Part 24 (1/2)
”You tell that to Hi and see what he says.”
”Nope. 'T ain't necessary. You see when them docs seen, about a week after, that I was comin' strong instead of goin', they says, 'Me man, if you'd 'a' had pie in your stummick when you was shot, you wouldn't be here to-day. You'd be planted--or somethin' similar. The fac' that your stummick was empty evidentially saved your life.' And,” concluded Sundown, ”they's no use temptin' Providence now.”
Shortly after breakfast next morning Corliss sent for Sundown. The rancher sat propped up in a wide armchair. He was pale, but his eyes were clear and steady.
”Bud told me about yesterday,” he began, antic.i.p.ating Sundown's leisurely and erratic recital. ”I understand you found me on the trail and went for help.”
”Yes. I thought you was needin' some about then.”
”How did you come to find me?”
”Got lost. Hoss he took me there.”
”Did you see any one on the trail?”
”Nope.”
”Hear any shooting?”
”Nope. But I seen some turkeys.”
”Well, I expect the sheriff will be here tomorrow. He'll want to talk to you. Answer him straight. Don't try to help me in any way. Just tell him what you know--not what you think.”
”I sure will, boss. Wish Chance could talk. He could tell.”
Corliss smiled faintly. ”Yes, I suppose he could. You followed him to Fernando's camp?”
”Uhuh.”
”All right. Now, I've had a talk with Bud about something that has been bothering me. I think I can trust you. I want you to ride to Antelope to-morrow morning and give a letter from me to the lawyer there, Kennedy. He'll tell you what to do after that. I don't feel like talking much, but I'll say this: You remember the water-hole ranch. Well, I want you to file application to homestead it. Kennedy will tell you what to do. Don't ask any questions, but do as he says.
You'll have to go to Usher by train and he'll go with you. You won't lose anything by it.”
”Me? Homestead? Huh! And have cows and pigs and things? I don't jest get you, boss, but what you say goes. Why, I'd homestead a ranch in h.e.l.l and take chances on findin' water if you said it. Say, boss,”--and Sundown leaned toward Corliss confidentially and lowered his voice,--”I ain't what you'd call a nervy man, but say, I got somethin' jest as good. I--I--” and Sundown staggered around feeling for the word he wanted.
”I know. We'll look it up in the dictionary some day when we're in town. Here's ten dollars for your trip. If you need more, Kennedy will give it to you.”
Sundown departed, thrilled with the thought that his employer had placed so much confidence in him. He wanted to write a poem, but circ.u.mstances forbade his signaling to his muse. On his way to the bunk-house he hesitated and retraced his steps to the ranch office.
Corliss told him to come in. He approached his employer deferentially as though about to ask a favor.
”Say, boss,” he began, ”they's two things just hit me to onct. Can I take Chance with me?”
”If you like. Part of your trip will be on the train.”
”I can fix that. Then I was thinkin': No! my hoss is lame. I got to ride a strange hoss, which I'm gettin' kind o' used to. But if you'll keep your eye on my hoss while I'm gone, it'll ease me mind considerable. You see he's been with me reg'lar and ain't learned no bad tricks. If the boys know I'm gone and get to learnin' him about buckin' and bitin' the arm offen a guy and kickin' a guy's head off and rollin' on him, and rarin' up and stompin' him, like some, they's no tellin' what might happen when I get back.”
Corliss laughed outright. ”That's so. But I guess the boys will be busy enough without monkeying with your cayuse. If you put that homestead deal through, you can have any horse on the range except Chinook. You'll need a team, anyway, when you go to ranching.”
”Thanks, boss, but I'm gettin' kind of used to Pill.”
”Pill? You mean Phil--Phil Sheridan. That's your horse's name.”