by Harold Titus
CHAPTER III
"I've Done My Pickin'"
Then he felt his gaze drawn away from those vague, alluring distances.It was one of those pulls which psychologists have failed to explainwith any great clarity; but every human being recognizes them. Dannyfollowed the impulse.
He had not seen the figure squatting there on his spurs at the shadyend of the little depot, for he had been looking off to the north. Butas he yielded to the urge he knew its source--in those other eyes.
The figure was that of a little man, and his doubled-up position seemedto make his frame even more diminutive. The huge white angora chaps,the scarlet kerchief about his neck and against the blue of his shirt,the immense spread of his hat, his drooping gray mustache, allemphasized his littleness.
Yet Danny saw none of those things. He looked straight into the blueeyes squinting up at him--eyes deep and comprehensive, set in acopper-colored face, surrounded by an intricate design of wrinkles inthe clear skin; eyes that had looked at incalculably distant horizonsfor decades, and had learned to look at men with that same long-rangegaze. A light was in those eyes--a warm, kindly, human light--thatattracted and held and created an atmosphere of stability; it seemed asthough that light were tangible, something to which a man could tie--soprompt is the flash from man to man that makes for friendship anddevotion; and to Danny there came a sudden comfort. That was why he didnot notice the other things about the little man. That was why hewanted to talk.
"Good morning," he said.
"'Mornin'."
Then a pause, while their eyes still held one another.
After a moment Danny looked away. He had a stabbing idea that thelittle man was reading him with that penetrating gaze. The look waskindly, sincere, yet--and perhaps because of it--the boy cringed.
The man stirred and spat.
"To be sure, things kind of quiet down when th' train quits thisplace," he remarked with a nasal twang.
"Yes, indeed. I--I don't suppose much happens here--except trains."
Danny smiled feebly. He took his hat off and wiped the brow on whichbeads of sweat glistened against the pallor. The little man stilllooked up, and as he watched Danny's weak, uncertain movements thelight in his eyes changed. The smile left them, but the kindliness didnot go; a concern came, and a tenderness.
Still, when he spoke his nasal voice was as it had been before.
"Take it you just got in?"
"Yes--just now."
Then another silence, while Danny hung his head as he felt thosesearching eyes boring through him.
"Long trip this hot weather, ain't it?"
"Yes, very long."
Danny looked quickly at his interrogator then and asked:
"How did you know?"
"Didn't. Just guessed." He chuckled.
"Ever think how many men's been thought wise just guessin'?"
But Danny caught the evasion. He looked down at his clothes, wrinkled,but still crying aloud of his East.
"I suppose," he muttered, "I do look different--_am_ different."
And the association of ideas took him across the stretches toManhattan, to the life that was, to--
He caught his breath sharply. The call of his throat was maddening!
The little man had risen and, with thumbs hooked in his chap belt,stumped on his high boot heels close to Danny. A curious expressionsoftened the lines of his face, making it seem queerly out of harmonywith his garb.
"You lookin' for somebody?" he ventured, and the nasal quality of hisvoice seemed to be mellowed, seemed to invite, to compel confidence.
"Looking for somebody?"
Danny, only half consciously, repeated the query. Then, throwing hishead back and following that range of flat tops off to the north, hemuttered: "Yes, looking for somebody--looking for myself!"
The other shifted his chew, reached for his hat brim, and pulled itlower.
"No baggage?" he asked. "To be sure, an' ain't you got no grip?"
Danny looked at him quickly again, and, meeting the honest query inthat face, seeing the spark there which meant sympathy andunderstanding--qualities which human beings can recognize anywhere andto which they respond unhesitatingly--he smiled wanly.
"Grip?" he asked, and paused. "Grip? Not the sign of one! That's whatI'm here for--in Colt, Colorado--to get a fresh grip!" After a momenthe extended an indicating finger and asked: "Is that all of Colt--Colt,Colorado?"
The old man did not follow the pointing farther than the uncertainfinger. And when he answered his eyes had changed again, changed tosearching, ferreting points that ran over every puff and seam andhollow in young Danny's face. Then the older man set his chin firmly,as though a grim conclusion had been reached.
"That's th' total o' Colt," he answered. "It ain't exactly astoundin',is it?"
Danny shook his head slowly.
"Not exactly," he agreed. "Let's go up and look it over."
An amused curiosity drove out some of the misery that had been in hispallid countenance.
"Sure, come along an' inspect our metropolis!" invited the little man,and they struck off through the sagebrush.
Danny's long, free stride made the other hustle, and the contrastbetween them was great; the one tall and broad and athletic of poise inspite of the shoulders, which were not back to their full degree ofsquareness; the other, short and bowlegged and muscle-bound by years inthe saddle, taking two steps to his pacemaker's one.
They attracted attention as they neared the store buildings. A man inriding garb came to the door of a primitive clothing establishment,looked, stepped back, and emerged once more. A moment later two othersjoined him, and they stared frankly at Danny and his companion.
A man on horseback swung out into the broad street, and as he rode awayfrom them turned in his saddle to look at the pair. A woman ran downthe post-office steps and halted her hurried progress for a lingeringglance at Danny. The boy noticed it all.
"I'm attracting attention," he said to the little man, and smiled asthough embarrassed.
"Aw, these squashies ain't got no manners," the other apologized. "Theyset out in there dog-gone hills an' look down badger holes so much thatthey git loco when somethin' new comes along."
Then he stopped, for the tall stranger was not beside him. He lookedaround. His companion was standing still, lips parted, fingers workingslowly. He was gazing at the front of the Monarch saloon.
From within came the sound of an upraised voice. Then another inlaughter. The swinging doors opened, and a man lounged out. After him,ever so faint, but insidiously strong and compelling, came an odor!
For a moment, a decade, a generation--time does not matter when a manchokes back temptation to save himself--Danny stood in the yellowstreet, under the white sunlight, making his feet remain where theywere. They would have hurried him on, compelling him to follow thosefumes to their source, to push aside the flapping doors and take histhroat to the place where that burning spot could be cooled.
In Colt, Colorado! It had been before him all the way, and now he couldnot be quit of its physical presence! But though his will wavered, itheld his feet where they were, because it was stiffened by the dawningknowledge that his battle had only commenced; that the struggle duringthe long journey across country had been only preliminary maneuvering,only the mobilizing of his forces.
When he moved to face the little Westerner his eyes were filmed. Theother drew a hand across his mouth calculatingly and jerked hishat-brim still lower.
"As I was sayin'," he went on a bit awkwardly as they resumed theirwalk, "these folks ain't got much manners, but they're good hearted."
Danny did not hear. He was casting around for more resources, morereserves to reinforce his front in the battle that was raging.
He looked about quickly, a bit wildly, searching for some object, someidea to engage his thoughts, to divert his mind from that insistentcalling. His eyes spelled out the heralding of food stuffs. The sunstood high. It was time. It was not an excuse; it was a Go
dsend!
"Let's eat," he said abruptly. "I'm starving."
"That's a sound idee," agreed the other, and they turned toward therestaurant, a flat-roofed building of rough lumber. A baby was playingin the dirt before the door and a chained coyote puppy watched themfrom the shelter of a corner.
On the threshold Danny stopped, confusion possessing him. He stammereda moment, tried to smile, and then muttered:
"Guess I'd better wait a little. It isn't necessary to eat right away,anyhow."
He stepped back from the doorway with its smells of cooking food andthe other followed him quickly, blue eyes under brows that now drewdown in determination.
"Look here, boy," the man said, stepping close, "you was crazy forchuck a minute ago, an' now you make a bad excuse not to eat. To besure, it ain't none of my business, but I'm old enough to be yourdaddy; I ain't afraid to ask you what's wrong. Why don't you want toeat?"
The sincerity of it, the unalloyed interest that precluded any hint ofprying or sordid curiosity, went home to Danny and he said simply:
"I'm broke."
"You didn't need to tell me. I knowed it. I ain't, though. You eat withme."
"I can't! I can't do that!"
"Expect to starve, I s'pose?"
"No--not exactly. That is," he hastened to say, "not if I'm worth mykeep. I came out here to--to get busy and take care of myself. I'llstrike a job of some sort--anything, I don't care what it is or whereit takes me. When I'm ready to work, I'll eat. I ought to get workright away, oughtn't I?"
In his voice was a sudden pleading born of the fear awakened by hisrealization of absolute helplessness, as though he looked for assuranceto strengthen his feeble hopes, but hardly dared expect it. The littleman looked him over gravely from the heels of his flat shoes to thecrown of his rakishly soft hat. He pushed his Stetson far back on hisgray hair.
"To be sure, and I guess you won't have to look far for work," he said."I've been combin' this town dry for a hand all day. If you'd like totake a chance workin' for me I'd be mighty glad to take you on--rightoff. I'm only waitin' to find a man--can't go home till I do. Consideryourself hired!"
He turned on his heel and started off. But Danny did not follow. Hefelt distrust; he thought the kindness of the other was going too far;he suspected charity.
"Come on!" the man snapped, turning to look at the loitering Danny."Have I got to rope an' drag you to grub?"
"But--you see it's--this way," the boy stammered. "Do you really wantme? Can I do your work? How do you know I'm worth even a meal?"
A slow grin spread over the Westerner's countenance.
"Friend," he drawled in his high, nasal tone, "it's a pretty poorpolecat of a man who ain't worth a meal; an' it's a pretty poorspecimen who goes hirin' without makin' up his mind sufficient. Theyain't many jobs in this country, but just now they's fewer men. We'vegot used to bein' careful pickers. I've done my pickin'. Come on."
Only half willingly the boy followed.
They walked through the restaurant, the old man saluting the loneindividual who presided over the place, which was kitchen and diningroom in one.
"Hello, Jed," the proprietor cried, waving a fork. "How's things?"
"Finer 'n frog's hair!" the other replied, shoving open the brokenscreen door at the rear.
"This is where we abolute," he remarked, indicating the dirtywash-basin, the soap which needed a boiling out itself, and thediscouraged, service-stiffened towel.
Danny looked dubiously at the array. He had never seen as bad, to saynothing of having used such; but the man with him sloshed water intothe basin from a tin pail and said:
"You're next, son, you're next."
And Danny plunged his bared wrists into the water. It was good, it wascool; and he forgot the dirty receptacle in the satisfaction that camewith drenching his aching head and dashing the cooling water over histhroat. The other stood and watched, his eyes busy, his face reflectingthe rapid workings of his mind.
They settled in hard-bottomed, uncertain-legged chairs, andJed--whoever he might be, Danny thought, as he remembered thename--gave their order to the man, who was, among other things, waiterand cook.
"Make it two sirloins," he said; "one well done an' one--" He liftedhis eyebrows at Danny.
"Rare," the boy said.
"An' some light bread an' a pie," concluded the employer-host.
Danny saw that the cook wore a scarf around his neck and down his back,knotted in three places. When he moved on the floor it was evident thathe wore riding boots. On his wrists were the leather cuffs of thecowboy.
Danny smiled. A far cry, indeed, this restaurant in Colt, Colorado,from his old haunts along the dark thoroughfare that is misnamed alighted way! The other was talking: "We'll leave soon's we're throughan' make it on up th' road to-night. It'll take us four days to get toth' ranch, probably, an' we might's well commence. Can you ride?"
Danny checked a short affirmative answer on his lips.
"I've ridden considerably," he said. "You people wouldn't call itriding, though. You'll have to teach me."
"Well, that's a good beginnin'. To be sure it is. Them as has opinionsis mighty hard to teach--'cause opinions is like as not to be deadwrong."
He smeared butter on a piece of bread and poked it into his mouth. Then:
"I brought out my last hand--I come with him, I mean. Th' sheriffbrought him. His saddle an' bed's over to th' stable. You can use 'em."
"Sheriff?" asked Danny. "Get into trouble?"
"Oh, a little. He's a good boy, mostly--except when he gets drinkin'."
Danny shoved his thumb down against the tines of the steel fork he helduntil they bent to uselessness.
