Читать книгу Painted Ponies - Alan Le May - Страница 17

Table of Contents

NEVER in his life had Slide Morgan been less prepared to receive a savage smash than upon the day that John Chase fired him.

It was still early in July; for a matter of eight days Morgan had ridden for John Chase, going far in the hot, dry weather to find and turn back the straggling cattle that had drifted off the chosen range of the Arrow C. Careful plans were forming in his mind as he rode, plans no less practical and cautious because they were of the stuff of dreams.

He had ridden for many owners, on many ranges, and for men of many types; he was a wanderer who called no place home. Yet, in his few brief days at the Arrow C, Morgan had become peculiarly attached to the monotonous stretch of hinterland over which roamed the cattle of John Chase. He had found and turned back several hundred head that had wandered afield; but more than that, he had made Chase’s problems his own, with a live interest in the welfare of the tiny ranch such as he had never felt for the vaster fortunes of other cattlemen.

John Chase was old; Happy Bent was only a kid. Morgan had felt that he was the one who was taking care of this outfit, which revolved, after all, for the welfare of Nancy Chase. Further, he had prospects here of his own. He was feeling for the first time the great sweep of opportunity offered by the open range. He counted every dollar of the four thousand under the bunkhouse floor as a fighting man in the campaign that was forming in his mind.

A swift maturity of viewpoint was coming over the careless cowboy whom his familiars had called “Slide.” For the first time in his life Morgan was putting down groping roots.

The presence of Nancy Chase had more to do with it than Slide knew. He had spoken hardly two dozen words to her in the eight days; their conversation, what of it there was, had been of the most casual sort. He had not yet offered her a compliment, nor sought her society in any way. Yet it had been extremely interesting to have her about, and a comforting thing to know that she would be in the cabin at night when he came in after a hard day’s ride. He counted on that as he counted on the meals she cooked, without realizing how important it was to him.

And on the ninth day in the morning Morgan was fired.

There was an incongruous air of the commonplace in the way that John Chase accomplished this. Morgan had saddled, and was preparing to ride after horses. Chase approached.

“Well,” said the old man, casually smoothing his beard, “how much do I owe yuh?”

“Nothin’,” said Morgan, tying his latigo strap. “Why?”

“Five dollahs about right?”

“I can wait till pay day all right,” said Morgan, mystified.

“Figuh to pay yuh off,” said Chase distantly.

“Pay me off?” Slide repeated.

“Can’t use anothuh rideh afteh all,” said Chase without expression.

“What’s the matter?” Slide asked, searching the old man’s face for some sign of humor. “Don’t I suit?”

“Can’t afford it,” Chase answered shortly.

“Oh”—Morgan grinned swiftly—“that’s all right. I’ll be glad to help out over the summer. Have to live some place. You can pay me a horse or two. Or pay me some other year. Don’t need money.”

Chase stood squarely on his flat heels, as firm on the ground as a rooted tree. “No,” he said decisively, “I’ve made up my mind. That settles it. I’ll pay yuh off, an’ you can ride.”

With this a vague hostility seemed to come into the old man’s attitude; or perhaps it was only the stony finality with which he spoke that made his voice sound that way.

Morgan’s mind reeled from the shock of the punch. He never before had been caught so completely off his guard. Stammeringly he sought for words.

“What—” he began.

“I don’t want to argy,” Chase cut him off grimly. “How much?”

For a moment Morgan stood hesitant, while his bewildered mind sought to gain equilibrium. Then the smoke began to clear from his brain, making way for a swift surge of wrath.

“Good,” he said; the word came mechanically to his throat, because he had used it in like circumstances before.

He turned and finished tying the latigo, his hands methodical and quick. If there was one thing in the world for which he could thank his waning gods, it was that the saddled horse was his own mouse-gray. At least he wouldn’t have to putter about changing a saddle among the smoking ruins of his dreams. He put on the gray’s bridle, and dropped the reins on the ground. Then he went to the bunkhouse a few strides away, and swiftly rolled his few belongings into his bed.

Chase hovered in the backyard as Morgan lashed his bed roll behind his saddle. “Sorry,” said the old man.

The word inflamed Morgan’s bitter wrath to the cracking point. He dared not look the old fool in the face, lest he lash out at him with his quirt. He mustn’t do that. Old muddler that Chase was, he was Nancy’s pa.

Silently Morgan swung into his saddle, and reined the gray’s head southward. John Chase called after him.

“Heah’s yo’ pay!”

Morgan did not heed. His buck-skinned fingers toyed with the loaded butt of his quirt; he longed to slash the gray flanks, to strike home the spurs, and leave the place in a mad gallop. But he held himself in control, and did not. He avoided looking toward the cabin as he passed it, fearful lest Nancy should come to the door and he should meet her eyes.

When he was a hundred yards south of the little camp he heard loping hoofs behind him. In a moment Chase came alongside, astride a saddleless horse. The old man extended his fist, palm downward.

“Heah’s yo’ five dollahs,” he said.

Slide Morgan turned his head with the slow movement he had learned from Jake Downey. Then suddenly he extended his hand, took the fistful of heavy coins, and dashed them into the broad, bearded face.