Bull Hunter Part 18

"All day?" gasped Bridewell, and then he saw that the giant, indeed, was not even panting from his effort. He was already turning his attention to the pile of timbers.

"Here," he said, reluctantly drawing out some money. "Here's your ten."

But Bull refused it. "Can't take it," he explained. "I just made the bet by way of talk. You see, I knew I could lift it; and you didn't have any real idea about me. Besides, if I'd lost I couldn't have paid. I haven't any money."

He said this so gravely and simply that old Bridewell watched him quizzically, half suspecting that there was a touch of irony hidden somewhere. It gradually dawned on him that a man who was flat broke was refusing money which he had won fairly on a bet. The idea staggered Bridewell. He was within an ace of putting Bull Hunter down as a fool. Something held him back, through some underlying respect for the physical might of the big man and a respect, also, for the honesty which looked out of his eyes. He pocketed the money slowly. He was never averse to saving.

"But I've been thinking," said Bull, as he sadly watched the money disappear, "that you might be needing me to help you put up the barn?

Do you think you could hire me?"

"H'm," grumbled Bridewell. "You think you could handle these big timbers all day?"

"Yes," said Bull, "if none of 'em are any bigger than that last one.

Yes, I could handle 'em all day easily."

It was impossible to doubt that he said this judiciously and not with a desire to overstate his powers. In spite of himself the old rancher believed.

"You see," explained Bull eagerly, "you said that you needed three men for that work. That's why I ask."

"And I suppose you'd want the pay of three men?"

Bull shook his head. "Anything you want to pay me," he declared.

The rancher frowned. This sounded like the beginning of a shrewd bargain, and his respect and suspicion were equally increased.

"Suppose you say what you want?" he asked.

"Well," Bull said slowly, "I'd have to have a place to sleep. And--I'm a pretty big eater."

"I guess you are," said Bridewell. "But if you do three men's work you got a right to three men's food. What else do you want?"

Bull considered, as though there were few other wishes that he could express. "I haven't any money," he apologized. "D'you think maybe you could pay me a little something outside of food and a place to sleep?"

Bridewell blinked, and then prepared himself to become angry, when it dawned on him that this was not intended for sarcasm. He found that Bull was searching his face eagerly, as though he feared that he were asking too much.

"What would do you?" suggested Bridewell tentatively.

"I dunno," said Bull, sighing with relief. "Anything you think."

It was plain that the big man was half-witted--or nearly so. Bridewell kept the sparkle of exultation out of his eyes.

"You leave it to me, then, and I'll do what's more'n right by you.

When d'you want to start work?"

"Right now."

CHAPTER 15

When Bull left the dining room that night after supper, Mrs. Bridewell looked across the table at her husband with horror in her eyes.

"Did you see?" she gasped. "He ate the _whole_ pot of beans!"

"Sure I seen him," and he grinned.

"But--he'll eat us out of house and home! Why, he's like a wolf!"

Bridewell chuckled with superior knowledge. "He's ate enough for three," he admitted, "but he's worked enough for six--besides, most of his wages come in food. But work? I never seen anything like it! He handled more timbers than a dozen. When it come to spiking them in place he seen me swinging that twelve-pound sledge and near breaking my back. 'I think it's easier this way,' he says. 'Besides you can hit a lot faster if you use just one hand.' And he takes the hammer, and sends that big spike in all the way to the head with one lick. And he wondered why I didn't work the same way! Ain't got any idea how strong he is."

Mrs. Bridewell listened with wide eyes. "The idea," she murmured. "The idea! Where's he now?"

Her husband went to the back door. "He's sitting over by the pump talking to Tod. Sitting talking like they was one age. I reckon he's sort of half-witted."

"How come?" sharply asked Mrs. Bridewell. "Ain't Tod got more brains than most growed-up men?"

"I reckon he has," admitted the proud father.

And if they had put the same question to Bull Hunter, the giant would have agreed with them emphatically. He approached the child tamer of Diablo with a diffidence that was almost reverence. The freckle-faced boy looked up from his whittling when the shadow of Bull fell athwart him, with an equal admiration; also with suspicion, for the cowpunchers, on the whole, were apt to make game of the youngster and his grave, grown-up ways. He was, therefore, shrewdly suspicious of jests at his expense.

Furthermore, he had seen the big stranger heaving the great timbers about and whirling the sledge with one hand; he half suspected that the jokes might be pointed with the weight of that heavy hand. His amazement was accordingly great when he found the big man actually sitting down beside him, cross-legged, and he was absolutely stupefied when Bull Hunter said, "I've been aiming at this chance to talk to you, Tod, all day."

"H'm," grunted Tod noncommittally, and examined the other with a cautious side glance.

But the face of Bull Hunter was unutterably free from guile. Tod instantly began to adjust himself. The men he most wors.h.i.+ped were the lean, swift, profanely formidable cowpunchers. But there was something in him that responded with a thrill to this accepted equality with such a man as Bull Hunter. Even his father he had seen stricken to an awed silence at the sight of Bull's prowess.

"You see," explained Bull frankly, "I been wondering how you managed to handle Diablo the way you do."

Tod chuckled. "It's just a trick. You watch me a while with him, you'll soon catch on."

But Bull shook his head as he answered, "Maybe a mighty bright man might figure it out, but I'm not good at figuring things out, Tod."

The boy blinked. He was accustomed to the studied understatement of the cowpunchers and he was accustomed, also, to their real vanity which underlay the surface shyness. But it was patent that Bull Hunter, in spite of his size, was truly humble. This conception was new to Tod and slowly grew in his brain. His active eyes ran over the bulk beside him; he almost pitied the giant.

"Besides," pondered Bull heavily, "I guess there's a whole lot of bright men that have seen you handle Diablo, but they couldn't make out what you did. They tried to ride Diablo and got their necks nearly broken. They were good riders, but I'm not. You see, Diablo's the first horse I've ever seen that could really carry me." He added apologetically, "I'm so heavy."

No vanity, certainly. He gestured toward himself as though he were ashamed of his brawn, and the heart of Tod warmed and expanded. He himself would never be large, and his heart had ached because of his smallness many a time.

"Yep," he said judiciously, "you're pretty heavy. About the heaviest I ever seen, I guess. Maybe Hal Dunbar is as big, but I never seen Hal."

"I've heard a good deal about Hal, but--"

He stopped short and stiffened. Tod saw that the eyes of the big man had fixed on the corral in which stood Diablo. A puff of wind had come, and the great black had thrown up his head into it, an imposing picture with mane and tail blown sidewise. Not until the stallion turned away from the unseen thing which he had scented in the wind, did Bull turn to his small companion with a sigh.

Tod nodded, his eyes glinting. "I know," he said. "I used to feel that way--before I learned how to handle Diablo." He interpreted, "You feel like it'd be pretty fine to get onto Diablo's back and have him gallop under you."

"About the finest thing in the world," sighed Bull Hunter. He cast out his great hands before him as he tried to explain the mysterious emotions which the horse had excited in him. "You see, Tod, I'm pretty big and I'm pretty slow. Most folks have horses, and they get about pretty lively on 'em, but I've always had to walk."