Читать книгу Painted Ponies - Alan Le May - Страница 15

Upon the following day Slide borrowed horse and saddle, and rode to Hickory Lookout. One small cabin not much larger than the Chase bunkhouse, a good corral, and a small granary comprised the Box R camp under the charge of Jake Downey; no other work of man was in sight.

Here he found a saturnine old man, from whom Morgan learned that Jake Downey had not yet returned from Roaring River; that Downey’s horse had not been picked up; that Talky Peters was riding, and not likely to be back until late in the day. Marve Conklin’s posse had been there, however, seeking a man whose description the old fellow tactfully chose to disremember.

Morgan went back to the Chase camp.

Upon the second day Slide again rode to Downey’s meager camp, and found it as nearly deserted as before. Downey’s horse, however, had come in the previous afternoon, with gear intact.

When his third call at Hickory Lookout found Downey still away, Slide began to wonder if Jake had run amuck.

“Well,” said Morgan, “tell him that I’m helpin’ out old John Chase, an’ I’ll be along in a little while.”

Thereafter for some days Slide Morgan visited Hickory Lookout no more.

In the meantime Partridge Geer, the queer old figure with the buckskin breeches and the long mustache, departed for parts unknown.

Slide Morgan rode daily with John Chase. The old man’s domain was somewhat indefinite in extent, consisting merely of the square miles of ground upon which he grazed his stock.

It seemed to Morgan that the white-faced cattle that were scattered in rudimentary herds over this land were surprisingly few. He had commonly circled herds to the south that were numbered by thousands of head; Chase was husbanding little bands that seemed to number in tens and dozens. Slide Morgan marveled. This old man was a mere nester, clinging precariously to his bit of prairie between the true cattle country and the Indian lands on the north.

Morgan ventured a question.

“Mr. Chase, what do yuh want me here for? Two men could handle this works easy. One even, in most seasons. I feel kind o’ in the way.”

“That’s right,” Chase agreed, with his genial frankness. “But we got to be ready fo’ emergencies, yuh know. Anyway, I don’t figuh to lose much, in case yuh hook on. You bust broncs, I s’pose?”

Slide admitted that he did.

“I thought we might catch up twenty—twenty-five hawses fo’ you to peel. Ought to average better’n twelve dollahs a head.”

Morgan’s wonderment grew. Here was a ranching operation in a tin cup. He recalled an old rhyme:

“Get good an’ plenty horses,

An’ about a million cows,

Grab a lot o’ prairie,

All the law allows,

“Take in all the water,

Shoot up all the sheep,

Hire fifty riders,

Never let ’em sleep,

“Brand ten thousand in the spring,

Drive five thousand in the fall,

An’ mebbe you’ll make some money—

An’ mebbe you’ll lose it all.”

That was Morgan’s idea of it. But here was a man who thought of cows and horses individually. The breaking of twenty horses made it worth while for him to double his force of riders. Slide wondered if Chase had all his cattle named.

“I don’t figuh to ride much more, myself,” the old man went on, shifting a bit to lounge in his saddle. From the slight eminence of the knoll upon which their horses stood his eyes searched the range. “I’ve got to keep goin’ twenty yeahs yet, if I’m goin’ to make this pay out. Last yeah I was laid up a spell by tryin’ to ride in rough weathuh.

“So while you an’ Happy does the wuhk—if you stay with me, I mean—I figuh to take a team o’ oxen, an’ my ax, an’ go aftuh timbeh fo’ a corral. Need one bad. Have to haul wood quite a piece fo’ it, too. I guess yuh noticed I cleaned out all the wood around Moccasin Lake in buildin’ them two houses. Nothin’ but these few cottonwoods left at home, theah, an’ I aim to leave them be.”

Slide Morgan considered, whistling softly.

“Don’t know but what somethin’ could be made o’ this, in time,” he said at last. “Yuh got nice grass, an’ plenty o’ water; I guess the Injuns is all quieted down now; an’ the big ranches don’t seem to be crowdin’ yuh much—yet.”

“They’ll crowd good an’ plenty in the next few yeahs,” said Chase, smoothing the part in his beard with his fingers. “That’s why I have to figuh so close, an’ not spare any expense or labuh that will build this place up. I got to be big enough to hold my own when the push comes. These few cattle heah is jest a slim staht; jest seed cows, that’s all. Theah pickin’ up pretty good; but I’m sho’ honin’ to buy mo’.”

“They’re a good grade,” Morgan said. “All white-faced stuff, pretty near. They’ll run a heap heavier than most herds I’ve seen.”

“Lot o’ pilgrims among ’em,” Chase explained, “from ovuh the Mississippi. The longhorn strain yuh see is from stuff I brung with me ovuh the Chizzum trail. The rest I bought an’ traded fo’. I could ’a’ had mo’, by buyin’ ratty stock; but I’m buildin’ this from the ground up, an’ I want to build it right. If only I’d knowed what I do now when I was yo’ age, an’ stahted this thing then—!”

Morgan ran a keen eye over the sweep of the plain.

“They’s a little spring lake up here about nine-ten mile northeast, I noticed,” he said presently. “Jest a little one—”

“I call it the Cayuse Spring,” said Chase.

“Now, if Happy an’ me,” Morgan went on, “should go over there bimeby—say next year in the slack season—an’ build a little camp—I wonder if that camp wouldn’t control a whole sight o’ ground? Didn’t look to me like there would be good water handy fer quite a piece east.”

Chase slapped his thigh so suddenly that his horse started sidewise, as if at the crack of a quirt.

“Dawgone,” he chuckled, “if I don’t b’lieve yo’ the young felluh I been lookin’ fo’! I been thinkin’ about that thing myself. They’s only two little holes neah the Cayuse Spring that stays wet in the summeh; an’ nothin’ else from the Blue Wateh sink east fo’—gosh, I dunno how fah. Thousands o’ head can be grazed from that wateh. An’ the range joins on nice to the Moccasin Lake range.”

“By leavin’ the Blue Water country for the big fellers to fight over, an’ bitin’ down on the range east—” began Slide.

“You see it!” exclaimed Chase enthusiastically. “Boy, they’s a futuh heah fo’ a young man that can see ahead!”

They sat silent for a little time. Slide Morgan’s eyes were glowing like those of a miner when the color in his pan begins to increase swiftly, promising great things just beyond. For the first time he seriously considered the possibility of his owning, himself, vast herds of cattle, and great remudas of saddle stock. The four thousand dollars under the bunkhouse floor would do wonders on this range. A partnership with Chase—

But that would have to wait. First he must prove himself to this old man who, while he could build dreams of empire in the twilight of his life, was yet practical, hard-fisted, and sane. Morgan’s day would come. “Benjamin Morgan, cattle king of the sand hill ranges—”

In the meantime, here was a place where a man could work with all his heart; a place where one man could work for two and make his work show. Here was something to build up, to nurse along; to labor for, plan for, live for, giving the best he had with the assurance that there were high stakes at the end, if victory could be won over rival cattlemen and the grim old prairie.

“Mr. Chase,” he said at last, “I’m goin’ to back yore play. I shore am!”

“Good,” said the old man.

He studied Slide with the satisfaction of a man who has found the one thing needed to make his plans complete. Morgan didn’t notice; his mind was already casting about for work to tie into.

“It all biles down,” said Chase, “to a question o’ holdin’ the Injuns off. I know the main bands are a long way no’th now; but they’ll travel some to make a raid. I ain’t neveh been hit; but since I been heah they’ve raided ranches south o’ this, south o’ the Platte, even. Well, if they wasn’t dangeh heah, they wouldn’t be no room fo’ us by now. I’ll fight real obstinate. Always would. Gawd, how I hate a Injun!”

Slide was inattentive. “Now I wonder,” he said, “speakin’ of our new corral—”