Bunch Grass: A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch
Page 4
II
THE DUMBLES
Looking back, I am quite sure that John Jacob Dumble's chief claim tothe confidence of our community--a confidence invariably abused--wasthe fact that the rascal's family were such "nice folks," "so well-raised," so clean, so respectable, such constant and punctual "church-members." After the Presbyterian Church was built in Paradise, no moreedifying spectacle could be seen than the arrival on Sunday morningsof the Dumble family in their roomy spring wagon. The old man--he wasnot more than fifty-five--had two pretty daughters and a handsome son.Mrs. Dumble, a comely woman, always wore grey clothes and grey threadgloves. She had a pale, too impassive face, and her dark hair, tightlydrawn back from her brows, had curious white streaks in it. Ajax saida thousand times that he should not sleep soundly until he haddetermined whether or not Mrs. Dumble was a party to her husband'smisdemeanours. My brother's imagination, as I have said before, runsriot at times. He was of opinion that the wearing of grey indicated acharacter originally white, but discoloured by her husband's dirtylittle tricks. Certainly Mrs. Dumble was a woman of silence,secretive, with lips tightly compressed, as if--as Ajax remarked--shefeared that some of John Jacob's peccadilloes might escape from them.
The father was inordinately proud of his son, Quincey, who in manyrespects took after the mother. He, too, was quiet, self-possessed,and somewhat pale. He worked for us and other cattlemen, not for hisfather, and after the lad left school Ajax fell to speculating abouthim, as he speculated about the mother.
"Is Quincey on to the old man's games?" he would ask.
It must be recorded that John Jacob was very careful to keep withinthe limits of the law, but he ploughed close to the line, where thesoil, as we all know, is richest and, comparatively speaking, virgin.But no man in the county was louder than he in denouncing such crimesas horse-stealing or cattle-lifting, crimes in those daysdisgracefully common. He might ear-mark a wandering piglet, forinstance, or clap his iron upon an unbranded yearling; but who couldswear that these estrays were not the lawful property of him uponwhose land they were found?
At that time Ajax and I were breeding Cleveland Bays, and amongst ourcolts we had two very promising animals likely to make a match team,and already prize-winners at the annual county fair. One day inOctober, Uncle Jake, our head vaquero, reported the colts to bemissing out of our back pasture. Careful examination revealed thecutting of the fence. Obviously the colts had been stolen.
Ajax suggested that we should employ old man Dumble to help us torecover the stolen property. He was shrewd and persevering, and heknew every man, woman, and child within a radius of fifty miles.
"Why, boys," said he, when we asked him to undertake the job, "I'd domore than this to help friends and neighbours. It's a dooty to huntdown these scallywags, a dooty, yas--and a pleasure."
We took the trail that night. The thief, so far as we couldconjecture, had about twenty hours start, but then he would be obligedto travel by night and by devious mountain-paths. According to oldDumble, his objective would be Bakersfield, and to reach Bakersfieldsome dry plains must be traversed. At the watering-places upon theseplains we might expect to hear from sheep-herders and vaqueros someinformation respecting animals so handsome and so peculiarly marked asour colts.
And so it proved. At a dismal saloon, where water was nearly asexpensive and quite as bad as the whisky, we learned that a bright baycolt with a white star and stocking, and another with a white nose,had been seen early that morning. Old man Dumble gleaned more.
"We're dealing with a tenderfoot and a stranger to the saloon-keeper,"he said, as we struck into the sage-brush wilderness. "The fool didn'tknow enough to spend a few dollars at the bar. He called for onelemonade."
"Well," said Ajax, "you are teetotal yourself; you ought to respect aman who calls for lemonade."
"I ain't a thief," said our neighbour. "If I was," he added, "I reckonI'd cover my tracks around saloons with a leetle whisky. Boys, there'sanother thing. This feller we're after is ridin' too fast. Them coltswon't stand it. Young things must feed an' rest. The saloon-keeperallowed they were footsore a'ready, and kinder petered out. We mustkeep our eyes skinned."
"You're a wonder," said Ajax. "How you divined that the thief wouldtravel this trail beats me."
"Wal," said old man Dumble, "it's this way. There's a big dealer comesthree times a year to Bakersfield; he pays good money for good stuff--an' he asks no questions. I happened to hear he was a-comin' down onlylas' Sunday."
Something in his voice, some sly gleam in his eye, aroused mysuspicions. As soon as we happened to be alone, I whispered to mybrother: "I say, what if the old man is playing hare and hound withus?"
"Pooh!" said Ajax. "He's keen as mustard to collar this thief--thekeener, possibly, since he discovered that the fellow is a tenderfoot.I've sized him up about right. He wants to establish a record. It'slike this teetotal business of his. The people here refuse to believeevil of a man who drinks water, goes to church, and catches horse-thieves. I'll add one word more. To give the old fraud his due, hereally holds in abhorrence any crime that might land him in the Statepenitentiary. Hullo! There's a faint reek out yonder. I'll take asquint through my glasses."
We called a halt. We were now on the alkaline plains beyond the SanEmigdio mountains. Riding all through the night, we had changed horsesat a ranch where we were known. Ajax stared through his binoculars.
"What we're after," said he quietly, "is in sight."
He handed his glasses to me. I could barely make out a horseman,herding along two animals. The plains were blazing with heat. In thedistance a soft blue haze obscured the horizon; faintly outlinedagainst this were three spirals of what seemed to be white smoke:three moving pillars of alkaline dust.
"He can't git away from us," said old man Dumble.
Looking at him, my suspicions took flight. He was, as Ajax said,keener than we to arrest the thief. His small eyes sparkled withexcitement; his right index-finger was crooked, as if itching for thetrigger; his lips moved. In fancy he was rehearsing the "Stand anddeliver" of an officer of the law!
"We kin ride him down," he muttered.
"Yes," said Ajax.
We looked to our girths and our pistols. It was unlikely that thethief would show fight, but--he might. Then we mounted, and gallopedahead.
"Forrard--for-r-rard!" shouted Ajax.
Within a few minutes, a quarter of an hour at most, the man we werehunting would see us; then the chase would really begin. He wouldabandon the footsore colts, and make for the hills. And so it came topass. Presently, we saw the horseman turn off at right angles; thejaded colts hesitated, trotted a few yards, and stood still. A faintneigh floated down wind.
"Doggone it!" exclaimed old man Dumble, "his horse is fresh. He's gotfriends in the hills."
We had left the trail, and were pounding over the sage-brush desert. Icould smell the sage, strongly pungent, and the alkaline dust began toirritate my throat; the sun, if one stood still, was strong enough toblister the skin of the hands.
For three-quarters of an hour it seemed to me that the distancebetween us and our quarry remained constant; but Dumble said we werefalling behind. The thief was lighter than any of us, and his horsewas evidently a stayer. The hills rose out of the haze, bleak andbare, seamed with gulches, a safe sanctuary for all wild things.
"If the cuss was within range, I'd try a shot," said the old man.
"I'd like to make out who he is," said Ajax.
Suddenly the horse of the thief fell. We discovered later that thebeast had plunged into a piece of ground honeycombed with squirrel-holes. The man staggered to his feet; the horse struggled where hefell, but did not rise. His shoulder was broken.
"We have him!" yelled Dumble.
"Yes; we have him," repeated my brother. "Suppose we take a look athim?"
The thief had abandoned all idea of escape. He stood beside his horse,waiting for us; but at the distance we could not determine whether heintended to surrender quietly or to figh
t. Ajax adjusted his glasses,and glanced through them. Then, with an exclamation, he handed them tome.
"Kin ye make him out, boys?" asked our neighbour.
"Yes," said I, giving back the glasses to Ajax. He handed them insilence to old man Dumble. Then, instinctively, both our right handswent to our belts. We were not quite sure what a father might do.
He did what should have been expected--and avoided. He dropped thebinoculars. Then he turned to us, trembling, livid--a scarecrow of theman we knew;
"It's my boy," he said hoarsely. "And I thought he was the best boy inthe county. Oh God!"
A minute may have passed, not more. One guesses that in that brieftime the unhappy father saw clearly the inevitable consequences of hisown roguery and sharp practice. He had sowed, broadcast, innumerable,nameless little frauds; he reaped a big crime. I looked across thosedreary alkaline plains and out of the lovely blue haze beyond I seemedto see the Dumbles' spring wagon rolling to church. Mrs. Dumble'spale, impassive face was turned to the bleak plains. At last I readher aright, that quiet woman of silence. She knew the father of herchildren from the outer rind to the inmost core. I thought of thepretty daughters, who did not know. And out yonder stood the son.
Ajax beckoned me aside. We whispered together for a moment or two.Then my brother spoke--
"We're going to lead home our colts," he said curtly; "and you canlead home yours. We shall take better care of ours after thisexperience. They won't be allowed to run wild in the back pasture."
"Boys--Quincey an' me----"
"Shush-h-h!" said Ajax. "That fellow out there is a long way off. Icould not swear in a court of law that he is the person we take him tobe. Whom he looks like we know, who he is we don't know, and we don'twish to know. So long."
We rode back to our colts.