The Coming of Cassidy - Clarence E. Mulford (books to read to be successful TXT) 📗

th’ Double Arrow an’ went back south again. That’s different. It’s plain to some of us they was lookin’ us over for future use; learnin’ our ways an’ th’ lay of th’ land. There was seven of us at th’ time, but we could ‘a’ licked ‘em in a fair fight.

“In them days we only had two line houses. Number One was near Big Coulee, with Cowan’s at th’ far end of its fifteen miles of north line; th’ west line was a twenty-five-mile ride south to Lookout Peak. Number Two was where th’ Jumpin’ Bear empties into th’ river, now part of Meeker’s range. From it th’ riders went west twenty-five miles to th’ Peak an’ north from it twenty-five miles along th’ east line. There was a hundred thousan’ acres in Conroy Valley an’ thirty thousan’ in th’ Meeker triangle, which made up Section Two. At that time mebby ten thousan’ cows was on this section two-thirds of all of ‘em. When we built Number Three on th’ Peak this section was cut down to a reasonable size. Th’ third headquarters then was th’ bunkhouse, with only th’ east line to ride. One part, th’ shortest, ran north to Cowan’s; th’ other run about seventeen miles south to Li’l Timber, where th’ line went on as part of Number Two’s. We paired off an’ had two weeks in each of ‘em in them days.

“When we shifted at th’ end of that week Jimmy Price an’ Ace Fisher got Number One;

Skinny an’ Lanky was in Number Two; an’ me an’ Buck an’ Hoppy took life easy in th’ bunkhouse, with th’ cook to feed us. Buck, he scouted all over th’ ranch between th’ lines an’ worked harder than any of us, spendin’ his nights in th’ nearest house.

“One mornin’, about a week after th’ campers left, Buck looked out of th’ bunkhouse door an’ cautions me an’ Hoppy to ride prepared for cold weather. I can see he’s worried, an’ to please him we straps a blanket an’ a buffalo robe behind our saddles, cussin’ th’ size of ‘em under our breath. I’ve got th’ short ride that day, an’ Buck says he’ll wait for me to come back, after which we’ll scout around Medicine Bend. He’s still worried about them campers. In th’ Valley th’ cows are thicker ‘n th’ other parts of th’ range, an’ it wouldn’t take no time to get a big herd together. He’s got a few things to mend, so he says he’ll do th’ work before I get back.

“Down on Section Two things is happenin’ fast, like they mostly do out here. Twelve rustlers can do a lot if they have things planned, an’ ‘most any fair plan will work once. They only wanted one day after that it would be a runnin’ fight, with eight or nine of ‘em layin’ back to hold us off while th’ others drove th’ cows hard. Why, Slippery Trendley an’ Tamale Jose was th’ only ones that ever slid across our lines with that many men.

“Three rustlers slipped up to Number Two at night an’ waited. When Skinny opened th’ door in th’ mornin’ he was drove back with a hole in his shoulder. Then there was h—l a-poppin’ in that li’l mud shack. But it didn’t do no good, for neither of ‘em could get out alive until after dark. They learned that with sorrow, an’ pain. An’ they shore was het up about it. Ace Fisher, ridin’ along th’ west line from Number One, was dropped from ambush. Two more rustlers lay back of Medicine Bend lookin’ for any of us that might ride down from the bunkhouse. An’ they sent two more over to Li’l Timber to lay under that ledge of rock that sticks out of th’ south side of th’ bluff like a porch roof. Either me or

Hoppy would be ridin’ that way. They stacked th’ deck clever; but Providence cut it square.

“Th’ first miss-cue comes when a pert gray wolf lopes past ahead of Hoppy when he’s quite some distance above Li’l Timber. This gray wolf was a whopper, an’ Hoppy was all set to get him. He wanted that sassy . devil more ‘n he wanted money just then, so he starts after it. Mr. Gray Wolf leads him a long chase over th’ middle of th’ range an’ then suddenly disappears. Hoppy hunts around quite a spell, an’ then heads back for th’ line. While he’s huntin’ for th’ wolf it gets cold, an’ it keeps on gettin’ colder fast.

“Me, I leaves later ‘n usual that mornin’. An’ I don’t get to Cowan’s until late. I’m there when I notices how cussed cold it’s got all of a sudden. Cowan looks at his thermometer, which Jimmy later busts, an’ says she has gone down thirty degrees since daylight. He gives me a bottle of liquor Buck wanted, an’ I ride west along th’ north line, hopin’ to meet Jimmy or Ace for a short talk.

“All at once I notice somebody’s pullin’ a slate-covered blanket over th’ north sky, an’ I drag my blanket out an’ wrap it around me. I’m gettin’ blamed cold, an’ also a li’l worried. Shall I go back to Cowan’s or head straight for th’ bunkhouse? Cowan’s the nearest by three miles, but what’s three miles out here? It’s got a lot colder than it was when I was at Cowan’s, an’ while I’m debatin’ about it th’ wind dies out. I look up an’ see that th’ slate-covered blanket has traveled fast. It’s ‘most over my head, an’ th’ light is gettin’ poor. When I look down again I notice my cayuses’s ears movin’ back an’ forth, an’ he starts pawin’ an’ actin’ restless. That settles it. I’m backin’ instinct just then, an’ I head for home. I ain’t cussin’ that blanket none now, an’ I’m glad I got th’ robe handy; an’ that quart of liquor ain’t bulky no more.

“All at once th’ bottom falls out of that lead sky, an’ flakes as big as quarters sift down so fast they hurts my eyes, an’ so thick I can’t see twenty feet. In ten minutes everythin’ is white, an’ in ten more I’m in a strange country. My hands an’ feet ache with cold, an’ I’m drawin’ th’ blanket closer, when there’s a puff of wind so cold it cuts into my back like a knife. It passes quick, but it don’t fool me. I know what’s behind it. I reach for th’ robe an’ has it ‘most unfastened when there’s a roar an’ I’m ‘most unseated by th’ wind before I can get set. I didn’t know then that it’s goin’ to blow that hard for three days, an’ it’s just as well. It’s full of ice li’l slivers that are sharp as needles an’ cut an’ sting till they make th’ skin raw. I let loose of th’ robe an’ tie my bandanna around my face, so my nose an’ mouth is covered. My throat burns already almost to my lungs. Good Lord, but it is cold! My hands are stiff when I go back for th’ robe, an’ it’s all I can do to keep it from blowin’ away from me. It takes me a long time to get it over th’ blanket, an’ my hands are ‘most froze when it’s fastened. That was a good robe, but it didn’t make much difference that day. Th’ cold cuts through it an’ into my back as if it wasn’t there. My feet are gettin’ worse all th’ time, an’ it ain’t long before I ain’t got none, for th’ achin’ stops at th’ ankles. Purty soon only my knees ache, an’ I know it won’t be long till they won’t ache no more.

“I’m squirmin’ in my clothes tryin’ to rub myself warm when I remember that flask of liquor. Th’ cork was out far enough for my teeth to get at it, an’ I drink a quarter of it quick. It’s an awful load any other time it would ‘a’ knocked me cold, for Cowan sold a lot worse stuff then than he does now. But it don’t phase me, except for takin’ most of th’ linin’ out of my mouth an’ throat. It warms me a li’l, an’ it makes my knees ache a li’l harder. But it don’t last long th’ cold eats through me just as hard as ever a li’l later, an’ then I begin to see things an’ get sleepy. Cows an’ cayuses float around in th’ air, an’ I’m countin’ money, piles of it. I get warm an’ drowsy an’ find myself noddin’. That scares me a li’l, an’ I fight hard ag’in it. If I go to sleep it’s all over. It keeps gettin’ worse, an’ I finds my eyes shuttin’ more an’ more frequent, an’ more an’ more frequent thinkin’ I don’t care, anyhow. An’ so I drifts along pullin’ at th’ bottle till it’s empty. That should ‘a’ killed me, then an’ there but it don’t even make me real drunk. Mebby I spilled some of it, my hands bein’ nothin’ but sticks. I can’t see more ‘n five feet now, an’ my eyes water, which freezes on ‘em. I’ve given up all hope of hearin’ any shootin’. So I close th’ peekhole in th’ blanket an’ robe, drawin’ ‘em tight to keep out some of th’ cold. I am sittin’ up stiff in th’ saddle, like a soldier, just from force of habit, and after a li’l while I don’t know nothin’ more. Pete says I was a corpse, froze stiff as a ramrod, an’ he calls me ghost for a long time in fun. But Pete wasn’t none too clear in his head about that time.

“Down at Li’l Timber, Hoppy managed to get under th’ shelter of that projectin’ ledge of rock on th’ south side of th’ bluff. Th’ snow an’ ice is whirlin’ under it because of a sort of back draft, but th’ wind don’t hit so hard. He’s fightin’ that cayuse every foot, tryin’ to get to th’ cave at th’ west end, an’ disputin’ th’ right of way with th’ cows that are packed under it.

There’s firewood under that ledge an’ there’s food on th’ hoof, an’ snow water for drink; so if he can make th’ cave he’s safe. He’s more worried about his supply of smokin’ tobacco than anythin’ else, so far as he’s concerned.

“All at once he runs onto four men huddled half -froze in a bunch right ahead of him. He knows in a flash who they are, an’ he draws fumblingly, an’ holds th’ gun in his two hands, they are so cold. One clean hit an’ five clean misses in twenty feet! They’re gropin’ for their guns when a sudden gust of wind whirls down from th’ top of th’ hill, pilin’ snow an’ ice on ‘em till they can’t see nor breathe. An’ a couple of old trees come down to make things nicer. Hoppy is blinded, an’ when he gets so he can see again there’s one rustler’s arm stickin’ up out of th’ snow, but no signs of th’ other three. They blundered out into th’ open tryin’ to get away from th’ stuff comin’ down on ‘em, an’ that means they won’t be back no more.

“Hoppy manages to get to th’ cave, tie his cayuse to a fallen tree, an’ gather enough firewood for a good blaze, which he puts in front of th’ cave. It takes him a long time to use up his matches one by one, an’ then he pulls th’ lead out of a cartridge with his teeth, shakes th’ powder loose in it an’ along th’ barrel. Usin’ his cigarette papers for tinder he gets th’ fire started an’ goin’ good