The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 19

Winter, with its thin s.h.i.+fts of snow, its intermittent suns.h.i.+ny days, its biting winds that bored through chaps and heavy gloves, was finally borne away on the reiterant, warm breezes of spring. Mrs. Bailey was the proud and happy possessor of a lion-skin rug--Pete's Christmas present to her--proud of the pelt itself and happy because Young Pete had foregone the bounty that he might make the present, which was significant of his real affection. Coats and heavy overshoes were discarded. Birds sang among sprouting aspen twigs, and lean, mangy-looking coyotes lay on the distant hillsides soaking in the warmth. Gaunt cattle lowed in the hollows and spring calves staggered about, gazing at this new world with round, staring eyes.

Houck, the T-Bar-T foreman, had discussed with Bailey the advisability of defining a line between the two big ranches. They came to an agreement and both stated that they would send men to roughly survey the line, fix upon landmarks, and make them known to the riders of both outfits. Bailey, who had to ride from Concho to the railroad to meet a Kansas City commission man, sent word back to the Concho to have two men ride over to Annersley's old homestead the following day. Mrs.

Bailey immediately commissioned Young Pete and Andy to ride over to the homestead, thinking that Pete was a particularly good choice as he knew the country thereabouts. She cautioned the boys to behave themselves--she always did when Andy and Pete set out together--and giving them a comfortable package of lunch, she turned to her household work.

"I'm takin' Blue Smoke," stated Pete as Andy packed his saddle to the corral.

"You're takin' chances then," observed Andy.

"Oh, I got him so he knows which way is north," a.s.serted Pete. "I been gittin' acquainted with that cayuse, Chico."

"Yes. I seen you settin' on the ground watchin' him buck your saddle off a couple of times," snorted Andy.

"Well, seein' as this here pasear is straight riding I reckon I'll crawl him and turn him loose. He needs exercisin'."

"Well, I don't," a.s.serted Andy. "'Course, some folks has always got to be showin' off. If Bailey was here you wouldn't be ridin' that hoss."

"'And up and down and round and 'cross, that top-boss done his best!'"

sang Pete as he lugged his saddle into the corral.

"'All h.e.l.l can't glue you to that hoss when he gits headed west,'" Andy misquoted for the occasion.

"You jest swing that gate open when I git aboard," suggested Pete.

"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River."

Andy laughed.

"The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Ain't got no lungs nor ary liver, Some says it was a blue cayuse . . ."

"Go git you a sack and gather up the leavin's," laughed Pete, as he kicked his foot into the stirrup and hit the saddle before Blue Smoke knew what had happened. Andy swung the gate open. The horse headed for the mesa, pitching as he ran. This was not half so bad for Pete as though Blue Smoke had been forced to confine his efforts to the corral.

Pete had long since discovered that when Blue Smoke saw s.p.a.ce ahead of him, he was not apt to pitch hard, but rather to take it out in running bucks and then settle down to a high-lope--as he did on this occasion, after he had tried with his usual gusto to unseat his rider. There is something admirable in the spirit of a horse that refuses to be ridden, and there was much to be said for Blue Smoke. He possessed tremendous energy, high courage, and strength, signified by the black stripe down his back and the compact muscles of his flanks and fore legs. Pete had coveted the horse ever since that first and unforgettable experience in the corral. Bailey had said jokingly that he would give Pete the outlaw if Pete would break him. Pete had frequently had it out with Blue Smoke when the men were away. He had taken Bailey at his word, but as usual had said nothing about riding the animal.

Andy watched Pete until he saw that Blue Smoke had ceased to pitch and was running, when he swung up and loped out after his companion. He overtook him a half-mile from the ranch, and loped alongside, watching Pete with no little admiration and some envy. It struck Andy that while Pete never made much of his intent or his accomplishment, whatever it might be, he usually succeeded in gaining his end. There was something about Pete that puzzled Andy; a kind of silent forcefulness that emanated neither from bulk nor speech; for Pete was rather lithe and compact than "beefy" and more inclined to silence than to speech. Yet there was none of the "do or die" att.i.tude about him, either. But whatever it was, it was there--evident in Pete's eye as he turned and glanced at Andy--an intenseness of purpose, not manifest in any outward show or form.

"You sure tamed him," said Andy admiringly.

"Only for this mornin'," acknowledged Pete. "To-morrow mornin' he'll go to it ag'in. But I aim to sweat some of it out of him afore we hit the Blue. Got the makin's?"

CHAPTER XV

FOUR MEN

Pete grew silent as he rode with Andy toward the hill-trail that led to his old home on the Blue Mesa, where he finally surveyed the traces of old man Annersley's patient toil. The fences had been pulled down and the water-hole enlarged. The cabin, now a rendezvous for occasional riders of the T-Bar-T, had suffered from weather and neglect. The door sagging from one hinge, the grimy, cobwebbed windows, the unswept floor, and the litter of tin cans about the yard, stirred bitter memories in Pete's heart. Andy spoke of Annersley, "A fine old man,"

but Pete had no comment to make. They loafed outside in the afternoon suns.h.i.+ne, momentarily expecting the two men from the T-Bar-T.

Presently Andy White rose and wandered off toward the spring. Pete sat idly tossing pellets of earth at a tin can. He was thinking of Annersley, of the old man's unvarying kindliness and quaint humor. He wished that Annersley were alive, could know of his success--Pete had done pretty well for a lad of sixteen--and that they could talk together as in the old days. He rose presently and entered the abandoned cabin. The afternoon sunlight flickered palely through the dusty windows. Several window-panes had been broken out, but the one marked with two bullet holes, radiating tiny cracks in the gla.s.s, was still there. The oilcloth on the table was torn and soiled. The mud of wet weather had been tracked about the floor. The stove was rusted and cracked. Pete wondered why men must invariably abuse things that were patently useful, when those things did not belong to any one especially; for the stove, the windows, the table, the two home-made chairs showed more than disuse. They had been wantonly broken, hacked, or battered. Some one had pried the damper from the stove, broken it in two, and had used half of it for a lid-lifter. A door had been torn from the wall-cupboard and split into kindling, as a few painted splinters attested. And some one had shot several holes in the door, evidently endeavoring to make the initial "T" with a forty-five. An old pair of discarded overalls lay in one corner, a worn and useless glove in another. Pete was glad that Annersley would never know of all this--and yet it seemed as though Annersley _could_ see these things--and Pete, standing alone in the room, felt as though he were in some way to blame for this disorder and squalidness. Time and occupation had rather dulled Pete's remembrance of the actual detail of the place, but now its original neatness and orderliness came back to him vividly.

He was mentally rehabilitating the cabin when a boot-heel crunched on the ground outside and Andy appeared in the doorway. "The T-Bar-T boys are comin'. Seen 'em driftin' down the Ranger Trail."

"They was to be here this mornin'," said Pete. "Reckon they aim to bush here all night and ride to-morrow. Hope they brought some grub along."

"We got plenty. Come on outside. This here ole room kind o' gits on my nerves."

Pete strode out. They stood watching the approaching riders. Suddenly Andy White touched Pete's arm. "One of 'em is Gary!" he said, speaking low.

Pete stopped and, picking up a clod, jerked it toward a fence-post.

The clod happened to hit the post and was flicked into dust. "That for Gary," said Pete.

Andy grinned, but his eyes were grave. "We'll be right busy," he said in a sort of tentative way.

Pete nodded and hitched up his chaps. One of the approaching hors.e.m.e.n waved a hand. Andy acknowledged the salute.

The T-Bar-T men rode in and dismounted. "Where's Bailey?" was Gary's first word.

"Jim sent us to fix up that line with you," replied Andy. "He's over to Enright."

Gary glanced at Pete, who stared at him, but made no gesture of greeting. But Pete had read Gary's unspoken thought. "Bailey had sent a couple of kids over to the Blue to help survey the line." And Pete did not intend to let Gary "get by" with the idea that his att.i.tude was not understood.

"Where's Houck?" asked Pete, naming the foreman of the T-Bar-T.

Cotton, Gary's companion, a light-haired, amiable but rather dull youth, stated that Houck was over to the ranch.

"I reckoned he'd come hisself," said Pete. "He knows this country better 'n most."

"Oh, I dunno," sneered Gary. "Some of us been here before."

"They wasn't no line then," said Pete quietly, "but they's goin' to be one."

"You makin' it?" queried Gary.

Pete smiled. "I was sent over here with Andy to do that same thing.

But you're sure welcome to hand out any idees you got, seein' your fo'man ain't here."

Andy, who saw the inevitable end of this kind of talk, nudged Pete.

"Let's eat," he said. "I reckon we're all willin'."

Gary, like most of his type, was always antic.i.p.ating an insult, possibly because his general att.i.tude toward humanity was deliberately intended to provoke argument and recrimination. He was naturally quarrelsome--and a bully because of his unquestioned physical courage.

He was popular in a way with those of his fellows who looked upon a gunman--a killer--as a kind of hero. The foreman of the T-Bar-T found him valuable as a sort of animate scarecrow. Gary's mere presence often served to turn the balance when the T-Bar-T riders had occasion to substantiate a bluff or settle a dispute with some other outfit riding the high country. And because Gary imagined that Bailey of the Concho had deliberately sent such youngsters as Andy White and Young Pete to the Blue Mesa to settle the matter of a boundary line, Gary felt insulted. He was too narrow-minded to reason that Bailey could hardly know whom Houck of the T-Bar-T would send. Gary's ill-humor was not improved by the presence of Young Pete nor by Pete's pugnacious att.i.tude. Strangely enough, Gary was nervous because he knew that Young Pete was not afraid of him.

Andy White was keenly aware of this, and found occasion that evening in Gary's temporary absence to caution Pete, who immediately called attention to the fact that they had all hung up their guns except Gary.

"All the better!" a.s.serted Andy. "That lets you out if he was to start something."

"Yes. And it mebby might let me out for good, Andy. Gary is jest the kind to shoot a man down without givin' him a chanct. It ain't like Gary was scared of me--but he's scared of what I know. I hung up my gun 'cause I told Jim I wouldn't set to lookin' for a sc.r.a.p with Gary, or any man. Gary ain't got sand enough to do the same. But there won't be no fuss. I reckon he da.s.sent draw on me with you two fellas here. Where 'd he and Cotton go, anyhow?"

"I dunno, Pete. They moseyed out without sayin' anything."