Nevada (1995) (20 page)

Nor did Cash Burridge come to count the cattle he had sold Ben.

This omission caused Raidy and the riders from California muc
h
concern. They began to make dark hints round the camp fire, an
d
were not particular about who heard them. Ben looked serious, bu
t
only laughed. Manifestly he was working and waiting, withou
t
worrying.

One hot midday, during the noon rest hour, when Ben and his famil
y
were having lunch in the shade of the pines, a rider appeared o
n
the road. He came on at a walk and he was looking everywhere wit
h
great interest. Finally he took to the slope, and at length
,
arriving at the camp quarters, he dismounted and hailed the rider
s
in a booming voice.

"I'm Tom Day an' I'm wantin' to meet Mr. Ide."

Raidy led him up to Ben, who rose expectantly, a smile on hi
s
sunburnt face.

"Howdy, sir!" said the visitor, extending a huge hand. "Are yo
u
Mr. Ide?"

"Yes, and I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Day," replied Ben, wh
o
evidently had heard of this man.

"I'm your nearest neighbor," said Day. "My ranch is over heah te
n
miles or so. Reckon I'm a little late in callin'. Shore we'r
e
pretty slow folks in Arizona."

"Better late than never," returned Ben, with his frank smile.

"Meet my family, Mr. Day. . . . This is Ina, my wife . . . an
d
this is my mother. . . . Hettie, my sister. . . . And this is m
y
son Blaine, who's destined to be an Arizona rancher."

"Wal now, I'm shore glad to meet you-all," drawled the visitor
,
with an accent so surely Texan that it made Hettie's heart leap.

He greeted them with a quaint courtliness that became him well
,
despite his rough soiled rider's garb. He made much of littl
e
Blaine, whom evidently he won at first sight.

Hettie, too, trusted him at first sight. This huge rancher wa
s
surely a Texan. He had a shock of fair hair, beginning to tur
n
gray. His broad face was wrinkled like a brown parchment
,
recording the endurance, toil, and strife of a wonderful life. H
e
had shrewd, penetrating, kindly eyes, light blue in color, and se
t
under bushy brows.

"Reckon I'd like you to show me aboot," said Day to Ben, waving hi
s
hand toward the benches.

"I'll be glad to, and I'd like your opinion on some of my new-
f
angled ideas," replied Ben. Then he turned to Hettie. "Sis, hav
e
Hank fix us up something to eat and drink presently."

They strolled away in earnest conversation and did not return fo
r
an hour. Whereupon Hettie set lunch for them on the table unde
r
the fly; after which she repaired to her wagon-tent close by.

"Ide, the good looks of thet sister of yours has spread over th
e
range," said Day. "Shore, she's a lovely lass."

"Hettie? Thanks. Yes indeed, and she's more than pretty," replie
d
Ben, evidently much pleased.

"Girls are scarce in Arizona. Is she married?"

"No. Why, Hettie's only twenty!"

"Engaged to any lucky fellar?"

"No, I'm sure not."

"Wal, she'll shore have these long-legged punchers comin' aroun
d
moon-eyed."

"If they don't they're not like my California riders," laughed Ben.

"Wal, I'll say if them riders of yours are as good at makin' lov
e
as they are at gossipin', our Arizona lads won't have much chance."

"I'm afraid my men do talk too much," observed Ben, seriously.

"They brag, and I don't believe bragging will get very far i
n
Arizona."

"Wal, only so far as makin' brag good," drawled Day. "Ide, I
r
eckon I've taken a shine to you. It ain't Arizona ways, bu
t
somebody ought to give you some hunches. Reckon I never had suc
h
an idee when I rode over heah. I was downright curious, but recko
n
I expected to find you-all different."

"Mr. Day, I take that as a compliment and an offer of friendship,"
r
eturned Ben heartily. "I was told in Winthrop to try to mak
e
friends with you. Lord knows I'm going to need a friend out here."

"Wal, heah's my hand," said Day, "an' I'm shore seein' you're no
t
such a dam' fool as is bein' gossiped over the range."

"Maybe I AM a damn fool, Day," returned Ben, grimly. "But at leas
t
I know what I'm going to do in the long run."

"Shore then you figger you're up ag'in a hell of a deal heah?"
q
ueried Day.

"You bet I know it. I expected it and I'm not going to b
e
disappointed."

"All right. Thet's good talk to me. Fust off, are you goin' i
n
for big cattle-raisin'?"

"Yes. And horses, too."

"Ahuh. You shore have some fine stock. Thet red hoss! Say
,
he's grand! Reckon you'll have to keep him close or he'll b
e
stolen. . . . Are you goin' to keep your family heah all th
e
year round?"

"No. I'll take or send them back to California for the winter."

"Thet's good," replied Day. "The winters are bad some seasons.

Not so cold, but it snows deep an' pens people up. Winter don'
t
come, though, till late December. Why, I've seen Christmas hea
h
the finest kind of weather!"

"That's splendid news. Now, Day, you encourage me to as
k
questions. Can you put me on to some crack Arizona cowboys? I'l
l
keep Raidy and perhaps another of my riders, and send the other
s
home."

"Shore I was goin' to advise thet. You'll have no trouble hirin'
t
he best men out heah, because you can pay better wages. Ou
r
riders only get forty dollars, an' often not thet."

"But how am I to know riders who are honest, not to mention othe
r
qualifications?"

"Son, you're shore askin' me a question thet even Franklidge, th
e
boss rancher of this country, cain't answer. I'm sorry to have t
o
confess thet. But the honest Gawd's truth is this--nobody hea
h
knows who's a rustler an' who's not."

"Good Heavens! Day, you don't mean that!" cried Ben, shocked.

"Wal, I shore do. I know for a fact I'm a square cattleman. I'v
e
branded calves in my day thet wasn't mine an' I knowed they wasn't.

Every rancher has done thet, an' few there are in this neck of th
e
woods who don't do it now. But I don't. Thet you can rely on
,
Ide, I swear. There are ranchers heah who suspect me, same as I
s
uspect them. For this reason: Rustlin' cattle is a mighty bi
g
business along the three hundred miles of Mogollon range. Th
e
country grazes hundreds of thousands of cattle. They recko
n
Franklidge alone has a hundred thousand haid. Wal, it's grea
t
pickin' fer the rustlers. There's the Hash Knife gang, heah fo
r
many years. There's the Pine Tree outfit, which is newer an' wuss.

An' no HONEST rancher can name the leader of thet outfit. He'
s
shore some one of us ranchers, shore as hell. Then there's a hos
t
of lesser rustlers clear down to the cowboy who's startin' a her
d
of his own. . . . Thet, Ide, is the country you've come to ranc
h
in."

"Well, I'm a son-of-a-gun!" ejaculated Ben.

"Shore you are. I wish I could have met you before you laid out s
o
much money heah. How many cattle did Burridge sell you?"

"Ten thousand head," replied Ben. "I took his word. But at th
e
same time I figured if he was a thousand head or so shy I'd b
e
satisfied."

"Wal, you figgered good, but not good enough," said Day, gruffly.

"Never take no man's word for a count of cattle. You want to se
e
them brands. Burridge, now, had a half a dozen brands, but h
e
never had no ten thousand, nor eight thousand, nor . . . Nobod
y
could ever tell how many haid he ran. He was always sellin'
c
attle."

"What do you think of Burridge failing to make a count for me? H
e
promised to do so at once."

"Wal, I don't like to say what I think. But if Burridge shows u
p
soon an' makes a count, it'll be a good deal more than I have an
y
idee he'll do."

"He'll not come," said Ben, decidedly. "Day, there's no doubt i
n
my mind. Burridge has cheated me."

"Wal, don't you say thet to anyone else around heah," warned Day.

"Be careful WHAT you say, Ide. An' make your men keep their mouth
s
shut. I'll let you have two of my boys, an' I can get you another.

For all I know they're square, an' they're shore hard-ridin' an'
h
ard-shootin' punchers."

"That's good of you, Day," responded Ben, with gratitude. "I sur
e
appreciate it. I may be able to do you a favor now and then, sinc
e
we're neighbors."

"I'm wonderin' about somethin', yet there ain't any sense in m
e
doin' it."

"What?" asked Ben.

"Shore, Burridge didn't tell you thet I had a four-thousand-dolla
r
lien on his cattle?"

"No, he sure didn't," returned Ben, shortly.

"Wal, I have. Soon after he come heah--let's see, about four year
s
ago, I lent him the money. He paid interest for a while, then h
e
quit, an' I was after him pretty hard when he sold out to you."

"That's bad news, Day," said Ben, soberly.

"Wal, I reckon, but don't let it worry you none, so far as I'
m
concerned. But there's wuss. The Hatts also have a lien o
n
Burridge's stock."

"Well, well! this is getting thick. Who are the Hatts?"

"Father an' three sons. There's a girl, too, pretty young lass
,
the only decent one of a bad lot."

"Where do these Hatts live?"

"They're backwoodsmen an' live back in the brakes. Fact is all th
e
rustlers an' outlaws hole up in these brakes, which are roug
h
canyons runnin' down from the Mogollons. Rough they are, th
e
hardest goin' in Arizona. It used to be Apache country."

"So Burridge palmed his debts off on me? Damn him! . . . What'
s
the law in such a case as this?"

"Wal, I've knowed it come up in court more'n once. An' the buye
r
had to settle. You see, Burridge's property wasn't really his t
o
sell."

"I appreciate that. I should have taken time to inquire. But h
e
struck me right."

"Shore. He did the same to me, an' I'm an old timer."

"What the devil shall I do, Day? I don't mean about the liens.

I'll have to settle them, soon as they are proven. But this dea
l
shows up more complicated every day. How many cattle do I actuall
y
own? Where are they? How will I go about safe-guarding what I d
o
own?"

"Son, the Lord himself couldn't answer them questions," replied th
e
rancher, with his booming laugh. "But I reckon the case ain't s
o
bad thet we'll have to take to drink about it. I'll ride over wit
h
these boys I'm gettin' you, say week today. Meanwhile I'll do
a
lot of thinkin'. Probably by thet time Elam Hatt will have see
n
you. I heerd he was comin', so look out fer him. We'll get you
r
men an' we'll all put our haids together."