Stepsons of Light Part 11

"Cook you another bimeby for night," he grunted, and emptied his sour-dough sponge into the bread pan. A snappy cook, Henry; on occasion he had built dinner for thirty men in thirty minutes, by the watch, from the time the wagon stopped--bread, coffee, steak and fried potatoes--steak and potatoes made ready for cooking the night before, of course. Henry had not known he was being timed, either; he was that kind of a cook.

Johnny gave thanks and ate; he rolled a substantial lunch in a clean flour sack and tied it in his slicker behind the saddle. He rode to the horse herd; Pat rounded up the horses and Johnny snared his Twilight horse for the trip. Twilight was a _grullo_; that is to say, he was precisely the color of a Maltese cat--a sleek velvet slaty-blue; a graceful, half-wild creature, dainty muzzled, clean legged as a deer. Pat held Twilight by bit and bridle and made soothing statements to him while Johnny saddled. Johnny slid into the saddle, there was a brief hair-stirring session of bucking; then Twilight sneezed cheerfully and set off on a businesslike trot. Johnny waved good-by, and turned across the gray plain toward Upham. Looking back, he saw the van of the day herd just showing up, a blur in the southeast.

Six miles brought him to Upham--side track, section house, low station, windmill tower and tank; there was a deep well here. He crossed the old white scar of the Santa Fe trail, broad, deep worn, little used and half forgotten. A new and narrow road turned here at right angles to the old trail and led ruler-straight to the west.

Johnny followed this climbing road, riding softly; bands of cattle stirred uneasily and made off to left or right in frantic run or shuffling trot. The road curved once only, close to the hills, to round the head of a rock-walled, deep, narrow gash, square and straight and sheer, reaching away toward Rincon, paralleling the course of the mountains. No soft water-washed curves marked that grim gash; here the earth crust had cracked and fallen apart; for twenty miles that gray crack made an impa.s.sable barrier; between here and the bare low hills was a No Man's Land.

Midway of the twisting pa.s.s Johnny came to a gate in a drift fence strung from bluff to bluff; here was a frontier of the Bar Cross country. He pa.s.sed the outpost hills and came out to a rolling open park, a big square corral of cedar pickets, an earthen dam, a deep five-acre tank of water. About this tank two or three hundred head of cattle basked comfortably in the warm sun, most of them lying down.

They were gentle cattle; Johnny rode slowly among them without stirring up excitement. "River cattle--nester cattle," said Johnny.

There were many brands, few of which he had seen before, though he had heard of most of them.

A fresh bunch of cattle topped a riverward ridge; the leaders raised their heads, snorted, turned and fled; Twilight leaped in pursuit.

"River cattle--_bosque_ cattle--outlaws!" said Johnny. From the tail of his eye, as Twilight thundered across the valley, Johnny was aware of a deep gashed canon heading in the north, of a notch in the western rim of the saucer-shaped basin, and a dark pa.s.s at the left. The cattle turned to the left. Johnny closed in on them, taking down his rope from the saddle horn. Twenty head--among them one Bar Cross cow with an unbranded calf some eight or ten months old. Johnny's noose whirled open, he drove the spurs home and plunged into a whistling wind. He drew close, he made his cast and missed it; Twilight swerved aside at the very instant of the throw, the rope dragged at his legs, he fell to frantic pitching. Johnny gathered up the rope, ma.s.saged his refractory mount with it, brought him to reason; in time to see a dust cloud of cattle drop into the leftward pa.s.s. Twilight flashed after.

As they dived into the pa.s.s they came to the wagon road again.

"This is Redgate," thought Johnny.

They careened down the steep curves, the cattle were just ahead; Twilight swooped upon them, scattered the tailenders, drove ahead for the Bar Cross cow and her long-ear. A low saddleback pa.s.s appeared at the right, a winding trail led up to an overhanging promontory under the pa.s.s; below, the wagon road made a deep cut by the base of the hill. Distrusting the cut road as the work of man, the leaders took to the trail. Twilight was at their heels; at the crown of the little promontory Johnny threw again, and his rope circled the long-ear's neck. Johnny flipped the slack, the yearling crossed it and fell cras.h.i.+ng; Johnny leaped off and ran down the rope, loosing the hogging string at his waist as he ran; he gathered the yearling's struggling feet and hog-tied them. Twilight looked on, panting but complacent.

"Look proud, now do, you ridiculous old fool!" said Johnny. "Ain't you never goin' to learn no sense a-tall? You old skeezicks! You've lost a shoe, too."

He coiled his rope and tied it to the saddle horn; from under the horn on the other side he took a running iron, held there by a slitted leather--an iron rod three-eighths of an inch in diameter, a foot long and shaped like a shepherd's crook. He gathered up dead branches of mahogany bush and made a small fire, cunningly built for a quick draft, close beside the yearling; he thrust the hook part of the branding iron into the hottest fire; and while it was heating he returned to give grave reprimand and instruction to Twilight. That culprit listened attentively, bright-eyed and watchful; managing in some way to bear himself so as to suggest a man who looks over the top of his spectacles while rubbing his chin with a thoughtful thumb. When the iron was hot Johnny proceeded to put the Bar Cross brand on the protesting yearling. Looking up, he became aware of a man riding soberly down the canon toward him. Johnny waved his hand and shoved his iron into the fire for a second heating.

The newcomer rode up the trail and halted; a big red-headed man with a big square face and twinkling eyes. He fished for tobacco and rolled a cigarette.

"Thought I knew all the Bar Cross waddies. You haven't been wearin'

the crop and split very long, have you?"

"They just heard of me lately," explained Johnny.

"I know that Twilight horse of yours. Saw him last spring at the round-up. Purty as a picture, ain't he?"

"Humph! Pretty is as pretty does." Johnny returned to his branding.

"He made me miss my throw, and now I'm in the wrong canon. I aimed to take the draw north of here, for Hillsboro."

The newcomer leaned on his saddle horn.

"Deadman? Well, you could cross over through this pa.s.s if you was right set on it. But it's a mean place on the far side--slick, smooth rock. You might as well go on by way of Garfield now. You won't lose but a mile or two, and you'll have fine company--me. Or--say, if you're going that way, why can't you mail a letter for me? Then I won't have to go at all. I'd be much obliged to you if you would. That was all I was going for, to mail some location notices."

"Sure I will. I kind of want to see Garfield anyhow. Never been there.

Crop and split the right. So that's done. I'll keep this piece of ear for tally."

The other took a large envelope from his saddle pockets and handed it over. Dines stuck it in the bosom of his flannel s.h.i.+rt.

"I ain't got no stamps. This letter'll need two, I guess. Here's the nickel. Will you please kindly stick 'em on for me?"

"Sure," said Dines again. He undid the yearling's legs. "Now, young fellow, go find your mammy. Go a-snuffin'!"

The yearling scrambled to his feet, bellowing. Johnny jerked him round by the tail so that his nose pointed down the canon; the newcomer jumped his horse and shook a stirrup and slapped his thigh with his hat; the yearling departed.

"Well, I'll be getting on back to camp," said the newcomer. "So long!

Much obliged to you."

"So long!" said Johnny.

He waved his hand. The other waved answer as he took the trail. He jogged in leisurely fas.h.i.+on up the canon. Dines paused to tread out the remaining fire, took up his branding iron by the cool end, and rode whistling down the canon, swinging the iron to cool it before he slipped it to its appointed place below his saddle horn.

VII

"May G.o.d be merciful to him and to us all."

--_The Advocate of Arras._

"Better come along and share my guilty splendor," urged Adam Forbes, toe to stirrup.

Charlie See shook his head. "Not none. Here I rest. Gold is nothing to me. I've got no time for frivolity. I want but little here below and want that little now. Say, Adam--don't you never carry a gun?"

"Naw. I take a rifle, of course, for reindeer, snow dear, dear me and antelope--but I haven't packed a gun for two years. No need of it here. Well, if you won't side me, you won't. I'm sorry, but you see how it is about me going right now," said Adam, swinging into the saddle. "The water in that little tank of mine won't last long, and there may not be any more rains this fall. So long! You just make yourself at home."

"Good luck, Adam. And you might wish me the same. While you're gone, I may want to make a little journey from bad to worse."

Adam gathered up his lead rope. "Good luck, Charlie." But a troubled look came to his eyes as he pa.s.sed through the gate; in his heart he thought his friend rode late and vainly from Selden Hill.

The pack horse jogged alongside, his friendly head at Adam's knee. It was earliest morning and they were still in the fresh cool shadow of the low eastern hills. Farther north the enormous bulk of Timber Mountain loomed monstrous in the sky, and there the shadows were deep and dense, impenetrably black; there night lingered visible, brighter than in all the wide arc to westward, bench-land and mighty hill were drenched with sparkling sun.

Adam rode with a pleasant jingling of spurs. He pa.s.sed through Garfield town, or town-to-be, remodeled from the old San Ysidro, the bare and gra.s.sless Mexican _plaza_ changed to the square of a Kansas town, by tree and hard-won turf; blacksmith shop and school, with a little store and post office, cl.u.s.tered for company on one side: business would fill up the three blank sides--like Columbus or Cherryvale. For there is no new thing beneath the kindly sun. Not otherwise, far from the plains of windy Troy, did Priam's son build and copy, in the wild hills of Epirus:

_The little Troy, the castle Pergamus, The river Xanthus, and the Scaean gate._

Fringing the townlet, new gristmill and new factory stood where the mother ditch was bridged. Beyond the bridge the roads forked. From the right hand a steep canon came plunging to the valley, winding dark between red-brown hills. This canon was Redgate; here turned the climbing road to Upham; and Adam Forbes followed the Redgate road.

At the summit he turned to the left across a corner of MacCleod's Park; he crossed a whorl of low ridges at the head of Apache Canon and came to Hidden Tanks--a little limestone basin, now br.i.m.m.i.n.g with rainwater, perhaps a dozen barrels in all. Adam had fenced this in with a combination of stone wall and cedar brush, to keep cattle out.

He now climbed to a little low cliff near by. There he had cached his outfit in a little cupboard of a cave, the floor of it shoulder high to him where he stood. Here he unpacked. He added to the cache his little store of sugar, coffee, rice, bacon and flour, all packed in five or ten pound baking-powder cans against the ravages of mice, gray squirrels and trade rats. The little deep cave gave protection against larger pests and shelter from rain. He rolled up his bedding, lifted it into the mouth of the cave and shoved it back.

Two empty five-gallon kegs were left of his pack; he had not dared to leave them in the cache, to fall apart in the dry and sun-parched air.

These kegs he filled at the tanks and slung on the pack saddle; with them he made his way to the hill of his hopes. It was close by; he had hidden there his pick, shovel and the broad shallow basin used for panning gold. He hobbled the horses; by ten o'clock, or a little later, he was deep in the interrupted task of a month before.

Freakish chance had timed that interruption to halt him on the very brink of success. Before he had taken out a dozen pans he was in rich dirt. Noon found him shaken from the poise and mastery of years.

Abandoning the patient and systematic follow-up system, he pushed on up the hill, sampling at random, and finding each sample richer. The scant supply of water was nearly gone, the gold frenzy clutched at his heart. By sighting, he roughly developed the lines showing the probable limit of pay dirt, as marked by the monuments of his earlier labor; he noted the intersection of those lines, and there began a feverish panning with his remnant of water. He found gold in flakes, in scales, in millet-seed grains--in grains like rice at last! He had tracked down a pocket to make history with, to count time from. And the last of his water was used.

Adam sat down, trembling to think his find had been unprotected by the shadow of a claim for the last month; reflected then that it had lain unclaimed for some thousands of years, and with the reflection pulled himself together and managed a grin at his own folly.

He went back to his saddle. Tucked in the saddle pockets was a goodly lunch, but he did not touch that. He untied his coat and took out two printed location notices, several crumply sheets of blank paper and a pencil. He filled in the blanks as the location notice of the Goblin Gold Mine--original notice and copy. On the blank paper he wrote out four more notices, two originals and two copies, for the Nine Bucks Placer Claim and the Please Hush. For the Goblin Gold he wrote himself as locator, Charles See and Howard Lull as witnesses; he reserved this for the highest and richest claim. For the next below, Charles See was locator, Forbes and Lull were witnesses; and the third was a.s.signed to Howard Lull, with See and Forbes to bear witness.

Adam paced off the three claims adjoining each other and built a stone monument at each corner, with a larger monument for the location-papers at the center of each claim; the central monument of the Goblin Gold about where he had made the last panning. And then, even as he started to slip the first location notice in its monument, he lifted up his eyes and saw, across the tangled ridges, three men riding up from the deeps of Apache Canon.

The cool judgment that had brought him safe through a thousand dangers was warped now by the fever and frenzy of gold l.u.s.t; his canny instinct against disaster failed him in his need. There must be no shadow of irregularity on these claims, his hot brain reasoned; his find was too rich for chance-taking in the matter of mythical witnesses; yonder, by happy and unlooked for chance, were witnesses indeed; he must have their names to his location notices, and then he would get the copies to Hillsboro for recording at the earliest; he would mail them in Garfield post office that very afternoon.