog limping along by hisside, the herd slowly grazing their way across the range.

  As a precautionary measure he led the pack horse lest old "Slippers"take it into his head to desert him. That night Dummy made camp underthe lee of some small hills where a few scattered cedars offeredfire-wood and shelter. The sun had set in an angry s
ky, there was astrange feeling in the air, and the sheep seemed to sense an approachingstorm.

  He bedded them down in the most sheltered spot he could find, set up hislittle miner's tent close to a cedar and, after cooking his supper, tookthe dog into the tent, tied the flaps and slept as only a tired boy ofhis age can sleep.

  The tent was lit with the dim gray of early dawn, when the dog's coldnose on his face awoke him, and he was soon outside, opening up the firehole he had carefully covered the night before. The wind was blowinga gale while overhead the sky was that dull leaden color that in therange country means snow.

  Late that afternoon he worked the sheep toward a line of low cliffs thatcut across the prairie and bedded them down in their lee, finding forhimself a snug overhanging shelf of rock, under which he placed his campoutfit, and cooked his first meal since daylight.

  Dummy dared not hobble out his horse in such a night, but after givinghim a small feed of grain he had brought from the wagon, staked theanimal in a little grassy wash near camp.

  By dark the snow began to fall heavily and he knew that for him and hiswoolly companions the morrow would be full of new troubles.

  Lost to all sounds of the storm, the lad sat before the little campfireunder the overhanging rock and watched the snow drive before the wind.With the confidence of one born and raised amid such conditions, Dummyrather enjoyed the prospect of a struggle against the elements. Hisparents were Basques from the Spanish Pyrenees, a sturdy dependable racethat for centuries have been sheepherders in their own land. Everywinter, from the open ranges of the West, come tales of "basco"sheepherders facing death in the storms, rather than desert their herds.Their devotion to their woolly charges, good judgment in handling themand loyalty to their employers' interests, even unto death, isrecognized all over the western range country, until the name "basco"stands for the best in sheepherders.

  From such as these sprang this boy, deaf and dumb from his birth. Hisfather and his uncle were among the best herders in the state, and froma child he had been used to the rough life of a sheep camp. Deficient ashe was in two vital senses, the remaining ones had been developed untilhis ability to grasp and understand things about him seemed almostuncanny. It was this knowledge of the boy's breeding and peculiaritiesthat made Stanley feel he would take the best possible care of the sheepleft in his charge.

  When Dummy opened his eyes the next morning, the air was so full of snowdriving before a fifty-mile gale that he could not see a hundred feetfrom camp. He cooked his breakfast, fed Slippers the last of the grain,and waited for the storm to break, realizing that until it did it wouldbe folly to leave the shelter of the cliffs.

  The sheep were getting restless and hungry and occasionally smallbunches drifted out into the storm in search of feed, but afterbuffeting with the wind for a few moments were glad to come back. Aboutnoon there came a lull in the gale and the snow came straight downalmost in clouds. The sheep were uneasy over the change, and evenSlippers seemed to sense some new danger.

  Suddenly with a roar the wind swept upon them from a new direction sothat they were now exposed to its full fury, whereas, before, they hadbeen sheltered by the cliffs.

  The sheep tried to face it, but the fierce wind was too much for them,and they slowly drifted before the gale across the snow-covered range.

  All that day Dummy struggled along behind the herd tired, cold, hungry,and almost blinded by the frozen tears, leading the pack horse lest helose him. As for controlling the movements of the sheep, he did nothingfor they could travel in but one direction, and that was away from thearctic blast which grew in strength as the day wore on. Wherever therewas a sign of anything eatable upon which the hungry animals could feed,they ate even the woody stems of the sage or the dry yellow fibre-likeleaves of the Yuccas that here and there showed above the snow.

  The short winter day began to wane, and darkness was slowly creepingacross the white cover that lay over the land. All sense of directionand time had long since left the lad, but he struggled on, the doglimping along at his side.

  Just as the last signs of daylight faded away the sheep stopped moving,and he was unable to start them again. He wrapped the lead rope of hishorse about a sage bush as best he could, then worked his way throughthe herd looking for the cause of their stopping. Stumbling and fallingover snow-hidden rocks and bushes, he found himself almost stepping offinto empty space over a cliff, where the snow had built out from itsedge in such a manner as to conceal its presence, and, even as he threwhimself back from the step he was about to take, he saw several sheepwalk blindly out into the semi-darkness and disappear into the depthbelow.

  The loss of these roused into action every drop of his basco blood. Inthe dim light he could just make out where the edge of the cliff layand, carefully working his way along it, beat the stolid mass of animalsback from the danger. By this time it was almost dark and he turned backto find his horse, but after half an hour's search gave it up andreturned to the herd, hoping the animal might be with them somewhere.He stumbled around in the snow for some time before he came up with thetail enders of the herd slowly working their way through a break in thecliff down which the leaders had evidently gone. He found the herdhuddled up in the shelter of the cliff and eagerly looked through themfor the pack horse with its precious burden of food and bedding, butwithout success.

  Once he stumbled over several soft objects in the dark which he made outto be some of the sheep that had fallen over the cliff. When he finallyrealized that the pack horse was gone, he knew where he could at leastget his supper and breakfast, and after starting a fire skinned out ahind quarter of one of the fallen sheep and soon had some of itroasting. Fortunately for the boy, he found piled against the cliff alot of poles that had evidently been part of an old corral, which madeit possible for him to keep the fire going all night and over which hehuddled dropping off to sleep only to be awakened by his numbed limbsand body.

  Eagerly Dummy peered through the falling snow the next day as the graydawn came slowly into the east. The snow sweeping over the cliff fromabove had formed a drift that almost completely shut the sheep in as ifwith a fence and he knew there was no possibility of leaving the shelterwhere he was until the sky cleared off enough for him to get hisbearings. Even then he doubted if it would be possible for the sheep totravel, so deep was the snow.

  About noon the snow stopped falling, and Dummy worked his way up to thetop of the cliff from which as far as he could see there was but a broadexpanse of snow-covered range.

  To his left the view was cut off by a small hill that stood close to thecliff. He went over to it and from its top saw below him in the openplain a small board shack with a rough shed stable near it.

  Instantly he remembered that, as they passed up with the sheep in thespring, a man and his wife were busy building the shack preparatory totaking up the land about it for dry farming purposes. Eagerly he watchedthe house for signs of occupancy, but as there was no smoke coming fromthe chimney, he decided it was empty. Two things interested him,however. One, the fact that the plowed field near the house, being on aslight elevation, was blown almost clear of snow, and the other, therewas something half hidden by the house which looked mightily like astack of hay, although it scarcely seemed that this could be true.

  In the field, which covered perhaps forty acres, he saw the possibilityof finding a little feed for the sheep until the snow should settleenough to allow them to travel and, if the stack really was hay or anyrough feed, his troubles were over for the present at least.

  As the lad turned back to camp he realized only too well the difficultyof moving the herd until the snow settled, it being fully eighteeninches deep on the level, and everywhere there were drifts many feethigh through which the sheep in their weakened condition could not maketheir way.

  But it was less than half a mile at the most from the camp to the shack,and he was sure he could work the sheep to the field where there wouldbe some pickings that would keep them from starving.

  As
he suspected, he found the place deserted, and the stack proved tobe fodder of some description surrounded by a strong fence. The shed,which had a small door hanging on one hinge and about half open, was asdark as a cellar and, as he stepped inside, the nose of his lost horsewas fairly pushed into his face, and but for his infirmity he could haveheard the most gladsome nickering and whinnying to which a lone hungryhorse ever gave tongue. A few threads of canvas on the door post toldthe story of the trap the animal had walked into. Looking for food andshelter, he had squeezed through the half open door, but, once inside,the wide pack striking it on one side and the door post on the other,held him a prisoner.

  Quickly the boy removed the pack, then, armed with the camp shovel andaxe, went to investigate the stack. It looked more like weeds thananything else and when he grabbed a handful it was rough and harsh andpricked his hands. It was green, however, and the horse ate it greedily.

  With the finding of his horse the lad's spirit rose and he set to workto move the sheep over. Between the camp and the house there was a deepwash which the drifting snow had almost filled, while elsewhere therewas fully eighteen inches. With the pack-saddle on the horse, the lashrope for traces, and an old sled, evidently used by the farmer to haulwater, he started to break a trail through which the sheep could maketheir way, the shovel being used on the drifts. With a little coaxing hegot them started through this narrow lane, and eventually the wholebunch was inside the field eagerly gnawing every eatable thing in sight.

  About half an hour before dark that evening a long string of packhorses, with a rider in the lead and another following, came ploughingthrough the snow up to the cliff above where the sheep had been bedded.Two of the horses carried ordinary camp packs, the rest were loaded withhay, three bales to the horse. At the edge of the cliff the leaderpulled up while every animal stopped in its tracks.

  "If we can't see anything of the sheep from here we might just as wellgive it up for the night," he called back to his companion. "Come on upand have a look."

  For a few minutes they both sat gazing out into the plain below, acrosswhich the evening shadows were slowly trailing. As far as they could seethere was but a white unbroken sheet of snow, the only living thingvisible being half a dozen ravens cawing hoarsely as they drifted intothe distance.

  The second man pulled out his pipe, loaded, and lit it.

  "Jim," he queried, "do you know what night this is?"

  "I reckon I do," and Stanley's voice choked. "It's Christmas eve, an' Ibeen a-thinkin' an' a-thinkin' all afternoon of that poor little chapout here a-fightin' his way through a storm, the like of which thisrange ain't seen in twenty years. Don't seem possible he's pulledthrough, although I'd back Dummy to make it and save his herd if any kidcould."

  Suddenly he turned his head and sniffed.

  "Seems like I smell smoke, and cedar smoke at that," he said eagerly."Don't you git it, Bob?"

  "Which way's the wind?" and Bob blew a cloud of smoke into the frostyair.

  "What there is comes from the direction of that there little hill,"pointing to the very hill on which Dummy had stood.

  The instant they topped it, each caught sight of the dry farmer's place,the haystack, the sheep in the field and knew they had found that forwhich they sought.

  "You know the place?" asked Bob, as they hurried down.

  "I do for a fact," Stanley grinned, "last time I passed this-a-way theold digger what built that shack an' taken up the dry farm was cuttin'an' stackin' Russian thistles. When I laughed at him for a fool he saidhe ain't raised nothing' else, an' up North Dakota way they used to put'em up for roughness when the crops failed, an' he's seen many an oldNellie pulled through a hard winter on 'em."

  Ten minutes later the two rode up to the shack. A line of scatteredfodder from the stack to the shed showed what the boy had been doing.Bob picked up a handful of the stuff: "Roosian thistles by all that'sholy," was his comment, "an' whoever before heerd tell of them tumbleweeds a-bein' good for anything to eat."

  As he spoke the lad came round the corner of the shed in which"Slippers" had been comfortably stabled and fed.

  What with smoke from campfires, and the charcoal he had smeared over itto save his eyes, his face was as black as Toby's hat, but to Stanley itwas the face of a hero. Uttering those strange guttural sounds, wavinghis arms towards the sheep, his dark eyes shining with pride and joy theboy ran to Stanley as a child to its father.

  The man, too overwhelmed and happy to speak, grabbed the lad close tohis heart, stroking the tousled head and patting tenderly the dirtycheeks down which the child's tears were now cutting deep trails intheir extra covering while, as he realized the boy could hear not a wordof the praise and thanks he was showering on him for his pluck andfidelity the tears came to his own eyes nor did he try to stop them.

  In the shack that night the boy, worn out by his exposure and thereaction, dropped into his bed the instant supper had been eaten and wasfast asleep in ten seconds.

  The two men smoked in silence before the little fireplace in the corner.

  "Do you reckon we could make a stab at some sort of a Christmas tree an'kinda s'prise the kid in the morning?" Stanley glanced toward the figureasleep on the floor.

  "Jest what I was a studyin' over," was Bob's reply. "These here bascosmake a heap of such holidays an' Dummy he'd be the tickledest kid ever,if he was to find something like Christmas time a settin' by his bedwhen he wakes up in the morning."

  Bob knocked the ashes from his pipe and put it away.

  "There's a bunch of pinons and cedars down along the wash," he said,"sposin' I take the axe an' git a little branch, or the tip of a pinonan' we set her up here by his bed? What kin we dig up to put onto itthat's fittin' for such a thing?"

  "For a starter I got them nine silver cart wheels the store keeper giveme in change," was Stanley's quick response. Bob was already goingthrough his pockets.

  "Here's a handful of chicken feed, that'll help some," handing thechange to Stanley, "yep, an' a paper dollar the postmaster gimme.Reckon the kid'll know what it is? I been skeert I'd use it fer acigarette paper."

  Stanley started for the two kyacks lying in the corner.

  "You hustle out an' git the tree," said he, "an' I'll see what else Ican scare up in the packs. I know there's a couple of apples an' aorange I throwed in with the grub when we was packin'."

  An hour later the two men stood by the boy's bed, their faces fairlyshining with the true Christmas spirit over their efforts to make anacceptable Christmas tree out of such scanty material. On the floor athis head stood a small pinon tree top held erect by several stones. Bothmen had exhausted their ingenuity to find things with which to decorateit and on its branches hung the oddest lot of plunder that ever old"Santy" left on his rounds.

  "I'll never miss them spurs," said Bob pointing to an almost new pair hehad recently bought, "an' Dummy, he's been just daffy about 'em."

  "Same with that new knife," said Stanley. "I jist bought it to be adoin' somethin' an' I know Dummy ain't got one that'll cut cold butter."

  In nine separate little packages wrapped in newspaper the silver dollarswere swinging at the end of pieces of thread from a spool in Bob's "warbag," the loose silver had been placed in two empty tobacco sacks eachhanging pendant from the tip of a limb, while three unbroken packages ofchewing gum, two apples and one rather dilapidated orange swung fromother branches.

  Stanley picked up the boy's slate. "Less' see," he asked, "what'sDummy's real name?"

  "Pedro," answered Bob, busy making down their bed on the floor.

  Painstaking and slowly, he wrote:

  TO PEDRO

  A MERRY CHRISTMAS.

  YOU ARE SURE SOME SHEEP MAN.

  Then he propped the slate against the tree in plain sight of the lad'seyes when he woke.

  "Beats hell how a man's eyes gits to waterin' this cold weather."Stanley wiped his eyes rather furtively as he turned toward their bed.

  "Same here," replied B
ob, blowing his nose with more than usual vigor."Somethin' sure does act onto 'em."