Part 17 (1/2)
”Oho!” shouted Bar Seven and the stray men, who had sweethearts in other parts and dearly loved excitement. ”He caught you at it, Hardy! Now what you goin' to do?”
”I ain't goin' to do nothin',” declared Hardy Atkins, carefully stowing his squirt-gun away. ”No Hinglishman looks bad to me, and I'll high-life him whenever I like!”
”You will not!” said Henry Lee, coming up as he heard the words. ”I've had enough of this foolishness, and I want you to quit right now. First thing you know that hawse will pitch into the herd and we'll have a stampede on our hands. Now, come ahead and clean out this pasture, we'll start the drive for town.”
They rounded up the pastures then, one after the other, and soon the great herd of dogies was strung out on the road. At regular distances along the flanks the swing men plodded along; toward the front the two point men directed the head of the herd; and, behind, the remainder of the men brought up the drag. They traveled slowly, sometimes swinging out into the hills and letting the cattle feed, and as they drifted along over the rock-patches the _clack, clack, clack_ of splay-toed hoofs made a noise like rain on the roof. At intervals some stubborn two-year-old would break from the tail of the herd, some fresh-branded calf fall by the wayside, to be left for another drive; but the day of the steer is past on the lower ranges of the great Southwest, and feeders are easier to handle. So they dragged on, drifting over to the river for water and back onto the plains for the night, and many a nester's fence was laid flat as they jerked it to turn out the strays.
Then, at the end of the third day, they came within sight of Chula Vista and Henry Lee rode on ahead.
”Hardy,” he said as he turned his horse toward town, ”I'll leave you in charge of the herd. Put them into the pens for the night, and hold the remuda out on the flats. I'll be down as soon as I find my men. And, remember, no drinking!”
He looked very hard at his straw-boss as he spoke, and Hardy Atkins answered him dutifully; but when the boss was gone he turned and winked at his partners.
”You hear me now, boys,” he said. ”No drinkin'! You know the rule--you cain't drink whisky and work fer Henry Lee! Umph-umm! But I hope to Gawd some of them town boys come out with a bottle!”
He smacked his lips as he spoke, and made up a funny face.
”I got three months' pay comin' to me,” he remarked, and went spurring up to the front.
”I never seen the time yet,” observed Buck Buchanan, as he loafed philosophically along with the drag, ”that I couldn't git another job somewhere. When I've got money comin' to me, I want to spend it, by Joe!”
”Sure!” agreed Happy Jack, who had been singing songs all day. ”What's the use of workin', anyway?”
”That's me!” chimed in Poker Bill. ”Let's quit and draw our pay!”
”Put these cows in the pen first,” said Jack, snapping his fingers and waltzing airily in his saddle.
”Whoopee tee, yi, yo, git along, little dogies, It's all yore misfortune and none of my own.
Whoopee tee, yi, yo, git along, little dogies, 'Cause you know my whistle is dry as a bone.”
It was a new experience to Bowles, this riding into a cow town, and he viewed with wide-eyed alarm the evidences of dissolution and revolt.
Even Brigham was licking his lips and gazing at the town; and when the first bottle came out he took a long drink with the rest. Bowles excused himself, and wondered what would happen; but the half-drunken cowboy who brought out the life-saver never gave him a second look. It was not so hard to dispose of whisky in those parts.
As the herd neared town, the idle and curious came riding out to see it, and Bowles was pained to notice certain painted women, who seemed to know the boys by their first names. They rode along the herd, waving handkerchiefs and shouting greetings, and a sudden distrust of frontier morality came over him as he observed the shameless response. The s.h.i.+pping pens were below the town about a mile--a barren square of whitewashed fencing, backed up to a side-track full of empty stock-cars--and as the weary cattle dragged along across the flats Hardy Atkins and a bunch of punchers cut off the leaders and whooped them on ahead. There was a jam at the gates, a break or two, and then the first timid dogie stepped fearfully into the enclosure. The smell of water in the troughs lured him on, the rest followed, and when the main herd came up it was artfully tailed on to the drag.
At last! The high gate swung to on the harvest of the long round-up, and the punchers raced their horses to be first at the waiting chuck-wagon.
In an angle of the fence Gloomy Gus had unpacked his ovens and set up his fire irons, and now as they flew at their supper he surveyed them with cynical calm.
”Whar's Henry Lee?” he inquired at length; and Hardy Atkins pointed back to town with his knife.
”He's over lookin' up his buyer,” he said. ”I'm the boss now, Cusi; what can I do fer you?”
”Oh, you're boss now, are you?” repeated Gus, with heavy scorn. ”Well, then, why don't you send some one out to relieve thet hawse wrangler?
He'll be turnin' the remuda loose pretty soon, from the way he's been makin' signs.”
”Aw, he'll keep!” laughed the straw-boss. ”Hey, fellers, who wants the first guard to-night?”
n.o.body spoke.
”Somebody's got to stand guard,” he observed, running his eyes over the crowd. ”First guard's the best--eight to half-past ten. Bill? Jim? Hank?