Part 11 (2/2)

CHAPTER IX

CUTTING HIS EYETEETH

A widely advertised stock sale was an event in the country for the twofold reason that it furnished the opportunity for neighbours with fifty and more miles between them to exchange personal news and experiences and also to purchase blooded animals for considerably less than they could have been imported.

This was particularly true of the Canby sale, where the ”culls,” both in horses and cattle, were better than the best animals of the majority of the small stockmen and ranchers. In consequence, these sales were largely attended by the natives, who drank Canby's coffee and ate his doughnuts while calling him names which are commonly deleted by the censor.

It was the custom also for such persons as had a few head of horses or cattle to dispose of, but not enough for a sale of their own, to bring them to be auctioned off with Canby's. So it had come to pa.s.s that the stock sale at Canby's ranch was second only in importance to the county fair to which all the countryside looked forward.

Therefore Wallie, whose notion of a stock sale was of the vaguest, was much surprised when after riding in the direction his visitor had indicated and spending hours hunting for gates in wire fences, had come upon an a.s.sembly of a size he would not have believed possible in that spa.r.s.ely populated district.

Unless they denned in the rocks, the question as to where they lived might have puzzled a person more familiar with this Western phenomenon than Wallie.

There were Ford cars which might have been duplicates of Henry's first model--with trailers containing the overflow of children--together with the larger cars of the more prosperous or more extravagant, as happened.

Top buggies were in evidence, relics of the Victorian period, s.h.i.+pped out from Iowa and Nebraska--serviceable vehicles that had done duty when their owners were ”keeping company.” Lumber wagons were plentiful, with straw and quilts in the bottom to serve as shock-absorbers, while saddle horses were tied to every hitching post and cottonwood.

When Wallie arrived in his riding boots and breeches he immediately shared attention with a large, venerable-looking Durham that was being auctioned. The Durham, however, returned the stare of the crowd with blase eyes which said that he had seen all of life he wanted to and did not care what further happened, while Wallie felt distinctly uncomfortable at the attention he attracted, and wished he might find Canby.

As he stood speculating as to whether the folds of skin around the Durham's neck might be an indication of his age--a year for a fold, after the manner of snake-rattles--his attention was diverted to a group that was interested in the efforts of one of its members to pry a horse's mouth open.

It seemed to Wallie an excellent opportunity to learn something which might be of future use to him, so he joined it.

A man who looked capable of selling a runaway horse to his grandmother was saying emphatically:

”Eight, next spring, I tell you. We raised her a pet on the ranch, so I ought to know what I'm talkin' about.”

The person who had managed to separate the horse's jaws laughed uproariously:

”If she ever sees sixteen again----”

”She ain't over eight, and I'll take my oath on it,” interrupted the owner, with a fine show of indignation.

”If I could believe you, I'd buy her.”

A piping voice from the group interjected itself into the conversation.

It came from under the limp brim of a hat that dropped to the speaker's shoulders.

”Why, I knowed that ha.r.s.e when I first come to the country. She was runnin' with her mother over in the Bighorns, and Bear George at Tensleep owned her. Some said that Frank McMannigle's runnin' ha.r.s.e, 'Left Hand,' was her father, and others said she was jest a ketch colt, but I dunno. Her mother was a sorrel with a star in her forehead and the Two-pole-punkin' brand on her left shoulder. If I ain't mistaken, she had one white hind stockin' and they was a wire cut above her hock that was kind of a blemish. She got a ring bone and they had to kill her, but Bear George sold the colt, this mare here, to a feller at Kaysee over on Powder River and he won quite considerable money on her. It was about thirteen year ago that I last seen her, but I knowed her the minute I laid eyes on her. She et musty hay one winter and got the tizic, but you never would know it unless you run her. One of her stifle j'ints----”

The mare's owner interrupted at this juncture:

”You jest turn your mouth on, don't you, Tex, and go off and leave it?”

”I happened to know a little somethin' about this ha.r.s.e,” apologetically began ”Tex,” whose other name was McGonnigle, ”so I thought----”

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