The Texan, James B. Hendryx [ebook and pdf reader TXT] 📗

I never got nothin' to eat!" The door banged viciously cutting off a reply in a woman's voice, and a man strode across the porch, and snatched up the reins of the waiting horse.

"What's the matter, Johnson, your suspenders galdin' you this mornin'?"

The man scowled into the face of the cow-puncher who sat regarding him with an irritating grin.

"What do you want around here? If you want a job go turn your horse into the corral an' git out there an' git to work on that resevoy."

"No, Johnson, I don't want a job. I done had one experience with this outfit, an' I fired you for a boss for keeps."

"Get offen this ranch!" roared the man, shaking a fist, and advancing one threatening step, "or I'll have you throw'd off!"

Tex laughed: "I don't aim to stick around no great while. Fact is, I'm in somethin' of a hurry myself. I just stopped in to give you a chanct to do me a good turn. I happened to be down this way an': 'there's Johnson,' I says to myself, 'he's so free an' open-handed, a man's welcome to anything he's got,' so I stopped in."

The ranchman regarded him with an intent scowl: "'Sth' matter with you, you drunk?"

"Not yet. But I got a friend out here in the hills which he's lost his slippers, an' tore his pants, an' got his shirt all dirty, an' mislaid his hat; an' knowin' you'd be glad to stake him to an outfit I come over, him bein' about your size an' build."

The ranchman's face flushed with anger: "What the hell do I care about you an' your friends. Git offen this ranch, I tell you!"

"Oh, yes, an' while you're gettin' the outfit together just you slip in a cinch, an' a quart or two of hooch, case we might get snake-bit."

Beside himself with rage, the man raised his foot to the stirrup. As if suddenly remembering something he paused, lowered his foot, and regarded the cowboy with an evil leer: "Ah-ha, I've got it now!" he moved a step nearer. "I was at the dance night before last to Wolf River." He waited to note the effect of the words on his hearer.

"Did you have a good time? Or did the dollar you had to shell out for the ticket spoil all the fun?"

"Never mind what kind of a time I had. But they's plenty of us knows you was the head leader of the gang that took an' lynched that pilgrim."

"That's right," smiled the man coolly. "Beats the devil, how things gets spread around, don't it? An' speakin' of news spreading that way—I just came up the creek from down below the canyon. You must have had quite a bit of water in your reservoir when she let go, Johnson, judgin' by results."

"What do you mean?"

"You ain't be'n down the creek, then?"

"No, I ain't. I'm goin' now. I had to git the men to work fixin' the dam."

"What I mean is this! There's about fifty head of cattle, more or less, that's layin' sprinkled around on top of the mud. Amongst which I seen T U brands, and I X, an' D bar C, an' quite a few nester brands. When your reservoir let go she sure raised hell with other folks' property. Of course, bein' away down there where there ain't any folks, if I hadn't happened along it might have been two or three weeks before any one would have rode through, an' you could have run a bunch of ranch hands down an' buried 'em an' no one would have be'n any wiser——"

"You're lyin'!" There was a look of fear in the man's eyes,

Tex shrugged: "You'll only waste a half a day ridin' down to see for yourself," he replied indifferently.

Johnson appeared to consider, then stepped close to the Texan's side: "They say one good turn deserves another. Meanin' that you shet up about them cattle an' I'll shet up about seein' you."

"That way, it wouldn't cost you nothin' would it, Johnson? Well, it's a trade, if you throw in the aforementioned articles of outfit I specified, to boot."

"Not by a damn sight! You got the best end of it the way it is.
Lynchin' is murder!"

"So it is," agreed the Texan. "An' likewise, maintainin' weak reservoirs that lets go an' drowns other folks' cattle is a public nuisance, an' a jury's liable to figger up them damages kind of high—'specially again' you, Johnson, bein' ornery an' rotten-hearted, an' tight-fisted, that way, folks don't like you."

"It means hangin' fer you!"

"Yes. But it means catchin' first. I can be a thousan' miles away from here, in a week, but you're different. All they got to do is grab the ranch, it's good for five or six thousan' in damages, all right. Still if you don't want to trade, I'll be goin'." He gathered up his reins.

"Hold on! It's a damned hold-up, but what was it you wanted?"

The Texan checked off the items on his gloved fingers: "One pair of pants, one shirt, one hat, one pair of boots, same size as yourn, one pair of spurs, one silk muffler, that one you've got on'll do, one cinch, half a dozen packages of tobacco, an' one bottle of whiskey. All to be in good order an' delivered right here within ten minutes. An' you might fetch a war-bag to pack 'em in. Hurry up now! 'Cause if you ain't back in ten minutes, I'll be movin' along, an' when I pass the word to the owners of them cattle it's goin' to raise their asperity some obnoxious."

With a growl the man disappeared into the house to return a few minutes later with a sack whose sides bulged.

"Dump 'em out an' we'll look 'em over!" ordered the Texan and the man complied.

"All right. Throw 'em in again an' hand 'em up."

When he had secured the load by means of his pack strings he turned to the rancher.

"So long, Johnson, an' if I was you I wouldn't lose no time in attendin' to the last solemn obsequies of them defunk dogies. I'll never squeal, but you can't tell how soon someone else might come a-ridin' along through the foot-hills."

CHAPTER XIII A BOTTLE OF "HOOCH"

It was well past the middle of the afternoon when the Texan rode up the steep incline and unsaddled his horse. The occupants of the camp were all asleep, the girl in her little shelter tent, and Bat and Endicott with their blankets spread at some little distance away. Tex carried the outfit he had procured from Johnson into the timber, then crawled cautiously to the pilgrim's side, and awoke him without arousing the others.

"Hey, Win, wake up," he whispered as the man regarded him through a pair of sleepy eyes. "Come on with me. I got somethin' to show you." Tex led the way to the war-bag. "Them clothes of yourn is plum despisable to look at," he imparted, "so I borrowed an outfit offen a friend of mine that's about your size. Just crawl into 'em an' see how they fit."

Five minutes later the cowboy viewed with approval the figure that stood before him, booted and spurred, with his mud-caked garments replaced by corduroy trousers and a shirt of blue flannel against which the red silk muffler made a splotch of vivid colouring.

"You look like a sure enough top hand, now," grinned the Texan. "We'll just take a drink on that." He drew the cork from the bottle and tendered it to Endicott, who shook his head.

"No, thanks. I never use it."

The Texan stared at him in surprise. "Do you mean you've got the regular habit of not drinkin', or is it only a temporary lapse of duty?"

Endicott laughed: "Regular habit," he answered.

The other drank deeply of the liquor and returned the cork. "You ought to break yourself of that habit, Win, there's no tellin' where it'll lead to. A fellow insulted me once when I was sober an' I never noticed it. But laying aside your moral defects, them whiskers of yourn is sure onornamental to a scandalous degree. Wait, I'll fetch my razor, an' you can mow 'em." He disappeared, to return a few moments later with a razor, a cake of hand-soap, and a shaving brush.

"I never have shaved my self," admitted Endicott, eyeing the articles dubiously.

"Who have you shaved?"

"I mean, I have always been shaved by a barber."

"Oh!" The cowboy took another long pull at the bottle. "Well, Win, the fact is them whiskers looks like hell an' has got to come off." He rolled up his sleeves. "I ain't no barber, an' never shaved a man in my life, except myself, but I'm willin' to take a chance. After what you've done for me I'd be a damn coward not to risk it. Wait now 'til I get another drink an' I'll tackle the job an' get it over with. A man can't never tell what he can do 'til he tries."

Endicott viewed the cowboy's enthusiasm with alarm. "That's just what I was thinking, Tex," he hastened to say, as the other drew the cork from the bottle. "And it is high time I learned to shave myself, anyway. I have never been where it was necessary before. If you will just sit there and tell me how, I will begin right now."

"Alright, Win, you can't never learn any younger. First off, you wet your face in the creek an' then soap it good. That soap ain't regular shavin' soap, but it'll do. Then you take the brush an' work it into a lather, an' then you shave."

"But," inquired the man dubiously, "don't you have towels soaked in hot water, and——"

"Towels an' hot water, hell! This ain't no barber shop, an' there ain't no gin, or whatever they rub on your face after you get through, either. You just shave an' knock the soap off your ears an' that's all there is to it."

After much effort Endicott succeeded in smearing his face with a thin, stringy lather, and gingerly picked up the razor. The Texan looked on in owlish solemnity as the man sat holding the blade helplessly.

"What you doin', Win, sayin' the blessin'? Just whet her on your boot an' sail in."

"But where do I begin?"

The Texan snorted disgustedly. "Your face ain't so damn big but what an hour or two reminiscence ought to take you back to where it starts. Begin at your hat an' work down over your jaw 'til you come to your shirt, an' the same on the other side, takin' in your lip an' chin in transit, as the feller says. An' hold it like a razor, an' not like a pitchfork. Now you got to lather all over again, 'cause it's dry."

Once more Endicott laboriously coaxed a thin lather out of the brown hand-soap, and again he grasped the razor, this time with a do-or-die determination.

"Oughtn't I have a mirror?" he asked doubtfully.

"A mirror! Don't you know where your own face is at? You don't need no mirror to eat with, do you? Well, it's the same way with shavin'. But if you got to have ocular evidence, just hang out over the creek there where it's still."

The operation was slow and painful. It seemed to Endicott as though each separate hair were being dragged out by its roots, and more than once the razor edge drew blood. At last the job was finished, he bathed his smarting face in the cold water, and turned to the Texan for approval.

"You look like the second best bet in a two-handed cat fight," he opined, and producing his book of cigarette papers, proceeded to stick patches of tissue over various cuts and gashes. "Takin' it by an' large, though, it ain't so bad. There's about as many places where you didn't go close enough as there is where you went too close, so's it'll average somewhere