CHAPTER XIII
SUNDOWN, VAQUERO
The strenuous days of the round-up were over. Bands of riders departedfor their distant ranches leaving a few of their number to ride lineand incidentally to keep a vigilant eye On the sheep-camps.
David Loring, realizing that he had been checkmated in the first moveof the game in which cattle and sheep were the pawns and cowboys andherders the castles, knights, and, stretching the metaphor a bit,bishops, tacitly admitted defeat and employed a diagonal to draw thecattle-men's forces elsewhere. He determined to locate on theabandoned water-hole ranch, homestead it, and, by so doing, cut off thesupply of water necessary to the cattle on the west side of the ConchoRiver. This would be entering the enemy's territory with a vengeance,yet there was no law prohibiting his homesteading the ranch, the titleof which had reverted to the Government. Too shrewd to risk legalentanglement by placing one of his employees on the homestead, hedecided to have his daughter file application, and nothing forbade heremploying whom she chose to do the necessary work to prove up. Theplan appealed to the girl for various reasons, one of which was thatshe might, by her presence, avert the long-threatened war between thetwo factions.
Sundown and, indirectly, Fadeaway precipitated the impending trouble.Fadeaway, riding for the Blue, was left with a companion to ride lineon the mesas. Sundown, although very much unlike Othello, found thathis occupation was gone. Assistant cooks were a drug on the range. Hewas equipped with a better horse, a rope, quirt, slicker, andinstructions to cover daily a strip of territory between the Concho andthe sheep-camps. He became in fact an itinerant patrol, his merephysical presence on the line being all that was required of him.
It was the Senora Loring who drove to the Concho one morning and waswelcomed by Corliss to whom she gave the little sack of gold. She toldhim all that he wished to know in regard to his brother Will, pleadingfor him with motherly gentleness. Corliss assured her that he felt noanger toward his brother, but rather solicitude, and made her happy byhis generous attitude toward the wrongdoer. He had already heard thathis brother had driven to Antelope and taken the train for the West.His great regret was that Will had not written to him or come to himdirectly, instead of leaving to the good Senora the task ofexplanation. "Never figured that repenting by proxy was the bestplan," he told the Senora. "But he couldn't have chosen a betterproxy." At which she smiled, and in departing blessed him in hersincere and simple manner, assuring him in turn that should the sheepand cattle ever come to an understanding--the Spanish for whichembraced the larger aspect of the problem--there was nothing shedesired or prayed for more than the friendship and presence of Corlissat the Loring hacienda. Corliss drew his own inference from this,which was a pleasant one. He felt that he had a friend at court, yetexplained humorously that sheep and cattle were not by nature fitted tooccupy the same territory. He was alive to sentiment, but more keenthan ever to maintain his position unalterably so far as business wasconcerned. The Senora liked him none the less for this. To her he wasa man who stood straight, on both feet, and faced the sun. Herdaughter Nell . . . Ah, the big Juan Corliss has such a fine way withhim . . . what a husband for any woman! In the mean time . . . onlythoughts, hopes were possible . . . yet . . . manana . . . manana . . .there was always to-morrow that would be a brighter day.
To say that Sundown was proud of his unaccustomed regalia from thecrown of his lofty Stetson to the soles of his high-heeledriding-boots, would be putting it mildly. To say that he wasespecially useful in his new calling as vaquero would not be to put itso mildly. Under the more or less profane tutelage of his companions,he learned to throw a rope after a fashion, taking the laughing salliesof his comrades good-naturedly. He persevered. He was foreverstealing upon some maternal and unsuspicious cow and launching his ropeat her with a wild shout--possibly as an anticipatory expression offear in case his rope should fall true. More than once he had beenyanked bodily from the saddle and had arisen to find himself minusrope, cow, and pony, for no self-respecting cow-horse could watchSundown's unprecedented evolutions and not depart thitherward, feelingashamed and grieved to think that he had ever lived to be a horse. AndSundown, despite his length of limb, seemed unbreakable. "He's themost durable rider on the range," remarked Hi Wingle, incident to oneof his late assistant's meteoric departures from the saddle. "He wearsgood."
One morning as Sundown was jogging along, engaged chiefly in watchinghis shadow bob up and down across the wavering bunch-grass, he saw thatwhich appeared to be the back of a cow just over a rise. He walked hishorse to the rise and for some fantastic reason decided to rope thecow. He swung his rope. It fell true--in fact, too true, for itencircled the animal's neck and looped tight just where the neck joinsthe shoulders. He took a turn of the rope around the saddle horn. Atlast he had mastered the knack of the thing! Why, it was as easy asrolling pie-crust! He was about to wonder what he was going to donext, when the cow--which happened to be a large and activesteer--humped itself and departed for realms unknown.
With the perversity of inanimate objects the rope flipped in a looparound Sundown's foot. The horse bucked, just once, and Sundown waslaunched on a new and promising career. The ground shot beneath him.He clutched wildly at the bunch-grass, secured some, and took it alongwith him. Chance, who always accompanied Sundown, raced alongside,enjoying the novelty of the thing. He barked and then shot ahead,nipping at the steer's heels, and this did not add to his master'sprospects of ultimate survival. Sundown shouted for help when hecould, which was not often. Startled prairie-dogs disappeared in theirholes as the mad trio shot past. The steer, becoming warmed up to hiswork, paid little attention to direction and much to speed. That aband of sheep were grazing ahead made no difference to the chargingsteer. He plunged into the band. Sundown dimly saw a sea of sheepsurge around him and break in storm-tossed waves of wool on eitherside. He heard some one shout. Then he fainted.
When he again beheld the sun, a girl was kneeling beside him, a girlwith dark, troubled eyes. She offered him wine from a wicker jug. Hedrank and felt better.
"Are you hurt badly?" she asked.
"Am--I--all here?" queried Sundown.
"I guess so. You seem to be."
"Was anybody else killed in the wreck?"
The girl smiled. "You're feeling better. Let me help you to sit up."
Sundown for the moment felt disinclined to move. He was in fact prettythoroughly used up. "Say, did he win?" he queried finally.
"Who?"
"Me dog, Chance. I got the start at first, but he kind of got aheadfor a spell."
"I don't know. Chance is right behind you. He's out of breath."
"Huh! Reckon I'm out more'n that. He's in luck this trip."
"How did it happen?"
"That's what I'm wonderin', lady. And say, would you be so kind as totell me which way is north?"
Despite her solicitude for the recumbent Sundown, Eleanor Loringlaughed. "You are in one of the sheep-camps. I'm Eleanor Loring."
"Sheep-camp? Gee Gosh! Did you stop me?"
"Yes. I was just riding into camp when you--er--arrived. I headed thesteer back and Fernando cut the rope."
"Thanks, miss. And Fernando is wise to his business, all right."
"Can you sit up now?" she asked.
"Ow! I guess I can. That part of me wasn't expectin' to be movedsudden-like. How'd I get under these trees?"
"Fernando carried you."
"Well, little old Fernando is some carrier. Where is he? I wouldn'tmind shakin' hands with that gent."
"He's out after the sheep. The steer stampeded them."
"Well, miss, speakin' from me heart--that there steer was no lady. Ithought she was till I roped him. I was mistook serious."
"He might have killed you. Let me help you up."
Sundown had been endeavoring to get to his feet. Finally he rose andleaned against a tree. Fortunately for him his course had been over astretch of yielding bu
nch-grass, and not, as might have been the case,over the ragged tufa. As it was his shirt hung from his back inshreds, and he felt that his overalls were not all that their nameimplied. The numbness of his abrasions and bruises was wearing off.The pain quickened his senses. He realized that his hat was missing,that one spur was gone and the other was half-way up his leg. He wasnot pleased with his appearance, and determined to "make a slope" asgracefully and as quickly as circumstances would permit.
Chance, gnawing at a burr that had stuck between his toes, saw hismaster rise. He leaped toward Sundown and stood waiting for more fun.
"Chance seems all right now," said the girl, patting the dog's head.
"John Corliss give him to me, miss. He's my dog now. Yes, he's activeall right, 'specially chasin' steers."
"I remember you. You're the man that carried Chance up the canon trailthat day when he was hurt."
"Yes, miss. He ain't forgettin' either."
The girl studied Sundown's lean face as he gazed across the mesas,wondering how he was going to make his exit without calling undueattention to his dearth of raiment. She had heard that this man, thisqueer, ungainly outlander, had been companion to Will Corliss. She hadalso heard that Sundown had been injured when the robbery occurred.Pensively she drew her empty gauntlet through her fingers.
"Do you know who took the money--that night?" she asked suddenly, andSundown straightened and gazed at her.
He blinked and coughed. "Bein' no hand to lie to a lady, I do," hesaid, simply. "But I can't tell, even if you did save me life fromthat there steer."
She bit her lips, and nodded. "I didn't really mean to ask. I wascurious to know. Won't you take my horse? You can send him backto-morrow."
"And you beat it home afoot? Say, lady, I mebby been a Bo onct, but Iain't hurt that bad. If I can't find me trail back to where I startedfrom, it won't be because it ain't there. Thanks, jest the same."
Sundown essayed a step, halted and groaned. He felt of himselfgingerly. He did not seem to be injured in any special place, as heached equally all over. "I'll be goin', lady. I say thanks for savin'me life."
The girl smiled and nodded. "Will you please tell Mr. Corliss that Ishould like to see him, to-morrow, at Fernando's camp? I think he'llunderstand."
"Sure, miss! I'll tell him. That Fernando man looks to be havin' sometrouble with them sheep."
The girl glanced toward the mesa. Fernando and his assistant wereherding the sheep closer, and despite their activity were reallygetting the frightened animals bunched well. When she turned againSundown had disappeared.
Sundown's arrival in camp, on foot, was not altogether unexpected. Oneof the men had seen a riderless horse grazing on the mesa, and hadridden out and caught it. Circumstantial evidence--rider and ropemissing--confirmed Hi Wingle's remark that "that there walkin'clothes-pin has probably roped somethin' at last." And the "walkingclothes-pin's" condition when he appeared seemed to substantiate thecook's theory.
"Lose your rope?" queried Wingle as Sundown limped up.
"Uhuh. And that ain't all. You ain't got a pair of pants that ain'tworking have you?"
Wingle smiled. "Pants? Think this here's a Jew clothin'-store?"
"Nope. But if she was a horsepital now--"
"Been visitin'?"
"Uhuh. I jest run over to see some friends of mine in a sheep-camp."
"Did, eh? And mebby you can tell me what you run over?"
"'Most everything out there," said Sundown, pointing to the mesa."Say, you ain't got any of that plaster like they put on a guy's headwhen he gets hit with a brick?"
"Nope. But I got salt."
"And pepper," concluded Sundown with some sarcasm. "Mebby I do looklike a barbecue."
"Straight, Sun, salt and water is mighty healin'. You better ride overto the Concho and get fixed up."
"Reckon that ain't no dream, Hi. Got to see the boss, anyhow."
"Well, 'anyhow' is correc'. And, say, you want to see him first andtell him it's you. Your hoss is tied over there. Sinker fetched himin."
"Hoss? Oh, yes, hoss! My hoss! Uhuh!"
With this somewhat ambiguous string of ejaculations Sundown limpedtoward the pony. He turned when halfway there and called to Wingle."The cattle business is fine, Hi, fine, but between you and me I reckonI'll invest in sheep. A fella is like to live longer."
Wingle stared gravely at the tall and tattered figure. He staredgravely, but inwardly he shook with laughter. "Say, Sun!" he managedto exclaim finally, "that there Nell Loring is a right fine gal, ain'tshe?"
"You bet!"
"And Jack ain't the worst . . ." Wingle spat and chewed ruminatively."No, he ain't the worst," he asserted again.
"I dunno what that's got to do with gettin' drug sixteen mile," saidSundown. "But, anyhow, you're right."