5
"Jim stayed to milk the cows," Landy explained as he rode up toPinnacle Point the next morning leading Frosty, a rangy bay with adiminutive new saddle on his back. "Alice don't like my milkin'methods. I jist turn the calves in with the cows and let nature takeher course, so she lets Jim do the milkin'. Put on yer jacket, son,hit's crimpy around the edges, and let's git goin'."
Seated on Ole Gravy, a sturdy gray horse, Landy Spencer was like apicture page out of the book of the old west. His stubby, graymustache, standing out under an aquiline nose and squinting eyes,failed to conceal a mouth much given to smiles and laughter. He hadcautioned the little man that it was cool, yet his blue shirt was openat the neck. He wore a slouch hat, dented and battered tounconventional shape, a dingy knitted waistcoat, unbuttoned of course,gray jeans, tucked into high boots with long, pointed heels, and spursof ancient pattern. Hung to the horn of his old, but generous saddlewas a lariat.
The chuck-chuck-chuck of the gas engine told that Welborn was alreadyon the job at the mine. Davy ran into the house and returned wearinghis mackinaw and boots. "My, he's a giraffe," he said, as he lookedover Frosty and his equipment.
Landy dismounted and lifted Davy to his saddle. "Did ye ever ride ahoss, son?"
"Sure, I've ridden some of the big fat ring-horses, but I either hadto lie down or stand up, they were too big around for my legs. Once Iwas to ride a shetland in the Grand Entry, but they had a monkey onanother pony and I walked out on 'em." Davy picked up the reins andFrosty began tiptoeing around and arching his back.
"Jist turn him loose, son," called Landy. "The old simpleton wasexpectin' some weight when ye got on, and he's disapp'inted."
Landy led the way down the hill and Frosty followed like a pack horse.The sun had pushed above the clouds. Frost was flying in the air. Itjeweled the grass of the table land and sparkled amid the green of theconifers along Ripple Creek. Farther down the indistinct path they metJim in the car.
"Are you fellers goin' to git back in time for dinner," he called tothe horsemen.
"Mebbe not," replied Landy. "We are aimin' to bring back that littlehoss, en he may not want to come."
Landy turned from the path and rode down a coulee that led to BrushyFork. It was a winding way through brush and stunted hemlocks.Presently they came to the creek. "Thar's Steelheads en Rainbows up inthem pools," said the leader. "These streams have been stocked enhit's good fishin', if ye know how."
They followed down the stream bed for a distance and then Landy turnedup a draw on the left bank, that finally led out to level land. Atfirst it was a narrow way between the stream and foothill, butpresently the landscape broadened to a meadow similar to that on theright bank of the creek. At one place, where the way was narrow, therewas the crumbling remnant of rough walls of rock.
"That's a relic of them ole wars in here, but I never could git thehang of the tale. Ole Jim Lough knows all about it but he's tooshut-mouthed and contrary to tell the tale.
"Ye see, I'm not a native son," explained Landy, as they rode abreaston the widened road. "I got started in the cattle game over to thenorth on Crazy Woman Creek en the range betwixt that en Sun Dance onthe Belle Fourche. I was romancin' round when Teddy Roosevelt madecamp up thar. Teddy liked to listen in on some of them Paul Bunyans ofthe cattle game, en they shore told some tall ones. I think heencouraged 'em in their romancin' jist to git a line on theircapacity. Ye see, we were located jist betwixt ole Fort Fetterman andthe Little Big Horn, sorta betwixt Red Cloud en Sittin' Bull, en onemassacre en another. Ours was a period jist follerin' thesehistory-makin' times en every man had a right to tell hit his way asthey were all unhampered by airy lick of facts.
"Therefore, I didn't git up here in the headwaters of the Platte untilyears after, but from what I ketch they had some right stirrin' timein here, 'twixt cattle rustlin' and sheep crowdin'. Ole Jim knows thewhole story, but he don't broadcast none." Topping a swell of themeadow lands another stream basin was encountered. "Hit's a littleRanty," explained Landy. "That's a dam downstream aways en the B-linewaters a couple o' hundred acres." In these meadows there werecattle--cows and calves and some scrub yearlings. Crossing the Ranty,the horsemen mounted to the levels again. Here, there were fences.Farther on, stables, sheds, and a cluster of houses. The B-line ranch.
Landy maneuvered the horses through the gates without dismounting androde up to the central stable. "Whar's yer reception committee eroundhere?" he yelled. "Call out the guard en parade them colors," hecommanded as he dismounted and assisted Davy down. He threw the reinsover the horses' heads. A man came out of the stable-room, two morecame from back of a shed.
"Well, if it haint the ole buzzard from Ripple Creek, a sailin' aroundlookin' fer his dinner. Nothin' dead around here Landy," said theshort, stubby man that came from the stable room.
"Howdy, Potter. 'Lo, Flinthead. Howdy, Hickory. All you cimarronswipe yer hands real clean en shake with my friend Mister Lannarck. Wejist took time outen our busy lives to come over here en watch youbirds loaf eround," said Landy after introductions had beenacknowledged. "En my pardner here has a broken handled knife that hewould trade for a little hoss."
"Well, it's a shame, Mister Lannarck," said Potter thoughtfully, "thatye have to carry sich a load as bein' introduced by sich adouble-barreled, disreputable ole renegade of a crook like this. Butwe understand and will try to he'p ye live it down. Now, as to thatlittle hoss. He belongs to Miss Adine. She's at the house. Flinthead,you move them hosses in here! Hickory, go tell Adine that the circusparty that Landy told her about is here to see the colt."
Both men set about their tasks. Flinthead led out a horse, mounted androde down a lane, propping the gates open as he went. From a corralback of the stables came a drove of horses, mares, colts, andyearlings. Trotting, prancing, and snorting as they came down thelane, they settled down once they were in the stable lot.
Davy was between two fires. He sought a safe place from being run downby the drove and yet he wanted to catch a glimpse of any kind of horsesuitable to his size. He noted plenty of small ones but their short,bushy tails revealed colthood. The others were too large. As the drovesettled down a colt came from out the center of the milling herd andwalked up to Potter, extending his muzzle as if expecting something.
"That's the one!" said Dave excitedly.
He was a red sorrel with three white feet and legs and a flaxen maneand tail. Experts in such matters would have said he was nearly elevenhands high. Unlike his pony prototypes, his was a lengthy, archedneck, held high from narrowing withers and a short back. He was dirty.His mane and tail needed attention. Potter put out his hand. The coltwalked near enough that he placed his arm over his neck and led himto a post where a rope dangled. This, he secured around the colt'sneck.
"Good morning, everybody."
The colt parley was thus interrupted. Landy's several gallon headpiecewas off and he nearly swept the ground with it. "Why, howdy, MissAdine. We was a-lookin' this little hoss over to see if he'd fit apattern. Meet Mister Lannarck here. He's the pattern."
"My name is Lannarck all right," said Davy, acknowledging the abruptintroduction. "But among homefolks, I would rather be called Davy, asI have always been sceptical of anyone calling me Mister, afraid hewould want to sell me something I didn't want."
The girl laughed. "I am troubled that way myself. If anyone calls meMiss Lough, I pay no attention, thinking they mean someone else. Won'tyou men come to the house? Father is in Omaha on business and Motherand I are changing things around for the winter. Grandaddy picked outthis busy time for one of his visits, so we are all together. Grandadwill want to see you Landy, so come up to the house. I want to tellyou about that colt, and tell you why it is that I am not to sellhim."
There was little else for the mystified Landy and the now, heartbrokenmidget to do but to follow along, through the gate and along thewell-kept bordered path to the immense porch. They loitered at thegate for parley.
"... and he's the handsomest horse I ever saw,"
complained the littleman, "and she said she was not to sell him. I suppose it's someparental promise she's made, or some skin-game buyer has been throughhere and threw a wrench in the gears. Why, Landy, this is ahigh-school horse! He's showy, fine color, fancy markings and anyonecan see that he's smart. We've just got to work it out somehow. Ahigh-school horse, pony size, he's worth a thousand."
"Well, I ain't up on school classifications for hosses," said Landydryly. "He may be a colleger fer all I know. But, we're dealin' witha woman en thar's no accountin' fer what's the matter. Hit may be, yercomplexion don't match, er she may be a-keepin' him to contrast withsome letter paper she's goin' to buy. Ye jist can't tell a dern thingabout hit till we hear her story. After that, well, we can tell ifit's worthwhile to go on with the struggle."
When first introduced, Davy was certain that Miss Adine Lough wasabout the handsomest girl he had ever seen. Surely not more thantwenty years of age, of medium height, a peach complexion, tanned alittle but fair to look at. She stood on the Colonial porch of the bigLough homestead, her hands in the pockets of her black horse-hidejacket awaiting the arrival of her reluctant guests.
She ushered the two into the wide hallway. "You had better seeGrandaddy first, Landy, he's camped in here by the fire. Then we'll goin the library and talk over our business."
Jim Lough, ancient Nestor of the North Park district, was seated in abig Morris-chair in front of the smouldering fire. "Well, if it ain'tole Turkeyneck in person," he called in a high falsetto voice, as thetwo entered. "I've been wantin' to see you, Landy. I told the sheriffto bring you over the next time he had you in charge. I want to findsomebody that can sing 'The Cowboy's Lament' and sing it right, as Iam plannin' a funeral party and I want to work out all the details.Can you sing 'The Lament' so it's fitten to hear?"
"Yer dern tootin' I can sing 'The Lament'," retorted Landy, "allforty-four verses of hit, en the chorus betwixt every verse. I'm aprima donna when it comes to singin' that ole favorite. I learned itoff a master-singer, ole Anse Peters, up in God's country whar men aremen--en the women are glad of it. But what's led ye off on that wagontrack, Jim? Why don't ye git a saxophone en tune in on some jazz? Bemodern, like the rest of us fellers. Here you are, slouchin' aroundwithout a dressin' jacket er slippers en talkin' 'bout an ole songthat's in the discard. Shame on ye! But before ye apologize, meet myfriend here, Mister Lannarck, lightweight circus man, who's visitin'us here en lookin' around for relics en sich. That's why I brought himover."
Old Jim took the extended hand of the little man and held it while hetalked. "Thar's been a lot of people had their necks stretched up inthis deestrict for being caught in bad company, young man. You'reborderin' on that condition right now in runnin' around with oleturkeyneck here. If the Vigilance Committee finds it out, you are agoner.
"Circus man, hey? I mind the time when a lot of us fellers rode toCheyenne to see Barnum. Last man in had to pay all bills--it was somepay, by the time we got through. We saw the show all right and we sawBarnum. He was a fine man. But circus er no circus, ye ain't a goin'to sidetrack me out'n them funeral arrangements. If ye can sing 'TheLament,' yer engaged."
"Why, who's dead, Jim?" asked Landy innocently. "Did ole Selim die, eris hit yer favorite hound dawg?"
"None sich," replied the old man heatedly. "It's me--my funeral--enI'm aimin' to make a splendid time outen it. The boys on hosses,firin' salutes as they see it, a preacher sharp to give it dignity, enthe 'Cowboy's Lament,' as sung by ole Landy Spencer. That's a fittenprogram, en you are engaged fer the job."
"En about when do ye plan to stage this splendid event?" drawledLandy.
"Why, when I die, ye idiot, mebbe now, mebbe later, jist whenever Ibed down fer the last time. Here I am, over ninety years old. I can'tgo on livin'! It's agin nature. I want to make ready when it comes.I'm ready and I want everything else to be jist as ready as I am."
Landy Spencer drummed his knotty fingers on the armchair and lookedthoughtfully at the old Nestor seated at his fireside. Ninety yearsold! Seventy years of activity in a territory where activity wasenforced, if one were to live. Strange stories, legends now, were toldof the doings of this gaunt, eagle-beaked, shaggy-browed old man whonow, chatted complacently of death. Very true, none living was able toverify them. Those who had passed on told only fragments, and JimLough, neither verified nor denied.
One legend persisted. Landy had heard it long before coming to thedistrict. It related to the beginning days of the great cattle game ofthe grasslands--days before the coming of the vast herds and theproblems they brought. It concerned the destinies of those whofollowed fast in the footsteps of the trailmakers and sought toestablish a business where there was neither law nor precedent. Sordiddays, these. The honest men were not yet organized; the dishonest andcriminal were unrestrained by laws. Cattle and kine were takenfurtively or openly to these very hills and vales where Jim Lough nowlived in quietude and peace. Here they were held until a sufficientnumber was collected for the drive to the marches and markets that layeast of the Virginia Dale.
Jim Lough was a youngster then, without ownership of herds or home,but he was not content to see the weak and unorganized robbed, withoutrecourse. Alone, he made trips over the forbidden trails to the placesof the illicit exchange; then back to the grasslands again heorganized a posse of five and laid his trap. In a narrow pass thisrobber band was successfully ambushed and by effective gunfire,reduced from eight to three. The three surrendered. By every rule ofthe game, in a new land where there was neither law, nor courts norsheriffs, the culprits must be hung, and hung on the spot whereapprehended. But to this Jim Lough demurred. "We'll swing 'em where itcounts," he announced grimly, and the cavalcade set out on thetwo-days' journey to the Skeel's cabin, the reputed hangout of thelawless and criminals of the new country. The posse found the cabindeserted, except for the presence of a lame, old man who was reportedas the cook for the outfit. He was loaded on a horse and headednorthward out of the country. The rest of the livestock was turnedfrom the corrals and the cabin and stables set afire. Then, as afitting finish to the work of the hour, the three culprits were hungon extended limbs of trees bordering the ruins.
"Now the skunks will have something to look at when they come backhere to plan their stealing," Jim Lough had said as the possedispersed.
But "the skunks" never came back, and through the long winter and mostof the following summer the ghastly mementos of early justice swayedand swung, until the ravens and winds made merciful disposition of thebodies.
In the next few years there was peace in the grasslands, and thesettlers prospered as others joined. But it was not always so. Forwith more settlers came greed and avarice. Laws were made, regulationswere had, rules announced and they were not always fair. Greed,sometimes sat in the councils, and the avaricious bent the rules.Then, there were other wars in which justice and fairness ran notparallel with Greed-made law.
Grassland remembered young Jim Lough and his stern and speedy methodsand now as an older man, he was often called to council and to lead.
But the problems were not of easy solution; the 'right side' of thecontroversy was not always obvious, but under Jim Lough's leadershipthe greedy must surrender self-appropriated water holes, odious fenceswere banished and grazing allotments went to the needy as well as thegreedy. In these things, Jim Lough made enemies as well as friends,but cared as little for the one as he appreciated the other.
Landy Spencer, drummed knotty fingers on the arm of his chair as helistened to Jim Lough's explanations of his arrangements for asplendid funeral. At last he spoke. "Jim, I used to think that ye'dmake a fine gov'ner. I know ye make a dandy good district marshal,but ye are slippin'--goin' addled 'bout this funeral business.A-settin' here tryin' to run things en you deceased, that-a-way. Yeknow, well en' good, that the folks livin' will take charge of themobsequies; hit'll be about ten years from now, I figger; en yore planswill fit in about like a last-year's birdnest. Ye have jist about asmuch to do a-bossin' that party as ye'll have in sel
ectin' yer harp enhalo when ye git inside the pearly gates. Ten years from now, tharwon't be a cow hand ner a gun outside a dude ranch er a rodeo. Singin''The Lament' would be about as well understood as recitin' a Latinepic."
"Pshaw, Jim, yer wastin' valuable time," said Landy, wanting to get alast word, before the old man had time for a reply. "Come over nextweek--Alice is to have a turkey dinner with all the fixin's--en we'llplan a funeral that's modern. Aryplanes, automobiles, jazz, en dancin'en sich. That's the kind I'm plannin' en I ort to kick-in long beforeyou do."
Landy backed out and crossed the hallway before the ancient couldreply.