JUMPING AT CONCLUSIONS
It certainly seemed good to be back on the old range again after a sixmonths' absence. As we "topped" the last hill I pulled up the team. Downin the Valley below us the white adobe walls of the ranch house, likesome desert light house, blazed through the glorious green of thecottonwoods that hovered about it. To its right a brown circle markedthe big stockade corral. A smooth mirror-like spot out in the flat infront of the house was the stock-watering reservoir, into which thewindmill, seconded by an asthmatic little gas engine, pumped water fromthe depths. Above it the galvanized iron sails of the great millglittered and flickered and winked in the bright sunlight as if towelcome us home. A cloud of dust stringing off into the distance markedthe trail where a bunch of "broom tails" were scurrying out onto therange after filling themselves at the tank with water and salt.
Suddenly, a gleam of color caught our eyes. It was "Old Glory" at thetop of the tall pole, stirred by a little gust of wind that shook outits folds, the green of the trees making a splendid background.Evidently the boys were expecting us, for the flag was only run up onholidays, Sundays, and when guests were due to arrive.
A soft hand slipped quietly into mine. "Be it ever so humble, there's noplace like home," she sang, and as the words of the homesick,world-tired Payne came from her lips, there came into my throat a greatlump, my eyes filled with tears, and to us both, the sage brush plainshimmering and baking in the bright Arizona sunshine, those brown ruggedmountains in the distance and that desert oasis in the foreground wereby far the loveliest thing we had seen in all our travels. The team,too, seemed to sense our feelings, for they freshened up and took usacross the intervening distance as if they had not already made a goodforty miles from the railroad.
Old Dad, the ranch cook, was at the "snorting post" to greet us as wepulled up, and we soon were sitting on the broad veranda plying the oldrascal with questions about the work, the men, and all the happeningswhile we had been away; for of all forlorn, unsatisfactory things onearth the worst are the letters written by the average cow-puncher ranchforeman concerning matters upon which his absent boss has requested fulland frequent information.
One of the first anxious inquiries on the part of the madam was as tothe whereabouts of her Boston terrier, a bench show prize winner sentout to her shortly before we left. The letter accompanying the dogadvised us that, barring accidents, the animal should in a few monthsbring into the world some offspring, which, considering its parentage,ought to bring fancy prices on the dog market.
"Where's Beauty?" she asked.
"I reckon she done went off with the boys this morning. They's down toWalnut Spring, buildin' a new corral."
"But didn't she--er--hasn't she--" She looked at me appealingly.
"Where are her pups?" was my blunt inquiry.
"Them pups?" The old man took his pipe from his jaws. A queer lookflashed across his brown face; he chuckled as if the words brought upsome rather amusing recollection. Now, old Dad was one of the worstpractical jokers in the West. Nor did he count the cost or think of theresults as long as he could carry his point, and fool some one with oneof his wildly improbable yarns. To "pick a load" into some innocenttenderfoot was his most joyous occupation. I waited patiently for him torecover from the fit of mirth into which my innocent question seemed tohave plunged him. There was a look of extreme disgust on the face of thelady sitting nearby.
"Ye 'member that there young kid-like chap what drifted in here lastspring after the steer gatherin'?" Again that witless chuckle.
Yes, I remembered. We both did--the madam nodded.
"Well, along about the time them there pups came into this here state ofArizony"--the madam's face lighted; there were some pups after all--"thekid and I was here at the ranch all alone, the whole outfit bein' out onthe _rodeo_, an' we havin' been left behind to watch the pasture fence,where a bunch of yearlin's was bein' weaned. One mornin' the kid bustedinto the kitchen. 'The mut's got four purps! Come an' look at em; they'sall de-formed!' ses he, almost breathless with the news."
(Business of surprise and horror on part of listening lady.)
"'De-formed?'" ses I.
"'That's what I sed,' he snaps back at me."
(More business of S. and H. on part of lady; also friend husband.)
"I follers the kid out to the shed back of the house, where the dog hada pile of ole saddle blankets for a bed, and sure enough she had fourwhite faced brindle purps all right, whinin' an' sniffin' just as purpsallers does.
"'What's wrong with 'em?' says I, me not seein' anything de-formed about'em.
"'Hell' ses he, 'can't you see they's all de-formed?'
"'Search me,' ses I, lookin' 'em all over carefully.
"The kid picked up two of 'em. 'Lookit them tails then.' He turned oneof 'em around. Now Beauty ain't got no great shakes of a tail herself,but what she has is straight. 'By Heck!' ses I, seein' a chanst to havesome fun with him, 'sure enough, they is sort of de-formed in theirlittle ole _colas_. Reckon they's no use botherin' to raise 'em, isthey--what with their tails all as crooked as a gimlet. Too bad, toobad,' ses I, 'fer the missus will be monstrously disapp'inted over it.'
"'They's every dad burned one of 'em got a watch eye too, jist like thatthere ole Pinto hoss I rides.' The kid's sure worried.
"'Wuss an' more of it,' I comes back at him.
"'What we goin' to do with 'em?' droppin' the animiles back into theblankets.
"'Nothin', I reckon,' lookin' straight down my nose, 'less'n we drownds'em--said job not bein' one I'm actually hankerin' fer.'"
"_The galvanized iron sails of the windmill flashed inthe sunlight_"]
(Business of fury, anger and indignation, with signs of approachingtears on part of listening lady.)
"You blithering old idiot!" I shrieked, "do you mean to say that youloaded the kid with that sort of a story till he went off and drownedthose valuable pups under the mistaken impression that they weredeformed and therefore worthless?" I glared at him as if to wither hisold carcass with one look. (More of above mentioned business bylady--with real tears.)
"Well"--and the old renegade emitted that infernal chuckle again--"well,how should I sense that he didn't savvy that crooked tails and a glasseye were sure enough signs of birth an' breedin' with them there Bostonterriers?" He looked away; we felt sure he dared not face the wrath inboth our eyes.
I stormed up and down the porch for a few moments, speechless. The ladywas registering every known phase of indignation. Her voice, however,was silent. Evidently there are times in her life when words fail her.This was one of them.
"Where's that kid?" I finally demanded. "I want to have a little heartto heart talk with that _hombre_! As for you"--and I tried to look theindignation I knew the madam felt--"it seems to me your fondness forpicking loads into idiots green enough to be fooled by such a gabblingold ass as you are has gone just about far enough. After I've seen thekid, I'll talk to you further."
Old Dad was slowly and carefully reloading his pipe. From his shirtpocket he dug a match. With most aggravating deliberation he struck iton the door-post against which he leaned, held it over the bowl, gaveseveral long pulls at the pipe to assure himself it was well lit beforehe even deigned to raise his keen gray eyes to mine. The madam's facewas a study in expression. "Where's the kid?" I really thought he hadnot heard my first inquiry as to the whereabouts of that individual.
"Where's he at?" with the grandest look of innocent inquiry on hisweather beaten face that could possibly be imagined. For mere facialexpression he should be a star performer in some big movie company.
"Yes!" I snapped out the words as if to annihilate him. "I want to holdsweet converse with him, _muy pronto, sabe_?"
"Well, he's _vamosed_--drifted yonderly" and he waved his pipe towardsthe eastern horizon.
"Ahead of the sheriff?" I never did have much faith in the younggentleman from Missouri.
"Yep--in a way he was." Once more that devilish chuckle.
I saw th
e old man evidently had a story concealed about his person andthat, with his usual contrariness the more we crowded him the longer hewould be in getting it out of his system. I dropped angrily into theporch swing, where I could watch his face, while the madam sat herselfdown on the steps of the porch apparently utterly oblivious ofeverything but the sage-dotted prairie spread out before us. Finally theaged provision spoiler began to emit words.
"The last time the outfit shipped steers over at the railroad," he saidslowly, "the kid he tanked up pretty consid'able till he's a feeling hisoats, an' imaginin' hisself a reg'lar wild man from Borneo, andeverything leading up to his gittin' into trouble before he was manyhours older. Comes trotting down the sidewalk old man Kates, the Justiceof the Peace who, on account of his gittin' the fees in all casesbrought up before him, was allers on the lookout for biz. Also he doneset into a poker game the night before and lose his whole pile, whichdidn't tend to make him view this here world through no very rosy specs.The kid comes swaggering along and the two meets up jist in front of the'Bucket of Blood' saloon. You know Kates he allers wears a plug hat, oneof them there old timers of the vintage of '73 or thereabouts, an' thekid he bein' a comparative stranger in these parts, and not knowin' whothe judge was nor havin' seen any such headgear for some time, he ses tohisself, 'Right here's where I gits action on that _sombrero grande_,'and he manages to bump into the judge in such a way as to knock off thetile, and before it hits the ground the kid was filling it so full ofholes that it looked like some black colander.
"Every one came pouring out of the saloon and nearby stores to see whatwas up, and the judge he takes advantage of the kid's having to stop andreload his six pistol, to relieve hisself of some of the most expressiveand profane language ever heard in the burg before or since, windin' upby informin' the gent from ole Missou that he was goin' straight to hisoffice and swear out a warrant for him and send him down to Yuma by thenext train.
"When the boys tells the kid who he's been tamperin' with he gits ontohis hoss and tears outa town like hell a-beatin' tanbark, he havin' noparticular likin' for court proceedin's, owing to several littlehappenin's in that line down on the Pecos in Texas. About a week laterthe sheriff he gits a tip that the kid's probably hangin' out at DeafyMorris's sheep camp up on Wild Cat, so he saunters up that a-way andnabs the young gent as he's a helpin' Deafy fix up his shearin' pens.Sheriff he sort of throws a skeer into the kid, tellin' him Kates isliable to send him up for ten years for assaultin' the honor and dignityof a J. P., but the kid's mighty foxy and also plumb sober by that time,and he tells the sheriff he's willing to go back to town and take hismedicine.
"Next morning Deafy he ses as how he's a-goin' down to town, and thesheriff, havin' got track of somebody else he's a wantin' up on themountain, and believin' the kid's story about bein' willing to go totown, he deputizes Deafy to take him in and deliver him at the'Hoosgow.'[D]
[D] Jusgado--The prisoner's dock in a Spanish criminal court.
"Deafy he tells the sheriff he's not a goin' clean through to town thatday, but is a-goin' to camp at the Jacob's Well, a place about half waydown, on the edge of the pines, where he's arranged to meet up with thecamp rustler of one of his bands of sheep grazin' in that section. Everbeen at that there Jacob's Well?" And the old man looked at meinquiringly. I nodded affirmatively.
The Jacob's Well was located in the center of a very large level mass ofsandstone covering perhaps three or four acres, with a dense thicket ofcedar and pinon trees all about it. It was a fairly round hole aboutfive feet wide and perhaps ten deep, bored down into the sandstoneformation either by human agency or some peculiar action of nature. Thelay of the rocks all about it was such as to form a regular watershed,so that the natural drainage from the rain and snow kept it nearlyfilled almost all the year round.
Just what made this well was a moot question in the country. Ascientific investigator promptly put it down to the action of hard flintrocks lying in a small depression and rolled about by the wind untilthey dug a little basin in the rock, then the water collecting in itcontinued the attrition until, finally, after what may have been ages,the well was the result. My private opinion was that it was the work ofprehistoric or even modern Indians who, wishing to secure a supply ofwater at this particular point, possibly for hunting purposes, formedthe hole by fire. A large fire was built upon the rock, then when at awhite heat water was thrown upon it, causing the stone to flake andcrack so it could easily be removed. This was a slow process, of course,but having myself once seen a party of Apache squaws by the sameprimitive means remove over half of a huge boulder that lay directly inthe line of an irrigating ditch they were digging, and which theyotherwise could not get around, I am convinced the scientific personmissed the true methods employed to excavate the hole.
However, without regard to its origin, the well was a fine campingplace, for water was scarce in that region and there was always goodgrass for the horses near it. The old man rambled on.
"Deafy he gits a poor start next mornin' 'count of a pack mule whatinsisted on buckin' the pack off a couple of times and scatterin' theload rather promisc'ous-like over the landscape, an' by the time theyreached the well it was plumb dark. They unsaddles and hobbles theirhosses out, and then Deafy he sets to work buildin' a fire, tellin' thekid to take his saddle rope and the coffee pot and git some water. Thekid he's never been there afore, but Deafy tells him the well's onlyabout a hundred feet from where they unpacked, so he moseys out into thedark lookin' for the well, his rope in one hand, the camp coffee pot in'tother, the idee bein' to let the pot down into the well with the rope.
"It were sure dark in them trees, and the kid he's a blunderin' andstumblin' along, a-cursin' the world by sections, when all to once hestepped off into fresh air, and the next thing he knows he's a standin'at the bottom of the well in about four or five feet of ice-cold water,and him a-still hangin' onto the rope and pot with a death grip. Tookhim about five minutes to git his breath and realize he done found thewell all rightee, and then he sets up a squall like a trapped wildcat.He ain't forgot, neither, that Deafy ain't likely to hear him, the oleman bein' deafer than a rock; so after hollerin' a while and gittin' noresults he stops it and begins cussin' jist to relieve his mind and helpkeep him from shakin' all his teeth outen his head account o' shiverin'so blamed hard.
"Up on top Deafy he's busy startin' a fire and openin' up the packsgittin' ready to cook supper. The kid not bein' back with the water yit,and he bein' obliged to have water fer bread makin' purposes, Deafyfinally decides the kid's gone and got hisself lost out there in thedark, and so he takes a _pasear_ out that a-way huntin' fer him. Theole man's a hollerin' and a trompin' through the cedars an' rocks,thinkin' more how much his wool's a-goin' to fetch than anything else,when he thinks he hears someone a-callin'. He turns to listen, gits alittle more sound in his ears, takes a step or two in its direction,and, kerslop, he's into that there well hole, square on top of the younggent from 'ole Missou'. Say, the things them two fellers sed to eachother, an' both at the same time, most cracked the walls of the hole."
Dad wiped his eyes with the heel of his fat hand.
"Talk about your Kilkenny cats," he continued, "they wan't in it withthem two pore devils down in that cold water. Finally, they both run outof mouth ammunition an' set to work to figger out how they was goin' togit outen the well. It was too wide to climb out of by puttin' a foot oneach side and coonin' up the walls like a straddle bug, an' it wasmostly too deep for either of 'em to reach the top with their hands. Sothey mighty soon agrees between 'em that there's but one way to git out,an' that's fer one of 'em to stand on 'tother's shoulder so's to git agrip on the edge, pull hisself out, an' then help his shiverin', shakin'_amigo_ what's down in the hole onto terry firmy. Bein' a foot tallerthan Deafy, Bob agrees that the old man can climb onto his shoulders an'git out first. But Deafy, he's heavy on his feet, an' bein' sixty yearsold an' none too spry, he cain't seem to make the riffle to git onto thekid's back, so he finally gives it up, an' let
s the kid have a try atit. The kid he's soon on Deafy's shoulders, an' one jump an' he's ontop.
"Meantime the kid he's been doin' some powerful hard thinkin'. He ain'thankerin' after a close-up view of that there indignant judge down intown. The sheep man he's got a monstrous fine hoss, a new Heiser saddle,an' a jim dandy pack mule and outfit, while his own hoss an' saddleain't nothin' much to brag on. He knows the sheep man's dead safe wherehe's at till some one comes to help him out, which will be when his camprustler arrives on the scene, which may be in an hour an' may be in tenminutes. Meantime, bein' a cow-puncher bred and born on the Pecos, heain't lovin' a sheep person any too well, so he makes up his mind hejist as well die for an 'ole sheep as a lamb, and within ten minuteshe's hittin' the trail for New Mexico a straddle of Deafy's hoss an'saddle, leadin' his pack mule, with a bully good pack rig onto his back.
"Also the pore old feller down in the well is a holdin' up his handsexpectin' every minute the kid will reach down an' help him out;incidentally, as far as his chatterin' teeth will let him, doin' somemighty fancy cussin' along broad an' liberal lines."
Dad stopped a moment to light his pipe. My curiosity could wait nolonger.
"What happened to Deafy and how did he get out?" burst from my eagerlips.
Once again that chuckle. "Seems he tole the camp rustler to meet himthere that night, but the _paisano_ was late gittin' his sheep beddeddown on account of a bear skeerin' of 'em just about sundown, so hedidn't git round till the kid had done been gone for two hours. Eventhen he might not 'a' found him, for the fire was all out an' it was toodark to see much, but the ole man he had his six shooter with him whenhe started in to bathe, also about forty beans in his catridge belt.Knowin' mighty well his only hope was in drawin' some one's attentionwith his shootin', he was mighty economical with his beans, onlyshootin' about onc't every five minutes. The herder he hears him, runsthe sound down, an' finds his ole boss a soakin' in the well, him bein'jist about ready to cash in his chips, he's that numbed and chilled."
"And the kid?" gasped the lady listener.
"Oh, he done got clean away over the line into New Mexico and they ain'tnever got no track of him to this very yit."
We heard a raucous squeak from the corral back of the house, indicatingthe opening of one of the heavy pole gates. Evidently the boys had comein. I was just rising from my seat in the swing, when from around thecorner of the house dashed a brindle Boston terrier, followed by fourcrazy pups about two months old. The mother barked a joyous welcome tothe madam, to whom she flew and in whose arms she found a warmreception. I turned to the cook. That same aggravating chuckle again.
"But you told us they were drowned" was the only thing the amazed andperplexed woman could find words to utter.
The old reprobate was gazing into the bowl of his pipe as if in itsdepths he had found something extremely interesting. I began to see alight.
"You miserable old hot air artist!" I said. "You picked a load into usthe very first hour after we landed on the ranch, didn't you? You'vebeen humbugging us all this time, haven't you?" I tried hard to befiercely indignant.
"You fooled your own selves," he snickered, "fer I never tole you themthere pups was drownded; you jist nachelly jumped at it of your ownaccord, an' seein' as how you'd find it out anyhow when the boys camein, I jist let it run along."
Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp: The Blue-Roan Outlaw and Other Stories Page 15
