Valley of Wild Horses Part 30

"Not after we separated this mawnin'," returned Blinky. "An' thet reminds me, pard, I've got somethin' to tell you. This fellar Hurd--or Mac New as you call him--has a pocketful of gold coin."

"How do you know?" queried Pan bluntly.

"Gus kicked his coat this mawnin', over there where Mac New had his bed, an' a pile of gold eagles rolled out. Just by accident. Gus wanted somethin' or other. He was plumb surprised, an' he said Mac New was plumb fl.u.s.tered. Now what you make of thet?"

"By golly, Blink, I don't know. There's no reason why he shouldn't have some money, yet it strikes me queer. How much gold?"

"Aw, two or three hundred easy," rejoined Blinky. "It struck me sort of queer, too. I recollected thet he told us he'd only been doin'

guard duty at the jail fer a couple of months. An' Gus recollected how not long before Mac New went to work he'd been a regular grub-line runner. We fed him heah, or Juan did. Now, pard, it may be all right an' then again it mayn't. Are you sh.o.r.e aboot him?"

"Blink, you make me see how I answer to some feeling that's not practical," returned Pan, much perturbed. "Mac was an outlaw in Montana. Maybe worse. Anyway I saved him one day from being strung up. That was on the Powder River, when I was riding for Hurley's X Y Z outfit. They were a hard lot. And Mac's guilt wasn't clear to me.

Anyway, I got him out of a bad mess, on condition he'd leave the country."

"Ahuh! Wal, I see. But it's a sh.o.r.e gamble he's one of Hardman's outfit now, same as Purcell."

"Reckon he was. But he got fired."

"Thet's what _he_ says."

"Blink, you advise me not to trust Mac New?" queried Pan dubiously.

"I ain't advisin' n.o.body. If you want my opinion, I'd say, now I know what you done fer Mac New, thet he wouldn't double-cross you. When it comes down under the skin there ain't much difference between outlaws an' other range men in a deal like thet."

"Well, I'll trust him just because of that feeling I can't explain,"

returned Pan.

He did not, however, forget the possible implication, and it hovered in his mind. It was after dark when Mac New and Brown rode into camp.

Pan and the others were eating their supper.

"We had to ride clean to the end of the valley to cross that wash,"

said Brown. "It's rough country. Horses all down low. Didn't see so many, at that, until we rimmed around way up on this side."

"Fine. You couldn't have pleased me more," declared Pan. "Now Mac, what do you say?"

"About this heah hoss huntin'?" queried Mac New.

"Yes. Our prospects, I mean. You've chased wild horses."

"It'll be most as bad as stealin' hosses," replied the outlaw, laconically. "Easy work an' easy money."

"Say, you won't think it's easy work when you get to dragging cedars down that hill in the hot sun all day. I don't know anything harder."

Early next morning the labor began and proceeded with the utmost dispatch. The slope resounded with the ring of axes. Pan's father was a capital hand at chopping down trees, and he kept two hors.e.m.e.n dragging cedars at a lively rate. The work progressed rapidly, but the fence did not seem to grow in proportion.

As Pan dragged trees out to the sloping valley floor, raising a cloud of dust, he espied a stallion standing on the nearest ridge, half a mile away. How wild and curious!

"You better look sharp, you raw-boned sage eater!" called Pan.

Twice more this same horse evinced intelligent curiosity. Pan could not see any signs of a band with him. But other wild horses showed at different points, none however so close as this gray black-spotted stallion. Blinky was sure this horse had not always been wild.

Manifestly he knew the ways of his archenemy, man.

With three cutters and three riders dragging cedars, allowing for a rest of an hour at noon the fence grew to a length of a quarter of a mile from the slope.

"Not so good," declared Pan, when they left off work for the day. "But that fence is high and thick. It will take an old stallion like that gray to break through it."

"Wal, my idee is thet we did grand," replied Blinky, wiping his sweaty face. "Besides all the choppin' and haulin' Gus found time to kill a deer."

It was a tired, sweaty and dust-begrimed party of hunters that descended upon Lying Juan for supper. After their hearty meal they gathered round the campfire to smoke and talk. This night Mac New joined the group, and though he had nothing to say he listened attentively and appeared to fit in more. Pan was aware of how the former outlaw watched him. The conversation, of course, centered round the plan and execution of work, and especially the wonderful drive they expected to make. If they could have at once started the drive, it would have been over and done with before their interest had time to grow intense. But the tremendous task of preparation ahead augmented the antic.i.p.ation and thrill of that one day when they must ride like the wind.

Next day they did not go back to the fence, but worked at the gateway on the blind corrals. Pan constructed the opening to resemble a narrow aisle of scrub oak. Material for this they cut from the bluff and slid it down to the level. By sunset one corral had been almost completed.

It was large enough to hold a thousand horses. One third of it was fenced by the bluff.

Two more days were required to build the second blind corral, which was larger, and though it opened from the first it did not run along the bluff. As this one was intended for chasing and roping horses, as well as simply holding them, the fence was made an almost impenetrable ma.s.s of thick foliaged cedars reinforced, where necessary, with stuffings of scrub-oak brush. Pan was so particular that he tried to construct a barrier which did not have sharp projecting spikes of dead branches sticking out to cut a horse.

"By gum, I sh.o.r.e don't believe you ever was a regular cowpuncher,"

declared Blinky testily, after having been ordered to do additional labor on a portion of the fence.

"Blink, we're dealing with horses, not cows," answered Pan.

"But, good Lord, man, a cow is as feelin' as a hoss any day," protested Blinky.

"You'll be swearing you love cows next," laughed Pan. "Nope. We'll do our work well. Then the chances are we won't spike any of those thoroughbreds we want to break for Arizona."

"Say, I'll bet two bits you won't let us sell a single gosh-darned broomie," added Blinky.

"Go to bed, Blink," rejoined Pan, in pretended compa.s.sion. "You're all in. This isn't moons.h.i.+ning wild horses."

In the succeeding days Pan paced up the work, from dawn until dark. A week more saw the long fence completed. It was an obstacle few horses could leap. Pan thought he would love to see the stallion that could do it.

Following the completion of the fence, they built a barrier across the wash. And then to make doubly sure Pan divided his party into three couples, each with instructions to close all possible exits along the branches of the wash, and the sides of the slope.

During the latter part of this work, the bands of wild horses moved farther westward. But as far as Pan could tell, none left the valley.

They had appeared curious and wary, then had moved out of sight over the ridges in the center of the great oval.

The night that they finished, with two weeks of unremitting toil in dust and heat behind them, was one for explosive satisfaction.

"Fellars, my pard Panhandle is one to tie to," declared Blinky, "but excoose me from ridin' any range where he was foreman."

"Blink, you'll soon be cowboy, foreman, boss--the whole outfit on your own Arizona ranch."

"Pard, I'll sh.o.r.e drink to thet, if anybody's got any licker."

If there were any other bottles in the camp, Mac New's was the only one that came to light. It was pa.s.sed around.

"Now, men, listen," began Pan when they had found comfortable seats around the campfire. "It's all over but the shouting--and the riding.

You listen too, Juan, for you've got to fork a horse and drive with us.

As soon as it's light enough to see, we'll take the fresh horses we've been saving and ride across the valley. It's pretty long around, but I want to come up behind all these bands of wild horses. Pack your guns and all the sh.e.l.ls you've got. We'll take stands at the best place, which we'll decide from the location of the horses. Reckon that'll be about ten miles west. You'll all see when we get there how the neck of the valley narrows down till it's not very wide. Maybe a matter of two miles of level ground, with breaks running toward each slope. We'll string across this, equal distances apart and begin our drive. If we start well and don't let any horses break our line, we'll soon get them going and then each band will drive with us. Ride like h.e.l.l, shoot and yell your head off to turn back any horses that charge to get between us. Soon as we get a few hundred moving, whistling, trampling and raising the dust, that'll frighten the bands ahead. They'll begin to move before they see us. Naturally as the valley widens we've got to spread. But if we once get a wide scattering string of horses running ahead of us we needn't worry about being separated. When we get them going strong, there'll be a stampede. Sure a lot of horses will fool us one way or another, but we ought to chase half the number on this side of the valley clear to our fence. That'll turn them toward the gate to the blind corrals. We'll close in there, and that'll take riding, my buckaroos!"