Читать книгу The Sheriff of Badger: A Tale of the Southwest Borderland - George Pattullo - Страница 12

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Three days later Johnson left us to go north with his last load of cattle. Floyd and his wife were at the pens to say good-by, and waved at him until the caboose followed the rest of the train around a curve. Even Tommy flapped his chubby fist. And in the course of time Horne paid him off.

That was in Kansas City. Johnson spent his earnings in something under thirty hours and made the return in a day coach, having no money for a berth. Indeed, his last meal, which he procured at a wayside lunch counter in New Mexico, he was compelled to charge. It was made easier for him to do this inasmuch as he had already eaten the meal. The landlord, after slowly thinking it over, said he would trust Lafe.

Now he was back in the cow country, hopeful that Horne might find further employment for him, for that was the only work in which Lafe was content. And he went to Badger, his credit being good there until they should discover he had no money. It behooved him to get a job, with winter almost on them, yet the prospect did not distress Lafe in the least. He loitered around the Fashion, waiting for something to turn up.

On a November morn, Buffalo Jim rode into Badger from the Lazy L, leading a pack-horse that carried all his worldly possessions on its back. Buffalo was lifted up in heart and scornful of roundups, having just sold a mine. It does not concern us what sort of mine he sold, although a gentleman from Illinois grew very nasty over this point subsequently. Suffice that Jim had four hundred dollars.

He told Lafe that he was through with the Lazy L and sick cows, and would devote his future to prospecting. Nobody would ever order him around again; he wouldn't stand to be roused out of bed at four in the morning by Floyd, or any man alive. A week's work in the hills, a vein of copper—and here he was with money in his pocket, able to glean life's pleasures. He banged his silver down on the bar and looked all around, like a landed proprietor. Johnson agreed that it was a tempting career, although a man had once hunted him for a month with a sawed-off .25–35 because of a similar transaction. Buffalo scoffed at the suggestion of the Illinois party ever finding him, and he proceeded to do nothing. Lafe helped him.

It is to be feared that you will regard these two as a godless pair, which I deplore. Remember that customs create standards of behavior, and in Johnson's world they are suspicious of a man who permits himself no indulgences. Besides, in your circle or in mine, what earthly honor is accorded the man so palely good that he never takes a jaunt into the pleasant by-ways?

So then, Lafe Johnson and Buffalo Jim proceeded to enjoy life in Badger in the only way they knew. There was really no adequate physical reason for Shortredge's name of Buffalo Jim. If one scrutinized him closely, the difference could be discerned with comparative ease. Yet Shortredge possessed traits that made the appellation peculiarly fitting. When storms brew, a buffalo will drift into them head on, being so constructed by the Creator. It is yet to be learned that Jim ever permitted trouble to overtake him with his back turned.

They were lying under a pool table in the Fashion one gusty November dawn, lost in vague conjecture as to how they had arrived there, when Mr. Shortredge was seized of an inspiration. He told Lafe that he would give a dance, and Lafe readily consenting to this expenditure of his friend's money, they sallied forth to acquaint the citizens of the impending function, and to bid them come.

"I want everybody to come a-runnin'," was Jim's formal invitation. "No style, mind; but it's best to be clean."

The ball was held in Haverty's empty feed barn and the guests presented themselves with the commendable expedition their host had urged on them. At an early hour in the festivities, three male persons from Nogales sought admittance, and Lafe Johnson, not taking kindly to their looks, a slight awkwardness resulted. This was satisfactorily adjusted between the barn and the town limits, and Lafe and his companion returned to their hospitable duties in that peace of mind obtainable from work well done.

"What do you think of that there girl with the yallow hair?" said Johnson, in a cautious whisper that could not be heard beyond fifty feet.

"I don't think much of her," Jim answered. "Too loose in the j'ints for me."

"I reckon she looks good enough to tie to," said Lafe.

In pursuance of this opinion, he began to haunt the vicinity of Grace Hawes. He danced two Paul Joneses with her; followed them with a two-step and a waltz; and by that time Miss Hawes was giggling in half-hysterical mirth over her partner's unusual sallies. She slapped playfully at Lafe when he leaned close to her ear to whisper.

"Say, you've got your nerve," she said, covering her face with her hands in an ecstasy of laughter.

"No, I ain't. Honest I ain't. I'm sure shy as a teeny li'l' rabbit with other girls."

"What makes you go to say them things then?"

"You do. You make me brighten up a heap. And I'd kind of like to learn to talk easy like the other boys."

"You've got 'em backed into the cactus right now," said Grace, once more overcome.

The two were occupying one of the wooden benches ranged against the walls. Johnson was obliged to give her up at this point to a man from New Mexico. His visage was expressionless as he watched her depart and then he crossed to the door to institute inquiries as to how this interloper had contrived to get in.

"Let's run him off," said Jim. "That big Hick ought to be in a cotton-patch, anyhow."

"No-oo. She'd think I was jealous. And I'm not caring; not me. She can blister her feet for all of me, and he's a sure a-helping her. Watch him tromp on her toes. Say, Buf'lo, that's the third time she's danced with that there feller."

"What're you getting all swelled up about, Lafe?" Haverty asked, overhearing. "Quit your roaring. You mad just because Steve done took your girl?"

"Mad, hell!" said Johnson. "Who is this here Steve, Haverty?"

"He done drifted in about a month ago. Works for the Tumbling K. You've heard of him, Lafe? Shore you have. Goes by the name of Moffatt. He done killed Hi Waggoner and Balaam Halsell and—"

"Now I've got you. Sure. He's the gunfighter. So that's Steve Moffatt?"

Lafe's eyes brightened and one would have thought that this discovery was the only thing needed to complete his satisfaction. He grinned genially at Moffatt when they chanced to meet at Miss Hawes's side, and exchanged polite surmises on the outlook for more rain. Said Mr. Johnson, knowing well to the contrary: "Running sheep?"

"Cattle," said Moffatt shortly.

He studied Lafe with an oblique glance, not at all sure that no insult lurked in the query. Presently he whisked Miss Hawes away. The majority of the gentlemen at the ball held their partners with both hands around the shoulders, and this method afforded excellent opportunity for Grace to gaze up into Moffatt's eyes. Her own were deep blue and singularly enticing. Steve's were brown and very, very alert and steady, and Miss Hawes rapidly discovered that they refused to waver and grow uncertain, as was the habit of most masculine orbs. To Johnson, this exhibition seemed crude, even raw. He went outside where the refreshments were cached in order to find Buffalo.

"Say, Jim, I swan that don't seem the right way to dance," he said. "It don't look proper, hugging a girl that away."

"Huh! It don't, hey? You took to it smart enough. You weren't hollering. Why, you didn't know whether you was on the floor or on the roof, when she had you going. It sort of made me tired, Lafe, the way you done. Better leave her be."

An uproar broke out in the dance hall, and Johnson sped away to ascertain the cause and to quell it. Quiet descended as his foot touched the doorstep—a swift, ominous quiet. He discovered Moffatt standing in the corner occupied by the Mexican orchestra. One of the three players sprawled on the floor, rubbing his head and sobbing, and in front of the gunfighter was an abashed puncher from the Tumbling K range.

"What did you hit him with that there stool for?" Moffatt asked, as Lafe approached.

"He weren't keeping good time," said the cowboy. "I done told him so twice."

"Go on and dance," Moffatt ordered. "Here, you. Here's your guitar. Take to it. And when a gen'l'man asks you to slow up again, you slow up. Savez?"

Miss Hawes took his arm, with a soft, prideful sigh, and they moved off. It was glorious to be the center of all eyes, and she was very proud of him just then. He dominated the assembly with such disdainful unconcern. She had seen the Tumbling K boy actually shrink. Realizing quickly the need of smoothing out the situation, Lafe created a diversion. Advancing to the center of the floor, he shouted: "The next'll be a quadrille. Get your partners for a quadrille. Hi, everybody! Step to it."

Thus harmlessly did the incident pass over. Lafe was famous at calling off a dance and soon Grace found herself wavering in her allegiance. It is true that Moffatt was extremely handsome, but Lafe had a way. He might be too stooped and indolent for grace of movement, but—Johnson's voice came to her over the heads of the whirling crowd, and she forgot to reply to a question from her partner.

"First lady to the right, the right hand gent the right hand round. Partner by the left as you come round. Lady in the center, all hands round," he yelled, and there was a swirl of skirts and lifting of dust to stamping feet.

"Head lady and opposite gent forward and back," he chanted again.