The Long Dim Trail Part 22

"Tell him about that mix-up in the strays," called Bronco after Limber, as the foreman rode toward Traynor.

While Limber's pony rubbed noses with Traynor's horse, Limber suggested employing Loco. Traynor a.s.sented readily. Then Limber continued, "I don't know just how to figger it out, but some one's tryin' to make trouble for the Diamond H."

"How's that?" demanded Traynor, quickly.

"Well, two weeks ago Bronco seen a Diamond H calf, new-branded, following a Bar 77 cow. He thought it was just a mistake, so vented it.

Then a few days later me and Holy run into two calves with the Diamond H and one was followin' a Flyin' V cow, and the other was suckin' a Three Moon. We straightened that out, and since then we've come across six calves marked with the Diamond H and every durned one of 'em is suckin'

a cow with a different brand. We got to stop it quick."

Traynor's eyebrows knit angrily, "Any of them here?"

"Four in the stray herd," Limber replied, and without further conversation they rode to the strays, where several neighbouring ranchers and a few cowpunchers sat on their ponies. They looked curiously at Traynor and his men, who met the looks steadily.

"Limber has just reported to me about these calves with the Diamond H brand," he scanned each face for sign of disbelief. "I don't think it is necessary for me to say that not one of the men belonging to the Diamond H ranch branded those calves. A single instance might occur to any one, as you all know, but this is being done systematically, and evidently with the intention of causing hard feelings. If any of you hear or see any more of this work, let me know at once, and help me find out who is at the bottom of it. I'll pay five hundred dollars for proof against the man who is putting my brand on these calves. I will report this to the Live Stock Sanitary Board at once, and advertise my offer of reward."

He turned to Limber and Bronco, saying, "Cut out those calves and vent them at once, boys," and they hastened to obey.

"None of us laid the blame on the Diamond H," said Jones, who owned the Flying V Bar. "None of us knew about this work until Limber told us and pointed out the calves in the stray herd. The fellow who is doing this would treat any of us the same way, and it's things like this that start real trouble. We've got to work together to catch him. When we do, we'll run him out of the country."

"Better keep him in the country, under six feet of earth," growled Holy with a few complimentary remarks, then he glanced around quickly to see whether Nell were within earshot.

And as a result of this episode, a week later Traynor advertised offering five hundred dollars reward for detection of the trouble-maker, while an additional five hundred dollars was offered by the combined other cattlemen whose calves had been misbranded; but from that time on there was no cause for further complaint. The matter remained a mystery.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"I think I will go over to the Springs in the morning," said Powell to Traynor a week after the rodeo, as they sat in the court enjoying after-dinner cigars.

"Oh, by the way," Traynor interjected, "I had a talk with Paddy yesterday. He wants the privilege of staying at the PL ranch house for a month after the cattle are tallied in. I rather believe the old fellow hates to leave the place."

"How about arranging to have him stay permanently?" suggested Powell.

"Limber says some one would have to be there to look after the windmill and water."

"I think Paddy would be glad to do it. He hates mountain work, but he's good anywhere on the flats, and he's as honest as the sun. With Limber at the Springs working across the backbone of the Galiuros, we would consolidate the work of both ranges, and our relative expenses could be adjusted without difficulty. I believe Paddy would be glad to take a small sum monthly, and have his grub provided, and feed for that scarecrow of a horse that he thinks so much of."

"Won't you need Limber here?" protested Powell.

"I can arrange the work with him so that he can stay part of each week at the Springs. So you need not hesitate on that account. We have to ride in the Hot Springs section every few weeks. Many of our cattle drift over there. It's a wild range, and unless the men ride among the stock at frequent intervals, the cattle become too wild to be handled to an advantage. There are five and six year old steers back in the mountains there, that will never be caught except with a bullet--and even then you would have to have the wind in your favour to get in range. They are worse than deer."

"Suppose I talk to Limber? I don't want him to go unless he wishes it."

"He's taken a liking to you," was Traynor's reply, "and I'm sure the plan will suit him. But, decide that for yourselves. If he doesn't want to go, Bronco or Holy would do, but Limber would be more congenial, I thought."

"Limber is one of the finest characters I have ever met," was Powell's remark as he rose and moved toward the entrance of the court leading to the bunk-house. "I'll have a talk with him, now."

A light streamed from the open door of the bunk-house where the cowpunchers sat smoking and talking. Bronco, at a small table, was immersed in the pages of a gigantic mail order catalogue. A sheet of paper and bottle of ink portended a purchase. Powell sauntered in, found a seat on an iron cot, lit a cigarette and glanced around at them all.

It was a delicate compliment that no one greeted his entrance formally.

It proved that he was "one of the bunch."

Bronco's face was contorted as he began writing on the printed order sheet of the merchant enterprising enough to send out catalogues broadcast. It was good business strategy, for when the long winter evenings held forth, the big catalogue was the center of attraction on many ranches, and thus articles were ordered with sublime disregard as to utility or cost.

"What you sendin' fer this time, Bronc?" questioned Holy, curiously.

"Accorjon," the reply was punctuated with scratching pen that spluttered ink over the order list. "Thar's a book goes with it, tellin' you how to play in two hours."

"Say," Roarer leaned forward with interest, "why don't you get a talkin'

machine like the feller that spit his teeth out. Look 'em up. We could chip in and get one, maybe. It'd be easier on you--an' us, too."

With Powell's aid a small talking-machine was decided upon, and Bronco conscientiously inked out the previous order and subst.i.tuted the latest one. Then each man insisted that the record of his favourite "tune" be included--Golindrina, Over the Waves, Where is my Wandering Boy Tonight, Home, sweet Home, and My Bonnie lies over the Ocean--exhausted their repertoire.

"Six," announced Bronco, "say that ain't enough. Why, we kin sing all them without any talkin-machine. We want somethin' we don't sing ourselves when we're punchin' cows."

Powell came to the rescue, and with his aid a list was completed, including some really good music. He vetoed the command to pick out "about twenty-five or thirty dollars' worth."

"That's a heap sight more sensible than gettin' a cobbler's outfit, like we done the other time," Limber commented with a smile.

In answer to Powell's evident desire, he continued, "Bronc and Holy seen it in the catalogue, an' it told how much money you could save by mendin' your own shoes. It was unhandy havin' to pack our boots to Willc.o.x all the time. Mostly we'd forgot to take 'em, or else forgot to bring 'em home. We all rounded up our boots and Bronco figgered that by mendin' 'em, we'd save pretty near two weeks pay each."

"Well, it would of," defended Bronco, "But you fellers wouldn't wear 'em after I fixed 'em all up, and blacked 'em too."

"We'd a wore 'em," retorted Roarer indignantly, "if we could of got into 'em, but you'd made 'em all so tight that no one could get a foot into them shoes. The wust of it was that you went an' put extra soles on our good shoes and spiled 'em along with the rest."

"Well, you seen me throw mine out the same time you fellers chucked yours into the dump heap, didn't you?"

Limber's mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled as he turned to Powell, adding the climax, "Say Doc, thar wasn't a pair of boots or shoes that one of us could get into, and the day after Bronc finished up his work, we all got in the spring wagon and druv to Willc.o.x in our socks an'

bought shoes for the outfit before we could get to work."

"If you'd a guv me another chanct," protested Bronco, "I'd knowed better what to do, but anyway, it was a dandy cobbler's outfit, and wuth the money we guv for it."

"What became of it?" demanded Powell when his laughter subsided.

"Thar was a Missionary come past here, gettin' money for the heathens in Africa, and we donated the outfit to him. He sh.o.r.e seemed pleased with it, but we always had a sneakin' notion the heathens wasn't the ones that used it. That Missionary was like a billy-goat, ready to take anything you guv him, from a gold-mine to a empty tin tomato can. Last we seen of him he was prospectin' for Hasayampa Bill's lost mine, but n.o.body ain't heerd of his findin' it, so fur."

"How did Hasayampa lose the mine?" Powell interrupted. "Or did he really ever own one?"

"We seen the beginning of it," Limber began, and Powell scenting a story, settled with delighted antic.i.p.ation.

"It started this way. We was workin' the rodeo back of Dos Cabezas when we come across a seven-year ol' black horse that was an outlaw. He belonged to the Bar X Bar outfit, but they'd guv up tryin' to break him.

For three years the Boss of the Bar X Bar hed offered each Fourth of July to give the horse to any man what'd ride him to a finish. Thar was lots that tried it. He was a good horse and worth considerable if he was busted.

"Hasayampa was workin' with us. He'd been havin' a streak of hard luck.

His only pony was lame and he couldn't raise cash to buy another. You see, Hasayampa had tried to teach a tenderfoot how to play Stud poker, and that's about the poorest way I know to invest your money, especially when the tenderfoot is dressed like a minister--Hasayampa oughter knowed better.

"Howsomever, Hasayampa bet his lame pony that he could ride that black horse, and of course, everybody took him up.