The Orphan - Clarence E. Mulford (that summer book .TXT) 📗

id="page_336" class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="336"> be in soon, though. How’s The Orphan getting on out at your place?”

“Fine!” answered Blake, his face wearing a frown. “But I’m some sorry about that fool Bucknell, though. He may get on a spree some day and find The Orphan. I don’t want any more gunplay, and if that idiot does find him and gets ambitious to notch up his gun another hole, there’ll shore be some loose lead. If he ever gets on Star C ground, and I catch him there, I’ll shore enough wipe up the earth with him, and when you see him, just tell him what I said, will you? It ain’t no joke, for I will.”

“Shore I’ll tell him,” replied Charley. “When will that bunch of cattle be on hand–I’m anxious to swap jobs.”

Blake flashed him a warning glance and tried to ignore the question by changing the subject, but it was too late, for Bill was curious.

“What cattle is that, Charley?” asked the driver in sudden interest.

“Oh, some cattle that I’m going to get of Blake for Sneed,” lied Charley easily.

“What in all get out does Sneed want with any Star C cows?” Bill asked in surprise. “He’s got plenty of cows of his own, unless The Orphant shot a whole lot more than I thought he did.”

“I don’t know, Bill,” replied Charley. “I didn’t ask him, it being plainly none of my business.”

Bill scratched his head: “No, I reckon not,” he replied doubtfully.

“Here comes Shields now,” said Blake suddenly. “I reckon I’ll ride off and meet him. So long, Bill.”

“So long,” replied Bill. “Be sure to tell The Orphan I was asking about him. So long, Charley.” He turned abruptly and entered the stage office: “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. “There’s something in the wind that I can’t get onto nohow. He has shore got me guessing some, all right.”

The clerk tossed aside the paper and stared: “Well, that’s too d––d bad, now ain’t it?” he asked sarcastically. “You ought to object, that’s what you ought to do! What right has anybody to keep quiet about their own business when you want to know, hey? If I wanted to know everybody’s business as bad as you do, I’d shore raise h–l, I would. Why don’t you choke it out of him, wipe up the earth with him? Go out right now and give him a piece of your mind.”

“Oh, you would, would you! You’re blamed smart, now ain’t you? You work too hard–your nerves are giving away,” drawled Bill as he picked up the paper. “Sitting around all day with your feet on the table and a pipe in your mouth that you’re too lazy to light, working like the very devil trying to find time to do the company’s business, which there ain’t none to do. Ain’t you ashamed to go to bed?–it must take a lot of gall to hunt your rest at night after finding it and hugging it all day. What would you do for a living if I forgot to bring the paper with me some day, hey? You ain’t got enough animation to want to know what is going on in this little world of ours, you––”

“You get out of here, right now, too!” yelled the clerk. “I don’t want you hanging around bothering me, you pest! Get out of here right now, before I get up and throw you out! Do you hear me!”

Bill crossed his legs, pushed back his sombrero, turned the page carefully and then remarked, “I licked four husky cow-punchers, real bad men, last month. One right after the other, and I was purty near all in, too.” He glanced at the next page disinterestedly, spat at a fly on the edge of the box cuspidor and then added wearily and with great deprecation, “I’m feeling fine to-day, never felt so good in my life, but I need more exercise–I’m two pounds over weight right now.”

The clerk showed interest and awe: “Weight?” he asked. “What is your fighting weight?”

Bill looked up aggressively: “Fighting weight?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “My fighting weight is something over nine hundred pounds, when I’m real mad. Ordinarily, one hundred and eighty. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” replied the clerk, staring out of the window.

CHAPTER XIX
THE ORPHAN GOES TO THE A-Y

THE A-Y had been a very busy place for the past two weeks because of the cattle which had to be re-branded and taken care of, and of other things which had to be done about the ranch. The sheriff had taken title and had persuaded Crawford to remain in nominal charge for a month at the most so as to keep the sale a secret until the new owner would be ready to make it known. So word went around that Crawford had hired the sheriff to put things on a paying basis and that half of the old outfit had left, their places being filled by Charley, the two Larkin brothers and two men from a northern ranch.

Shields had been very much pleased with the cattle which The Orphan had bought for him and had asked Blake if he could borrow the new puncher to help him get things in good running shape. Blake had told The Orphan of the sheriff’s request and had advised him to accept, which the puncher was very glad to do. So this is how the former outlaw became temporary foreman of the A-Y under the sheriff. Only the sheriff’s most intimate friends knew his plans, one of whom was Charley Winter, who found food for mirth in the unique position things had taken. The sheriff’s deputies who had lain out-doors all night on the Cross Bar-8 waiting to capture or kill the outlaw were now working under him, and the best of feelings prevailed. The man who had hunted The Orphan now employed him as the bearer of the responsibilities of the new ranch. Truly, a change!

While The Orphan was busy with his duties on the A-Y the sheriff rode to the Star C and sought out the foreman, whom he finally found engaged in freeing a cow that had become mired in a quicksand. As the terror-stricken animal galloped wildly away from the scene of torture and indignities to its person Blake mopped his face and began to scrape the quicksand from him.

“Playing life-saver, eh?” laughed the sheriff.

The foreman looked up and smiled sheepishly: “Yes,” he replied as he shook hands with the sheriff. “One cow more or less won’t make nor break no ranch, but I just can’t see ’em suffer. The boys and I were passing, so we stopped and got to work. But cows ain’t got no gratitude, not nohow! That ornery beast will be all ready to charge me the first time he sees me afoot. Did you see him try to horn me when I let go?”

His friend laughed, and when they had ridden some distance from the others he turned in his saddle:

“Well, The Orphan is working like a horse, and he likes it, too,” he said. “You ought to hear him giving orders–he just asks a man to do a thing, don’t order it done. When he talks it sounds like the puncher would be doing him the greatest possible favor to do the work he is paid to do, but there is a suggestion that if any nastiness develops, hell will be a peaceful place compared to the near vicinity of the foreman of the A-Y. He sizes up a thing with one look, and then tells how it should be done. Everything has gone off so fine that I’m going to ask you to lose a good man, and real soon, too. What do you say, Tom?”

Blake laughed: “Why, we were a-plenty before he came and we’ll be a-plenty after he goes. That’s for your asking me to turn him over to you. The boys will be both sorry and glad to have him leave, because they like him a whole lot. But of course they want to see him land everything that he can, so they’ll give him a good send-off. That reminds me to say that I know they will want to be on hand when you break the news to him. It’ll be a circus for your Eastern friend, Miss Ritchie.”

“Now you’re talking!” enthused the sheriff. “I want to have as many fireworks at the ceremony as I can possibly get. Oh, it’ll be a great day, all right. We are all going out and take a bang-up lunch, just like we’re going on that picnic that Bill’s been so worried about, and Bill is going to drive the women over in his coach. The first surprise will be the announcement of the new ownership of the A-Y, and right on top of it I’m going to fire the second gun. I hope none of your boys know anything about it,” he added with anxiety.

“Not a thing,” hastily replied the foreman. “You have your wife send a message to me by Joe when he rustles our mail to-morrow and ask us to come to the picnic at the A-Y on the day which you will decide on. They’ll go, all right, no fear about that. Nothing more than your wife’s cooking is needed to attract them,” and he laughed heartily at how suddenly they would come to life at such a summons.

Shields thought intently for a few seconds and then slapped his thigh: “I’ve got it!” he exulted. “I’ll ride over to your place with you and write a letter to my wife telling her just what to do. Joe can deliver it and bring back the invitation. You see, I won’t be home to-night, but that will do the trick, all right. Now, what do you say to this coming Saturday?–this is, let me see: Wednesday. Will that be time enough for you to make any arrangements you may want to make?”

“Shore, plenty of time,” Blake laughed. “It’s good all the way. Joe will be delighted to have a real good excuse to call at your house. He’s a bashful cuss, like all the rest. They talk big, but they’re some bashful all the same. He’s been worrying about it, for one day he came to me with a funny expression on his face and acted like he didn’t know how to begin. So I asked him what was troubling him, and he blurted out like this, as near as I can remember:

“‘Well, you know Mrs. Shields said we was to go to her house when any of us hit town?’ he asked.

“‘I shore do,’ I answered, wondering what was up.

“‘Well, I go to town a lot, and it takes a h–l of a lot of gall to do it,’ he complained, looking so serious that it was funny.

“‘Gall!’ said I, surprised-like, and trying to keep my face straight. ‘Gall! Well, I can’t see that it takes such a brave man to call at a friend’s house when he’s been told to do it.’

“‘Oh, that part of it is all right,” he replied. ‘But she’ll think I only call to get my face fed, and it makes me feel like a–I don’t know what. You see, I always get away quick.’

“‘Well, stay longer, there ain’t no use of being in a hurry,’ I said. ‘Stay and talk a while.’

“‘Then they’ll think I ain’t got enough and push more pie at me, like they did once,’ he complained.

“‘Suppose I give Silent your terrible ordeal to do,’ I suggested tentatively, ‘or Bud, he’s dead anxious for your job.’

“‘Oh, it ain’t as bad as that!’ he cried quickly. ‘I only thought that I’d speak to you about it. I thought you could suggest something.’

“‘Well,’ I replied,