Читать книгу The Bar 20 Rides Again - Clarence E. Mulford - Страница 5
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Sherwood looked around and espied his new acquaintance sitting alone at a table in a corner, waved his hand reassuringly, and stopped at the bar for a moment.
"Dave, gimme a bottle an' a couple of glasses, an' we won't bother you no more," he said cheerfully. He raised his voice to check the stranger, who was rising from his chair. "Stay there, Mr. Perdue; I'm bringin' th' bottle with me. Dave, gimme a handful of cigars." He picked up the articles as Dave supplied them, and walked toward the corner, exchanging grins with the happy baker's dozen, and he had a joke with Dailey.
"Now, don't you tell 'em how good I can play, Lin, an' scare 'em all away," retorted Dailey, polishing his bald spot and turning back to the game.
"Well," said Mr. Perdue, chuckling and rubbing his hands. "This shore looks like home. Glad I stayed over, Mr. Sherwood." He emptied his pipe, put it away, and bit off the end of a cigar. "I insist that th' treatin' is on me, since yo're kind enough to help me pass away th' time so pleasantly."
"No, sir-e-e-e; I'm buyin', to-day," replied Sherwood, filling the glasses. He was in rare good humour, for everything had gone exceptionally well on the ranch for the last year, and he would soon write out a report on his stewardship that would gladden the ears of the owners.
"Can't have that, Mr. Sherwood; I want to feel free an' unrestrained," said the stranger.
"You get enough of Dave's likker into you an' you shore will feel just that way," laughed Sherwood. "No, sir; yo're a stranger to Gunsight. I'm treatin'; an' here's how!"
"Match you for th' bill," suggested Mr. Perdue, producing a gold piece.
Sherwood hesitated, saw that the stranger was very much in earnest, and agreed somewhat reluctantly. The stranger won, stuck Sherwood, and settled back in his chair, laughing contentedly.
"Ought to have plenty of fine cattle around here," said the trail boss, opening his mouth to test the flavour of the liquor. He looked a little surprised, and turned the bottle around to read the label. "First-rate likker; good's any I've had in a mighty long time."
"Dave keeps this brand hid under th' counter," said Sherwood, and rolled the cigar over to the other corner of his mouth. He liked Mr. Perdue, and the liquor he had had was making him mellow.
"Yes, sir; any country that has likker as good as this ought to have fine cattle," said the stranger.
"Couldn't help havin' good cattle, with th' grass an' water we got," said Sherwood, his local pride growing and enthusing him. "We don't have no losses no more, since Nelson cut loose an' cleaned up th' range. Did most of it hisself, too. Fine boy, Nelson. You wouldn't reckon he is a shore old-time gun-thrower, would you, to look at him?"
"Why, no—can't say I would. He struck me as sorta mild an' easy-goin'," lied Mr. Perdue.
"You oughta see him when he strikes you th' other way," chuckled Lin, proudly. "He's one of that old Bar 20 bunch, an' he come down here alone, some years back, when this range was shore uncertain. Cleaned up th' Bar H gang of thieves an' made things sweet as sugar. Why, even Nevady, over in Snake Buttes, quit pesterin' us right soon after Nelson went on th' prod. We don't lose no more cattle, a-tall; less than one per cent."
"Is that so?" marvelled Mr. Perdue, refilling both glasses. "Why, we lose two per cent. from nat'ral causes, up our way. You fellers ought to drive right heavy, down here."
"Don't do no drivin' for ourselves no more," said Sherwood, putting down the empty glass. "We sell to th' T. & C. They pick up our trail stuff an' keep on goin'." He looked critically at his cigar, licked a break in the wrapper, and blew gently through it to make it burn right. "We're givin' th' T. & C. nine hundred head of prime beef this season; an' we'll give 'em more, later on. Start roundin' up to-morrow. We'll throw th' two herds near th' trail, an' say good-bye to 'em when th' trail herd passes."
"You throwin' in nine hundred head? How many is Nelson supplyin'?" asked Mr. Perdue, greatly impressed. "I had no idear you had so big a ranch, Mr. Sherwood."
"Oh, that's both our herds, together," explained Sherwood, reaching for the glass, and idly noting that it had been filled again.
"Who's th' T. & C. you mentioned? An' who is this Nevady?"
"Twitchell an' Carpenter, of Sandy Bend. They got a range of their own, down Mesquite way. Nevady is a damn rustler over in Snake Buttes, west of here. Used to make things purty hot for me; but things got purty hot for him down this way, an' he reckoned th' ranges north of th' buttes was healthier. Heard he's been raisin' hell up that way. Word has come down, recent, however, that he's lettin' them ranches alone, too. If he don't look out we'll all have to throw in an' smoke him out."
"Why ain't you done it before this?" asked Mr. Perdue, his eyes blazing momentarily.
"You don't know that there butte country," growled Sherwood, shaking his head. "We're satisfied to let things stay just like they are. Ain't no sense of stirrin' up a snake's nest when you don't have to."
"Well, there's common sense in that," admitted Mr. Perdue, closing his eyes as though to rest them. He smiled, opened them again, and reached for the bottle. "Take you some time to round up, cut out, an' road-brand that many steers in country as rough as this."
"Well, we run th' regular round-up about this time of the year," said Sherwood, lifting the glass. "First cut will be th' trail cattle. One gang will drive that off an' take care of it while th' extry men handle th' calves. Chute-brandin' saves a lot of time, an' we force th' work. Ought to have th' T. & C. cattle ready by th' end of th' week. Th' T. & C. will be along in about ten days, which gives us extry time if we need it."
"Hold 'em out on yore own range till near th' last day, I reckon," said the stranger, "to keep from mixin'."
"Shore, Perdue," said Sherwood. "When we see th' sign in th' sky we move 'em down to th' trail, me, th' SV, an' th' Triangle. I keep mine a day's drive west of here, an' th' T. & C. picks 'em up after they've got th' Triangle stuff. Nelson's herd will be in a little valley further along, an' will be picked up last. We loose-herd 'em to keep 'em contented, feed 'em good on th' best grass, bed 'em down not far from water on some nice, high divide where th' air keeps stirrin'. Everythin' runs like it's oiled."
"An' when th' T. & C. picks 'em up," said Mr. Perdue, smiling, "they're fresh an' ready to move right along. Much better than if they'd come up th' trail so far." He cogitated for a moment. "After they get trail-broke an' handle easy, them fresh strong cattle from hereabouts shore will help to keep down th' size of th' drag."
"Shore will," agreed Sherwood. "Aimin' to drive yore cattle back this way?"
"Ain't seen no reason, so far, not to," answered Mr. Perdue. "I'm a mite surprised, Sherwood: reckoned this was purty poor trailin' country; but if it's as good th' rest of th' way, I'm figgerin' we could pick out a worse route."
"You just come over one dry stretch, if you come down from Juniper," said Sherwood. "Twenty miles wide, it is. You can easy make it in one day, if you want to push 'em. An' you know that there's plenty of runnin' water at th' end of it, too. Clear Crick never goes dry, which is sayin' somethin' for a crick in this country. I allus figgered, somehow, that it rose over in th' Snake Buttes, an' flowed underground till it busts out where it does. They call me crazy, an' say there ain't no water in th' buttes, except a hole here an' there. They say Nevady raids through 'em, an' don't stop. Well, south of here, between Gunsight an' Highbank, is another dry stretch of about twenty-five miles, an' there's another certain stream at th' end of it. If you foller th' trail an' don't try no cut-offs, them two are th' longest drives without water. You'll come back this way, all right, after you see th' trail."
Jim Fanning stuck his head in at the back door and then followed it with the rest of his body. Seeing the two friendly individuals at their own table, and the label on the bottle, he sauntered over and stopped beside them.
"Nice select little party," he said, grinning. "See you got th' sacred bottle."
"Allus room for a friend," said Sherwood, reaching back for another chair. "Can you feed me, too, to-night, Jim? I figger on stayin' till after dark. Want to have a little fun before th' round-up starts. Set down, Jim, an' make her three-corner. Reckon you an' Perdue know each other?"
"We been made acquainted accordin' to th' rules," chuckled Perdue, trying to catch Dave's eye for another glass. He succeeded, and Dave waddled over with it.
"Dave, shake han's with my friend, Perdue," said Sherwood. "Owns a big ranch up Colyrady way. Goin' down to Texas for a big herd, an' figgers on comin' back this way with it. Perdue, this feller Dave Green is th' best-natured hombre you ever saw. Generous feller, he is. Ol' fren' of mine; an' a good un. Shake han's with him. You two boys oughta know each other better."
Fanning and Dave exchanged winks, and Perdue was trying to iron out a grin.
"Yes, sir; Dave's a generous soul," said Fanning. "He'd give you his shirt for a wagon cover, if it was plumb wore out. If you ever play poker with Dave, you'll shore as hell find out how generous he is." He raised his voice. "Hey, Ben! I'm tellin' this stranger how generous Dave is."
"Go ahead, young man; deal 'em out, from th' left to th' right," said Ben Dailey, and then raised up in his chair and looked at Fanning and his little party. "Dave generous?" he shouted over the noise. "Shore he is, but nobody's found it out yet. Don't you let 'em string you, Dave; you ain't losin' yore grip, a-tall. Yo're gettin' tighter every minute; an'," he added, sizing up Sherwood with one practised glance, "so is Lin. I'll take you fellers on to-night, after I get all these boys have."
"Perdue," said Dave, "Dailey loves his little poker game. If he was starvin', an' you offered him a choice between a big meal an' a game of poker, he'd grab for th' deck. Win or lose, it don't make no difference, just so he's settin' in."
And so the merriment continued, the sweet coming before the bitter. One week later, the storm burst like a deluge, sweeping cattle away in herds and bunches, leaving dead and crippled men on the three Gunsight ranches. Sherwood fought for his life against his wounds, surrounded by his crippled outfit; Johnny Nelson, ambushed and left all night on the open range, tossed on his fevered bed and dictated a broken letter, which his wife smoothed before sending; in the bunkhouse, four of his men lay helpless; down on the Triangle the same scene hushed that ranch. The range was stricken by unexpected bolts out of the dark, merciless fury the keynote of the attacks. It was whipped before it knew the imminence of danger, its leading figures put out of action on the same night, and its uninjured men left dazed and hopeless. Johnny's forebodings had come true: Mr. Perdue, the pleasant stranger, had returned to Gunsight; but this time he came after dark, in the name of Nevada, the boss of Snake Buttes.
