Bunch Grass Part 48

"Wal, I'm hanged! Is there another Sharp besides mine in these yere hills?"

"I dessay. I heard one shot myself, 'bout two hours ago."

"Guess it was one o' them derned squatters."

"Curse 'em!" said Ransom. He spat upon the ground and walked into the abode. Smoky nodded reflectively.

Supper was not a particularly cheery meal. Mintie, usually a nimble talker, held her tongue. Ransom aired his pet grievance--the advent of Easterners, who presumed to take up land which was supposed to belong to, or at least go with, the old Spanish grants. Smoky and Mintie knew well enough that the land was Uncle Sam's; but they knew also that Ransom had run his cattle over it during five-and-twenty years. If that didn't const.i.tute a better t.i.tle than a United States patent, there was no justice anywhere. Smoky, filled with beans and bacon, exclaimed vehemently--

"Shoot 'em on sight, that's what I say."

Mintie stared at his bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Do you allus mean jest what you say?" she inquired sarcastically.

"Wal," replied Smoky, more cautiously, "they ain't been monkeyin' with me; but if they did----"

"If they did----?" drawled Mintie, with her elbows on the table and her face between her hands.

"If they cut my fence as they've cut yours, and, after doo warnings, kep' on trespa.s.sin' and makin' trouble, why then, by Gos.h.!.+ I'd shoot.

Might give 'other feller a show, but there's trouble as only kin be settled with shootin' irons."

"That's so" said Mintie savagely.

After supper Mintie retired to the kitchen to wash up. Ransom put a jar of tobacco on the table, two gla.s.ses, and some whisky.

"Any call for ye to ride home to-night?"

"None," said Smoky.

"Reckon ye'd better camp here, then."

Smoky nodded and muttered--

"Don't keer if I do," a polite form of acceptance in the California foothills.

Presently Ransom went out. Smoky was left alone. He filled his corn- cob pipe, stretched out his legs, and smiled, thinking of his own brown bird. Suddenly a glint came into his bright blue eyes. In the corner of the room, against the wall, leaned the two Sharp rifles.

Smoky glanced about him, rose, walked to the corner, bent down, and smelt the muzzle of Ransom's rifle. Then he slipped his forefinger into the barrel and smelt that.

"Sufferin' Moses!" he exclaimed.

His mouth was slightly twisted, as he picked up the rifle and opened the breech. He drew out a used cartridge, which he examined with another exclamation.

"Holy Mackinaw!"

He put the cartridge into his pocket and glanced round for the second time. He could hear Mintie was.h.i.+ng-up in the kitchen. Ransom was feeding his horses. Smoky took a cleaning-rod, ran it through the rifle, and examined the bit of cloth, which was wet and greasy. Then he replaced the rifle and went back to the table, where Ransom found him when he returned a few minutes later. The two men smoked in silence. Presently Ransom said abruptly:--

"Dead struck on Mints, ain't ye?"

"I am," said Smoky laconically.

"Told her so--hay?"

"'Bout a million times."

"What does she say?"

Smoky blew some rings of smoke before he answered.

"She says--'Shucks!'"

"That don't sound encouragin'."

"It ain't. Fact is, she thinks me a clam."

"A clam?"

"That's right. She'd think a heap more o' me if I was to pull out o'

these yere hills and try to strike it somewheres else."

"Wal, squatters have made this no kind o' country for a white man.

Ye're white, John."

"I aim ter be."

"You air, sonnie. Say, if anything happened to me, would ye watch out for Mints?"

"I wonder!"

"S'pose, fer the sake of argyment, that one o' these sons o' guns did for me--hay?"

"'Tain't likely," said Smoky scornfully. "I'd bet my boots on you every time."

"They may do fer me," said Ransom slowly, "and, if so----"

"I'll watch out for Mints," said Smoky very fervently.

Presently Mintie joined them and, sitting down, began to darn some stockings. Apparently she was engrossed with her work, but Smoky stared at her, noticing that her fingers trembled. Ransom smoked and said nothing. Smoky talked, trying to challenge Mintie's interest and attention, but sensible of failure. Moreover, he had nothing to talk about except bad times and bad luck. Father and daughter listened grimly, well aware that their friend and neighbour was fighting against lack of water, a sterile soil, and a "plastered" ranch.

"Why don't you quit?" Ransom asked testily.

"I ain't a quitter."

"He don't know enough to let go," said Mintie.

"I could earn good money with my uncle in Los Angeles County. He wants me."