The Man From Bar-20, Clarence E. Mulford [distant reading TXT] 📗

Minutes passed and then another lumbering blot emerged out of the dark, became a cow, and found reassurance in numbers as it willingly joined the herd. The escorting rider kept on, pushed back his sombrero and growled: “They’re scattered to h—l an’ gone tonight; but,” he grudgingly admitted, “they acts plumb do-cile. S’long.”

Another wait, long and fruitless, edged anew the nerves of the herders. Then Quigley, Ackerman, and Purdy moved out of the obscurity of the night and took up positions around the herd, urging it forward. When they had it started on its way, Ackerman dropped back and became lost to sight, engaged in his characteristic patroling, suspicious and malevolent.

The little herd, skilfully guided over clean patches of rock which led deviously to the water’s edge and left no signs on its hard surface, at last reached the river, where a shiver of hesitancy rippled through it and where the rear cows pushed solidly against the front rank, which appeared to be calling upon its inherent obstinacy. The craft and diplomacy of Quigley’s long experience won out and the uncertain front rank slowly and grudgingly entered the stream, the others following without noticeable hesitation. As the last cow crossed and scrambled up the western bank, Ackerman rode down to the water’s edge, pushed in and crossed silently, only the lengthening ripple on the black surface telling of his progress. As he climbed out he squirmed in his wet clothes and swore from sudden anger, which called forth a low ripple of laughter from the base of the Barrier, where the others took their discomforts lightly.

“Scared you’ll shrink, Jim?” softly said an ironic voice.

“Or dissolve, like sugar?” inquired another scoffingly.

“Sugar?” jeered a third. “Huh! He’s about as sweet as a hunk of alum!”

Ackerman’s retort caused grins to bloom unseen, and the miseries of wet clothes and chilled bodies were somewhat relieved by the thought that Ackerman felt them the most.

Up the crevice in orderly array, docile as sheep, climbed the cattle, and when they reached the top of the plateau they moved along stolidly under guidance and finally gained the outer valley leading to the QE by a trail west of arid parallel to the one which showed the way to Hastings.

Back on the QE, Fleming and his friends, having awakened the cook at an unseemly hour by their noise, finally turned in and found some trouble in getting to sleep, thanks to the energetic efforts of the boss of the kitchen, who most firmly believed in the Mosaic Law, and had the courage of his convictions. But things finally quieted down and peace descended upon the ranch.

Outside the bunk-house and behind it, a blot on the ground stirred restlessly and slowly resolved itself into a man arising. He moved cautiously along the wall toward the lighted cook shack and then sank down again, hand on gun, as the door opened.

Cookie threw out a pan of water, scowled up at the starry sky and then peered intently at a chicken-coop, visible in the straggling light from the door, from which a sleepy cackle suddenly broke the silence. Muttering suspiciously he reached behind him and then slipped swiftly toward the shack, a shotgun in his hands. Going around the coop he stood up and shook his fist at the darkness.

“You can dig up my traps, an’ smell out my strychnine, but you can’t dodge these buckshot if ever I lays th’sights on you. Dawg-gone you, I owes you a-plenty! “he growled. Striking a match he looked in the coop and around it. “Had two dozen as nice pullets as anybody ever saw, only three weeks ago; an’ now I only got sixteen left. There, blast you! 11 he swore, as the second match revealed the telltale tracks. “There they are! O, Lord! Just let me get my gun on that thievin I ki-yote! Just once!”

He stared around belligerently and went slowly back to the house, swearing and grumbling under his breath. It is the cook’s fate to be the sworn enemy of all coyotes, and let it be said without shame to him that he seldom is a victor in that game of watchfulness and wits. And also let it be said that often with tears of rage and mortification, and words beyond repetition, he pays unintentional tribute to the uncanny cunning of the four-legged thieves. With guns, dogs, traps, and poison is he armed, but it availeth him naught. And as bad as the defeat are the knowing grins of the rest of the outfit who, while openly cheering on the doughty cook, are ready to wager a month’s wages on the coyote.

The man on the ground moved again, this time toward the canyon, and soon was feeling his way along the great eastern wall. Reaching the other end, he stopped a moment to listen, and then went on again, groping along by the edge of the stream until he stumbled over a dead branch, which he picked up. Then feeling for and finding a certain rock, he stepped on it and with his foot felt for and found another, which was partly submerged in the creek; and by means of this and others he crossed dry-shod to the opposite bank, using the branch as a staff.

Daylight was near when Johnny wriggled to the edge of the cliff opposite the houses and hid behind a fringe of grass on the rim. An hour passed and then his keen ears caught distant sounds. Below him the cook was rearranging his traps and swearing at the cleverness of his four-footed enemy. Suddenly he arose and hastened to the kitchen to serve a hot breakfast to the men who soon drove a bunch of cattle out of the canyon and into the small corral.

While the others hastened in for their breakfast, Quigley and Ackerman loitered at the corral.

“Purty good for five men, with one of ‘em playin’ sentry,” said Quigley. “We’d do better if we didn’t have to scout around first.”

“Scoutin’s necessary,” replied Ackerman. “It’s too wide open. This bunch ain’t worth gettin’ wet for. That river’s cussed cold! “

Quigley chuckled. “Huh! I’ve swum it when tk’ ice was comin’ down.”

“You did,” retorted Ackerman. “That was th f night Logan burned our houses. You had to swim an’ freeze, or stay out an’ get shot. You went in pronto, that night!”

“You beat me in by forty yards, an’ out by sixty! ” snapped Quigley.

Ackerman ignored the remark. “Not satisfied with nestin’ on a man’s range, you had to start a little herd. We didn’t bring no cows with us, nor buy any afterward but what’s th’ use? Let’s eat,” and he led the way toward the cook shack.

Johnny waited a few minutes and then, returning to his horse, started for his camp. He was puzzled, for no place near Big or Little Canyons was devoid of shelter, and he knew of no other places where cattle could pass the Barrier. He had noticed that the backs of the cows were dry, which meant that they had forded the river, and he was certain that the crossing had not been made at the ford near Devil’s Gap. He had to learn the location of the place they visited and that unknown ford; and he wanted to learn the date of their next raid.

“We’ll have to trail ‘em, Pepper,” he growled. “An’ then bust all runnin’ records to get Logan an’ th’ boys. Get agoin’; I’m sleepy.”