The bunkhouse of the Slash Lazy D received Bob Dillon gravely and withchill civility. He sat on his bunk that first evening, close enough totouch a neighbor on either hand, and was left as completely out of theconversation as though he were a thousand miles away. With each other theriders were jocular and familiar. They "rode" one another with familiarjokes. The new puncher they let alone.
Bob had brought some cigars with him. He offered them eagerly to thechap-clad youth on his right. "Take one, won't you? An' pass the othersround."
The name of the cowboy was Hawks. He looked at the cigars with disfavor."I reckon I'll not be carin' for a cigar to-night, thank you," he saidslowly.
"Perhaps the others--if you'll pass them."
Hawks handed the cigars to a brick-red Hercules patching his overalls.From him they went to his neighbor. Presently the cheroots came back totheir owner. They had been offered to every man in the room and not onehad been taken.
Bob's cheeks burned. Notice was being served on him that the pleasantgive-and-take of comradeship was not for him. The lights went out early,but long into the night the boy lay awake in torment. If he had been aleper the line could scarcely have been drawn more plainly. These menwould eat with him because they must. They would sleep in the same room.They would answer a question if he put it directly. But they wouldneither give nor accept favors. He was not to be one of them.
Many times in the months that were to follow he was to know the sting ofshame that burned him now at memory of the scene between him and JakeHouck at Bear Cat. He tossed on the bunk, burying his face in theblankets in a vain effort to blot out the picture. Why had he not shotthe fellow? Why, at least, had he not fought? If he had done anything,but what he did do? If he had even stuck it out and endured the painwithout yielding.
In the darkness he lived over every little incident of the evening. WhenHawks had met him he had grinned and hoped he would like the Slash LazyD. There had been friendliness in the crinkled, leathery face. But whenhe passed Bob ten minutes later the blue eyes had frozen. He had heardwho the new rider was.
He would not stand it. He could not. In the morning he would pack up hisroll and ride back to Bear Cat. It was all very well for Blister Hainesto talk about standing the gaff, but he did not have to put up with suchtreatment.
But when morning came Bob set his teeth and resolved to go through withit for a while anyhow. He could quit at any time. He wanted to be able totell the justice that he had given his plan a fair trial.
In silence Bob ate his breakfast. This finished, the riders moved acrossto the corral.
"Better rope and saddle you a mount," Harshaw told his new man curtly."Buck, you show him the ones he can choose from."
Hawks led the way to a smaller corral. "Any one o' these except the roanwith the white stockings an' the pinto," he said.
Dillon walked through the gate of the enclosure and closed it. Headjusted the rope, selected the bronco that looked to him the meekest,and moved toward it. The ponies began to circle close to the fence. Theone he wanted was racing behind the white-stockinged roan. For a momentit appeared in front. The rope snaked out and slid down its side. Bobgathered in the lariat, wound it, waited for a chance, and tried again.The meek bronco shook its head as the rope fell and caught on one ear. Asecond time the loop went down into the dust.
Some one laughed, an unpleasant, sarcastic cackle. Bob turned. Four orfive of the punchers, mounted and ready for the day's work, were sittingat ease in their saddles enjoying the performance.
Bob gave himself to the job in hand, though his ears burned. As ayoungster he had practiced roping. It was a pastime of the boys amongwhom he grew up. But he had never been an expert, and now such skill ashe had acquired deserted him. The loop sailed out half a dozen timesbefore it dropped over the head of the sorrel.
The new rider for the Slash Lazy D saddled and cinched a bronco which nolonger took an interest in the proceedings. Out of the corner of his eye,without once looking their way, Bob was aware of subdued hilarity amongthe bronzed wearers of chaps. He attended strictly to business.
Just before he pulled himself to the saddle Bob felt a momentary qualm atthe solar plexus. He did not give this time to let it deter him. His feetsettled into the stirrups. An instant violent earthquake disturbed hisequilibrium. A shock jarred him from the base of the spine to the neck.Urgently he flew through space.
Details of the landscape gathered themselves together again. From acorner of the corral Bob looked out upon a world full of grinning faces.A sick dismay rose in him and began to submerge his heart. They were gladhe had been thrown. The earth was inhabited by a race of brutal andtruculent savages. What was the use of trying? He could never hold outagainst them.
Out of the mists of memory he heard a wheezy voice issuing from a greatbulk of a man--"... yore red haid's covered with glory. Snap it up!" Thewords came so clear that for an instant he was startled. He looked roundhalf expecting to see Blister.
Stiffly he gathered himself out of the snow slush. A pain jumped in theleft shoulder. He limped to the rope and coiled it. The first castcaptured the sorrel.
His limbs were trembling when he dropped into the saddle. With both handshe clung to the horn. Up went the bronco on its hind legs. It pitched,bucked, sun-fished. In sheer terror Bob clung like a leech. The animalleft the ground and jolted down stiff-legged on all fours. The impact wasterrific. He felt as though a piledriver had fallen on his head andpropelled his vital organs together like a concertina. Before he couldset himself the sorrel went up again with a weaving, humpbacked twist.The rider shot from the saddle.
When the scenery had steadied itself for Dillon he noticed languidly achange in one aspect of it. The faces turned toward him were no longergrinning. They were watching him expectantly. What would he do now?
They need not look at him like that. He was through. If he got on theback of that brute again it would kill him. Already he was bleeding atthe nose and ears. Sometimes men died just from the shock of being tossedabout so furiously.
The sorrel was standing by itself at the other end of the corral. Itshead was drooping languidly. The bronco was a picture of injuredinnocence.
Bob discovered that he hated it with an impotent lust to destroy. If hehad a gun with him--Out of the air a squeaky voice came to him: "C-clampyore jaw, you worm! You been given dominion." And after that, a momentlater, "... made in the image of God."
Unsteadily he rose. The eyes of the Slash Lazy D riders watched himrelentlessly and yet curiously. Would he quit? Or would he go through?
He had an odd feeling that his body was a thing detached from himself. Itwas full of aches and pains. Its legs wobbled as he moved. Its headseemed swollen to twice the normal size. He had strangely small controlover it. When he walked, it was jerkily, as a drunk man sometimes does.His hand caught at the fence to steady himself. He swayed dizzily. Asurge of sickness swept through his organs. After this he felt better. Hehad not consciously made up his mind to try again, but he found himselfmoving toward the sorrel. This time he could hardly drag his weight intothe saddle.
The mind of a bronco is unfathomable. This one now pitched weakly once ortwice, then gave up in unconditional surrender. Bob's surprise wascomplete. He had expected, after being shaken violently, to be flung intothe mire again. The reaction was instantaneous and exhilarating. Heforgot that he was covered with mud and bruises, that every inch of himcried aloud with aches. He had won, had mastered a wild outlaw horse ashe had seen busters do. For the moment he saw the world at his feet. Alittle lower than the angels, he had been given dominion.
He rode to the gate and opened it. Hawks was looking at him, a puzzledlook in his eyes. He had evidently seen something he had not expected tosee.
Harshaw had ridden up during the bronco-busting. He spoke now to Bob."You'll cover Beaver Creek to-day--you and Buck."
Something in the cattleman's eye, in the curtness of his speech, broughtDillo
n back to earth. He had divined that his boss did not like him, hademployed him only because Blister Haines had made a personal point of it.Harshaw was a big weather-beaten man of forty, hard, keen-eyed, square asa die. Game himself, he had little patience with those who did not standthe acid test.
Bob felt himself shrinking up. He had not done anything after all,nothing that any one of these men could not do without half trying. Therewas no way to wipe out his failure when a real ordeal had confronted him.What was written in the book of life was written.
He turned his pony and followed Hawks across the mesa.