The Orphan by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XIII
THE STAR C GIVES WELCOME
The Limping Water, within a mile after it passed Ford's Station, turnedabruptly and flowed almost due west for thirty miles, where it againproceeded southward. At the second bend stood the ranch houses and corralsof the Star C, in a country rich in grass and water. Its cows numberedfar into the thousands and its horses were the best for miles around,while the whole ranch had an air of opulence and plenty. Its ranchhouse was a curiosity, for even now there were lace curtains in some ofthe windows, badly torn and soiled, but still lace curtains; and on thefloors of several rooms were thick carpets, now covered with dust andriding paraphernalia. Oddly shaped and badly scratched chairs werepiled high with accumulated trash, and the few gilt-framed paintingswhich graced the walls were hanging awry and were torn and scratched. Atone time an Eastern woman had tried to live there, but that was whenthe owner of the ranch and his wife had been enthusiasts. New Yorkregained and kept its own, and they now would rather receive quarterlyreports by mail than daily reports in person. The foreman and his wolfhounds reigned supreme, not at all bothered by the stiff furniture andlace curtains, because he would rather be comfortable than stylish,and so lived in two rooms which he had fitted up to his ideas. Carpets andtwo-inch spurs cause profanity and ravelings, and as for pictures, theyhave a most annoying way of tilting when one hangs a six-shooter onone corner of the frame, and they are so inviting that one is constantlyforgetting. So the unstable pictures, the dress-parade chairs, bothersomecurtains and clutching carpets were left under the dust.
The Star C, being in a part of the country little traversed and crossedby no trails, was removed from the zone of The Orphan's activities andhad no cause for animosity, save that induced by his reputation. Severalof its punchers had seen him, and all were well versed in his exploits,for frequently Ford's Station shared its hospitality with one or more ofthem; and in Ford's Station at that time The Orphan was the chief topicof conversation and the bone of contention. But the foreman of the Star Cwould not know him if he should see him, unless by intuition.
Blake was a man much after the pattern of Shields in his ideas, and thetwo were warm friends and had roughed it together when Ford's Stationhad only been an adobe hut. Their affection for each other was of thestern, silent kind, which seldom betrayed itself directly in words,and they could ride together for hours in an understanding silence andnever weary of the companionship; and when need was, deeds spoke forthem. The Cross Bar-8 would have had more than Ford's Station to fight ifit had declared war on the sheriff, which the Cross Bar-8 knew. Thethree cleverest manipulators of weapons in that section, in the order oftheir merit, were The Orphan, Shields and Blake, which also the CrossBar-8 knew.
The foreman of the Star C rode at a walk toward a distant point of hisdominions and cogitated as to whether he could ride over to Ford'sStation that night to see the sheriff. It was a matter of sixty miles forthe round trip, but it might have been sixty blocks, so far as thedistance troubled him. He had just decided to make the trip and tospend a pleasant hour with his friend, and drink some of the deliciouscoffee which Mrs. Shields always made for him and eat one of her prizepies, or some of her light ginger bread, when he descried a horsemancoming toward him at a lope.
The Orphan gives Blake Shields' note. (_See page_213.)]
The newcomer was a stranger to Blake and appeared to be a young man, whichwas of no consequence. But the thing which attracted more than a casualglance from the foreman was a certain jaunty, reckless air about the manwhich spoke well for the condition of his nerves and liver.
The stranger approached to within a rod of Blake before he spoke, and thenhe slowed down and nodded, but with wide-eyed alertness.
"Howdy," he said. "Are you the foreman of the Star C?"
"Howdy. I am," replied the foreman.
"Then I reckon this is yours," said the stranger, holding out a bit ofstraw-colored paper.
The foreman took it and slowly read it. When he had finished reading heturned it over to see if there was anything on the back, and then stuckit in his pocket and looked up casually.
"Are you The Orphan?" he asked, with no more interest than he would havedisplayed if he had asked about the weather.
"Yes," replied The Orphan, nonchalantly rolling another cigarette.
"How is the sheriff?" Blake asked.
"Shore well enough, but a little mad about the Cross Bar-8," answered theother as he inhaled deeply and with much satisfaction. "He said there wassome good coffee waiting for you to-night if you wanted it," he added.
"Did he?" asked Blake, grinning his delight.
"Yes, and some--apricot pie," added The Orphan wistfully.
Blake laughed: "Well, I reckon I've got some business over in townto-night, so you keep on going 'til you get to the bunk house. Tell LeeLung to rustle the grub lively--I'll be there right after you. Apricotpie!" he chuckled as he pushed on at a lope.
Jim Carter was washing for supper, being urged to show more speed byBud Taylor, when the latter looked up and saw The Orphan dismount. Hismouth opened a trifle, but he continued his urging without a break. Hehad seen The Orphan at Ace High the year before, when the outlaw hadridden in for a supply of cartridges, and he instantly recalled the face.But Bud was not only easy-going, but also very hungry at the time, and hedidn't care if the devil himself called as long as the devil respected theetiquette of the range. Besides, if there was to be trouble it would restmore comfortably on a full stomach.
"Give me a quit-claim to that pan, yu coyote," he said pleasantly to Jim."Yu ain't taking no bath!"
"Blub--no I ain't--blub blub--but you will be--blub--if yu don't lemmealone," came from the pan. "Hand me that towel!"
"Don't wallow in it, yu!" admonished Bud as he refilled the basin. "Leavesome dry spots for me, this time."
Jim carefully hung the towel on a peg in the wall of the house and thennoticed the stranger, who was removing his saddle.
"Howdy, stranger!" he said heartily. "Just in time to feed. Coax some ofthat water from Bud, but get holt of the towel first, for there won't benone left soon."
The Orphan laughed and dusted his chaps.
"Where'll I find Lee Lung?" he asked. "Blake wants him to rustle the grublively."
"He's in the cook shack behind the house a-doing it and trying to sing,"replied Jim. "He's always trying to sing; it goes something like this:Hop-lee, low-hop yum-see," he hummed in a monotonous wail as he combedhis hair before a broken bit of mirror stuck in a crack. "Hi-dee, hee-hee,chop-chop----"
"Gimme that comb, yu heathen Chinee," cried Bud, "and don't make thatnoise."
"Anything else yu wants?" asked Jim, deliberately putting the comb awayin the box.
"I want to be in Kansas City with a million dollars and a whopper of athirst," replied Bud as he filled the basin for the stranger. "It's allyourn, stranger. Grub's waiting for yu inside when yore ready."
"Do yu know who that feller is?" Bud asked in a whisper as they made theirway to the table, from which came much laughter. "That's The Orphant,"he added.
"Th' h--l it is!" said Jim. "Him? Him Th' Orphant? Tell another! I'm morethan six years old, even if yu ain't."
"That's straight, fellers!" said Bud to the assembled outfit in a lowvoice. "I ain't kidding yu none, honest. I saw him up to Ace High lastyear. That's him, all right. Wait 'til he comes in and see!"
"Well, I don't care if he's Jonah," responded Jim. "Only I reckons you'replumb loco, all the same. But I'm too hungry to care if Gabriel blows if Ican fill up before these Oliver Twists eats it all up," he said, revealinghis last reading matter.
"He shore enough wears his gun plumb low--and the holster is tied to hischaps, too," muttered Jim as he seated himself at the table. "So would I,too, if I was him. Pass them murphys, Humble," he ordered.
"You has got to bust that piebald pet what you've been keeping around thehouse to-morrow, Humble," exulted the man nearest to him. "And it'll shorebe a circus watching you do it, too!"
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"Well, you hasn't got no kick coming, has you?" asked Humble. "Hey,Cookie!" he shouted into the dark gallery which led to the cook shack."Rustle in some more fixings for another place, and bring in the slush!"Then he turned to his tormentor: "You has allus got something to say aboutmy business, ain't you, hey?"
"Sic 'em, Humble!" said Silent Allen. "Go for him!"
From the gallery came sounds of calamity and then a mongrel dog shotout and collided with the table, glancing off it and under the curtainin his haste to gain the outside world. A second later the cook, hisface fiendish, grasping a huge knife, followed the dog out on the plain.Those eating sprang to their feet and streamed after the cook, yellingencouragement to their favorite.
"Go it, Old Woman!" "'Ray for Cookie!" "Beat him out, Lightning!" andother expressions met Blake as he came up from the corral.
"Cook got 'em again?" he asked, elbowing his way into the house. "I toldyou to keep liquor away from him."
"'Tain't liquor this time; it's th' kioodle," replied Docile Thomas as heled the way back to the table. "Him an' th' dog don't mix extra well."
Blake swept aside the blanket and saw The Orphan standing by the windowand laughing. Turning, he disappeared into the gallery and soon returnedwith a tin plate, a steel knife, a tin cup and the coffee pot.
"Sit down--good Lord, they would let a man starve," he said, roughlyclearing a place at the table for the new arrival. "I don't know howyou feel," he continued, "but I'm so all-fired hungry that I don't knowwhether it's my back or stomach that hurts. Take some beef and throwthose potatoes down this way. Here, have some slush," filling The Orphan'scup with coffee. "This ain't like the coffee the sheriff drinks, but itis just a little bit better than nothing. You see, Cook's all right, onlyhe can't cook, never could and never will. But he's a whole lot betterthan a sailor I once suffered under."
"What's the matter between you and Lightning, Lee?" asked Bud as the cookpassed by the table on his way to the shack.
"Wouldn't he drink yore slush? I allus said some dogs was smart," laughedJack Lawson.
Lee's smile was bland. "Scalpee th' dlog," he asserted as he disappeared."No dlamn good!" wafted from the gallery.
"Say, Humble," said Silent Allen in an aggrieved tone, "the beef will wagits tail some night if you don't shoot that cur!"
"That's right!" endorsed Jack. "I'll shoot him for a dollar," he addedhopefully. "The boys will all chip in to make up the purse and it won'tcost you a cent, not even a cartridge."
"Anybody that don't like that setter can move," responded Humble withdecision. "He's a O. K. dog, that's what he is," he added loyally.
"Well, he's a setter, all right," laughed Silent. "He ain't good fornothing else but to set around all day in the shade and chew hisself up."
"He ain't, ain't he?" cried Humble, delaying the morsel on his fork inmid-air. "You ought to see him a-chasing coyotes!"
"I did see him chasing coyotes, and that's why I want you to have himkilled," replied Silent, grinning. "His feet are too big. Every time heshoves his hind feet between the front ones he throws hisself."
"What did he ever catch except fleas and the mange?" asked Blake, winkingat The Orphan, who was extremely busy burying his hunger.
"What did he ever catch!" indignantly cried Humble, dropping his fork."You saw him catch that gray wolf over near the timber, and you can't denyit, neither!"
"By George, he did!" exclaimed Blake seriously. "You're right this time,Humble, he did. But he let go awful sudden. Besides, that gray wolfyou're talking about was a coyote, and he would have died of old age inanother week if you hadn't shot him to save the dog. And, what's more, Inever saw him chase anything since, not even rabbits."
"He caught my boot one night," remarked Charley Bailey, reflectively,"right plumb on his near eye. Oh, he's a catcher, all right."
"He's so good he ought to be stuffed, then he could sit without havingto move around catching boots and things," said Jim. "Why don't you havehim stuffed, Humble?"
"Oh, yore a whole lot smart, now ain't you?" blazed the persecutedpuncher, glaring at his tormentors.
"He can't catch his tail, Silent," offered Bud. "I once saw him tryingto do it for ten minutes--he looked like a pinwheel what we used to havewhen we were kids. Missed it every time, and all he got was a cheap drunk."
Humble said a few things which came out so fast that they jammed up, andhe left the room to hunt for his dog.
"Any particular reason why you call him Lightning, or is it just irony?"asked The Orphan as he helped himself to the beef for the third time. "Inever heard that name used before."
"Oh, it ain't irony at all!" hastily denied the foreman. "That's a realgood name, fits him all right," he assured. Then he explained: "You see,lightning don't hit twice in the same place, and neither can the dog whenhe scratches himself. And, besides, he can dodge awful quick. You haveto figure which way he'll jump when you want him to catch anything."
"But you don't have to remember his name at all, Stranger," interposedSilent, who was not at all silent. "Any handle will do, if you only yells.Every time anybody yells he makes a crow line for the plain and howls atevery jump. He's got a regular, shore enough trail worn where he makes hisget-away."
Silence descended over the table, and for a quarter of an hour only theclick of eating utensils could be heard. At the end of that time Blakepushed back his chair and arose. He glanced around the table and thenspoke very distinctly: "Well, Orphan, get acquainted with your outfit." Ahead or two raised at the name, but that seemed to be all the effect ofhis words. "The boys will put you onto the game in the morning, and Budwill show you where to begin in case I don't show up in time. Better takea fresh cayuse and let yours rest up some. Don't hurt Humble's ki-yi andhe'll be plumb nice to you; and if Silent wants to know how you likeshis singing and banjo playing, lie and say it's fine."
The laugh went around and all was serene with the good fellowship whichis so often found in good outfits.
"Joe, I'll bring the mail out with me, so you needn't go after it,"continued the foreman as he strode towards the door. "That's what I'mgoing over for," he laughed.
"Lord, I'd go, too, if pie and cake and good coffee was on the card,"laughed Silent.
"We'll shore have to go over in a gang some night and raid that pantry,"remarked Bud. "It would be a circus, all right."
"The sheriff would get some good target practice, that's shore," respondedBlake. "But I've got something better than that, and since you broughtthe subject up I'll tell you now, so you'll be good.
"Mrs. Shields has promised to get up a fine feed for you fellows as soonas Jim's sisters are on hand to help her, and as they are here now Iwouldn't be a whole lot surprised if I brought the invitation back withme. How's that for a change, eh?" he asked.
"Glory be!" cried Silent. "Hurry up and get home!"
"Say, she's all right, ain't she!" shouted Jack, executing a jig to showhow glad he was.
"Pinch me, Humble, pinch me!" begged Bud. "I may be asleep anddreaming--_here!_ What the devil do you think I am, you wart-headedcoyote!" he yelled, dancing in pain and rubbing his leg frantically."You blamed doodle bug, yu!"
"Well, I pinched you, didn't I?" indignantly cried Humble. "What's eatingyou? Didn't you ask me to, you chump?"
"Hurry up and get that mail, Tom," cried Jim. "It might spoil--and say,if she leads at you with that invite, clinch!"
Blake laughed and went off toward the corral. As he found the horse hewished to ride he heard a riot in the bunk-house and he laughed silently.A Virginia reel was in full sw
"Well, The Orphan is all right now," the foreman muttered as he swung outon the trail to Ford's Station. "I reckon he's found himself."
In the bunk-house there was much hilarity, and laughter roared continuallyat the grotesque gymnastics of the reel and at the sharp wit which cutright and left, respecting no one save the new member of the outfit,and eventually he came in for his share, which he repaid with interest.Suddenly Jim, catching his spurs in a bear-skin rug which lay near abunk, threw out his arms to save himself and then went sprawling to thefloor. The uproar increased suddenly, and as it died down Jim could beheard complaining.
"---- ----!" he cried as he nursed his knee. "I've had that pelt fornigh onto three years and regularly I go and get tangled up with it. Itshore beats all how I plumb forget its habit of wrapping itself aroundthem rowels, what are too big, anyhow. And it ain't a big one at that,only about half as big as the one I got for a tenderfoot up in Montanny,"he deprecated in disgust.
The outfit scented a story and became suddenly quiet.
"Dod-blasted postage stamp of a pelt," he grumbled as he threw it intohis bunk.
"The other skin couldn't 'a' been much bigger than that one," said Bud,leading him on. "How big was it, anyhow, Jim?"
"It couldn't, hey? It came off a nine-foot grizzly, that's how big itwas," retorted Jim, sitting down and filling his pipe. "Nine whole feetfrom stub of tail to snoot, plumb full of cussedness, too."
"How'd you get it--Sharps?" queried Charley.
"No, Colt," responded Jim. "Luckiest shot _I_ ever made, all right. Ishore had visions of wearing wings when I pulled the trigger. Just one ofthem lucky shots a man will make sometimes."
"Give us the story, Jim," suggested Silent, settling himself easily in hisbunk. "Then we'll have another smoke and go right to bed. I'm some sleepy."
"Well," began Jim after his pipe was going well, "I was sort of secondforeman for the Tadpole, up in Montanny, about six years ago. I had a goodforeman, a good ranch and about a dozen white punchers to look after. Andwe had a real cook, no mistake about that, all right.
"The Old Man hibernated in New York during the winter and came out everyspring right after the calf round-up was over to see how we was fixed andto eat some of the cook's flapjacks. That cook wasn't no yaller-skinnedpost for a hair clothes line, like this grinning monkey what we've gothere. The Old Man was a fine old cuss--one of the boys, and a darn goodone, too--and we was always plumb glad to see him. He minded his ownbusiness, didn't tell us how we ought to punch cows and didn't botheranybody what didn't want to be bothered, which we most of us did like.
"Well, one day Jed Thompson, who rustled our mail for us twice a month,handed me a letter for the foreman, who was down South and wouldn'tbe back for some time. His mother had died and he went back home for aspell. I saw that the letter was from the Old Man, and wondered what itwould say. I sort of figured that it would tell us when to hitch up tothe buckboard and go after him. Fearing that he might land before theforeman got back, I went and opened it up.
"It was from the Old Man, all right, but it was no go for him that spring.He was sick abed in New York, and said as how he was plumb sorry hecouldn't get out to see his boys, and so was we sorry. But he said ashow he was sending us a friend of his'n who wanted to go hunting, andwould we see that he didn't shoot no cows. We said we would, and thenI went on and found out when this hunter was due to land.
"When the unfortunate day rolled around I straddled the buckboard and litout for Whisky Crossing, twenty miles to the east, it being the nearestburg on the stage line. And as I pulled in I saw Frank, who drove thestage, and he was grinning from ear to ear.
"'I reckon that's your'n,' he said, pointing to a circus clown what hadgot loose and was sizing up the town.
"'The drinks are on me when I sees you again, Frank,' I said, for somehowI felt that he was right.
"Then I sized up my present, and blamed if he wasn't all rigged out tokill Indians. While my mouth was closing he ambled up to me and staredat my gun, which must 'a' been purty big to him.
"'Are you Mr. Fisher's hired man?' he asked, giving me a real toleratinglook.
"Frank followed his grin into the saloon, leaving the door open so hecould hear everything. That made me plumb sore at Frank, him a-doing athing like that, and I glared.
"'I ain't nobody's hired man, and never was,' I said, sort of riled. 'Weain't had no hired man since we lynched the last one, but I'm next doorto the foreman. Won't I do, or do you insist on talking to a hired man?If you do, he's in the saloon.'
"'Oh, yes, you'll do!' he said, quick-like, and then he ups and climbsaboard and we pulled out for home, Frank waving his sombrero at me andlaughing fit to kill.
"We hadn't no more than got started when the hunter ups and grabs at thelines, which he shore missed by a foot. I was driving them cayuses, nothim, and I told him so, too.
"'But ain't you going to take my luggage?' he asked.
"'Luggage! What luggage?' I answers, surprised-like.
"Then he pointed behind him, and blamed if he didn't have two trunks, agripsack and three gun cases. I didn't say a word, being too full of cusswords to let any of 'em loose, until Frank wobbled up and asked me ifI'd forgot something. Then I shore said a few, after which I busted myback a-hoisting his freight cars aboard, and we started out again, Frankacting like a d----n fool.
"The cayuses raised their ears, wondering what we was taking the saloonfor, and I reckoned we would make them twenty miles in about eight hoursif nothing busted and we rustled real hard.
"Well, about every twenty minutes I had to get off and hoist some ofhis furniture aboard, it being jolted off, for the prairie wasn't paveda whole lot, and us going cross-country. Considering my back, and thefact that he kept calling me 'My man,' and Frank's grin, I wasn't inno frame of mind to lead a religion round-up when I got home and dumpedDavy Crockett's war-duds overboard for Jed to rustle in. I was still soreat Jed for bringing that letter.
"Davy Crockett dusted for the house and ordered Sammy Johns to oil hisguns and put them together, after which he went off a-poking his nose intoeverything in sight, and mostly everything that wasn't in sight. When hegot back to the house from his tour of inspection he found his guns justlike he'd left them, and that was in their cases. Then he ambled out tome and registered his howl.
"'My man,' he said, 'My man, that hired man what I told to put my gunstogether ain't done it!'
"'Oh, he didn't?' I said, hanging on to my cuss words, for I was somesurprised and couldn't say a whole lot.
"'No, he hasn't, and so I've come out to report him,' he said, looking mad.
"'My man!' said I, mad some myself, and looking him plumb in the eyes. 'Myman, if he had I'd shore think he was off his feed or loco. He ain't nohired man, but he is a all-fired good cow-puncher, and I'm a heap scaredabout him not filling you full of holes, you asking him to do a thing likethat! He must be real sick.'
"He didn't have no come-back to that, but just looked sort of funny, andthen he trotted off to put his guns together hisself. I hustled aroundand saw that some work was done right and then went in to supper. After itwas over my present got up and handed me a gun, and I near fell over.It was a purty little Winchester, and I don't blame him a whole lot forbeing tickled over it, for it shore was a beauty, but it oozed out a ballabout the size of a pea, and the makers would 'a' been some scared ifthey had known it was running around loose in a grizzly-bear country.
"'I reckon that'll stop him,' he said, happy-like.
"'Stop what?' I asked him.
"'Why, game--bears, of course,' he said, shocked at my appalling ignorance.
"'Yes,' said I, slow-like, 'I reckon Ephraim may turn around and scratchhisself, if you hits him.'
"'Why, won't that stop a bear?'
"'Yes, if it's a stuffed bear,' I said.
"'Why, that's a blamed good rifle!'
"'It shore is; it's as fine a gun as I ever laid my eyes on,' I replied,'for prairie dogs and such.'
"Then I felt plumb sorry for him, he being so ignorant, and so when hehands me a peach of a shotgun to shoot coyotes with I laid it down andgot my breach-loading Sharps, .50 caliber, which I handed to him.
"'There,' I said, 'that's the only gun in the room what anyself-respecting bear will give a d----n for.'
"He looked at it, felt its heft, sized up the bunghole and then squintedalong the sights.
"'Why, this gun will kick like the very deuce!' he said.
"'Kick!' said I. 'KICK! She'll kick like a army mule if you holds her farenough from your shoulder. But I'd a whole lot ruther get kicked by a mulethan hugged by a grizzly, and so'll you when you sees him a-heading yourway.'
"'But what'll you use?' says he, 'I don't want to take your gun.'
"Well, when he said that I reckoned that he had some good stuff in himafter all, and somehow I felt better. There he was, away from his motherand sisters, among a bunch of gamboling cow-punchers, and right in themiddle of a good bear country. I sort of wondered if he was to blame, andmanaged to lay all the fault on his city bringing-up.
"'That's all right,' says I, 'I'll take an old muzzle-loading Bridesburgwhat's been laying around the house ever since I came here. It heavesenough lead at one crack to sink a man-of-war, being a .60 caliber.'
"Well, bright and early the next morning we started out for bear, and Iknowed just where to look, too. You see, there was a thicket of berrybushes about three miles from the ranch house and I had seen plenty oftracks there, and there was a grizzly among them, too, and as big as ahouse, judging from the signs. The boys had wanted to ride out in a gangand rope him, but I said as how I was saving him for a dude hunter topractice on, so they left him alone.
"We footed it through the brush, and finally Davy Crockett, who simplywould go ahead of me, yelled out that he had found tracks.
"I rustled over, and sure enough he had, only they wasn't made by no bear,and I said so.
"'Then what are they?' he asked, sort of disappointed.
"'Cow tracks,' said I. 'When you see bear tracks you'll know it rightaway,' and we went on a-hunting.
"We had just got down in a little hollow, where the green flies werepurty bad, when I saw tracks, and they was bear tracks this time, andwhoppers. It had rained a little during the night and the ground wasjust soft enough to show them nice. I called Davy Crockett and he cameup, and when he saw them tracks he was plumb tickled, and some scairt.
"'Where is he?' he asked, looking around sort of anxious.
"'At the front end of these tracks, making more,' said I.
"'And what are we going to do now?' he asked, cocking the Sharps.
"'We're going to trail him,' said I, 'and if we finds him and has anyaccidents, you wants to telegraph yourself up a tree, and be sure thatit ain't a big tree, too.'
"'"Be sure it ain't a big tree!"' he repeated, looking at me like hethought I wanted him to get killed.
"'Exactly,' said I, and then I explained: 'The bigger the tree, the sooneryou'll be a meal, for he climbs by hugging the trunk and pushing hisselfup. A little tree'll slide through his legs, and he can't get a holt.'
"'I hope I don't forget that!' he exclaimed, looking dubious.
"'The less you forgets when bear hunting,' said I, 'the longer you'llremember.'
"We took up the trail and purty soon we saw the bear, and he was so big hedidn't hardly know how to act. He was pawing berries into his mouthfor breakfast, and he turned his head and slowly sized us up. He droppedon all fours and then got up again, and Davy Crockett, not listening tome telling him where to shoot, lets drive and busted an ear. Ephraimpreferred all fours again and started coming straight at us, and Mosesand all his bullrushers couldn't have stopped him. He was due to arrivenear Davy Crockett in about four and a half seconds, and that persondropped his gun and hot-footed it for a whopping big tree. I yelledat him and told him to take a little one, but he was too blamed busyhunting bear to listen to a no-account hired man like me, so he kepton a-going for the big tree.
"I figured, and figured blamed quick, that the bear would tag him justabout the time he tagged the tree, and so, hoping to create a diversion,I whanged away at the bear's tail, him running plumb away from me. Iwas real successful, for I created it all right. When he felt thatcarload of lead slide up under his skin he braced hisself, slid andwheeled, looking for the son-of-a-gun what done it, and he saw me pouringpowder hell-bent down my gun. He must 'a' knowed that I was the realbusiness end of the partnership, and that he'd have trouble a-plenty ifhe let me finish my job, for he came at me like a bullet.
"'Climb a _little_ tree! Climb a _little_ tree!' yelled Davy Crockett fromhis perch in his two-foot-through oak.
"I wasn't in no joyous frame of mind when a nine-foot grizzly was due inthe next mail, but I just had to laugh at his advice when I sized up hislayout. As I jumped to one side the bear slid past, trying awful hard tostop, and he was doing real well, too. As he turned I slipped on some ofthat green grass, and thought as how the Old Man would have to get anotherpuncher.
"'I ain't never going to peter out with a tenderfoot looking on if I canhelp it!' I said to myself, and I jerked loose my six-shooter, shootingoffhand and some hasty. It was just a last hope, the kick of a dyingman's foot, but it fetched him, blamed if it didn't! He went down in aheap and clawed about for a spell, but I put five more in him, and thensat down. Did you ever notice how long it takes a grizzly to die? Iloaded my gun in a hurry, the sweat pouring down my face, for that wasone of the times it ain't no disgrace to be some scared, which I was.
"'Is he dead?' called Davy Crockett from his tree, hopeful-like and someanxious.
"'He is,' I said, 'or, leastawise, he was.'
"Davy was a sight. He was all skinned up from his clinch with the tree,though how he used his face getting up is more than I can tell. And hewas some white and unsteady. He had all the hunting he wanted, and hemanaged to say that he was glad he hadn't come out alone, and that hereckoned I was right about his guns after all. So we took a last look atthe bear and lit out for the ranch, where I told the boys to go out anddrag our game home."
Jim knocked the ashes from his pipe and began to fill it anew, acting asthough the story was finished, but Bud knew him well, and he spoke up:
"Well, what then?" he asked.
"Oh, the hunter left for New York the very next day, and I skinned thebear and sent the pelt after him as a present. When I wrote out myquarterly report, the foreman not being back yet, I told the Old Man thatif he had any more friends what wanted to go hunting to send them up toFrenchy McAllister on the Tin Cup. I was some sore at Frenchy for theway he had cleaned me out at poker."
He threw the skin to the floor and began to undress.
"Come on, now, lights out," he said. "I'm tired."