Part 21 (2/2)
I staged a little riding contest all my own, part of the way on a dead cow, and the rest of it on this tree-trunk. I didn't mind that part of it--that was fun, but it didn't last over twenty minutes. After the tree grounded, I had to tramp up and down through this ankle-deep mud to keep from freezing. I didn't dare to go any place for fear of getting lost. I thought at first, when the water went down I would follow back up the valley, but I couldn't find the sides and after one or two false starts I gave it up. Then Bat showed up at daylight and we managed to build a fire.” Endicott divided the biscuits and proceeded to devour his share.
Tex rolled a cigarette. ”Say,” he drawled, when he had lighted it with a twig from the fire, ”what the h.e.l.l did you whallop me in the jaw for?
I seen it comin' but I couldn't dodge, an' when she hit--it seemed like I was all tucked away in my little crib, an' somewhere, sweet voices was singin'.”
”I had to do it,” laughed Endicott. ”It was that, or both of us going to the bottom. You were grabbing for my arms and legs.”
”I ain't holdin' it against you,” grinned Tex. ”The arms an' legs is yours, an' you're welcome to 'em. Also I'm obliged to you for permittin' me to tarry a spell longer on this mundane spear, as the fellow says, even if I can't chew nothin' harder'n soup.”
”Would you mind rolling me a cigarette,” grinned Endicott, as he finished the last of the biscuits. ”I never tried it, and I am afraid I would bungle the job.” Without hesitation the Texan complied, deftly interposing his body so that the pilgrim could not see that the tobacco he poured into the paper was the last in his sack. He extended the little cylinder. ”When you get that lit, you better crawl into them clothes of yours an' we'll be hittin' the back-trail. Out here in the open ain't no place for us to be.”
Endicott surveyed his sorry outfit with disfavour. ”I would rather stick to the B.V.D.'s, if it were practical.”
”B.V.D., B.V.D.,” repeated the Texan. ”There ain't no such brand on this range. Must be some outfit south of here--what did you say about it?”
”I said my B.V.D.'s,” he indicated his under-garments; ”these would be preferable to those muddy trousers and that s.h.i.+rt.”
”Oh, that's the brand of your longerie. Don't wear none myself, except in winter, an' then thick ones. I've scrutinized them kind, though, more or less thorough--hangin' on lines around nesters' places an' home ranches, when I'd be ridin' through. Never noticed none with B.V.D. on 'em, though. The brand most favoured around here has got x.x.xX FLOUR printed acrost the broad of 'em, an' I've always judged 'em as belongin' to the opposin' sect.”
Endicott chuckled as he gingerly arrayed himself in the damp garments and when he was dressed, Tex regarded him quizzically: ”Them belongin's of yourn sure do show neglect, Win.” Endicott started at the word. It was the first time any one had abbreviated his name, and instantly he remembered the words of Alice Marc.u.m: ”If you keep on improving some day somebody is going to call you Win.” He smiled grimly. ”I must be improving,” he muttered, under his breath, ”I would pa.s.s anywhere for a tramp.” From beyond the fire Tex continued his scrutiny, the while he communed with himself: ”Everything's fair, et cetry, as the fellow says, an' it's a cinch there ain't no girl goin' to fall no h.e.l.l of a ways for any one rigged out like a last year's sheepherder. But, d.a.m.n it! he done me a good turn--an' one that took guts to do. 'Tain't no use in chasin' the devil around the stump---- If I can get that girl I'm a-goin' to get her! If I do I'll wire in some creek an' turn nester or do any other d.a.m.ned thing that's likewise mean an' debasin'
that she wants me to--except run sheep. But if the pilgrim's got the edge, accordin' to Bat's surmise, he's got it fair an' square. The cards is on the table. It's him or me for it--but from now on the game's on the level.”
Aloud he said: ”Hope you don't mind havin' your name took in vain like I done, but it's a habit of mine to get names down to a workin' basis when I've got to use 'em frequent. Bat, there, his folks started him off with a name that sounded like the Nicene Creed, but we bobbed her down for handy reference, an' likewise I ain't be'n called Horatio since the paternal roof-tree quit sproutin' the punitive switch. But, to get down to cases, you fellows have got to hike back to the camp an'
hole up 'til dark. There's bound to be someone ridin' this here coulee an' you got to keep out of sight. I'm goin' to do a little scoutin', an' I'll join you later. It ain't only a couple of miles or so an' you better hit for the high ground an' cross the divide. Don't risk goin'
through the canyon.”
Endicott glanced apprehensively at his mud encased silk socks, the feet of which were already worn through in a dozen places.
”Where's your slippers!” asked Tex, catching the glance.
”My shoes? I threw them away last night before I took to the water.”
”It's just as well. They wasn't any good anyhow. The ground's soft with the rain, all you got to watch out for is p.r.i.c.kly pears an'
rattlesnakes. You'll be close to camp before the rocks get bad an'
then Bat can go hunt up your slippers an' fetch 'em out to you.” The Texan started for his horse. At the top of the ridge he turned: ”I'll stop an' tell her that you'll be along in a little bit,” he called, and swinging into the saddle, struck off up the creek.
The habitual cynical smile that curled his lips broadened as he rode.
”This here Johnson, now, he likes me like he likes a saddle-galded boil, ever since I maintained that a rider was hired to ride, an' not to moil, an' quit his post-hole-diggin', hay-pitchin', tea-drinkin'
outfit, short-handed. I ain't had no chance to aggravate him real good, outside of askin' him how his post-holes was winterin' through, when I'd meet up with him on the trail, an' invitin' him to go over to the Long Horn to have a snort of tea, a time or two, down to Wolf River.”
At the up-slanting bank where they had sought refuge from the valley he dismounted, wrenched his own saddle out of the mud, and examined the broken cinch. ”If the pilgrim hadn't saved me the trouble, I'd of sure had to get Purdy for that,” he muttered, and looked up to encounter the eyes of the girl, who was watching him from the top of the bank. Her face was very white, and the sight stirred a strange discomfort within him. ”I bet she wouldn't turn no such colour for me, if I'd be'n drowned for a week,” he thought, bitterly.
”You--didn't find him?” The words came with an effort.
The Texan forced a smile: ”I wouldn't have be'n here if I hadn't. Or rather Bat did, an' I found the two of 'em. He's all to the mustard an' none the worse for wear, except his clothes--they won't never look quite the same, an' his socks need mendin' in sixty or seventy spots.
They'll be along directly. You run along and fix 'em up some breakfast an' keep out of sight. I'm goin' to do a little scoutin' an', maybe, won't be back 'til pretty near dark.”
”But you! Surely, you must be nearly starved!” The relief that flashed into her face at the news of Endicott's safety changed to sincere concern.
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