CHAPTER II
THE MAN FROM CHERRYCOW
After lashing the desert to a frazzle and finding the leaks in theHotel Bender, the wind from Papagueria went howling out over the mesa,still big with rain for the Four Peaks country, and the sun came outgloriously from behind the clouds. Already the thirsty sands hadsucked up the muddy pools of water, and the board walk which extendedthe length of the street, connecting saloon with saloon and endingwith the New York Store, smoked with the steam of drying. Along theedge of the walk, drying out their boots in the sun, the casualresidents of the town--many of them held up there by the storm--sat inpairs and groups, talking or smoking in friendly silence. A littleapart from the rest, for such as he are a long time making friends inArizona, Rufus Hardy sat leaning against a post, gazing gloomily outacross the desert. For a quiet, retiring young man, interested in goodliterature and bearing malice toward no one, his day in the Benderbarroom had been eventful out of all proportion to his deserts andwishes, and he was deep in somber meditation when the door opened andJudge Ware stepped out into the sunshine.
In outward appearance the judge looked more like a large fresh-facedboy in glasses than one of San Francisco's eminent jurists, and thesimilarity was enhanced by the troubled and deprecating glances withwhich he regarded his foreman, who towered above him like a mentor.There was a momentary conference between them at the doorway, andthen, as Creede stumped away down the board walk, the judge turned andreluctantly approached Hardy.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he began, as the young man in some confusionrose to meet him, "but I should like a few words with you, on a matterof business. I am Mr. Ware, the owner of the Dos S Ranch--perhaps youmay have heard of it--over in the Four Peaks country. Well--I hardlyknow how to begin--but my foreman, Mr. Creede, was highly impressedwith your conduct a short time ago in the--er--affray with thebarkeeper. I--er--really know very little as to the rights of thematter, but you showed a high degree of moral courage, I'm sure. Wouldyou mind telling me what your business is in these parts, Mr.--er--"
"Hardy," supplied the young man quietly, "Rufus Hardy. I am--"
"Er--_what_?" exclaimed the judge, hastily focussing his glasses."Hardy--Hardy--where have I heard that name before?"
"I suppose from your daughter, Miss Lucy," replied the young man,smiling at his confusion. "Unless," he added hastily, "she hasforgotten about me."
"Why, Rufus Hardy!" exclaimed the judge, reaching out his hand. "Why,bless my heart--to be sure. Why, where have you been for this lastyear and more? I am sure your father has been quite worried aboutyou."
"Oh, I hope not," answered Hardy, shifting his gaze. "I guess he knowsI can take care of myself by this time--if I do write poetry," headded, with a shade of bitterness.
"Well, well," said the judge, diplomatically changing the subject, "Lucywill be glad to hear of you, at any rate. I believe she--er--wrote youonce, some time ago, at your Berkeley address, and the letter wasreturned as uncalled for."
He gazed over the rims of his glasses inquiringly, and with asuggestion of asperity, but the young man was unabashed.
"I hope you will tell Miss Lucy," he said deferentially, "that onaccount of my unsettled life I have not ordered my mail forwarded forsome time." He paused and for the moment seemed to be consideringsome further explanation; then his manner changed abruptly.
"I believe you mentioned a matter of business," he remarked bluffly,and the judge came back to earth with a start. His mind had wanderedback a year or more to the mysterious disappearance of this sameself-contained young man from his father's house, not three blocksfrom his own comfortable home. There had been a servant's rumor thathe had sent back a letter or two postmarked "Bowie, Arizona"--but oldColonel Hardy had said never a word.
"Er--yes," he assented absently, "but--well, I declare," he exclaimedhelplessly, "I've quite forgotten what it was about."
"Won't you sit down, then?" suggested Hardy, indicating the edge ofthe board walk with a courtly sweep of the hand. "This rain will makegood feed for you up around the Four Peaks--I believe it was of yourranch there that you wished to speak."
Judge Ware settled down against a convenient post and caught hisbreath, meanwhile regarding his companion curiously.
"Yes, that's it," he said. "I wanted to talk with you about my ranch,but I swear I'll have to wait till Creede comes back, now."
"Very well," answered Hardy easily; "we can talk about home, then.How is Miss Lucy succeeding with her art--is she still working at theInstitute?"
"Yes, indeed!" exclaimed the judge, quite mollified by the inquiry."Indeed she is, and doing as well as any of them. She had a landscapehung at the last exhibit, that was very highly praised, even byMathers, and you know how hard he is to please. Tupper Browne won theprize, but I think Lucy's was twice the picture--kind of soft andsunshiny, you know--it made you think of home, just to look at it."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that," said Hardy, looking up the raggedstreet a little wistfully. "I kind of lose track of things down here,knocking around from place to place." He seated himself wearily on theedge of the sidewalk and drummed with his sinewy white hands against aboot leg. "But it's a great life, sure," he observed, half to himself."And by the way, Mr. Ware," he continued, "if it's all the same to youI wish you wouldn't say anything to your foreman about my past life.Not that there is anything disgraceful about it, but there isn't muchdemand for college graduates in this country, you know, and I mightwant to strike him for a job."
Judge Ware nodded, a little distantly; he did not approve of thiscareless young man in all his moods. For a man of good family he washardly presentable, for one thing, and he spoke at times like anordinary working man. So he awaited the lumbering approach of hisforeman in sulky silence, resolved to leave the matter entirely in hishands.
Jefferson Creede bore down upon them slowly, sizing up the situation ashe came, or trying to, for everything seemed to be at a standstill.
"Well?" he remarked, looking inquiringly from the judge to Hardy. "Howabout it?"
There was something big and dominating about him as he loomed abovethem, and the judge's schoolboy state of mind instantly returned.
"I--I really haven't done anything about the matter, Jefferson," hestammered apologetically. "Perhaps you will explain our circumstancesto Mr. Hardy here, so that we can discuss the matter intelligently."He looked away as he spoke, and the tall foreman grunted audibly.
"Well," he drawled, "they ain't much to explain. The sheepmen havebeen gittin' so free up on our range that I've had a little troublewith 'em--and if I was the boss they'd be more trouble, you can betyour life on that. But the judge here seems to think we can kindersuck the hind teat and baby things along until they git that ForestReserve act through, and make our winnin' later. He wants to makefriends with these sheepmen and git 'em to kinder go around a littleand give us half a chanst. Well, maybe it can be done--but not by me.So I told him either to get a superintendent to handle the sheep endof it or rustle up a new foreman, because I see red every time I heara sheep-blat.
"Then come the question," continued the cowman, throwing out his broadhand as if indicating the kernel of the matter, "of _gittin'_ such aman, and while we was talkin' it over you called old Tex down so goodand proper that there wasn't any doubt in _my_ mind--providin' youwant the job, of course."
He paused and fixed his compelling eyes upon Hardy with such a mixtureof admiration and good humor that the young man was won over at once,although he made no outward sign. It was Judge Ware who was to passupon the matter finally, and he waited deferentially for him tospeak.
"Well--er--Jefferson," began the judge a little weakly, "do you thinkthat Mr. Hardy possesses the other qualities which would be called forin such a man?"
"W'y, sure," responded Creede, waving the matter aside impatiently."Go ahead and hire him before he changes his mind."
"Very well then, Mr. Hardy," said the judge resignedly, "the firstrequisite in such a man is that he shall please Mr. Creede. And si
ncehe commends you so warmly I hope that you will accept the position.Let me see--um--would seventy-five dollars a month seem a reasonablefigure? Well, call it seventy-five, then--that's what I pay Mr.Creede, and I want you to be upon an equality in such matters.
"Now as to your duties. Jefferson will have charge of the cattle, asusual; and I want you, Mr. Hardy, to devote your time and attention tothis matter of the sheep. Our ranch house at Hidden Water lies almostdirectly across the river from one of the principal sheep crossings,and a little hospitality shown to the shepherds in passing might belike bread cast upon the waters which comes back an hundred fold aftermany days. We cannot hope to get rid of them entirely, but if thesheep owners would kindly respect our rights to the upper range, whichMr. Creede will point out to you, I am sure we should take it verykindly. Now that is your whole problem, Rufus, and I leave the detailsentirely in your hands. But whatever you do, be friendly and see ifyou can't appeal to their better nature."
He delivered these last instructions seriously and they were so takenby Hardy, but Creede laughed silently, showing all his white teeth,yet without attracting the unfavorable attention of the judge, who wasa little purblind. Then there was a brief discussion of details, anintroduction to Mr. Einstein of the New York Store, where Hardy wasgiven _carte blanche_ for supplies, and Judge Ware swung up on thewest-bound limited and went flying away toward home, leaving hisneighbor's son--now his own superintendent and sheep expert--standingcomposedly upon the platform.
"Well," remarked Creede, smiling genially as he turned back to thehotel, "the Old Man's all right, eh, if he does have fits! He'sgood-hearted--and that goes a long ways in this country--but actually,I believe he knows less about the cattle business than any man inArizona. He can't tell a steer from a stag--honest! And I can lose hima half-mile from camp any day."
The tall cattleman clumped along in silence for a while, smiling oversome untold weakness of his boss--then he looked down upon Hardy andchuckled to himself.
"I'm glad you're going to be along this trip," he said confidentially."Of course I'm lonely as a lost dog out there, but that ain't it; thefact is, I need somebody to watch me. W'y, boy, I could beat the oldjudge out of a thousand dollars' worth of cattle and he'd never knowit in a lifetime. Did ye ever live all alone out on a ranch for amonth or so? Well, you know how lawless and pisen-mean a man can git,then, associatin' with himself. I'd've had the old man robbed fortytimes over if he wasn't such a good-hearted old boy, but betweenfightin' sheepmen and keepin' tab on a passel of brand experts up onthe Tonto I'm gittin' so ornery I don't dare trust myself. Have asmoke? Oh, I forgot--"
He laughed awkwardly and rolled a cigarette.
"Got a match?" he demanded austerely. "Um, much obliged--be kinderhandy to have you along now." He knit his brows fiercely as he firedup, regarding Hardy with a furtive grin.
"Say," he said abruptly, "I've got to make friends with you some way.You _eat_, don't you? All right then, you come along with me over tothe Chink's. I'm going to treat you to somethin', if it's only ham 'n'eggs."
They dined largely at Charley's and then drifted out to the feedcorral. Creede threw down some hay to a ponderous iron-scarred roan,more like a war horse than a cow pony, and when he came back he foundHardy doing as much for a clean-limbed sorrel, over by the gate.
"Yourn?" he inquired, surveying it with the keen concentrated gazewhich stamps every point on a cowboy's memory for life.
"Sure," returned Hardy, patting his pony carefully upon the shoulder.
"Kinder high-headed, ain't he?" ventured Creede, as the sorrel rolledhis eyes and snorted.
"That's right," assented Hardy, "he's only been broke about a month. Igot him over in the Sulphur Springs Valley."
"I knowed it," said the cowboy sagely, "one of them wire-grasshorses--an' I bet he can travel, too. Did you ride him all the wayhere?"
"Clean from the Chiricahuas," replied the young man, and JeffersonCreede looked up, startled.
"What did you say you was doin' over there?" he inquired slowly, andHardy smiled quietly as he answered:
"Riding for the Cherrycow outfit."
"The hell you say!" exclaimed Creede explosively, and for a long timehe stood silent, smoking as if in deep meditation.
"Well," he said at last, "I might as well say it--I took you for atenderfoot."