30,000 On the Hoof (31 page)

"Wal, Logan, if I was you I'd take what I could get while the army is shelling oot greenbacks by the car-load. It won't last. Not in the face of Argentine cattle! Shore, the price might and probably will go up. But don't take the risk. Anyway, you and your family will have more money than you can spend all the rest of your lives... Logan, yours has been a long, hard, uphill pull. You've done great... It's thirty-three years ago since I met you at Payson, while you were soldiering with Crook, and tipped you off about Sycamore Canyon. Remember?"

"You bet I do, Al. And there's been a hundred times in that thirty-three years when I wanted to murder you."

"Ha! ha!... Wal, all's well that ends well. I shore gave you a good hunch.

Thirty thousand head at forty or over?... Lord, I can't figure it up."

"One good hunch deserves another. Maybe I can return it some day."

"Huett, have you reckoned what a hell of a mess Mitchell will make of that drive up from Sycamore?" queried Al, seriously.

"Have I? Well, I should smile. But I reckon I can make this deal without delivery at the railroad."

"All the same you don't want a thousand head lamed and lost. Mitchell will make some kind of a count."

"That's what George advised. I'd better have some say in the drive."

"You want a lot of say. Those cattle will be fat. They mustn't be drove hard. You're lucky that no herds have come up from the Tonto all summer.

Grass will be enough, Water scarce. Drive ten days--six miles a day. And fifty good cowboys, old timer, red rookies from the camp. There were a lot turned down. Failed to qualify. And that's funny, Logan.. Where's the cowboy who never broke a bone?"

"Damn if I know. Al, what'll I do about such a big outfit?"

"Wal, reckon we'd better get my son Lee on the job. Mitchell won't swiggle at five dollars a day. And that'll be easy picking for a lot of boys. Let me see. Joe Arbell, Jack Ray, Hal McDonald, Con Sullivan, Bill Smith, all the Rider boys, except Al, who went to France. And Wetherill would let his son fetch a bunch of Navajos... Logan, that ootfit, with some other riders thrown in, can do the job okay."

"Fine... Al, by gosh, I reckon you've pushed me off. I was tilting on the fence. Will you make an offer to Lee for me?"

"Shore will. I can almost guarantee it a go."

"I'll look you up to-night... Now, what'n hell did I come in here for?"

"Money, same as me, I'll bet. There's still some left. While we've been talking here I've seen stacks of long-green pass out that window. Beats me where it comes from... So long, Logan. Don't get weak-kneed now. Sell!"

Logan finally remembered that his errand in the bank was to draw money for Lucinda and Barbara. He wrote out a cheque and noted the amount of his balance had dropped below ten thousand dollars. He had had much more than that, the accumulation from years of sales of small herds. Where had so much money gone? Cashing the cheque Logan wended his way home.

All through late spring and summer, since the boys had gone, Lucinda and Barbara had worried Logan more and more. Lucinda had altered, broken, greatly. She suffered under a hallucination that her sons would never come back from the war. She was queer sometimes. She wept at night when she thought he lay asleep. Barbara, mentally at least, appeared to be worse than Lucinda. Losing Abe with no certainty of his return had proved a terrific strain. Logan could only judge of her state of mind by her pale face, her great burning eyes, her courage, her restless energy and insatiate passion for all forms of war relief service.

Both she and Lucinda had plunged into work with all the other women of Flagg, and particularly those who had sons, brothers, sweethearts, cousins, friends who had gone to France, or to the training-camps. They organized bazaars, concerts, socials, knitting-circles. They were persistent and relentless about raising money for their soldier boys, for relief work, particularly the Red Cross. Logan swore he had contributed a pretty penny to that cause. He had come to fume a little about all this crazy obsession. From morning till late at night his womenfolk ran and worked and harangued themselves until they were so tired, so nervous, so upset that they could not sleep.

But when Logan got home to lunch, to see Lucinda's sad face and Barbara's strained eyes, he reproached himself for his impatience and irritation.

When all was said, his women were the least carried away by this infernal war mania. At least Lucinda did not quite make a fool of herself and Barbara did not forget that she was the wife of Abe Huett.

"Any news, Dad?" asked Barbara.

"About the same, Bab. The bulletin said 'All quiet on the Western Front.'"

"All quiet! Oh, the liars! I get so sick reading that line."

"Why sick, my dear?"

"Because it's false. Just think how hideous! You read that down town--and Mrs. Hardy reads a wire from Washington that Joe has been killed in action. Crashed over the German lines! Cited for bravery!... Oh-h!--poor Joe! That boy, who loved machines... He couldn't fight!"

"Aw!... That's a punch below the belt... That's real... I'm sorry--awful sorry, I'll drop in to see Mrs. Hardy."

"Logan, did you remember to get the money?"

"Yes, Luce, I did--finally. Here... Folks, we've been spending a lot of money somehow."

"Money doesn't mean anything these days," said Lucinda.

"I reckon not. But it took a long time to earn some... I'm not kicking, Maw. I was just telling you."

"Dad, could you let me have a--a hundred?" asked Barbara, hesitatingly.

"I reckon so--if you promise to rest once in a while, and stop that damned knitting. Every time I come home, even at meals, you knit, knit, knit. It's getting on my nerves, honey."

"It's not the knitting, Dad. But I'll have to quit for a while. My fingers are raw."

"Well, after all, I have got some news," declared Logan, sitting down and slapping a big hand on each knee. "I reckon I'll sell out."

"Your cattle?" cried Barbara eagerly.

"Logan, how often you've said that," added his wife incredulously.

"I reckon I'll sell at forty. Might get more, if I stuck it out. But Al Doyle called me a hawg, and darn me if he wasn't near right."

"Daddy! Sell at forty! And you have thirty thousand head?... Why, that's over a million!"

"Sure. And if I waited to get one dollar more a head--why, that'd be five thousand more for each of the Huetts. Can you see now why I've hung on so tight?"

"Oh, Dad!--It's too good to be true!"

"Not much. It is true... Set out some lunch, Luce, and the sooner I'll mozy down town while I'm in this humour."

"Mother, think how we can help the Red Cross," murmured Barbara.

Logan grunted forcibly. "Yes, my girl, but there'll be a limit. The war has got you both hipped."

Mitchell, buyer for the Government, suavely welcomed Logan into his office and moved a chair for him. Mitchell was a man over forty, with stern, smooth face and shrewd, cold eyes.

"Good day, Huett. You certainly have taken your time about giving me an answer."

Logan returned his greeting and drawled: "I'm never in a hurry with cattle deals."

"You'd have done well if you had been in a hurry," returned Mitchell, curtly. "The price of cattle went up. You cattlemen lost your heads. You could have sold once for forty dollars a head--then thirty-eight. When it was thirty-two I warned you--advised you to close. But you knew it all.

Yesterday I bought the last of Babbitt's for twenty-eight. To-day I wouldn't give you twenty-five."

Huett took that for a crafty, greedy bluff. Nevertheless it added to his concern. Doyle had been right--he had waited too long.

"I can sell to Kansas City buyers for more than that."

"Go out and try it. The stockyards there are flooded."

Huett got up slowly and clapped on his sombrero. "Good day, Mitchell," he said gruffly, and stamped out.

Mitchell called after him: "Your family will suffer for your pig-headedness!"

That surprising sally added anger to Huett's amazed concern. It happened to hit an extremely sore spot. In the next hour he was to learn that the market for cattle had closed, so far as it pertained to Flagg. Babbitt, Charteris, Wilson, Little, all the cattle barons confirmed this, and admitted frankly that they had gambled for too high stakes. But Huett could not be convinced. A man who had thirty thousand head of cattle to sell held a fortune in his hands. The boom might be past, but beef and hides represented gold more or less. He wired to Kansas City for an offer, and then hunted up Doyle.

"Let's have a drink, old-timer," suggested Al. "We need it."

"Don't care if I do... Mitchell turned me down cold. Wouldn't give me twenty-five!"

"Logan, I don't like that girl-chasin' dude," replied the old Arizonian, bluntly. "I just had a talk with my son Lee. He was keen about your offer, and he can get a dozen or more good cowboys and fifty Navvies."

"Humph! If I can't sell I can't drive."

"Sell? Of course you can sell. It's tough to come down, but you must reckon on the large number of cattle in your herd. The three thousand head sold here since early May averaged only twenty dollars a head. Some went for thirty and most of them for fifteen or less."

"So I reckoned. Just wired to Kansas City."

"Logan, Lee thinks this buyer is hot after Barbara. It's pretty well known, Lee says, among the young people. Mitchell has been playing high jinks among the Flagg girls. But Barbara snubbed him, which made him mad about her."

"Most young men and older ones too fall for Barbara. She had to give up the dances because of the fights over her."

"Shore. But this is different, Logan," rejoined Al, seriously. "In war-time women are not responsible. Or else they're inspired about somethin'. I remember during the Civil War that officers in uniform just played hell with women. It's worse now, for this is a hell of a war."

"But Al... My God, Barbara is--"

"Just like all the other young women, thrown off her balance. My daughter is only fifteen, but she's loco. She despises cowboys that were not accepted for draft. To sum it up, women are not themselves nowadays. Wal, war plays hell with men, too... The hunch I want to make about Barbara is this. You can't keep her out of this war-relief work, but you can keep her away from Mitchell."

"I sure can, if it's necessary," returned Logan, his surprise succeeding to grimness.

"Mitchell thinks he has you in a corner now. His refusal to buy was a bluff. He might be low-down enough to work on Barbara with this cattle deal."

"Ah-huh. I wouldn't put it above him. Thanks, Al," replied Logan, soberly, and went his way.

From that hour he meant to take interest in what was going on in Flagg.

But he resisted his desire to interrogate Lucinda and Barbara. Next day he received an answer to his telegram. His Kansas buyer offered ten dollars on the hoof. That did not interest Logan. But he accepted the fact of a slump in the market price of cattle and that he had lost considerably by holding on. That was the gamble of cattle-raising. The gamble still applied. He had a week or two yet that he k could wait, and still make the cattle drive that fall. Meanwhile he walked the streets, talked war and cattle, read the bulletins and the papers, and had a keen eye for all forms of relief work.

One night Barbara presented herself late at the supper table, most becomingly dressed, very handsome indeed. Logan particularly noted the red spots in her white cheeks and the brilliancy of her eyes.

"Bab, you sure look good for sore eyes... Where are you going all togged up?"

"I have a date with Mr. Mitchell," replied Barbara, frankly. "Some bazaar or Red Cross affair?"

"No. He wants me to see a war picture at the theatre."

"Ever go with him before?"

"No. He never asked me."

"Barbara, it's all over town that Mitchell is hot after you," said Logan, gravely.

"Oh, Dad!" she cried. "I didn't think you listened to gossip!"

"I didn't until lately... Has Mitchell made love to you?"

"He tried. He's gallant, like a romantic soldier. Likes all the girls, and they like him. But since I told him I was married he's been very--nice."

"Has he mentioned my cattle to you?"

"Yes. He intimated you were a greedy old cowman who'd hang on to his cattle and let his family starve. He predicts that cattle and hides will have no value after the war. I told him I could persuade you to sell.

Indeed, I was going to talk to you presently."

"My girl, has this slick hombre hinted that he'd buy my cattle if you were very--nice to him?"

"What do you mean?" asked Barbara hotly.

"Bab, I knew you were an innocent, unworldly girl, but I didn't think you could be so green."

"Father! You've insulted Mr. Mitchell, and now you insult me," protested Barbara, hotly.

"No, honey. And I swear I think more of you for your innocence. But don't be a little fool, Bab."

"Oh, I can't believe what you hint about Mr. Mitchell."