The Long Dim Trail

by Forrestine C. Hooker

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "I think I will go over to the Springs in the morning," said Powell toTraynor a week after the rodeo, as they sat in the court enjoyingafter-dinner cigars.

  "Oh, by the way," Traynor interjected, "I had a talk with Paddyyesterday. He wants the privilege of staying at the PL ranch house for amonth after the cattle are tallied in. I rather believe the old fellowhates to leave the place."

  "How about arranging to have him stay permanently?" suggested Powell."Limber says some one would have to be there to look after the windmilland water."

  "I think Paddy would be glad to do it. He hates mountain work, but he'sgood anywhere on the flats, and he's as honest as the sun. With Limberat the Springs working across the backbone of the Galiuros, we wouldconsolidate the work of both ranges, and our relative expenses could beadjusted without difficulty. I believe Paddy would be glad to take asmall sum monthly, and have his grub provided, and feed for thatscarecrow of a horse that he thinks so much of."

  "Won't you need Limber here?" protested Powell.

  "I can arrange the work with him so that he can stay part of each weekat the Springs. So you need not hesitate on that account. We have toride in the Hot Springs section every few weeks. Many of our cattledrift over there. It's a wild range, and unless the men ride among thestock at frequent intervals, the cattle become too wild to be handled toan advantage. There are five and six year old steers back in themountains there, that will never be caught except with a bullet--andeven then you would have to have the wind in your favour to get inrange. They are worse than deer."

  "Suppose I talk to Limber? I don't want him to go unless he wishes it."

  "He's taken a liking to you," was Traynor's reply, "and I'm sure theplan will suit him. But, decide that for yourselves. If he doesn't wantto go, Bronco or Holy would do, but Limber would be more congenial, Ithought."

  "Limber is one of the finest characters I have ever met," was Powell'sremark as he rose and moved toward the entrance of the court leading tothe bunk-house. "I'll have a talk with him, now."

  A light streamed from the open door of the bunk-house where thecowpunchers sat smoking and talking. Bronco, at a small table, wasimmersed in the pages of a gigantic mail order catalogue. A sheet ofpaper and bottle of ink portended a purchase. Powell sauntered in, founda seat on an iron cot, lit a cigarette and glanced around at them all.It was a delicate compliment that no one greeted his entrance formally.It proved that he was "one of the bunch."

  Bronco's face was contorted as he began writing on the printed ordersheet of the merchant enterprising enough to send out cataloguesbroadcast. It was good business strategy, for when the long winterevenings held forth, the big catalogue was the center of attraction onmany ranches, and thus articles were ordered with sublime disregard asto utility or cost.

  "What you sendin' fer this time, Bronc?" questioned Holy, curiously.

  "Accorjon," the reply was punctuated with scratching pen that splutteredink over the order list. "Thar's a book goes with it, tellin' you how toplay in two hours."

  "Say," Roarer leaned forward with interest, "why don't you get a talkin'machine like the feller that spit his teeth out. Look 'em up. We couldchip in and get one, maybe. It'd be easier on you--an' us, too."

  With Powell's aid a small talking-machine was decided upon, and Broncoconscientiously inked out the previous order and substituted the latestone. Then each man insisted that the record of his favourite "tune" beincluded--Golindrina, Over the Waves, Where is my Wandering Boy Tonight,Home, sweet Home, and My Bonnie lies over the Ocean--exhausted theirrepertoire.

  "Six," announced Bronco, "say that ain't enough. Why, we kin sing allthem without any talkin-machine. We want somethin' we don't singourselves when we're punchin' cows."

  Powell came to the rescue, and with his aid a list was completed,including some really good music. He vetoed the command to pick out"about twenty-five or thirty dollars' worth."

  "That's a heap sight more sensible than gettin' a cobbler's outfit, likewe done the other time," Limber commented with a smile.

  In answer to Powell's evident desire, he continued, "Bronc and Holy seenit in the catalogue, an' it told how much money you could save bymendin' your own shoes. It was unhandy havin' to pack our boots toWillcox all the time. Mostly we'd forgot to take 'em, or else forgot tobring 'em home. We all rounded up our boots and Bronco figgered that bymendin' 'em, we'd save pretty near two weeks pay each."

  "Well, it would of," defended Bronco, "But you fellers wouldn't wear 'emafter I fixed 'em all up, and blacked 'em too."

  "We'd a wore 'em," retorted Roarer indignantly, "if we could of got into'em, but you'd made 'em all so tight that no one could get a foot intothem shoes. The wust of it was that you went an' put extra soles on ourgood shoes and spiled 'em along with the rest."

  "Well, you seen me throw mine out the same time you fellers chuckedyours into the dump heap, didn't you?"

  Limber's mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled as he turned to Powell,adding the climax, "Say Doc, thar wasn't a pair of boots or shoes thatone of us could get into, and the day after Bronc finished up his work,we all got in the spring wagon and druv to Willcox in our socks an'bought shoes for the outfit before we could get to work."

  "If you'd a guv me another chanct," protested Bronco, "I'd knowed betterwhat to do, but anyway, it was a dandy cobbler's outfit, and wuth themoney we guv for it."

  "What became of it?" demanded Powell when his laughter subsided.

  "Thar was a Missionary come past here, gettin' money for the heathens inAfrica, and we donated the outfit to him. He shore seemed pleased withit, but we always had a sneakin' notion the heathens wasn't the onesthat used it. That Missionary was like a billy-goat, ready to takeanything you guv him, from a gold-mine to a empty tin tomato can. Lastwe seen of him he was prospectin' for Hasayampa Bill's lost mine, butnobody ain't heerd of his findin' it, so fur."

  "How did Hasayampa lose the mine?" Powell interrupted. "Or did he reallyever own one?"

  "We seen the beginning of it," Limber began, and Powell scenting astory, settled with delighted anticipation.

  "It started this way. We was workin' the rodeo back of Dos Cabezas whenwe come across a seven-year ol' black horse that was an outlaw. Hebelonged to the Bar X Bar outfit, but they'd guv up tryin' to break him.For three years the Boss of the Bar X Bar hed offered each Fourth ofJuly to give the horse to any man what'd ride him to a finish. Thar waslots that tried it. He was a good horse and worth considerable if he wasbusted.

  "Hasayampa was workin' with us. He'd been havin' a streak of hard luck.His only pony was lame and he couldn't raise cash to buy another. Yousee, Hasayampa had tried to teach a tenderfoot how to play Stud poker,and that's about the poorest way I know to invest your money, especiallywhen the tenderfoot is dressed like a minister--Hasayampa oughter knowedbetter.

  "Howsomever, Hasayampa bet his lame pony that he could ride that blackhorse, and of course, everybody took him up.

  "He roped and throwed it without any trouble, and got the saddle on itsback; then he jumped inter the saddle. Up to then it was easy work, butafterwards--Say, Doc, every one knows that a horse has only got fourfeet, but thar wasn't a man watchin' that wasn't ready to bet it was acentipede Hasayampa was tryin' to gentle. The horse was called BlackDevil, for thar wasn't a white hair on him, and he sure deserved therest of the name.

  "Hasayampa stayed with him, all right, and what's more we all seen himdo it, an' I tell you we whooped like Injuns! The next day Hasayampaquit work and left camp, riding his new horse and leadin' the lame pony,and that was the last we seen of him for over six months.

  "Then he blew in at the Diamond H, riding his old bay pony, but hehadn't mutch to say--Seemed sorter down-hearted like.

  "Then some one ast him what he done with Black Devil and this is what hetol' us.

  "When Hasayampa was ridin' Black Devil that day he busted him, the horseseemed to favour one hind foot--acted like he'd sprained it. WhenHasayampa started doctorin'
it, he pretty near died with suprise, forthar was a nice little nugget of gold smashed on the bottom of Devil'sfoot, just like a corn. Well Hasayampa didn't lose no time humpin' up tothe placed he'd noticed Devil limpin', and he posted his location noticeon the Buckin' Bronco Mine. The lead was thar just in plain sight, hesaid. We all had been campin' on a regular mint of gold an' never knowedit. Leastways, that is what Hasayampa told us.

  "Well, he took Black Devil down to the blacksmith at Dos Cabezas andhed some shoes made for him. He had quite an argument with theblacksmith to get him to make the shoes the way Hasayampa wanted 'em. Hesaid that after they got through, the blacksmith did what Hasayampa toldhim."

  Limber paused to light his cigarette, and philosophize, "It don't pay toargue, if you kin help it. Hurts the other party's feelin's when you getthe best of him, an', Hasayampa had fists on him like cannon balls whenhe warmed up in a argument. All the same, you can't blame the blacksmithfor callin' Hasayampa a 'locoed ijit' when you knowed the sort ofhoss-shoes he ordered made."

  "They was half-hollow, as if you dug a slot in 'em with a jack-knife.After Devil was shod, Hasayampa got some chamois skin, quick-silver anda small retort and went back to his claim.

  "Now, here's what Hasayampa tol' us all for gospel truth, Doc. He putthe quick-silver in the slots of them hoss-shoes, then jumped on BlackDevil and let him buck up an' down that air claim. Hasayampa said itbeat any four-stamp mill he ever seed. Then he got down and scraped thesilver outen the hoofs, squoze it in the chamois bag and fired it in hisretort to separate the gold. Hasayampa cleaned up a hundred dollars'wuth the fust day.

  "It didn't take Black Devil long to understand his job o.k. That hosswould just wait for his shoes to be silvered, then go hisself and buckaround, only stoppin' to come and git his shoes scraped and re-filled.Meanwhile Hasayampa, seem' Black Devil was handlin' his end of thepartnership, put in all his own time runnin' the other end of thebusiness, squozin' the quick-silver, firin' the gold and mouldin' itinter bricks.

  "Hasayampa figured out jest how long it would take to make him abillionaire, and he'd a done it if it hadn't been for the earthquake inMay '91. It did everlastingly shake up the country around here, and lotsof permanent springs went plumb dry and never run again.

  "Hasayampa had gone to Willcox to ship some bricks to the 'Frisco Mint,when he felt that earthquake, and he begun to worry about Devil, for hehad turned him loose for a vacation. He humped back to the claim, andwhen he got thar he said he seen a white horse standin' with his headhangin' down like he was asleep; but never a sign of Black Devil nowhar.

  "Whilst he was puzzling over what had became of Black Devil, he swars heseen that air white hoss raise his head, lift his hind foot, then beginbuckin' in a dazed sorter way. It was Black Devil, and the shock hedturned his hair snow white.

  "Hasayampa said the Buckin' Bronco Mine hed disappeared off'n the faceof the yearth. He tried to make Black Devil understand that he warn't toblame for losin' the mine, but the hoss wouldn't eat nothin'. He'd justbuck around, feeble-like, lift his leg and look at it, and then he laiddown an' died."

  Powell's laughter rang through the room. "What a pity such a genius asHasayampa had to die," he finally gasped.

  "Say, Doc," Limber spoke, "Hasayampa onct said that a man back east waswillin' to pay for his yarns if he'd take time to write 'em down. He astus what we thought about it, and we all tol' him that if any feller didsay that, he was a bigger liar than Hasayampa and could write storieshimself, an' Hasayampa said he guessed that was true. Do you, honestly,believe anyone would of paid for 'em?"

  "I certainly do," was the positive answer. "Hasayampa deserves amonument to his memory! By the way, I never heard anyone tell how hedied, but I'm pretty sure he did it in some original way."

  Limber's face grew serious, and a lighted match in his hand flickeredout. He watched it thoughtfully.

  "Thar is a monument to Hasayampa," he said slowly. "'Tain't very big,nor very grand, and thar ain't many people knows whar it is, but it's amonument, all the same. Hasayampa never tol' this story, but the womandid tell it.

  "She was jest a common sorter woman, not young, nor pretty, nor anythinglike that, an' it was out in the Yuma desert. Hasayampa was prospectin',and he rid along past the place where she was camped with her man. It'sfunny that a woman thet ain't married to a man will put up with heaps ofabuse, but them women that hangs around mining camps seems to think itall goes in the game. So when she done somethin' that riled up the man,he up and busted her over the head with a stick of wood and she wentdown like she was dead.

  "Hasayampa jumped off'n his hoss and lit into the man, and the fellerknifed him, then run away, leavin' Hasayampa lyin' thar a dyin'.

  "After awhile the woman come back to her senses, and she done all sheknowed how; but he was too bad off. The feller that run was wanted formurder up in Montana, the woman said. He had took the two horses theyhad been ridin' and Hasayampa's pony, too; but what was wuss thaneverythin' else, he hed carted off all the water thar was in theircanteens and left them without a drop.

  "She said when she told Hasayampa that she wasn't a respectablewoman--jest a camp-follower, an' no decent man had any call to fight forher, he jest looked at her an' smiled an' said, 'You're a woman. Hehadn't no right to hit you.'

  "He died that night in the dark, and she sat and helt his hand tillsun-up, then she scraped a shallow grave with her bare hands and put himin an' covered him over the best she could. After that she started tohunt the trail. She walked around all day and was beginning to getdesert-crazy when some men found her. It was too late. She died in acouple of hours, but she tol' about Hasayampa and ast if they'd bury heralongside of him, because it wouldn't seem so lonesome. An' they doneit. So thar's a big cross over them both, with their names on it. Ofcourse, we all knowed Hasayampa couldn't tell the truth if he tried,Doc, but when folks heerd about the way he died, everyone took off hishat to Hasayampa, you bet, for Hasayampa never done dirt to nobody."

  "Did they catch the man?"

  "Not that any one knowed of. That's one of the things that puzzles me.Why people what plays a square game is sometimes so out of luck. Seemsas if they must of been put down with the grain of the table runnin'against 'em when they was started at the game, or else the Dealerstacked the cards. But, it 'tain't so mutch to a feller's credit holdin'a Royal Flush as it is to keep on playin' a square game to a finish whenhe ain't dealt nothin' but deuces and treys."

  "You're right, Limber," said Powell, who was learning to find the goldbeneath the surface.

  He moved to the door, followed by Limber, and for a second they stoodlooking up into the deep blue of the sky where the countless stars, likeclear-cut diamonds, trembled and blinked as though held on threads ofsilver by the mighty hand of the Creator.

  "Come into my room," invited Powell, "I want to talk business with you,Limber."

  The cowboy nodded, and when they were seated and the smoke of theircigars blended, Powell explained the plan of combining the work of thetwo ranges, adding as he finished; "I told Mr. Traynor that it isentirely up to you. I don't want you there unless you really would liketo go. It would double your pay and make you range foreman of all of theranches owned by Mr. Traynor and myself. I will have my hands full,getting the Sanitarium built, and we would leave the management of mycattle business absolutely to you. How does it strike you? Don'thesitate to speak plainly."

  "So fur as I'm concerned, I'd ruther be over there. It's this way, Doc.Glendon ain't runnin' very straight, and nobody seems to give a damnexceptin' me. I'd like to do what I can for him, and though I don't knowas I could do anythin'--you never can tell what'll turn up. 'Tain'tright leavin' Donnie and Mrs. Glendon there by themselves the way hedoes. Glen told me he was goin' to quit as soon as he got a chanct; butif he stays here much longer he's bound to mix up in trouble. He'srunnin' with a pretty bad bunch now. Another thing," the cowpuncherhesitated, "Thar's a Mexican girl named Panchita. I guess Mrs. Glendonis about the only one who don't know about her. Glen's p
lumb locoed overthe girl and that's whar his money goes, when he gets hold of any."

  Powell started angrily, "The cur! With such a wife and boy! Limber,sometimes I feel ashamed to call myself a man, when such creatures asGlendon are known as men."

  "Mebbe Glen don't figger just what it is leadin' up to. He was a mightydifferent sorter person when he fust come here, and everyone liked him.He'd get full onct in a while, but he played white until this lastcouple of years. He's just the wrong kind of a man for Arizona. Take himsome other place and mebbe he'd manage to average up pretty fair withthe rest of the bunch; but he's sure goin' the wrong trail here."

  The cowboy rose, and Powell held out his hand impulsively, saying, "Allright, Limber. We pull together."

  "So long as you want me, Doc."

  Their hands gripped and as they looked into each other's eyes, both menrecognized a bond that was stronger than blood--the brotherhood of realmen.

  After Limber had gone, Doctor Powell sat meditating over what the cowboyhad told him concerning Glendon. The wreaths of smoke that rose from hiscigar framed a shadowy vision of Katherine Glendon's face, and Powellwondered vaguely where he had seen her before they met in the cave nearthe Circle Cross. Memory refused to aid him.