Friar Tuck Part 27

course he wouldn't listen to it; and for a few days he even talked some o' goin' with us, though he didn't ever care much for huntin'.

Finally we started out with a big pack train an' enough ammunition for an army. Besides me an' Horace, the' was Tank, Spider Kelley, Tillte Dutch, an' Mexican Slim. Slim was to do the cookin', an' the rest of us were to divvy up on the other ch.o.r.es all alike, Horace not to be treated much different simply because he was payin' us our wages; but he was to have the decidin' vote on where we should go an' how long we'd stay. It was fine weather most o' the time, though now an' again we'd get snowed up for a day or so in the high parts.

I had allus felt on friendly terms with the wild creatures; an' I had told him before we started that I wouldn't have no part in usin'

hosses for bear-bait, nor shootin' bears in traps, nor killin' a lot o' stuff we had no use for; but Horace turned out to be as decent a hunter as I ever met up with, an' after the second day out he did as little silly shootin' as any of us. He wasn't downright blood-thirsty, like a lot of 'em who get their first taste too late in life. He cared more for the fun o' campin' out an' stalkin' game than he did for killin'. We only got one silver-tip, most of 'em havin' holed up; but we found all the other game we wanted. Horace killed the grizzly, which was a monster big one, and this wiped the woodchuck off his record, and inflated his self-respect until the safety valve on his conceit boiler was fizzin' half the time.

We made a permanent camp not far from Olaf's shack, an' it didn't take me long to see 'at the foxy Horace was more interested in Olaf an' his war with Ty Jones than he was in huntin'. As soon as we had our camp arranged, he got me to take him over to Pearl Crick Spread to call on Olaf. I told him that Olaf wasn't what you'd call sociable; but he insisted, so we went.

We found Olaf in an infernal temper, an' some tempted to take it out on the first human he met; but this didn't phaze Horace. He thought he could start Olaf by tellin' him that Kit Murray was a widow; but the Friar had already told him and Olaf wouldn't thaw worth a cent. He kept on askin' questions, even when they wasn't answered, until Olaf got hungry an' asked us in to eat dinner with him. After we had eaten, we sat around the fire smokin', an' Horace looked as contented as a cat. He kept at his questionin' until he got Olaf to talkin' freer 'n I had supposed he could talk.

Horace tried him out on all sorts o' things, an' when Olaf snubbed him, why, he just overlooked it an' tried somethin' else. Finally he tried his hand at religion, an' this was what loosened Olaf up. Now Olaf was actually religious, and called himself a Christian, but the'

was a heap o' difference between his brand o' it an' the Friar's.

Olaf's G.o.d took more solid satisfaction in makin' h.e.l.l utterly infernal than a civilized community takes in a penitentiary; an' Olaf was purty certain as to who was goin' there. When he got to talkin'

religion in earnest, his face grew hard an' his eyes bright, an' he gloated over the souls in torment till he showed his teeth in a grin.

The' wasn't any doubt in his mind that Ty Jones was goin' to be among those present, an' this led him into tellin' what had put him so far out o' humor before we'd come along.

He had found another one of his cows shot an' only a couple o' steaks cut off. He fair frothed at the mouth when he told us this, an' he didn't make any bones of givin' Ty the credit for it. He cut loose an'

told us a string o' things 'at he knew about Ty, an' ya couldn't blame him for feelin' sore. He talked along in a rush after he got started, tellin' o' the way 'at Ty changed brands an' butchered other fellers'

stock an' wasn't above takin' human life when it stood in his way. "He made me as big a devil as he is," sez Olaf; "an' now he knows 'at I can't get any backin'; so he is just persecutin' me; but some o' these days, I'll get a chance at him."

Horace had dropped into a silence while Olaf was talkin'; but now he raised a finger at me, an' said: "I'll tell you what we'll do: instead of huntin' ordinary wild beasts, we'll just keep watch on Olaf's stuff, an' when any one bothers it, why, we'll take 'em into some town with a jail."

Olaf shook his head, an' I told Horace that the' wasn't any law for big cattle men; but Horace was all worked up, an' after we'd left Olaf an' started for camp, he didn't talk of anything else. He put it before the boys; but they were all again' it, an' told him a lot o'

tales about fellers who had tried to buck the big cattle men. Horace called us all cowards; but we only laughed at his ignorance an' let him carry on as far as he liked. He sat up way into the night broodin'

over it, an' from that on he did a lot o' scoutin' on his own hook. We used to keep an eye on him, though; so after all he had his own way about it, an' Olaf's stuff was watched purty close.

The boys was proud of Horace, just as they'd have been proud of a fightin' terrier; but they was worried about him, too, in just about the same way.

"I tell you, that little runt would shoot to kill if he got a chance,"

sez Tank Williams, one night while Horace was away.

"Aw ya can't tell," sez Spider. "He thinks he would; but he's never been up against it yet, an' ya can't tell."

"Well, what if he did shoot," sez Slim, "we wouldn't have to mix in, would we?"

"You know blame well we'd mix in," sez Tank, "an' you can't tell where it would end. If Horace had 'a' come out here when he was a kid, he'd 'a' turned out one o' the bad men for true. It's in his blood. Look at him! when he came here first, he didn't have no more get-up 'n a sofy piller; but look what he's gone through since. I saw him, myself, march along without food for four days, an' when we came up with that cow, he was willin' to help kill her with a rock or strangle her to death, an' he didn't make no more bones o' calf-milkin' her than a coyote would. He started out in life with more devilment in him 'n any of us, an' what he's achin' for now is a mix-in with the Cross brand outfit. That's my guess."

"An' that's my guess," I chimed in; but just then we heard two shots close together, then a pause an' three more shots. We jammed on our hats an' guns an' rushed outside. It was a moonlight night, an' we hustled in the direction o' the shots. Before long we made out Horace an' Tillte Dutch comin' towards us, an' Horace was struttin' like Cupid the bulldog used to walk, after he'd flung a steer. It was the first time I'd ever noticed this, but I noticed it plain, out there in the moonlight.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I reckon 'at somebody knows by now that Olaf's stuff is havin' a little interest took in it," sez Horace.

We came back into the old log cabin where we was campin', an' Dutch told about how Horace had got him to walk with him, an' had sat down on a rock where they could see Olaf's little bunch o' cattle grazin'.

He said 'at Horace sat with his rifle across his lap and kept watch like an Injun scout.

After a time they saw two men creep out of a ravine not far from where they was sittin' an' sneak down on the bunch o' cows. One of 'em had shot a cow, an' Horace had shot him, bringin' him down, but not killin' him. The two had run for the ravine, an' Horace had tried to cut 'em off, an' he had gone along 'cause Horace had; but the two had got to their hosses first. Each o' the two had taken one shot, an'

Horace had shot back but none o' these last shots had hit anything, an' the two had got away.

"I'll bet they haven't got so far away but what we'll hear from 'em again," sez Tank.

"The thing for us to do is to start back to the Diamond Dot," sez I.

"We shall stay here, an' see what happens," sez Horace, lightin' his pipe. His eyes were dancin' an' he was all puffed up. I didn't say any more. I just looked at him. He was the same old Horace, side-burns an'

all; but still the' was enough difference for me to begin to regret havin' give him the treatment. I had cured his nerve so complete it seemed likely to boss the whole crowd of us into trouble.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A PROGRESSIVE HUNT

The Friar sez it's all rot about men bein' better for havin' sowed their wild oats when young. He sez 'at it's utter foolishness to sow any crop ya don't want to harvest; but I dunno. I don't mind havin' a colt try to turn himself inside out with me on its back; but I'm some prejudiced again' an old hoss which is likely to pitch when I've got other business to attend to. When a young hoss is mean, why, ya can reason it out of him; but when an old hoss turns bad, you might just as well put the outlaw label on him an' turn him adrift.

We couldn't do a thing with Horace after he'd taken his shot at the feller who potted one of Olaf's cows. Ol' Tank Williams was huge in size an' had a ponderous deep voice which rumbled around in him like a bulldog croakin' in a barrel; an' he decided that it was his duty to be firm with Horace, seein' the way 'at he had bluffed him when we went on that trip for the nerves; so the follerin' mornin' he put a scowl on his face, grabbed Horace by the chest of his s.h.i.+rt, lifted him so 'at nothin' but the tips of his toes touched, an' sez: "Look here, you little whippersnapper, we agreed to go where you said an'

stay as long as you said; but we meant on a game-huntin' trip. You haven't any idee what you're up again' out here, an' you got to give in an' come back with us."

Tank's free eye rolled about in his head, runnin' wilder 'n I'd ever seen it; but Horace wasn't as much phazed as if a fly had bit him. He scowled down his eyebrows, an' piped out in his squeaky tenor: "Take your hand off me, Tank-and take it off now."

"I've a notion to raise it up an' squash ya," sez Tank.

"Yes," sez Horace, without blinkin' a winker, "you've got notions all right; but they lie so far to the interior of ya that they generally weaken before they find their way out. Take your hand off me."

Well, Tank was beat. He gave Horace a shove, but Horace was light on his feet, an' he never lost his balance. He just danced backward until he had his brakes set, an' then he fetched up in front o' the fire, put his fists on his hips, an' stared up at Tank haughty.

"Ignorance," sez he, "is the trouble with most people. The ignorant allus judge by appearances. If body-size was what really counted, why, we'd have an elephant for an emperor. Instead of which we use 'em to push logs around. Goliath did a lot o' talkin' about squas.h.i.+n' David, but as soon as David got around to it, he fixed Goliath all ready for the coroner. Napoleon was of small size, an' fat, an' nervous, but he didn't count it a fair day's work unless he had presented one of his relatives with a full-sized kingdom. Where are the buffalos-where are they-the big clumsy brutes! They're shut up out o' harm's way, that's where they are; but where are the mosquitoes? Why the mosquitoes are takin' life easy at all the fas.h.i.+onable summer resorts. If you feel like freightin' your big, fat carca.s.s back to where it don't run any risk o' bein' b.u.mped into, why go ahead; but I'm goin' to stick around here an' see what happens."

Well, there we were: we didn't none of us have the courage to own up 'at we were afraid of anything 'at Horace wasn't afraid of; so we decided to stick with him, but that he had to take the blame. It was Tillte Dutch who said this, an' Horace looked at him an' grinned.

"Take the blame?" sez he. "Why you big chump, it's the small-sized men who allus take the blame. The big b.o.o.bs rush about, makin' a lot o'

noise; but they only do what the small-sized men tell 'em to. I'll take the blame all right, an' if you back me up, you'll be right pleased to have a share in the kind o' blame the's goin' to be. This Ty Jones outfit is nothin' but a set o' cowardly bullies who sneak around in the dark doin' underhanded work; but I intend to let the daylight in."

"I'll bet the daylight will be let in, somewhere," sez I; "but I'm just fool enough to stick with ya."

Tank was still smartin' from the way it had been handed to him. "Say,"

sez he, "p'raps you don't know it; but that David you was cacklin'

about a while ago wasn't nothin' but a sheep-herder."

"That don't change no brands," sez Horace, who didn't have any more use for a sheep-herder 'n we did. "He was a small-sized man, an' he just drove sheep a while to help his father out. Sheep-herdin' wasn't his regular trade. Bossin' men an' fightin' an' bein' a king was his natural line o' business. It allus seems to me 'at big, overgrown men ought to be sheep-herders, so they could drive about in house-wagons, an' not wear down so many good hosses."

Ol' Tank slammed about, makin' a lot o' noise; but he had lost this deal, an' it was plain to see.

"I'm goin' to ride over to Olaf's, an' tell him about what happened last night, an' say 'at we'll keep an eye on his stuff if so be he wants to take a little trip to Billings," said Horace; and when he started I went along with him. At first Olaf was so white-hot about havin' another cow killed that he couldn't think; but finally he looked at Horace a long time, an' said: "You have very brave flame, an' you speak true. I shall go to Billings, an' trust everything with you."

I was flabbergasted clear out o' line at this; but Olaf packed some stuff on one hoss, flung his saddle on another, an' set off at once.

Now, I knew Olaf to be slow an' stubborn, an' I couldn't see through this.