Curly Part 26

A MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT

McCalmont was hid up at the _ranchita_ La Soledad, with a sentry out to the south-west watching La Morita, a sentry out to the west to keep tab on the Bisley trail, a sentry out to the north on the Grave City road, and Buck Hennesy, his segundo, riding from point to point with feed and water. When anything happened the sentries flashed a signal to Buck, who warned the chief. At sunrise McCalmont had news of our raid on La Morita, and that made him think for sure that the kids were rescued.

He'd been riding all night, so he got his eye down quick for a big sleep. The storm rolled up, burst, and trailed off to the eastward; the sun shone out, lifting white steam from the desert; then came the heat.

At two o'clock, away southward through the quivering haze, Buck sighted the three-flash signal, which means "Help!" He threw back the two-flash, "Coming."

So he and the chief loped out, taking a canteen of cold tea, which is the proper medicine for thirst, and a led horse each, to bring the youngsters in to the little ranche. By four o'clock they had Curly bedded down in the shack, supposing herself to be a prairie-dog, and wanting to know who'd come and stole her tail. McCalmont nursed her, Buck went off to spoil the trail from the hill, and Jim squatted down on the doorstep for a feed of pork and beans, with las.h.i.+ngs of coffee.

The main outfit of the robbers was camped at Las Aguas, some miles to the north-east, and three of them came in at dusk to get their supper and relieve the sentries around La Soledad. They were heaps shy when they saw what looked like a greaser _vaquero_ sitting in the doorway of the cabin. One of them rode right at him.

"Here, you," he shouted. "Git out 'er here _p.r.o.nto_! Vamoose!"

"_Poco tiempo_," says Jim.

"Who are you, anyways?"

"_Quien sabe?_"

"Wall, ye cayn't stay here, so ye'd best get absent." He pulled his gun on Jim's feet. "Now jest you prance!"

Jim laughed at him.

"_Manana_," he said. Then in English, "You bark a lot, my friend. Whose dog are you?"

Then he heard McCalmont's slow, soft drawl. "I sure enjoy to see the sire's grit show out in the young colt. Spoke like a man, Jim! And as to you, Crazy Hoss, I want you to understand that if you don't learn deportment I'll politely lam yo' haid, you, you double-dealing foogitive, low-flung, sheep-herdin' son of a lop-eared thug! Hain't you got no more sense than a toorist, you parboiled, c.o.c.k-eyed, spavined, broken-down, knock-kneed wreck o' bones? You----!"

With such genteel introductions McCalmont sure spouted burning wrath into that robber, scorching holes until he lost his breath.

"The evil communications of this young polecat," says he to Jim, "is sh.o.r.ely spoiling my manners. And now, you--you turtle-doves, you'll jest get away out of here and cook your supper thar by the barn. You want to be mighty quiet too, 'cause my Curly is lying in here wounded. Git over now!"

The robbers trailed off grinning, while the chief sat down on the doorstep next to Jim.

"The children make me peevish," he said, and began to roll a cigarette in his fingers. "Wall, do you remember, Jim? I allowed we'd be better friends when we met again."

Jim looked round sharp and sat there studying McCalmont. He didn't look bad or dangerous, but just a middle-aged cattle-man of the old long-horn desert breed. Our folks are rough and homely; we've got a hard name, too, but we stay alive in a country which kills off all but the fighters. McCalmont had a cool blue eye, humorous and kind, and grey hair straggling down over a face that was tanned to leather. The stiff-brimmed cowboy hat was jammed on the back of his head, the white silk handkerchief hung loose about his shoulders. He wore a grey army s.h.i.+rt, blue overalls, stuffed anyhow into his boots, and a loose belt of cartridges, slinging the Colt revolver on his hip. Somehow the youngster felt drawn to him, knowing he'd found a friend of the kind that lasts.

"And you were that sky-scout?" says he.

"A most unworthy shepherd! Jest you look at my sheep," says McCalmont.

Jim asked how long it was since they met that day on the range.

"It seems a year to you, eh, lad? That was six days ago, the way I reckon time."

"So much has happened--sir--can it be less than a week? I was only a boy then--and Curly----"

"My son has struck you serious."

"She has told me everything, sir."

"Yo' goin' to remember to speak of Curly as a boy. He is allooded to as a boy, or I get hawstile. You understand that?"

"I understand."

"And now," says McCalmont, "we'll have that buckboard ready in case we need to pull out."

There was a buckboard standing in the yard, the same being a four-wheel dogtrap, with a springy floor of boards, easy for travel. Jim helped McCalmont to stow some cases and a keg of water, fill sacks with sweet range hay for Curly's bed, and then cover the whole with a canvas ground-sheet.

"You think," says Jim, "that we'll be chased to-night?"

"I dunno, Jim, but it looks to me as that's how the herd is grazing."

When supper was ready they strayed across to the fire and joined issue with beef, hot bread, and coffee, the same being taken serious without waste of time or talk. We range-folk don't interrupt our teeth with aimless discourse. By smoke-time Buck loped off in the dusk to find the _remuda_ of ponies out at gra.s.s, and the boys had a cigarette while he gathered, watered, and drove the ponies home. Then the team for the buckboard was caught, harnessed, and tied up with a feed of corn; each man roped and saddled his night horse; and Buck, with the three relief men, rode out slow, curving away into the starlight.

McCalmont roped a sorrel mare for Jim, then found him a spare saddle, a bridle, a blanket, belt, gun, and spurs.

"Now," says he, "jest bed yo'self down, but don't undress. Keep yo'

hawss to hand, sleep rapid, and in case of alarm jump quick. An outlaw's bed, my son, ain't feathered for long sleeps."

Jim lay awake and watched until the day guard came loping in with Buck.

He saw them rope and saddle their remounts, catch their supper, bed down, and smoke the final cigarette. It all felt homely and good to be with cowboys again, to have his blanket on the dust, his horse and gun beside him, to know he was free and moderately safe, to look up drowsy at a great white sky of stars. Jim was a plainsman in those days sure enough, content, range fas.h.i.+on, to have the whole earth for a bed, the night for a bedroom, and the starry palace of the Great Spirit to shelter him while he slept. Kings and emperors and such have to hole up at night in mean quarters compared with that.

Somewhere out on the range McCalmont's guard-camp kept a sentry alert through the night, and when Jim woke up he saw the day guard swarming off in the grey of dawn to relieve them. He washed himself in the horse-trough, and helped McCalmont to cook breakfast.

"Now don't you make too much fire," says the chief, "'cause the less smoke we show the better for our health. We want no strangers projecting around to pay us mawning visits."

"Colonel," says Jim, "how's Curly?"

"Right peart, and chirping for breakfast."

The boys came rolling in from night guard. "Now you, Crazy Hoss," says McCalmont, "rope the day hawsses, and put the herd to gra.s.s befo' you feed. You, Buck, is all secure?"

"Wall, boss, there's United States pony-soldiers, three hundred haid of 'em, comes trailing down out of the Mule Pa.s.s."

"Heading this way?"

"No, seh; they're pointing for La Morita."

"I see. It's because of the shockin' outrage yesterday on them pore Mexican Guards at La Morita. I expaict that ole Mexico is up on its ear for war, and they'll be sending their army to eat the United States.

Jest take yo' gla.s.ses, Buck, and see if that Mexican army is coming along."

Buck rode to the nearest hill and looked over the top without showing himself on the skyline; then he came sailing back, and rolled up to the chief, all snorting.

"There's the dust of an army on the Fronteras trail."

"Them rival armies," McCalmont drawled, "will talk theyrselves into fits, and the rival Governments will talk theyrselves into fits; and all the newspapers will talk theyrselves into fits; then they'll agree that La Morita was raided, and they'll agree that it was the acts of wicked robbers, and they'll agree it was _me_. 'Spose we have our coffee."

All through the night McCalmont had been sitting up with Curly, treating her wound to a course of cold wet bandages once in five minutes to reduce the swelling. After breakfast he went back again to her side, and his teeth were sure set hard, because he had made up his mind to dig for the bullet, which caused her more pain than was needful. As for Jim, he squatted on the doorstep outside, with time at last to think. His affairs had been some hurried and precipitous in this one week, which cost him his parents, his home, his business as master of a tribe of cowboys, his friends, his prospects, his reputation as an honest man.