Part 10 (1/2)
What is he in this country but a guest? If a man came to stay in my home and began a systematic undermining of the ideas and ideals on which that home was built, what do you think I'd do to him?”
”I'll say you'd sure put him out, Chief,” with Gerrish's drawl and a little rush of laughter.
”I'll say I would. So quick he'd wonder what struck him. Why should the government put up with their vicious patter? It's bad enough when an honest-to-G.o.d citizen breaks loose and turns red, but for a man who is here by courtesy--well, as I remarked before, there is no place for him on the Double O ranch. Aliens will keep their jobs here only so long as they conform to my ideas of fitness.”
”You're right, Steve. I have never thought of agitators in that light but they are a sort of human slow-match timed to fire a mine of discontent, aren't they? And half the time the mine doesn't know what it is blowing-up about. How do the men feel about Ranlett's defection?”
”I haven't asked them. What's the infernal row?” he demanded as they drew rein at the gate of the court. Jerry looked at him in surprise. His tone was that of a man whose nerves were taut to snapping point. She slid from her horse and dropped the reins. Patches loped quietly but determinedly in the direction of the corral and supper. Blue Devil, with a reproachful glance at the deserter, followed daintily in the steps of his master as Courtlandt and the girl entered the garden. The court was a riot of plants and shrubs. The air was sweet with the fragrance of roses just coming into bloom and rent by agitated yelps and a hoa.r.s.e, croaking voice.
When Jerry and Steve reached storm centre they saw a combination of scarlet, blue and green, swaying precariously on the top of a shutter.
It was Jose's parrot, Benito, flinging to the breeze the most vituperative epithets a rich and racy vocabulary could suggest. Below him Goober sat on his haunches. Between barks his tongue dripped, his mouth hung open as though in riotous laughter. His tawny eyes flashed ruby light. Tommy Benson, his finger between the pages of a book, his hair rampant, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth, egged on the two as he quoted from his favorite ”Ancient Mariner”:
”'The wedding guest sat on a stone, He could not choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed mariner.'”
His eloquence incited the bird to renewed effort to express his sentiments. Jerry clapped her hands over her ears and dashed into the house. Steve whistled. The dog bounded in his direction, his quarry forgotten in the joy of seeing his master. Courtlandt seized him by the collar.
”What do you mean, you sinner?” he demanded sternly. Goober looked as though he were about to offer an explanation when the gaudy parrot, who had been rocking back and forth on the shutter, croaked:
”Lick him, Bo! Lick him!”
Tommy dropped to the ground and rolled with laughter. Jose came hurrying out of the house. He swept off his hat with a wide bow. His face had the look of a much-shriveled mummy, his solitary tooth waggled precariously as he talked.
”_Que hay! Senor!_ One teeng I tell you. It ees that wild devil of a dog that makes my leetle Benito to curse. _Madre de Dios_, but he ees one--one----”
”You've said it, Jose,” encouraged Benson as he sat up and wiped his eyes. He took his knees in an affectionate embrace. ”He sure is one little curser, that Benito of yours. Want me to help get him down?”
”No--no, Senor Tommee. He come to me.” He reached up and after a few protesting squawks the parti-colored bird settled on the Mexican's shoulder. As Jose left the court with him, the parrot s.h.i.+vered, flapped his wings, winked at Tommy and croaked hoa.r.s.ely:
”What's all the shootin'?”
Tommy gave vent to a whoop of appreciation before he turned to Courtlandt, who was regarding the ranch-house door unseeingly. He gave him a resounding whack on the shoulder as he ranted:
”'How is't with you That you do bend your eye on vacancy?'”
”Quit your histrionics, Tommy. Has Pete Gerrish been here for me?”
”Nope. Nothing doing.” Benson stroked Blue Devil's satiny nose and rested his face against it as he asked in a low tone, ”Any news of those stray calves?”
Courtlandt's brows met in a quick frown.
”No, but of course we'll find them. It's absurd to think a man can get away with rustling in this enlightened twentieth century, that we've got to revert to shooting and----”
”That's what the majority of the world claimed in 1914,” interrupted Benson dryly.
”Don't be a blamed pessimist, Tommy. I'm going to take you off the books and use you outside.”
”Oh boy!” he voiced the twentieth century equivalent to the nineteenth century ”Great Scott!” in delighted approval. ”If you do that and Ranlett has been crooked, he hasn't a prayer. I'm the original Sherlock Holmes. Watch me get him! Pete's boys have all they can do now without turning detectives. You'd think that Gerrish had just been put in charge of a new outfit. He's on location every minute, reestimating the number of head each pasture should carry, weighing up the stock, sifting out the undesirables. Take it from me, old dear, he knows every calf by name, what it's worth now and what it will bring one year from now. He claims that Ranlett has been underselling. I'll ride the fences to-morrow. If you say the word I'll take Jerry along and we'll have a corking time.”
”You and Jerry usually have a corking time together, don't you?” Benson showed his teeth in a flas.h.i.+ng smile.