V
It seemed but a few fleeting moments before Waddles's voice roused her.
"Roll out!" he bawled. "Feet in the trough!"
There was instant activity, the jingle of belts and spurs and in fiveminutes every man was fully clothed and splashing at the creek. It wasshowing rose and gray in the east when the meal was finished and thecook's voice was once more raised.
"All set! Ru-un-n 'em in!" he called, and there came the rumble ofhoofs as the nighthawk acted on this order and headed the remuda towardthe wagon. Two men mounted the horses that had been picketed close athand throughout the night and stationed themselves on either side ofthe open end of the rope corral to guide the horse herd into it.
The horses could not be seen until almost upon them, looming suddenlyout of the dim gray of early morning and surging into the corral. Thenighthawk and the two men already mounted rode around it, driving backany horse that showed a disposition to leave the corral by a downwardslash of a doubled rope across his face and ears. The men went in andscattered through the milling herd, each one watching his chance to puthis noose on a circle horse of his own string.
When most of the men were mounted Billie urged Papoose over nearHarris's horse.
"Do you know how to throw a circle?" she asked.
"After a fashion," he said. "I've bossed one or two in the past."
"Then we'd better be off," she suggested. "Since you're the Three Barforeman it's for you to say when."
"I only preempted that job for ten minutes or so," he explained withevident embarrassment. "You surely didn't think I was trying to boostmyself into the foreman's job for keeps?"
"No," she said. "But you're half-owner--and you can handle men. I'mgiving you free rein to show what you can do."
Harris straightened in his saddle and motioned to the men.
"Let's go!" he ordered, and headed his horse for the left-hand flank ofthe valley. They ascended the first slopes, picked a long ridge andfollowed it to the crest of the low divide between that valley and thenext.
Harris increased the pace and they swept up-country along the divide ata steady lope. When traveling or making a long day's ride on a singlehorse the cowhand saves his mount and travels always at a trail-trot,but with work to be done, three circles to be thrown in a day and witha string of fresh horses for every hand, the paramount issue of thecircle is the saving of time rather than the saving of mounts. As theyreached the head of the first draw that led back down into the valleyHarris waved an arm.
"Carp," he called, and a middle-aged man named Carpenter, abbreviatedto Carp, wheeled his horse from the group and headed down the draw.
A half-mile farther on they reached the head of another gulch.
"Hanson!" the new foreman called, and the man who repped for theHalfmoon D dropped out. One man was detailed to work each draw andwhen some five miles up the divide there were but half the crew left.Harris dropped down a long ridge and crossed the bottoms. Far down thevalley the wagon showed through the thin, clear air. The foreman ledthe way to the opposite divide and doubled back, sending a man downevery gulch.
The girl rode with him. Down in the bottoms they could see the ridersdetailed on the opposite side hazing the cows out of their respectivedraws and heading them toward the wagon. The first few men left theircows in the flat and veered past them to station themselves near thewagon and block the valley, sitting their horses at hundred-yardintervals across it.
Harris and the girl worked the last draw themselves and when they drovetheir cows out of the mouth of it they found a herd already milled, twohundred yards above the wagon. Harris left her and circled the bunch,estimating it.
A few belated riders were bringing their quotas to swell the herds.Frequently a bunch of cows made a break to leave and many were allowedto make good their escape to the safety of the broken slopes. Butthese were only marked stuff previously branded and any attemptincluding a cow with an unbranded calf was instantly blocked. Eachrider noted the brands of any cows which he let escape and moreparticularly still he scanned them with an eye for the presence of a"slick," an animal missed in previous round-ups and wearing no brand.Slick cows were fair prey for any man who first put his rope on themand he was entitled to run his own brand on a slick or to mark it withthe brand for which he rode and draw down a certain scale of premiumsat the end of the round-up season.
Harris changed mounts, throwing his saddle on the paint-horse. Whenthe last rider appeared with his bunch and threw it into the herdHarris signaled all hands to change mounts. Half the men repaired tothe rope corral and caught up cow horses while the balance of the crewheld the herd, each one relieving some other as soon as he had saddleda fresh horse.
When the hands commenced working the herd the Three Bar girl watchedthe trained cow horses with an interest that was always fresh, for fromlong experience they thoroughly understood every move of the game.
A sagebrush fire was burning fifty yards above the wagon and each manrode past it, leaned from his saddle and dropped his running iron inthe flame.
The men worked round the edge of the bunch and slipped a noose on everycalf that was thrown to the edge of the constantly shifting mass.Morrow roped the first calf and dragged it to the fire. A cow dartedaway with her calf and Bangs's horse whirled to head her back. AsBangs shook out his rope the horse changed tactics and abandoned thecourse that would have carried him past to turn them, following inclose behind them instead. After two preliminary swings Bangs made histhrow and missed. The horse did not miss a step but kept on closebehind the calf while his rider coiled the rope. The second throw fellfair and the horse set his feet and braced himself as the calf hit theend of the rope.
As much as she loved the round-up, many times as she had seen it,Billie Warren had never become calloused to the brutalities perpetratedon the calves. She withdrew and sat in the shade of the wagon. Shewas downwind and the dust raised by the trampling hoofs floated down toher, mingled with the odor of steaming cows, the acrid smoke of thesage fire and the taint of scorched hair and flesh.
Some of the men handled their hot irons with makeshift tongs of splitsage, which were soon burnt through and replaced. Others used slender,long-handled pliers for the work.
The horses held the calves helpless, moving just enough to keep theropes taut. Evans loosed a fresh-branded calf and rode over to thewagon for a drink. Several cows raced wildly round at a distance fromthe fire.
"One of those old sisters will go on the prod and make a break for someone right soon," he predicted to the girl.
A calf bawled in pain and a cow, maddened by the appeal of heroffspring, charged the group around the fire. The horses that stoodthere, holding calves, pricked their ears and watched her rush alertlybut before it was necessary for any one of them to dodge, Slade's repslipped his rope on her, jumped his horse off at an angle and broughther down.
Evans pointed to where Harris, seated on the big pinto, was workingslowly through the center of the herd.
"He's gone in after another slick," Evans said. "Watch the paint-horsework."
Calico was moving after the animal Harris wanted, working easily andwithout a single sharp rush that would cause undue disturbance amongthe cows.
"A good cow horse is like a hound," Lanky observed. "Let him spot thecritter you're wanting and nothing can shake him off."
Calico followed a serpentine course through the mass, crowded athree-year-old to the edge and cut him out. The animal attempted tododge back among his fellows but the paint-horse turned as on a pivotand blocked him, then started him off in a straightaway run.
"There's a real rope-horse," Lanky said. "I've been noticing him work.Look!"
Calico had braced himself as the slick was roped, shoving his hind feetout ahead, squatting on his haunches and raising his forefeet almostclear of the ground.
"Cal broke him without shoes in front," Evans explained. "His feet gottender after he'd jerked a steer or two and he learned to sock hi
s hindfeet ahead and take the jar on them. He'll last two years longer thatway. A horse that takes all the weight on his front feet in jerkingheavy stuff soon gets stove up in the shoulders and has to becondemned. This Cal Harris has one whole bagful of knowing tricks."
He rode back to the work after this endorsement of her choice of aforeman.
Through all the turmoil the nighthawk slept peacefully in the shade ofa sage-clump. Waddles dozed in the wagon but suddenly came to lifewith a start and signaled to the wrangler who, in his turn, waved anarm to the man nearest him. The four wagon horses were roped andharnessed while Waddles loaded the bed rolls on the tailgate and lashedthem fast. The rope corral was dismantled and loaded. The chuck wagonveered past the herd and lumbered up the valley and the wrangler andone other followed with the horse herd.
In a short space of time the herd had been worked, the last calfbranded, and Harris led the men up the bottoms. As they rode each onereported the brands of all stock which he had let break away from hisbunch before reaching the herd. Each rep entered the number and kindof his own brand so reported to the former tally taken of the herd.
Five miles up the valley, at the spot where Harris had crossed it a fewhours before, they found the wagon waiting at the new stand, the corralrefashioned and the remuda inside it. It was but ten o'clock but thefirst circle had commenced at four. The noon meal on the round-up wasserved whenever the first circle was completed. The men fellravenously on the hot meal, changed to fresh circle horses and startedagain.
It was falling dusk when the herd gathered in the third circle had beenworked and the last calf branded for the day. The men had unsaddledand spread their bed rolls before Waddles had announced the meal. Thenighthawk came riding up on the horse he had picketed prior to going tosleep before sunup at the first stand. His bed roll was lashed on ahalf-wild range horse he had roped and it sagged to one side, having nopack saddle to keep it from slipping, and he spoke in no gentle termsof an outfit that would pull out without troubling to throw his packsaddle from the wagon or taking pains to picket an extra horse. Hisfretfulness passed, however, as he smelled the hot coffee and herepaired to the wagon, his ill humor dissipated.
There was no music that night, every man retiring to his bed roll theinstant he finished his meal.
At the end of the first week out from the ranch Harris pulled up hishorse beside the girl's and showed her his tally book.
"We've run Slade's mark on more calves than we have our own," he said."That's one way he works."
"But that's not his fault and it doesn't mean anything," she said."His cows are sure to drift. This first strip we've worked is thesouthernmost edge of our range and his north wagon works the stripright south of us. We're sure to find a number of his cows. As wedouble back on our next lap we'll not find the same proportion."
"Not quite--but plenty," he predicted. "We've marked more calves forSlade in one week than all his three wagon crews will mark for theThree Bar in a year. The first three weeks of each season your men doa little more work for Slade than they do for you. It's a safe betthat the Halfmoon D does the same, and so on through every brand thatjoins his range. That puts him way off ahead."
"But that is pure accident," she said.
"It's pure design," he stated. "His boys are busy shoving his cowsfrom the middle all ways so that when fall comes he has a good insideblock that's only been lightly fed over. They fall back on that forwinter feed. Last winter, when cows were dying like rats, his men wereout drifting Slade's stuff back toward his middle range."
"That's true enough," she admitted. "But----"
"But you thought he was doing it as a favor to you--getting his surplusoff your territory so your own cows would have a better chance. That'sthe same kind of talk he floated all round the line; playing thebenevolent neighbor when in reality the old pirate had deliberatelyplanned, year after year, to overcrowd your range and feed you out."
"But his men would know," she objected.
"Not many of them would grasp the whole scheme of it," he said. "Youhadn't thought of it yourself. He'd detail a pair of boys to shove afew hundred head way off to the south. A few days later another couplewould be throwing a bunch off northeast. See? And what if a few ofthem did surmise? They're riding for his brand."
The girl nodded. That unalterable code again,--the religion of beingloyal to one's brand. Not one of Slade's men would balk at doing itknowingly; each would do anything to advance his interests as long ashe drew his pay from Slade.
"I doubt if there's a dozen men within two hundred miles that haven'tlifted a few calves now and then for the brand they were riding for.That's the way it goes. A rule that was fine to start--loyalty to thehand that paid you; then carried too far until it's degenerated into atool that's often abused," he said.
As they talked Harris detailed men for each draw but when they reachedthe point where they were due to drop down and cross the valley hepulled up his horse.
"You take the rest of the circle, Carp," he instructed Carpenter. "I'mgoing to ride off up the ridge a piece." The girl regarded himcuriously. No less than three times in the last week he had stoppedmidway of the circle and asked her to complete it. Now he had turnedit over to Carp and he signaled her to remain with him.
"Where are we going?" she asked as she watched the men ride down towardthe bottoms. "And why?"
"Back the way we came," he said. "And maybe I can show you why."
He headed back the divide they had just followed until he came to thesaddle at the head of a draw that led down to the valley. Far belowthem they could see a rider hazing a bunch of cows out into thebottoms. High on the right-hand slope of the gulch lay a notch, alittle blind basin watered by the seepage from a sidehill spring, andthere on the green bed of it a dozen cows with their calves grazedundisturbed. For perhaps five minutes Harris lolled sidewise in thesaddle and watched them. Then a rider appeared on the ridge thatdivided that draw from the next, dropped in below the cows and headedthem back over the ridge into the draw from which he had appeared.Even at that distance she recognized this last man as Lanky Evans.Harris resumed his way down the divide and she knew that he haddiscovered some irregularity for which he had been seeking.
"Who was the man that overlooked those cows?" she asked. "Who workedthat draw?"
"Morrow," he said. "His eyesight is getting bad. That's the secondtime this week--and the last. I've detailed Lanky to work the gulchnext to him every circle so that he could drop over the ridge and seewhat was going on. That's why he's always late coming in--not becausehe's lazy but because he's been working almost a double shift."
"Then Morrow is an inside man for Harper," she said. "Drawing ThreeBar pay and working against us too."
"Yes," he said. "Only he's an inside man for Slade."
"But how could his leaving those calves behind benefit Slade?" shedemanded.
"How could it benefit Harper?" he countered. "Can you tell me that?"
She could not and motioned for him to go on.
"None of Harper's men has a brand of his own," he said. "They'reliving on the move. They can't wait for calves to grow up. The waythey work is to run a bunch of beef steers across into Idaho. They'llpick up another bunch there and shove them across the Utah line andrepeat by moving a drove of some Utah brand up in here. Only beefsteers--quick turning stuff. You know about the reputation of the O Vand the Lazy H Four."
She knew all too well. There was a half-feud, a smoldering distrustdisplayed between cowmen on each side of the three State lines, atriangle of ill feeling. It was current rumor that the O V and theLazy H Four, ranging far southwest of the Three Bar, would traffic inany steers that came from across either the Utah or Idaho line. In thecorner of those States were similar outfits that were receivingstations for rustled stock from the opposite sides. But they were goodneighbors and kept hands off so far as brands on their home range wereconcerned. It was part of the game, and as long as their own in
terestswere not disturbed the adjacent outfits were blind. The triangularfeud had been fostered to a point where the thieves were immune. Evenif a direct complaint should be brought against them they had but toride across into another State and a sheriff following them would behelpless, the inhabitants resenting this intrusion into their affairsby an officer from another State, truly having no right there, andrefusing to aid him even if they did not actually oppose his passage.
"But how would it benefit Slade?" she repeated.
"Why, suppose that Morrow overlooked a nice bunch of Three Bar calvesall along this first strip next to Slade's range," Harris said. "Thensome Slade rider happens to drop along after our wagon has moved on andhe hazes them off south. Later another picks them up and shoves themalong another half-day's drive--way beyond where our boys ever work,even beyond the strip covered by Slade's north wagon, the only one thatcarries a Three Bar rep; what then?"
"The calves would still be with mothers wearing the Three Bar mark,"she said. "After they leave the cows they're slicks, fair game for thefirst man that puts his rope on them--and Slade wouldn't risk runningone of his own brands on them before they left the cows."
"Not one of his own, no," Harris said; "only one that's going to be hislater on. Did it ever strike you as queer that Slade, whose way is tocrush every new outfit, should suffer a soft-hearted streak every yearor so and befriend some party that had elected to start up for himselfright in the middle of Slade's range? And later buy him out? That'sthe way he came into nearly every brand he runs."
"He's impulsive in his friendships," she defended. "He has always beenlike that."
"And his impulses embrace some right queer folks," Harris remarked."Several of those dinky little owners have moved out right sudden witha dozen riders from some other outfit fanning along close behind;McArthur didn't even get moved, for the Brandons went on the war trailbefore he had time to start. But it transpired that he was all set togo because Slade showed bill of sale for Mac's holdings, dated only theday before. That's how he came to own every one of those brands thatmatch up so close with those of every outfit that overlaps his range."
"But if he actually dealt with so many as you believe, some one of themwould be sure to have trouble later on and tell of it," she argued.
"And it would be the word of a self-confessed thief against that of thebiggest owner within two hundred miles, and Slade would laugh athim--or kill him, according to whatever mood he happened to be in."
They had turned their horses down a long ridge that led to the wagon inthe bottoms.
"I'll mention to the boys that Morrow sold out the interests of theThree Bar while he was drawing down your pay. They'll pass sentence onhim right sudden. Four hours from now they'll have dry-gulched him sofar from nowhere that even the coyotes can't find him."
"Not that," she said. "Turn him over to the sheriff. You caught himin the act."
"In the act of missing a few cows on his detail. The sheriff wouldhold him almost an hour before he let him go."
"Then give him his check and send him off the Three Bar range," shesaid.
Harris waited till the herd had been worked and the men had gatheredround the wagon. Then he handed Morrow a check.
"Here's your time," he said. "You can be leaving almost any time now."
Every man knew that Morrow had been caught at some piece of workcontrary to the interests of the Three Bar. The discharged hand gave ashort ugly laugh.
"As soon as you pussyfooted into the foreman's job I knew it was only aquestion of time," he said.
"Exactly," Harris returned. "Pack your stuff."
"A foreman has a scattering of a dozen or so men to back him up,"Morrow observed with a shrug of one shoulder toward the rest of the men.
Harris turned to the girl.
"I resign for about sixty seconds," he said and swung back towardMorrow; and again all hands noted his queer quartering stand. "I'm notforeman right at this minute," he said. "So if you had anything inparticular to address to me in a personal vein you can start now.Otherwise you'd better be packing your stuff."
Morrow turned his back and headed for the rope corral. When he hadsaddled one horse and packed his effects on another he turned to Evans.
"You helped frame this on me," he said. "I thought I saw you messingover into my detail a few days back."
"Right on the first ballot," Lanky assented. "I'm only riding for onebrand at a time."
"One day right soon I'll run across you again," Morrow prophesied.
"Then I'll take to riding with my head over my shoulder--surveying myback-track," Lanky promised. "Because we'll most likely meet frombehind."
For the first time Morrow's bleak face changed expression, the linesdeepening from the strain of holding himself steady in the face of thecontemptuous insults with which Lanky casually replied to his threats.
He started to snarl an answer, his usual self-repression deserting him,but Harris waved an impatient hand.
"Drag it!" he snapped. "Get moving. If I had my own way we'd leadyour horse out from under you--and we will if I ever hear of yourturning up on the Three Bar range again."