Part 26 (2/2)
O' course, Ty had to back up Badger for the sake o' discipline; but he didn't wreak any vengeance on Olaf when he tendered in his resignation, which proves 'at Ty still was full o' respect for Olaf.
Badger was groanin' on his back when Olaf left; but he called out that he intended to get square, if he had to wear all the curves off his own body to do it.
Olaf had the gift o' sensin' men, all right; but his judgment wasn't such as to make a yearlin' bull willin' to swap, and what he did was to take the Pearl Crick Spread as a homestead. It was only about fifteen miles from the Cross brand ranch house, and it was one o' the choicest bits in the whole country. This act was on a par with an infant baby sneakin' into a wolf den to steal meat. The Friar put the finis.h.i.+n' touch by sayin' that Olaf had bought the old, run-down T brand, and then I lost patience.
”Does Olaf sleep with a lightnin' rod connected to the back of his neck?” I asked as sober as a boil.
”What do ya mean?” asked the Friar, who was innocent about some things.
”Well, that looks like another good way to attract trouble,” sez I.
”Olaf does not want any trouble,” sez the Friar with dignity. ”All he wants is an opportunity to work his claim in peace. He has more self-control 'n airy other man I've ever known.”
”It's a handy thing to have, too,” sez I, ”providin' a feller knows how to use it. Why, ya could change a T brand to a Cross quicker 'n a one-armed Mexican could roll a cigarette. Ty Jones'll get more o' that brand 'n ever Olaf will. How is Kit Murray gettin' along?”
”She is a fine girl,” sez the Friar, his face lightin'. ”She has cut out all her wild ways, and Mother s.h.i.+pley sez her daughter thinks as much of her as if they was sisters. I got word last week 'at her husband died in a hospital; and I hope she'll marry Olaf some day.”
”Well, I'll bet the liquor again' the bottle 'at she never does it,”
sez I. ”In the first place, she's got too much style, and in the second, she's got too much sense. Ty's already got more stuff 'n he can take care of through a dry summer, and the next one we have, he is goin' to need Pearl Crick Spread. A grizzly traffics along without bein' disturbed, until he gets the idee that he owns consid'able property, and has legal rights. Then one day the' don't seem to be anything else demandin' attention, so out go a parcel o' men and harvest the grizzly. That's the way it'll be with Olaf.”
”I advised him to move,” sez the Friar; ”but he's set in his ways.”
”Self-control,” sez I. ”I was workin' in a mine once with a mule and a Hungarian; and both of 'em had an unusual stock o' self-control. One day right after a fuse had been lit, the mule decided to rest near the spot; an' the Hun decided to make the mule proceed. We argued with 'em as long as it was safe; but the mule had his self-control an' all four feet set, and the Hun was usin' _his_ self-control an' a shovel.
All we ever found was the mule's right hind leg stickin' through the Hungarian's hat, and we buried these jus' as they was.”
The Friar sighed, pursed up his lips, and sez: ”I wish I could help him.”
”Help him all you can, Friar,” sez I; ”but after the fuse is burnin', you pull yourself out to safety. Ty Jones could easy spare you without goin' into mournin'.”
The Friar rode on about his business, an' me an' Horace went back to the ranch, him pumpin' me constant for further particulars about Olaf an' Kit. ”Horace,” sez I finally, ”did you ever see these folks?”
”I never did,” sez he.
”Then,” sez I, ”what you got again' 'em 'at you want 'em to marry?”
”Marriage,” sez he with the recklessness common to old bachelors, ”is the proper condition under which humans should live-and besides, I don't like what you tell about Ty Jones.”
From that on, Horace began to talk hunt; and when Horace talked anything, he was as hard to forget as a split lip. He had brought out some rifles which the clerk had told him would kill grizzlies on sight, and Horace had an awful appet.i.te to wipe out the memory o' that woodchuck.
I admit that no one has any right to be surprised at anything some one else wants to do; but I never did get quite hardened to Horace Walpole Bradford. When ya looked at him, ya knew he was a middle-aged man with side-burn whiskers; but when ya listened to his talk, he sounded like a fourteen-year-old boy who had run away to slaughter Injuns in wholesale quant.i.ties.
All of his projecs were boyish; he purt' nigh had his backbone bucked up through the peak of his head before he'd give in that ridin' mean ones was a trade to itself; and the same with ropin', and several other things. It ground him bitter because his body hadn't slipped back as young as his mind, an' he worked at it constant, tryin' to make it so.
He wore black angora chaps, two guns, silver spurs, rattlesnake hat-band, Injun-work gauntlets, silk neckerchief through a silver slip, leather wristlets, an' as tough an expression as he could work up; but the one thing of his old life he refused to discard was his side-burns. Sometimes he'd go without shavin' for two weeks, an' we'd all think he was raisin' a beard; but one day he'd catch sight of himself in a lookin'-gla.s.s, an' then he'd grub out the new growth an'
leave the hedge to blossom in all its glory.
We were long handed for the winter as usual, an' the' wasn't any reason why we couldn't take a hunt; so Tank an' Spider egged him on, an' I wasn't much set again' it myself. Horace agreed to pay us our wages while we were away, an' offered Jabez pay for the hosses; but o'
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