THE STAR C GIVES WELCOME
THE Limping Water, a mile after it passed Ford’s Station, and almost west for thirty miles, where it again southward. At the second the houses and of the Star C, in a country rich in and water. Its numbered into the thousands and its were the best for miles around, while the whole had an air of and plenty. Its house was a curiosity, for now there were in some of the windows, and soiled, but still curtains; and on the of rooms were thick carpets, now with and paraphernalia. Oddly and chairs were high with trash, and the gilt-framed paintings which the were and were and scratched. At one time 211an Eastern woman had to live there, but that was when the owner of the and his wife had been enthusiasts. New York and its own, and they now would reports by than daily reports in person. The and his supreme, not at all by the and curtains, he would be than stylish, and so in two rooms which he had up to his ideas. Carpets and two-inch and ravelings, and as for pictures, they have a most way of when one a six-shooter on one of the frame, and they are so that one is forgetting. So the pictures, the dress-parade chairs, and were left under the dust.
The Star C, being in a part of the country little and by no trails, was from the zone of The Orphan’s and had no for animosity, save that by his reputation. Several of its had him, and all were well in his exploits, for Ford’s Station its with one or more of them; and in Ford’s Station at that 212time The Orphan was the of and the of contention. But the of the Star C would 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 the two were warm friends and had it together when Ford’s Station had only been an hut. Their for each other was of the stern, kind, which itself directly in words, and they together for hours in an and of the companionship; and when need was, spoke for them. The Cross Bar-8 would have had more than Ford’s Station to if it had on the sheriff, which the Cross Bar-8 knew. The three of in that section, in the order of their merit, were The Orphan, Shields and Blake, which also the Cross Bar-8 knew.
The of the Star C at a walk toward a point of his and as to he over to Ford’s Station that night to see the sheriff. It was a of sixty miles for the trip, but it might have been sixty blocks, so as the him. He had just to make the and to a hour with his friend, and drink some of the coffee which Mrs. Shields always for him and eat one of her prize pies, or some of her light bread, when he a toward him at a lope.
The Orphan Blake Shields’ note. (See page 213.)
213The was a to Blake and appeared to be a man, which was of no consequence. But the thing which more than a from the was a jaunty, air about the man which spoke well for the condition of his nerves and liver.
The approached to a of Blake he spoke, and then he and nodded, but with wide-eyed alertness.
“Howdy,” he said. “Are you the of the Star C?”
“Howdy. I am,” the foreman.
“Then I this is yours,” said the stranger, out a of straw-colored paper.
The took it and slowly read it. When he had reading he it over to see if there was anything on the back, and then it in his pocket and looked up casually.
214“Are you The Orphan?” he asked, with no more than he would have if he had asked about the weather.
“Yes,” The Orphan, another cigarette.
“How is the sheriff?” Blake asked.
“Shore well enough, but a little about the Cross Bar-8,” answered the other as he and with much satisfaction. “He said there was some good coffee waiting for you to-night if you wanted it,” he added.
“Did he?” asked Blake, his delight.
“Yes, and some–apricot pie,” added The Orphan wistfully.
Blake laughed: “Well, I I’ve got some over in town to-night, so you keep on going ’til you to the house. Tell Lee Lung to the lively–I’ll be there right after you. Apricot pie!” he as he pushed on at a lope.
Jim Carter was for supper, being to more speed by Bud Taylor, when the looked up and saw The Orphan dismount. His mouth opened a trifle, but he his without a break. He had The Orphan at 215Ace High the year before, when the had in for a supply of cartridges, and he the face. But Bud was not only easy-going, but also very at the time, and he didn’t if the himself called as long as the the of the range. Besides, if there was to be trouble it would more on a full stomach.
“Give me a quit-claim to that pan, yu coyote,” he said to Jim. “Yu ain’t taking no bath!”
“Blub–no I ain’t–blub blub–but you will be–blub–if yu don’t alone,” came from the pan. “Hand me that towel!”
“Don’t in it, yu!” Bud as he refilled the basin. “Leave some for me, this time.”
Jim the on a in the of the house and then noticed the stranger, who was his saddle.
“Howdy, stranger!” he said heartily. “Just in time to feed. Coax some of that water from Bud, but of the first, for there won’t be none left soon.”
The Orphan laughed and his chaps.
216“Where’ll I Lee Lung?” he asked. “Blake wants him to the lively.”
“He’s in the cook the house a-doing it and trying to sing,” Jim. “He’s always trying to sing; it goes something like this: Hop-lee, low-hop yum-see,” he in a as he his a of in a crack. “Hi-dee, hee-hee, chop-chop––”
“Gimme that comb, yu Chinee,” Bud, “and don’t make that noise.”
“Anything else yu wants?” asked Jim, the away in the box.
“I want to be in Kansas City with a and a of a thirst,” Bud as he the for the stranger. “It’s all yourn, stranger. Grub’s waiting for yu when ready.”
“Do yu know who that is?” Bud asked in a as they their way 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 more than six years old, if yu ain’t.”
217“That’s straight, fellers!” said Bud to the assembled in a low voice. “I ain’t yu none, honest. I saw him up to Ace High last year. That’s him, all right. Wait ’til he comes in and see!”
“Well, I don’t if he’s Jonah,” Jim. “Only I you’re loco, all the same. But I’m too to if Gabriel if I can up these Oliver Twists eats it all up,” he said, his last reading matter.
“He his gun low–and the is to his chaps, too,” 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 that what you’ve been around the house to-morrow, Humble,” the man nearest to him. “And it’ll be a you do it, too!”
The which the house into two rooms were pushed and The Orphan entered, his and bridle, which he the others on the floor. Then he his belts and them, Colts and all, 218over the pommel, which was and which gave that the guest was not anyone. Then he seated himself at the table in a chair which Humble pushed for him. His entry in no a in the conversation.
“Well, you hasn’t got no coming, has you?” asked Humble. “Hey, Cookie!” he into the dark which to the cook shack. “Rustle in some more for another place, and in the slush!” Then he to his tormentor: “You has got something to say about my business, ain’t you, hey?”
“Sic ’em, Humble!” said Silent Allen. “Go for him!”
From the came of and then a dog out and with the table, off it and under the in his to the world. A second later the cook, his fiendish, a knife, the dog out on the plain. Those to their and after the cook, to their favorite.
“Go it, Old Woman!” “’Ray for Cookie!” “Beat him out, Lightning!” and other met Blake as he came up from the corral.
219“Cook got ’em again?” he asked, his way into the house. “I told you to keep away from him.”
“’Tain’t this time; it’s th’ kioodle,” Docile Thomas as he the way to the table. “Him an’ th’ dog don’t mix well.”
Blake the and saw The Orphan by the window and laughing. Turning, he into the and soon returned with a plate, a knife, a cup and the coffee pot.
“Sit down–good Lord, they would let a man starve,” he said, a place at the table for the new arrival. “I don’t know how you feel,” he continued, “but I’m so all-fired that I don’t know it’s my or that hurts. Take some and those potatoes this way. Here, have some slush,” The Orphan’s cup with coffee. “This ain’t like the coffee the drinks, but it is just a little than nothing. You see, Cook’s all right, only he can’t cook, and will. But he’s a whole than a I once under.”
“What’s the you and Lightning, 220Lee?” asked Bud as the cook passed by the table on his way to the shack.
“Wouldn’t he drink slush? I said some dogs was smart,” laughed Jack Lawson.
Lee’s was bland. “Scalpee th’ dlog,” he as he disappeared. “No good!” from the gallery.
“Say, Humble,” said Silent Allen in an tone, “the will its some night if you don’t shoot that cur!”
“That’s right!” Jack. “I’ll shoot him for a dollar,” he added hopefully. “The boys will all in to make up the and it won’t cost you a cent, not a cartridge.”
“Anybody that don’t like that can move,” Humble with decision. “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 for nothing else but to set around all day in the and up.”
“He ain’t, ain’t he?” Humble, the on his in mid-air. “You ought to see him a-chasing coyotes!”
“I did see him coyotes, and that’s why I want you to have him killed,” Silent, 221grinning. “His are too big. Every time he his the ones he hisself.”
“What did he catch and the mange?” asked Blake, at The Orphan, who was his hunger.
“What did he catch!” Humble, his fork. “You saw him catch that over near the timber, and you can’t it, neither!”
“By George, he did!” Blake seriously. “You’re right this time, Humble, he did. But he let go sudden. Besides, that you’re talking about was a coyote, and he would have died of old age in another week if you hadn’t him to save the dog. And, what’s more, I saw him anything since, not rabbits.”
“He my one night,” Charley Bailey, reflectively, “right on his near eye. Oh, he’s a catcher, all right.”
“He’s so good he ought to be stuffed, then he without having to move around and things,” said Jim. “Why don’t you have him stuffed, Humble?”
222“Oh, a whole smart, now ain’t you?” the puncher, at his tormentors.
“He can’t catch his tail, Silent,” offered Bud. “I once saw him trying to do it for ten minutes–he looked like a what we used to have when we were kids. Missed it every time, and all he got was a drunk.”
Humble said a which came out so fast that they up, and he left the room to for his dog.
“Any particular why you call him Lightning, or is it just irony?” asked The Orphan as he helped himself to the for the third time. “I that name used before.”
“Oh, it ain’t at all!” the foreman. “That’s a good name, him all right,” he assured. Then he explained: “You see, don’t twice in the same place, and neither can the dog when he himself. And, besides, he can quick. You have to which way he’ll jump when you want him to catch anything.”
“But you don’t have to his name at all, Stranger,” Silent, who was not at 223all silent. “Any will do, if you only yells. Every time he makes a line for the plain and at every jump. He’s got a regular, where he makes his get-away.”
Silence over the table, and for a of an hour only the of be heard. At the end of that time Blake pushed his chair and arose. He around the table and then spoke very distinctly: “Well, Orphan, with your outfit.” A or two at the name, but that to be all the of his words. “The boys will put you onto the game in the morning, and Bud will you where to in case I don’t up in time. Better take a fresh and let yours up some. Don’t Humble’s ki-yi and he’ll be to you; and if Silent wants to know how you his and playing, and say it’s fine.”
The laugh around and all was with the good which is so often in good outfits.
“Joe, I’ll the out with me, so you needn’t go after it,” the as he 224strode the door. “That’s what I’m going over for,” he laughed.
“Lord, I’d go, too, if and cake and good coffee was on the card,” laughed Silent.
“We’ll have to go over in a some night and that pantry,” Bud. “It would be a circus, all right.”
“The would some good practice, that’s shore,” Blake. “But I’ve got something than that, and since you the up I’ll tell you now, so you’ll be good.
“Mrs. Shields has promised to up a for you as soon as Jim’s sisters are on hand to help her, and as they are here now I wouldn’t be a whole if I the with me. How’s that for a change, eh?” he asked.
“Glory be!” Silent. “Hurry up and home!”
“Say, she’s all right, ain’t she!” Jack, a to how he was.
“Pinch me, Humble, pinch me!” Bud. “I may be asleep and dreaming–here! What the do you think I am, you wart-headed coyote!” 225he yelled, dancing in pain and his leg frantically. “You bug, yu!”
“Well, I you, didn’t I?” Humble. “What’s you? Didn’t you ask me to, you chump?”
“Hurry up and that mail, Tom,” Jim. “It might spoil–and say, if she leads at you with that invite, clinch!”
Blake laughed and off toward the corral. As he the he to he a in the bunk-house and he laughed silently. A Virginia was in full and the noise was terrible. Riding past the window, he saw Silent like a at his banjo; and playing a was The Orphan, all and puffed-out cheeks.
“Well, The Orphan is all right now,” the as he out on the to Ford’s Station. “I he’s himself.”
In the bunk-house there was much hilarity, and at the of the and at the which cut right and left, no one save the new of the outfit, and he came in for his share, which he with interest. Suddenly 226Jim, his in a bear-skin which near a bunk, out his arms to save himself and then to the floor. The suddenly, and as it died Jim be complaining.
“–– ––!” he as he nursed his knee. “I’ve had that for onto three years and I go and up with it. It all how I its of itself around them rowels, what are too big, anyhow. And it ain’t a big one at that, only about as big as the one I got for a up in Montanny,” he in disgust.
The a and quiet.
“Dod-blasted of a pelt,” he as he it into his bunk.
“The other skin couldn’t ’a’ been much 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 it was,” Jim, and his pipe. “Nine whole from of to snoot, full of cussedness, too.”
227“How’d you it–Sharps?” Charley.
“No, Colt,” Jim. “Luckiest I made, all right. I had of when I the trigger. Just one of them lucky a man will make sometimes.”
“Give us the story, Jim,” Silent, settling himself easily in his bunk. “Then we’ll have another and go right to bed. I’m some sleepy.”
“Well,” Jim after his pipe was going well, “I was of second for the Tadpole, up in Montanny, about six years ago. I had a good foreman, a good and about a dozen white to look after. And we had a cook, no mistake about that, all right.
“The Old Man in New York the winter and came out every right after the round-up was over to see how we was and to eat some of the cook’s flapjacks. That cook wasn’t no yaller-skinned post for a line, like this monkey what we’ve got here. The Old Man was a old cuss–one of the boys, and a good one, too–and we was always to see him. He his own business, didn’t tell us how we ought to and 228didn’t what didn’t want to be bothered, which we most of us did like.
“Well, one day Jed Thompson, who our for us twice a month, me a for the foreman, who was South and wouldn’t be for some time. His mother had died and he home for a spell. I saw that the was from the Old Man, and what it would say. I of that it would tell us when to up to the and go after him. Fearing that he might land the got back, I and opened it up.
“It was from the Old Man, all right, but it was no go for him that spring. He was in New York, and said as how he was sorry he couldn’t out to see his boys, and so was we sorry. But he said as how he was sending us a friend of his’n who wanted to go hunting, and would we see that he didn’t shoot no cows. We said we would, and then I on and out when this was to land.
“When the day rolled around I the and out for Whisky Crossing, twenty miles to the east, it being the 229nearest on the stage line. And as I in I saw Frank, who the stage, and he was from ear to ear.
“‘I that’s your’n,’ he said, pointing to a what had got and was up the town.
“‘The drinks are on me when I sees you again, Frank,’ I said, for somehow I that he was right.
“Then I sized up my present, and if he wasn’t all out to kill Indians. While my mouth was he up to me and at my gun, which must ’a’ been big to him.
“‘Are you Mr. Fisher’s man?’ he asked, me a look.
“Frank his into the saloon, the door open so he everything. That me at Frank, him a-doing a thing like that, and I glared.
“‘I ain’t nobody’s man, and was,’ I said, of riled. ‘We ain’t had no man since we the last one, but I’m next door to the foreman. Won’t I do, or do you on talking to a man? If you do, he’s in the saloon.’
230“‘Oh, yes, you’ll do!’ he said, quick-like, and then he and and we out for home, Frank his at me and laughing fit to kill.
“We hadn’t no more than got started when the and at the lines, which he missed by a foot. I was them cayuses, not him, 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 him, and if he didn’t have two trunks, a and three gun cases. I didn’t say a word, being too full of to let any of ’em loose, until Frank up and asked me if I’d something. Then I said a few, after which I my a-hoisting his aboard, and we started out again, Frank acting like a d––n fool.
“The their ears, what we was taking the for, and I we would make them twenty miles in about eight hours if nothing and we hard.
“Well, about every twenty minutes I had to 231off and some of his aboard, it being off, for the wasn’t a whole lot, and us going cross-country. Considering my back, and the that he calling me ‘My man,’ and Frank’s grin, I wasn’t in no of mind to lead a religion round-up when I got home and Davy Crockett’s war-duds for Jed to in. I was still at Jed for that letter.
“Davy Crockett for the house and ordered Sammy Johns to oil his and put them together, after which he off a-poking his nose into in sight, and mostly that wasn’t in sight. When he got to the house from his of he his just like he’d left them, and that was in their cases. Then he out to me and registered his howl.
“‘My man,’ he said, ‘My man, that man what I told to put my together ain’t done it!’
“‘Oh, he didn’t?’ I said, on to my words, for I was some 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, some myself, and 232looking him in the eyes. ‘My man, if he had I’d think he was off his or loco. He ain’t no man, but he is a all-fired good cow-puncher, and I’m a about him not you full of holes, you him to do a thing like that! He must be sick.’
“He didn’t have no come-back to that, but just looked of funny, and then he off to put his together hisself. I around and saw that some work was done right and then in to supper. After it was over my present got up and me a gun, and I near over. It was a little Winchester, and I don’t him a whole for being over it, for it was a beauty, but it out a about the size of a pea, and the makers would ’a’ been some if they had it was around in a grizzly-bear country.
“‘I that’ll stop him,’ he said, happy-like.
“‘Stop what?’ I asked him.
“‘Why, game–bears, of course,’ he said, at my ignorance.
“‘Yes,’ said I, slow-like, ‘I Ephraim may turn around and hisself, if you him.’
233“‘Why, won’t that stop a bear?’
“‘Yes, if it’s a bear,’ I said.
“‘Why, that’s a good rifle!’
“‘It is; it’s as a gun as I my on,’ I replied, ‘for dogs and such.’
“Then I sorry for him, he being so ignorant, and so when he hands me a of a to shoot with I it and got my breach-loading Sharps, .50 caliber, which I to him.
“‘There,’ I said, ‘that’s the only gun in the room what any self-respecting will give a d––n for.’
“He looked at it, its heft, sized up the and then along the sights.
“‘Why, this gun will like the very deuce!’ he said.
“‘Kick!’ said I. ’Kick! She’ll like a army if you her from your shoulder. But I’d a whole by a than by a grizzly, and so’ll you when you sees him a-heading your way.’
“‘But what’ll you use?’ says he, ‘I don’t want to take your gun.’
“Well, when he said that I that he 234had some good in him after all, and somehow I better. There he was, away from his mother and sisters, among a of cow-punchers, and right in the middle of a good country. I of if he was to blame, and managed to all the fault on his city bringing-up.
“‘That’s all right,’ says I, ‘I’ll take an old muzzle-loading Bridesburg what’s been around the house since I came here. It lead at one to a man-of-war, being a .60 caliber.’
“Well, and early the next we started out for bear, and I just where to look, too. You see, there was a of about three miles from the house and I had of there, and there was a among them, too, and as big as a house, from the signs. The boys had wanted to out in a and rope him, but I said as how I was saving him for a to on, so they left him alone.
“We it through the brush, and Davy Crockett, who would go ahead of me, out that he had tracks.
235“I over, and sure he had, only they wasn’t by no bear, and I said so.
“‘Then what are they?’ he asked, of disappointed.
“‘Cow tracks,’ said I. ‘When you see you’ll know it right away,’ and we on a-hunting.
“We had just got in a little hollow, where the green were bad, when I saw tracks, and they was this time, and whoppers. It had a little the night and the ground was just soft to them nice. I called Davy Crockett and he came up, and when he saw them he was tickled, and some scairt.
“‘Where is he?’ he asked, looking around of anxious.
“‘At the end of these tracks, making more,’ said I.
“‘And what are we going to do now?’ he asked, the Sharps.
“‘We’re going to him,’ said I, ‘and if we him and has any accidents, you wants to up a tree, and be sure that it ain’t a big tree, too.’
236“’”Be sure it ain’t a big tree!“’ he repeated, looking at me like he I wanted him to killed.
“‘Exactly,’ said I, and then I explained: ‘The the tree, the sooner you’ll be a meal, for he by the and pushing up. A little tree’ll through his legs, and he can’t a holt.’
“‘I I don’t that!’ he exclaimed, looking dubious.
“‘The less you when hunting,’ said I, ‘the longer you’ll remember.’
“We took up the and soon we saw the bear, and he was so big he didn’t know how to act. He was into his mouth for breakfast, and he his and slowly sized us up. He on all and then got up again, and Davy Crockett, not to me telling him where to shoot, lets drive and an ear. Ephraim all again and started at us, and Moses and all his couldn’t have stopped him. He was to arrive near Davy Crockett in about four and a seconds, and that person his gun and hot-footed it for a big tree. I 237yelled at him and told him to take a little one, but he was too to to a no-account man like me, so he on a-going for the big tree.
“I figured, and quick, that the would him just about the time he the tree, and so, to create a diversion, I away at the bear’s tail, him away from me. I was successful, for I it all right. When he that of lead up under his skin he hisself, and wheeled, looking for the son-of-a-gun what done it, and he saw me hell-bent my gun. He must ’a’ that I was the end of the partnership, and that he’d have trouble a-plenty if he let me my job, for he came at me like a bullet.
“‘Climb a little tree! Climb a little tree!’ Davy Crockett from his in his two-foot-through oak.
“I wasn’t in no of mind when a nine-foot was in the next mail, but I just had to laugh at his when I sized up his layout. As I jumped to one the past, trying hard to stop, and he was doing 238well, too. As he I on some of that green grass, and as how the Old Man would have to another puncher.
“‘I ain’t going to out with a looking on if I can help it!’ I said to myself, and I my six-shooter, and some hasty. It was just a last hope, the of a man’s foot, but it him, if it didn’t! He in a and about for a spell, but I put five more in him, and then sat down. Did you notice how long it takes a to die? I my gun in a hurry, the my face, for that was one of the times it ain’t no to be some scared, which I was.
“‘Is he dead?’ called Davy Crockett from his tree, hopeful-like and some anxious.
“‘He is,’ I said, ‘or, leastawise, he was.’
“Davy was a sight. He was all up from his with the tree, though how he used his up is more than I can tell. And he was some white and unsteady. He had all the he wanted, and he managed to say that he was he hadn’t come out alone, and that he I was right about his after all. So 239we took a last look at the and out for the ranch, where I told the boys to go out and our game home.”
Jim the from his pipe and to it anew, acting as though the was finished, but Bud him well, and he spoke up:
“Well, what then?” he asked.
“Oh, the left for New York the very next day, and I the and sent the after him as a present. When I out my report, the not being yet, I told the Old Man that if he had any more friends what wanted to go to send them up to Frenchy McAllister on the Tin Cup. I was some at Frenchy for the way he had me out at poker.”
He the skin to the and to undress.
“Come on, now, lights out,” he said. “I’m tired.”
