CHAPTER XVI
SUNDOWN ADVENTURES
By dint of perilous scrambling Sundown managed to keep within sight ofChance, who had picked up Fernando's tracks leading from thecottonwoods. The dog leaped over rocks and trotted along the levels,sniffing until he came to the rift in the canon wall down which theherder had toiled on his grewsome errand. Chance climbed the sharpascent with clawing reaches of his powerful forelegs and quick thrustsof his muscular haunches. Sundown followed as best he could. He waskeyed to the strenuous task by that spurious by-product of anticipationfrequently termed a "hunch."
When the dog at last reached the edge of the timber and dashed intoFernando's deserted camp, Sundown was puzzled until he happened torecall the incidents leading to Fadeaway's discharge from the Concho.He reclined beneath a tree familiar to him as a former basis forrecuperation. He felt of himself reminiscently while watching Chancenose about the camp. Presently the dog came and, squatting on hishaunches, faced his master with the query, "What next?" scintillatingin his glowing eyes.
"I dunno," replied Sundown. "You see, pardner, this here's Fernando'scamp all right. Now, I ain't got nothin' ag'in' that little oleFernando man, 'specially as it was him cut the rope that was snakin' meto glory onct. I ain't got nothin' ag'in' him, or nobody. Mebby Fadedid set after them sheep. Mebby Fernando knows it and sets after him.Mebby he squats in them cotton-woods by the ford and 'Pom!' goessomethin' and pore Fadeaway sure makes his name good. Never did likehim, but I ain't got nothin' ag'in' him now. You see, Chance, he'squit bein' mean, now. And say, gettin' killed ain't no dream. I beenthere three, four times myself--all but the singin'. Two wrecks, oneshootin', and one can o' beans that was sick. It sure ain't no fun.Wonder if gettin' killed that way will square Fade with the Big Bossover there? I reckon not. 'T ain't what a fella gets done to him thatcounts. It's what he does to the other guy, good or bad. Now, takethem martyrs what my pal Billy used to talk about. They was alwaysstandin' 'round gettin' burned and punctured with arrers, andlengthened out and shortened up when they ought to been takin' boxin'lessons or sords or somethin'. Huh! I never took much stock in them.If it's what a fella gets _done_ to him, it's easy money I'll be takin'tickets at the gate instead of crawlin' under the canvas--and mebbytryin' to sneak you in, too--eh, Chance?"
To all of which the great wolf-dog listened with exemplary patience.He would have preferred action, but not unlike many human beings whostrive to appear profound under a broadside of philosophical eloquence,applauding each bursting shrapnel of platitudes by mentally waggingtheir tails, Chance wagged his tail, impressed more by the detonationthan the substance. And Chance was quite a superior dog, as dogs go.
When Sundown finally arrived at the Concho, he was met by Bud Shoop,who questioned him. Sundown gave a detailed account of his recentexploration.
"You say they was no burros at the camp--no tarp, or grub, or nothin'?"
"Nope. Nothin' but a dead fire," replied Sundown.
"Any sheep?"
"Mebby four or five. Didn't count 'em."
"Huh! Wonder where the rest of the greaser's herd is grazin'?"
"I dunno. I rode straight acrost to here."
"Looks mighty queer to me," commented the foreman. "I take it thatFernando's lit out."
"Will they pinch the boss?" queried Sundown.
"I don' know. Anyhow, they can't prove it on him. Even if Jackdid--and I don't mind sayin' it to you--plug Fade, he did it to keepfrom gettin' plugged hisself. Do you reckon I'd let any fellachloroform me with the butt of a .45 and not turn loose? I tell you,if Jack had been a-goin' to get Fade _right_, you'd 'a' found 'emcloster together. And that ain't all. If Jack had wanted to get Fade,you can bet he wouldn't got walloped on the head first. The gun thatgot Fade weren't packed by a puncher."
"Will they be any more shootin'?" queried Sundown.
"Gettin' cold feet, Sun?"
"Nope. But say, it ain't no fun to get shot up. It don't feel goodand it's like to make a guy cross. A guy can't make pie or eat pie allshot up, nohow."
"Pie? You sure are loco. What you tryin' to rope now?"
"Nothin'. But onct I was in the repair shop with two docs explorin' meworks with them there shiny little corkscrews, lookin' for a bullitthat Clammie-the-dip let into me system--me bein' mistook for anotherfriend of his by mistake. After the docs dug up the bullit they says,'Anything you want to say?'--expectin' me to pass over, I reckon.'There is,' says I. 'I want to say that I ain't et nothin' sense theday before Clammie done me dirt. An' if I'm goin' to hit the slide Ijest as soon hit it full of pie as empty.' And them docs commenced tolaugh. 'Let him have it,' says one. 'But don't you reckon ice-creamwould be less apt to--er--hasten--the--er--' jest like that. 'Pussubleyou're correct' says the other.'" Sundown scratched his ear. "And Iet the ice-cream, feelin' kind o' sad-like seein' it wasn't pie. Yousee, Bud, gettin' shot up is kind of disconvenient."
"Well, you're the limit!" exclaimed Shoop. "Say, the boss wants tomake a few talks to you to-morrow. Told me to tell you when you comeback. You better go feed up. As I recollec' Hi's wrastlin' out somepie-dough right now."
"Well, I ain't takin' no chances, Bud."
"You tell that to Hi and see what he says."
"Nope. 'T ain't necessary. You see when them docs seen, about a weekafter, that I was comin' strong instead of goin', they says, 'Me man,if you'd 'a' had pie in your stummick when you was shot, you wouldn'tbe here to-day. You'd be planted--or somethin' similar. The fac' thatyour stummick was empty evidentially saved your life.' And," concludedSundown, "they's no use temptin' Providence now."
Shortly after breakfast next morning Corliss sent for Sundown. Therancher sat propped up in a wide armchair. He was pale, but his eyeswere clear and steady.
"Bud told me about yesterday," he began, anticipating Sundown'sleisurely and erratic recital. "I understand you found me on the trailand went for help."
"Yes. I thought you was needin' some about then."
"How did you come to find me?"
"Got lost. Hoss he took me there."
"Did you see any one on the trail?"
"Nope."
"Hear any shooting?"
"Nope. But I seen some turkeys."
"Well, I expect the sheriff will be here tomorrow. He'll want to talkto you. Answer him straight. Don't try to help me in any way. Justtell him what you know--not what you think."
"I sure will, boss. Wish Chance could talk. He could tell."
Corliss smiled faintly. "Yes, I suppose he could. You followed him toFernando's camp?"
"Uhuh."
"All right. Now, I've had a talk with Bud about something that hasbeen bothering me. I think I can trust you. I want you to ride toAntelope to-morrow morning and give a letter from me to the lawyerthere, Kennedy. He'll tell you what to do after that. I don't feellike talking much, but I'll say this: You remember the water-holeranch. Well, I want you to file application to homestead it. Kennedywill tell you what to do. Don't ask any questions, but do as he says.You'll have to go to Usher by train and he'll go with you. You won'tlose anything by it."
"Me? Homestead? Huh! And have cows and pigs and things? I don'tjest get you, boss, but what you say goes. Why, I'd homestead a ranchin hell and take chances on findin' water if you said it. Say,boss,"--and Sundown leaned toward Corliss confidentially and loweredhis voice,--"I ain't what you'd call a nervy man, but say, I gotsomethin' jest as good. I--I--" and Sundown staggered around feelingfor the word he wanted.
"I know. We'll look it up in the dictionary some day when we're intown. Here's ten dollars for your trip. If you need more, Kennedywill give it to you."
Sundown departed, thrilled with the thought that his employer hadplaced so much confidence in him. He wanted to write a poem, butcircumstances forbade his signaling to his muse. On his way to thebunk-house he hesitated and retraced his steps to the ranch office.Corliss told him to come in. He approached his empl
oyer deferentiallyas though about to ask a favor.
"Say, boss," he began, "they's two things just hit me to onct. Can Itake Chance with me?"
"If you like. Part of your trip will be on the train."
"I can fix that. Then I was thinkin': No! my hoss is lame. I got toride a strange hoss, which I'm gettin' kind o' used to. But if you'llkeep your eye on my hoss while I'm gone, it'll ease me mindconsiderable. You see he's been with me reg'lar and ain't learned nobad tricks. If the boys know I'm gone and get to learnin' him aboutbuckin' and bitin' the arm offen a guy and kickin' a guy's head off androllin' on him, and rarin' up and stompin' him, like some, they's notellin' what might happen when I get back."
Corliss laughed outright. "That's so. But I guess the boys will bebusy enough without monkeying with your cayuse. If you put thathomestead deal through, you can have any horse on the range exceptChinook. You'll need a team, anyway, when you go to ranching."
"Thanks, boss, but I'm gettin' kind of used to Pill."
"Pill? You mean Phil--Phil Sheridan. That's your horse's name."
"Mebby. I did try callin' him 'Phil.' It went all right when he wasstandin' quiet. But when he got to goin' I was lucky if I could hollerjust 'Whoa, Pill!' The 'h' got jarred loose every time. 'Course,bein' a puncher now,"--and Sundown threw out his chest,--"it'sdifferent. Anyhow, Pill is his name because there ain't anything a docever give a fella that can stir up your insides worse 'n he can when hetakes a spell. Your head hurtin' much?"
"No. But it will be if you don't get out of here." And Corlisslaughed and waved his hand toward the door.